#for three days but been unable to due to food poisoning and the Day I feel well enough to cook my father leaves out Every Pot We Own

[lavendertarot]

Just tore apart the kitchen looking for my matcha latte mix that was put in a usually out of reach place by my father (the power of petty "where the fuck is my latte mix" knows no physical bounds) and upon realising that I couldn't even make an iced latte because we have no ice either I proceeded to stick my latte in the fridge for half an hour. my cottagecore lifestyle is in shambles. will report back if it chilled it or not

[sleepynoons]

Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant. 

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!” 

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

“We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them. 

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate. 

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce. 

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence. 

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin. 

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient. 

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks. 

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar. 

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!”

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens. 

“The texture’s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I’m not sure if the Son of Unicron AU reaction would be similar when it comes to him getting buffed in strength among other things but!

Optimus’s reaction to ingesting dark energon as a literal prime, not just a devoted follower?

Would it make him sick like a terrible case of food poisoning? Would it make him foggy or insanely sharp and aware? Would he become weak to the point of having to stay berth-ridden or would he become an absolute unit of a mech?

Oh boy, angst yeeeeeeeeeeees. I love this. Any and all chances to hurt my favorite mech are fully accepted.

��━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The effects of dark energon have been relatively well documented, at least on the Decepticon side of the war. Those who consume it are bound to the Unmaker and in turn gain increadible strength at the cost of their eternal spark. Due to the sheer rarity of the substance, Autobots never really bothered studying it beyond watching what the Decepticons were doing and promptly steering clear of their slag. But on Earth where the stuff is literally everywhere, things are a bit different. Not a spark wanted to really touch it, but Ratchet was determined to understand it if only to find a way to combat it. This in turn led to one horrible horrible accident.

Ratchet had been experimenting, trying to purify the dark energon for consumption purposes. He had gotten so far as managing to change the color to a pale blue, but none of the important chemical properties had been altered. Optimus was not aware of Ratchet's work, and so when the medic wandered off to deal with some affair, the Prime being tired beyond belief, took the energon cube the dark energon was contained in and promptly chugged it. He then put the empty cube back down, and proceeded to go about his day normally.

He was more energetic at first, quickly finding himself moving faster than normal and performing at greater levels than before. His senses were sharper, his focus all but perfect for a grand total of roughly three hours. However just as quickly as the burst came, it vanished and left Optimus reeling. By the time his morning patrol ended and he returned to base stumbling, Ratchet had reviewed the security footage and knew exactly what happened. He was there just in time to catch Optimus as he fell to his knees, his helm pounding and his entire frame heaving. His vitals started to drop rapidly, and just as fast as he rose in strength, he became as weak as a newspark as the Matrix pulsed and his frame began to fight off the dark energon before it could effect his spark.

The Prime was left shaking, his fans running at their highest settling as he was laid on the medical berth for examination. He purged several times, but it did little to ease his suffering as his very frame violently rejected the energon within it. Ratchet tried to clear his systems with fresh energon, but even after his frame was purified, Optimus was left spasming off and on. His cables randomly cramped and his processors hurt so badly that he was unable to move. Scans showed that unlike a normal Cybertronian, due to the presence of the Matrix, the dark energon directly attacked his very cells. It wouldn't kill or permanently damage him, but for almost a solid week, Optimus was unable to move or act with any degree of proficiency. His everything cramped, his hydraulics randomly failed, his memory spotted at times, and he struggled to keep any fuel down while his cellular structure recovered.

With normal Cybertronians, dark energon integrates with the frame fairly normally. But for a Prime? Dark energon is a slow acting toxin that attacks anything and everything. After all, Primes are forged by Primus himself.

[forestlingincorporated]

S’chn T’gai Family Notes

• Sybok was born in 2224, according to the Star Trek Chronology (2nd ed.) and the Star Trek Encyclopedia (4th ed.; vol. 2). 

• Michael Burnham was born in 2226, on Earth. 

• Spock was born January 6, 2230, on Vulcan, in ShiKahr. 

This makes Sybok 2 years older than Michael, and 6 years older than Spock. It also makes Michael 4 years older than Spock. 

(Leonard McCoy was born in 2227, making him 3 years older than Spock, and 1 year younger than Michael. James Kirk wasn’t born until March 22, 2233, making him 3 years younger than Spock, and 6 years younger than McCoy.) 

From the Inside Star Trek phonograph album, Spock was not the first vulcan/human hybrid, but he was the first to survive. Earth-Vulcan conception will abort during the end of the first month. The fetus is unable to continue life once it begins to develop its primary organs. Spock was removed from Amanda's body as his organs began development and placed in a test tube for two Earth months, as physicians performed delicate chemical engineering and introduced over a hundred subtle changes. After that, Spock was returned to Amanda's womb. At the ninth Earth month, Spock was again removed from Amanda, prematurely by Vulcan standards, and spent the following four months of a Vulcan term pregnancy in a specially designed incubator. This was the first time this particular procedure was attempted, and was entirely experimental. Baby Spock proved surprisingly resilient. 

(Enterprise would later introduce the binary clone, Elizabeth, who would be the first vulcan/human hybrid, who passed away not long after her birth. Elizabeth was born 2155, 75 years before Spock was born.)

Michael’s biological parents, Mike and Gabrielle, were attacked by Klingons in 2236, after which point Michael was put in the care of her foster parents, Sarek and Amanda. Since Michael is shown spending her 10th birthday on Vulcan, this makes Michael 9 (going on 10 that year) upon being fostered. Spock would be 6, and Sybok would be 12. Sybok was raised by his mother until her death. Since we never see Sybok in the Discovery flashbacks, we can only assume Sybok was still living with his mother. We see Michael’s childhood up to age 11, so it can be assumed Sybok did not join the family until he was at least 13; while we still don’t see Sybok when Michael is 19, it can be assumed Sybok was either away for his own studies or already banished; banishment would explain why no one talks about him. 

 Sybok’s mother was originally described as a “Vulcan princess.” In the novelization of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, she was given the name T’Rea, and referenced as a Vulcan priestess instead. In the book Sarek, she was referenced again by the name T’Rea, and given the title “reldai,” translated as an archaic vulcan term meaning both  "female religious leader" and "female ruler or princess," in order to conflate both translations. “Priestess” appears to be the more correct term, as Vulcan does not appear to have a monarchy and she is described as being Sarek’s original childhood bondmate who annulled their bond in order to become a kolinahr adept, and later High Master. Sarek’s first “wife” is considered to (presumably) be Amanda, as she is said to be from Earth, so it would appear Sarek and T’Rea were never fully married, as Spock and T’Pring were never fully married. 

The novelization also explains that Sybok was banished from Vulcan for violating the mind of a Watcher in the Hall of Ancient Thought in order to locate the receptacle of his mother's katra and meld with it to discover the location of Sha Ka Ree, which T’Rea had raised Sybok to believe in. 

• Soon after arriving on Vulcan, Logic Extremists (a small Vulcan extremists group claiming to represent "true Vulcan ideology" and valuing logic above all, who regarded humans to be inferior and more heavily opposed human involvement in Vulcan culture than the average vulcan, who saw the extremists as fanatics) bombed the Vulcan Learning Center. This resulted in Michael Burnham dying for three minutes, before being revived by Sarek melding with her and leaving part of his katra inside her mind. Michael believed she, a human child living and learning among vulcans, was the target, however, Spock believes he was most likely the intended target, as the “half human abomination” in the household. It is likely that Spock is correct, as it seems Amanda, also fully human, was not targeted. 

( If the vulcan extremists’ intended target was Spock, then a comparison (or even loose connection) might be made to Terra Prime, the extremist xenophobic terrorist organization dedicated to the expulsion of all non-Humans from Earth and the Sol system, who used vulcan/human hybridization as a fear tactic in Enterprise. )

Fearing for her adoptive family’s lives, Michael tries to run away from home, when she is initially stopped by a very young Spock, who pleads with her to stay. In her fear for their safety, Michael pushes Spock away by calling him a freak and a “weird little half breed,” and telling him he’s not capable of love. This moment causes a rift between the previously close siblings, leading Spock to choose to close himself off and fully commit to logic at a very young age. Michael tries to repair their relationship, but Spock is unreceptive until adulthood. Michael and Spock can only be about 10 and 6 respectively when this fight occurs. 

• Spock is dyslexic, which is called L'tak Terai on vulcan. 

• Spock is espoused to T’Pring at the age of 7. This is the same year he partakes in his kahs-wan. 

The kahs-wan, or Vulcan maturity test, was a traditional survival test of adulthood for adolescent Vulcans. The basis for the kahs-wan was to survive ten days without food, water, or weapons in Vulcan's Forge.

In the animated series, Spock decided to take the kahs-wan early. His pet sehlat, I-Chaya, insisted on accompanying him, despite young Spock's orders. I-Chaya and Spock from the future end up having to save Spock from a le-matya attack, but I-Chaya had to be euthanized afterwards due to receiving a fatal wound from the le-matya’s poisonous claws. 

• Solkar was the first Vulcan ambassador to Earth, and father of Skon. Skon is implied to be an ambassador (and would have been confirmed one if the fifth season of Enterprise was ever produced), translated the Teachings of Surak into English, and father of Sarek. Sarek is also an ambassador and is, of course, the father of Spock and Sybok. 

• In the animated series, Spock goes back in time to save his younger self, and claims to be Sarek’s cousin by the name of Selek, son of T’Pel and Sasak. It is unclear if these are real relatives of Sarek’s, or if they’re fake and the S’chn T’gai family is so big Sarek can’t keep track of them all. 

• Spock claims Arthur Conan Doyle is an ancestor of his. It can only be assumed this is on Amanda’s side. 

[creativeashproductions]

Streetdogs and Chest Compressions // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Reader reconnected with her estranged younger brother in the cruelest of ways as the 118 is called the scene of three young men suffering after eating streetdogs. Unfortunately, this is how Buck meets the future brother in law he had no clue even existed.

Warnings: Swearing, family problems (aka estranged), withholding personal information, angst, medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 4.7k

A/N: This fic is a crossover between Julie and the Phantoms and 9-1-1 in which Luke, Reggie and Alex eat the streetdogs in modern times. Don’t worry, someone still dies. Reader’s nickname is Spitfire 

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Masterlist

It seemed Los Angeles was taking pity on the 118 with not even a single fire to be put out or medical needed. It was slow. Painfully slow, and you weren't even halfway through the twenty-four-hour shift. Hen and Chimney had taken the circular table for a card game, Bobby was reading a new cookbook. Eddie's Abuela had brought Christopher to the firehouse for his online schooling, the Diaz's wifi was malfunctioning. Buck and you had snuck off the bunk room to catch some sleep.

"Lazy movie day?" Buck asked with his arms tightly wound around your hips. Your form almost rested entirely on his front due to the narrow bunk.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." You replied to the content man underneath you. You could only hum as he shifted to kiss the top of your head, "Now shh. I want to slee-"

The bell sounded before you could even finish your sentence, "And what I didn't want to happen just had to spite me."

Buck and you hurried to quickly pull on your turnout gear before hopping into the respective seats you used. Eddie across from you, Buck driving with Bobby in the Captain seat. Hen and Chimney in the ambulance tailing you.

"We have three males in their late teens. Ate hotdogs in an alley before collapsing in the process." Bobby informed his team all the while he watched the road, "One is profusely puking, one's unconscious, and the last one is stable."

"Thinking it's food poisoning? That sudden?" Buck inquired with a swift glance from his position of driving. Bobby shrugged in response just as Buck eased the fire truck to a half near a crowded alley.

You were the first one out of the firetruck with your medical bag and halfway to the alley before the team could get out.

"Make some room!" You shouted among the heavily populated area, curious about the medical emergency.

Everything slowed down as you pushed between the last two people into something you called your worst nightmare. Three teenage individuals settled on their sides in unconscious states had been a fixture in your youth. Your eyes stayed pinned on the prone figure of your little brother.

It was like being underwater. Nothing could be heard, and it felt like you were in the process of drowning. It was the first time seeing Luke since you stormed out of your family home back when you were eighteen years old.

It was the same old unchanging story playing for months now with only the new addition of an audience. It was the middle of a blistering summer in Los Angeles, but it was the most heated in the Patterson household. You'd been at the movies with your best friends while your mother, Emily, was putting your laundry away.

Emily's hand had bumped your dresser by accident in her process of closing your socks drawer. The Patterson matriarch and her husband would never invade their children's rooms, but her keen eye had noticed the pamphlet; nothing serious like teen pregnancy but it was surprising.

Emily was holding a recruitment pamphlet for the Los Angeles Fire Department marked with your handwriting. Her heart dropped in sync with the front door slamming shut.

"I'm home!" You called out from the entrance. You didn't hear as your mother wandered into the open space. Her eyes flaring in both anger and fear; when a person is scared, they lash out.

That's what Emily did.

"What is this?"

Your eyes found the item in her hand that genuinely made your blood freeze in your veins. This was not how you'd wanted her to find out about your career decision.

"I'm applying. I graduated high school, and hopefully, I'll be train-"

"Like hell, you will! You're going to college and getting a real job! This won't take you anywhere Y/N Y/M/N Patterson!" Emily snapped just as Mitch came through the back door with your ten-year-old brother Luke.

"What's going on?" Mitch questioned as soon as he felt the tension between mother and daughter. Luke was quiet amongst the adults speaking.

"Your daughter isn't going to college. She's going to be a firefighter.

"Spitfire?"

A smooth hand startled you with the clap on your shoulder and Hen looking at you, "Are you okay?"

"I-" You shakily attempted to speak but alas had to be gently settled on the ground before you keeled over and hurt yourself. Your uniform, long sleeves this time, felt constricting as the guilt nearly swallowed you whole.

"Hey, Cap? I think I know why those three are like that." Buck called out from a sketchy grill by an even sketchier condiments table. The table being a rusted Oldsmobile manned by a greasy dude and his girl.

Even from a distance, you could smell the chemicals wafting off the unsanitary set up that would put a health inspector in a casket. 

"One's waking up!" Chimney spoke from the slump of pink and denim fabric. A curtain of blonde '90s style hair mussed on his head.

"Look, Y/N, I need you to dig deep to help these three boys. They have long lives ahead of them and need our A-game." Hen spoke with her hands, already checking one of the teens for broken bones.

Your eyes closed with a deep breath before you moved towards the boy on the other side. Eddie shifted to allow you room to check him over.

"Strong pulse. Breathing is good." You clinically informed your team, "Eddie can-"

"What happened?" The gruff voice spoke from behind you. As expected, Alex's voice had deepened in the years you'd gone without seeing Luke or his friends.

"You got this one?" You asked Eddie without waiting for a response; you were by Chim's side with a soft smile. Alex's eyes widened momentarily, "Hey Alex."

"Y/N?" Alex nearly gasped in shock. His shock seemed contagious as your entire team from the 118 caught it, "What's going on?"

"You ate some bad hotdogs and needed our help. We're gonna get you to the hospital. I'm worried you ingested battery acid." You spoke, understanding that Alex would prefer details instead of the lack thereof. Even from an early age, he'd been anxious.

"Oh. Are the guys okay?" Alex softly asked with his eye blinking as a strand of his blonde hair caught in his eyelashes. You slowly nodded in response without really knowing the status of Reggie and Luke.

"Eddie, Buck, can you get him loaded in the ambulance?" You called over your shoulder once you'd finished your thorough examination of Alex. The sound of boots on the hard ground appeared before they appeared.

Eddie and Buck swiftly loaded him on a gurney, but Alex's eyes widened, "Why are there two hot guys touching me? Oh my god. Do you see the cute guys too?"

You snickered as Alex's failed attempt at a stage whisper, "Yes. Alex."

"I've been blessed as a gay man." Alex breathed with a cute little grin plastered on his face, "Maybe I should eat more streetdogs-"

"NO!" Eddie, Buck, and you collectively shouted in response to Alex's delirious comment. He was loaded into the ambulance beside Reggie's gurney.

"I'm gonna jump in with the other guy in the ambulance." You quickly informed your boyfriend and Eddie. Each shared a look before Eddie slammed his fist on the back of this ambulance. It rolled away, and you jogged to the one Hen was driving.

Buck was there giving you a hand into the back of the ambulance with one of the other paramedics. You couldn't meet his eye when you were staring at the unconscious but thankfully alive body of your little brother. Your eyes couldn't be pulled away even as the ambulance started driving away.

Buck momentarily stared after the leaving vehicle until it turned a corner leaving him with his crew and questions. Eddie kept by Buck's side on the return to the firetruck in unusual silence. It wasn't often that Buck was quiet.

"What do you think that was about?" Eddie inquired as the truck pulled onto the street to follow the ambulances to the hospital, "Y/N knew the conscious one-"

"-and the one in the ambulance she jumped in. Kept staring at him like he'd disappear out of her sight." Buck supplied, staring out the window to the passing buildings. His blue eyes are unable to focus on the looks Bobby was sending.

Bobby attempted to bring Buck into a conversation, but each attempt was a failure. Neither Bobby nor Eddie knew how to make him feel better or why he was feeling off. 

Whereas you kept a hawk-eye on your brother's stats the entirety of the drive. The ambulance had only just entered the parking lot when his stats dropped. A long beep sounded, alerting you that Luke's heart had stopped.

"Goddamnit." You swore as you started leaning over Luke to start compressions. In order to continue compressions, you clambered into the gurney as the back doors opened.

"Hold compressions!" Eddie exclaimed once, seeing the situation, "No pulse."

You continued even as the gurney entered the hospital, and a doctor was there, "We got it."

You did as the doctor had subtly implied by climbing off the gurney, leaving the medical professionals to continue. You followed your brother's unconscious body to the surprise of the 118; you had never tried to follow the patient. It was more of Buck's issue.

"Y/N, our job ends here. You know that." Bobby spoke with Hen, Chimney, Eddie and Buck flanking his sides. Your e/c eyes shifted between the brown of your Captain's eyes and the blue of your boyfriend's eyes.

"It doesn't end when I just did compressions on my little brother." You informed him, "Write me up. Suspend me if you want, but I need to be in there."

Bobby's eyes softened, "Your shift is almost over. Just come in early on your next shift; you can make breakfast."

"Thanks, Bobby." You softly informed the man who'd become both your boss and a pseudo father. He only nodded in response with your friends beside him with different expressions, "I should get in there."

Without waiting for another response, you'd already entered the ER through the ambulance bay sliding doors. You went straight to the nursing desk with sure steps.

"Hi, I was in the ambulance that brought in a young male teenager. Shaggy brunette hair, caucasian. He was in a separate ambulance from his two friends." You spoke once the head nurse had turned his attention to you, "He was getting compressions on his way in. Name Luke Patterson."

"Are you asking as a paramedic?" Jude questioned with his fingers tapping the keys of the computer. 

"No. He's my brother." You sighed, bringing the sympathetic brown eyes of Jude to look at you. The look changed a degree when he read the sentences on the screen.

"Are you aware your brother ran away from home? There's a social worker on her way."

Your jaw dropped in surprise, "Ran away? He ran away?!"

Jude flinched at the screech of words you accidentally released to both your and Jude's horror in the quiet ER. Jude turned the screen to show a digital missing person's poster with your brother's face on it.

"He's awake." Jude supplied, having deciphered and guessed correctly you'd gone a while without seeing your brother, "I'm off shift now, but I can bring you to him. I'll let the social worker know."

The nerves grew each step closer to the room your brother was stationed in for the time being with Reggie for comfort in the neighbouring bed. Part of you wished Luke would be asleep to avoid the confrontation about to happen. Only Luke's hazel eyes turned to see him in his pause of puking.

"Hey." You softly breathed into the quiet room. Luke's breath caught in his throat, "You ran away?"

"Guess we're more alike than we thought. We both run when it gets tough." Luke's words were all snark and poison to your heart. His hazel eyes glaring into your own eyes with anger that covered up the pain, "Hope this is just a delirious episode."

Your eyes squeezed closer, "Luke-"

"What? Are you gonna apologize for abandoning me? The only reason you're reaching out is that you happened to be the medic!"

You could physically feel your heart clench, "No. I tried reaching out. Mom and dad don't answer the phone. You didn't have a phone, and like hell, they'd give me the number either. The letters and-"

"Excuse me? Ms. Patterson." Both Luke and your attention shifted the entrance. A well put together woman stood with a clipboard, "I'm Beth. A social worker and I'm afraid you aren't allowed to speak with Luke alone."

"I'm his sister."

"Barely." Luke hissed, avoiding looking at you by looking over at Reggie, "I'd like to be alone."

"I can respect that. Here's my number if you need anything, Luke. Seriously, night or day, I'll answer. I know how it was living in that house, but you have someone to run to. Me." You firmly told the stubborn teenager, "Listen to Beth. You can't live on the streets Luke, it's not fair to you or anyone else. I'll ask my friend to keep an eye on you."

Had you not noticed Luke's jaw clenching, you'd have thought he hadn't heard you, "Whatever."

"Beth, have Reggie or Alex's parents come yet?"

Beth nodded, "I'm not supposed to reveal that, but yes Mr and Mrs Peters are talking to the doctor. Alex was moved into a room. They'll all make a full recovery."

You cast one last look at your little brother curled up in the hospital bed, a stark similarity to the night you returned home, only for your things.

It wasn't an accident you chose to return to your childhood home on Thursday night with the schedule on the fridge memorized. Every second Thursday, your mom attended the PTA meetings for Luke's school. Your father would be home but most likely asleep in his recliner, but if he was awake, it wouldn't be bad.

Your father was more lenient than your mother, even if he shared the same mentality.

"I was wondering when you'd come back," Mitch spoke from his recliner with the side table holding his drink. A glass of your mom's homemade lemonade, "Your mom-"

"I'm not staying." You firmly spoke on your way to the hallways where the bedrooms were positioned. You could hear the soft steps of your father's well-worn slippers.

"What?"

"Look, Dad, you can't leave the house, but I can. I'm not staying in this place with her stifling ideas. This is my life. Just because she decided to be a stay at home, mom doesn't mean she gets to make my decisions and live through me." You informed the man while shoving clothing, items, toiletries, among other things, in the suitcase.

"Y/N, firstly, that is not how to speak about your mother. She sacrificed to take care of this family. Luke looks up at you, don't give him a bad impression of our family."

"No."

"If you walk out that door without apologizing, then you are not welcome back until you do so." Mitch's voice came out in that fatherly authoritarian tone. The no-nonsense look in his eye nailing the coffin in your decision.

"I'm not apologizing for choosing a career of helping other people. Of being a step for someone to live and not die. So what if it's not a teacher, a lawyer or some other bullshit 'acceptable' career. I love you, dad. I love mom too and Luke. But I'm not subjecting myself to a desk job with no drive in it."

"Where will you stay?"

"I have a place. I'll call to talk with Luke. I won't 'poison' his mind with ill thoughts of mom. But I won't lie to him either."

Mitch was stock still as you glanced into the bedroom next to your childhood bedroom. Luke's room was still decorated with spaceships and stuffed animals. Your eyes watched the rising of Luke's back as he breathed from his curled up position.

You couldn't help but walk to kneel at his side. Your hand brushed his soft hair from his forehead. You drank in the look of pure content and innocence on his sleeping face.

"Y/N?" Luke mumbled with his bleary eyes blinking, "You're home."

"I have to head out. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay," Luke spoke mere seconds before his breathing evened out once more.

That was the last night you'd been in the home. Luke sat next to the landline phone the next night, waiting for a call that never came. Your parents had unhooked the line. Luke sat on a stool beside it for weeks before his hopes soured.

If only you'd known leaving your parents would mean souring your relationship with your brother. Than maybe you would have reached out for his benefit and your self-proclaiming selfishness

"Thought you'd need a ride," Buck spoke from his position leaning against the wall still in his uniform. There was definitely a new tension in the air between you and him, "We'll grab our things from the house than go home."

"Thank you." You softly spoke to Buck. The weight of keeping your family secret dragged your shoulders down. You couldn't help but wonder if this was gonna cause a fracture in your relationship.

"No matter what. I'll always be here." Buck told you with his arms coming to wrap around your shoulders. He led you through the ER, you'd waved at the shocked parents of both Alex and Reggie, "Who-"

"Luke's friends' parents."

"Okay, so your family lives just outside of the city in Los Felix?"

"Feliz. They live in Los Feliz, from what I know. I haven't been back since I was eighteen." You chuckled, "I want to stress that my parents are abusive or neglectful. Not even bad, but my mom had this idea of what my life should be like."

Buck hummed with his right arm around your waist, and his left casually balanced on his outstretched leg. A bottle of beer loosely gripped in his left hand.

"How old is Luke?"

"He'll be eighteen in August. When I left, he was ten." You mused, leaning into Buck's side, "I think that's why Maddie and I get along so well. We're both big sisters with a significant age gap to our brother."

Buck hummed, "Why did you keep it from me?"

"It hurt. It still hurts just thinking about it. They unhooked the landline the night after I went back for my things." You recalled the agony at having an olive branch snapped off, "I promised to call Luke, and I wasn't able to; they'd disconnected the landline. Imagining the look of hurt on Luke's face was enough to keep me from physically reaching out."

"I wish you had trusted me." Buck finally admitted with the last swig of his beer in the middle of his words, "We're engaged. We're looking at houses, but you never told me about your parents. About your brother. Above your life before the 118."

"Buck. I trust you with my life." You urgently informed the firefighter. Your hands cupped his cheeks to ensure his eyes focused on yours. You wanted him to see the truth, "You are the most important piece of my life. You and the 118 made me feel at home from the moment I joined. Buck, you are my family."

That look courtesy of his parents' actions faded ever so slightly from his eyes, "You guys are my family too."

"I'd like you to meet my little brother when we can reconcile." You announced into the cool summer night. Your drink had been long gone in the process of working through seeing your brother again, "I never thought I'd see him as a patient I'd have to help. Seeing him pale and unconscious nearly destroyed me."

"But he made it."

"He texted me 'didn't die' with the rock 'n roll hand emoji." You deadpanned, recalling the emotional two days for news. You were kinda shocked that Luke had even reached out at all.

Buck couldn't have successfully hidden his laugh if you weren't currently leaning against his body.

"So Albert found an apartment. He won't be moving with us." Buck changed the subject with the same ease he'd always held at knowing you. This was just another one of the moments you were thankful for having him by your side.

"So now there's not a reason to search for a bigger house?" You questioned with a crease between your eyebrows.

In the last two years, several significant changes have been impacting all areas of your life, especially the personal aspect. Buck had proposed during a picnic hike about a year ago with the mutual agreement for a long engagement; his parents didn't believe it was for anything other than pregnancy. Additionally, working in the same firehouse made planning difficult and then your apartment lease bringing the conversation of houses.

Originally Albert would rent part of the home out, so it needed at least three bedrooms.

"I mean, we don't have to not look. We've talked about children and settling down." Buck softly offered with a hesitant smile on his face, "I wanted to talk to you about it, but do you think we could talk about a possible time to start trying-"

"Y/N?"

The two adults went on high alert as Luke wandered into the gated garden your apartment building had. Buck's arm slid off your body as soon as you climbed to your feet at the sight of Luke.

"Luke?" You softly gasped, revelling in the sight of your little brother. Physically he looked fine with the addition of bloodshot eyes, "What's wrong?"

"I-I didn't have anywhere else to go." Luke choked out, sliding the battered old backpack off his shoulder onto the duffle at his feet. Luke's hazel eyes glimmering in the setting sun, "I got into a fight with mom and dad."

"Please tell me you didn't run away again." You heavily sighed in your movement to grab his backpack from the ground. Buck was quick to grab the duffle bag from the ground.

"I'll get the air mattress. Let Albert know not to bring his date home." Buck murmured in your ear low enough only you could hear, "I'll heat up the leftover Chinese."

The Patterson siblings watched as Buck entered the opening to the back of the building's secured backyard. Luke's backpack slung over his shoulder, and the duffle in his right hand.

"How did you find where I live?" You asked the emotionally seventeen-year-old with those puppy dog eyes. The eyes with the colour you wished you had inherited instead of your e/c.

"I saw 118 on the inside of the ambulance. I found the firehouse, and after procuring 'evidence', one of the paramedics told me where to find you." Luke shrugged, "I would have gone to Bobby's garage we use as a studio, but...he bailed on us. Reggie tries to get away from his place, and Alex's are assholes."

"The Peters are still married?" You scoffed, recalling the tense moments between little Reggie's parents. A cloud followed the couple around everywhere they went together, and Reggie was always caught in the middle.

"If-if this overstepping, I can find another place-" Luke began to respond on the walk down the inside hall to your apartment door.

"And make my struggle with the cursed object redundant?" Buck joked from the kitchen with a plate filled with warmed up food. Maybe the universe had a plan when Buck accidently over-ordered food from the restaurant.

"Luke, just stay here. You can have something to eat and rest up. But we need to talk about this. Running away is never a solution to your problems." Your stern voice reminded you of your mother when you broke the rules, "You need to let mom and dad know you're crashing at my place. They don't know my address."

"We got your back." Buck cemented to the quiet teenage boy that he saw a lot of himself in. A little kid living in the shadow left by an older sibling, only Luke's still lived.

"Oh!" You exclaimed with a shake of your head, "I'm sorry. Buck, this is my little brother Luke. Luke, this is Evan, my fiance."

Luke's eyes widened at the title, "Hi."

"Everyone calls me Buck."

Buck, Luke, and you shared stories of your lives in the times you'd gone without each other while Luke ate. By the time he shovelled the last bite of chow mein in his mouth, you'd caught up enough for the time being. He used the shower and settled into the air mattress sheets on the floor a fair distance from the couch Albert slept on.

"So I guess we'll be finding that house anyway?" Buck inquired under the stream of water from the showerhead. His hands massaging the shampoo into your scalp, the action intimate without a sexual motive behind it.

"How-"

"I could see it in your eye. We can see if your parents would be willing to meet up to talk about Luke. Maybe have him stay with us temporarily, give them space without your parents not knowing where he is." Buck murmured as he caressed your sides with his calloused hands. His forehead leaning down on your own forehead.

"I haven't been home in years. I'm not sure how they'd take us stepping on their toes."

"Then we tell them how it is. Their decision drove their youngest child away, and that almost killed him. He's almost eighteen, and then he can make his own legal decisions. Be the person we both wish had been there when we were his age."

And that's what you did. Buck and you met up with your parents at your childhood home to your horror and Buck's delight. He'd never gotten to see pictures of a younger you, but Maddie had brought his baby pictures for you to see the first time you met her. While your mom had fixed some of her lemonade Buck had toured the photos hanging on the wall.

The conversation itself was tense and combative, but in the end, your parents agreed that they'd prefer Luke to be safe than missing. Life was looking up. 

"Hey," Buck murmured with his arms wrapped around your midsection. His blonde scruff scratching your cheek as he slumped over you, "Is that-?"

"Evie's babysitter?" You supplied with a raised eyebrow towards your now husband's laser focus on your brother.

After your relationship with your parents started healing, you had walked down the aisle in white to Buck. You had settled into the dream house with Luke taking one of the bedrooms. The other bedroom put to use when you got pregnant with Evelyn, Evie for short, to your shared joy.

"He likes her." Buck teased, watching the interaction between the two young adults on the main floor of the 118 fire house.

Eight-month-old Evie chewed on a rattle in the arms of her careful hold of her babysitter, but Evie's eyes watched her uncle. Luke, however, was focused on the beautiful and smart girl he knew from high school; they knew of each other but never acknowledged each other. Luke had already graduated when they first came into each other's worlds. Julie threw herself into babysitting to distract herself from both music and her mother's death.

"She's why the band doesn't practice in our garage?" 

"It's a whole thing." You mused with a shake of your hand, "She lost her mom and music. By complete chance, he walked in on her, singing a song to settle Evie. One thing led to another, and Luke formed Julie and the Phantoms with her, Reggie and Alex."

"They formed a band?" Buck beamed, hearing the recent news, "I thought they'd never find their way back to it."

Around the time of your wedding, Bobby had a family emergency involving his uncle Trevor and his cousin Carrie. You'd gone back to work shortly only to be called to the scene of a fatal accident, the victim being Bobby Wilson.

"Julie is Luke's ideal girl. Good with kids, kind, smart, shy, and shares the same passion for music. They bring out the best in each other. They brought music back to each other." You informed your husband with that lovesick grin that was resigned solely for his impulsive ass.

"Kinda like us?"

"Yeah. Like us."

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[multific]

Solve a Murder

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: You were desperate. You needed help and so, you turned to the one man in London who would be able to help.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m here to hire you to solve a murder.”

“And who’s murder would that be?”

“Mine.”

“Pardon?” asked Dr. Watson.

“It’s my step-sister. I suspect she and her husband want me dead. You see, I inherited my father’s land when she thought she would be the one to get it. And now, just the way she looks at me. She offers me drinks, way too often, I suspect she is trying to poison me. I fear for my life, and lately I haven’t been feeling well. You need to help me. Find evidence that she is plotting my death so I can go to the police.”

The two men looked at each other. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” you said as you stood up, they made you feel like you were a fool, but then the Doctor spoke up making you look back at him.

“How long have you been suspecting that she is trying to poison you?”

“About a month. My dad died five months ago, I lost my mum when I was little, so he married another woman who gave him my step sister. My step mum died two years ago, or rather disappeared. Dad left everything to me in his will. And my sister was fuming, saying that she was the one to deserve it. Back that I was so sad, I didn’t even realize she said that. During the four months I was grieving, but then I started to notice things.”

“Things like?”

“Her servants bringing me food and tea, which is a nice gesture but...it’s usually after I already ate. And then I started to get sick a lot more often. I’m not one to fall sick easily. The doctor said it was just a cold, but...I know she did something. The look on her face said it all. She looked happy when I was in bed for a week. I tried asking for help, but everyone thinks I’m paranoid.”

“I believe you.” said Watson as he looked back at Sherlock who only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly only the mind of a woman, making up scenarios. Why are you really here? You are wasting my time.” his words were harsh. And they hurt. Just as the nice Doctor turned to scold his friend, you spoke up, tear running down your face.

“I hope Mr. Holmes, that you will visit my grave one day. I just wish to see your face when you realize that you were wrong.” you said as you stormed out of the house.

You felt so silly. And to think that you were extremely nervous when you decided to seek for his help. You didn’t even realize that you left your scarf at the house. 

***

You were truly helpless, you didn’t have any friends to talk to, your maids were fired by her, leaving only her trusted ones behind. You were trapped in your own house.

And you didn’t have evidence to go to the police either. Although you looked everywhere in the house for signs. But you were unable to find anything, no bottles, no poison, nothing.

The worst however was that you were gradually falling more ill, day after day.

It felt like you were dying from the inside. So, you called the doctor over.

The doctor said that your illness was due to the loss of your father. The doctor blamed depression, but you knew it wasn’t that. Not with the way your sister was smirking and smiling when she thought you weren’t watching.

One day, you felt so terrible, you couldn’t even get out of the bed. 

And from that day on, you didn’t.

You were so ill, the sun hurt your eyes and you felt useless. You just laid in bed, you weren’t even sure for how long.

You had barely any appetite. And you wondered how many days have passed.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, two gentlemen are here to talk to you. They said they brought your scarf back.” one of the maid’s said before they left, leaving the door open to let the two men in. You tried to sit up, look at least presentable, but you were too weak.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you recognized that voice, that calm and kind voice.

“Dr. Watson,” you said smiling at the man, not noticing that Sherlock was also in the room.

“You left your scarf. Don’t get me wrong, My Lady, but you look very ill.” said the doctor as he placed the cloth by your hand. You grabbed it and thanked him.

“The doctor was just here, yesterday I think. Said it’s only depression.” you said letting out a long sigh. 

“That’s ridiculous. I saw people looking more heathy on their death bed. May I examine you?” you gave him a weak nod, then you turned to Sherlock who was standing on the other side of your bed.

“Will you take my case now, or in a few days when I’m gone?” you asked looking at Sherlock. His eyes met yours.

***

Dr. Watson determined that you needed immediate care in a hospital. Although your sister argued with him, telling him that you already are in the care of a doctor. 

That day, Sherlock took your case. He clearly noticed something which he didn’t’t share at the time.

You were in the hospital for three days, and you already felt better. Every day Dr Watson would come over to talk about the case or ask questions. Although you were sure Sherlock was already close to finding evidence.

***

One day, you were finally better, so you could walk around a little. You were sitting outside, reading a book under a tree when you noticed Mr Holmes making his way over to you. 

“It was the food and the water and the tea and the cookies and everything.” said Sherlock as he sat down beside you. “You were poisoned gradually, small portions on everything you ate, and drank. The maid did it, because your sister ordered her to. Both are in custody as we speak for attempted murder.” he said, but even with your suspicions being right, you didn’t feel better.

“Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will pay you as soon as I get out of here.” you said before turning to look up the tree, watching a little bird hop from one branch to the other.

“Hmm.” you didn’t notice the look Sherlock gave you. But he noticed just how much livelier you looked. Your eyes shined, your skin shimmered in the light. You looked a lot better. “So, as I observed, you are not married. Neither am I.” he said.

You had to admit this was the worst possible way someone tried to court you. You looked at him, eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“I’m saying that I find you quite beautiful and I would like to know you better.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh? That’s it?”

“Don’t get me wrong Mr. Holmes, I appreciate the compliment, it’s just... Your timing, Sir. I am still in hospital because my sister tried to poison me, my brother-in-law is still out there, possibly stealing everything that he can move from my home. And you are...handsome.” 

“Then, I will be back with the same proposition in a few weeks. Ms Y/L/N.” he said as he stood up and left.

You laughed a little, thinking that he was joking.

After all, what could a man like him possibly want from you?

***

It had been almost a month since you left the hospital.

You were half right about your brother-in-law. He did steal a couple of items when he left, but luckily they didn’t mean anything to you, so you were just happy that he was gone. 

You hired new staff and fired everyone. You were not sure who you could trust.

You also made sure that every food and drink was thrown out or went down the sink. You were not taking any chances. 

The fact that you only had 2 members of staff made you do some work you were not used to. You were no brat and you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, so you helped with the cleaning where you could. 

You were working in the kitchen, cleaning the cupboards when a voice behind you made you startled. You nearly fell off the furniture as you were cleaning the very top shelves.

“Miss, Mr. Holmes is here.” 

“Thank you, Tina! Let him in, please.”

“He is here, Miss.”

This is when you finally turned around and noticed the man smiling up at you. Tina already left to get back to her duties.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Y/L/N. I must admit, every time we meet I can see a different side of yours. I have never seen a lady on the sink, cleaning the shelves.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” you said slowly climbing down. Sherlock helped you, making sure you won’t fall. “I assume you came for your payment. Give me a moment. I put it in an envelope in the library.”

You said washing your hands before heading into the library. You pulled the drawer of your father’s desk out and pulled the envelope out.

“For your speedy resolution, and for Dr. Watson’s help regarding my health, I added a bit extra. Thank you very much.” you said handing him the payment.

“I actually didn’t come for the payment, Ms. Y/L/N.” he said but you watched as he reached out to take the payment from you and slipped in into his pocket. “I’m here to keep my word. What I said in the hospital, I wish to get to know you better. You seem like a very interesting and smart woman. You realized that your sister was bad, even when everyone, including me, thought that you were delusional. I apologize for that.” you honestly didn’t know what to say. You thought he was a man who wouldn’t see you in a romantic matter. But then again, he just mentioned getting to know you.

“Maybe, you can stay over for lunch? I will cook up something nice.”

“You?”

“Yes, I am yet to hire a new cook, and in the meantime I do the cooking, my old nanny taught me a few recipes.”

“Sounds nice.”

And so, he stayed for lunch, dinner and the next day he came over again and every single day after.

He was charming, and the two of you could speak for hours about everything and anything.

Before you knew it, months, and years passed.

You certainly didn’t think that when you decided to go to Baker Street 221B to ask for help, you would find your future husband.

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[reignfms]

after near three blissful or chaotic months apart , the ravens slowly begin to filter in. many are weary , expecting the targayren seal to be planted upon the letters , so imagine their shock to discover that of a wolf.

with regret this letter has been written, king tylon stark has passed. 

you are cordially invited to attend the coronation of prince harrion stark as he ascends the throne as the king of the north. there will a tournament and festival to honor the new rulers of the north, as well as celebrate the great reign of king tylon.

and so their travels begin once more to pay respects for a great king and witness the crowning of prince harrion and princess ravella. despite the chill, the welcome in winterfell is warm and somber, but the commonfolk have come out of the woodwork to celebrate their new king and queen.

EVENT SPECIFIC INFO  .  the event will take place from the start of this post to fri., nov. 18th. if you would like to submit your characters to the jousting tournament, please do so before thurs, nov 3 as that is when i will be doing the brackets. 

the festival is nothing intense, just food + good vendors coming out to sell their wares and monopolize on the high traffic in king’s landing. the fur vendors have come out in droves, of course.

the coronation takes place on the first official day of the festivities, but many of those vendors have been around for the days leading up. we won’t actually write that event due to time constraints.

use the tag: rfms.event03, please only tag opens with the starter tag + ofc as usual everyone gets one free open and tbh just prioritize replying to opens as you’re able and you can post more than that.

OOC INFO  .  the king’s death is a direct result of the poisoning from the maester even after months of trying to treat him. his funeral was held prior to the arrival of many but feel free to have any northern houses have attended + arrived in time. 

this will place our characters as traveling through early winter, snowy but nothing that can’t be traveled safely if done right. it will be a stark change for many southerners who have never experienced snow before.

another post will be made with updates sent to the main regarding betrothals, marriages and deaths / large changes.

for any questions please just ask ! was a bit braindead writing this, likely forgot important bits.

as we have changed the date a few times, here is a full timeline of what is expected activity wise. ( times are relevant to cst ) there will be an activity check done tomorrow for anyone who has not posted at all in the previous 7 days. if you know you will fall on this check + be unable to post in time, please message the main so we can give you some leniency ! but do note this is a check, not an auto unfollow. players will have time to post ic. a full activity check will still be done on wednesday morning across all characters + accounts. at this point any new characters need to be posted on as well or they will simply be reopened.

[reidsmemory]

No Regrets

Spencer Reid

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: A dinner at Rossi’s has Spencer questioned by his teammates about his feeling towards you

Genre: Fluff

not my gif!

     Working at the BAU was hard. Constant flights around the country, seeing families that had lost so much, and of course having to deal with the sick minds of those who allowed your job to be possible. There were good sides to it as well; having a second family, friendships that would last a lifetime and more, as well as reuniting and saving innocent people. 

     Today was one of the good days. It was a local case and the team had caught the killer in less than two days due to the profile and him being just about the most unorganized killer their was. To celebrate, Rossi had offered to host a nice dinner at his and no one on the team passed up the chance to go over there. 

     You arrived a few hours after the case had wrapped up as you had gone home to take a shower and get ready. You had arrived in a flowy, black dress and some black sandals to match with your hair straightened as well as having little gold hoop earrings hanging from your ears. 

     You got out of your car and walked over to the front door of your colleagues house as you rang the door bell and waited for it to open.

     “Y/N, come on in,” Rossi swung open the door and ushered you to come through the doorway. “ Did you get home okay?” he asked as we walked to the kitchen.

     “Yeah, traffic wasn’t too bad,” you smiled as your other co-workers came into sight. 

     “Princess! You look stunning,” Derek called as he opened his arms, signalling for a hug. 

     “Not too bad yourself, D,” you hugged him tightly as he chuckled a bit. With an arm still around your shoulder you pulled back and greeted everyone else with a warm smile. JJ and Will as well as Henry were sitting at the other side of the island than you and Derek. Emily was standing next to Rossi as he as teaching her something about the food you all would be eating tonight. Hotch, Penny, and Reid had yet to arrive. 

     “Drink?” Derek asked as you nodded and he handed you a glass of water. 

     “So, no Savannah?” you asked as he shook his head.

     “She’s got a shift at the hospital tonight,” he told you, “leaving me all alone tonight.” 

     You laughed at his statement, “I think it’s payback for all the night we were out of town.” He hummed and took a swig of his beer. The chiming of the doorbell rang through the house as you looked to Rossi, “I’ve got it,” he nodded at your statement as you put down your glass and started walking towards the door.

     You opened it to find Penny in a bright pink dress with a yellow and green shall as well as some purple heels. “Am I late?” she asked before hugging you tightly. 

     “Not at all,” you said as you both turned to see Hotch’s car pull up, “looks like Spence is the last one to arrive.” Penelope nodded as you saw Hotch and Jack come towards the house. “Go ahead, I’ll wait for them,” you told the blonde as she nodded and went inside.

     Hotch spotted you by the door and pointed to Jack as his eyes lit up as he began running towards you. “Y/N!” he exclaimed as he jumped into your arms.

     “Hello, mister! You look amazing!” you said as he giggled and hid his face in your neck. “Hey, Boss,” you said as Hotch gave you a side hug.

     “I’m pretty sure Jack likes you more than he does me,” Hotch told you as you went into the house. You smiled at him as Jack had taken a fascination towards your earrings. “What’s Rossi cooking up?” 

     “As far as I can tell, something that smells really good.” Hotch chuckled as you came to the kitchen and everyone turned their attention towards the three of you. Everyone began conversing again as you walked over to Derek with Jack still attached to your hip.

     “Let’s move over to the couch, yeah?” Derek said as you nodded and went to the joint living room. You put Jack down on the couch as Derek followed and soon JJ, Will, and Henry. Smiling as Henry began to share his action figures with Jack as both boys urged you to play with them. 

     “You can be Wonder Woman,” Henry handed you action figure.

     “Can I be Spider-Man?” Jack asked as Henry nodded and handed him the action figure.

     “I’ll be Batman!” the boys began to play as you joined and supervised as well seeing as Derek, Will, and JJ had been talking about something that wasn’t as interesting to you as playing with the boys. In fact the sound of the doorbell went over your head as you played with the two boys. 

     “Oh no! Poison Ivy is spreading her vines all over the city!” Jack cried as all of you got to work on defeating the villain. 

     Spencer had come in and immediately saw you on the carpet playing with the boys as his heart swelled. Spencer had always had a crush on you, from the first day you joined the BAU. With the both of you being the youngest on the team as well as your love for reading, the two of you had become very close which only fueled Reid’s feelings for you even further. 

     Seeing you play with the boys was an image he was unable to tear his eyes away from as Morgan quickly caught on. 

     “Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek called as Spencer whipped his head around.

     “What?”  

     “Ask her out.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed bright pink at this statement. “And don’t give me that ‘I don’t like her like that’ crap because I will profile you so much, boy.”

     Spencer sat next to Morgan, “you can’t tell her.” Derek grinned as Spencer looked at him, “i’m serious. I can’t ruin our relationship!” he whispered.

     “Come on! She likes you too!”

     “No way,” Spencer said, “I can’t risk it, Morgan. She’s too important to me.” Derek sighed as he looked at his friend. 

     “I’m just saying, Kid. If you don’t ask her, you are going to regret it.” Derek was interrupted as both boys finally looked up and saw Spencer. 

      “Spencer!” they both said as they set down the toys and ran towards the tall man. You had also looked up and met eyes with Spencer as you smiled brightly at the man and began to make your way over to him as well.

     “Hey guys!” Spencer said as he gave both the kids a hug as they smiled at the man. You walked over and Spencer opened his arms as you hugged him tightly, “hey, Y/N.”

     “Hi, Spence,” you pulled away and as you were about to tell him about the upcoming movie marathon that would interest the both of you, Emily had called you over to taste test something her and Rossi had been working on. 

     Derek looked at Spencer with a wide grin as the brown haired man blushed. “I’m serious, man. Anyone would be lucky to have a girl like Y/N and you’ve got a pretty good shot of being that anyone.” Derek handed Reid a beer as the doctor took a long drink which surprised the man next to him. 

     “Dinner is served!” Rossi called as everyone gathered around the kitchen. This was going to be a long night.

***

     Spencer had about 4 beers between the time he arrived and now, which was 2 and half hours later and if you knew anything about Spencer Reid then you would know he is a lightweight. Rossi had cooked up something delicious as the team had conversed over dinner and Spencer had his eyes trained on you the entire time as well as making conversation about any and everything.

     Everyone had moved outside and were now on Rossi’s deck as Hotch, JJ, and Will played with the kids, Emily and Penelope conversed about scheduling another girls day in the near future, and Rossi and Morgan talking about an old case that had still rattled their brains. 

     Spencer and you leaned over the railing of the deck as you watched the stars. “Did you know that Venus will be shining it’s brightest on April 28th, which is only a couple of week from now,” he informed you as you nodded and listened wholeheartedly. 

     “We should star gaze that night, maybe Whitmore Park. Bring blankets and just lay out and watch the night sky,” you turned to him as his doe eyes watched you, “what do you think?” 

     “Definitely,” he said immediately as a smile made it’s way to your face as he mirrored it. “Y/N?” you raised your eyebrows and hummed, signaling for him to go on. “Why do you want to do all those things with me? The movie marathons, the star gazing, chess on the plane?”

     You looked at him with a small frown on your face, “because you’re my best friend. What do you mean, Spence?”

     “Best friend,” he repeated. 

     “That’s what I said. Are you feeling okay?” you asked as he just stared at you.

     “Just friends right,” he whispered to himself as you furrowed your eyebrows, “why can’t I be something more?” This time he looked at you, but was still speaking softly as to not attract any attention. 

     “Do you want to be something more?” you spoke even quieter. 

     He nodded his head at your word he set his drink down. “I’m super drunk right now, but I think it’s a good thing because I want you to know and I definitely won’t have this much courage when i’m sober. So, will you go out with me?”

     He looked at you, waiting for his answer, but to no avail, your face was emotionless as he mentally screamed at himself. His screams were cut short.

     You placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him towards you for a kiss. You lips melted together as you smiling into the kiss as he put both his hand on the sides of your face, cradling it softly.

     You pulled away as you saw a bright smile on his face and wide twinkling eyes. “I would like that very much, Doc,” you told him as you rested your head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. 

     The stars shining brighter than ever. 

[goldenavenger02]

Pillow Fights and Long Nights

5 Times Kai was in the hospital for Lloyd, 1 time Lloyd should have been in the hospital, and 1 time Lloyd was in the hospital for Kai.

Dedicated to @rosiehunterwolf

•••

1.

'I should've been watching him.' Kai thought to himself as they all stood in the waiting room of Ninjago City hospital. Since there were multiple doctors in Ignacia, he and Nya had never needed to be here.

However, hearing Jay's horror stories about multiple failed inventions landing him in here for days at a time, or hearing about Cole's failed dancing resulting in at least two different injuries, not to mention the Triple Tiger Sashay incident, was definitely not calming his nerves.

He shouldn't have left Lloyd alone with the training equipment he didn't know how to use, when there had been multiple other people who could've been checking where they were while waiting on a Serpentine sighting.

When he had been forced out of the Bridge because of Jay screaming, saying that Lloyd was bleeding on the deck, Kai had only ever felt that sinking feeling in his stomach twice before.

When Nya was taken by Garmadon, and when Lloyd nearly sank into the lava inside of the Fire Temple.

Which led to where they were now. The hailed "protectors of Ninjago" leaning against chairs and the wall of the hospital, staring at the door that Sensei, Lord Garmadon and Lloyd had disappeared behind, and pretending that they were not there at all in order to keep their heart rates from getting out of control.

"-which is why I stopped trying to climb the piles of junk." Jay's voice rang back in his head, snapping him out of his thoughts and he could feel fire against his hand.

"Kai, calm down," Nya's voice perked up, gently setting her hand on his arm, and Kai allowed himself to take a deep breath, the fire extinguishing from his hand, "I know you're upset, but if you burn down the hospital, you're going to be in a lot of trouble. This is probably a place we don't need to get banned from."

"Yeah, I'm just worried. He's been in there for over an hour and we haven't heard anything," Kai explained, letting his eyes flutter closed with worry, "I shouldn't have left him alone."

"You didn't know he would get hurt," Cole explained, putting his hand on his other shoulder, "you can't put that on yourself."

"But I knew that he was still getting the hang of the training equipment, and I knew that you guys were standing by and waiting for the Serpentine sighting." Kai argued, but Zane just shook his head before speaking up.

"We've gotten hurt multiple times using that equipment, and it wasn't this bad. You were probably just expecting a bump or bruise at the most, even if it was more so an instinct than an actual thought."

"Yeah, no one blames you, dude." Jay added, putting his hand against Kai's back when finally, the door opened and Sensei came out.

"He's going to be alright," he assured before any of them could say a word, and Kai couldn't keep his sigh of relief in, "He has a concussion, and he has to stay overnight so he can be monitored, but he's going to be just fine."

"Can we see him?" Kai asked, and had to swallow when Sensei shook his head "no", because while he knew Garmadon wouldn't hurt Lloyd after they just got him back, he still felt uneasy with him being around Lloyd by himself.

"He's sleeping now, and his father is with him. We'll come back in a few hours, but we still have to stay vigilant and make sure that Pythor doesn't get the last Fangblade."

"Yes, Sensei." All six of them groaned and made their way back to the Bounty, and Kai had to force his feet to go and avoid disrespecting Sensei yet again, no matter how tempting it was.

2.

"Well, the good news is that Cole's going to throw out expired spices now." Kai joked, sitting on the edge of Lloyd's hospital bed, phone in hand as he updated Nya on Lloyd's condition.

Due to a flu going around, only one person was allowed to visit at a time, and Sensei had decided that Kai should stay with him while he went to stock up on healing teas for this exact scenario in the future.

"Not funny, dude," Lloyd groaned, curling up on his side, "my stomach still feels like it's going to explode."

"I think it already did." Kai chuckled, immediately regretting it when he saw the look of pure misery on Lloyd's face, which had him shoving his phone in his pocket before looking right at him, "sorry, I'll stop. Can I get you another ginger ale?"

"I'm just going to throw it up," Lloyd sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before turning on the TV.

Unfortunately, they were immediately greeted by Gayle Gossip talking about how Garmadon had seemingly gone missing, which Kai reached over and turned off, seeing Lloyd put his head in his hands, "on second thought, I'd rather throw up."

Kai couldn't help but smile sympathetically at him, gently squeezing his hand. "You've got us, Lloyd," that's when an idea popped into his head, "let me text Zane, see if we can figure out a way to smuggle some of his chicken noodle soup in here."

"Don't let him use the expired spices," Lloyd groaned as Kai pulled out his phone again.

"It'd probably taste better than the food in here." Kai teased with a smile, receiving a glare from Lloyd; and in hindsight, the pillow he received to the face from Lloyd was most likely well deserved.

3.

"Just a sprained wrist, Kai," the doctor smiled softly as they wrapped bandages around the cut that covered his left arm, "you're very lucky."

Kai nodded, although he wasn't focused on the pain in his wrist, and more so on the fact that they maybe had two minutes of peace before Lloyd had passed out against him due to the absolute exhaustion from the final battle.

And while he knew that he had his uncle and parents, he couldn't stop the worry from clawing at his heart as the moment replayed in his head.

•••

"There's no way of knowing what's around the corner, but as long as there's something worth fighting for, there's always a need for a ninja. And we'll be ready." Kai insisted to Sensei, watching as his team approached him.

He couldn't keep the grin off his face as they looked to the brightness, one hand on Sensei's back and the other on Lloyd's shoulder. 'Little Lloyd Garmadon saved the day.'

However, just when they looked away from the sun, and the others started to spread out, that's when Kai noticed just how pale Lloyd was, even with a smile on his face. "Lloyd? You okay?" He asked softly, nudging his shoulder.

"My leg hurts…" Lloyd mumbled, his words slurring slightly, but before Kai could alert the others, Lloyd was already unconscious and slumped against his chest.

"Sensei!" He called out, gently maneuvering Lloyd so he was on his back, watching as the others ran back towards him, "Sensei, a little help!"

•••

Kai made his way to the waiting room with instructions to avoid using his left wrist, and kept back the disappointment when he didn't see Lloyd, but he couldn't hold back his relief to see Nya and immediately engulfed her in a hug which she returned just as tightly. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"I'm glad you're okay," she smiled before pulling away, glancing down at his arm before looking back at him, "well, mostly."

Kai couldn't ignore the bandage against her cheek, and when he looked back at his other teammates, it seemed as though Zane and his father were the only ones unscathed.

Cole was absolutely littered in bruises nearly everywhere that there was bare skin, both of Nya's eyes had bruises around them along with scratches that covered both of her arms, and he could tell that Jay's ribs were at least bruised by the way he was breathing, not to mention the stitches that were peeking out from the neckline of his gi.

"How's Lloyd?" Kai asked softly, unable to stop holding onto his sister, watching as her face switched from a smile to a soft frown. 'That was never good.'

"He's absolutely drained, not to mention his ankle was nearly shattered. The doctors think that it was the adrenaline that kept him from feeling it. They're not letting anyone who isn't family see him until after they do surgery on it."

"They don't have the right to call us anything other than his family." Kai scowled, pushing past Nya as his chest burned, determined to find Lloyd even if he burned the whole hospital down around them.

Luckily for the staff, Lloyd's room was easy to find and Kai immediately walked in, resulting in the turn of Sensei, Misako and Garmadon's heads.

"Kai, calm down." Sensei insisted firmly, holding a hand out towards Kai but he couldn't stop him from going to Lloyd, which forced him to swallow.

His skin was the palest he had ever seen, even compared to when he had gotten food poisoning a few months back, his ankle was wrapped up, but Kai could still see the bruises stretch up his leg, and his under eyes were dark, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Kai, it might be best for you to wait with the others." Sensei suggested softly, putting his hands on his shoulders, but he shook him off and grabbed Lloyd's hand instead.

"I made a promise to protect the green ninja, to fight beside him; with all due respect, Sensei, I can't do that in a waiting room. And if any of you try to make the argument that I'm not family, I'm going to fight you tooth and nail," Kai stopped for a moment to look at Lloyd's sunken face before turning back to his three parental figures, "Lloyd's my brother, just as much as Nya is my sister. I'm not leaving him."

To Kai's surprise, Garmadon was actually the one who approached him and set his hand on his shoulder before he spoke, "no one is going to kick you out, Kai. And if they try, they'll have to go through me."

Kai nodded, and despite the fact he was no longer evil, he was still a little shocked that he was agreeing with Garmadon.

But at the same time, as he held Lloyd's hand in his, he had never been happier to have him on his side.

4.

"I can't believe how awesome your powers are, Nya." Jay admired, resulting in a smile from Nya, which Kai watched from afar.

He knew that Nya viewed them as friends, but with the way Jay looked at her, he had a flicker of something telling him that they would get together again someday

"I can't believe that I'm still being put on the pediatric ward," Lloyd mumbled, throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at the trash can, "I'm one of Ninjago's protectors and I'm still being treated like a kid."

That brought Kai back to the present as all five of them had crammed themselves into Lloyd's hospital room after the events of what had happened in Stiix.

After all, nearly losing Lloyd to Morro was nerve wracking for all of them, and after the events of the battle against the preeminent, Lloyd had all but passed out on the way back to Ninjago City due to being sleep deprived and malnourished.

"In their defense, Lloyd, you are under the age of eighteen, which means unless there were special circumstances, you are required to be put with other minors." Zane supplied, which only received a sarcastic response from Lloyd.

"Thanks, Zane. Real helpful." And with that, he threw another piece of paper at the trash can.

Kai shot a glance towards Cole, silently telling him that he needed to talk to Lloyd alone and hoped that he got the newly turned ghost's attention, even though they were all still coming to terms with the change.

Luckily, Cole was still Cole, and got the message loud and clear before turning to the others; "Hey, let's go check out the cafeteria, see if we can find anything worth smuggling up here to Lloyd."

After Zane, Jay, Nya and Cole left, and Kai could no longer hear Jay's questions about if Cole even needed to eat anymore, he turned to Lloyd and sat next to him on the bed, taking in Lloyd's condition.

His under eyes were very dark, his skin was way too pale and Kai could see just how much muscle mass Lloyd had lost, and how he seemed like a shell of the lively kid who loved candy and pranking his brothers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kai asked softly, gently squeezing Lloyd's right shoulder since his hand had an IV in it that was currently pumping him full of fluids and electrolytes.

"My dad...is really gone," Lloyd stopped to wipe the tears that started running down with his left arm, even though more followed immediately after, "I-I don't know what to do anymore."

Kai didn't stop himself from pulling him into a hug, feeling the warm tears leak through his gi as Lloyd gripped onto him tighter. "I've got you, Lloyd," he felt the tears against his cheek while squeezing his brother tighter, "You've still got me."

5.

Kai couldn't keep his foot from tapping on the ground as he waited for Lloyd and Misako to get to the waiting room.

After Cole had become human once again, and Morro had disappeared, the majority of the group got to work on emptying out the Airjitzu temple, except for Kai, Misako and Lloyd.

When he saw the fact that Lloyd had a massive cut running from his left cheek to his jawline, and heard that Misako was taking Lloyd to the hospital despite his protests that "he'd have the coolest battle scar", Kai had offered to drive them to the hospital.

The only thing he knew about their Day of the Departed was from the hushed whispers that they had shared on the drive, which had the key words like "Pythor" and "my father", so he knew it was just as bad as what he and Nya had gone through with Chen, if not way worse.

The hospital was nearly empty, so his foot was tapping on the floor and he had his phone open to social media, trying to keep himself from losing his mind.

"Mom, I'm fine." He heard Lloyd insist as two sets of footsteps approached him, and he put his phone in his pocket, smiling when he saw the two of them, the younger of the two sporting a giant bandage against the left side of his face, which Lloyd seemed to take offense to as he snapped, "don't even start making jokes, Kai."

"Hey, hey, relax, Green Machine, I'm smiling cause you're okay," Kai insisted, wrapping his arm around Lloyd's shoulder as they made their way to the car before whispering, "if you need to talk to someone besides your mom, I'm here for you, okay?"

"I don't need to talk, but…" Lloyd trailed off, glancing at his mom before returning eye contact with Kai, "it'd be nice if I wasn't alone tonight."

"We'll figure it out, kid," Kai smiled, shuddering as they were met with the freezing air, feeling Lloyd get closer to him, "I swear."

5.5

"How could Lloyd be so...so stupid?!" Kai shouted, his hands going to his hair in anger, "he should've waited for us to come up with a plan!"

"You know that you did this once too, right Kai?" Cole piped up, and Kai couldn't respond with anything but a glare, because he was right.

Kai himself had fought Garmadon without a plan and even locked his team out of the room, but he thought that the golden weapons were being stolen, as for Lloyd…

Well, now that he thought about it, Lloyd had good reasoning as well; he wanted to bring his father, all of his father, back, and with how many nights he had fallen asleep in his arms, eyes full of grief, Kai couldn't even blame him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, the worry striking his heart like a loaded cannon that had just gotten new ammunition. 'I can't lose Lloyd, not now. Not after everything.'

Kai felt a cool, soft hand against his shoulder, and he didn't stop himself from clinging onto Zane while starting to chew on his lip, feeling his teeth start to make small indents against his skin.

"That's him!" PIXAL's voice rang in Kai's head as the Bounty slowed to a stop, Jay, Cole and Nya immediately rushing out, but Zane continued to hold onto Kai.

"Let me go!," Kai shouted, his vision going red as anger burned in his chest as he started to fight against Zane's hold, "I need to see Lloyd!"

"It would be unwise for you to see Lloyd until he's back on the Bounty, as we are trying to get out of here as soon as possible," Zane explained, the tight hold still feeling gentle against his shoulder, "they'll bring him aboard soon."

"Nya, how is he?" PIXAL asked over the comms, bringing Kai's attention to them as he focused in on his little sister's voice.

"We need the gurney, he's… He's in really bad shape," she explained, a sniffle cutting her off before she continued, "Kai, Zane, be ready to take him to control; it's still set up from where we fixed Zane."

"We're on it." Kai insisted, his heart beating so loud that he could hear it as he and Zane sprinted outside as the gurney was lifted on deck while the others climbed the ropes; Kai couldn't keep his gasp in when Lloyd's face hit the light.

His nose was definitely broken, both of his eyes were black, and the rest of his face was covered in scratches and bruises; he didn't even want to know what was under Lloyd's gi.

As he and Zane lifted Lloyd, the hot skin against their hands, he let out a groan that made Kai wince. 'Lloyd is the level headed one, he doesn't do this. He doesn't run off into danger.'

But as the two of them laid Lloyd down, Kai swallowed harshly, because Lloyd had in fact run into danger before...for his family.

As the others ran into the room, minus Nya who was calling Misako, and started to patch up Lloyd's injuries as best as they could, Kai couldn't help from speaking up. "He needs to be in the hospital. He's way too hot, and way too injured."

"Where would we even go? Harumi and the Sons of Garmadon are patrolling the city like crazy, we'll be lucky to even make it in, let alone get him inside of the hospital." Cole explained, gently wiping the sand off of Lloyd's face.

Kai relented; he knew Cole was right, there was no way to get him professional medical treatment, and he just had to hope that Misako had some idea of where to take him, cause he also knew that there was no way that Lloyd was going to live if they only used their limited medical knowledge and supplies.

Lloyd's wheeze was what brought Kai out of his thoughts and he instantly wrapped both of his hands around his left one before whispering in Lloyd's ear.

"It's going to be okay, we're going to save you. Just focusing on staying alive."

6.

He had pushed himself too far.

As Kai sat in his room in the burn unit, looking at his fully bandaged arms and wrists, he knew that. He also knew that he was extremely grateful for the pain medication that kept him from feeling both the burns and the frost bite.

"So this is what the normal ward looks like." Lloyd remarked as he got up from the chair and sat on the end of Kai's bed with a smile.

"Yeah, not as many fun decorations, squirt," Kai joked before going serious, "I don't wanna see you in here unless you're visiting someone else, you got that?"

"Unfortunately for me, being the "prophesied green ninja" doesn't give me that luxury," Lloyd lamented before glaring at Kai, "and don't call me squirt, I'm finally gaining up on you."

"You could be six four and I'd still call you squirt, it's my job as an older brother, ask Nya. As for staying out of the hospital, you're supposed to humor me, chosen one," Kai snorted, receiving a pillow to the face, "hey, I can't retaliate!"

"I'd prefer being a kid over being the chosen one and you know it." Lloyd explained, glaring daggers at Kai, to which he raised his hands in surrender before asking.

"Alright, I'll stop. Where are the others? They usually don't let you walk around unsupervised."

"PIXAL and Zane are on a date, Nya insisted that they hang out together after we got back from the Never Realm; Jay and Nya are working on some upgrades to the Bounty, and Cole and my uncle went shopping, something about chicken feed," Lloyd explained before smiling at Kai, "besides, I'm not unsupervised, I'm hanging out with you."

Kai couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his face as he managed to sit up and ruffle up Lloyd's hair, even though it was immediately followed by a rush of searing hot pain from the movement.

"Alright, hot head," Lloyd laughed, gently pushing Kai back against the pillows, "leave my hair alone and get some rest; for once, let me take care of you."

"Pretty sure that's illegal." Kai retorted, immediately being smacked with another pillow, although not as hard as the first one, "can you stop doing that?"

'You better think of a creative threat against him.' He thought to himself.

"What're you going to do about it?" Lloyd challenged, picking up a third pillow, which led Kai to smirk before putting on his best pouting face.

"I'm going to tell Nya that you were being really mean to me when I'm injured and weak, and have her deal with you accordingly."

Whatever punishment Lloyd had thought of Nya giving him was enough for him to drop the pillow immediately with a look of terror on his face, and Kai couldn't even blame him; Nya was never a force to be reckoned with, whether you were an enemy or family.

The room went silent for a few minutes after that, until Lloyd sniffled, which made Kai's ears perk up as he sat up again, wrapping his upper arm around Lloyd's shoulder so his wrist and hand wasn't touching anything, "hey, hey, what's wrong? If it's about throwing pillows, I-"

"No, not that…," Lloyd's voice shook before he turned slightly and hugged Kai around the stomach tightly, nearly knocking the wind out of him, "I can't lose anyone else. Not anymore. I almost lost you and Zane, and I… Not again."

Kai pulled Lloyd towards him closer so he could cry against his shoulder, despite the fact that it sent the same searing pain through his body again, "I've got you, Lloyd. You're going to have a really tough time getting rid of me, you know that."

After a few moments, Lloyd emerged from his shoulder, now glaring at him again, and Kai knew exactly why this time; might not be best to joke about loss to the kid who had been abandoned by his mom and lost his dad twice now.

"Yeah, throw the pillow at my head, I deserve that this time."

Kai didn't expect the hit to be so hard that his head almost spun all the way around, but seeing the smirk on Lloyd's face made all the neck and jaw pain worth it.

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Sweet Poison - Yandere Alpha! Tamaki Amajiki x Omega! Reader - Pt 2

Warnings: forced/unknown drug-use, this one is pretty safe for work I guess? Idk maybe there should be a warning that this is all over the place. I felt like we needed some background, a go-between from part 1 to the next part. 

Word Count: 1.8 k 

This part I feel like kinda downplays the whole yandere thing... i’m not sure i’m getting it to come across right but just wait till next part. This is more kind of backstory and explanation. 

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The first time that Tamaki’s eyes landed on you, he knew that you were the one. The sun that out-shown even Mirio. The sun that had him squinting, unable to look your way. You were a third year, like him, studying in the support course. You had been assigned to work with him on updating his costume, perfecting every minor detail until it was all completely perfect. You had wanted to be a designer, and your work was … flawless to Tamaki’s eyes. One look at his recently upgraded costume had him convinced you could easily make it big in the costume fashion industry.

It wasn’t until he smelled you, truly smelled you, however, did he truly lose his mind. To him your scent was absolute perfection, warm and inviting, making him feel like he was basking in the sunshine that you emitted. He was enamored when he first met you… his alpha was obsessed.

Any chance he got, any excuse, he would make his way over to the support workshop that you spent majority of your time in, always dragging either Mirio or Nejire along, never getting out more than a stutter to you about any changes if any that he wanted to make to his costume, most of the time not even asking you for anything and just watching from afar as his classmates handled their business in the workshop with the students that had been assigned to their respective costumes, pretending he hadn’t come just to watch you.

You had approached him first, struck up the first conversation that lasted more than three words. Making him practically jump out of his skin when one moment he had you in the corner of his eye as he listened to Nejire prattle off about how she wanted a way to better stabilize her in midair, the next you were lightly tugging on his uniform jacket, your omega scent enveloping him completely.

Before he could even react you had whisked him away from his safety net of his friend, off towards your workstation where you had launched into a long-winded explanation about a dream that you had had, one where you had seen a different version of his costume clear as day and how you just had to run the idea by him and see if he liked it.

His brain was too focused on the fact that you had straight out said you had dreamed about him.

It had taken you several moments of him openly staring at you, the first time that he had actually made eye contact, his face as red as a tomato to realize what you had said. You hadn’t meant to let that small detail slip out, only wanted to show him the drawings you had come up with, and within seconds you were redder than he was, your scent turning sour with panic. Would the alpha freak out? Would he insist that some other support student, one that didn’t have creepy dreams about an alpha they didn’t know, an alpha that probably was already courting someone else, work on his costume? You were devastated at the thought, the thought that you wouldn’t get to work on the Suneater’s costume. At the thought that he would find you creepy and an annoying needy omega. At the thought that he could reject you before you had even had a chance.

After all, he hadn’t been the only one that had taken notice of the other. You had clocked him the very first time he had stepped into the workshop several weeks ago already knowing who he was, noticed the way that his scent immediately had you calming down, your omega yearning to reach out and find safety in his arms as soon as you saw him.  Not to mention you had thought he was ridiculously cute, and had already had a smidge of a crush after watching him at the sports festival the previous year. You had found it beyond endearing the first time he had been dragged over to your station by his blue haired friend, barely getting out a stutter before his friend took over explaining what he had wanted updated in his costume.

As soon as his brain registered the absolute panicked sour scent wafting off of you he was moving into action, his fingers softly brushing your own before they slipped around your palm, holding your hand so gently as his thumb rubbed your hand reassuringly. His alpha pumping out it’s best calming scent, the one that was supposed to biologically tell omega’s that they were safe. The one that had you practically melting into his arms. He was a stuttering mess as he reassured you that it was fine, that he found it cute that you were so excited to work with him on his costume, and to please relax, that you were okay, everything was okay.

Once he had gotten you to calm down, the two of you had immediately separated upon noticing just how close you had gotten, faces remaining red throughout the rest of your conversation. He had been content to listen to you as you explained in great detail just all the changes that you had envisioned, and you had been beyond ecstatic that you had him sitting at your work bench, his attention solely on you. You don’t even think he noticed he was making eye contact with you the whole time, intensity in his eyes that had you running out of air.

Just a few short weeks later and the two of you had started courting. Your relationship feeling like a whirlwind once it started, the closer the two of you got, the more confident the shy alpha grew, living up to his secondary sex. Within two months you had already moved your nest into his room, being practically inseparable.

You were completely and immeasurably in love with your alpha. Knowing without a doubt that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. The high that you got when you were with him, touching him, kissing him, tasting him, nothing could ever come close to feeling as good. You never wanted it to end.

Unbeknownst to you, Tamaki was clouding your mind.

--

“Bunny…” Soft kisses were scattered across your face, fingers weaving into your hair and brushing it out of your sleepy face as you groaned softly at being woken up at such an early hour. You tried to cuddle further into the warm side of your alpha, but he was already whispering into your ear, an apology thick in his voice.

Your eyes shot open, pure panic in them that Tamaki immediately kissed your nose to dispel, his pouted lips mirroring your own.

“I know bunny, I want to stay to, but I have to go.” He was already completely dressed in his costume, ready to go. The costume that you had designed, not that the label had stated that, all costumes having to be signed off on and therefor claimed by one of the several designers that the school worked with.

The soft whimper that left your lips had him sighing softly, pressing his lips against yours, you relaxing within second against his touch, enjoying the way your brain went fuzzy, feeling warm inside. Still you pouted when he pulled away, desperate for more.

“Can’t you say you’re sick?” You sounded needy, like an annoying omega in one of the novels you had read, but you couldn’t help it, you felt physically sick with anxiety the longer he was away, last time he had only been gone for six hours and you had been cold and shaking when he returned desperate for his touch and the relief that came with it.

“I’m sorry, you know I can’t. I have to go catch the bad guys, to keep you safe.” That was what he had told himself over and over, that he was doing all of this to keep you safe. That he was going to be the strongest hero and get rid of as many scum off the streets as possible, just so he could have some piece of mind on the rare occasion that you went out with your friends. Not that he didn’t follow you every time. Still, even as he hid in the shadows, watching you and making sure you were safe, he felt restless.

Glancing at his clock he felt his heart break, he had to go now. Leaning down once more he rubbed his nose side to side against yours, pressing one last soft kiss to the tip of it making sure to coat his lips with the poison seeping through his skin before he forced himself out of bed, and out the door.

He had felt guilty, every time that he used the toxic drug that he could produce from eating certain mushrooms on you, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to do it. He knew the affect that it had on people, in small doses, the way that it made them high, made them feel like they were flying. The best feeling they had ever had, and he couldn’t help but want to make you feel that way. To be the only one who could make you feel that way, the way that you had made him feel every time he saw you.

He had found out one day while testing different foods with his quirk, deciding to test a poisonous mushroom just to see what would happen, knowing due to the special lining in his stomach it wouldn’t affect him.  Seen the way that it affected his sparring partner, even though he had given them the smallest dose he could under strict supervision from their teacher who hadn’t been completely okay with the idea but saw the benefits it could have. After they had come down from it they had given him a detailed description and he immediately felt hooked on the idea of giving it to you.

He had come back to his room that night, planning on asking you if you wanted to try it, only to find you distraught and upset from a negative comment you had received from one of your teachers on a costume piece you had worked on for months. He had just wanted to make you feel better, and no matter what his alpha did it wasn’t working, you were devastated. He was livid that they had made you feel like this, that they didn’t like the creation that to him was beyond perfection. Those idiots clearly had no taste, but he couldn’t fix that. The only thing he could do was make his pretty bunny feel better, and he knew just how to do it.

He didn’t think that months later he would still be doing it, but the way that you reacted, the way that you clung to him, begged to be near him at all times, the way that you were completely and absolutely obsessed with him had him swallowing mushroom after mushroom.

He would do anything to keep you happy, to keep you by his side.

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Want to show your support? Buy me a coffee!

[thewhiteroseofvermilion]

Moving Forward

Hello everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to you all, and an even longer time since I’ve last updated this story. Over the months and years, my absence has saddened, frustrated, and even angered many of you. Despite my own valid feelings of how—to put it bluntly—I don’t owe any of you anything as this is something I do for free and in my own free time, I still recognize how it must feel for you all to see something you enjoy so much slowly lose momentum and eventually grind to a halt. Furthermore, my habit of making enthusiastic yet empty statements in between didn’t help either. 

As such, a proper and honest explanation is due, as anything less would be unkind. This will be lengthy, but please bear with me. 

For the past four years, it’s been increasingly difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation for me to properly sit down and write. Seemingly gone are the early days of this story’s life when I was able to publish a new chapter every month or so, or even every two weeks when I was at the top of my game in terms of activeness. Even though I had an immense workload due to being a double major in college, leading me to adopt the best work ethic I’ve ever had, I still led a sheltered lifestyle where I didn’t have to worry about the many looming, inevitable adult responsibilities that were ahead of me.

Those tranquil years of course came to an end when I graduated, and I soon felt immense pressure to shift my attention to finding work, living independently, and working on things that would further my career. While I received support as an aspiring writer from the majority of my family, those being my mother and sister, the both of them commented more frequently as time passed by that my “fanfiction” wasn’t something that I should be spending so much time on anymore. After all, it’s not like I could sell the work as my own, and the fact that despite fanfiction absolutely being a valid artform, it wasn’t something that the world of professional employers cared about. 

Nonetheless, when I did eventually find work as a film freelancer, I still tried to persevere and write on the side. My goal back then was to work in film in order to sustain my pursuit in writing. Film was something I went to school for, greatly enjoyed, and even saw a possible future career for myself in, but it was the writing aspect of it that I was truly after, that being primarily screenwriting. 

After two years of living at home, I felt the need to try and live independently as I outgrew my tiny room and my mom started dating a man that I didn’t particularly like. I knew it wasn’t financially smart of me to do so when my mom allowed me to live with her rent-free. But at the time I thought that it would help me to become more mature and productive, as I would have to force myself to work in order to put a roof over my head and food on the table—as opposed to living a sheltered life at home where everything was taken care of for me. Essentially, I was longing for the lifestyle I had in college, thinking that once I returned to it, I would be able to reacquire that once incredible work ethic I had. 

So, I became roommates with a friend from college and together we rented a townhouse together. Rent wasn’t terribly expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, I was able to make ends meet. My greatest challenge however, was to live up to my family’s spoken and unspoken expectations. On one hand, my mother was sweet and understanding, naturally giving me her full support. My father, on the other, always thought that it’d be better for me to pursue something safer and more lucrative, and to not risk being a starving artist. But the one I had to prove myself the most to was my older sister, who was wildly more successful than I was—financially and professionally. My pay compared to hers was like a drop in a bucket, and I felt both indirect and direct pressure from her to be more “professional” like her. Therefore, I threw myself into my work, which is when things slowly began to go downhill. 

As a film freelancer, my work hours usually averaged between 10-12 hours a day, and with my work taking me all over my home state of Maryland and even into neighboring Washington DC and Virginia, my commute time to and from work ranged anywhere from an additional 1-3 hours. It became incredibly common for me to wake up for work anywhere between 3-6 AM and not get home until 8-10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I slowly slipped into a routine where when I did have the “time” to write, I had zero energy or motivation as my work was so taxing. I reached the point where I had to drink two energy drinks with 300mg of caffeine to get myself to and from work. I saw less and less of my roommate and friends. I spent an alarming amount of money and gained weight from ordering take-out so often because I hadn’t the energy to cook for myself when I got home late from work. There would even be days when I fell into what felt like comas, sleeping up to two days straight at one point. My physical, mental, and emotional health was in serious decline. And yet I didn’t see it that way, as I had become obsessed with trying to prove to my family, my sister in particular, that I wasn’t a failure and that my pursuit of writing wasn’t a hopeless one.

During the first month of COVID-19′s outbreak last year, I finally had a much-needed vacation. This was undoubtedly the best time for me to have returned to writing—but I didn’t. At this point, so much time had passed since my last proper writing session that the few times I did try to write, I found myself completely unable to write anything. I was so out of practice and so out of touch with what I had written. This honestly frightened me, and I soon began to doubt if I could ever be able continue the story with the same quality that so many readers fell in love with. Regrettably, I fled from this revelation long enough for a full month to pass by, and I soon found myself busy with yet another distraction: unemployment. 

I was out of work for about 4.5 months, from the middle of March to the beginning of August. During this time, I had to rely on state unemployment, which earned me great scorn from my older sister. Our relationship had always been uneven since we were kids, but it was becoming increasingly toxic as of late since our college years. I felt so ashamed to tell her how much money I made in a year from my job as a film freelancer, and how I barely managed to move to a better position after four years of work. Riddled with guilt and disappointment in myself, when work became readily available again in August, I frantically threw myself back in harder than ever before. In the past where I had turned down the occasional job to give myself some time to relax or in order to make it to a social outing with friends, I now accepted every job thrown my way, only declining those that would make me double-book myself. I earned a lot of money during those months as a result, and I was so happy to finally distance myself from the stigma of being “unemployed.” However, I once again failed to see that I was yet again sliding back into the lifestyle that had been slowly poisoning me for the past two years. 

After essentially working non-stop from August to March, my body, mind, and soul soon returned right back to the brink of collapse. It wasn’t until then at my lowest point when I finally realized how I initially went from working to sustain myself in order to write, to not writing at all and only working to sustain myself to work even more. It was truly scary to see myself fall victim to a brutal cycle of unfulfilling work that could have trapped me for years to come if I hadn’t broken free first. That’s when I realized that my lifestyle was personally unsustainable, and that something had to change. 

Henceforth, I’ve made the difficult decisions to both transition out of film freelancing and to soon return home to live with my father. At the end of April, the homeowner of the townhouse my roommate and I had been living in for close to three years gave us our 30-days-notice to vacate, as they no longer wished to rent but to sell the property. As my roommate had been planning on finding a place of his own with his girlfriend for quite some time, we split amicably at the end of last month in May and I’ve since moved into a temporary apartment with a friend who has traveled back to Maryland for seasonal work. 

Regarding the change in my career, I’ve been looking into applying for writing positions for something that I’ve grown to enjoy over the past few years, which is to write reviews for media such as film, anime, and videogames. This of course is not what I truly want to do in life, but I think that because it actually involves writing, it would be both good practice in terms of practicing my writing and experience in terms of resume-building. Furthermore, a stable “9-5″ job as such would be good for me, I think, as it would introduce some desperately needed structure back into my life. Being a freelancer was definitely fun as I had the power to choose my own schedule, but it unfortunately fostered a lot of laziness and procrastination when I wasn’t completely burnt out. 

I’ve shared with you all this information, a great deal of it being very personal, in the hopes that it helps you better understand who I am as a person and what I’ve been going through these past four years. 

I understand that my word may be difficult to trust due to my history, but I sincerely wish to let you all know from the bottom of my heart that I do plan on continuing writing The White Rose of Vermilion until it’s completed. My fears and insecurities may have alienated me from that promise, but not once did I ever entertain the idea of fully dropping the story. And I promise you, I never will. It most likely will not further my career in any way, bring any revenue in, and will continue to consume a great deal of my precious free time—yet I still choose to pursue continuing it because I can’t see a future where I don’t finish it.

It is after all my most cherished project; the reason that I was able to truly find my calling as an aspiring writer, its success also ultimately being the proof to my mother that I had some skill as a budding writer, who then gave me her full blessings to pursue it as a career. But most important of all is that it’s the reason why I was able to experience first-hand one of the most important and beautiful discoveries in my entire life. That being the incredible phenomenon of how art is like a beacon—its bright light is powerful enough to reach out and inspire others to create art of their own. From Monty Oum to Nancy Phetchareune to myself, I was blessed enough to see readers create wonderful fanart to show me or tell me in a review that reading my story had inspired them to create something of their own.

I am officially leaving behind my prolonged hiatus and returning to working on The White Rose of Vermilion. While I am extremely hesitant to even estimate when the next chapter will be published, please know that I am genuinely trying to leave behind my habits of old and returning to a more consistent schedule. 

The White Rose of Vermilion will return in:

Arc II, Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranger in the Night

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part II/VII)

"candy floss"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: grief, feels, brief mention of Fred x Reader ig?

A/N: I decided to name the parts bc why the fuck not so keep an eye on the titles 👀. This story is based off this convo and these headcanons. If you wanna be tagged in the next parts tell me, and enjoy <3

Prologue :the aftermath

Part I : sleepless nights

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The moment the last group of customers decided it was time to call it a day and exited the shop, I left the till counter and grabbed my wand from my pocket, instantly turning the sign in the door so it could be read from outside 'closed'.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned against the multicolored wooden rail.

I was drained.

The shop helped our minds to get distracted and stray from the grief, yes, but it was also exhausting.

We had been subconsciously overworking ourselves to the point where it was borderline self-destructive.

It didn't help that I was throwing myself into comforting George, either. I could not be blamed for doing that, though; he was broken.

A part of me, the rational one, knew he would pick up the pieces and build himself up again, it would just take a lot of time.

There was another part of me, though, that depressed, drained part, that was beginning to think he would never heal by himself —maybe he wouldn't heal at all— but still held onto the hope that, if I tried hard enough, I would be able to mend what had been broken in him.

A terrible idea, really, because I started to dismiss in its entirety my own miserable, damaged state.

And George, ever the caring, sensible one, would have noticed that; he would have made me realize I was not doing nearly as well as I thought, he would have talked some sense into me, but he wouldn't— he couldn't, because George was lost in an ocean of grief, trying so hard not to drown that he wasn't able to notice I was trying to aid him from my very own sinking boat.

It also seemed to be working; he was more animated, slept more soundly, and his smile was a bit brighter even —at least the one he had for me.

"Rough day?" My eyes, which I didn't know I had closed, fluttered open at George's voice.

"Very."

He walked to me with a tinge of guilt in his face. "You know we can switch places, right?" I had been working as the public face of the shop since we had reopened, and George had taken on the task of doing the paperwork and shippings instead, showing up from time to time to help me and to let people know there was still a Weasley running the business.

I had been the one to suggest this, since I knew George had compromised with reopening only because of me, and he was clearly not ready to put up a sociable, positive attitude for dozens of people every day.

"Nah, it's fine like this." I assured him with a reassuring smile.

He measured me with his eyes for a second; I couldn't really tell if he saw through me or not. "So I was preparing the today's shippings," he rocked a tiny purple basket I quickly recognised in front of me. "I found this in the back of the stockroom."

"Are those—?"

"Candy floss cupcakes, yes." A year and a half ago we had bought five baskets of candy floss cupcakes from Honeydukes per George's request in order to unsuccessfully try and implement them.

"Are they even edible anymore?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"I hope so?" He chuckled too, tearing the film covering the sweets. "Thought we might as well finish them."

My eyes travelled from the basket to him and viceversa before stating, "well I'm hungry so..."

"Same here." He was the first one to pull out a pastel colored cupcake, though he handed it to me. "Wanna get food poisoning together?" Laughing, I gave him a nod as he grabbed his own cupcake. "At the count of three?"

"One"

"Two"

"Three." We said in unison right before taking a bite of our respective madeleines.

I frowned at its surprisingly good flavour. "Am I delirious or are they actually edible?"

"Dunno," he shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth with a shrug. "maybe we're just starving."

"Go big or go home, I guess." I finished my cupcake before leaning on the basket to pick another one. My head snapped up with my brow quirked when I heard a soft chuckle. "What?"

"Nothing." George shook his head, motioning at the stairs. "Shall we sit down?" I followed his lead, sitting on the stairs and waiting for him, who had stepped towards the drinks aisle to grab a couple of juice bottles, to do the same.

We stayed there, eating and drinking in a comfortable silence until the basket was empty and our eyelids threatened to shut.

"I think we should head back to the flat." He spoke, leaving the half empty juice aside so he could stretch.

"I'm gonna learn how to cook." I stated, getting up. "We can't get by based on most likely expired sweets and whatever is in the Leaky Cauldron menu."

"Aight." He mimicked my actions, picking up the stuff we left on the stairs. "We will learn the basics tomorrow." He got behind me and began to gently push in the flat's direction. "But now we're gonna get some sleep, miss."

I would be lying if I said my heartbeat didn't pick up when his hands landed on my shoulder blades and made their way to rub both my arms reassuringly.

I would be lying if I denied I leaned back when he did that, letting myself get closer to his chest.

And I would definitely be lying if I said I didn't crave going back to my room so I could cuddle him all night.

One Week Later

"—right in the cauldron, love." I pointed at the cauldron besides me, giving a sweet smile to the kid in front of me, visibly going to be sick thanks to the free sample of Skiving Snackboxes.

"Y/n!" I spun around at the loud calling of my name above the shop's racket. I was able to discern a long, red mane flowing fast towards my position right on time for the owner to wrap her arms around me.

"Glad to see you too, Ginny." I laughed, trying not to lose balance due to her enthusiasm. "How come you're here?" I questioned, pulling away.

"We heard you were open." Harry walked up to me, appearing from behind the girl, "And thought we'd pay a visit to our friends, right?" Ginny nodded, looking around while Harry gave me a quick, yet comforting hug. "Where's George?"

I motioned up to the small office, redirecting the couple's eyes to the second floor. "Doing paperwork—AH!" I jolted when a pair of hands tickled my sides, my head snapping to see the towering ginger standing behind me. "Speaking of the devil."

"I thought I saw Gin through the window," George explained, his hands lingering on my waist for long enough to his sister to stare, before pulling Ginny into a tight hug. "And came down to check if she was distracting my employee."

"You got her all bored here, mate." Harry pointed out, a light joking tone in his voice.

"And you're the one supposed to help with that?" George rolled his eyes dramatically. "Pfft... What a world we live in." With the said, he gave the boy a side hug. I heard Harry murmur an 'We missed you' before they pulled away with a pat on the shoulder.

My gaze landed on the youngest Weasley, whose welled up eyes were trained on her older brother's half smile. I only averted my eyes and waited for her to discreetly wipe away the unspilled tears while Harry and George catched up.

By the letters she had sent me, I reckoned the last time she had been near George, he had been lifeless; seeing a glimpse of who was once one of the most cheerful, funny and charismatic people in her life, was probably poignant to Ginny.

I hadn't realized she had moved closer until I didn't hear her soft voice. "Thank you." I offered her a confused smile, though deep down I knew what she meant.

Two Days Later

George was having one of those days.

We both knew it was coming soon; it had to happen sooner rather than later, since he had been in a surprisingly good mood for almost a week. I suspected seeing Harry and Ginny had brought back the events of the Second of May.

I suggested to close the shop for the day, since he was unable to move out of bed; he refused to do so, but I convinced him to stay in the flat and rest —it was Tuesday, anyway; I wouldn't have to handle many customers.

Due to that, when I saw Hermione, Ron, Bill and Fleur entered the shop, it was understandable that I hadn't become the happiest person in the world.

I greeted them, there were hugs, kisses, and even a joke or two, and when Bill asked about George, I excused him without giving much detail.

They understood.

Fleur was the one to restart the conversation, lightening a bit before requesting a tour for the shop, since she had not yet been there.

It was when we reached the love potions that Hermione, using the fact that Fleur was very much interested in the product, held my hand and pulled me aside.

"So... how are you doing?" The frown in her face, the fact that she was whispering, the squeeze her hand gave mine, let me know she had read me the moment her eyes met mines.

I sighed with a shrug.

"You can tell me." Could I? "No one's asking you to put on a happy face, Y/n." The girl assured me, her eyes digging into mines. "It's not just George, we all lost—" she shook her head at her own words before correcting herself. "you lost him too."

I lost him too.

I bit my lower lip to stop it from quivering.

The memory of Fred's broken smile as his corpse laid on the stretcher, that memory that haunted my dreams, appeared vividly before my eyes.

My lips started to burn with the ghost of that kiss he gave me before we split up, him with Percy and me with George; it hadn't been meant to be a goodbye kiss. It was meant to be a good luck kiss.

I covered my mouth to muffle a sob, and Hermione's arms were quick to be wrapped around me, reassuringly rubbing my back.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I saw them entering from Y/n's balcony; I wasn't emotionally ready to face them all at the same time, but when I didn't see them exit, I figured Y/n hadn't been able to dismiss them.

I decided I owed to them all to bite the bullet, so I threw on a shirt and the first trousers I grabbed, cleaned up a bit and left the flat.

With a deep breath, I made it to the second floor and mentally prepared myself to go down to the first one.

As I began to climb down, though, I noticed Hermione and Y/n talking in private, closer than the others to the stairs.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but all my senses were automatically focused on Y/n whenever we were in the same room; she just stole me away from reality.

"You lost him too."

Hermione's words visibly triggered something on Y/n.

'Something', as if I didn't know what they had triggered, as if I didn't know what— who was on her mind.

I guess he was always on her mind, though.

What was left of my heart shattered in a million pieces when she broke down to tears —for several reasons—. "I miss him." She whispered in Hermione's shoulder. "I miss him so much."

If I had any tears left, I would have cried my eyes out right there. Had I been so selfish that I had disregarded how she was feeling? So blinded by the light and love and warmth she was constantly giving me that I had forgotten about her grief? Was I that bad of a person, that I would have rather live in the illusion that she had not lost the boy she was dating?

My mind told me I didn't want any of those questions answered.

"George!" As Ron yelled my name in surprise, Hermione and Y/n pulled away, the latter rubbing her eyes while both of my brothers jogged upstairs to hug me. "Ginny told us you're open—"

"But Y/n said you weren't feeling well." Bill finished, squeezing my shoulder. "We only stayed a little longer for Fleur to see the shop."

"Yeah, we'll come back tomorrow," Ron assured me. "So you can rest and..."

My brother's voice sounded further and further with each word; I felt myself drifting off, getting lost in my own mind and gravitating towards the same thought over and over.

She deserves better.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8 -

A small group of sects unexpectedly announced that they wanted Wen Ruohan to adjudicate a boundary line dispute – some were affiliated with the Jiang sect, others with the Jin, and they wanted a neutral party. Wen Ruohan was pleased, even smug, that they had chosen him rather than the Lan sect, which with its righteous reputation was more typically called upon to mediate for the other sects.

“Maybe none of them have a good argument,” Nie Huaisang mused. “They’re all awful, and they want someone more self-absorbed than either side to broker something out.”

“Not everyone is awful, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, tucking the blankets around him. “Most people are good. Besides, there are some pretty renowned sects involved, so even if it’s true, you shouldn’t say it.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “But da-ge –”

“Time for medicine,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and lifted the bowl to his lips.

Nie Huaisang had a mild case of food poisoning, causing a stomachache, vomiting and a low-grade fever – Wen Qing had determined that it wasn’t infectious, but also, rather grimly, figured out that the source of the illness was most likely a particular treat that Nie Huaisang had generously shared with both her and Wen Chao, and sure enough they were both bedridden less than a day later. Luckily, Wen Qing had had enough time to boil the base for the medicine they needed, and while he wasn’t at her level, much less the now-absent Wen Ning’s, even Nie Mingjue could follow directions well enough to add the final ingredients right before serving.

(Even Wen Zhuliu, who remained Wen Chao’s bodyguard despite their best efforts, had fallen ill, except his version had been significantly worse – more or less non-stop emissions out both ends, and out of self-preservation Nie Mingjue had insisted that he remain in the servants’ quarters far away from all of them.)

Nie Huaisang finished drinking the medicine, making a face that only went away when Nie Mingjue stuffed something sweet into his mouth to help get rid of the taste. “Will you be all right helping out?”

“Of course I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “I haven’t forgotten how to help host a party.”

“No, I meant…”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. Normally, Wen Ruohan had enough concern for his face to prefer that Nie Mingjue avoid showing his own shortly after he’d been insolent enough to warrant punishment, but due to the food poisoning they were short on young masters to greet all the incoming people – and their guests were too important not to be greeted by someone with status.

“I’ll use some powder, it’ll be fine,” he said. “And anyway, even if someone notices, it’s not like they would be bold enough to comment; they’re here to ask Sect Leader Wen for a favor, after all. Who will even pay attention to me long enough to notice?”

The answer, Nie Mingjue swiftly learned, was Yu Ming, a crotchety old grandmother from Meishan Yu in Sichuan who didn’t like the food (not spicy enough), her chair (the first one was too rickety, the second too soft), her peers (idiots, all of them), her drink (they’d served tea and she wanted wine, and then later on it was the other way around), and, most problematically, was one of the more influential sect leaders on the Jiang sect’s side. Not exactly someone they wanted to offend by providing inferior hospitality.  

Nie Mingjue ended up abandoning his now habitual corner in the back of the room to dash back and forth dancing attendance on her, run ragged and breathless by all of her demands.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when she approached him in his corner during the banquet’s dessert course, and he straightened up at once, saluting politely. “Sect Leader Yu,” he said, suppressing a desire to moan and maybe beg for mercy; his legs were killing him. How this managed to be worse than serious saber training he had no idea, but it was. “Is the dessert not to your liking? I can get you something cool instead –”

“Sit down, boy,” she growled. “The crystal cakes are fine, and I’m tired of looking up at you. How tall are you? Six chi?”

“…five and a half, maybe five and three-quarters,” he confessed, sitting down obediently. At this point, she could tell him to jump out a window and he probably would – she had a very sharp walking stick and no hesitation about waving everywhere. No sympathy for her miserable victims, either.

“And you’re how old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Slowed down yet?”

“…not yet.”

She huffed. “That’s all we need, another Nie giant. I told your father that he was making a mistake, marrying a woman that needed to duck to get through doors…that how you got that black eye?”

“Huh?” Nie Mingjue said unintelligently, still caught by the mental image – he scarcely remembered his mother, having been very young when she left, but it was nice to think that it wasn’t just the perspective of having been a toddler that had made her appear quite so towering. “Oh, I – uh – training accident.”

Yu Ming squinted at him. “Same training accident that dislocated three of your fingers and a kneecap, did a number on your ribs, and cut your back up so bad that you need bandages and –” She inhaled. “– at least two doses of bai mao gen to replenish the blood lost?”

Nie Mingjue opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Finally, yielding under her glare, he muttered, “I didn’t dislocate my kneecap.”

He might’ve preferred that, actually. Dislocations could be shoved back into place with relatively little issue; he’d sprained it, instead. A bad fall from when he’d shamefully broken and tried to run from the Fire Palace, futilely seeking safety, a place where he neither had to hurt people nor be hurt himself.

Not that such a place existed in the Nightless City, of course. He’d only been dragged back after, as he ought to have expected, and then things had gotten much worse, but he hadn’t really been thinking his actions through at the time.

“Dislocated, not dislocated, whatever. Has to be something, the way you’re dragging that left leg of yours behind you when you trot,” she said practically. “You’re a rotten liar, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Many people,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of them currently in bed with food poisoning, except for lucky Wen Ning away at the Lotus Pier and miserable Wen Xu now stuck standing by his father’s side, pretending to smile. “Does it matter?”

“Matter? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Other than going and applying more powder, there’s not much I can do about it even if it does offend your sight,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, reasonably enough in his view. “And no matter how many times or ways you ask it, the answer’s still going to be ‘training accident’, whether or not you believe me.”

Yu Ming poked his forehead with her finger, then his cheek. “And this is with powder,” she said, scowling and rubbing the remnants of it between her fingertips as if she hadn’t believed him that it was there until she’d verified it for herself. “If you won’t tell me anything other than ‘training accident’, will you at least tell me what you did to deserve this type of training?”

“I don’t remember,” Nie Mingjue said, and he really didn’t. All the thrashings more or less flowed together pretty well after a while, and in the end it didn’t really matter if he’d intervened on Nie Huaisang’s behalf or Wen Chao’s, whether he’d played whipping boy for Wen Xu or distracted attention away from Wen Qing – they were all close enough to be proper family now. What he did was nothing more than what you ought to do for those you loved, and he’d die before he forgot how to do that.

“Rotten liar,” Yu Ming said, maybe because she could tell he wasn’t lying, and spat on the ground. “It’s a filthy business.”

“I’m hardly going to disagree with you,” he said dryly.

“You might look a little less ragged if you did.”

He shrugged. “They say people can’t change their essential nature.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Blunt to the point of stupidity.”

“Say rather that you cut straight to the point,” she said.

“Well, you know, sabers have one blunt edge, one sharp,” he said, unable to resist a smile even if it pulled at the bruises around his eye. “I can be both.”

She was staring at him.

“…what?”

“You have dimples.”

“I’m…aware?”

He didn’t quite understand the calculating look Yu Ming had in her eyes – or, perhaps better said, he didn’t want to understand that look, and he was willing to put in a great deal of effort behind not understanding it if he had to.

“Do you want another crystal cake?” he asked her abruptly before she could say anything else. When she arched her eyebrows, he elaborated: “Sect Leader Wen will undoubtedly ask me whether I was taking good care of you, being as you are after all one of our honored guests.”

Don’t tell me anything, he meant. Even if you pity me – especially if you pity me. He has ways to make me talk. He likes making me talk.

“…fine, then,” Yu Ming said. “You said something about there being something cool?”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a groan as he dragged himself out of his seat and headed to the kitchen to see if they still had any sorbet left over.

-

“– going to be tricky,” Nie Huaisang was saying to a nodding Wen Xu as Nie Mingjue walked by. “Lanling Jin isn’t fond of making decisions.”

“But they are fond of profit,” Wen Xu pointed out.

“The question will be if there’s a way to strike the right balance without giving too much away –”

Nie Mingjue decided to believe that they were talking about pornography. People said Jin Guangshan was into that sort of thing, didn’t they?

-

Nie Mingjue trained with Baxia at least once every day, and usually more. He found the repetitive actions calming, like an active form of meditation, and he was happy to sink into the mindlessness of physical exertion and forget his worries.

Baxia was warm under his hand, as always – he thought sometimes that she’d never quite adjusted to the warmer temperatures of the Nightless City, preferring as he did the cooler weather of Qinghe.

Perhaps, in time, she would forget it.

Perhaps, in time, so would he.

Forget the cool air filling his lungs, the crisp snap of an autumn day just about to begin; forget the smell of the forests and the feeling of gravel under his shoes. Forget the strain on his muscles from climbing up a steep cliff, the taste of an early snowfall on his tongue – the metallic tang to the water, the lingering smell of smoke in the air even when there wasn’t anyone around for miles.

It felt unforgettable.

But he knew that it wasn’t. In the face of time, all things were ground down into the dust.

He would be eighteen years old this year. Still a little shy of proper adulthood, an unlucky year, if luck had anything to do with his life any longer. He’d been here for four years, just shy of a quarter of all the years he’d ever lived.

Perhaps that was what made him melancholy.

Or perhaps it was only that he had been unable to light incense on the anniversary of his father’s death yet again this year. Wen Ruohan took particular pleasure in ensuring that he couldn’t – he had spent the first year unconscious, the second year immobilized, the third…he tried not to remember.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed, since he’d always agreed in advance that Nie Huaisang would light the incense on behalf of them both, both on the anniversary and on Qingming – they hadn’t ever been given leave to return to Qinghe to sweep their ancestral graves, not once, not even when some of the other sects had complained about the impropriety of it. No one ever paid attention to Nie Huaisang, underestimating how sneaky he could be, and so he’d managed it just fine. Still, the failure to do it himself tugged at Nie Mingjue’s heart, disappointed him in himself - in his failure to be a good son, just as he so often failed to be a good brother.

He sank back into his training by force of willpower.

His cultivation was increasing at an acceptable rate, he thought – shockingly fast by all metrics, but all of his teachers said that his foundations were good, steady as mountains, and his progression through each stage was smooth and unhindered by bottlenecks. The consequences of genius, they said with a shrug.

It was about the only thing that was going in an acceptable manner.

Ma Liyuan had fallen out of favor, as Wen Xu had predicted – she’d failed to remain pregnant despite repeated efforts, and Wen Ruohan took such pleasure in criticizing her for it that Nie Mingjue suspected he’d dosed her tea with contraceptives specifically to set her up for the failure, since he didn’t actually need more sons – but her usefulness remained, so she was married in with all pomp to Wen Chao’s household as a secondary wife.

(She’d been promised the position of first wife, and threw a fit when she realized the change, but Wen Ruohan had reminded her, sneering, that that had been when she’d been a pure and untouched maiden; she really couldn’t expect them to pay such a high price for secondhand goods, now could she?)

Wen Chao obviously had no interest in her at all – she’d tried, once, to make herself up and smile at him and he’d recoiled as if he’d seen a snake, then stared at her and said, “You’re joking, right?” – so she’d taken the next best option and sent her maid to seduce him in her stead.

Wang Lingjiao was pretty enough, with curves enough to make just about any man stare, and pretty cunning to boot. In a different world, a world where Wen Chao had fallen for his father’s nasty little tricks and become a stupid oversexed princeling, a waste of space that would have been incited into fighting against Wen Xu for the sole purpose of being crushed to prove some imagined point of about the necessity of cruelty, she probably would have been able to crawl into his bed and keep her place there without much difficulty.

Wen Chao was a bit of a romantic, after all, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

As it was, when her first few efforts at flirtation failed – or, well, mostly failed, given that Wen Chao held her hands in his own during a garden stroll in the moonlight and told her, with great earnestness, that she was very beautiful and it was such a pity that he wasn’t allowed to think of women romantically until he was fifteen on pain of utmost humiliation and also was she aware of the dangers of venereal disease – Wang Lingjiao pulled back and recalibrated her approach.

This time, she went for Nie Mingjue.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked her.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that a deliberate reference to what Wen Chao said?”

“No, just the same idea. I’m not interested.”

“That much is obvious enough,” she said, tossing her hair. “I want you to tell me what I need to do to get someone to be interested. I don’t want to be a servant any longer.”

Nie Mingjue was at something of a loss for words.

“There must be something I can provide,” Wang Lingjiao demanded. “Some service, some use…I’m a weak cultivator, but that clearly doesn’t bother you lot – your younger brother is weak, too, though I’m still a bit worse. I’m not as dumb as Ma Liyuan; I know there’s more you can sell in life than sex, even if that’s easier. What do you want? What do any of you want?”

Wang Lingjiao was from the Yingchuan Wang cultivation clan, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. A smaller sect, with too many children, but a standalone sect nonetheless; their children were born as gentry, not servants. No, they must have sold Wang Lingjiao into servitude, though whether it was to get an in with Qishan Wen or simply to get rid of a budding problem – and extremely beautiful young women with poor cultivation were often a problem, especially when their beauty suggested how their mothers had gotten themselves selected to be wives, or, more likely, concubines – he did not know.

“Do you mix your own makeup?” he asked, and she stared at him. “It’s very well done.”

“…yes,” she said, giving him a strange look. “I do. None that’ll fit you, though.”

He blinked, then laughed. “No, I don’t want any; the only use I have for powder is to cover up bruises when I need to be presentable. I just meant that it seems you have a steady hand at mixing things and judging proportions – A-Qing appreciates those qualities.”

“Wen Qing?” Wang Lingjiao asked, bewildered. “You want to send me to a woman?”

“She’s expressed before that she would like to have more female company,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao’s expression only got more fish-like as she gaped at him. “A fair while back, in fairness, but the numbers really are skewed fairly strongly against her. I thought you might get along. Be friends.”

“I’ve never had a female friend in my life,” Wang Lingjiao told him.

“I thought – you’re always chatting with the other serving girls…?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes as if he were being stupid. He probably was. Forget Qishan ways, the ways of the teenaged girl were utterly beyond his grasp.

“I don’t see what you have to lose by trying,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “I’m not interested, Xu-ge’s too paranoid to get within touching distance of anyone he thinks has an ulterior motive, A-Chao isn’t allowed to touch women for a few more years –”

“Why is that?”

“He’s gullible, and has both questionable taste and sibling-inflicted trauma relating to brothels,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao wrinkled her nose, looking a little amused despite herself. “A-Ning isn’t the type to womanize, and Huaisang is too young. Also a vicious cutthroat when it comes to interpersonal relations, so who even knows what type of person he’d like, if any.”

“I’d noticed that about him.”

“In sum, A-Qing is your best bet,” he concluded. “And all the more so if you approach her in a business-like fashion: make clear to her what benefits you bring and how you’ll compensate for the drawbacks, be practical and reasonable, and you’ll do fine. Do well, and you won’t ever need to fear being sent back to Ma Liyuan – or to Yingchuan.”

Wang Lingjiao stared at him for a moment – she hadn’t expected him to be able to figure that out, he thought, since she was just clever enough to manage to puzzle out that he was the heart and core of their little group but not quite smart enough to realize why – but in the end she seemed to take his advice to heart, nodding and walking away.

He hoped Wen Qing didn’t kill him for sending her a terrible lab assistant.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love Is Not Forced ~ 25

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,125ish

Summary: Y/N’s days at Hydra aren’t pleasant.

Warnings: This is the darkest thing I’ve ever written. (This and the next 2-3 chapters.) It’s probably not as bad as I’m making it out to be, but I usually don’t write like this or read stuff like this.

Y/N was left alone the rest of the night, which she was extremely grateful for. She tried not to fall sleep, but ended up doing so after wearing herself out by crying. She was startled away by banging on the door of the room before it was swung, forcefully open. The Princess sat up, pressing herself up against the headboard.

“Morning, Princess,” Brock greeted, entering the room. “I hope you slept well on your first night here.” Y/N didn’t answer him, just watched him carefully. “I know that it will take some time for you to get used to this.” Brock slowly came towards her. “But I promise you, after some time, you will enjoy it here. And you will see that we are way better than any of those other kingdoms that you are used to.” Brock came up into Y/N’s face, she cringed and looked away. He forced her chin so that she was facing him. “My father always told me how pretty you were. Seeing you up close just confirms that.” He let go and waltzed to her closet. “We are having a welcome celebration tonight, in your honor.” He looked through the closet, pulling out a black dress. “And I would like you to wear this.” Brock laid set it over a chair. He came back over and set a kiss on her cheek. Y/N tried not to flinch away, fearing what he would do, but it was hard since the kiss was very wet. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Y/N clenched her eyes shut as Brock left the room and the door was locked behind him. She cried all day. Never once stopping, even to eat the food that was brought for her. When it was time to get ready, a woman came in to help her. Scared of disobeying, she willingly changed into the chosen dress. The Princess had never worn a more revealing dress, which made her extremely uncomfortable. 

The servant led her to the dining hall, where everyone was already waiting. They stood from their seats as she entered and Brock quickly made his way to her side, linking his arm with hers.

“Our guest of honor has finally arrived,” Alexander shouted. “And is looking as beautiful as ever.”

Y/N looked around the room to see the faces of those she was joining, as Brock guided her to her seat. She made eye contact with Loki, who gave nothing away on his face, but she quickly looked away. So many had warned her, yet Y/N had chosen to ignore them. And look where that had gotten her. Brock unlinked their arms in order to pull out her chair, and gestured for her to sit down. They had her seated near the head of the table, with Alexander at the head, and Brock across from her. Alexander told them all to start eating. The room suddenly filled with talking, laughter, and the clamoring of dinnerware. Y/N picked up her fork and played with her food, nervous to eat due to fear of her being poisoned.

“Are you not hungry, Princess?” Loki’s voice filled her soul with dread and anger. She looked up to see that he was sitting next to Brock. “You have not eaten all day.”

“I am not feeling very well today,” Y/N responded coldly.

“Oh dear,” Alexander said, setting a hand on Y/N’s arm. “Should I have my doctor come and look at you?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “I fear that it cannot be cured by a doctor.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t feel good because I have been kidnapped.”

“Oh, darling,” Brock laughed. “You have not been kidnapped. You have been rescued. You were always meant to be here with us.”

“That’s where you are wrong. I wasn’t never meant to be here because I was never meant to be a Princess.”

“No, dear, that’s where you’re wrong,” Alexander stated. “Princess or not. You would’ve always ended up here. Your parents were some of my most loyal followers, until they refused the arranged marriage to my son.”

“You’re lying! My parents would have never been a part of Hydra.”

“I fear, dear girl, that you did not know your parents well. You come from a long line of Hydra followers. They betrayed me, by not agreeing to your marriage to Brock, so I attacked their village. Which also helped me hurt King Anthony.”

“No! You’re a liar! My family would never be loyal to Hydra!” Y/N stabbed her fork into Alexander’s hand.

The man screamed in pain as Y/N stood up and ran for the door. Brock was too quick for her. He grabbed her roughly by her wrists, as the other guests in the room watched, like nothing was wrong. She winced at the growing pain. Brock slammed her into the door.

“You do not get to be disrespectful, Princess,” Brock seethed.  “This was always your future, to be with me. And I have waited too long for this.” He brought his face closer to hers, which caused her to turn her face away. “Look at me,” he ordered. She refused. “Look at me.” He slammed her against the door again. She looked at him, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. “You will learn your place here quickly, or you will suffer the consequences. Understood?” The Princess meekly nodded. “I asked you a question, that means I want a verbal answer.”

“Understood,” she whispered, shakily.

Brock leaned forward and licked the side of her face. “You’re lucky that I’m waiting until we’re married until I ruin you,” he whispered. “I can still have my fun until then though. And I can’t wait to see the looks on King Steven and King Anthony’s faces when they find out what I’ve done.”

“That’s enough, Brock,” Alexander commanded. “Wouldn’t want to scare your bride before the big day. Loki? Care to show our guest back to her room?”

“Absolutely,” Loki responded, quickly coming up beside Brock and Y/N. Brock was still holding onto the Princess, not making a move to let go.

“Let her go, Brock,” Alexander ordered. “You’ll have your chance with her.”

“Have a goodnight,” Brock growled, pressing a kiss to her nose, “Princess.”

As soon as Brock let go, Loki had a hold on Y/N and lead her out of the room. Y/N was struggling not to crumble onto the ground right there. Her legs trembled as Loki led her down the hall.

“Why?” Y/N’s voice shaked, coming out barely above a whisper. “I trusted you…”

“That was foolish of you, Princess,” Loki said. “You had been warned, yet you still foolishly followed me.”

“I thought you cared…”

“I care about Hydra and my blood line here. Nothing else. You should too.”

Back in Brooklyn, all of Asgard’s, Brooklyn’s, Alexandria’s, and Wakanda’s armies had been gathered together. None of the kingdoms were going to stop until Y/N was found, and Loki and Hydra were destroyed. Neither King Steven or King Anthony had slept since the Princess went missing almost three days ago. All of the royals and their Captains had gathered in the ballroom, which now had turned into a command center. There were tables scattered throughout the room, with maps and any information they could gather on Hydra.

“There’s nothing!” Steven yelled, slamming his fist on the table he was standing at. “Loki has left no clues and since Hydra really hasn’t made an appearance for almost ten years, we have no idea where they might be hiding.”

“I say we start sending out groups of guards to search all the kingdoms and surrounded areas,” T’Challa suggested. “That might be the best course of action for now.”

“Hold the plans!” Thor shouted, rushing into the room. “I have just received this package from Asgard. It’s full of Loki’s writings and maps. There might be something that we can use to help locate them.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Captain Barnes asked. “Hand them out.”

Steven looked around the room, trying to find where King Anthony might be. When he spotted him on the balcony, he made his way towards his friend. The older King was leaning forward, arms against the railing, with his head down. As Steven got closer, he could hear the quiet sniffles of the King.

“Asgard sent a package over with some of Loki’s things,” Steven stated, coming up beside his friend. “They’re looking over them now.”

“Loki’s too smart to leave anything out like that,” Tony replied, still looking down.

“Doesn’t hurt with looking.”

“Yes, it does,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “Cause the longer we take, the longer she’s with them. In their hands. And who knows what they’re doing to her!”

“I’m frustrated too, Tony. But we have nothing to go on and we are trying our best to hunt Loki and her down.”

“I just… I can’t help but blame myself. For all of this.”

“I fear that Loki would have gotten to her somehow. He’s a trickster that way. Not all of this is your fault, Tony.” Steven sighed, looking out at the water. “You should have seen her, when she first looked at this view. The way her eyes lit up. I made a promise to myself then and there that that look in her eyes would never leave as long as I could help it… I have failed her too. But we will make it right.” Steven looked over to meet Tony’s sad eyes looking back. “We have to.”

Y/N was locked away for two days without seeing anyone. Food was given to her from underneath the door, but it was all stale or moldy. She spent most of her time crying on the bed, wishing that someone would come rescue her. Knowing her Father, Steven, and even T’Challa, she knew that they were trying their best to find her, and quickly. But also knowing Loki, he would have covered his tracks.

Her door opening, took Y/N out of her thoughts of rescue. Two ladies walked in, one carrying a basket. She curled in on herself, eyes never leaving the two new people.

“Hello, Princess,” one of the women smiled. “We’re here to measure you for your wedding dress.”

Y/N took a breath, trying to muster up some courage. She wasn’t going to let this marriage happen. She was going to postpone this as long as possible.

“No,” the Princess quietly said.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” the second woman stated.

“Yes, I do. I will not be getting married to that awful man. So, you can go. There will be no measuring today.”

The two women shared a look before leaving. Y/N let out a breath of relief as the door shut. But it wasn’t too long before stomping feet sounded in the hall and the door swung open.

“What is this about you not wanting to get measured for a wedding dress?” Brock snarled.

“I am not getting married,” the Princess stated, trying to hold her ground. “Especially not to you.”

Brock stalked over, grabbing Y/N and flinging her to the floor. “You don’t have a choice. Like I said before, you can make this easier for yourself or harder.” He kicked her in the gut, causing her to curl into a ball. “Now. Shall I let them back in? Are you going to be good?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Brock rose an eyebrow at her, challenging her.

Y/N’s courage almost faltered, but she pushed through. “I will never marry you.”

Brock picked her up by her wrists and threw her on the bed. The Princess tried to fight, but failed. Brock knelt over her on the bed and began to punch her face. She screamed in pain as he punched her. When he was done with her face, Brock moved on to her torso. Y/N continued to try to fight back, but grew weaker with every hit. She eventually stopped fighting back, which caused the beating to stop. The Princess couldn’t move as she cried and he still knelt over her. Brock began to kiss the forming bruises that he could see. When he was finished, he smashed his lips to her. Y/N tensed at the unwanted contact. Brock laughed as he left her, bruised and bleeding, on the bed and locked the door behind her.

Y/N’s body ached beyond what she had ever felt before. That didn’t stop her from sobbing though. She sobbed into her blood stained bedding until she passed out.

next chapter >

Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and dms. You guys are awesome! I love reading your thoughts on what’s happening and who you want Y/N to choose. Thank you guys for all the support!

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Tag List:

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@freya-xo​  

@laic2299​

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@cherthegoddess​

@frozenhuntress67​

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[lilixloveswriting]

Slugbug

Welcome to another installment of I suck at titles Kouki gets his ass kicked! Ft. @summer-of-whump No. 8 allergies/force-feeding and No. 9 bugs/animals

Summary: Kouki misses lunch due to a prior appointment with some bullies, but not to worry. They would never let him go hungry.

Word Count: 2k

TW: minor whump (Kouki is a high schooler), physical violence, bullying, swearing, force-feeding, vomit (mention), non-con touching/restraints, sex joke made by a minor (they're teenage boys you know how it is)

BNHA OCs Masterlist

Kouki’s back hit the chain-link fence, irritating the bruise from earlier that day. It had almost disappeared, but if the sudden spike in pain told him anything it was that the force had only made it bigger. He grunted, planting his hands at either side of him on the ground, pushing himself up from the slouching position as Ichioka sauntered up to him.

“Damn, light as a feather!” He smiled, wickedness glinting in his eyes as they stared Kouki down. “I mean, really. Do you eat anything?”

Kouki blinked up at him, nervously glancing back at Ichioka’s lackeys. Yamane, upon meeting eyes with him, curled his lip up, taking a few stalking steps forward. “Eh? What’re ya lookin’ at me for? He asked you a question, pretty boy.”

Kouki’s eyes widened as Yamane continued towards him, and his legs scrambled to back himself up further against the fence. His efforts were wasted, however. If his back were pressed into it any more he would become one with the metal.

“Uh, uh-” He stuttered, tearing his gaze away from Yamane to address Ichioka. “I-I-I do! I-I just have f-fast metabolism! That’s it! It’s just cuz of my quirk!” Kouki squeaked, pulling an arm up to shield his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He peeked them open again when no blow came, the silence loud, lifting his head to see the three hyenas simply looking at him. Not in the eyes, though, Kouki realized Ichioka’s gaze was aimed at his forehead.

“So why hasn’t that cut healed yet?” Ichioka asked the question yet again making Kouki aware of the dull pain in his head that he’d managed to ignore since he had gotten it earlier that day.

Kouki swallowed, bottom lip trembling, and to his foes, it looked like fear, but that wasn’t quite it. “...I need food to get energy. And I didn’t have any time at lunch.” It was almost a sneer. Almost. But almost was better than nothing, Kouki reasoned, proud of himself for having the guts to fire anything back at them.

Ichioka chuckled, shoulders bouncing with the laugh. “Chatty today, are we?” His smile dropped shortly after he spoke and he leaned forward with a glower. “Maybe a broken jaw’ll shut you up?”

He didn’t even give Kouki a chance to register his words before throwing his head to the side with his fist. Kouki yelped, initially too disoriented to process anything, but eventually coming to to realize the pain on his face was too high to have broken his jaw. He whimpered as his fingertips made contact with his cheekbone, but at least they came away clean. It would be hard to hide a split cheek. He was going to run out of band-aids soon.

“Don’t worry, Kirishima. We weren’t gonna let you starve. What kinda friends would we be then?” Ichioka said, and Kouki placed his shaky hands on the concrete to better grasp his bearings before lifting his head. Ichioka had his back turned to him, but not for long as he turned back around, one of those coffee tumbler mugs in hand. “Hope you’re hungry.” Ichioka shook the cup, a rattling noise coming from within as he shot Kouki a poisonous smile. “Taketa brought the biggest one he could find!”

“Wha…” Kouki sat back on his knees, squaring his shoulders to face Ichioka. The latter took another step towards him, and Kouki fell back, raising a hand above his face to give him the illusion of having some sort of defense. “Wh-what...what is it?”

“Aww don’t want him to waste his food on you?” He tossed his head over his shoulders at his friends, “That’s our Kouki, huh? Always so considerate.” They snickered, as did he as he turned his attention back on the cowering boy. “Don’t worry. Taketa has plenty crawling around his walls at home. He won’t miss one or two.”

Kouki’s eyes widened. “Crawling?”

Taketa’s laughing stopped, his face screwing up into an offended scowl. “H-hey! I don’t have roaches!” He shouted, hands clenched into fists at his sides, blushy embarrassment creeping up his head.

Ichioka paused his pursuit, shoulders slouching before he slowly turned back to glare at Taketa. Kouki couldn’t see his face, a silent mercy he decided, seeing how Taketa’s expression immediately shifted. “What was that? Seems you can’t keep your mouth shut? Maybe I should stuff yours with something instead.”

The air was thick with silence as Taketa’s lower lip trembled, then his body relaxed, arms dropping with his head. His eyes met with Kouki for a split moment, and though neither of them said anything, the surprise Taketa caught in Kouki’s eyes was enough to irritate him, causing Taketa to grit his teeth, scoffing as he snapped his gaze away.

“Agh, shit…where was I?” Ichioka groaned, dropping the scary calm tone he’d used to threaten Taketa as he rubbed his free hand on the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Open up, Kouki.” His smile returned and Ichioka continued toward Kouki, tipping the mug side to side in his hand.

“N...n-no, wait!” Kouki waved his hand out in front of him, scooching back on his bottom until he hit the fence again. Still, Ichioka pursued him, crouching down to the boy's level. “P-please! Hold on! I- AH!” He screamed as Ichioka grabbed hold of his chin, the sound of his own skin sizzling in his ears from where Ichioka had licked his fingers.

“That’s it! Say ‘ahh!’” Ichioka mocked him, and Kouki felt the sting of tears begin to well up in his eyes.

“No! Please...mmph!” Kouki clamped his mouth shut when Ichioka ignored his begging, proceeding to raised the mug and flip the cap to the drinking part off. He screamed as hard as he could with his jaw locked closed, the tears now spilling onto his cheeks as he struggled in Ichioka’s grip. He tossed his head this way and that, defiantly dodging the opening of the cup every time Ichioka pressed it to his face.

“Urrg, fuck!” Ichioka growled, his irritation reaching its peak as he ushered Yamane towards him. “Fucking grab him when I say.”

Kouki almost broke, wanting to shout out in protest when Yamane extended a hand out towards him, but he didn’t even have time to pride himself on keeping his mouth shut before it fell open again, the breath being expelled from his body as Ichioka’s fist made contact with his chest. Kouki couldn’t even hear Ichioka give his order over his coughing, which came to an immediate halt when he felt Yamane’s hand on his neck.

Kouki froze, unable to move or speak or do anything but scream as Ichioka readjusted his grip on his chin, tilting his head back in time with the cup, pressed forcefully to his lips, trapping his distressed cries inside the 20-ounce mug. He wanted to thrash, to fight back, to do anything, but with Yamane’s quirk stiffening all of his muscles, Kouki was completely at their mercy, or more accurately their disposal.

The wait was torturous. It felt like it went on forever, as though the bug knew what was waiting for it and was trying to delay its death for as long as possible. Ichioka wasn’t quite as patient and shook the cup in agitation, thunking it against Kouki’s mouth, bruising the exposed parts of his lips, and splitting the skin on the softer side open with his teeth. Finally, after much shaking and tapping, the insect made an appearance.

And again, Kouki screamed. Its antennae danced on his immobile tongue, feeling around for any threats of danger as it continued to slowly emerge. Somehow Ichioka could tell when it was all the way out of the mug, likely from Kouki’s cries, and tossed the empty cup to the side, the metal clanking down loudly on the pavement.

For a split second, Yamane let Kouki go but only long enough for Ichioka to cup his hand over Kouki’s nose, manually bringing his jaws together, holding his mouth closed in the same way someone would a dog’s. Kouki felt all of his muscles flex again and grunted at the way Yamane squeezed the nape of his neck.

“Mmhmph! Mm! Mph!” Kouki huffed, finding his breathing somewhat constricted by the pressure on his nose.

“Shh! Shh, Kouki, listen.” Ichioka hushed him and Kouki felt his face grow hot under his tears. Ichioka kept using his first name. Kouki never gave him permission to use his first name. He hated the way it sounded coming from him.

“MMHMPH!” He shut his eyes, really it was all he could do. His chest heaved as his body tried to break free from Yamane’s quirk.

“Calm down.”

Calm down?! How could he?! He could feel the bug in his mouth, its little feet pitter-pattering all over his taste buds, violating his tongue as it sniffed around with long antennae, tickling his uvula.

Kouki gagged feeling it near the back of his throat, eyes widening with absolute and utter repulsion.

“Shh! No, don’t throw up! Kouki, listen, look at me.”

His eyes peeked open, though he really couldn’t see anything through his tears.

“You can do this. Come on. You’ve gotten through way worse than this, I know you can do it.”

Kouki whimpered. He was right. He’d been through a lot of awful shit, arguably more torturous than this. And this was something he could actually end. He couldn’t tell where the bug was anymore, the sensation had spread all throughout his mouth.

“Just finish it, yeah?”

He didn’t have to chew it, he just had to get it down. He just had to swallow. Kouki worked his tongue, eyes fluttering shut in disturbance as he tried to decipher where the insect was sitting. It stopped its movement temporarily as Kouki moved, desperately working the bug towards the back of his mouth. He was started to get short on oxygen, he realized. As his anxiety levels rose his breathing wanted to quicken as well, and it only got worse as the realization sparked panic.

“HHN!” Kouki gagged again at the feeling of the bug’s wings beating at the roof of his mouth, but didn’t let himself dwell on it, throwing all of his focus into just getting it down. His fingers braced themselves on Ichioka’s arms, desperate to ground his consciousness. He had to stay conscious, he’d never be able to swallow it if he didn’t. And with the steady diminishment of oxygen, it was getting easier and easier to dissociate.

The bug was fighting back now, but Kouki was bigger. He could do it. It was at the back of his tongue now, all he had to do was push it down into his throat. A simple motion, really, a bodily reflex. To the back of the throat and down the esophagus, just like anything else. He could still feel the antennae, the legs, the wings, feeling around, pushing back, but his tongue was stronger. And finally, finally, he got it past his uvula.

But that was about as far as it got. He felt it squirming around, scratching its way back up his esophagus and hanging on his epiglottis, using it as leverage to grab onto his tonsils. Kouki retched, body convulsing as he choked and Ichioka backed off, jumping back to avoid getting puked on. Kouki didn’t puke, but allowed his jaw to drop open, his hands clawing at his throat before diving into his mouth, fingers scraping at his tongue to help the damn thing crawl out. He heaved dryly and beat on his sternum with the ball of his palm, hunching himself over on his knees to use gravity to his advantage. He let his tongue loll out of his mouth, coughing, and with one final, painful, forced gag the intruder flew out. Through blurry eyes Kouki could make out the shape of a cockroach almost the size of his thumb on the ground, drowned in spit and mucus. Barely alive, but then, so was he. Kouki continued to cough, ears ringing as his body worked to replenish his brain with oxygen. It was sitting there, trying to regain his bearings once more with nothing to hold onto that he realized he had been using Ichioka. He wasn’t holding him when he was first restrained because...well because he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move anything, not his hands, his eyes, his tongue— which means Yamane had let him go. Yamane had to let Kouki go for him to swallow. Yamane had let him go and yet…

His hands were on Ichioka’s arms, his head clung to Ichioka’s voice...he wasn’t even struggling in his grip. He stayed. Kouki stayed. The only thing holding him in place was Ichioka and even then, all he had done was hold Kouki’s jaw closed. It was Ichioka’s voice that calmed him down enough to think straight, it was Ichioka—

FUCK! Damn it! What the fuck?! Why…

Kouki sobbed, still coughing up his lungs with every attempt at a breath. He was so compliant. So...small and...damn it...he wasn’t manly at all…

“Oh, that won’t do at all, you ungrateful piece of shit.”

Kouki wailed as Ichioka’s foot met with his side, sending him flying back into the fence again, only this time he didn’t have the strength to keep himself propped upright, only continuing to cry as this body slammed into the pavement. There were hands on his shoulders and arms, yanking him up into a sitting position as Ichioka walked forward, bending over to dangle the roach in Kouki’s face.

“Let’s try again, shall we? And this time I expect you to do more than just deep throat it.”

Tags: @grizzlie70

[imma-potatoo]

Blond Janus Darkside Headcanons

I noticed how I haven't written down any info on the dark sides (Wrath, Apathy, Depression, Remus and pre-AA Virgil). More will be added.

Masterpost

Taglist:

@mother-snake, @writerstrashbin, @psychedelicships, @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)

Wrath

Leader of the dark sides

Can induce a blind rage

When the rage is happening the recipient cannot control what they say or do and react simply on their first thought

The rage becomes stronger the more angry the person becomes

Wrath can't bring someone out of the rage. He can induce it but the person has to come out of it themselves

He has almost no control of Apathy because of that due to his lack of emotion

Likes to wear a partial suit. Finds that the coat is restricting and makes more complex movements hard

Still owns the coat. Just never wears it.

Symbol is tattooed on his left wrist

Orange and black color scheme. Like this:

Immediate reaction to almost anything is to yell.

Loves huge parties

If he's going to make a point, he makes it loud and clear. Often in front of other people so they can see what happens if you step out of line

Rules the dark sides more like a dictatorship then a family or of equel footing

Believes that they have to bend Thomas to their will and that the light sides are complete fools who will only destroy Thomas life

Wants Thomas to take what he wants and not to worry about who he leaves behind

If Thomas has to kill a politician to get what he wants? Sure go ahead. As long as he gets what he wants

When angry, Wrath is ruthless

He'll take your deepest fear and taunt you with it until you snap under the strain and comply to his every whim

He refuses to take no for an answer

Because of his hatred for the lights; he takes it out on Janus

He's big on public humiliation

If Janus would step out of line; well, he doesn't need all of those scales does he? He's sure Apathy would love to see the reactions if you rip some off

To aid in the control of the others; Wrath has complete control over the food supply

When the others are listening and followings orders. Good, they get to eat properly

When they don't? Your options are moldy bread or cheese that has been out in the open for about a month.

Him and Apathy eat like kings while the others decide between food poisoning and starvation

Likes to take words of affection and make them have a negative meaning (ex: the word Love.) after beating the hell out of someone, he would make them look directly in his eyes and says that he loves them... And he makes them say it back

He hates it when the others cry

Says that they're doing it for attention and that they should shut the fuck up

Apathy

Second in command

Can nullify peoples emotions. Leaving them feeling like an empty shell. The effects normally break after an hour

If Apathy knows your name he can control you like a puppet

White and black outfit. White shirt with black suspenders and pants.

Doesn't show where he keeps his symbol (its on his right ankle, its more like a tattoo then a patch)

Has a deep obsession with fire

Owns a zippo (a lighter that flips open)

Often feels empty due to his function. The fire makes him feel warm, feel more human (as human as the sides can be anyway)

Doesn't quite understand emotion. He understands the basics of it (cry = sad, laugh = hqppy, yell = angry.) but the more complex reactions confuse the hell out of him. Crying out of happiness is one of the things he will never understand.

Because of his lack of understanding of emotions; Apathy tries to understand through making others feel said emotions

Wants to know how someone would react when you break a precious item? Time to find a couple photos.

Will someone scream when you waterboard them? Hm well, only one way to test that.

Opinions change like a flip of a switch

One day he'll help you make dinner with a plastered on smile. The next he'll knock you out and burn you with his lighter with that same smile

Has only properly laughed twice

The first time was when Thomas accidentally laughed at someones funeral (he couldn't cope that the person was gone and his default reaction was to laugh)

The second was after the three of them (wrath, depression and him) shut off the heating to Janus' room and locked him inside

In order to understand things he doesn't know; he does experiments

He's not allowed to experiment on Wrath and Depression has no fun reactions. So he has his fun with Janus instead

Kinda likes it when blood stains his dress shirt

Because its warm. The warmth that once came from the person now belongs to him and it eases the cold empty feeling only slighty and temporary but its warm

He's indifferent on the lights. They're a little too perky for his tastes

Depression

Third in command

Doesn't really get a lot of say with decisions

Can erase certain memories (he doesn't use it very often)

Wears a medium blue dress shirt, brown leather suspenders with a black bowtie.

Normally keeps his sleeve rolled up

When crying; his eyes leak black

If the tears hit your skin, its a 10% chance that you could collapse and start spewing your insecurities while your eyes leak black

Symbol is on the back of his neck

Doesn't really mind not having the control that Apathy and Wrath have

Less work for him to do anyway

Couldn't care about the other twos blatant abuse of Janus

He sees it as a way to keep Janus in line

If Virgil wanted to play father figure he can go ahead. But that doesn't mean he has to be kind

Respects and looks up to Wrath

Normally just follows the lead of the others

He's the epitome of the duckling following the leader

Wrath has steak and potatoes for dinner? Depression also wants that too

Wrath says that they need to bend Thomas to their will? Well duh! Of course!

Wrath says that Janus has been out of line lately? Well why don't we break his leg again to show him a lesson

Most of the time, the food restrictions have no effect on him bc he listens to Wraths every word

Virgil

Was the second in command before he left

Opposed Wrath on his more extreme tactics

Has the ability to control shadows and others own Anxiety

Hated the dress code that Wrath insists on having. What kind of person wears suspenders and a dress shirt daily anyway?

Still wears the stupid things anyway because Wrath said to and he's not in the mood to get beat

Symbol is tattooed on underneath his shirt. The left side

After adopting Janus he lost his position as Wrath's right hand

Kinda pissed him off when he got demoted. Not bc of the loss of power. But bc he couldn't protect Janus as well

After adopting Janus he became the 4th in power (after Depression)

Remus

Is the epitome of don't give a shit

He has the power to conjure things and cause intrusive thoughts

Half the time he ignores the dress code completely

Typically opting for his normal clothes but does own a uniform as well

(if anyone has a better photo of this outfit pls pls pls DM me. I've looked through hundreds of photos and this is the best dark green dress shirt with suspenders I got)

Symbol is tattooed on the swell of his back

Gets practically no opinion on dealings or decisions with plans

Remus is a indifferent party. One moment he'll help you. The next he'll stab you in the back

He mostly just works with who can give him what he wants the fastest

He actually feels pity for Janus

Not like he'll ever act on that but he still feels a bit bad for the guy

Remus is kinda like that uncle at family get togethers that no-one talks to or cares about but he's always there

Janus

Oh boy, where to start?

Has the lowest rank out of every other side

His power (the ability to make people unable to talk) can only be used on the light side of the mind

He is also unable to heal immediately on the dark side

Meaning that he has to treat his wounds the old fashioned way

Doesn't really like the dress code

Only gets to wear his normal outfit when he's visting the light sides

Blond hair (wow! Really? Not like its the the name of the au!!)

His patch isn't a tattoo

This boi has the biggest fucking sweet tooth you could ever imagine

He is also so fucking short

His shoes have lifts to make him taller

He's cold blooded

When he gets focused, he bleps

This is turning fluffy-

He is literally covered head to toe in scars

Almost no skin was left untouched

Lying is a defense mechanism for him. He's deceit! He can lie his way out of anything!

Heavily disagrees on Wraths views

Thomas should get ahead, of course he should. But that shouldn't come at the price of someones life or the cost of his reputation

Hurting someone to get ahead in the short-term is only going to harm you in the long term

To hide the bruses, he applies thick layers of makeup and illusions if he's on the light side

Hasn't gotten a good sleep in years

He's terrified that someone will break into in bedroom while he's sleeping and finish him off

Or that they'll cut the heating again and he'll slowly freeze to death

Or that they'll drag him out of his room and chain him up somewhere to become nothing but a punching bag

He has agoraphobia (fear of open spaces)

Hasn't had positive touch since Virgil left

He has venom. Its very lethal and only activates when threatened

When angry, his eyes glow yellow and his canine teeth grow sharp and long that they stick out of his mouth slightly like fangs

Was meant to be a light side and function as Validity and Societal Self Preservation. But the dark sides found him first and brought him back with them

Virgil is his father figure

Doesn't really know how to feel after finding out that he's not a dark side

He does feel really really lied to and betrayed

But... Virgil is his dad. Virgil raised him

How could he be upset?

Writes down all of his thoughts and complaints in journals that he keeps in his room

He started writing journals when he was very young, so there is hundreds of them

Honestly doesn't know how to feel about him being a light side.

He's mad at Wrath. He knows that. But he can't do anything because his powers don't work on the dark side

He might as well be powerless.

When on the light side (so when all his powers work) his powers include: silencing others, the ability to repress sides/ make them unable to appear to Thomas and illusions.

His title is technically Validity with the added function of societal self preservation

Still goes by Deceit anyway

----

Has three brands burned onto him via Apathy

Is on his left ankle. Its his snake symbol. About the size of your fist

On his right bicep. The word "monster" in bolded writing. About two fingers in thickness.

Left chest, above his heart. The words "Property of the Dark Sides" in cursive text. The writing sits in a box.

All the brands are extremely painful for Janus if touched. Brand #3 is the brand he hates the most

His scales are more in patches then a perfect 50/50 split down his body

More will be added in the future.