#right now its just. their normal designs + some added little details that match the genre

[hyperfixated-homo]

Concept art for an AU idea of mine. It's not fully fleshed out, but the basic premise is that each member of the gang has a horror subgenre that they have to live with. I don't really know what that entails yet (if they like, live in alternate dimensions? or have a family curse?) but the concept is stuck in my head.

I had a whole 2k words written about why I chose to give each turtle their genres but tumblr deleted everything. So if you want to know, just send an ask :)

[ct-multifandom]

Miraculous s6 Trailers Breakdown

Before I get into it, if it calms anyone’s nerves, I think this poster is a case of questionable graphic design. The weird official render style makes the characters look different from normal, plus Chat, Carapace, and Rena are all squished to match Ladybug’s proportions on the poster. This is an interesting choice from the designer: making the smallest character in the group take up the entire height and corresponding width of the poster and then awkwardly smushing the others in next to her. That’s why Carapace looks more short and stout than usual, and why Chat and Rena are kinda elongated. It doesn’t help that they shrunk Rena to accommodate her fox ears.

I’m liking the little updates to the hero suits. I honestly wasn’t expecting to see change for anyone but Ladybug and Chat, so now I’m excited to see everyone else. I love the changes on Carapace. They took his old, pretty simple suit and added a lot of new textures like the chest plate and wrist guards, and they gave him fingerless gloves and neck speakers. This gives me hope that they’ll update other designs that get criticized for just being a bodysuit with a decal on it like Ryuko and Viperion’s into something more interesting.

Rena is very similar, but her ears are bigger and pointier, the flute has been redesigned, her palms are white now, she has big poppin’ eyeliner, and her tail seems to be dark. Some people noted that they seem to be making Alya’s skin look darker after accusations of whitewashing her, so I hope they’ll finally give Pegasus the same treatment.

I’ve seen people say LB and CN must’ve taken influence from their reverse selves for their current designs, and CN seems to have some PV nods like his new shirt collar. Ladybug’s design feels more mature and is probably a response to criticism of her looking too simple as a character with a fashion interest among other superheroes with more detailed designs.

I didn’t include the poster of Marinette’s outfit, but overall I like it. I agree with people saying the bow on her shirt feels extra, but I like her emonette jacket. Her tights under jorts remind me of Mylene’s outfit, making me wonder if there’s some character influence there, or if they’ll be changing Mylene’s clothes so they don’t look too similar.

First look at Alya! Yay! I love her new haircut. It reminds me of Haru from persona 5. She seems to be wearing the same shirt, which is lame. Maybe the rest of her outfit has changed, or maybe they’re not fixing what isn’t broke. It’s disappointing, though, that Adrien’s outfit looks the same. I can only dream that they’re leading up to a makeover scene where he realizes he’s allowed to pick out his own clothes now, but alas.

Here Adrien is jogging with a new character (?) who has a prosthetic leg. There’s no good look at their face and even this screenshot sucks. If this is the same scene as Marinette with binoculars, then we might be getting a rare moment of a new character being introduced through Adrien rather than Marinette, perhaps someone he knows from rich people stuff or whatever nebulous and dubiously canon sports he participates in.

This frame appears after a camera pan right from a modernized remodel of the school. Before, there were average city blocks around the school, so whatever this is might be part of an expanded campus built for Bustier’s utopian academy.

I think I’ve written in a post before that I hope ML does something to commemorate the Paris 2024 Olympics, so I’m thrilled to see an Olympian akuma in the trailer! Perhaps this character is a celebrity cameo, but idk anything about Team France and its stars. It’s possible this scenario will be a special episode as well, but maybe more like the plastic special than the world specials. I hope they have to beat her by competing in games like Penalteam but with less cheating. It’d be awesome if the other heroes helped represent events that fit their characters. An episode like that would be a fun and light way to introduce the new animation and hero designs without diving into deep overarching drama and lore.

Perhaps the character jogging with Adrien is connected to this episode since they have a prosthetic running leg and seem athletic.

Here’s our first look at Lila’s akumatization. Her mask thing is very pretty and soft looking compared to Gabriel’s sharp, geometric, simple one. It reminds me of a masquerade mask with all the swirls. Maybe there’s some visual symbolism here of Lila being a more complex butterfly user than Hawkmoth. We also see her shooting some sort of beam at CN from the mask, maybe separate from the akuma’s power. I hope they’ll revisit the somewhat-retconned bloodbending power we saw Hawkmoth use on Evillustrator and Pixelator and explore the full extent of the butterfly’s power over their akumas.

Tomoe? Astruc said he wants Kagami to fight her and take her down further down the road, and I believe she may be a bigger villain than they’re making her out to be now. Lila is great and all, but an adult threat who owns a tech megacorp and is one of the only surviving members of Gabriel’s creepy billionaire sentibaby cult seems like a scarier enemy than the pathological liar from class. We don’t know Lila’s deal yet, but I imagine her villain motives are probably something deeply personal. Meanwhile, Tomoe might be trying to reach some greater goal that Gabriel failed to achieve. Both she and Lila practically had all the fruits of his evil labor fall into their laps without lifting a finger, so they might have an interesting dynamic as rival villains or fake allies.

Okay this is from the London special. The synopsis says someone found Ladybug’s identity to take her down, and she and Bunnyx have to solve the mystery and reverse the events. This masked person looks like they may be the enemy, and their design is themed after the rabbit miraculous. People have been kinda assuming that it’s just Lila, but everyone in the audience knows she’s the next big villain right now, so it feels like a cop-out to frame this special as a mystery. It could still be her, and it’s just a mystery to the heroes, but what if the enemy is someone else? If they’re using the rabbit miraculous, Lila wouldn’t have access to it during season 5 unless she stole it somehow and gave it back unnoticed.

My theory is that the villain is Tomoe who got the miraculous from Gabriel. The trailer shows catbug looking in on Adrien and Kagami in their white rooms, so maybe during that time, Gabriel sent rabbit!Tomoe after Ladybug to ensure his victory in the upcoming finale, and maybe she has her own motives as well.

I recall Zag releasing concepts of some hero or spy characters from London a long time ago, and I thought they’d be for the London world special like Eagle and Lady Dragon, but maybe they’re for a different show or got scrapped in favor of focusing on the main miraculous plot (which honestly, good. Please focus on the existing characters)

Finally, poor Nooroo in Lila’s creepy catacomb bunker. I hope her jumpscare reaction at the end of s5 wasn’t just the sight of him. It would feel odd after the latest of Marinette’s hero friends were totally chill seeing kwamis for the first time. He’s in some bubble here. Maybe it’s stopping him from sharing things he’s not allowed to say, or maybe Lila is forcing him to stay put? I’m also curious about the angle and what that metal bar is a part of. Is Lila sitting under a table?

Anyway! TLDR I like the new designs overall and I’m excited to see everyone else. I’m also excited at the prospect of an Olympics episode and I think Tomoe may be the next big villain next to or even surpassing Lila.

[rockethorse]

Calcinidae Bay Lot Tour: the Public Schools

Let's take a closer look at a few of Calcinidae Bay's community lots - its public schooling! This screenshot is actually three lots, with two lots overlapped using the Lot Adjuster. On the left is the high school, on the right is the primary school, and between them is a shared gymnasium and a semi-public oval (sports field).

More pics & CC-free decorating ideas below!

As always, these lots are based on shell challenges. The high school and primary school are actually shells that were made for me by @hugelunatic as stocking stuffers back in 2022 (I didn't forget about them!) The shell from the gym/oval lot is actually the smaller canteen building, with the gymnasium being auxiliary (because it had to be such a specific size/shape), and that shell is a 4T2 adaptation of LilSimsie's "Yeehaw" Shell Challenge that I grabbed off the gallery.

Starting with the high school:

If you peeked at the original shell, you'll see there was a two-storey 1x1 "column "room" in the middle of the lot, which made me think of a bell/clock tower and inspired me to use these shells for schools. Normally when I adapt a TS4 shell challenge to TS2 I choose the placement & orientation on the lot, but because these lots were made natively in TS2 I decided to keep the lot size & distribution as they were. This gave me a lot of additional space around the main building that was perfect for adding extra amenities like a library.

The ground floor of the high school has an administration area, lockers, mixed bathroom, sick bay, staff room, and two general-use classrooms that can each fit six students.

The teacher's lounge/staff room, and a small display/awards case. I needed something to do with that little triangular pocket, and now it's one of my favourite features. :)

Upstairs is two specialised classrooms - a moderate science lab and an arts room. I would have liked at least a home ec classroom as well, but I guess that'll be reserved for the eventual private school.

The canteen (cafeteria) is a separate demountable building with outdoor seating, some of it under a shade cloth. The library is also a separate building with a small computer bay and a group study area.

Moving on to the primary school, a much older and smaller building with some minor remodeling so the two schools look cohesive:

The inspiration for my gameplay/lots is a mish-mash of different cultural influences, but I play my schools like the standard Australian system; kids start in reception (about age 5) and attend primary school all the way through to year 6 or 7, then go to high school from year 6/7 through to year 12. Separate middle schools are much less common, and this matches with how the game itself handles kid vs. teen education.

I design my lots kind of "representationally", to get the best balance between realism and playability. While I enjoy including some details that don't provide actual gameplay, I don't want to build enormous, cumbersome lots just to achieve a 1:1 scale when my Sims will never actually need that much space. Plus, most shell challenges tend to be smaller, which I like. Hence why this school has only two classrooms, one for junior primary and a more structured classroom for upper primary.

There is a small admin area downstairs. Upstairs is the sick bay and a modest teacher's lounge/staff room.

The primary school doesn't have its own library, but it does have a small separate building that we in Australia would call OSHC - Out of School Hours Care. It's a service parents can book to drop their children off before school starts, or arrange for them to attend after school finishes until they can pick them up. They provide snacks and some edu-tainment activities. Lots of kids also attend OSHC over school holidays.

The primary school canteen/cafeteria is also a separate building. Both school canteens use the University cafeteria stove, so with the right mod students will be able to grab food there. In addition to an outdoor eating area and a small playground, there is a little produce patch between the two buildings where students are taught about horticulture.

And finally, the lot that joins the two schools, the shared gymnasium and Calcinidae Oval.

The canteen/cafeteria itself would generally not be open during school hours. Instead, the school and/or local council would operate it for profit or hire it out to a third party when the oval was being used for local sports teams and other events on weekends, holidays, and after school hours. Right now it's set up for just such a soccer match.

The inside of the "tuckshop". There is a bathroom on the bottom floor accessible from the outside of the building, while the top floor has two changing rooms for students or local teams.

The gymnasium also serves as an assembly hall for students of both schools. I think the teachers would either have a collapsible stage at the far end of the court, or just stand up in the commentator's booth to give the announcements. Underneath the commentator's booth is the equipment storage shed where many a teen couple has probably sneaked off to make out.

The back view of the tuckshop and the carpark shows how this lot overlaps with the primary school. The existing primary school is blocked from Sims walking through it by a combination of real fences and this hidden CC-free invisible fence.

And that's it for this tour! I'm pretty happy with how these lots look, how I utilised the shells, and how they all fit together in the neighbourhood. I want to have more lots overlapping and slotting together like this to give Calcinidae Bay a more seamless, open feel, like the hood really is connected.

I'll finish this post with some floorplans - if you read all this you're a champ, I hope it gave you some ideas for your own game, and I'd love to know what you think!

[bl00dh0rs3]

I really need a name for this au. Anyway i nailed down their color schemes (flats and some character design-y thoughts notes below)

Aw man im really about to go in on this here, ok--ill stick to just design stuff and a bit of Their Deal^tm for now! ill explain the au in full some other day, with a more polished drawing.

Alright so. I am still doing research, its ongoing, but i think ive decided that, in this au, their relationship is something more akin to... in a past life they were the same, but for spiritual development reasons, the qi that made That person split, and went on to reincarnate as Them--narratively this is going to make them function like. Just normal Foils lmao--just with an added umph of it being somewhat literal for them, in the scope of their world, if that makes sense! I dont want to put myself in the box of calling them brothers, bc it just irritates me, but they are Not going to be romantically involved in this au either--SWK has enough trouble in his weirdly uneventful but still tumultuous love life as it is (👀 at Erlang and ZBJ), im not going to torment him by adding his evil clone to that list LMAO. Also LEMH aromantic as hell bc i said so.

Also their both trans thats very super important. Trans monkeys forever obviously

Anyway, So theyre still sort of "the same person", yet not, as they had still Never properly met (until Liu'er chapter)--their both incredibly similar and incredibly different, due to the imbalance of the energies within them and the actions they took for the majority of their lives. SWK is the yang, extroverted and bold and destructive and take-no-shit, while LEMH is the yin, (at least in this story) by being reclusive and a bit of a pushover for the longest time--the, erm.... Outburst, being the result of built up resentment and imbalance within himself spurning him to overcompensate for what he was lacking. It's kind of complicated and intricate and i like it that way if describing it is kind of rough Pfft--but anyway!

Point is, i wanted ALLLL that to be reflected in their designs by giving them plenty of Contrasting but Complimentary, and even sometimes juxtaposed details! The incorrect yin yang belt buckles/brooches are the most obvious one i think, next to the general warm vs. cold color palettes--then there's Liu'er being shirtless and with shorter hair, just to bring a sense of masculinity into his appearance, counterbalancing the fact that he's otherwise very feminine and in line with his Yin nature. Id say i made SWK's hair longer for the same kind of reason, but given that long hair isnt seen as inherently feminine, mileage can vary on that--if one reads it that way then yay, fun detail, and if not, then you still get to be looking as a SWK with long hair, and thats always a win in and of itself.

The red parts of their face are also matching--SWK's making up the over eye and LEMH's the under eye, to visually indicate the "this is the same person split in two" dealio. I also tried to make SWK appear a bit more Rounded and Soft, curving his cheek tuffs and little beard In a bit more (belying a gentler nature and other. Yknow, Round thoughts underneath his theatricality (contrasting with his yang-ish behavior), while LEMH's is sharp and feathered out (bringing to mind hostility and action and other Sharp thoughts, equally in contrast with his usually yin-ish nature).

They were initially going to both have the fillets on their heads, for reasons Like the ones above, but without a shirt Liu'er torso was feeling empty and i felt like he needed something to break up the grey of his fur--so, necklace. Hes bouta get choked tf out dont worry about it ❤

Uhhh thats all i can think of writing down right now, feel free to let me know if any of it is kind of Eh, constructive criticism and all that--if you saw any typos no you didnt, thank you for coming to my ted talk and have a groovy day

[adobe-outdesign]

:0 I’d love to hear your opinion on the Aegislash line

I'm honestly a big fan of Honedge's design. "Possessed sword" isn't necessarily the most interesting concept, but the execution here is great. The tassel basically functioning as a hand is a nice way to give it the ability to interact with its environment without it feeling forced.

I also really like that is has a false face on the sheath. Because you tend to look at that and think that's the Pokemon's face, but no, it doesn't really have a face and instead just has a singular eye. It's rare to see a Pokemon without a distinct face outside of Ultra Beasts, so this is a really cool way to deal with that. The other details on the sheath also look nice, having sort of a Celtic-inspired design without actually being very complicated.

My only real problem with it is that the sword part underneath is a little plain, and feels like it's missing something compared to the sheath. You don't want to go too extreme with its design, as it's basically a sword mimic that drains the life of people with its tassel, so it's important it can pass as one. However, I feel like a little bit of swirliness could've been worked into the hilt, and the shape of the sword could've been a bit more interesting. Maybe something wavy, to match the curves of the tassel?

I gotta admit, I'm not a big fan of gen 1's "just add copies of the thing" method of evolution, and I'm not overly fond of it here. It's neat that it resembles a coat of arms, but I feel like it doesn't change enough design-wise; it's basically a pair of pink Honedge, without much else going for it. There are changes--the hilt now has a point on one side for no reason, the sheath is a bit different, they're attached to a plaque now--but it's not enough to make it look visually distinct from Honedge.

I feel like it would've been nice if it was entirely unsheathed at this point. The false face is part of the hilt (with the eye as the handle), and the rest of the design could've been engraved into the steel of the blade. Add some fancier elements to the tassels, and I think that would've been enough to distinctify it. Otherwise, there's no reason to not jump straight from Honedge to Aegislash.

I also gotta say that Doublade is a bit weird when looking at the entire line, because it splits into two swords... then goes right back to being one. I like it when middle evos do something unique, but its weird that this doesn't tie into anything. Maybe you could argue that one of them becomes Aegislash's shield, but lack of eyeball doesn't suggest that.

And I should emphasize that Doublade's design isn't bad or anything; it just feels like more could've been done with it.

Aegislash feels like a more solid evolution, given that it changes things up a bit from Honedge while still being recognizable. I really like the gold middle with the serrated edge here; it just adds some visual interest to the sword. The gold and purple color scheme is also nice, and befitting of a Pokemon used by kings. The black base to the tassels also adds some contrast, and gives it an elegant look overall.

However, I do have some issues with it. First, I don't really get why this has two "forms", as they're just it in different poses; the only change is the "eyes" in the shield turning white.

But secondly, I'm not overly found of the more... I'm not sure if humanoid is the right word because it's not human shaped, but it has a human stance, with it having "arms" and shoulder blades and wielding a shield. Not only does it make it less plausible to mistake for a normal sword, but it also just feels a bit weird to have a Pokemon use a shield while also literally being a sword.

Like I said earlier, I would've put an eyeball in the shield, added a tassel, and implied that was the other part of Doublade. Then just have it float next to Aegislash, with the two halves working together for offense and defense. That would've fit more with the idea of them being possessed weapons used by kings instead of being the swordsman themselves.

And just speaking from a visual standpoint, the way the eye is done here doesn't look nearly as interesting as just having it be a round "gem" of sorts, and the hilt is just a weird shape overall. It's hard to picture anyone wielding this thing.

Overall, though, these are some fun possessed swords, and one of the more interesting takes on the idea that I've seen in media so far.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

- Chapter 6 - 

It was strange, Lan Wangji reflected, to be in public again after so long an absence. Stranger still to be addressed by strangers, to be called the Second Jade of Lan, or Lan-er-gongzi –

He wished that they would use his personal title instead. It might reduce the awkwardness.

Though, he reflected, it was likely that nothing would really reduce the awkwardness inherent in the situation, for all its old nostalgic familiarity: his brother walking in the lead, he and his uncle one step behind him, the representatives of the Lan sect in all their glory, beauty, and righteousness.

Looking at their tranquil expressions and sedate pace, one would never know that Lan Qiren was still furiously angry at Lan Wangji for his decision to abandon his sect and family, now made several times over; that Lan Wangji had been shockingly disrespectful by Lan standards in his response; that Lan Xichen had ordered that neither of them were permitted to speak until they could behave civilly (he’d used the term “like human beings”) once again.

It had been a very quiet journey to Koi Tower.

Luckily, even once they arrived, their customary reserve meant that no one noticed the tensions between them – not even the normally astute Lianfeng-zun, who greeted them at the door, much less his father and brother, and certainly not Chifeng-zun, who was listening to another sect leader speak with the stiff and stern expression that, after several years of keeping company with Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji now recognized as please stop talking to me.  

(Lan Wangji briefly considered that he ought to suggest that Jiang Cheng spend more time with Chifeng-zun. They shared a history as young men who assumed control over their sects too soon as a result of the same enemy, and he knew Jiang Cheng highly esteemed Chifeng-zun – but then he rejected the idea as unnecessary and likely full of potential political pitfalls, especially given the Jiang sect’s role in the Jin sect’s current one-sided rivalry with the Nie sect.

As the Second Jade of Lan, he didn’t need to worry about political concerns, or at least not those beyond the basic premise of ‘don’t lose face for the sect’. His uncle and brother handled everything of that nature, just as they always had, holding up the sky for him and allowing him to focus on cultivation and his own interests, only he had been Jiang Cheng’s secret sounding board for too long now to fail to think of the potential problems anyway.

He found to his surprise that he missed it.)

Jiang Cheng would have noticed the tension, but he had yet to arrive – they had agreed that it would make everything easier if he would arrive to the gathering a little late, minimizing the amount of chatter they would need to endure about the two of them before the formal events began.

This would be Lan Wangji’s first discussion conference after having “left seclusion”, as people were calling it – his uncle with notably more sarcasm than usual – and the first test of his new public relationship with Jiang Cheng. They’d settled the public fight aspect with some degree of enjoyment, having a spar that extended throughout the rooftops and alleyways of the Lotus Pier, matching Bichen again Sandu and Wangji against Zidian, and the rumors had run wild ever since then. Finally, Jin Guangyao had intervened in his father’s name to “force” the compromise they’d all agreed upon: that Lan Sizhui would fall under Lan Wangji’s personal supervision, as was his right as the (assumed) father, but that he would remain at the Lotus Pier for most of the year to avoid a sudden and traumatic readjustment.

That this coincidentally would result in Lan Wangji spending most of his time at the Lotus Pier had largely passed unnoticed. Most people were far, far too busy gossiping about Lan Wangji’s mysterious Jiang sect wife, each one adding new salacious details atop the other. Some of the nonsense he’d heard…!

At least, he comforted himself, none of them would be rude enough to actually ask him about it directly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” a voice called, and Lan Wangji would have stiffened if his back hadn’t already been straighter than a board. His uncle coughed and stroked his beard to conceal his expression of amusement – he probably thought that having to deal with Nie Huaisang, inveterate gossip and useless person extraordinaire, was exactly what Lan Wangji deserved.

He was probably right, too. Lan Wangji had brought this on his own head.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said, very reluctantly, as the Second Young Master of Qinghe Nie showed up with a feckless smile, promptly clutching at his arm and insisting that they go catch up and indulge in nostalgia about their shared school days.

Which ones, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure – Nie Huaisang had attended his uncle’s classes three times over before passing, and whether or not that final pass had been fairly earned or whether his uncle had simply yielded to his desire never to see Nie Huaisang’s face in his classroom ever again, Lan Wangji remained unsure.

Still, it suited him not to be forced to make nice with all those sect leaders pretending that they weren’t gawking at him, and so he permitted Nie Huaisang to drag him off to some unoccupied garden he had somehow managed to uncover, the other man chattering in his ear like a magpie the entire time.

“ – supposed I really should call you Hanguang-jun now, but that just seems so formal, though at least I remember it. I barely remember anyone’s title. Though now that my big brother’s sworn brotherhood with your big brother, I could probably just get away with calling you Wangji-gege –”

“No.”

“You’re so mean!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Aren’t we old friends?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re close enough to count, anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “Jiang Cheng’s my friend as well, you know; you can’t keep him to yourself just because you’re angry at your family! That’s just selfish. Aren’t there Lan sect rules against being selfish? I assume so, though I admit I’ve forgotten more of them than I’ve learned…don’t tell your uncle that, I’m afraid he’ll revoke my sympathy pass.”

Lan Wangji reflected briefly that it was good that Nie Huaisang was self-aware enough to recognize that the pass mark had likely been given out of sympathy rather than for merit, but then returned to the more critical point of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“Why do you think I’m angry at my family?” he asked. And what was that about Jiang Cheng?

It was critical that Sect Leader Jin, among others, not suspect that Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng shared a closer relationship than apparent – even Jin Guangyao had agreed with that – and if they had been sussed out so quickly, and by Nie Huaisang…

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “You may be an unreadable stone wall, my – er, acquaintance, but do you really think I can’t tell when your uncle is upset? Me, of all people?”

This was a good point.

“And if your uncle’s upset at you, again, of all people, and you haven’t apologized or made up to him yet, that means you’re the one that’s angry,” Nie Huaisang concluded. “And anyway, why else would you agree to stay for so long at the Lotus Pier if you weren’t angry? You and Jiang Cheng must drive each other up the walls.”

Lan Wangji relaxed minutely. That was a reasonable explanation.

A moment later, he tensed up again – he was abruptly convinced, albeit without any logical basis, that the explanation was too reasonable, meant to put him at ease, designed to allow him to move on with the conversation without thinking too much or questioning too deeply. No one else had put the facts together the way Nie Huaisang had, and, most notably, Nie Huaisang hadn’t yet asked a single question about Lan Sizhui, who was, without making an appearance, the main subject matter of the day.

But then, a moment after that, he relaxed again, somewhat unwillingly – this was Nie Huaisang, who’d been born useless, grown up useless, and remained useless. It was a little absurd to suspect him of having figured out something that had duped the entire rest of the cultivation world.  

As Nie Huaisang said – of all people…

“What do you want?” he asked, shaking his head a little to try to clear it. It must be the oppressive atmosphere of Koi Tower, gilded and rotten, that was affecting his thoughts.

“What do I always want?” Nie Huaisang asked philosophically, and then helpfully answered his own question: “Attention.”

Lan Wangji was starting to remember why he’d avoided Nie Huaisang so thoroughly in their youth.

“I’m not telling you anything about Sizhui,” he said.

Nie Huaisang pouted at him. He was still clinging to Lan Wangji’s arm, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it would count as ‘losing the sect face’ if he threw him out a window.

(He wished Jiang Cheng were around so that he could mention the thought to him - he suspected it would make the other man turn purple with suppressed laughter, and probably get some sort of comment about it being the only sort of flying Nie Huaisang could manage, with or without a blade.)

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang said sulkily. “Turns out you’re still no fun, even after all these years. I’ll have you know, Jiang Cheng’s a lot nicer than you. He appreciates all the things I bring to the table.”

Lan Wangji seriously doubted it – unless perhaps if Nie Huaisang was speaking literally, referring to fine foods and liquor – but his mood improved a bit nonetheless at the compliment. Given the Jiang sect’s relatively isolated political position, with all the smaller sects looking at it hungrily, just waiting for it to trip up and give them a chance to snatch away the title of being the fourth Great Sect, it was only good that the second young master of Qinghe Nie had a positive impression of the ever-prickly Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nie Huaisang said, and dug something out of his sleeve. “Give this back to er-ge for me, will you?”

Lan Wangji stared blankly. “His passage token for Koi Tower?”

He had planned to ask his brother later if he could borrow it – perhaps not that night, since it was the first day of the discussion conference and he suspected his brother would want to visit with his sworn brothers, but in the next day or two. That was the only reason he had agreed to go to Koi Tower at all, agreed to visit Lanling at all: so that he might try to steal away at some opportune moment to visit Mo Xuanyu unattended, before anyone noticed where he’d gone, and talk to him about the request for safe harbor that he had made of Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had still been thinking over how he would phrase the request for the token without giving away his suspicions of the boy’s mistreatment, which his brother would likely take as a slight against Jin Guangyao even though it was fairly obvious to everyone that Sect Leader Jin was keeping Mo Xuanyu as a weapon against Jin Guangyao. He hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to do it.

And now – how had the token ended up here, in Nie Huaisang’s hands?

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wanted to talk to you privately, without everyone eavesdropping, so I asked him for it. Da-ge never lets me use his, he says I’m a menace to both people and property, and for some reason san-ge never lets me take his. Probably because he’s always so busy all the time.”

That sounded – very much like all three of them, in fact. Nie Mingjue, bluntly refusing; Jin Guangyao, politely eliding; his brother, yielding in utter capitulation to the first bit of begging, confident enough in his own righteous reputation to not worry about the consequences…

An idea appeared in Lan Wangji’s mind.

It was not the sort of idea that might naturally come to a member of the Lan sect. Perhaps his uncle was right in saying that he’d been lingering at the Lotus Pier for too long.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the token. “You are right.”

“I…what?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Are you getting sick, Lan-er-gongzi? I’m never right.”

“I am angry at my family,” Lan Wangji continued, deciding to ignore him. He did not specify why he was angry – let Nie Huaisang assume, as everyone else assumed, that it was because they had not retrieved Lan Sizhui earlier, and for sticking him with the ‘compromise’ of having to stay at the Lotus Pier, no matter how far that was from the truth. “I have not had the opportunity to vent my feelings.”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “You…vent feelings?” he said, sounding doubtful, but a moment later he brightened, as Lan Wangji had expected he would. “We could play a prank on somebody! That always makes me feel better – something petty and ridiculous, so that they won’t get really angry, but still know that you’re upset.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang appeared somewhat dazed by his agreement. “We could do so many things,” he marveled. “I mean, the possibilities are countless. We could throw paint at something, we could put water on top of a door, we could…”

“I do not want to be publicly associated with it,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but tapped his fan against his cheek, thinking. “That makes things harder, but not impossible, I suppose…oh, I know! Why don’t we pretend that you’re your brother? You two look like peas in a pod, but for the color of your eyes and your expressions – if I’m hanging around and calling you er-ge and no one looks too closely, they would have no idea it was you involved.”

That was precisely the idea Lan Wangji had hit upon, and the one that he had hoped to lead Nie Huaisang towards suggesting. He had gotten to the point much quicker than Lan Wangji had thought he would; it seemed, useless as he might be, Nie Huaisang was still apparently capable of accepting at least some guidance.

(Unless perhaps...but no. It was Nie Huaisang.)

“This evening?” he suggested, and Nie Huaisang nodded.

“That’ll give me time to think of a proper prank,” he said happily. It was as if he’d never encountered a care in his life, Sunshot Campaign or no. “Don’t you worry, Wangji-gege! Leave it all to me!”

Lan Wangji returned to the main hall, the token tucked into his sleeve, and said nothing when his older brother smiled at him, faintly apologetic, nor when his uncle turned his face away from him. By that point, Jiang Cheng had arrived, scowling as usual, and he was mingling, speaking with the smaller sect leaders with a stiff and stern expression that said please don’t talk to me – Lan Wangji really would have to see about convincing him to invite Chifeng-zun to the Lotus Pier, politics or no politics – and he and Lan Wangji stared at each other briefly before turning away from each other, whispers sprouting up around them like grass.

Why must we put up with people? Jiang Cheng’s expression eloquently conveyed, and Lan Wangji didn’t disagree in the slightest. Life was so much easier in his little room back at the Lotus Pier, where he could shut the door and not let in the world – sometimes he wondered if all of this was really worth it.

Later that evening, he was reminded that it was.

Mo Xuanyu had been invited to the opening ceremonies, sitting in the main row with the important people of the Jin sect – directly beside Jin Guangyao, as if everyone didn’t know his purpose already – but he hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his face down and demeanor as withdrawn as possible. Sect Leader Jin had found an opportunity to praise him for his humility and obedience, and even Lan Wangji, who did not like Jin Guangyao, was indignant on the man’s behalf in the face of such obvious humiliation.

Etiquette dictated that no one could intervene in another man’s family affairs, but Chifeng-zun had rather loudly remarked to Lan Xichen – as if only just remembering – that it must be good to have his brother (subtext: notable for being humble and obedient) out of seclusion at last, inquiring as to whether Lan Wangji was planning on attending any night-hunts in the near future and, if so, whether he would be bringing his son, for whom he cared so deeply, along.

Lan Wangji was accustomed to being the other person’s child, held up as a positive comparison to the annoyance of the person being compared, and it took Jiang Cheng’s eyes crinkling with barely concealed laughter for him to realize that the person he was being compared favorably against this time was Jin Guangshan, absent father extraordinaire, and not poor Mo Xuanyu.

Later, when his brother slipped away to meet with his sworn brothers, as Lan Wangji expected, and Jiang Cheng was gone reluctantly to take Jin Ling to visit with his grandfather, Lan Wangji headed out with Nie Huaisang, who had come up with some prank involving feathers and glue that Lan Wangji wanted nothing to do with.

“But it would be funny,” Nie Huaisang argued.

Lan Wangji blamed Jiang Cheng for the fact that he even considered it.

“We can simply walk around in the guise we agreed,” he finally said, banishing that unhelpful part of him that loved chaos a little too much – the Wei Wuxian part, perhaps. “That will be confusing enough.”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Huaisang said. “But the feathers are hidden in the linen closet off the main guest hallway if you change your mind.”

With Nie Huaisang complaisant, it was easy enough to gradually make their way through Koi Tower, seeming to stroll without any apparent goal but in fact edging closer to Lan Wangji’s destination: the Jin family quarters.

“Wangji-gege – oops, I mean, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said after he had exhausted at least three other pointless topics. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised by the question.

Nie Huaisang was pouting. “You clearly have a goal,” he said. “I know I’m not much, you know, but I’m not nothing. I could still help. If you wanted.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to refuse on instinct – the idea that Nie Huaisang could be helpful to him in any way seemed utterly absurd, utterly impossible – but then he paused.

Attempt the impossible, he reminded himself. After all, was it really so long ago that he himself had done what he had never dreamt he could do and chosen to leave his sect behind?

For a life at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, no less?

Maybe even Nie Huaisang could overturn expectations.

“I want to speak with Mo Xuanyu,” he finally said. “And, if he is unhappy, remove him from Koi Tower. Is that something in which you think you can assist me?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, just once – he did not appear nearly as surprised by the request as Lan Wangji thought he probably should be – and then smiled.

[obeymebabes]

Heavenly Surprise (Simeon x MC)

Warnings: None, that would be sinful.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE PRETTIEST ANGEL IN THE REALMS, SIMEON! I always overlook this boy. He is such a great character, and so ungodly beautiful. I am so happy that I get to finally write birthday fics for the side babes.

Summary: After gifting Simeon with matching teacups, you both decide to indulge in some Celestial Realm grade tea, but Simeon forgot to mention the unexpected effect it has on humans.

~

The night was still young, and you had finally had some free time with the man of the hour. Simeon was delighted that you were able to join him and for a brief period of time, both of you were able to enjoy each other’s company alone, and to yourselves. There were no brothers to pester you, no small little Luke begging for your attention, not even the sight of a shady wizard who always seems to be there when you least expect it. No, instead, it was simply just the two of you together. An angel and his favorite human.

Like Barbatos, Simeon had a thing for tea. The special drink had a place in his heart. That being noted, you had wanted to give him the only thing that you knew would be suitable. Matching teacups. It was a gift to prove to him that you were paying close attention, as well as a way to send a message of wanting to have more times like this, where you were able to be with him free of the other pests. 

Upon opening the carefully wrapped gifts, he was captivated by the elegance of the designs. A regal looking white cup, traced with gold around the edges with carefully placed Celestial Realm blue swirls for an added decoration. He marveled at the designs, taking a moment to inspect every detail that was carefully placed upon the shiny piece of ceramic. Upon his investigation of the cups, he noticed that both of your names were carefully inscribed into the bottoms. The lettering was delicate, clearly the maker had taken his time with such craftsmanship. Simeon couldn’t help but beam such a bright smile in your direction. 

“My my, these are exquisite. I cannot believe such a stunning pair of teacups exists.” His gentle gleaming eyes found yours, setting the cups gently on a nearby table.

“I love them. Thank you. Is there any chance you would like to relax together now? I just received some Pure Tea from the Celestial Realm and I would be delighted if we could share some together.” His soft eyes pleaded for you to say yes. 

You nodded with a warm smile, and it was easy to spot the excitement that was plastered across his face. 

While he had gotten everything ready to prepare the tea, you had taken the time to admire the angel in all of his glory. The way his soft brown locks danced around his head when he moved, the stretch of his delicate brown skin when he reached for something, the gleam in his blue-green eyes when he subtly glanced in your direction. He was pure. The purest form of an angel you could lay your eyes on. He was in every way perfect, from head to toe. There wasn’t a single thing that was out of place. Nay a mark of imperfection as far as your eyes could wander.

“Little Lamb, the water is almost ready, may you fetch me the teacups on the table, please?” His compassionate voice gently snapping you out of your gazing trance. Getting up, you carefully brought the new teacups to him, watching as he set a tea bag into each one.

Carefully, he poured the boiling water into each cup, soaking the bag and immediately filling the air around you with a sweet smell. Taking both cups in hand, he moved them to seat you both comfortably next to the warm fire he had lit earlier to keep his room cozy and warm. 

“I am pleased that you are here to relax with me. Is it your first time having tea from the Celestial Realm?” He inquired, making small talk as you both waited for your tea to steep, and cool down enough to take a few sips.

“It is. I am excited to get to try it.” You answered, taking a glance at the picture perfect teacups that sat on the small table between you and the angel.

“I am pleased to know that I am the source of a new item for you to try. Celestial Realm tea is sweet and dances across your tastebuds, so there is no need to add sweeteners or any additives to it. But if you do feel as if you want to add to it, please let me know, I won’t be offended.” The angel let out a soft and quiet chuckle, settling back into the chair, watching the burning fire before him. 

The crackling fire was the only sound that filled the room. It had radiated such warmth, slowly lulling you into a state of relaxation. There was a sense of serenity. Time felt slow, your eyes beginning to feel heavy. Gently pulling you from the state of bliss you were currently experiencing was the sound of Simeon shifting in his seat.

“I believe your tea should be cool enough to taste. I am eager for you to try it.” His voice was low, seeing that you were in such a relaxed state, he didn’t want to startle you. With a warm smile, you delicately picked up the cup, pressing it to your lips, letting the warm liquid find its way into your mouth. 

The flavor was just as he had mentioned, a sweet, comforting flavor that sent a warm shiver down your body. It was as if the drink itself had just hugged you. The taste lingered on your tongue, causing you to take another small sip, closing your eyes and letting out a quiet “mmm”.

“Well?” Simeon interrogated, though with the noticeable happiness that was all over your face, he was able to tell that you enjoyed it.

“Don’t tell Barbatos but this might just be the best tea I have ever had.” You returned a smile, which earned a chuckle from him. “I am pleased to hear that, Little Lamb.”

Minutes passed, the sweet smell of the tea lingering in your nose as you continued to savor the pleasant taste on your tastebuds. But something felt off, there was a mild tingling sensation in the back of your throat, running down to your stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, but surely not normal. Trying to brush it off, you closed your eyes, letting your other senses do the work for you.

“Simeon?” It was hardly a whisper. You could feel your cheeks heating up at the thought of him. “A-Are you sure that it is okay that I drank the tea? There wasn’t anything else in it, right?” You questioned, looking at him curiously.

His eyes looked at you confused, not understanding what you were getting at. Was there something wrong?

“No-” He paused, his eyes widening a bit as he thought over the effects of the tea. “Oh my, I must apologize. It seems I have forgotten that this tea has a special kind of effect on humans. There is an ingredient that will cause you to be a bit more honest than usual. I am so sorry, I hope that you can forgive me.” The concern in his voice was enough to tell you that he genuinely hadn’t remembered, and that there was no ill intent with his actions.

Panicking at the thought of revealing your secret admiration for him, you stood, quickly gathering your things. Simeon was quick to get up and try to reassure you that everything was okay.

“I am so sorry Simeon but I really think I should be going, I don’t want to say anything that I am going to regret later. I wouldn’t want to offend you or upset you in any way.” The words rushing to leave your mouth. 

The angel watched you, confused, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Little Lamb, there is nothing to be afraid of, you can trust me. I promise. What is it that you are so scared to tell me?”

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, your mind reacted, “Simeon I am in love with you.” Gasping at the words that just spewed passed your lips, you quickly covered your mouth, feeling the familiar heat spread across your cheeks from embarrassment. Standing in front of you with a similar flushed and shocked face, was Simeon. 

“MC, please, is this true?” His eyes were gentle, passionate. You nodded in response, avoiding his eye contact. The angel couldn’t help but grin, placing a reassuring gloved hand to your cheek, caressing your face tenderly.

“If we are being completely honest here, I admit that I too share such feelings for you. There are countless moments where I wish I could simply slow time to a halt, just to be able to spend forever with you.” Simeon’s eyes searched yours, leaning in softly, waiting to see if you felt that you shared the same spark that he saw between you.

The liquid courage you had coursing through your veins from the tea had led you here, to a moment you had dreamed of for so long. Leaning in to meet him, your eyes had closed, pressing your lips to his, passionately stealing a kiss from him. Pulling away to share a soft smile, you’d never seen him look so content before.

“MC, I have to say, this is quite a heavenly surprise. This may be the best birthday I have had yet, all thanks to you, of course. Please, stay a little longer. I really enjoy your company.” His soft gloved hand held your chin gently, mesmerized by the loving look in your eyes, visibly begging you to stay with him so he didn’t have to remain alone.

“Fine, I will stay, under one condition.” You teased, watching his gentle gaze fall, worried that you’d ask for something unobtainable.

“Hmm?” He hummed, curious.

“I just want to snuggle with you by the fire. It was relaxing earlier, but being close to you will be even better.” A beaming smile was plastered on your face as the angel nodded, taking your hand to lead you back to the spot in front of the flame. He had longed for this. For the gentle touch of his favorite human now wrapped closely in his arms.

While Simeon has had many, many birthdays, nothing can compare to this special night. He will never forget this special moment that you’ve shared together. He could only hope that this wouldn’t be the last.

~

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 16)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2694 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 15 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Six weeks. That’s how much notice Bucky gave you until the wedding. You said yes to being his date before you had actually confirmed anything with work. The wedding was on the first Saturday in June but you would need to take off of work that Friday as well.

Technically one day off from Stark Industries wouldn’t be so bad and as predicted you were given the day easily. Unfortunately, you would have to take two days off at Metro-General and you really hoped that would be alright.

You hadn’t taken many days off since you began; a day for when you had food poisoning, another on the day of Wanda’s museum exhibit, but the hospital was a busy place and Elena was notoriously strict. Plus the more days you took off meant the more hours you would have to make up, which meant the longer it would take to fulfill your final requirement before graduating.

Once again, Marya’s words come to mind. Life will not wait for you so you needed to live it in the moment. It’s only two days.

With renewed confidence you knocked on Elena’s door and asked for the days off.

“Vacation?” she wondered.

“It’s for a wedding actually.”

Her dark eyes lit up at your answer. “Oh very nice. Where is it?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Somewhere in Long Island,” you chuckled, explaining that you were asked by a close friend to be his date.

After all these months of working together you realized this was the most personal conversation you’ve ever had with Elena. You had always tried to respect the boundaries of her as your boss but it was surprising as she seemed to open up first, letting down the guard she had carefully built up to protect herself while working in this field. Her approach carried over with her co-workers up until now.

“Mack was a close friend of mine once...” she said, turning the picture frame on her desk around towards you.

The photo showed her in the arms of a medium-brown skinned man with a dark beard and shaved head. Her whole face was smiling as she stared into his eyes and he was looking back at her like she was the only thing that gave meaning to life. Judging by their clothes you realized this was a wedding photo.

“You’re married? Since when?” You may have blurted that out a little bit louder than you expected but it was a bit of a shock considering she doesn’t wear a ring.

“Since I asked him,” she laughed. “Two years now, but we’ve been together for six and friends for a lot longer than that.”

Ahh now you understand what she was implying. “It’s not like that with me and Bucky. Well…” You bit your lip with uncertainty. “I don’t know. We’re friends and we kissed once but he’s dating other people and–”

“Yet he asked you to be his date.” She smirked, giving you a knowing stare.

Elena had given you the days off but part of you wished she didn’t. On the surface, Bucky was just a friend asking another friend for a favor but the more you thought about your history the more conflicted you felt.

From the moment he’s come into your life you’ve felt something towards Bucky. Sure his looks were undeniable but there was so much more about him. The passion he had for music matched what you felt for social work, and you connected, both of you realizing that each field plays an important role in helping people.

The more your friendship grew it felt like you were always meant to be in each other’s lives and you couldn’t imagine life without Bucky since he had become such a huge part of it. But you weren’t anything more than friends. That’s all.

The warm sun shines directly into your eyes as you exit the subway, trying your best to hear Peggy over the increased amount of people on the street. New York was always crowded but warm weather was a magnet that seemed to pull everyone out of their homes, drawing them outdoors to enjoy the beautiful day.

With Wanda on your left the three of you talk plans for Memorial Day weekend; it’s two weeks away and you’re trying to organize something for everyone to do together.

“I’m not sure if Sam has off or not yet but I do have some news,” Wanda said enticingly, biting her lip to contain her excitement. So many thoughts ran through your head as you waited for her to drop the details. “Sam and I are gonna move in together!”

“Oh Wanda, that’s brilliant!” Peggy said, her red painted lips stretching across her face in a beaming smile.

“I’m so happy for you two! When are you moving? And where?” you asked.

“His apartment is bigger so I’m moving there, hopefully by the end of the month but we’ll see. It’s hard with his schedule sometimes but I definitely want to be out as soon as possible.”

You offered assistance to help her pack and Peggy suggested making it a night with girls, with wine as a little motivation. “Yes, perfect!” Wanda agreed.

If only finding a dress for the wedding was as easy as helping Wanda move. You had already made a few trips to the department stores, trying on the perfect dress that fit like a dream and made you look incredible. Unfortunately, it cost more than your rent so it went back on the rack.

Your disappointing trip was made a little better by the promise of your friends to help you which is what you were doing now. One more block to go and you would be at the boutique you’ve never heard of before where Natasha was meeting you.

Opening the doors made you a little concerned. The place looked like it was from another planet. The glossy black ceiling stood in contrast to the bright white walls that were made up of three dimensional geometric tiles.

Silver accented the space from the large framed mirrors that leaned against the walls to the velvet pewter asymmetrically curved couch outside the dressing room. The clothes themselves looked normal at least, dresses of all kinds displayed on racks within silver frames, making them look like they were encased in glass.

Peggy and Wanda spread out to look for dresses, trying to find ones that resembled the overpriced gown you had only taken a selfie of to remember it by. Immediately you were drawn to a rack of flowy pastel colored ones, draping a few different styles over your arm.

In the middle of your search you heard Natasha call your name, and turning around to greet her you didn’t expect to see an unfamiliar face. She stood next to a man that towered over her small frame. A shock of ice blonde hair and matching bleached eyebrows caught your attention first before you moved on to his outfit, a red vest, leather pants and fur coat that seemed to only have one sleeve.

“Y/N, this is Taneleer Tivan, owner of The Tivan Collection,” she whispered the last line in a way as if you were meant to know who he was.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, though his facial expression didn’t change.

Though his eyes were surrounded by a smudge of dark liner you were able to see clearly the way he looked down in disgust at the dresses you held.

“Carina!” he shouted, and a moment later a girl came running forward. She wore a white vinyl dress that looked more like something you expected the store to sell, although her outfit is much more subdued than her boss’s.

She waited in silence with her hands clasped in front of her, in what seemed like a routine she was quite familiar with. “These are all wrong,” Taneleer said to you and suddenly the dresses were being taken out of your hands by his assistant. “I have much better in my collection.”

To your shock Carina was beside you again, ushering you towards a different section of racks that had more appropriate gowns despite neither her or her boss knowing what event you were shopping for. Thinking back, the pastels might have been a bit too casual anyway.

As you perused the new section you found an assortment of beautiful dresses, some absolutely stunning ones that had you worrying about the price. Natasha can certainly afford a lot more than you but glancing down at the tag you were surprised to see how reasonable things were. You took out a few jewel toned ones to try on that caught your eye.

“Y/N, what do you think of these?”

Peggy’s soft voice made you turn around. The first dress she held up was a satin one shoulder gown in black.

“Oh I like the design,” you said, pointing to the ruffles falling from the shoulder.

The next one she held up was a shimmering emerald dress whose classic mermaid style made you feel like you should be going to the Oscars instead of a wedding.

“Peggy, that’s too formal!” Wanda chimed in, huffing as she came over with more than a half dozen sparkly dresses.

She made room on the nearest rack to hang them, excitedly showing each one off to you. The first was a gorgeous sequined dress, rose gold sparkling in the light. It was undeniably beautiful but you had reservations. You were a guest at someone’s wedding and didn’t want to draw too much attention.

“This one is similar but you’ll see the difference,” she added, holding up another rose gold sequined dress, this one with a plunging V-neckline and a low open back.

“Wanda, that’s…” You stopped yourself from saying anything, grimacing uncomfortably at the dress that was so wrong.

“That looks like a slutty prom dress,” Natasha laughed, saying the thoughts you didn’t say aloud.

Wanda scrunched her face at Natasha before continuing with the next set of dresses. They were less eye catching as the others but still in the sparkly realm. You set aside a shimmering off the shoulder dress in turquoise that looked more like the ocean glittering in sunshine. The neckline was still a bit low but the back was more appropriately cut.

Natasha handed you one dress, a stunning red gown of flowing chiffon with a beautifully embellished bodice of lace and beading. The high neck of the dress complimented the tasteful open back design.

“Okay I’m getting overwhelmed. I have to start trying things on.”

With dresses in tow you made your way inside the fitting room and closed the curtain. Natasha sat across from Peggy and Wanda, checking work emails from her phone despite it being Sunday.

“Nat, did you get your wedding dress from here?” Wanda curiously wondered as her eyes roamed the store.

Her lips pursed as she took a deep breath. “I haven’t found a dress yet. I think we might have to push off the wedding again.”

“What was that?” you said, pushing open the curtains.

Peggy’s face lit up with a smile as you stepped out in a purple dress with lace detailing on the bodice. “You look beautiful!”

Your head turned towards the larger mirrors for a second to admire how you looked in the dress before you remembered the muffled conversation you heard through the curtain.

“Wait, Tash, did you say you’re pushing off the wedding again?”

She huffed loudly, leaning over and covering the frustration on her face with her hands. When she finally lifted her head you saw the desperation in her eyes. “I’m ready to say ‘fuck it’ and go to the courthouse.”

With Natasha’s ever increasing workload you’re quite surprised she hasn’t done this already. It doesn’t seem like she and Clint have made any progress since you’ve known them.

“Forget me,” she said, waving her hand as if to push the burdensome thoughts away. “That dress is pretty but there’s no wow factor.”

You looked in the mirror, realizing she was right. The next dress you put on was the red one Natasha picked out and that one definitely wowed but not in a good way. The bodice of the dress had an uneven cut that exposed part of your sides making you feel uncomfortable.

The one shoulder dress Peggy picked out was too tight but even if there was another size you didn’t like the satin. Wanda’s sparkly dress was a maybe but you weren’t completely sold on it yet. After changing in and out of a few more dresses you started to sweat and all you wanted to do was leave.

While hanging the dress you just stepped out of back up you saw there was one more left and your eyes lit up. You don’t remember grabbing this dress but it was meant to be from the moment you slipped it on.

It was a beautiful navy blue gown, with fluttering ruffles down the modest V-neck that also mirrored the back. Compared to some of the others this was a much simpler dress but there was something about it that felt right. It fit like a dream, flattering every part of you while still allowing for movement. Weddings mean dancing and the thought of dancing with Bucky made goosebumps prickle all over your skin.

As you opened the curtain you saw everyone’s jaws drop, their eyes lighting up as you stood in front of them.

“This! This is it!”

“You really think?” you asked, looking over your shoulder to see how it looks from behind.

Peggy nodded her head, “Definitely. It’s perfect.”

“Bucky’s going to love it,” Natasha added.

You rolled your eyes, missing the knowing look the three of them shared. “Guys, this isn’t for Bucky. I want to look good for myself.”

“And you do,” Wanda said, “But he’ll also appreciate how good your ass looks in that, damn!”

Rolling your eyes as they burst out laughing, you admired yourself in the dress a little longer knowing this is the one. You went back into the dressing room with Bucky on your mind. Sure, he might stare at you all night in this dress but the truth is it doesn’t mean much more than that.

Bucky was actively dating and the only reason you’re going with him to the wedding is so he doesn’t spend a weekend with someone he really doesn’t know. Panic washes over you as you worry about the near future. What if he meets someone he really gets along with before the wedding and he resents the fact that he asked you to go. What if he uninvites you? What if–

“Hey I found a really cute clutch to go with the dress,” Wanda said through the curtain.

You finished getting dressed, grabbing the dresses you didn’t want first. Opening the curtain you found Carina waiting beside Wanda, ready to take the dresses from you. You thanked her and took the dress you were buying, holding it up next to the clutch Wanda found. It was glittering gold with a metal trim on the opening.

“Oooh I love it.”

Carina was waiting silently at the register in anticipation of you bringing everything up to pay. As you took care of that Natasha said goodbye to Taneleer, kissing him on both cheeks. You thanked him as well before leaving and his mouth curved into the slightest smile.

Late lunch with the girls went by faster than you expected and you were happy to finally be home, hanging up the dress in your closet. You knew you had shoes that would pair well with it somewhere in your closet, a search meant for another day.

Before bed you decided to text Bucky, even though part of you was hesitant about it. You typed away quickly, sending the text and turning off your phone before he could respond. From the other side of the wall Bucky smiled when he saw a notification with your name.

You: Hope your suit game is good because I just bought my dress and it’s 🔥🔥

He couldn’t wait.

PART 17

[gaythingliker69]

Platinum Wings - Part I

Mary Saotome sighed and glanced at her laptop on the desk. The front reception where she sat was small - a desk running along the right hand side of the rectangular room, with a door to the back situated behind Mary. The front door itself was on her left, offering a window into the semi-busy street beyond. She heard the hustle and bustle of late morning taking place outside, and prayed she didn’t have to turn away anyone looking for a consultation or anyone wanting an impromptu small job. Frankly, she couldn’t afford to - running an independent tattoo parlour was more expensive than she’d imagined. Finally, she found the name she was looking for, her next client - Ririka Momobami.

Momobami. The name sounded familiar, a heavy weight sitting static in Mary’s head that felt wrong on her tongue. It contrasted to the given name, which felt light and almost airy as she rolled it around in her head and even said it under her breath. She caught herself, and tried to snap out of it. She was a client. Hell, Mary didn’t even know what she looked like.

Mary was snapped from her reverie by the sound of the door opening. A woman poked her head around the door, rosy cheeks and piercing turquoise eyes framed by platinum blonde hair. Mary was stunned momentarily - her face matched her name, seeming to radiate a warm sort of energy that felt so familiar, yet completely alien at the same time.

“Is this Mary’s?” asked Ririka, her voice so soft she was nearly drowned out by the noise of the street.

“Uh, y-yeah, that’s me,” said Mary, cursing her nerves and trying to regain her composure. “You’re Ririka, right?”

The woman nodded and moved into the shop, revealing she wore a plain white tank top and jeans, carrying a simple black bag that didn’t have an apparent brand. She sat at the desk opposite Mary.

“So… you said you wanted wings on your back? Are you thinking angel or animal?” Mary asked, scalding hersekf for asking too many questions far too quickly.

“Yeah, I was thinking angel wings. On the back of my ribs, starting from either side of my spine. I’d like them sort of tucked into like a resting position so they run down my back, not spread out. I’ve got a picture in my bag if you want to see.”

“Yeah, that’d be really helpful, thanks.”

Ririka pulled out a piece of paper, turning it to reveal the image. The wings sprouted from what looked like new bones, almost like a second set of shoulder blades, curling up into an arch, then dropping down, feathers layering over each other in a cascade, narrowing as they went until they hit a tip of a single feather, which Mary assumed would be past the bottom of Ririka’s ribs towards her hips.

“So I was thinking, the wings start just below my shoulder blades by my spine. They arc up so the top of the bend goes onto my shoulder a little bit, then go back down the back of my ribs.”

Mary stared at the image, watching Ririka’s elegant fingers indicate the different parts of the wings. Her nails were perfect - hardly a mark or chip to be seen. She realised silence hung over them, and she had to speak, to respond to Ririka’s… no, the client’s wishes.

“Yeah! Yeah, absolutely. I can get started shortly if you want.”

“Okay!” said Ririka, her face lighting up and radiating that same warm energy again.

Mary gestured to the door behind her, and Ririka rounded the desk and went through. The back room had what looked like a weird sort of recliner in the centre, but it was slightly worn and beaten, it’s black surface frayed at the edges. The dark red walls were partially decorated with pictures and concepts Mary had done over the years, and the only window was blocked by white shutters. One design seemed to be an album cover, a stereotypical skull with sharp typeface surrounding it. Another was a mix of flags, flagpoles crossed, linking the individual flags together at a common cross-section , a date etched below them. Another was a dove, soaring away from what appeared to be a black line, the vibrant life clear in its eyes and wings. Another picture bore the visage of Medusa, the individual fangs and tongue of each snake visible as her deep frown offered an odd air of protection.

“I’ll lower the chair, and then if you’d lie down on your front? Make yourself as comfortable as possible.”

Ririka nodded as Mary fiddled with the back of the chair, eventually lowering it into more of a bench. Mary went to prepare the ink, her heart racing in her chest, so loud she was sure Ririka heard it. She needed to stay calm - this was a tattoo, this was permanent. If she ever wanted a chance with this girl…

No. Don’t think like that. Just do your job. She kept preparing the ink and needles, trying to ignore the sound of falling clothes and shifting on the bench behind her. Eventually, she turned and oh my god Ririka didn’t have a shirt on. Of course she didn’t. She was lying on her front, back to the air. It was a back tattoo, she’d done these hundreds of times on loads of people. Some of the hottest people she’d ever seen. But she felt nervous here, something she couldn’t afford to feel. This was different, a part of her kept insisting. She knew that part of her was right, deep down, but she couldn’t acknowledge it for now.

“Would you like music, Ririka?” Mary asked. God that name sounded musical, like a collection of chimes blowing perfectly in the wind.

“Please. Something soft? I’m not sure if you have that, but I need something to drift through the pain on, you know?”

“Of course!” responded Mary, moving to get the lo-fi playlist on her phone. “You’re the first person to ask for music like this… most people go for Cane Hill, Five Finger Death Punch, In Hearts Wake, stuff you can power through pain on. Or some people have no music abs grit their teeth.”

“I don’t know who any of those babds are, honestly. But if no one ever used the playlist, why’d you keep it around?”

Mary stopped, looked at her phone, and looked at the woman laying on the chair. She thought for a second, her brow creasing slightly.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought someone would need it, one day, and it didn’t do any harm to keep it.”

Ririka nodded, satisfied by an answer that felt, in a way, too personal for two people who’d known each other all of ten minutes.

Mary lined up her chair and light to work from. Using Ririka’s picture for reference, she traced the outline of Ririka’s wings onto tracing paper. She disinfected Ririka’s back, and laid the stencil down gently on her back, patting it down with reverence. Reverence Mary didn’t know she was capable of. After a few minutes of silence, only interrupted by more disinfecting, Mary gently peeled off the stencil.

“It looks good to me, you wanna check the mirror?”

Ririka stood up, and Mary averted her eyes in panic. Obviously there was no need to stare, but why was she acting like this? She needed to snap out of it.

“It all looks good to me,” said Ririka, lying back down and allowing Mary to be free of her panic.

“Ok, so this’ll hurt a bit in a few places. The ‘blades’ next to your spine and any ink around your actual shoulder blades or muscle at the top here,” she gently tapped the muscle in between Ririka’s neck and shoulder, her finger tingling with some kind of amazing energy from the small contact. “Do you want anything to bite on?”

“No, thank you, I should be okay.”

“Am I okay to start then?” asked the artist, her voice coming out much more softly than she intended. “Just say if you need a break, okay?”

Ririka nodded, settling into the bench as Mary adjusted her light. The noise of the machine drowned out the music slightly, but Ririka didn’t complain. She was a bit tense - everyone was for their first time. But she was strong, enduring the pain as the needles moved up towards her shoulder blades. As they reached the arch, a single tear dropped from her left eye. Mary moved to stop the machine, her heart wrenching, begging her, screaming at her to turn it off.

“No. Keep going.”

Her steely determination showed through in her eyes, almost foggy with tears, and Mary did as Ririka asked. She didn’t normally stop anyway, why was this different? Ririka seemed to ease as Mary moved down her back, only tensing up again slightly as she completed the basic outline by her spine. Next, Mary added layer on layer of feathers, keeping Ririka’s picture there like a guiding star. Ririka hummed to the faint music, seeming to just allow the pain to go over her instead of putting on some dramatic performance like some of the people Mary tattooed. But Mary knew when it hurt, as all of her clients gave off different signs. Ririka was more obvious, squeezing her eyes shut and sometimes biting her lip. Mary scalded herself again, watching the client’s face instead of her back. She eventually completed the first wing, and the muffled buzz of the machine stopped.

“I’m half done. Are you doing okay down there?” Mary asked, trying not to sound like she cared too much, but like she would act for her other clients. She failed.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m ready for the other half whenever you are.”

Mary got back to work, trying to focus all her attention on the piece at hand. Trying to ignore the gentle slope of Ririka’s shoulders, the small movements of her chest as she breathed, the soft valley of her lower back…

Mary nearly blushed as she worked. What was wrong with her? Well, she knew what was ‘wrong’. But now wasn’t the time. Not when she was working. As she inked over Ririka’s shoulders, her heart wrenched again, telling her to turn the machine off as it was so obvious she was hurting Ririka. But she pushed on, like Ririka would have wanted, finishing the wing in the same way she had the first, Ririka relaxing as the needle moved away from her shoulders. She turned the machine off after etching in the last of the detail, it’s constant buzz replaced by deep breaths and the music, still playing quietly.

“Ok, so I need to moisturise and bandage it, then you should be ok to get up.”

Mary took the moisturiser, gently working it into Ririka’s back and shoulders, being careful not to hurt her any more than she had. Her heart wrenched again as Ririka caught her breath due to the pain on her shoulders. For the third time, Mary tried to stop it. For the third time, she failed. Her hands felt on fire as she worked the moisturiser across the new tattoo - they felt more alive than any part of her ever had. It was like sparks or fire flowed through her hands. She was a conductor of her own nervous energy and feelings, and also her hope Ririka felt the same way. Mary gently laid a bandage across Ririka’s upper back and shoulders, tenderly pressing it down.

“Okay, I’m finished, you can take the bandage off after a few hours,” Mary’s voice was still soft, not her usual tone.

Ririka stood up, and Mary averted her eyes, busying herself with disinfectant. She heard Ririka pull her clothes over her head, looking up as she heard the woman move towards the door. Mary sat back at her small reception, and Ririka paid. Mary hardly registered the amount - all she saw was the afternoon sun through platinum blonde. Mary handed her an aftercare booklet, still in her daze. But then she realised - this was her chance.

“R-Ririka?”

She back from the door. She was about to leave. This was Mary’s only chance. The sun shone in her eyes now, and they sparkles like the most beautiful ocean, their depth unknowable but their beauty clear as day. Maybe the sparkle was hope.

“You know… you know… if you ever needed anything else doing, you have my number?”

Ririka seemed to deflate a little, or maybe it was Mary’s imagination.

“Yeah, of course. Thank you Mary, you’ve been wonderful.”

She left. The door closed. Mary’s stomach pitched, and a deep hole opened in her chest. She sat back in her chair, and now her tears were the only ones being shed in the parlour.

[cupidcreates]

akdsfjkdksj I wasn’t expecting you to churn all this content out so quick (´∀｀)♡ omgosh you went above and beyond with the love language ask!! I love to see your interpretation of these characters so what do the cast consider the perfect date to be? low key vs high key? local vs out of town? -😌✨

Thank you! I’m glad you liked the love language post, sorry it took so long lol. As for their favorite dates I think I’ll do the same characters here:

Katsuki Bakugou

Rock Climbing/Hiking Dates

Canonically one of Katsuki’s favorite things to do is go rock climbing so he’d definitely want to bring a SO along every so often. If you’re an athletic person and enjoy being outdoors this will be a very fun date! If you’re not a very athletic person (as many of us aren’t) Katsuki will settle for just going for a short hike along a trail. Katsuki gets super talkative on hikes as well, as you’re walking he’ll just be talking about literally anything! From Hero work to his friends/family, to things that have been bothering him lately. Whatever is on his mind he’ll share with you while you’re both out, which is incredibly helpful as he doesn’t ever discuss his feelings at any other point in time. Plus it gives him a chance to show off how fit he is in front of you, which you both always consider a plus.

Izuku Midoriya

Movie Dates

A Classic, perhaps a little plain even, but Izuku absolutely loves to take you to the movies. He loves everything about the date, from discussing what you’re about to watch, to getting the snacks, to whispering in the back row (if you’re the type to get annoyed by talking during a movie he’ll keep this to a bare minimum). He loves being able to snuggle up next to you and hold your hand while discussing the finer points of the plot (If you’ll tolerate talking of course). Don’t think he’s being innocent here though, he definitely uses the darkness surrounding you as cover as he runs his hands up your thighs. Unbeknownst to most, Izuku is actually very much a horndog. He conceals it very well but he’s only barely capable of keeping his hands to himself when it comes to his SO. Any chance he gets to touch you he’ll take it, more than likely this is why his second favorite type of date is usually a stay-in date...

Shoto Todoroki

Dinner Dates

Another Classic, Shoto loves to treat his SO to expensive treats with his favorite being food-related dates at lavish restaurants. Not a week goes by that he doesn’t take you out on the town for the night at some place you’re sure you couldn’t even afford a glass of water at. It’s almost never the same place twice either, Shoto is actually a foodie and enjoys trying new types of cuisine whenever he can. He’s got a whole list of places he wants to take you, and if they require reservations he’s already got them locked down. If you love eating Shoto is your man, he’ll make sure you’re set with a wide variety of foods to choose from and always remembers any place you happen to be partial to.

Denki Kaminari

Amusement/Water Park Dates

Denki is a fun-loving guy through and through, he knows how to have a good time and wherever you happen to go he makes sure you do too. That being said, his absolute favorite place to take you is to an amusement or water park. It’s not often you two get to go, as you’re both very busy with your respective hero work most days, but when you do it’s a day-long affair. You’re there from the minute the park opens to the second it shuts down, riding as many rides as you can manage, eating greasy garbage food, and making sure to strike the dumbest poses for any rides that take pictures. You’ve got a whole scrapbook of these photos by now, their ridiculousness increasing with each new one added.

Eijirou Kirishima

Beach Dates

You wouldn’t expect Eijirou Kirishima to be a Thalassophile (Def. Person who loves the ocean) but he is. He adores being on the beach and it’s his preferred location for a date. You’ve spent many a sunny afternoon seaside with Eijirou, building sandcastles, chasing crabs, and just enjoying the ocean. One memorable afternoon you found yourselves right next to a sea turtles nest and you got to watch the babies pop out of the sand and scurry towards the ocean, assisted by Eijirou as he chased off the seagulls looking to make them a meal. Eijirou also enjoys surfing, and if you know how to do so he’ll get you matching boards so you can ride the waves together. If you’re not partial to surfing he’ll be sure to pull out all his tricks while you watch him, he’ll even let you onto his board with him so you two can just float together by the shore. Of course you two can’t go to the beach year round, but when you can you’re both sure to make the most of these sunny days, even if he does get an awful sunburn by the end of it. 

Hitoshi Shinsou

Gaming Dates

Hitoshi isn’t what one would call ‘social’ when given the choice between going out for a night and staying home he’ll almost always choose the latter. So it’s expected that his favorite type of date is one where you two can stay inside and enjoy each others company. You both work so hard as Heros, why not spend your days off relaxing with one another? He can spend hours alone with you, preferably kicking your ass at Mario Party or some other multiplayer game. He doesn’t need anything except you, his consoles, and a pile of your favorite snacks to have a good time. That being said, if you want him to go out for a date the best way to convince him is to take him to some kind of arcade, especially if it’s a VR arcade. He feels a kind of nostalgic joy for these places and won’t hesitate to return and feel like a kid again. Plus it’s always nice to repeatedly prove to you that yes he is the champion of Dance Dance Revolution and you will never usurp this title from him.

Tamaki Amajiki

Park/Picnic Dates

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, Tamaki loves spending time outdoors; surrounded by and in awe of nature and it’s complex inner workings. He enjoys just taking time to appreciate the world around him, so dates where you can both relax outside and enjoy each other’s company are his favorite kind. He has a specific hill at his favorite park he likes to take you, bringing a lunch of all your favorite foods he sets you both up under the biggest shade tree for an afternoon. You both lay back on your worn picnic blanket and just cloudgaze, talking for hours about anything and everything. Much like Bakugou, Tamaki gets very talkative on these dates, discussing his week with you and anything new he might have learned over the course of it. He’s so very endearing on these dates its easy to fall silent and just listen to him for hours.

Mirio Togata

Crafting Dates

Mirio likes to have memorabilia from your dates, so you can expect a lot of dates to center around making things. More than just your average painting classes Mirio has also taken you to sculpting, woodworking, and glass blowing classes to name a few. At the end of your dates you both exchange what you’ve made and Mirio absolutely adores anything you craft, regardless of its quality in your eyes. He puts his heart and soul into making you something and more often than not it turns out spectacularly. Mirio wasn’t as good with the ceramics class, but you love the warped vase he made (even if it was technically supposed to be a cup at the start, we’ve all been there). Mirio’s kept everything you made him and even has a shelf in his house just dedicated to what you’ve made, it makes him so happy to come home after a hard day of work and see physical memories of his time with you.

Keigo Takami

Aquarium/Zoo Dates

Underneath Keigo’s charming and charismatically upbeat personality lies a bitter and broken man, drained by his role in Hero Society and left an empty shell of his former self. Underneath that personality lies a kid who never got to have a proper childhood and desperately wants to make up for it. He now uses his dates with you to do just that; not that you mind of course, dates with Keigo are always fun and lighthearted and you love to see him truly enjoy himself for once. Keigo’s favorite places to go are definitely large and intricately designed Zoos and Aquariums. He loves to look at the painstakingly accurate and detailed natural habitats, make fun of the stranger animal names you find, and learn new information about foreign bird species. Loves to mimic their calls too, much to the irritation of the birds and the zoo employees. He makes it a point to always get you a stuffed animal at the end of the date, ensuring that you now have a massive collection of them sitting all around your room. You’re always kept up to date on any Zoo or Aquarium events thanks to Keigo, as he has a calendar dedicated to all the unique events they have going on throughout the year.

Touya Todoroki

Crash Dates

Dabi is...well he’s unpredictable at the best of times and it’s very rare that you two have time for anything even resembling a date (being an S class villain does make it hard to exist normally in society and do normal couple things but it ees what it ees). However, when he can take you one a date --well the term “date” is generous here- it’s never a dull one. You’re not sure how he does it but when you go out you always manage to end up somewhere Dabi could never get into naturally. From sold-out concerts, to stand up shows, to parties at lavish houses belonging to people you’ve never even heard of let alone met before; dates with Dabi are always somewhere you two definitely shouldn’t be. One memorable morning he took you to a country club where you got to each fancy exclusive rich people food and play a horrible facsimile of golf before you were eventually found and chased out. It’s always fun to see how long you two can crash an even before being found out.

Tomura Shigaraki

Cemetery/Haunted Places Dates

Tomura Shigaraki is a man who enjoys his space from other people, in his opinion the only good person is a dead one (unless he’s talking about you, of course). So it’s not abnormal for your dates to be in a place far away from others. Again the term “date” is being very generous, more often than not he’ll approach you, tell you to follow him, and you’ll wind up in some abandoned building or graveyard. Normally this would be cause for concern, as this is exactly what happens in horror movies before someone gets killed, but Tomura has a soft spot for you so your safety is ensured. Tomura loves to see a place reclaimed by nature, vines growing over a run down house or worn out gravestones breaking apart into chunks of marble with barely legible words on them. He doesn’t talk much on your dates, but will often give you a random bit of insight about him; like on one date where you both walked alongside abandoned train tracks at dusk and he told you about the dog he had as a child. He seeks no pity from you, and these dates are not the conventionally romantic type, but you enjoy being able to be with Tomura in a way no one else ever has or ever will.

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4 Paranormal Stuff: Developer Blog (Part 1)

SimGuruConnor has released part 1 of the Sims 4 Paranormal Developer Blog series.

Hello Simmers! Welcome to a small 2-part Dev Blog about our newest Stuff Pack, Paranormal Stuff! This pack has been an absolute blast to work on, and I’m excited to share what this pack is all about!

I’ll try not to reveal too many spoilers for the pack either, so I’ll keep things somewhat brief. Our topics for today are the new Scared Mood and the Haunted House Lot Type, plus an interview with our Audio Artist too!

Get Scared

Sims can now relish in the mortal dread of the Scared Mood! The Scared Mood affects Sims in a variety of ways, with my personal favorite, the new Scream Incoherently interaction, where a Scared Sim runs up to another Sim to scream their lungs out. This can result in the other Sim calming down the Scared Sim, or resulting in both Sims becoming Scared. This can create a Scared Mood wildfire if you’re not careful!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay!

Sims afflicted with the Scared Mood also have trouble communicating with others, the urge to panic-run everywhere, and are slightly more prone to accidents. If no other Sims are around to help calm down a Scared Sim, they might just have to Hide Under The Covers for a while.

But if being Scared just isn’t your Sims style, consider purchasing the new Brave Trait. This Satisfaction Reward Store Trait will rapidly reduce the incoming fear a Sim feels and help Sims regain their composure faster. While no Sim is totally fearless, this trait should help mitigate some of those creepy feelings.

The Scared Mood and the Brave Reward Trait are all base game features coming with the Paranormal Stuff patch on January 21st. Tons of previous Uncomfortable Buffs are now becoming Scared Buffs, such as the “Startled By Ghost” Buff or the “Thalassophobia” Buff from Island Living.

While being Scared might not be a common occurrence in your everyday Sims life, living in a Haunted House is a whole different story…

Happy Haunts

Introducing the Haunted House Lot Type!

The Duplantier Dwelling, created by Doctor Ashley! This “canon” Haunted House will be available in the gallery!

They’re like regular houses, only haunted! Although unassuming during the day, at night, these places get super weird. Your Sims may notice things like flickering lights, pipes rattling, or even creepy dolls staring at them in the corner. All are totally normal occurrences in a Haunted House, but it may take some time for your Sims to adjust to their new surroundings.

Sims living in a Haunted House will also be introduced to floating apparitions known as Specters. They’re cute little critters, but their motives aren’t entirely clear. You can try talking to them, or even offer them presents in hopes of establishing a good rapport. If they like you, they’ll drop special loot for you and your family. If they don’t like you, well, you’ve been warned.

o o o (> ‘ u ‘ )>

Learning to get along with your new ghostly inhabitants is crucial in a Haunted House. Things like botching seances, neglecting Specters, or letting accursed objects invade your house will have a negative impact on its spiritual serenity. There is a delicate art to co-existing with the entities of the house, and thankfully you’ll have an expert on the matter to assist you!

Meet Guidry

Claude René Duplantier Guidry was a seasoned Paranormal Investigator in his previous life, but now he exists to help anyone brave enough to live in a Haunted House! You’ll probably run into him eventually living in a Haunted House, but don’t worry, he’s a nice ghost!

Guidry will gladly offer his wisdom to those who seek it. If you’re confused, alarmed, or slightly uncomfortable by your new haunted surroundings, give Guidry a holler and he might be able to help. He can also offer valuable objects to help your Sims, too; all you need is to reach out!

Still got it.

All Guidry wants in return is to crash at your place for the time being. Sounds like a fair deal, right? But if you’d prefer to fly it solo, you can always disable his nightly visits—he won’t be too upset, maybe.

As mentioned before, Guidry was a Paranormal Investigator before his untimely demise. If he sees potential in you, he can certify you with a Paranormal Investigation License, granting access to the Paranormal Investigation Freelancer Gigs. Only those who are qualified enough can join the ranks of Paranormal Investigators, but more on that next time!

Be Brave!

Living in a Haunted House adds a layer of risk and reward for your Sims, and each successful night yields Reward Store Satisfaction Points for everyone in the Household. Specters can also drop treasure that can also be collected, consumed, or sold to an Oddity Collector. So although your Sims might go through a bit of peril, they’ll thankfully be compensated.

One of my favorite pieces of haunted treasure is the new Sacred Candle. Not only do they look cool, but they also help protect Sims from paranormal influences. Place them around your house to make sure Sims are properly shielded!

A properly protected Sim.

Things like Sacred Candles and performing ceremonies at the Séance Table are integral to keeping your Sims happy in a Haunted House. Without using these paranormal tools, the entities of the house might get a little bossy.

And while it might be in your Sims’ best interest to keep the spirits of the house in check, watching things go horribly wrong in a Haunted House can be just as fun too. So whatever works for you!

Like Tiny Homes, this Lot Type can be toggled on or off at any time. So whether you’re a casual thrillseeker who wants to spend a couple of nights in a Haunted House, or a seasoned Paranormal Expert who wants to take on a new challenge, this Lot Type should offer something for you!

Crosspack Stuff!

Pets get to share the fun too! They especially love the accursed objects that show up!

I think they’re gonna get along great.

As mentioned before, a ton of old Buffs from multiple packs are now being converted to the Scared Mood. I think 70 something Moodlets were converted? Honestly, I lost count. Anything that seemed more appropriate for the Scared Mood was transferred over.

Oh, and you might remember an old Lot Trait from City Living called Haunted. For clarity’s sake, it needed a name change, so now it’s the Spooky Lot Trait. It also benefits from being combined with the new Haunted House Lot Type and will have an increased chance of spawning Ghosts at night. So use both for maximum haunted-ness!

Audibly Frightened

Last but not least, I’d love to turn it over to our Audio Artist for this pack, Briana Billups! She did a killer job bringing Haunted Houses to life! Trust me!

Conor: Can you tell us what an Audio Artist does on The Sims 4?

Briana: Big, broad picture: an audio artist decides what everything in The Sims 4 sounds like. We record, create, and edit sounds to the art and animation of the game. Little, very detailed picture: creating the actual sounds is usually one of the smaller aspects of our job. We are meeting with other departments, like design, animation, and VFX, to understand the overall vision of new game features and how we can fit in sonically. We are meeting with each other to make sure all our new content still keeps the very fun and quirky vibe of the Sims. We come up with new tools and implementation where necessary.

Conor: What sort of things go into the creative process for creating audio?

Briana: Every audio artist/sound designer has their own creative process, but I like to make a “sonic mood board” of sorts. I typically like to have a good idea of what I want something to sound like in my head before I record or edit it, so it’s nice to have sound effects or music to refer to that represents my original inspiration or ideas. When I was in college, I would make Spotify playlists for whatever I was working on. I would listen to them once a day, adding and editing as necessary, so when I actually got to work, I was in the right headspace. Now I’m usually less formal about this sort of stuff, but for this pack, I would refer back to things like Vincent Price’s demonic laugh from Thriller or Casper the Friendly Ghost Cartoons and the looping soundtrack from the queue of a horror ride at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk (Ghost Blasters)

Conor: What were you most excited to work on for this pack?

Briana: Definitely all the haunted house sounds! Good sound design is the crux of so many horror movies and video games, so even if we were keeping things more “Casper” and less “Poltergeist,” I still wanted to give a good scare here and there. I actually scared myself one day while playtesting another feature in the game!

Conor: If you had to choose, what is your favorite audio clip you’ve ever added to The Sims 4?

Briana: I would say my favorite SFX were the sports arena loops in EP08: Discover University. When you visit the arena for the soccer/esports match or graduation, you can actually listen to the whole game or ceremony. It was great to craft a whole story from start to finish using just sound. I also snuck in a lot of developer names when writing the scripts for our voice actors.

Thanks, Briana!

More To Come!

That about covers this first foray into the Paranormal Stuff Pack! This pack has been a ton of fun to work on, and watching my Sims flee in terror has been more enjoyable than I’d like to admit.

Next blog, we’ll focus on the Séance Table and developing your Medium skill, as well as the new active freelance career Paranormal Investigator.

Big thanks to the Stuff Pack team for helping this pack come to life, and thank you, Doctor Ashley, for building our featured Haunted House!

Until next time, SimGuruConor

[thelioncourts]

title: with luck, it might even snow for us author: marrieddorks pairing(s): damen/laurent; auguste/ofc; minor kastor/jokaste word count: 36907 (for part 1 of 2)  summary: Holidays with the DeVeres were always, in one word, chaotic. This year alone, Aleron — four years retired from his beloved company — was still obsessed with work, Hennike was keeping up with her steady diet of Kemptian gossip and chardonnay, Auguste was preparing to become a father when he still didn't know how to quite take care of himself, and Laurent? Laurent simply wanted to survive it all as unnoticed as possible.  Then Damen happened, and he wanted so much more.

[Part 2 Coming Soon!]

There were many things Laurent disliked about the house in Kempt. He disliked the front door which was a garish thing, blood red in color and littered with gold decoration. The knocker on it weighed enough that actual effort had to be put behind lifting it, and its handle was embedded in a plate detailed with botanical flourishes and intricate beading. He disliked the rugs that lay in the hallways and at the center of many of the individual rooms, each one similar in color and styling, but many holding horrid patterns that took away from the natural beautiful hardwood floors below. He disliked the crown moulding on the bannisters and on the corner blocks of the walls and even lining the cabinets in the kitchen. It was busy and distracting and took away from the rich colors of the walls, the dark blue of the dining room a favorite of Laurent’s.

But the thing Laurent disliked the most about the house in Kempt was its size. No one needed a house this big, he had thought repeatedly over the years, and each time he thought it his conviction in its existence as fact grew. The entire house was ostentatious, what with its two kitchens, seven full baths and two half-baths, seven bedrooms, and a slew of other rooms equaling to eleven. It hadn’t been so bad until Aleron and Hennike, Laurent’s parents, decided an entire wing needed to be added to the house for a recreational room to include pool and billiards and drinking and cards, more bedrooms, and just space, as if owning more space meant something.

For Laurent, all that space seemed to only justify the excuse for housekeepers that Hennike could talk to her friends about and cooks that Aleron could criticize for overcooking the meat in some way.

Despite all its flaws, the house did have its charms, however sparse. There were things Laurent wished he could physically pick up and transfer to a new house altogether for they were wonderful things, things like the family library lined with endless shelves of books belonging mostly to himself and his father. Laurent had his own bookshelves in his bedroom, of course, but most of his books were housed in the library, their spines much different than the spines of Aleron’s law books from all across the Continent. The library once had been furnished with squeaky leather seats and a couch, none of it warm or comfortable, and Laurent had come as close to begging as he ever had in his life in order to get something he could actually enjoy; he had argued that his father already had a squeaky leather chair in the office he spent most of his time in and it was unnecessary to have that same thing here. Miraculously, his wish had been granted for the library now had a chair large enough to sink into and a soft couch by the window where Laurent could tuck his legs underneath himself as he read.

There was the kitchen that was, objectively, beautiful too. Laurent didn’t do much cooking, but the kitchen on the main floor made him wish he did for its marble countertops, subtle backsplash, and its overall open design made Laurent want to utilize the space for more than brewing tea and coffee. Occasionally he made use of it, but for the most part it was occupied by their cooks who brought to life meals they always wanted to pair with wines from the wine cellar and that Laurent always took with water instead.

But if he had to name a favorite place in the house, it wouldn’t be any of those rooms, nor even his own bedroom. No, Laurent’s favorite place, and the most redeemable quality of the house in Kempt, was the sitting room. It’s function was precisely as boring as it sounded, for it was a room intended for intimate gatherings. There was no television for distraction, no technology of any kind to bring with it unnecessary light, and there were just enough comfortable seats for a handful of people to sit in whilst they conversersed. None of those things were the best part though. All those things paled in comparison to the fireplace that was centered on the main wine-colored wall.

A fireplace may not seem like something that would delight most twenty-year-olds, but Laurent wasn’t most twenty-year-olds and the fireplace was truly a piece of art. It was simplistic, far more than most things in this Kemptian-Veretian hybrid, and it was nearly Akielon for it was made of an off-white gypsum stone found usually in the northern parts of Akielos. The gypsum had a natural shine and when a fire was roaring it seemed to shimmer in a way that made one not wish to look away from it. The shelf of the mantel was long, holding on it a clock that belonged to Hennike’s mother and two white vases that matched the stone itself. In the spring and summer, the housekeepers put within those vases freshly cut flowers, but with the cold outside they stayed empty; Laurent liked it that way.

Kemptian winters were notorious for their cold and their blankets of snow and the house was far too large and far too windowed to stay warm for long. That’s why the sitting room, with its comfortable seating and lovely fireplace, was Laurent’s favorite. He couldn’t recall the number of times he had fallen asleep in front of the fire, the flames making his skin warm to the touch and his mind sleepy, and when he was younger he would sleep all through the night in the room, waking up only when the sun rose and reflected too harshly off of the white encasing the outside world.

These last few years, Laurent hadn’t had near as much time to enjoy the fireplace. Off at university, his fall semester didn’t end until long after snow had fallen in Kempt, and he would come home for but two weeks’ time before heading back, leaving behind his reading spot by the window in the library and the fireplace in the sitting room.

This year was going to be different though. Laurent had just graduated from the University of Arran, a Veretian university far too close to Arles, where Laurent had been born, and he was to be home until his graduate program began in mid-January. He made it home to Kempt just in time to witness the first snowfall at the end of November, and now, a week later, he was awaiting more snow and endless hours in front of the fireplace.

In fact, the sitting room was where he was going to this very moment. The sun had set an hour ago and a chill had come over the house, leaving Laurent shivering in his own bedroom. With a huff, as though concerned he would be able to see his own breath leave his mouth, Laurent had stood from his bed, abandoned his laptop, and made his way down the hallway. Down the stairs, his fingers trailed the bannister, the wood underneath white paint cold to the touch, and he traced a ridge in the design all the way down to the bottom, all the way until the bannister gave way to the newel post, a gaudy post with starbursts carved into it. As soon as his feet stepped off the last step, Laurent felt the cold of the floor seep through his socks and he wasn’t above admitting he hurried on a little faster, crossing the entryway and ignoring the garish blood red door before finally coming to the entrance of the sitting room.

A gust of welcome heat was the first thing he noticed as he stood in the arched entrance. It sunk into his bones, thawing them from where they were almost always a bit frozen, and he couldn’t not sigh at the feeling. Then, quietly, from one of the tall-backed chairs directly in front of the flames came a quiet voice that sounded fond and ever-so sleepy. “Me too.”

From just behind the sangria drenched velvet of the chair Laurent caught a flash of blonde hair, its hue warmer than normal from the roaring of the red-tinged flames. Laurent silently padded across the room, his socks giving him no traction on the sleek surface, and it was then he got sight of his mother nestled into the chair, a long white blanket covering her legs and her hands moving steadily with a pair of knitting needles. She looked utterly content, a serene, small smile on her face as she pulled blue thread after blue thread through and through. “You must be freezing, darling.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Laurent told her and, without any hesitation, he gently, boyishly, lowered himself to the floor near her feet, pulling the excess of the blanket over his own legs. “I’m much better already though.”

Laurent had inherited a kind of cold-blooded trait from his mother. Well, he had inherited much from her, such as his blond hair, his easy ability to flush red, and her love of horse riding, but their shared state of constant cold was one he thought of most for it had a dreadful kind of impact.

Neither one thought it necessary to say anything further right now. The crackling of the wood sounded almost like rain, and the sound brought with it a kind of peace. Hennike’s focus on her knitting never faltered and Laurent watched her with a bored fascination that befitted a task that took so much patience. Soon he came to realize what she was making. In the curve of the blue, Laurent could see a hat forming. It wasn’t a hat for a grown person, but a tiny hat meant to fit snugly on the head of a baby, protecting its sparsely haired skull and tiny ears from freezing in such weather as today’s weather. Laurent leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Are they having a boy?” he asked softly, not wanting to even disturb the air.

“They still haven’t decided to find out,” Hennike said. “Somehow they’ve managed to wait and I think they now believe it to be pointless to not see that through to the end given that she’s due in a month’s time. But I have no doubt that, at the very least, the precious thing has quite a good shot at being born with the bluest of eyes.”

That was true. The DeVere family as a whole was nothing but blue-eyed fiends. Laurent was fairly certain they had all had blue eyes since the beginning of time. Auguste and Laurent both had been gifted with their father’s blue eyes, the blue of the clear nighttime sky back at the border, in Marlas, whilst their mother had blue eyes the color closer to the blue-hued ice covered ponds and lakes here in Kempt. Victoire, Auguste’s wife, was also from Kempt — even if her dark hair betrayed that sometimes — and her eyes were similar to Hennike’s, though they almost had a green tone to them, as if she couldn’t decide if she was from the forest or the waters.

Laurent settled more comfortably under the blanket, settled in against the side of Hennike’s cushioned chair, and let the silence fall naturally over them once more. Then a new sound joined the crackling of the fire and it was a sound Laurent recognized immediately. Hennike was humming, a lullaby she used to hum to Laurent when he was a baby. Between that and the fire, he felt his eyes grow heavy and, sleepily, he blinked up at her. “How excited are you?”

“For which part?” she asked back. “All my family being home together for the first time in what feels like ages, or for a new baby?”

“All of it.”

“I can’t quite put it into words.” She held the hat out for inspection, turning it once as though it would bring to light something in need of fixing. “And I’m nervous, for reasons that seem ridiculous, and all I can think about is how I fear I’ve lost my knitting skills. I haven’t knitted anything since you were a boy.”

“I think it looks nice. Though, if you want my thoughts, you definitely need to add one of those soft little pom-poms to the top.”

“Oh, do I?” Hennike asked with a laugh.

“Yes. A white one, I believe. Everyone looks cute with one of those flopping around on the top of their heads,” Laurent said.

“Then consider it done.”

She knitted some more, the hat coming evermore into shape, and Laurent yawned. He saw out of the corner of his eyes her smile indulgently at him, saw her set down the hat, then felt her touch on his cheek. Somehow her hands were still cool.

“How excited are you?” she threw the question back at him.

“For which part?” he asked, throwing her own question back too.

“All of it.”

Laurent thought then of Auguste and Victoire, and, possibly most important, her almost nine-month-round stomach. The reality of that, of knowing Auguste was soon to be a father, was building a family of his own and growing a beard like their own father’s, seemed impossible, and it seemed more impossible, and terrifying, that Laurent was going to be an uncle. Then he thought of having a holiday with his brother for the first time in a while, and having a holiday that didn’t end with an imminent dread of heading back to Vere, was an entirely different kind of excitement.

He gave his mother a small smile, one near identical to her own.

Every now and again, one of them would interject something into the silence. Laurent brought up the gifts he had long gotten for Auguste and Victoire and Hennike brought up the meal she had asked the cooks to have put together for their arrival tomorrow, and neither of their voices ever got louder than something soft-spoken. Peace was steadfast, if only for a while. Laurent tried to not think about how peace with Hennike was short lived, of how it only existed when she didn’t have a drink in hand.

Dreadfully, it all came to a stop when Aleron, Al, got home. Their only warning to his arrival was the turning of the key in the front door’s lock before it was pushed open, allowing snow and cold wind to sweep through the open space as if manifested by an unnatural presence. Both Laurent and his mother clenched their teeth as their skin turned to gooseflesh and the dichotomy of the fire in front of their faces and the air from the outdoors at their back became too much.

“Shut the door!” Hennike whined loud enough to be heard across the room, her graceful neck craning around the side of the chair to glare at her husband.

“Gods,” Aleron started, ignoring her and instead shaking off his scarf as though it was suddenly unbearable, “you two are going to burn the house to the ground, aren’t you?”

“At least we’d be warm,” Laurent said. Aleron shot him a look.

[Continue on AO3]

They both heard more than saw Aleron stomp the snow off of his boots, and Laurent ended up turning to fully watch as his father shucked his long coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. Snow was stuck in his darker hair, making it look more gray than it actually was, and as he approached Laurent caught a whiff of the familiar stench of brandy. Hennike noticed it too.

“You didn’t drive back, did you?” she asked as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. When he pulled back, he rebuffed her question with an eye roll first.

“Hennike, dear, Paschal lives two houses down. I didn’t even drive there, let alone drive back.”

That seemed to appease her, and she settled back fully as she had been only minutes before, the hat near-complete and so small in her hands. Aleron moved and sat in the open chair next to Hennike, falling into it with a groan, and she turned her eyes to him.

“And how is Paschal?” she asked as if he didn’t have dinner with Paschal every week.

Paschal was an old friend of Aleron’s, one he had met through the company (the company otherwise known as the bane of Laurent’s existence) and had lost touch with when they were both still but boys. As if intended, as if fate, they ended up both retiring in this same area of Kempt, running into each other at the ski lodge where many affluent gentlemen frequented and they had spent the last several years catching up on everything. Though Paschal had left the company to pursue medicine instead, there were foundational things they had in common all these years later.

Normally Aleron would have answered Hennike’s inquiry with something akin to, “His right knee is still giving him fits, but he’s doing just fine otherwise,” or, “The man keeps trying to sell me on Patran wine and I simply won’t have it, it’s as though he was born without taste buds,” but tonight he seemed different than normal and so a normal answer clearly wasn’t going to suffice.

Intrinsically, Aleron wasn’t a man that showcased much more emotion than distaste. It was his personality, this reservation, and he always had managed to pretend that wasn’t who he was when doing business. In fact, in the instances when Laurent had seen his father in a business situation, he was uncertain who the man even was because it most definitely wasn’t his father. But right now, whatever emotion Aleron was externalizing seemed genuine and not actually a show whatsoever, for it wasn’t something that would be obvious to an outsider’s eye. It was a thrumming kind of energy, an excitement that spoke of an event’s occurrence, and Laurent couldn’t not quirk an eyebrow as he concluded his father was trying very hard to repress a smile.

“Paschal is fine. He got an interesting phone call tonight,” Aleron said slowly, as if debating the words were the right ones to say.

“Oh?” Hennike set the hat down in her lap. “A good call? Or a bad one?”

“Good,” Aleron said. His eyes then flicked to Laurent still sitting on the floor underneath part of the blanket. “It’s actually something I’d like to speak with you about.”

Now it was Laurent’s turn to punctuate his response with an eye roll. “You’re horrible at subtlety. I see where Auguste gets that from.”

Hennike laughed because she knew it was true and Aleron continued his normal discerning stare until Laurent reluctantly pushed himself up to his feet, dusted off his pants, and retreated back to the cold of his bedroom. Time passed slowly then, and it wasn’t until Laurent heard his father’s voice somewhere in the foyer, loud and obnoxious whilst taking a phone call of his own that he braved the downstairs once more. His father’s office door was just shutting as Laurent walked by and Laurent found his mother moved to the kitchen, her hands around a bottle of deep red wine, its liquid pouring slowly into a glass.

“You know,” Laurent started, “one day I am going to be an actual adult and you will have to have actual adult conversations with me.”

“No one here thinks you’re not an adult, darling. I’m excited to say that your father actually has a big surprise lined up for you and your brother.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

A hum of agreement.

“And Auguste?”

“Yes, darling.”

A moment of silence, then, “That’s not very Aleron of him.”

Now it was Hennike’s turn to shoot him a look. No admonishment or anything followed though because, like before, she knew he was right.

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully. Hennike drank her standard two glasses of wine, Aleron didn’t leave his office until near midnight, and Laurent curled back up in front of the fire, allowing his mind to wander. Right before he fell asleep there, he thought of Auguste, and of Victoire, and of the baby that terrified him more than anything else ever had.

Because of where he chose to sleep, he was woken up ungodly early by the rising of the sun. The fire had died sometime in the night and he was frozen to his core, his teeth clenched to keep from chattering, his fingers numb, and his body subconsciously folded into the smallest possible ball in an attempt to conserve warmth. Slowly, whilst squinting away the fluorescent brightness of the combination of snow and sun out the window, Laurent stretched out his legs then his arms, and he did so delicately like he thought either would snap like an icicle falling from its hanging position on a roof’s edge.

Noises were coming from the kitchen and Laurent followed them, intent on warming his hands and his stomach with a hot cup of coffee. A clock on the wall told him it was just after six in the morning and that was enough to tell him that the noises in the kitchen were not coming from either of his parents. Sure enough, standing there at the stove was Orlant, one of their cooks and, luckily for Laurent, the one that made the best coffee. He knew Laurent preferred pourovers, the coffee free of oils and crisp on the tongue, and if Laurent’s mouth near began to water at the sight of a cup already on the counter, Orlant didn’t need to know.

Orlant was an interesting figure. He was perhaps a year older than Auguste, so quite young, and especially in comparison with the DeVere family’s other cooks and housekeepers, and he looked a rough sort, fairly muscled and his nose looked like it had been broken once or twice. He’d been cooking in the mornings for the DeVeres since they moved here to Kempt and Laurent liked him.

“Morning, sir,” Orlant said, looking at Laurent quickly before going back to the food sauteing in the pan in his hand.

“Morning,” Laurent greeted. His voice was quiet, like it hadn’t been used in some time and like the cold had muffled it, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “Is this for me?” he asked, pointing to the cup of steaming coffee.

“Yep. Saw you in front of the dead fire this morning, figured the sun would wake you up sooner or later,” Orlant said with a smile.

Part of the reason Laurent liked Orlant was that he seemed to relish in the sounds of the kitchen, of the stirring of a pot, of the spoon hitting a cup’s sides, the rhythm of cutting vegetables on a wooden cutting board, of the sizzle of meat in oil. He didn’t try to fake conversation and instead let things be; Laurent leaned a hip against the counter and did his own kind of relishing. His was over the warmth of the coffee that brought life back first to his hands, then lips, mouth, and lastly his stomach which slowly began to warm him from the inside out.

Orlant lifted the pan from the stove and walked over to the baking sheet which held eight flat pieces of puff pastry. Gently he spooned the mixture — which turned out to be apples drenched in cinnamon and sugar and cooked down into a syrup — onto the center of each piece. The pan was set back on the stove to cool and Orlant methodically began to fold the puff pastry dough in half, wetting the edges to keep them tight, then brushing each one with a beaten egg for the perfect rise and glossy shine.

“Making enough for Auguste and Victoire,” Orlant said as he placed the trays into the oven. “I feel like time is moving too fast if Auguste is going to be a father within a month. It seems like only yesterday that I was starting here and you weren’t even a teenager and Auguste was still…” he trailed.

“Wild?”

“That’s a good word for him then.”

“Yes, thank the gods he got all that out of his system before he impregnated anyone,” Laurent said. Orlant laughed, the sound loud and nice.

After a few minutes, Laurent could hear the faint sputtering of the syrup from the apples as it leaked out of the pastries, and he finished his coffee before bidding Orlant a goodbye for now. A hot shower helped to thaw him out the rest of the way, and he thought of his mother’s lullaby that she used to sing to him, that she would sing to the baby no doubt, and as he toweled his hair to a dampness and pulled on a green sweater he thought of how much everything was changing. He thought of how he felt incredibly stuck.

He could now hear his parents in the kitchen and determined it was best to avoid them for an extended period of time right now. His feet instead took him to the library where he plucked a book from the third shelf, a familiar book with a well-worn spine and faded lettering on the side, and he lounged across the reading nook onset by the window, a blanket over his lap and a welcome distractor in his hands.

Laurent couldn’t recall the last time he actually read a book for fun. Actually, he could. It had been over the summer and he read exactly one book for enjoyment before submitting himself willingly beneath the endless waves of work required of a double-majoring undergraduate intent on graduating early. But now that he was in limbo awaiting the start of his graduate program, reading for fun was a possibility and as he turned the first page he sank down into the pillows of the nook like any tension in him melted away with the familiarity of such a story.

In all honesty, Laurent didn’t mean to read as long as he did. He thought he would read for an hour or two, but it was amazing how far he could get in a novel when not stopping every paragraph or so to make a note or to analyze the purpose of a particular word order, and just as he was nearing the midway point of the book, the squeak of the gate to their driveway opening brought him out of the world he had traveled to and back to reality.

“Laurent, they’re here!” his mother yelled from somewhere nearby and out the window he could make out his brother’s face through the windshield. The book shut with a snap.

Hennike’s heels were loud on the hardwood of the foyer and Aleron was already out the door by the time Laurent joined them. It was chaotic in the way arrivals so typically were, excitement a tangible thing in the air and the first thing that caught Laurent off-guard was his brother exiting the car and hurrying to the other side, an uncharacteristically large smile on his face. The second thing that caught Laurent off-guard was the struggled emergence of Victoire from the passenger side seat.

When Laurent had first met Victoire, he had been in those imperative stages of puberty and Victoire had been an enigma of a woman, a foundational change in Auguste’s life, and had been lovely from the curled ends of her brown hair to the modest heels on her feet. She hadn’t aged much in the last five, six, years, her face young and bright, but her waist which had once been tiny enough for Auguste to wrap both hands around and them almost meet was rounded and large, so much to the point Laurent knew she hadn’t seen her own feet in quite some time.

Victoire near waddled as she walked and Auguste’s large smile never dropped, his eyes never left her, and his hand never moved from where it was stationed at her lower back.

“Oh goodness,” Hennike breathed, emotion heavy in those two words.

Aleron was holding a hand out for Victoire to grab and she did so with a panted, “Thank you,” and Aleron and Auguste looked at one another over her shoulder, Aleron smiling in a way Laurent was stock with seeing him smile at Auguste.

The two of them helped Victoire up the stairs and Hennike was there to meet her. Then the specific kind of disarray that came from everyone wanting to hug each other happened. Laurent fell somewhat to the side, watching as Hennike cupped Victoire’s face, then delicately placed her hands on the protruding stomach before going back up to cup her face again, watching as Aleron and Auguste did the very fast DeVere-men hug before falling into their chatter, no doubt about the company, and it seemed it would stay that way until Auguste put a hand on his father’s shoulder, said something quickly, and turned his never-fading smile onto Laurent.

Before Laurent could even smile back, he was being crushed against his brother’s chest in a bone-breaking hug.

Auguste was taller than him so the strands of sandy colored hair escaping the bun he had haphazardly thrown his hair into sometime during the drive tickled at Laurent’s nose. Laurent didn’t let that bother him though; instead he managed to free his arms from where they had gotten trapped between their bodies and hugged Auguste back almost as hard.

“How was your drive?” he asked after a moment, the words muffled into the shoulder of Auguste’s jacket.

“It was fine except we had to stop every ten minutes because someone had to pee,” Auguste said. His voice had a waver to it, like he was trying to hold back a laugh. Victoire’s distinct scoff sounded out into the air.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she started, her tone implying anything but truth was behind what she was saying. “How about you carry the ginormous child growing inside of me and practicing its kicking on my kidneys and bladder.”

When Auguste let Laurent go, Laurent finally got a good look at Victoire’s irritated expression that didn’t budge even as Auguste tried to make certain she was aware it was only a joke.

“I don’t care.” She put a hand on Laurent’s wrist and proceeded to do just as Auguste had and crushed him to her. Unlike how it had been with Auguste, Victoire was shorter than Laurent by two or so inches and her pregnant belly made it hard to properly hug her back. “Hello, my favorite DeVere,” she said to him, ignoring Auguste’s petulant ‘Hey!’

“Hi,” Laurent said back simply. She squeezed at his shoulder once before pulling back.

Laurent was going to comment on Victoire’s dress, mention how they were nearly twinning, her green sweater material almost the same shade as Laurent’s sweater. Then he decided to comment on how truly happy he was to see them both, but his mother beat him to saying anything, ushering them all the way inside with words that were followed by the visible cold air.

“We’ll send someone out to get your bags later,” she said, pulling Victoire back toward her and through the house. “Come in, come in! Let’s get you freshened up, you must be exhausted after the drive.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Auguste said. Like their father the day before, he stomped the snow off of his boots. “We stopped and saw Victoire’s parents since they’re on our way here and that gave us a nice break.”

“How are your parents? I hope your mother’s feeling better,” Aleron said, taking Victoire’s coat from her.

“She is, thank you. It turns out there is an age where doing a triathlon does get awfully strenuous on the body. I hope this makes her focus on her actual health from here on out because I don’t know if my father can stomach her getting injured like that again,” Victoire said. Her hand was steady and resting on her stomach, and it seemed to be a thing she wasn’t aware of anymore. Hennike was, however, and the sight must have been enough to send her into an overwhelming state of emotion once more for she started a second round of hugs just as Aleron got the door finally shut.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said, petting at the back of Auguste’s head and gently pulling on his earring with a quick look of disapproval. Auguste looked at Laurent and everything felt right.

“You must have been too excited,” Auguste started, attempting to disentangle his mother’s hands from his hair, “because you haven’t even gotten the house decorated for the holidays yet!” He had the nerve to look mock-scandalized, mouth open in shock, but no part of what he said was supposed to cause the reaction it did. Aleron’s face took on a particular kind of angry, the kind he did his best to keep behind Hennike’s back because it was reserved for when she was in a mood of any sort, and Hennike’s face dropped, the motion of it sudden and devastating. Auguste did his best to backtrack, and tried harder when Victoire slapped his arm. “No, Mom, it was a joke —”

“You’re right,” Hennike said, the two words breathy like she couldn’t believe the atrocity she had committed. “It’s December. It’s December already. I’ve lost track of the time I’ve —”

When she got like this, Hennike could go on and on. She’d been this way as long as either of the boys could remember, and, for reasons unknown. Laurent was a bit better at handling it. Of course, even he knew she’d remember all this sometime after dinner when she had her standard two glasses of wine in her again, but right now the mention of their interior designer would do just fine to calm her.

“It’s fine, Mom. We’ll do everything as we always do. That means all you have to do today is place a call to Vannes. She handles the rest and it will be utterly Veretian by the time it’s done.”

“You know Vannes will jump at the challenge to get this house decorated in a few days’ time,” Auguste agreed.

“Yes,” Aleron interjected, all three of them for once on the same page, “I think you should give the young lady a call now so it’s not hanging over your head.”

Hennike nodded once. “And we must get it done before —” Then she stopped herself.

“Before what?” Auguste asked, prodding.

“Nothing,” she said, and Aleron cleared his throat.

“They have a surprise for us,” Laurent deadpanned.

“Oh, I want in on it!” said Victoire. “They’re both impossible to think of good gifts for so I am not above tagging my name onto someone else’s idea.”

“A surprise?” Auguste quirked an eyebrow, mirroring Laurent’s near-constant expression.

“Yes, and it’s going to stay a surprise,” Aleron said, and then he lifted a hand to Auguste’s shoulder and lifted the other like as to shoo the rest of them away. “Let’s allow your mother to call the designers, let your wife rest from the trip, and you and I go talk the company.”

“That is a wonderful idea,” Hennike agreed. “I’ll get Orlant to get everyone refreshments and go place that call.”

Auguste followed their father down the hall and Laurent watched them until he couldn’t anymore, as the door had shut to keep all conversation of the company from being disturbed, and Hennike followed just seconds after, walking to the kitchen first before disappearing down the hall and into the library.

“Place your bet now,” Laurent started, angling toward Victoire, “on how much of Auguste’s time my father will occupy.”

“Laurent, be more understanding,” Victoire said, and had Laurent not known her as he did he would believe her serious. “You’re not part of the company, so truly your presence would be a waste of air.”

Victoire said the company like an old timey actress who most definitely smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. It was a proper way to refer to the thing Laurent attributed to being the bane of his existence, but was more recognizable as Artesian Affairs, the continental political relations company that had been Aleron’s reason for living since he had been a teen. Artesian Affairs was what had the DeVeres moving around so often in Laurent’s youth and Laurent knew that if someone were to ask his father what his proudest day was, he wouldn’t say the day Laurent was born in addition to the day Auguste was born, but just the day Auguste was born, for Auguste followed in his footsteps.

As Victoire dragged him to the kitchen, saying something about getting in there before Hennike tried to make anything herbal, he stuffed down the bitterness that had arisen with each new word that had left Aleron’s mouth. A beat, two, and a reminder that his issues weren’t with Auguste but his father instead, and Laurent could almost make himself forget that he was purposefully left out of time with his brother because their career paths had diverged greatly.

“Don’t look so put out,” Victoire said as she climbed her way into a seat at the counter. They could both hear Hennike on the phone. “Neither one of us has to sit there and listen to them ramble. Let me tell you, I’m sick of talk about Auguste’s work. If I didn’t love the man, I would have long found a way to rip out his vocal chords.”

“Is that you talking or the hormones?” Laurent asked, standing on the other side of the counter of her in order to lean down on it. Orlant wasn’t in the kitchen, probably off doing something Hennike had bid of him before she had disappeared into the office (and no doubt because she forgot that just a moment ago she was going to ask him to gather up refreshments), and their voices echoed off of the pristine white cabinets and marbled counters.

Victoire scoffed audibly and pulled at the stretch of dress across her stomach. “I’ll have you know I don’t need hormones to make me slightly hostile.”

“And you sound so proud.”

“I am. It’s the Kemptian in me. We grow up in such cold that we make up for it all with fiery personalities.”

“So that explains why I clash so greatly with my father.”

“No, that’s just because you’re a bitch.” Victoire smiled so wide as she said that, and then it softened into something fond. “I missed you.”

Her hand was on his then, her fingers slightly swollen with baby weight, and her skin was cool like his mother’s, like his, and never one good with sentiment from the heart, Laurent only turned his hand over to intertwine their fingers.

“I’m sorry we missed your graduation,” she added in after a beat, her voice much more quiet.

“Victoire,” Laurent started, the tone of his voice a near exhaustion from this clearly not being the first discussion on this matter, “I mean this as unoffensively as possible, but you’re swelled up like a balloon. I completely understand and it’s more than alright. Just make it to my grad school one, okay? I don’t know if I can bear my father’s uninterested gaze that long on my lonesome again.”

“We won’t miss it for the world. And maybe we can find a way to leave Al on the side of the road or something on our way.”

While Laurent had been awaiting time with Auguste, time with Victoire was always wonderful. She truly was the sister he never had, and if he were being honest, she was the only one who showed him unconditional support in every way. Since his youth, near every word out of his mouth had been followed by a sigh from his father. Wishing to read in the garden instead of joining the other boys on the grass for sports? A sigh. Wearing headphones whilst Aleron conversed about the company? A sigh. Liking men in the place of women, or perhaps just not liking women at all? A sigh.

His mother did mean well, but she lived her life the way expected of a woman of her status and that meant there was more time gallivanting at parties and organizing philanthropy events in place of actually being a mother. So often was she at a loss as to what was going on in either of her sons’ lives beyond the obvious that both had learned long ago two very important things: always explain in great detail, even if explanations have been given in the past, and always do one’s best to prevent one of her anxiety-ridden fits from occurring.

And Auguste...well, Laurent loved him, he did, and Auguste loved him in return. But after Auguste disappeared out of his life, their lives, for so long, it even as recently as now felt like coming to know a stranger at times.

Victoire was one of those incredible people that felt like, upon first meeting, one had known their entire life. So now, in the kitchen, whilst Aleron took up all of Auguste’s time and Hennike ushered Vannes, their interior designer, into the house after her hurried drive over, Victoire and Laurent talked. They talked of anything and everything, but obviously of the most relevant of things. Victoire asked of Laurent’s upcoming schooling and he told her that yes, he was going back to Marlas for it, and yes, he was excited (“Can’t you tell by my enthusiastic smile?”), and yes, he already had several professors he had been in contact with who had read his work and seemed quite pleased to work with him in the near future, and no, no one else really knew what all was going on. Laurent asked of the baby and Victoire’s back-to-work plans and yes, she not-so-secretly hoped it was a boy for the baby’s sake only, and yes, she wanted to return back to work mostly out of spite after her boss suggested Auguste made enough money for the two, soon to be three, of them, and yes, pregnancy was a bitch and men were weak, and no, she didn’t want to do it all right away again.

The talking continued and finally Hennike, her blonde hair now frazzled at the hairline, emerged from the library with Vannes in tow, the designer familiar enough with Laurent to throw him a look that said ‘What the fuck?’ behind Hennike who was explaining to everyone in hearing distance that she wanted blue and silver for this year’s holiday, blue for the ice and snow, and silver, but ‘gods above, what were they to do about their gold ornamentation?’

“Gods,” Victoire sighed with a laugh, knocking her shoulder into Laurent’s own now that he’d moved over to sit beside her. “How do you put up with your parents? I mean, I love them, and more specifically I love that they decided to have sex at least twice so I have your brother and you —”

“Gross.”

“— but, seriously. You need to move out.”

“I sort of am. I’ll be going to Marlas in January, in case you’ve forgotten in the last hour,” Laurent said.

“No, I haven’t forgotten. But you’ll be back for the summers and holidays, yes?”

“Probably not the summers, but the holidays are sort of a requirement. Auguste is married and he still has to attend holidays. Well, now he does.”

Suddenly, with vigor and energy and a manic look alight in her eyes, Victoire snapped her fingers.

“That’s what you need! You need to get married.”

“Are you trying to sound like my mother?”

“Never say those words to me again. But that’s what you need! You need married so you have a reason to stay out of this house, and you need a person that supports you in the way your parents don’t, and —” She stopped herself and Laurent felt her stare boring through his skin. “I love you, you know. I can’t tell you how often your brother and I talk about you, about how proud we are of you, and I also can’t tell you in words how wonderful it is to be in love. I want that for you because you deserve it.”

Laurent detested conversations that veered this direction. He and love had never seemed to meet properly in his life, so talk of it always felt stilted and awkward, like the introductions to strangers at a party that was already too loud, and yet he knew Victoire of all people didn’t mean a word of it maliciously. It left him sitting there, expression unchanging and mind whirring with responses and questions he would never actually voice aloud.

Victoire snapped the tension, another one of her many talents.

“Plus I need you to begin to have an invigorating sex life so I can live vicariously through it. Auguste and I hardly have time for sex and nowadays when we do have the time, I feel like hell, so we’re both just —”

“I absolutely did not need to know that,” Laurent said vacantly, his mouth twisting unpleasantly as Victoire cackled.

Eventually, or an eternity later, the others began to join them. First was Auguste, who had escaped the office because their father had gotten a call, then Hennike who seemed less frazzled but still on the recovery end of the events earlier, and finally Aleron who was pointing at a bill with confusion on his face.

“It’s never been this much,” he said without preamble, the beginning statement a reference to the paper in hand holding the fancy heading script of Vannes’ interior design. “Did she up her prices? She’s not that good.”

“No, she didn’t up her prices,” started Hennike. “I did it because —” Once again, just like earlier, she cut herself off.

Auguste’s arm was around Victoire’s shoulders, his hand down and resting on the crook of her elbow. Occasionally he shifted just so and his hand found the roundness of her stomach.

“Mom, your annual holiday party isn’t exactly a surprise. Hence the ‘annual.’”

Laurent pressed his forehead to Victoire’s shoulder. “How did I forget about the annual holiday party?” he muttered into her thick sweater dress.

“I don’t know, considering it’s annual,” she muttered back, petting at his head once in consolation. Auguste shot them both a warm look.

Aleron and Hennike were shooting each other their own looks while that was going on, the conversation of it concise until Hennike said aloud, “Maybe we should just tell them now.”

Aleron hummed. “I suppose.”

“That way, we can spend dinner planning and talking. We can get the initial excitement over with,” Hennike continued, as if Aleron hadn’t agreed and as if she had to prove that this was a good idea.

“Wait, let us guess,” Auguste said, elbowing Laurent. Laurent glared at him for dragging this out.

“One guess each,” Hennike said, utterly indulging her oldest.

“Vere has reintroduced a monarchy and since we have royal blood we have to travel there and fight to the death for the throne.”

“You’ve hired yet again more people in poverty to hold the guise of ‘maid’ or ‘servant’ so we don’t get arrested for praciticing in the archaic and horrid practice of slavery.”

Aleron let out a breath of air between clenched teeth.

“Hennike, tell your sons —”

“The Vallis family is coming to stay with us for the holidays!”

Hennike exclaimed the news, her voice too loud as she did so, but it prevented Aleron from snarling as he so often did when the boys, particularly Laurent, said things that annoyed him, and the exclamation brought everyone, and all talk, to a halt.

The surprise was intended for Auguste and Laurent so all eyes turned on them the moment it was realized what Hennike said. Aleron, Hennike, and Victoire all appeared to be waiting with baited breath, Victoire’s more out of her lack of knowledge on the situation, but Laurent felt struck dumb. He stole a glance at Auguste, hoping to maybe imitate Auguste’s joy in some way, but Auguste looked just as he felt: confused.

“Who is the Vallis family?” Auguste voiced after an awkward minute of a pause.

Both Aleron and Hennike’s faces dropped.

“You remember the Vallis’!” Hennike said as if that was an unmitigated truth. Auguste looked to Laurent in the same way Laurent had looked to him, and the two quirked a brow as if to silently ask the other, ‘Do you remember the Vallis’?’

A vein visibly throbbed on Aleron’s forehead.

“You remember them,” Aleron repeated his wife. “They were our neighbors.”

“We’ve lived in four houses since I was born,” Laurent said. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“In Marlas.”

Auguste’s eyes squinted as he thought, then opened wide, as if it dawned on him suddenly as a bolt of lightning hitting the earth. “The Akielon family?”

***

Marlas August 2nd Fifteen Years Ago

Auguste wasn’t talking to him.

Auguste wasn’t talking to anyone, actually. The headphones attached to his Walkman were tangled and looked as if they were pinching his ears, but neither thing seemed to be a bother. He was too busy staring out the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set, and he was probably daydreaming of being anywhere but in this very car.

So Laurent, feet dangling far above the floorboards, read his favorite book through every bump on the road, every stop they eased or slammed into, every passing car and truck, even the ones with blaring horns.

He was nearing the end of the book, most of the pages held tight in his left hand as opposed to his right, when the car came to a stop and, this time, didn’t quickly start back. The lack of motion brought him out of his reading-stupefied haze to look up. Auguste had slumped more in his seat, his butt almost off of the edge, as if the sight of their new house brought on something akin to revulsion.

Laurent, six years of age and his brother’s biggest fan, wanted to be as angry about their move as Auguste was. He had tried, throwing a tiny tantrum as his father loaded up a case of his toys and books into the moving truck the day earlier, but it was harder now that they were here because the house looked warm and there was a pond he could spot behind it, its water bright in the warm sun, and most excitedly was a house nearby with a stable in its yard and a white-nosed horse snout peeking from its entrance.

“We’re here, darlings,” Hennike spoke quietly from the front seat, as though worried one or both of them had been asleep. “All of our stuff is in the house already, still in boxes of course.” If Auguste slumped down any further he’d be sitting on the floorboards.

Slowly the four of them emerged from the car, stretching their limbs from their locked positions during the journey, and Laurent wanted to run inside, wanted to see his new bedroom, wanted to get out his toys and beg his mother to take him to see the horse, but he stopped himself abruptly. Auguste was leaning on the car’s closed passenger-side back door, a sigh caught in his chest. Aleron was talking to him in hushed tones.

“Come on, darling,” his mother said, her hand gentle on his tiny shoulder. “Let’s go see your room and start getting you settled.”

Laurent helped his mother get his room’s basics ready. He helped her put on his sheets and his pillows on the bed that had been placed there by movers, told her where he wished his bookshelf to be dragged to, helped her pull the curtains onto the curtain rod, and eventually all that was really left was putting away his clothes and toys. Because he was quite mature, she told him, she thought that he could handle that himself, and she left to go work on other parts of the house, the fine plates and bowls calling to her and begging to be put back on display. Only once did Laurent hear Auguste and it was his stomping feet followed by the slam of a door.

Some time passed, Laurent honing in to hear for Auguste, wondering if he should go say a simple hello so Auguste knew Laurent didn’t mind if Auguste was angry, but he kept pulling out toys and books instead, all of them put in very specific places, until he was startled by the ringing of the doorbell.

Involuntarily a little gasp left him at the unexpected sound, and he waited with his breath held as if he were playing hide and seek and the seeker was getting near, listening to his mother’s footsteps and muffled talk with whoever was there. Then came the inevitable, “Auguste! Laurent! Come down here!”

Auguste’s door remained closed, silent on the other side, and Laurent paused there with a tiny fist raised to knock before their mother’s voice called out again.

At the front door was a woman with a bright smile, strong shoulders, and the longest hair Laurent had ever seen. It fell down far below her waist, brushing the middle of her thighs. There was color tied into it in the form of a long silk ribbon, its yellow looking like it belonged there naturally despite her dark skin, eyes, and hair, each a different shade of brown that blended so seamlessly together, like a gradient of bronze hues when hit by different levels of sunlight. She was holding a tray of something in her hand, something that distinctly smelled of honey, but the most eye-catching thing were the three men behind her. The one clearly her husband was intimidating, his chest a barrel, his beard dark, and next to him on the left was a man almost equal in his height, but younger and not quite sporting a full beard, but in its place a scowl that would give Auguste’s current sour expression a run for its money. To the older man’s right was a younger boy, youthful and lanky, and not near as obviously put out by this as the other was; or maybe he was better at hiding it underneath the wild curls covering half of his sight with how they fell over his forehead.

“This is my youngest, Laurent,” Hennike introduced him, gently pulling him forward and into the doorway. She cast a worried look up the staircase Laurent had just descended. “I apologize. I don’t know if my oldest will be down. He’s cross with us for moving him before his final year of school.”

“That just gives us more time to meet Laurent then,” said the woman kindly, and her voice was low and washed over Laurent pleasantly. She bent down, closer to him, and said three separate things one after the other as though each was equally as important as the last. “My name is Hypermenestra. This is my husband, Theo, that is my oldest, Kastor, and my youngest, Damen.” She pointed to the expected men accordingly, and her husband gave him a nice smile, and her youngest gave a wave. “This is baklava and, if you like it, you’ll need to come over with your family for I make it every other week.” Then she said, a sort of awe that was often reserved for children in her voice, “Gods, your eyes are blue like the ocean of home. And as large as the ocean too.”

“Father says my eyes are as big as billiard balls,” Laurent said seriously, and everyone laughed as though he was very funny.

No one saw Auguste the rest of the day, but Laurent went to bed that first night in their new house in Marlas with warm honey smooth down his throat and the promise of more for as long as he wished.

***

“She’s already lost it once today,” Auguste started with a mumble, “so I’m going to guess we don’t even have until noon tomorrow before she loses it again.”

Dinner had ended some time ago, Auguste’s favorite, but some of its goodness was lost with Aleron and Hennike’s visible frustration that Auguste and Laurent were not near as excited about the Vallis family visiting as they were.

“You went to school with Damen!” Aleron had ground out, his grip on his fork tight, after Auguste had once more said something about not knowing the Vallis’.

“For a year,” Auguste had started. “And a year fifteen years ago. He’s a few years younger than me too, right?”

“Two years, I believe.”

“Fifteen years ago? Oh good, that means I was,” Laurent had pretended to count on his fingers, “six when I met them.”

Aleron had tried to salvage the conversation. “You might not remember them well, but both of Theo’s sons are part of the company. It will be good for you to make connections.”

He had, of course, only been addressing Auguste, but the statement drew a full body reaction from Laurent who was normally very controlled. “Wonderful holiday, everyone. I absolutely cannot wait to have five people talking nothing but the company until I inevitably die from my brain physically rotting inside of my skull.”

Victoire had hid a laugh behind her hand at that, and the conversation came to a stilted halt, Aleron retiring quickly after to his office and Hennike following with worried fluttering fingers.

“No doubt we can expect the lists sooner than later,” Laurent said presently in response to Auguste’s statement about their mother.

“Lists?” Victoire inquired.

“Every time mother has some event coming up that puts her in a fit, she creates these endlessly long lists with things to do and hands them out with shaky hands as though we can get all hundred items accomplished in a day’s time,” Auguste explained.

“It’s never simple things like dust or vacuum the rugs. It’s things like ‘reshingle the roof’ or ‘tear up the garden and plant entirely new flowers and yes, in the dead of winter.’”

If Auguste had actually placed money, he would have won. The next morning, whilst eating breakfast together, Hennike came to the table, robe flitting behind her and eyes wide, and handed out sheets of paper to Aleron, Auguste, and Laurent. Aleron never stopped reading the newspaper long in his hands already, but Auguste and Laurent shared a look before glancing down at their own.

Polish the floors Install new furnace Plan a month’s worth of meals     - Give to the cooks Rent the ski lodge Embroider the pillows in both upstairs’ guest bedrooms Restock liquor cabinet Add another room to the new wing - talk about w/ Al...

And so on.

“Mom, when are the Vallis’ supposed to be here?” Auguste asked warily.

“In five days’ time.”

“We don’t need a new furnace,” Laurent said. “And I don’t think it’s physically possible to add another room to the new wing in five days’ time.”

“I can help do things too,” Victoire started. “That will give you guys an extra set of hands and —”

At once, all four DeVeres said:

“You will do no such thing!”

“Victoire, you’re pregnant.”

“Baby, that’s not happening.”

“No.”

Victoire threw her hands to her sides in defeat. “Gods above, I’m not an invalid.”

“You’re not, but there is no reason you need to exert yourself. We have plenty of time —”

“And we’re not actually going to do half of the shit on this list.”

“— and we have plenty of people to help. Don’t worry yourself with it.”

“Mom,” Auguste interjected, “you do know we’re not going to do half of the stuff on this list, right? Please, can you just accept that now so it’s not a big deal the hour before they get here?”

Hennike’s voice sounded small as she responded. “But the house would be so much better if we did all of that.”

“We can always plan some of those things for after the holidays. Since the Vallis’ will probably only be wandering the main rooms, such as the kitchen, sitting room, Father’s office, and whatnot we can focus on those and leave the rest for basic cleaning,” Laurent tried to helpfully provide.

The paper in Aleron’s hands folded down, giving them all the first full look of his face all morning and he was wearing the patented DeVere quirked eyebrow, his mouth pulled into a frown. “What do you mean they’ll only be wandering the main rooms?”

“I’m not having a stroke, am I? Those are the rooms we use the most, yes?”

If possible, Aleron’s frown was pulled even deeper at the words. “Yes,” he said slowly, “but as they’ll be staying with us, they’ll be in the guest rooms as well.”

In the most comical of ways, the room fell yet again to a halt, just as it had when Aleron and Hennike first mentioned the Vallis’, only this time Auguste blinked once, twice, three times, and hit his elbow hard on the edge of the table whilst Laurent sat statue-still, fingers twisting in the soft material of his sweatshirt.

“Wait,” Auguste started.

“When you said staying with us —” Laurent said simultaneously.

“They’re staying here? As in staying-staying here? As in sleeping in the beds here? As in morning, noon, and night staying here?”

Another pause in the room.

“Are they poor? Can they not afford a place to stay while in Kempt?”

The vein was visibly throbbing in Aleron’s head again. “They could buy half of Kempt if they wished to.”

“Then for gods’ sake, why are they staying here?” Laurent asked, feeling woozy suddenly.

Despite everything about this home and the chaos that came with living in it alongside his father and mother, there was a comfort in being here, in being unapologetically himself. It was something he had fought long for as well and the thought of other people being here every second, of having to wear a face at all times, sounded exhausting and, to be frank, impossible.

“Because we thought it would be,” Aleron trailed.

“Fun!” Hennike finished. “It will be fun. Your father and Theo were such good friends back in the day and it was only the distance as they both transferred that brought on a change. And Hypermenestra and I mingled so often in the events around Marlas that we became near inseparable at one point. I know things were different for the both of you then, with Auguste heading off to university not even a year after the move and Laurent being so young, but that’s all changed now. Kastor and Damen sound like charming young men that you could both very much befriend.”

The revelation that the Vallis’ were staying in their home for the near entirety of their stay, a whole three weeks no less, changed Auguste and Laurent’s view of the list. Though a new furnace and an entire room addition was still out of the question, the other things felt important suddenly as if impressing these people they didn’t truly know was life or death. Luckily for everyone, Aleron seemed to conclude the same thing and decided that calling in people to polish the floors and prepare the house in all its vastness to be immaculate was necessary.

The four DeVeres were still busy, however. Hennike’s nerves were alight, and it felt as if each time anyone saw her she looked more unraveled than the last time. Luckily for them all she spent much of the next days out of the house, reluctantly trusting the cleaning crews to take care of the home and using the time to go into town with attendants with her at the market, at the florist to arrange for fresh flowers in all the rooms during the Vallis’ entire stay, at the ski lodge arranging some kind of event, and at Vannes’ studio to prep for the actual holiday party she threw every year in competition with Loyse Marcantel, a woman two streets over with a house full of wild boys and a husband that thought quite highly of himself in the town.

Aleron stayed in his office, something that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but when passing the room in the hall anyone could catch on to conversations with people he was associated with thanks to the company, and there was no guarantee, but it sounded as if he was trying to arrange a get-together of sorts for them all once Theo Vallis arrived.

That left Auguste and Laurent (and Victoire, though if she was caught ever was immediately stopped) to do the other things, the things Hennike forgot to take into account, such as food needed for the days before the Vallis’ arrived, such as making the guest rooms not look entirely unlived in, such as making sure the guest bathrooms were equipped with towels and other necessities for a long-time visit.

The only good part of it all was that, the night before the Vallis family was set to arrive, Aleron and Hennike had gone to bed at their usual time, Victoire had gone to bed feeling albeit nauseous, and that meant Auguste and Laurent were together to talk for the first time since Auguste had stepped out of his car.

They were in the sitting room, for that was where Auguste had found Laurent warming his cold hands by the fire, and both were lounging in the tall-backed chairs, Auguste sitting as one should and Laurent splaying across his own, his right foot perched up on the armrest closest to Auguste.

“So much for a family holiday,” Auguste said, speaking toward the fire. “I was looking forward to it, even with the craziness that I knew would ensue.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, only hummed, and he was staring into the fire too, allowing the warmth to make his face so hot that the skin felt tight. When he didn’t properly respond, Auguste poked the foot perched on the chair. Laurent didn’t react. Then Auguste scratched at Laurent’s foot, his blunt nails scraping the fabric of Laurent’s sock, the sound of that drowning in the crackling of the fire, and Laurent jolted at the feeling and pulled his leg back and out of reach.

“Stop that, weirdo,” Laurent said, and he leaned over the same armrest to smack Auguste’s shoulder none-too-lightly.

“Ow! You’re not ten anymore, that actually hurts now.”

“Please,” Laurent scoffed, “you weren’t even around when I was ten. I could have hurt you then too.”

It wasn’t meant to sound the way it did; but it did sound that way. Both of them felt the way the words added a chill to the room despite the fire still blazing, both of them felt the way it addressed the one thing they didn’t talk about because neither knew how. They looked at each other, Laurent’s mouth partially open as if to say something, but no words came out.

“At least we’ve had the last few years together with just us. Mom and dad can’t take that away, I suppose.”

And just like that, they were back to not addressing it.

“I wouldn’t put it above them to try,” Laurent said. Then he pulled a face, as if what he just thought suddenly hit a nerve that wouldn’t allow him to not voice his irritation, and began, “You know, they could have done something half-normal, something families do, like invite our distant cousins that we see once every five years or someone even remotely blood related. But instead they invite some family we lived next to one time in our multitude of moves.”

Auguste smiled and turned back to face the fire. “Yeah, you’d think if they would invite anyone they would have invited the Crespins. They had a son around my age that I spent a decent amount of time with, and I always thought Father and Mr. Crespin got along.”

“You must not have heard. The Crespins disowned their son.”

“What?” Auguste pushed himself to sit up fully, his eyes wide.

“Yes, apparently Berenger running away with a stripper from Varenne wasn’t in their plan for him.”

“A stripper?” Auguste repeated, his jaw going slack with amused shock.

“A redhead. It was quite the scandal,” Laurent said.

Auguste sat back again. “Berenger with a stripper. Didn’t see that one coming. Then again, I don’t think anyone saw me becoming a father just after thirty either.”

“Life is unpredictable in that way,” Laurent agreed. “But you seem to be doing just fine with that. I bet Berenger is doing just fine with his stripper too.”

“Probably more than fine,” Auguste said with a waggle of his brows before dodging another hit from Laurent.

It got quiet after that, both thinking about the serious things that had been brought up in their conversation thus far. Laurent looked away from the fire eventually, opting to look at Auguste’s profile instead. The stubble on his face was a shade or two darker than the hair atop his head, and it made him look older, more refined even. But looking beyond that, Laurent could still see the brother he had idolized in his youth, could still see the face of the man that had shown up on the doorstep of this very house years ago with sorrow in his eyes and hope in his voice.

“Are you ready to be a father?” he asked his brother, still watching his face.

“Don’t think there’s much to do now if I wasn’t,” Auguste said.

“That’s not an answer and that’s not what I meant.”

It was Auguste’s turn to look at him and there, where the sorrow had been, was something Laurent couldn’t place as one specific thing. It was like a stone of opal, a stone that had so many colors, but they were feelings instead of color, each one playing off of the other, each one indistinct and obvious all at once.

“Yes,” then, “no.” He laughed, the sound almost self-deprecating. “Victoire said that it’s normal that I feel so...but I wish I could confidently say yes. I wish I felt more than prepared to welcome a baby into my life, to dedicate my soul to it. But I’m fucking terrified, Laurent.”

Comforting words weren’t often heard in the Devere household. Laurent wanted to say something to ease his brother’s mind, wanted to give him something tangible to hold onto until Victoire had the baby, until Auguste was drowning in devotion and love too much to worry about his insecurity. But instead all Laurent said was, “Thank the gods Victoire’s there to cover you.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected of Auguste’s reaction at the statement said lightly, but it certainly wasn’t the melting of tension from his shoulders nor the blissful smile on his face.

“Thank the gods indeed,” he said, and just like that he appeared settled and fine, as though the mere mention of Victoire’s name was enough to ease all anxiety away. “I recommend falling in love. And doing so soon so you have near all your youth to spend with them. It’s such an unmatched feeling.”

“I think it’s probably that way as the feeling is reciprocated,” Laurent said.

“Probably,” Auguste agreed. “I still recommend it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Laurent said, doing his best to not let Auguste see the eyeroll that accompanied the words that left him.

“Speaking of love,” Auguste started, standing to stretch his arms high over his head, “I’m going to go check on her and get some rest before we begin the welcoming party tomorrow. You going to sleep soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll go soon.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Laurent.”

“Goodnight, Auguste.”

***

Marlas September 14th Fifteen Years Ago

The DeVeres had been in Marlas for just over a month when they first heard Auguste’s true laughter again.

The sound was so unexpected, so sudden, that Hennike whipped around from where she was standing at the bar — making one of her late afternoon cocktails — and some of the liquid sloshed over the sides of the crystal glass in her hand, drenching the pearl ring on her hand in vodka.

Laurent, sitting at the dining table with markers in one hand and the corner of his coloring book in the other, looked up with a stare of consternation that had him making a large mark with green marker far outside of the lines. He frowned at it briefly, lips puffed in a pout, for it made the carousel on the page look quite silly; but the repetition of Auguste’s laughter, the brightness that followed with it, drove away the pout. He looked up again.

Auguste was barreling inside the front door, his shoulders knocking at the frame, and he appeared to be fighting someone. Only, they mustn’t have been fighting because Auguste was laughing. The both of them, Auguste and the other person, looked a mess, their hair both long and tangled in front of their faces, and Hennike, realizing they were wrestling as boys often did, relaxed.

“One of you is going to get hurt!” she called out, wiping at the sides of her glass with a dish towel used for decoration purposes only.

Somehow, both boys’ shoulders managed to wedge in beyond the rigid door frame and they stumbled into the foyer with a lack of grace. Their rowdiness made a painting on the left wall shake. But after fumbling in, they calmed down, their laughter taking on something more like giggles.

The other boy was one of their neighbors, one that Hypermenestra, who made the best baklava in the world and who had promised to make some kourabiedes during the holidays just for Laurent, had introduced. Damen. Somehow his hair had gotten significantly longer in the month since the DeVeres had arrived in Marlas, his curls wild and untamable. Still, even they couldn’t take away from the brightness of the smile on his face and when he responded to Hennike; his voice was at the point fifteen-year-old boys’ voices were right when it would soon develop into something low and rumbly. In other words, right now it was fairly high in pitch, broken out of childhood but still awaiting that final push to being a man.

“Sorry, Mrs. DeVere,” and he said it so charmingly that Hennike couldn’t not beam at him, a hand moving to splay on her own hip as she took in Auguste’s equally as tussled strands of hair.

“And what has you two all riled up?” she asked.

Auguste shot a look at Damen, then his mother, then back to Damen before he said, in a voice that was happy yet meek, “Some of the guys at school invited me to play rugby after school. It was fun.”

Damen, unaware that Auguste had told his mother something quite innocent in such a quiet voice because he didn’t want to admit this move hadn’t been as bad as he had initially thought, chimed in after that. “There are a few of us that like to play before the season starts, making sure we’re all up on the plays and everything. I’m trying to convince Auguste to try out.”

Hennike’s smile was fond as she looked at her oldest who looked a little bashful at the mention. “Are you going to try out, darling?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to try out,” Laurent said, his own voice not near as bashful as Auguste’s. All the attention in the room turned to him for the first time and he slid off of the dining chair to patter his way over to Auguste. “Can I play with you?”

Both Auguste and Damen laughed, and even Hennike let out an amused sound as she turned back to her drink. Auguste, seventeen and as tall as their father, bent down to heft Laurent into his arms. This close to Auguste’s face, Laurent could make out the brown freckle placed right at the end of his left eyebrow.

“I think you’re a little too small to be playing rugby with the big boys quite yet,” Auguste said, and he petted down an unruly part of Laurent’s hair. The pout returned to Laurent’s face at that, his bottom lip puffing, his child cheeks getting rounder.

“I’m not that little,” he said. Now his voice sounded as meek as Auguste’s had.

“You can come to every game and learn though!” said Damen to Laurent’s left. “And I’ll play with you and Auguste out in our yards.”

Laurent hadn’t been up close with any of the Vallis’, as Laurent had learned them to be called, except for Hypermenestra, and that only because she came over to chat with his mother, the two of them sipping on spritzers while it was still the season for them. Damen’s face was friendly and he looked at Laurent the way Auguste did, like Laurent wasn’t just a child too incapable of doing much of anything. There was gold near the pupils of his brown eyes.

“Yeah,” Auguste agreed, pulling Laurent a little closer as he started to slip in his grip. “Damen and I will teach you everything we know and then, when the time comes for you to try out, you’ll be ready. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah.”

***

“Aleron, please change into a nicer shirt,” Hennike pleaded, her hands so shaky she couldn’t get the clasp of her diamond bracelet shut.

“What’s wrong with this one?” he gruffed, the newspaper back in his hand like it was every morning.

“It’s hideous. Please change. You have that lovely deep red shirt I got you during the holidays last year, or you could wear blue as that’s the decoration of this year, or —”

It was the day the Vallis’ were set to arrive and Hennike was going on about everything, because nothing was perfect yet in her eyes, including Aleron’s terrible shirt.

Vannes’ interior design team had been in and out of the DeVere household the last five days, working at an absolute nonstop pace. The gold and the red that Hennike had been terribly worried of clashing with her desired blue and silver holiday colors had been taken care of accordingly, the design team going as far as to get an entire new front door put on the hinges, this one a rich navy with a silver lock and handle. The old one was put in the DeVeres’ storage container on the other side of town, ready to be placed back come the new year. Beyond the ridding of the red and gold, the house was a holiday wonderland, postcard-worthy just as Hennike liked it.

The bannister of the ornate staircase was glittering with silvery lights, the cords twisted around the wood and hidden in greenery, making the lights look like sparkling snowflakes delicately placed to draw attention just so. In the sitting room was a ginormous tree, its presence eye-catching and attention-holding, the ornaments on it bulbous and silver as well, their shiny surfaces reflecting the lights interspersed in the trees’ branches. Around the tree was a blue skirt, the fabric velvet and vivid and worthy of being the cloak of a royal instead, and already placed upon it were gift boxes, ones that both Auguste and Laurent knew all too well to be decorative and full of nothing but air. In uniformity, all the rugs in the house had been replaced with the same kind of deep blue as the tree’s skirt, and there were more lights all throughout the multitude of rooms, twinkling and cozy.

Hennike had made certain that one of their cooks would be present early to bake fresh croissants, their existence for two reasons, one being so the Vallis’ had something wonderful upon arrival to help hold them over until the extravagant dinner was ready, and the second being so the house smelled like a bakeshop, adding to the cozy nature of the holiday decoration. Luckily for Hennike as well, a fresh snow had fallen overnight. It hadn’t been a major snowfall, less than an inch all over the ground, but it was enough to hide the gray slush that came with snow left for a long time and brought a freshness to the whole sight of their home.

But still, she wasn’t entirely happy with everything. The tall-backed chairs in the sitting room were still there and still very much red, but Aleron had put his foot down on getting rid of those and Laurent had silently backed up that notion. Auguste had told her in as nice a way as possible that snowman candle warmers looked a little tacky and she had almost cried, so now there were no candle warmers or holders around until the new ones she had ordered arrived in another two days’ time. And don’t even get her started on the drink cart she had wanted so badly to get that was out of stock.

“If I change, will you not speak anything about it the rest of the day?” Aleron asked her.

“Cross my heart!” she promised, giddy with getting her way, and he sighed in the way that expressed his horrible irritation at it all, folded his paper, and began his walk back toward their bedroom to change, Hennike rubbing his shoulders once as a thank you of sorts.

“If she tries to make me change, I’ll simply stay in my room the rest of the day,” Laurent said quietly to Auguste. The two of them were at the breakfast bar Laurent and Victoire had spent so much time at the first day she had arrived, drinking coffee and doing their best not to make direct eye contact with their mother should she think of something to say.

“She won’t make you change,” Auguste said. “You’re wearing a shirt she bought for you. If anything she’ll come over in front of all of them when they arrive and pinch your cheeks like you’re a baby and point out just how adorable you are.”

Laurent grimaced. “You’re right. I should go change into something hideous then.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Hennike said, and she was so close to them in an instant that it was scary. “I love that shirt.”

It was a nice shirt. Or perhaps sweater would be a more appropriate term, despite it being of a thin material, for it was a turtleneck. It was fitted, clinging to the lithe planes of Laurent’s frame, and its color, an ivory white, looked wintry and wonderful in contrast to the taupe colored corduroy pants that accentuated his waist. His blond hair brushed at his shoulders, the neck of his shirt paired with the length of the strands framing his face like the piece of art it was. Yes, it was a nice shirt that looked even nicer on him.

“When are they supposed to get here, Mother?” Auguste asked. The attention, however brief it had been, shifted from Laurent to the situation at hand.

“Any time. Is Victoire up?”

“I am,” came Victoire’s familiar voice from behind them and, sure enough, there she was, her arms drowning in a large and flowing dark blue cardigan. “Sorry. The baby wanted its mother to be quite nauseous this morning.”

“Are you alright?” Auguste asked, alert immediately.

“Oh, I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t dealt with.” She walked forward, kissed Laurent on the cheek, then Auguste, and settled awkwardly into the chair at Auguste’s left.

Everyone was opening their mouths to ask Victoire what they could do for her, Auguste wanting to ask her if she needed to go rest, Laurent wanting to ask her if she wanted some tea, Hennike wanting to ask her if something small to eat would help settle her, when one of their usual staff, an old man named Arnoul, came shuffling in.

“The Vallis’ family has arrived, ma’am.”

One had to be in the room whenever something was about to occur to truly understand the energy Hennike radiated. Like it had happened with the snapping of fingers, Hennike’s expression went from concerned for Victoire to utterly panicked. Her eyes widened, almost comically so, her pupils getting eerily small, and her mouth pulled down at the corners, sharpening her lips and elongating her face. Then, quietly at first, came her voice.

“Aleron.” Then, louder, overreacted, “Aleron! They’re here, Aleron, please hurry. Oh gods.”

Auguste and Laurent shared a look, the kind of look siblings shared that made at least one have to cover their face to avoid laughing outright, and it was when Laurent was attempting to disguise said laugh as a cough that Aleron came from the hallway the bedroom was located in, looking disgruntled in a deep blue button-down.

“Aleron, they’re here,” Hennike said again.

“So I heard.” He adjusted the cuff on his right sleeve. “Let’s go then.”

The five of them — Aleron, Hennike, Auguste, Victoire, and Laurent — followed Arnoul, Auguste keeping a steadying hand on Victoire’s lower back, and with a flourish the front door opened, letting in the Kemptian cold and making way for the two people standing on the other side of it.

Theo Vallis was just as he had been fifteen years ago when the Vallis’ had first introduced themselves to the DeVeres in Marlas. He was tall, broad, barrel-chested, had a pair of dark brown eyes over a nose with a broad tip that tapered upward, and a wide, close-mouthed smile. His hair, dark and waved, was a lot shorter than it had been that time in the past and a lot grayer too; it paired well with the lines by his eyes that indicated lots of time spent laughing. Laurent remembered, as if from a dream tucked away, that Theo had a booming laugh.

Hypermenestra was not, however, just as she had been fifteen years ago. No, Hypermenestra had, in the last decade and a half, become more refined than she had been then, her beauty only enhanced by the time that had gone by, her eyes even kinder than they had been the day she had leaned down into Laurent’s six-year-old vicinity to tell him to come over for baklava every other week for that’s when she made it. He had a rushing memory of honey at the sight of her over his brother’s shoulder.

In the polite way adults did, greetings were exchanged quickly and with excitement overextended, but Laurent recognized his mother’s genunuity as she ushered them inside, saying something barely heard over the shuffling of feet about not freezing their guests to death. Inside, in the foyer, it was much easier to get proper greetings across and Auguste, Laurent, and Victoire stood to the side and watched Hennike and Hypermenestra hug each other, both being careful of the other’s hair, and pull back as if to examine one another, each going on about how beautiful the other was, throwing compliments around as if they had to get them all in now and not over a three week long period. In contrast, Aleron and Theo gave each other manly shoulder-claps, and, like men seemed to do, Theo was looking up and around, saying something about the woodwork of the house and Aleron, hands in his front pockets, agreed about the craftsmanship.

“And your boys!” Hypermenestra exclaimed out suddenly, bringing the conversations occurring to a halt and all eyes turned to Auguste, Laurent, and Victoire before Victoire shoved the two in front of her as that’s where the focus had turned. Hypermenestra walked forward, pulling Auguste then Laurent into a hug, an it was when she pulled back from Laurent that her face changed. Her eyes got near-misty, head tilted, and she said, her voice quiet now, “By the gods, you’ve grown into something spectacular. Look at you.”

Unused to attention from entire rooms when his family was involved, Laurent didn’t know what to say. He gave her a smile, a small one that felt awkward on his face, and she sniffed once. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She turned back to Auguste. “And you! Gods. Your brother I saw as a child, and whilst you may not have been a child, you certainly weren’t on route to be a father yet.”

Auguste, much better with attention, ran with it in stride and smiled before giving Victoire his elbow. “I definitely wasn’t on route, no. This woman right here, my wonderful wife, Victoire, is the reason I’m not in a complete state of consternation about it now.”

Victoire was introduced, Theo coming forward to greet her versus her trying to waddle to him, and Laurent could see in Hypermenestra’s eyes that same look his mother had when she looked at Victoire, as if she wanted to kidnap her and put her own motherly instincts to work caring for Victoire while Victoire’s body readied to give birth.

“What about your boys, Theo?” Aleron asked, changing to subject. “I thought they were coming along with you.”

“They’ll be here. Both of them got caught up with work. You know how that is,” Theo said.

“Don’t I,” Aleron said back, and they laughed like it was an inside joke.

“Kastor’s been doing a lot of work with the Patran embassy and the border issues there. Damianos is doing a lot, but his primary work has been with the Akielon military bases along the Elosean Sea. There are four of them and he's been flying back and forth between them. When we had told him he needed to make his way up here to Kempt, he was in Isthima, and when we called him just last night he was at the base in Mellos.”

“He’s working the military bases? All of them?” Aleron looked and sounded impressed. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“That’s quite a feat for someone so young.”

“Aleron,” Hennike interrupted. “If you two are going to talk business straight away, perhaps it’d be best done in your office.”

“Only if Auguste comes along with us,” Theo said, already taking a step to follow Aleron’s movement. “I want to hear about what you’re doing with the company as well. I see big things for you three boys’ futures.”

“Are you —” Auguste started, talking to Victoire, but she cut him off before he could finish the question.

“I’m fine. Go. Talk business and all things boring so you can get it out of your system early.”

“You’re the best,” Auguste said. He gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“While they’re gone talking, I want to show you the new wing and get your opinion on that extension I was telling you about last week,” Hennike said to Hypermenestra.

“Yes, of course! It sounded like such a great idea over the phone, but I’m dying to see it in person,” Hypermenestra said.

“Are you going to come along?” Hennike asked Victoire and Laurent.

“I would but,” Victoire started, then hesitated. “I’m going to give my feet a rest for a while longer.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Concern was back in Hennike’s voice like it had never left, but Victoire waved her off.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll stay here with her,” Laurent offered up and Victoire beamed at him.

“My boys should be here relatively soon,” Hypermenestra said. “They’re both in Kempt now, but I don’t know where and I don’t know if they’re awake quite yet. But if they arrive whilst we’re all away, just call for us.”

“Sure.”

As Hennike and Hypermenestra disappeared down the far hallway, their heels clicking behind them, Laurent caught their conversation, heard the, “That boy of yours! You must be holding back boys and girls alike with a stick,” and Victoire cackled directly into his ear.

“Beautiful Laurent,” she sing-songed, arm hooking around his.

“Stop that.”

“A stunner. A heartbreaker. A —”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Help me get off my feet and I’ll stop.”

She didn’t stop her sing-songing until Laurent helped ease her to sit in one of the still-red chairs in the sitting room, but the relief on her back, or her feet, or both had her quieting down, as if the talking was just a distraction from how uncomfortable she was.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Laurent echoed his mother.

“Yes. Growing a life inside of you for nearly a year isn’t exactly an easy thing to do, you know.”

“Never thought it was.” He couldn’t sit down yet. “Let me at least get you tea.”

Victoire winced for the first time since she had arrived as she pushed herself into a more comfortable sitting position on the chair and, reluctantly, she met Laurent’s eyes. “Silver needle, if you guys have it. Please.”

In the kitchen, Laurent could hear and see his mother again. She was down at the far far end of the wing, hands motioning wildly at the current wall there as though telling Hypermenestra to imagine that wall knocked down and extended past the garden they could see from the window. Hypermenestra was nodding, as if completely back in step with Hennike’s quirks, and Laurent shook his head before putting water in the kettle for tea.

Hennike, ever thorough, had also replaced all of their dishware to go along with their colors for the season, so the gold-rimmed glasses and bowls were gone. The mugs, meant for coffees, teas, hot cocoa, and probably even eggnog at some point, were blue and tinged with silver like stars in a nighttime sky. The plates and bowls and serving dishes in the cabinets were simply white and Laurent could only imagine the multitude of centerpieces for the table Hennike had commissioned.

After the tea was finished steeping, Laurent picked up the two mugs he had gotten out, ignored his mother’s squeal as she ran to show Hypermenestra something in the recreational room, and went back to where Victoire was sprawled more awkwardly than before in a chair. She had one arm behind her and underneath her lower back, as though giving her lumbar support she was lacking, the other arm over her head and across the back of the chair. One leg was extended all the way out, her heel on the floor and the rest of her foot not, and the other leg was bent at the knee at an acute kind of angle.

“You look painful. How are you sitting like that?” Laurent asked, gently placing the steaming mug of tea on the table beside her.

“Babies are magical creatures that turn one’s body unrecognizable at times,” Victoire huffed. She was trying to sit up straight again. She cradled the mug in her hands and Laurent didn’t comment on the swelling of her fingers, so significant it made her rings on her hand look quite tight. “That seemed like a rushed welcoming.”

“I didn’t think it was surprising. Mother and Father are clearly more interested in their reunion with the Vallis’ than Auguste and I are.”

“Mrs. Vallis —”

“Hypermenestra.”

“Hypermenestra seemed quite excited to see you.”

“I think it was the excitement relatives feel at family reunions. I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but I’ve heard all the horror stories of relatives coming up to the children at events like that and going on and on. She knew me when I was six and quite obsessed with sweets. It was probably like meeting me for the very first time,” Laurent said.

“You’re still obsessed with sweets.”

“Very true, but I’m a bit more controlled now.”

“So you don’t know their sons at all?” she asked.

Laurent gave a small shrug before taking a sip of his tea. “Not really. Damen, as we knew him, was fifteen when we moved to Marlas. I was six. Not exactly compatible ages for friendship. Auguste and him hung out some, but Auguste went off to university a year later so they never got close. And I don’t even think Auguste or I either met the oldest, Kastor. And if we did, it was once, maybe twice. He’s a decent amount older than Auguste, let alone me.”

As if on cue, as if knowing Laurent and Victoire were talking about the Vallis boys, a car pulled into the DeVeres’ extensively large driveway, parking directly in front of the fountain in the center. It was a taxi, its bright sign glowing even in the sunlight, and Victoire had her neck craned and sticking out as if that would make the person sitting inside clear. The two of them waited a moment, watching and waiting to see if someone would emerge. No one did.

“I’ll go get Hypermenestra,” Laurent said, pushing himself to stand up again.

“Go greet them yourself,” Victoire protested. “Then you can avoid your mother following and causing a scene that won’t stop for an hour.”

“But that means I have to talk and lead them inside and —”

“Laurent.”

He gave her a wary look. “Fine. But when I inevitably make it weird and my father expresses his ongoing disappointment in me, you’re going to hear it.”

“Put on your best smile!” Victoire called after him as he walked out the front door.

The front steps were slick with ice and snow, and Laurent held tight to the railing as he descended, refusing to make a scene of his own. Instinctually his arms came around his body as if he could hold in the heat that was being taken by the cold air. The taxi was still running, its engine loud, and Laurent couldn’t make out the figure inside the darkened windows. He stood there a beat, then two, then debated knocking on said window, when the door flung open and a man came out.

Man was the only word to describe the person. Laurent had been caught up in Hennike and Hypermenestra’s continuous references to ‘boys’ that, though he logically knew the two Vallis’ being waited upon were adults, his mind didn’t supply that definition yet. But the person stepping out of the car was most definitely a man, and an older one at that. He had to be nearing forty and dressed like he was on his way to the office in the next hour.

He looked exactly like his father too. Kastor, Laurent deduced because of the age assumption, was tall, perhaps even taller than Theo, and broad-shouldered. He had his father’s nose and eyes exact in color but more hooded like Hypermenestra’s, and his hair was reminiscent of Theo’s back in Marlas fifteen years ago. The most significant difference was that Kastor’s mouth was set in a firm scowl that somehow deepened as he took in the snow surrounding them in every way.

“Kastor, yes?” Laurent asked, his brain forgoing a hello. Kastor shut the door to the taxi behind him before he gave Laurent even a look. It was a look Laurent wasn’t used to getting from strangers, but more so his family; it was a look that said Kastor was studying him. Thinking more on it, Laurent wondered if it was a thing people from the company did, something learned in their training. That would explain why he bristled at the feeling of those eyes on him.

“Yes,” Kastor said simply. He walked back to the trunk of the taxi, pulled out his bags, and gave a curt wave to the driver as if he couldn’t stomach standing there any longer. A squishing sound filled the air as the taxi drove off, its tires spinning in mountains of wet, blackened snow. “Is my father here yet?”

Laurent nodded. His teeth were starting to chatter.

Without another word, Kastor began toward the house and Laurent, noting with obviousness that their meeting had been colder than the weather outside, allowed him to get ahead to avoid any more unnecessary conversation. Kastor hadn’t even let him introduce himself, didn’t ask who he was. Inside, Kastor kicked snow off of his boots and got as much outside the door as he could. Arnoul was there to greet them, the old man attempting to take Kastor’s bags. Laurent watched with a bit of amusement as Kastor took in Arnoul’s fragile looking frame and did his best to decline.

“I’d prefer to settle my own things in, thank you,” he said succinctly, and Arnoul acquiesced, stepping aside and announcing he would, at the very least, escort Kastor to his rooms so he didn’t get lost.

“Your father is in my father’s study. I’m sure Arnoul can show you where if you’d like to go there after you settle your things,” Laurent said. Kastor was already halfway up the shimmering staircase when he said it and the man turned around, perhaps as if seeing Laurent for the first time, and tipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Well, he’s going to be a boatload of fun, isn’t he?” Victoire asked loudly from the sitting room. Laurent shushed her.

“He might be able to hear you. Don’t you know anything about the Veretian way?”

“As I’m not Veretian, apparently no.”

“Auguste was never very good at it so that might be why. Veretians don’t believe in saying awful things in someone’s vicinity. We’re sickly sweet to people’s faces and then we annihilate their entire existence behind their back before they realize what hit them.”

“You’re not sickly sweet,” Victoire scoffed. “Not when you don’t want to be, anyway.”

“Yes, that’s the Kemptian in me, clearly,” Laurent said, giving Victoire a pointed look.

“Oh, don’t blame us Kemptians for you being a bitch,” she said and Laurent actually laughed at that. It made Victoire smile with all her teeth showing, and between that and her general pregnancy glow, she was riveting. “Besides, your mother isn’t a bitch so I think that’s just all you.”

Laurent snorted. “She’s not a bitch but she’s…”

“She’s something.”

“That’s a word for it. Would you ever allow her to watch the baby when it’s born?”

“Gods above. No,” Victoire said. Her hand curled around the most protruding part of her stomach as though she could protect the baby from Hennike’s sometimes questionable lifestyle choices. “I have this fear she’d mistake water for vodka and vice versa and put it in the bottle, or that she’d forget the baby was sitting in a laundry basket and dump the entire thing in the wash, not giving it a second look. I don’t know how you and your brother got out of here unscathed.”

“I mean, neither one of us is entirely mentally stable,” Laurent pointed out, not mostly serious.

“I meant physically. You’re both horribly fucked up in the head, that was always unsalvageable.”

Laurent was about to make a quip about Victoire willingly procreating with Auguste knowing he was fucked up in the head, when another taxi with an almost identical, unmistakable light atop it pulled into the driveway. Its tires were in nearly the same imprint as the taxi before it. Like when Kastor arrived, both Laurent and Victoire stopped talking and waited instead to see if someone would emerge. This time, however, someone did.

Damen, as the process of elimination told them, had to practically fold himself to prevent from hitting his head on the car’s frame, but when he finally stood to full height, it was impossible to not take in everything about him.

Like there was between Auguste and Laurent, there was a significant age difference between Kastor and Damen. Where Kastor was forty and showing it in his face (though Laurent already theorized that Kastor, no doubt, would look younger if he smiled once), Damen was full of a youthful zeal, something showcased in the simple way he walked, the way he held himself as he chatted amicably with the cab driver from the open window, and it paired well with his lightly stubbled face; he had, apparently, not deemed the beard his father and brother bore as necessary quite yet in his life. Unlike Theo and Kastor as well, Damen’s hair was curled, each singular curl distinguished. They weren’t tightly coiled curls, no, but they were curls nonetheless and it made him look more boyish where everything else, like the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, and the very obviously well-worked muscles of his thighs displaying underneath a basic pair of jeans, screamed man.

“Well would you look at that,” Victoire said, her voice pitched low. “That’s going to be a real nice addition for the holidays.”

Laurent was always good at schooling his face into something expressionless and he was grateful for the skill now. He hoped Victoire didn’t see him swallow. “Aren’t you married?” he asked rhetorically. Like his face, his voice gave nothing away.

“I’m married, not dead,” she said. “Don’t roll your eyes. Look at him and tell me that’s not at least miniscule-y attractive to you.” She was pointing out the window just as Damen was hefting his bags from the trunk. He lifted them like they were nothing. Logic told Laurent that he didn’t actually know if the bags were heavy or not, but the heat it spread throughout his stomach wasn’t listening to that logic.

“Where’s Arnoul at? I’m still cold from going outside last time, I don’t want to do it again.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason.” Then she said, “Go out there. Maybe when you get back in, he can warm you up.”

“You’re disgusting,” Laurent said, his head turned toward the staircase Arnoul still hadn’t descended since escorting Kastor up there. Outside, the taxi drove away, its tires doing the same thing the first taxi’s tires had done, squelching and whirring on the blackened snow. Laurent sighed heavily through his nose. “I’ll be back.”

A large chunk of snow that must have been stuck to Kastor’s boot before he had shaken it off was directly in front of the door and Laurent sidestepped it, barely. He focused on his footing as he walked down the front steps because they were still slick with ice, so it wasn’t until he was safely on the ground that he looked up.

Damen was standing there, his eyes focused on one of the barren trees in the left side of the yard. The branches, though holding no leaves, were heavy with snow and it was beginning to shake off with the small gusts of wind, falling like a fresh snowfall from the sky onto the ground below. Where Kastor had looked studious when he looked at Laurent and at everything around them, Damen looked intrigued. His mouth was slightly parted, leaving the breath that left between his lips frosty in the frigid air.

“We just had a snowfall yesterday.”

Laurent hadn’t meant to say it; or maybe he did. It seemed like a better segway than a simple hello or anything else.

The sentence got Damen’s attention from the tree though, and suddenly he was looking at Laurent.

Up close, Laurent could conclude that Damen didn’t look anything like his father and brother. His nose was straight, the bridge the same in width where Theo and Kastor’s tapered upward, his mouth fuller — or perhaps just not drawn down in a scowl — and his eyes darker. He was definitely taller too, standing a whole head above Laurent who felt suddenly quite young and quite small again, and his smile, when it happened, was knee-weakening and big, just like the rest of him.

Unlike how it had been with Kastor, whom Laurent had never really met all those years ago in Marlas, Laurent had memories of Damen, however brief, that made this suddenly feel quit uncanny, like someone meeting someone else for the first time and discovering they were incredibly close with a friend from a distant past.

Like before, Laurent brought his arms around his middle as if to keep in the heat the cold was trying to take. It was easier to focus on that, on the cold, than on Damen’s dark eyes on him.

“I haven’t had a welcoming this pretty since my best friend’s bachelor party.”

There weren’t many instances in life where Laurent felt speechless. Sure, he kept his mouth shut moreso than not given his father’s reactions to most things he said, his mother’s fluttering attention span, and his brother’s disinterest, but he had much to say, always. But right now, at that, Laurent’s mind felt mindnumblingly blank, even if only for a moment.

Then it all came back to him.

“I do suppose I’m taller now,” was all he said and then he waited, allowing that to seep its way across the cold and into Damen’s head. The wide, knee-weakening smile on Damen’s face fell slightly, as if at first to make sense of whatever had just been Laurent’s response. Then those dark eyes widened.

“Laurent?” he asked, his voice falling off at the end.

Laurent nodded.

“Shit.” Purposefully, Damen breathed out, fogging his face with the cold air as if creating a shield. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect…” His voice fell off again. “You look great.”

“Well, I’m not six anymore so that’s probably the biggest change,” Laurent said, his arms still around his middle.

“Yeah,” Damen laughed a little, “that’s definitely a big part of it.”

Though the silence that followed was only ten seconds long, it felt like an eternity of just standing there, the feeling making Laurent want to crawl out of his skin.

“We should go inside and get out of the cold,” Laurent said when it became unbearable.

“Right. Yeah, of course.”

Back to the door, Laurent felt hyper-aware of Damen walking behind him. Too late did it occur to him that he should have maybe offered to help with bags, but they were walking in now, Damen’s boots loudly knocking on the steps to get off the snow as they all did each time they entered the house. As if timed to make Laurent question everything, Arnoul was coming down the stairs just as the two of them were getting inside the door.

Laurent could see Victoire in the sitting room craning around the chair, the sight hysterical given he could make out her round stomach with the way she was turned. She mouthed, ‘You two going to go warm up?’ and Laurent ignored her with ease.

“Mr. Kastor Vallis has taken the bedroom on this floor instead of the one upstairs,” Arnoul informed them. “The back patio entrance within the main floor’s bedroom will be better for him as he smokes.”

Laurent couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at that, but before he could say something Victoire was waddling in, a specifically pitched ‘Hi!’ having already left her mouth before she was even fully standing.

“Hi!” she repeated, hand coming out to Damen. “I’m Victoire.”

“I’m Damen,” Damen said, taking in Victoire in all her glow and he beamed at her. “You must be Auguste’s wife. Congratulations!” Then he took the hand she had extended out to him and kissed it, the brush of his lips feather-soft and Victoire had the audacity to giggle.

“Thank you,” she said, still giggling. “We’re all thrilled to have you all here for the holidays.”

“If anything, it’ll help prepare you for the bigger holidays you’ll be having in a few years,” Damen said.

“Auguste wants an entire sports team of children I think,” Victoire started with an exaggerated grimace. “He’s lucky he’s getting the one right now.”

Damen laughed at that, that booming laugh Laurent vaguely remembered from the Vallis household as a whole. Only now Damen’s laugh specifically was deeper. Much deeper. It took them getting inside for Laurent to realize just how it felt to be so close to it, like being swept over by honey that had melted in hot tea.

“Would you like me to get your bags, Mr. Vallis?” Arnoul interrupted. Like his brother, Damen took in the fragile sight of Arnoul’s thin-boned arms and declined quite quickly.

“I’ve got my bags, but I wouldn’t mind being shown the room,” he said, hefting the bags up a little higher from where they had fallen during the conversation.

“Your father and brother are in my father’s study,” Laurent repeated the same information, with the addition of Kastor of course. “It’s on the main floor, but I’m sure Arnoul can show you where that is as well.”

“Thank you,” Damen said. “Auguste is in there as well?”

“Sadly,” Victoire murmured.

“And are neither of you coming?” Damen asked.

“Gods, no,” Victoire said.

“We’ve not been invited, you see,” said Laurent. “But my father is persistent you and Auguste reconnect in order to expand your network.”

“That’s a shame you two won’t be there. But, then again, it sounds like we’re all going to have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Patiently, Damen let Arnoul lead him up the stairs. Victoire was better this time at watching her volume and at waiting until Damen was out of sight for a moment before saying. “He’s a sight, isn’t he? And charming too.”

Laurent snorted. “Yes, if you think that making an ambiguous, yet equally obvious, implication that I’m somehow a stripper is charming, then sure, he’s charming.”

He had said it because it was truth, but also because he thought it would make Victoire wrinkle her nose the same way Laurent had when Arnoul mentioned Kastor smoked. But instead of that kind of reaction, Victoire tilted her head and asked quietly, “Wait, what?”

“I walked out there and the first thing he says isn’t a hello or even a harmless comment about the weather. Instead he said, ‘I haven’t had a welcoming this pretty since my best friend’s bachelor party,’ as if that’s not implying me to be considered the same as the strippers that were littering the place in their barely-there clothing. And I don’t even understand that, because I’m practically covered everywhere minus my face —”

“He said that?” Victoire asked for clarification, her voice a little louder.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” A pause, then, “Oh. Oh, I can work with this.”

Dread worked its way into Laurent’s bones the same way cold did.

“Victoire, we do not need a repeat of my first year at the university.”

“My cousin meant well, he just —”

“He was awful. You know he was awful.”

Victoire groaned, her head falling back. “Okay, Søren was bad. But Damen is…” Laurent couldn’t tell if she was pausing for dramatic effect or not. “Unbelievably hot.”

“Damen’s been in the house for literally four minutes. Give him more time, he’ll prove himself to be like everyone else.”

Victoire made a sound. “You’re just jealous he kissed my hand.”

“That’s it. You caught me.”

***

Marlas July 30th 14 Years Ago

With a trembling hand, Hennike dabbed the tissue to her eyes. She did so delicately as to not disturb her makeup, but some still came off on the stark white paper, blackened now with mascara from her lower lashes.

“But Ios is so far away,” she repeated for what had to be the twentieth time. “Can’t you stay closer to us? Or at least closer to Vere?”

The DeVeres had been in Marlas for nearly a year now, and despite Auguste making a handful of friends, he hadn’t quite found his happiness since the move. The rugby team had fallen through given Auguste’s late entrance to the school and ever since that news had broken, he’d spent more nights moping in his room than doing anything else. Now, at the end of his schooling, he was preparing for the next step: university. Several of his friends from the school back in Arles were going to Ios for university and, if the rumors were true, the beach parties there were unmatched.

But best of all, it was away from the name DeVere.

“Mom, first semester tuition has already been paid and everything,” Auguste said, and he did nothing to mask the irritation he felt. “It’s done.”

“But —”

“Hennike, let it go. If the boy wants to make things harder on himself, let him. Perhaps it will teach him a lesson,” Aleron said.

It wasn’t easy for Aleron to say such things. Auguste was his oldest, his golden star, and his joy, the one meant to carry on the family name with pride. But now —

Aleron couldn’t think about it, so he simply didn’t.

Holding back a retort, Auguste turned on a heel and marched out of the dining room and back to his breezy bedroom to continue to pack. This had all come up because Auguste dropped the bomb that he was moving a month early to enjoy the rest of the summer in Ios. Hennike had expected more time with her son, Aleron had thought to change Auguste’s mind in that time, and Laurent...

Too busy shoving clothes into the array of suitcases Auguste had found, he didn’t even see Laurent, tiny and seven years old and holding confusion between his brows, standing in the doorway. In fact, Auguste didn’t pay attention at all until he heard, in a quiet voice, “Why are you leaving, Auguste?”

Auguste shouldn’t have looked up. Laurent had an ability unlike any other with his big blue eyes. It was the only thing about Laurent that seemed to bring out a sense of paternal care in their father.

“I’m going to school, Laurent,” Auguste said, looking back down again.

“But why?”

“Because I have to."

“But why are you going so far away?”

“Because it’s the school I want to go to.”

“But Mother says there are schools closer. You could —”

“I don’t want to, Laurent!” Auguste said, the force the statement emphasized as he slammed his laptop charger into his suitcase. “I want to be as far away from here as possible. I don’t want anything to do with this family, I’m done. Everything has been picked out for me, lined up with expectations impossible to meet and I’m done.”

Since he had learned to walk and talk, Laurent had been a quiet boy. But the silence now, even when Auguste wasn’t looking at him to see what made it so different than usual, was painful. It was only broken by the soft pattering of Laurent’s feet on the floor as he left from standing in the doorway.

***

Marlas October 26th 14 Years Ago

“Can we call Auguste?”

That was the first thing Laurent asked after walking in the door from school. He still had his backpack on and everything, but there was a determination in the question as if the answer of ‘No’ simply would not suffice.

“Why, darling?” Hennike asked back.

“Because I haven’t talked to him in forever. It’s been at least,” he began to count on his fingers, “fifteen days. That’s more than two weeks!”

Hennike didn’t want to tell him. She herself was still struggling with the fact that Auguste hadn’t answered a single one of her phone calls in those two weeks. In fact, the only time he had answered since the semester actually started was in early October and it had been because somebody else had picked up the phone and handed it to Auguste.

“Sure, darling, we can try. But I can’t promise he’ll pick up. He’s quite busy with classes.”

Laurent bounded over to the phone, impatiently waiting for Hennike to join him. With reluctance she stood from the sofa and joined him at the phone. He was on his tiptoes as if standing taller and closer to the receiver would get him to Auguste faster and Hennike, with a ball of dread in her stomach, dialed the number and waited.

It rang. It rang. It rang. It rang. And it kept ringing. Then, with a low beep, it went to voicemail.

“Hi, this is Auguste. I’m not in my dorm. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

Hennike didn’t — couldn’t — bother.

“He must be out, Laurent.”

It made her want to cry. The holidays would be here before they knew it and Auguste might not be here, and Hennike would be inconsolable, Aleron would be so angry, and Laurent —

“That’s okay. Can I get on the computer and email him? My teacher says my spelling has gotten better.”

Laurent was young enough, innocent enough, to not think the worst yet.

“Of course.”

***

Ios October 26th 14 Years Ago

Auguste had no idea where he was.

The party had started on Stewart Street, at the usual place, but then the police had broken it up and it had moved. Auguste had joined the rest of the group in stumbling to the new destination, but he had gotten sidetracked by another party with a big game of beer pong going on in the front yard. Now he was lost and his head was fuzzy with too many shots.

It didn’t stop him from doing more though.

Things had escalated beyond normal shots and Auguste found himself doing body shots off of a girl he’d met precisely thirty seconds earlier with g-string straps showing at the top of her hips and long dark hair nearly down to her waist.

He wasn’t going to make it back to his dorm room tonight.

***

The rest of the day leading up to dinner was the definition of awkward. It became apparent that the Vallis family had catching up of their own to do before they would be ready to catch up with the DeVeres. Hypermenestra was absolutely overcome with both Kastor and Damen being here and Victoire had overheard the woman tell Hennike that it had been almost two years since the family had sat down for a dinner together.

“What kind of hell have our parents put us in the middle of?” Auguste had asked, a kind of incredulous laugh in his voice. The three of them — Auguste, Victoire, and Laurent — had been eavesdropping since Auguste’s exit from the ever-intimidating office.

“I don’t have time for other people’s family drama,” Laurent had started in agreement. “I barely have time for our own family drama.”

“It felt incredibly cold in there the moment Damen entered and not because of the snow outside,” Auguste had said.

“Leave it alone, you two. Give them a chance to settle in before you start jumping to wild conclusions.”

“Honey,” Auguste had said, addressing Victoire then, “I love you, but all you do is jump to conclusions. I’m allowed to one time.”

At one point, nearish noon, Kastor had retreated from the office to the room he was staying in, leaving Aleron, Theo, and Damen alone. Theo’s booming laugh followed by Damen’s similar one echoed throughout the house at various intervals.

When Auguste and Victoire got bored with the eavesdropping and decided to grab lunch at a small place down the street, Laurent took that as opportunity to retreat to his room. Disregarding the sitting room, his bedroom was his favorite place. It was littered with books, his newest ones Patran literature from the years 1000-1600 Post-Artesian (P.A.) and his older ones fiction books he’d had since he was a young teen, books that shaped everything, books that provided an escape from the name DeVere. But the books were about the only things in the room that were Laurent.

Hennike, the interior design dreamer with big ideas Vannes made reality, hadn’t allowed for the boys to have many toys or anything growing up given how horribly toys clashed with her mixture of Kemptian-Veretian home decor. That hadn’t changed as they had grown. In fact, it had gotten even more strict, the saying of, “It’s time to start acting like an adult!” being told to them both starting when they turned but thirteen.

It had made childhood a little off-putting, watching other kids in those younger days of school bringing toys for show-and-tell or talking about the gifts they received, but Laurent had grown used to it and it didn’t bother him now. It made his room with its high ceiling, dark floors, beige walls, and large arched window all the more cozy in lamp light.

He grabbed one of the older Patran books, this one with yellowed pages, binding that was in a questionable state, and faded Patran writing on the cover that said ‘Poetry from Bazal’ and a subscript of ‘For the Royal Family,’ and lounged across his bed. For hours he didn’t hear a sound in the house, his room far enough away from the kitchens, the office, the new wing his mother was obsessed with, that there wasn’t a fear of hearing it either. But, as all good things must come to an end, his mother did come into his room some time later, no knock or anything, to say, “Dress nice for dinner tonight. It will be ready at our usual time.”

Laurent bristled. “I have to dress nice for dinner in the house? Is this how it’s going to be the entire time they’re here?”

“Yes and yes. They are our guests, Laurent! We need to look nice out of respect,” Hennike admonished.

The unspoken words there were actually ‘How else am I supposed to show them how wonderful we are if we do not always look camera-ready?’

“Fine. I’ll be down soon.”

Down the hall was Auguste and Victoire’s room, and they must have returned from their outing because Laurent could hear Auguste asking his mother the same thing he had. When she left, going back down the stairs, he then heard Auguste groan and begin to, none too gently, go through his closet for something worthy of wearing to dinner.

Laurent picked out a new sweater, a nice blue one (to compliment his mother’s theme for the house) with cuffed sleeves and a Peter-Pan collar, and finished it off with a simple pair of pants, ones that ended above his ankles in the Veretian style both of his parents preferred. When he was dressed, he took in a deep breath before opening his bedroom door; every part of him was dreading small talk and conversation that would ultimately lead to the company, as everything with his father always did.

As soon as the door was opened, the smell from dinner besieged Laurent’s senses. It was divine and clearly going to be excessive. The dread solidified a little more. Laurent sent a silent prayer to the prophet of Kempt and the god of Vere that it wouldn’t be a twelve course traditional Veretian meal.

There was chatter in the dining room already occurring and when Laurent walked through the threshold, it was Hypermenestra again that seemed truly happy to see him.

“Laurent! There you are,” she started, coming forward and placing both of her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived.”

Her enthusiastic greeting had turned all eyes in the room on him and that meant everyone but Auguste and Victoire. If Victoire were here, she would say something humorous, something like, “Ever since Laurent found out the DeVere family is descended from royalty, he’s started limiting his presence with people as to not overwhelm them with his grace,” and everyone would laugh. But Laurent didn’t know what to say so he said a half-truth instead, purposefully avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the room.

“I got caught up in schoolwork. I didn’t mean to disappear for so long,” he said.

“Well,” she started, and she was leading him toward the table that was in the process of being set, “that means I’m simply going to ask you everything over dinner. You, especially, have had so much happen since you moved from Marlas.”

Laurent was saved from responding to that with the appearance of Auguste and Victoire and Victoire’s hysterical delivery of, “Sorry we’re late. This,” she pointed to her baby bump, “makes getting dressed a challenge every time and I got a dress stuck in a terribly embarrassing way. Auguste had to fish me out of it. It was a mess.”

Like she knew to save him, the mention of a baby got Hennike and Hypermenestra both cooing after her as they had earlier and they kept it up even as everyone began to go to their seats. The cooing got even worse when Auguste pulled out Victoire’s chair for her.

“Does he do that all the time, or is he behaving exceptionally well because there’s company?” Hypermenestra asked lightheartedly.

“I whipped him into shape years ago,” Victoire said, and she demurely took the folded cloth napkin on the table and placed it over her lap — which was predominantly baby bump now.

“That’s not far from the truth,” Auguste said, taking his across from her

The table they were sitting at was incredibly long. Like the largeness of the house, Laurent never understood why they had a table quite this big when dinner wasn’t eaten together more than a handful of times a year and, when they did eat together, there were only three of them most of the time. On a normal day, as the table sat there unused, there were ten available seats and room to squeeze in six more if needed. Arnoul and the others had taken away all the unnecessary chairs for the dinner, however, leaving a chair at each head of the table, four chairs on one side, and three on the other. Naturally, Aleron and Theo took the seats at the heads of the table, their wives on their rights. Hennike’s seat was next to Victoire, the both of them actually the ones sitting across from Auguste and Laurent realized then that he was going to be sitting next to Kastor, who was sitting on his own father’s left, and across from Damen who was seated next to Auguste. It wasn’t ideal. It put him in the middle of everything and he wanted to reach out to Auguste, tell him how much better he would be in this position and don’t you want to sit next to your wife? But it was too late now.

“You didn’t have to plan this for us, Al,” Theo said as everyone settled in.

Aleron’s host voice in response was nauseating and Laurent’s pointed ignoring of it gave him actual time to take in everyone at the table. His mother’s dress was, in fashion, excessive. It shimmered as she moved, the sleeves of it long and not belonging to a woman that spent time doing much of anything. Victoire had color-coordinated herself and Auguste, her new dress’ gray hues complimented by the blue shawl she wore and went quite nice with Auguste’s gray tie and navy blue pants. Aleron and Auguste could’ve been clones in that moment if Auguste had taken on their father’s coloring as opposed to their mother’s, his outfit eerily similar, as well as the awful beard he was attempting to grow.

Then there were the Vallis’. Kastor might as well have been at a funeral, his black suit and perpetual scowl not at all screaming dinner party. Theo and Hypermenestra were both bundled up a little more; Laurent thought back on what he remembered of the Vallis’ and remembered vividly then how much Hypermenestra would complain when the weather in Marlas began to change. “Not a place in Akielos gets as cold as it does here,” she would say, shivering in the chair she always sat in when she was over. Their outfits were nice as well, both complemented by jewelry that seemed unnecessary, and Theo’s sweater made him look almost grandfatherly, though Laurent had a suspicion he would not like to be told that. Damen was dressed like Kastor if Kastor had ditched the jacket and opted for a smile. Thought there were other differences. For instance, Damen had ditched not only the suit jacket, but the tie as well, making the whole look more casual; or maybe the casualness of it came from his unbuttoned buttons at the top of the shirt, exposing his neck and briefest beginning of chest hair.

Laurent was mindlessly adjusting his silverware and plate just as the first course began to be served. It was a small bowl of soup, a creamy vegetable bisque that was there to warm everyone’s stomachs and set the tone of the winter comforts of this meal. Alongside it came the drinks, a deep red wine being poured for everyone (but Victoire) that signified to Laurent his mother had, in fact, requested the cooks make the lamb, and a glass of sparkling water as a palette cleanser.

As food was being set on the table, the room was unnervingly silent. The only sounds were that of the waitstaffs’ feet moving about the floor, the quiet fabric sound of napkins being unfolded, and the musical clinking of fine china and glass.

Aleron cleared his throat, speaking again, and bringing forth a rush of relief, as if everyone would now be given permission to speak.

“Before we begin, I would like to make a toast,” he started. With a ringed hand, he raised up his wine and said, “To Theomedes Vallis for his retirement from, and his long-standing loyalty to, Artesian Affairs. May your gods shower you with all the blessings you deserve as the man you have become.”

Theo tipped his glass in recognition as everyone, especially Hypermenestra, applauded him. Victoire, whilst clapping, elbowed Laurent subtly and Laurent held back a grin. He knew what she was thinking, knew she was saying in her head Artesian Affairs in such a heavy accent that it was almost unrecognizable as words.

Given the toast, it was no surprise that the time between the first course and second courses was spent talking about the company. Theo gave a rousing retelling of his last case he worked, something involving Akielos’ farming provinces and Patran provinces bordering them and something about surveyors and a few other things Laurent didn’t care enough about to give his attention to. Instead of listening to Kastor’s chiming in of, “And just think, Father, what could have happened had they put Makedon on that case,” and Theo’s booming laugh and, “Can you imagine? The mess that would have caused,” Laurent focused on the condensation on the glass of water next to his wine, on Victoire’s familiar elbow bumping into his own, on the bob of Damen’s throat as he drank.

Up close and not allowing his mouth to move faster than his brain, Damen looked a lot like what Laurent remembered. Sure, time had done its job, aging him appropriately, but there were aspects of that boy next door so evident in him that Laurent felt a sense of deja vu. It was impossible to pinpoint what it was exactly; it could have been the boyish smile he still had, one that made him look younger when it lit up his whole face, or it could have been the dimple on his left cheek that was deep enough to hold half of the wine in his cup, or it could have been his eyes that were just as warm as Laurent remembered. In a strange way it was a comfort having some kind of affinity in the midst of all the newness, of the clawing need Laurent had felt since he had finished university to get away.

The second course, a simply creation of canapes made of puff pastry, ricotta, thinly sliced pears, walnuts, and prosciutto, was brought out on large decorative serving trays and placed on the table in two places so everyone could get their hands on at least one, and the conversation continued on, but away from Theo and toward the other members of Artesian Affairs who were active in their practice.

“Kastor, Damen,” Aleron started, wiping his hand fastidiously on the napkin at his right, “your father told me a little of what you’re both doing and I must say, I’m intrigued.”

Kastor nodded in acknowledgment and Damen gave a short and polite “Thank you.”

Aleron continued on. “Damen, you’re working with the military bases? That’s impressive for someone your age.”

“Thank you,” Damen said again.

“Which bases are you working with specifically? Back in my day, before the boys were both born, I did some work with the Veretian bases at the border, places like Ravenal and even Marlas.”

“Well, Delpha is the big one, the one that really gets you on the map, but I’m not there. Yet. I’m working more on the coast of the Ellosean Sea, looking at….”

Laurent’s attention switched from Damen’s familiarity to Kastor’s unfamiliarity. Though Damen was the one talking, Kastor was the one who was fascinating in that moment. At the first direct mention of Damen, or more specifically the first direct exclusion of Kastor, the man bristled, his funeral-appropriate expression deepening. It wasn’t a subtle thing either and Laurent, sitting next to him, felt it like one feels the change in the air before a strike of lightning. It was almost as if he embraced the way he was feeling, or like he wore it the way someone wore a comfortable and old pair of shoes. His profile to Laurent’s right sported a clenched jaw and Theo’s nose and it was impossible not to imagine the bared teeth his entire being insinuated.

The tension only seemed to grow when Theo, raptly listening to Damen speaking as if he hadn’t ever heard any of this before, chimed in, his praises grandiose, and Laurent couldn’t not look around to see if anyone else was noticing. Of course they weren’t though; his mother was motioning to one of their waitstaff for more wine and everyone else was listening to Damen whose smile got unbelievably more charming as he talked about how he was approached for his promotion not six months ago.

“...it’s when I was working with Mr. Zervas that it happened because he —”

“Mr. Zervas?” Auguste asked, mouth curling up into a smile. “He’s who I first worked for when I was interning at the University of Ios.”

Damen’s smile back was blinding. “He’s the best, isn’t he?”

“Taught me everything I needed to know —”

“— about the military,” both Damen and Auguste said at the same time.

“Yeah,” Damen continued, “if it wasn’t for him, I never would have been prepared for everything needed at the bases. But now, only six months in, I’ve gotten my first proposals back to the Akielon Kyroi for approval. And we all know how the Kyroi can be.”

“That we do,” Theo said with a scoff at just the mention of Akielos’ current political delegation.

“When I was first working through only Vere, Mr. Zervas had me sending so much back to the Veretian members and those assholes threw out the first four. They didn’t even bother sending them back, they literally threw them out,” Auguste said.

“Sounds typically Veretian to me,” Kastor mumbled just loud enough to be heard, and it shifted everyone’s attention in the way Laurent’s attention had shifted earlier.

If Damen was bothered by all eyes in the room moving toward Kastor, he didn’t show it like his brother did. But there was something there on his face, something that twisted the charisma so easily displayed into something more subdued that Laurent was faced with the sudden impossible task of deciding which Vallis brother was displaying a more interesting set of emotion.

“Kastor’s work with Akielon and Patran unification has been going quite well,” Hypermenestra added over the instantaneous awkward.

“Yes, you should hear what he had to deal with in regard to Patran’s dear king, Torgier,” Theo said. “That man is enough to drive anyone mental.”

Like magic, Kastor’s shoulders seemed to fall into a more natural place as he told of his numerous interactions with the fiddly Patran king. All of this took place during the setting and eating of the third course, a seasonal salad with a sweet honey balsamic dressing that brought back flavor notes of the pear that had been on the canapes.

By the time the entree came out, the lamb on the plate beautifully pink and drowning in a deep red wine sauce, nearly everyone was talking over one another, conversations centered around, but of course, the company. Kastor’s issues with the conversation never floated back to the surface, nor were they acknowledged, and Damen’s smile became blinding once more as he and Auguste turned toward each other to share stories of their shared experience of working under Mr. Zervas. Aleron, Theo, and Kastor were nearly yelling across the table at one another, discussing similarities and differences in their first years at the company compared to the latter years, and Hennike, Hypermenestra, and Victoire were lamenting in how this job took up all of their husbands’ time without fail and thank the gods two of the three of them are retired and, “You’ll be fine, Victoire. It does calm down after the first ten years there. Let him get further established.”

The lamb on Laurent’s plate was good. There was a richness in it, in the herbs it had marinated in, in the way the wine sauce felt its way to the back part of his tongue, in the plating of it which looked as good, if not better, than any upper class establishment could provide. It wasn’t good enough, however, to hold his attention in the way he hoped it would, away from the conversations taking place all around him.

He wished desperately to have his phone or a book or the opportunity to leave and, if he had been fast enough, he truly could have probably slipped away from the table unnoticed.

But he waited too long. The cooks and waitstaff were topping off wine and removing unnecessary plates when Hypermenestra asked, over the clinking of glass, “Laurent, when do you plan on joining the others at work?”

She asked it so politely that Laurent couldn’t be mad, even if he felt his blood turn cold as attention shifted again, this time to him.

Hypermenestra couldn’t have known that Aleron would, at such a simple question, down the remainder of his drink in one gulp as though the quick addition of more alcohol would make this conversation easier. Hypermenestra couldn’t have known that Hennike too would down the remainder of her drink and motion quite quickly for another, her shoulders squaring and preparing for the inevitable. Hypermenestra couldn’t have known that Auguste and Victoire would share near-panicked looks across the table from one another.

The Vallis’, for their part, looked inquisitive, as though assessing a new recruit for weaknesses and strengths. Laurent desperately wanted to wilt away and out of everyone’s line of vision. He swallowed.

“Laurent, bless his soul, actually cares about my sanity,” Victoire said before Laurent could even open his mouth. “I told him that Auguste already bores me to tears with his arbitrary stories about the company and I simply couldn’t take another. I told Laurent so, told him I’d kill over if I had to hear about one more meeting getting delayed because governments, as a whole, are nothing but a bunch of self-righteous pricks.”

Victoire’s explanation only seemed to cause more confusion.

“So you’re not joining the company at all?” Kastor asked for clarification after a pause, and his gaze was burning on Laurent’s profile. Laurent swallowed again.

“I very much doubt my degrees in literature and history will do much good in the field of international political affairs.”

Not even trying to hide it, Aleron, facing Theo, raised both of his brows and flicked a look Laurent’s way that said, without saying so, “Do you see what I mean?” And Theo mimicked the look, his response, “You were right,” obvious in the downturned corners of his mouth.

“What do you want to do then?” Damen asked.

His voice broke through the sudden blood rush in Laurent’s head, causing Laurent to look up from his tight-gripped fork to familiar brown eyes. The way he asked was the opposite of how Laurent’s own father had asked the same question years ago (“What do you want to do then?” Aleron had asked snidely, shoving none-to-gently the paperweight on his desk. “You’ll ruin the name DeVere.”), but genuine in its accompanied head tilt that had dark brown curls tumbling over to one side.

Laurent knew if he spoke, his father would chime in eventually with everything horribly wrong with Laurent’s plan. But maybe if Laurent could speak first, could get enough of his hopes spilled out, the Vallis’ could see and could tell Aleron —

“I want to teach,” Laurent began, “at the university level. I want to not only teach though. I want to create my own curriculum that could, perhaps, develop to become a major.” Aleron’s stare was deathly in its intention, but Laurent carried on. “Growing up with Artesian Affairs as my background has made me familiar with the catastrophic problems the countries face due to hostility between citizens. But history tells us this was not always the case. It was, after all, one kingdom once.”

Aleron cleared his throat. “Laurent.”

“I’ve spent the last few years fascinated with what literature tells us. In my classes, literature is divided by countries, but the times overlap and the similarities are infinite. While I doubt I can bring about world peace or anything, I truly do believe that if there was a curriculum or, at a minimum, an access to classes that focused on our similarities instead of our causes of war or our betterness as individual countries, we could once again be unified on a front. And it could extend so far beyond literature. Think of all modes of art, think of paintings and theater, they’re so —”

“Laurent.”

Steel entered Aleron’s voice, cutting viciously through Laurent’s words. It was enough to snap Laurent’s jaw closed with an audible click. But steel apparently didn’t deter Damen whatsoever.

“You came up with this theory all on your own?” he asked, brown eyes wide and the dimple in his left cheek deep.

“I’m sure I’m not the first to think of it,” Laurent said, a little quieter, “but from what I’ve gathered in research and conversations with professors, I would be the first to pursue it to this degree. It’s why I’m going for my master’s so quickly.”

“And how quickly do you think you could actually start teaching about it? It sounds like a long-game,” Damen said.

“It is a long-game. I might not be able to begin fully teaching it for decades, all things considered. But it’s not impossible,” Laurent explained. Damen’s smile, at him, was enough to make the blood rush in his head again.

“I don’t think it’s impossible either. You sound far too determined for it to be.”

Laurent didn’t say anything to that. But if he bit back the beginnings of his own smile, no one needed to know. The words, like Damen’s eyes, carried a warmth in them that settled against him nicely, that went better with the wine than the lamb had.

Of course, moments of silence, however brief, allowed for Aleron to get his own words in and as quickly as the warmth came, it was gone.

“He’s also far too stubborn to see what an outrageous idea it is. Dreaming,” Aleron started to say one of his favorite admonishments toward Laurent, “is for children. It’s about time he grew up.”

The insult was impudent.

What wasn’t, however, was Aleron having someone who so vehemently, and audibly, agreed.

“Yes,” Theo began, leaning back into the dining room chair. “Perhaps when you’re ready for a true career you can get a secretarial position at Artesian’s Kemptian base. It’s decent pay and I’m sure with your degree in all things bookish and writing centered they would be happy to have you.”

It was Theo’s words that finally got a reaction out of Laurent. It was an involuntary reaction, but he felt it, felt the flush work its way up his chest and over his cheeks until it burned the tips of his ears so badly that he almost went to scratch at them to alleviate the pain.

“Father,” came Damen’s voice once more, its quality the same kind of steel Aleron’s had been, but it wasn’t enough this time to bring forth any grounding for Laurent.

As if very far away suddenly, Laurent faintly heard Theo say, “It’s good advice, Damen. Everyone needs a plan in case their first direction leads them astray.”

“That’s no reason to —”

“May I be excused?” Laurent asked, but it went by unheard.

“Universities are fickle things. What about the future when things begin to shift back toward vocational trades instead of academics?”

“There will always be people in school! The idea that there wouldn’t be is absurd.”

“If a person wants to —”

“May I be excused?” Laurent asked again, louder this time, and he felt Victoire’s hand on his elbow then, felt her fingernails dig in the skin of his forearm.

The arguments continued, Laurent’s question going unanswered, and he couldn’t sit there anymore. With as much gentleness as he could muster, he pushed himself away from the table, trying not to garner anymore attention. For the first time since this started, Auguste was fighting for his eyes and he ignored it so pointedly, ignored Victoire’s tightening grip that gave way when he finally stood.

The house, in all of its grandeur, made things echo, and as Laurent walked away, head high and jaw clenched, he could hear clearly the continuation of words that were interspersed with Hennike’s too loud gasp after spilling her latest glass of wine all over the white tablecloth.

***

On a normal day in the DeVere house, Laurent had free reign of each floor after ten in the evening or so. It was by this point that Aleron went to bed so he could get up early in the habit he’d been in since his earliest days with the company, and Hennike, usually wine or vodka or sherry-sleepy, was passed out on the couch or miraculously in her bedroom. But, as nothing at this moment was how it usually was, there was no anticipating what Laurent was going to find when he finally emerged from his bedroom.

At the first hesitant cracking open of his door, Laurent didn’t hear anything that signified a congregation was meeting anywhere in the house. It was still, and quiet. The lights twinkling on the stairway bannister were the only lights on in the hallway, the holiday warmth of them seeping into Laurent’s bedroom ever so slowly. It was about now that Laurent would take over the sitting room, huddled and warm and content with the silence. It was about now that he would sometimes call Auguste on the phone to talk, neither one of them keen on having conversations in their parents’ earshot. It was about now that Laurent would sometimes dream about his own home with its own sitting room that wasn’t surrounded with the tension of this house and the weighed disappointment of his father’s never-wavering gaze.

Laurent double-backed into his room to grab an armful of his books and his laptop to spread out in front of the fireplace when a knock, so unexpected, had him drop the largest tome in his hand nearly on his foot.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Damen from the doorway. Unlike Laurent, Damen had changed from his dinner clothes into something far more comfortable looking. Black sweatpants that cinched at the bottom showed off the ridiculous socks he was wearing (were those gingerbread men on them?) and a long-sleeved blue shirt protected his Akielon aversion to all things cold. He looked, for lack of a better word, cozy. It was far too intimate a look for someone Laurent felt so unacquainted with.

“Hello,” Laurent said lamely after a beat. He bent down to pick up the book he had just dropped: ‘Veretian Short Stories: An Anthology’ and subscript ‘900-1200 P.A.’

“Hi,” Damen said back.

“Do you —” Laurent looked around, “do you need something?”

“No! I was in the room down the hall when I heard your door open.”

Laurent looked around again, paused like a deer in the headlights. “Okay.”

Damen took a step closer to the door, his socked (gingerbread men-socked) feet right on the imaginary line between Laurent’s bedroom and the hallway. Then he took a step back. “Sorry, let me start over,” Damen said, and he sounded almost flustered. “I was going to come up here right after dinner, but I didn’t want to overstep so I’ve sort of been….listening for when you did come back out.”

“Okay….” Laurent repeated, and trailed.

“What I meant to say,” Damen tried again, huffing out a breath between his teeth, “is that I was waiting so I could apologize for what happened at dinner.”

“Oh.”

Laurent felt stupid whenever he was at a loss for words. It didn’t happen often, hence why he was so unaccustomed to the feeling, but when it did it left him feeling like he had to mentally scramble for something, anything, that would allow him to refind his footing. In many cases, given the common passive aggressive hostility of the house, it meant he got mean.

“Oh,” he started once more. “I wasn’t aware you had done anything requiring an apology.”

There was now a dumbfounded look on Damen’s face. Laurent felt more stable. “I didn’t,” he said slowly, “but the whole situation —”

“Was as normal as any other dinner I have ever had with my family. Please don’t come in here, a full stranger, and begin to attempt to fix the problems that exist in these walls. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“But my father —” Damen tried.

“Is as much as a prick as my father. It’s not surprising. All those company men have always been that way,” Laurent snapped.

It was around this moment in conversation that whoever Laurent was talking to did one of two things: they either quit talking altogether, for their fury couldn’t be put into words, or they rose to the bait, angry and biting and faltering, for Laurent was quicker in every feasible way.

“Well, I’m not that way,” Damen said, and he said it so simply and so calmly that it felt like, out of nowhere, a bucket of cold water had been poured over Laurent’s head. “And I’m sorry both of our fathers apparently are. It’s not right.”

The silence was a heavy thing. Damen appeared to be waiting, waiting to see if Laurent would respond with malice or if he would talk as people do, and Laurent felt dizzy with his attempt to make sense of Damen’s words, felt overwhelmed at the straightforwardness of them. The books in his arms were incredibly heavy.

When it became discernable Laurent wasn’t going to say anything, Damen took another step back. “I won’t keep you. You look like you have plenty to do.” He took yet another step back, then one more, then he paused. The twinkling lights on the bannister were behind him, blurring his edges. “For what it’s worth, my brother and I didn’t plan on this. We haven’t seen each other in two years. The last thing either of us wanted to do was meet for the first time in that long of a time at a house owned by people who have been nothing but a name to us for a decade. But our parents insisted. And instead of lamenting the parties I was supposed to be attending, I’m going to try and make the best of this. If you’d like to do the same, let me know. We shouldn’t all have to feel lonely surrounded by so many people.”

This time, he didn’t wait for Laurent to respond. Laurent heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard the first sign of life in the house as Hypermenestra and Hennike both, tipsily and immediately and loudly, dragged him into their conversation that must be occurring in the kitchen.

Glued to the spot he’d been in since Damen had shown up at the door, Laurent could see a sliver of the outside. Directly out his window was a large tree branch, one that used to frighten him when he was younger for it, in the active imagination of a child, looked like a hand reaching out for him in his sleep. Sometimes it even knocked against the glass, scraping and scratching. Right now, the branch was barren and covered in snow. Tiny icicles dripped down, frozen in time, and during the daylight hours Laurent could see tiny footprints in the snow from squirrels and straggling birds. But that wasn’t what drew his attention.

A light from one of the patio terraces was on. It casted shadows into the garden, now desolate and snow-covered, of someone walking, pacing. Laurent inched closer. Kastor, who had taken the bedroom on the main floor, was outside and on the phone. His breath was leaving his mouth like a dragon, smouldering and quick and near identical to the smoke rising from his cigarette.

Two years, Damen had said.

Damen.

Laurent hadn’t anticipated today in any way. He hadn’t anticipated dinner going as badly as it had, hadn’t anticipated the suffocating loneliness it had brought, hadn’t anticipated Damen’s, dare he say it, earnestness.

From anyone else, those words would have come across as a ruse, as a con, as a some kind of deceit. But they didn’t from Damen, and Laurent knew for a fact Damen couldn’t lie to save his life. He remembered the football thrown through a window and Damen and Auguste’s attempts at lying before they both broke in seconds, the truth spilling like the glass on the carpet. No minds for deception, those two.

Just as Laurent’s thoughts flitted toward memories of his brother, he heard his brother’s name shouted, but muffled, from the room down the hall.

“Auguste!” Victoire yelled.

Laurent had heard her yell that before under very different, and horrifying engrained in Laurent’s mind, circumstances that led to Victoire’s holiday gift to Laurent of noise cancelling headphones, given with an unashamed grin.

This wasn’t that kind of yell though, thank the gods.

“Auguste!” she yelled again. When she yelled a third time, Laurent abandoned his books and his laptop, knowing fully well he wasn’t going to get anything done tonight anyway, and wandered down the hallway to where Victoire was still yelling inside her and Auguste’s room, each new iteration of ‘Auguste’ displaying more of his displeasure.

“I’m not Auguste, but I might be able to help. As long as it’s not anything weird,” Laurent announced from outside the door and he could practically feel Victoire’s eyes rolling.

“Get in here,” she demanded impatiently.

Inside, she was lying on the large canopied bed, her head up and supported by a stack of pillows and her stomach so large it nearly rose above her eye-level. She looked horribly uncomfortable and frustrated and she said so as soon as the door closed.

“What am I doing on this fine evening?” she asked rhetorically. “Why, I am creating the miracle of life. And what is your brother doing? Drinking gasoline-stenched brandy with his father as they talk work as though that’s not all they talk about all the time.”

Laurent watched, with a quirked eyebrow, as Victoire tried to push herself into a sitting position using her elbows. She huffed out a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t quite get herself up.

“Rough night?” Laurent asked.

“Not as rough as yours, all things considered,” Victoire started, serious now, “but yes. Your possible niece-or-nephew is being a pain. I can’t wait for the day I can drop them off with you for the evening.”

Victoire had done this a few times, talk about the baby not simply as her child but as its relation to Laurent. When she said it, Laurent understood Auguste’s terror at becoming a father; Laurent wasn’t ready to be an uncle and that was the easy job. Despite the nervousness it always it provoked, it also provoked a joy, something soft and unthinkable. Laurent sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“Kicking up a storm,” Victoire murmured, looking down at her belly, and then she was grabbing Laurent’s hand and placing it right where the little kicks could be felt. Laurent smiled for the first time in hours.

“Mother said Auguste kicked a lot as well,” he said, a sort of awe in his voice.

“Lucky me,” Victoire said. She shifted again. “I don’t suppose you would mind doing me a favor, would you? All these kicks to my spleen mean I won’t be able to sleep for a few hours and my dear husband is nowhere in sight.”

“What do you need?”

“A cup of tea?” she asked, lips in a pout. “The blueberry rooibos tea?”

Laurent stood. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Gods, I should have married you instead,” Victoire said with an exaggerated sigh. Laurent wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t think that would work out in the way you’d hope.”

In all his reverence at getting to feel the life of his soon-to-be niece-or-nephew, Laurent had forgotten about his mother drinking in the kitchen, this time with company, company that included Hypermenestra who was proving to be too invested for Laurent’s own good and Damen who had witnessed the more callous side of Laurent’s personality only minutes ago. He could hear them, a little louder now, and he desperately wanted to turn around and tell Victoire that he would simply go get Auguste to do her bidding instead. But as the door fell shut again behind him, he took in a breath and walked, quietly approaching the kitchen through the dining room entrance.

Hennike and Hypermenestra were seated at the breakfast bar Laurent and Victoire so often frequented. Hennike, in typical fashion, had one leg crossed over the other and was leaning back in the chair, her head thrown in a laugh and her glass of whatever spirits were tempting that evening precariously in her loose hand. She was laughing at something Damen had said, Damen who was standing on the other side of the marble counter, elbows resting and smile charming. Hypermenestra had her lips pursed in an amused attempt to hold back a laugh like Hennike’s, but she appeared to be weakening at every moment, her shoulder beginning to give into the giggling.

At first, no one appeared to notice him, and Laurent would have been completely content with that. But he had to move beyond the threshold eventually and it was his first step into the kitchen itself, and the subtlest shift of the floorboards beneath his feet, that had his own mother immediately saying to him, as if nothing had happened earlier, “Darling, you must hear the story Damen just told us.” Then she turned to Damen. “Start at the part where you decided to hide in the laundry chute.”

Unlike Hennike, Hypermenestra sobered at Laurent’s appearance, her eyes searching his face, trying to catch his gaze. Luckily for him, he was an expert at avoidance.

“If it can be told in three minutes, then by all means. But your other son is a useless husband so I’m fetching Victoire some tea.”

Avoiding Hypermenestra was proving to be more difficult with every passing second, but only because turning away from her meant facing Damen. In the time between him being outside of Laurent’s door and Laurent visiting Victoure, the man had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, bare forearms pressed into the marble. The gold swirls in the counter’s surface complemented the warmth of his skin, the warmth of his eyes that were, in that moment, unreadable to Laurent.

He quickly began making the tea.

He started with the kettle, filling it with water, and getting it on the stove, before grabbing a mug, Kemptian-made glass, and reaching into another cabinet for the infuser (decorated with real crystal, but of course) and the tea itself. Blueberry rooibos tea was a pretty tea, the color of the tea leaves themselves a reddish-brown and decorated with dried purple blueberries and pink hibiscus flowers. While Laurent was doing all that, the other three kept talking, save for Damen looking once over his shoulder where Laurent was, hidden in the shadows and away from the continued conversation.

“I just can’t believe you did such a thing,” Hennike said, laughing once more, Laurent’s interruption already forgotten.

“Honestly,” Hypermenestra started, “I still prefer that over what he and Kastor both did about twenty years ago.”

“You’ve got to stop holding onto things from twenty years ago,” Damen said, head dropping, but the smile evident in his voice.

“It was a nightmare!”

“I was nine!” Damen laughed. “I think Kastor, who was nineteen and a whole adult, is far more to blame for that.”

Hypermenestra sighed in accepted defeat. “You’ve got me there.” She looked at Hennike. “Kastor’s always been antagonistic.”

“I remember. When he was off at school you told me all the things he did to get a rise out of you,” Hennike said. She took another drink.

“Not limited to actually stabbing me,” Damen said.

“Oh, hush! That was hardly a cut,” Hypermenestra said.

“I had to get stitches!” Damen said back.

“Only two,” Hypermenestra said, and now she was laughing too, if at nothing but the ridiculousness of it all.

“And now look at them,” Hennike said. She gestured her glass toward Damen. “This one is rising to the top with every passing second, and is quite handsome while doing so, and Kastor, like my Auguste, is about to be a father and —”

Hennike could ramble when she had drunk this much, and she continued on, entirely unaware of how Hypermenestra and Damen both tensed. Laurent saw it first in Damen, that broad back and matching shoulders facing him and going rigid. Then he saw Hypermenestra, her eyes flicking to Damen with nothing but worry.

The kettle screamed.

“We meant to tell you,” she said quietly and Hennike, too caught up in herself, didn’t seem to notice the horrid shift the room had taken whatsoever, didn’t even seem to hear Hypermenestra’s words.

Laurent watched as Damen’s shoulders, solid and unmoving in their tautness, stood up to full height. Hypermenestra stood as he did, already walking around the counter to intercept him, her touch soft on his arm.

“Please don’t do anything,” she started, a desperation in her voice. “Not now. I promise we’ll all talk and —”

“I’m not doing anything. It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

Just as Damen was exiting the room in the same direction Laurent had come in, Hennike seemed to pick up that something had just happened. She turned blurry eyes to Hypermenestra. “Did I say something?”

Upstairs, scalding cup of tea in hand, Laurent couldn’t not peer down the hallway at the room he knew Damen was staying in. The door was decidedly shut and there appeared to be no light coming from underneath. Inexplicably, Laurent was half tempted to knock, to reciprocate the strange thoughts Damen had given him, but decided against it.

Victoire was as Laurent had left her, half propped up on the bed, grumpy expression in place, and she threw a pillow as soon as he walked in. Laurent barely avoided spilling the tea all over his hand.

“What is your problem?” he asked, and she cackled.

“I thought you were Auguste,” she said between laughs.

“I almost burned my hand,” Laurent said, pausing to let the liquid in the glass quit sloshing near the rim. “How would I have written my groundbreaking piece on the similarities between Akielon and Patran poetry subsequent the first crowned kings of those specific kingdoms following the destruction of the Artesian Empire with burns all over my hand?”

He sat the tea on the nightstand closest to Victoire and she reached over with steady hands to grab it. After one careful sip, she pulled a face and gave Laurent a horrified look.

“It’s quite strong,” she said.

“I may have over-brewed it by a minute or three,” Laurent said as explanation.

“I thought you were taking your sweet time.”

“In my defense, there was a scene downstairs that didn’t involve me so I had to watch what happened.”

Victoire immediately perked up, sitting straighter and more alert than she had been the whole evening. “Drama? And I missed it? Tell me everything.”

“I’m not entirely certain what it is,” Laurent started, “but Mother mentioned Kastor was about to become a father, just like Auguste, and Damen tensed like a man awaiting a punch. Hypermenestra tried to talk to him, but he went straight to bed.”

“He didn’t know? Seems odd that he wouldn’t know his brother was about to become a father,” Victoire said, picking up her tea again.

“Not that odd when you consider they haven’t seen each other in two years,” Laurent said.

“They haven’t seen each other in two years? I just thought they hadn’t seen a lot of each other in two years,” Victoire said, and Laurent knew she was thinking of the conversation she had eavesdropped on in those earliest hours of the Vallis’ visiting, Hypermenestra overcome with emotion at having her family together again.

“According to Damen, they haven’t seen each other at all in two years.”

“And when did he tell you this?”

“Before I came in here the first time, he —” Laurent stopped himself. “What?”

Victoire had a viciously evil look on her face, one seen on children that pushed other children off the swingset on the playground.

“Oh, nothing,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“What?”

“He was very taken with you at dinner. I don’t think he looked away from you for more than a minute at a time.”

His entire life, Laurent had had control over everything except his skin’s ability to go bright red whenever he was embarrassed or flustered. He hated it, truly, for its betrayal was often the only thing that gave any of these thoughts away. Right now was no deviation.

“I don’t think anyone could,” Laurent argued, “given the way dinner went.”

Victoire ignored him. “So explain what happened. I know you said before you came in here the first time, but you’ve been in your room all night.”

“He came by my room to —”

A gasp. “A gentleman came to your room with no chaperone? Not a gentleman at all then.”

“— apologize for how dinner went.”

The vicious smile on Victoire’s face softened then, though the glint in her eyes failed to vanish. “That was kind of him.”

“I suppose.”

“Laurent…” Victoire settled back into the pillows. “I, too, am sorry about dinner.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Laurent said.

“Well, I should have done something. We all should have. I will forever not be infuriated that your father doesn’t see how brilliant you are. In all sincerity, I am glad that Damen already seems to. You need all the people in your corner telling you the truth for once.”

Laurent, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulled one leg up to rest his chin on his knee. They sat quiet for a moment. Then Victoire said, “Maybe whatever has dear Damen upset can be resolved with him having a nice shoulder to cry on. You could go in there and —”

“I’m begging you to not finish that sentence.”

“He looks like he’d be fun, Laurent, don’t deny it. You also need all the fun because this lack of self-confidence has prevented you from getting laid and I have already told you I need to live vicariously through your sex life. I’ve told you this once since I got here.”

“Yes, clearly your inadequate sex life is wearing on you.”

Before she could respond, the bedroom door opened and in walked Auguste. The collar of his shirt was loose, the tie long gone, and, so similarly to their mother, his eyes were blurry with drink. It took him a second to make sense of the room. Then, “Why is there a pillow on the floor?”

“I threw it at your brother, thinking it was you,” Victoire said. Auguste’s eyes widened.

“Why’re you trying to throw pillows at me?”

“Because you’re not here to tend to my every need. I’m getting ready to birth your child,” Victoire grumbled, her voice taking on the same notes of irritation it had had when Laurent had walked in the first time.

“Our child,” Auguste corrected, and he shoved his shoes off of his feet, only stumbling a little, “and I will get you whatever you need. Say the word.”

“No need. Laurent already did. I’m divorcing you and marrying him instead.”

That brought about a snort. “I don’t think you’re his type.”

Victoire sagged against the pillows. “As life goes.”

“What do you say, little brother?” Auguste asked, smile wide. “Going to steal my wife from me?”

“Wouldn’t be hard with the shoddy way you treat her,” Laurent said. He leaned back against Victoire’s blanketed legs. She ran a hand through his hair once, twice, three times.

“If I wasn’t as drunk as I am, those would be fighting words. A duel,” Auguste said, and he puffed his chest in joke bravado.

“I would pay so much money to watch you try to fight in this state,” Laurent said.

Auguste laughed. “Father’s got a heavy hand when it comes to pouring drinks.”

“Almost as heavy as his opinions,” Laurent said. “Did they continue figuring out my future for me, him and Theo? Or am I so insignificant that I wasn’t brought up again?”

Victoire’s fingers fiddled with the ends of his hair then, twisting the fine strands gently. Auguste sighed, head falling back between his shoulder blades. Laurent wished quite suddenly he didn’t say anything.

“They didn’t talk about it again, Laurent,” Auguste said quietly.

“I would also pay money on a bet that Father did lament how great both of Theo’s sons are and how he doesn’t have that.” Laurent couldn’t stop talking.

Auguste didn’t say anything.

“We should all get some rest,” Victoire said after a beat, her voice barely above a whisper. Laurent felt chastised then, felt like a child.

In the hallway, Damen’s door was still firmly shut. Auguste shut his own not a second after Laurent was out of the room.

***

Chastillion December 3rd Ten Years Ago

Laurent hated the house in Chastillion. He hated that it was all gray, every part of it. He hated that his bedroom was once a bedroom the prince would stay in when he visited Chastillion in the days of old. He hated that it was so ancient and drafty, leaving Laurent’s fingertips cold all the time. He hated that the front door, reinforced steel to keep out invaders and looters after the fall of the kingdoms, was so heavy.

“Laurent, get the door!” his mother yelled from somewhere else in the house and Laurent huffed out a breath.

“I’m trying,” he called back. Only eleven years old, and fairly small for his age, the door proved much harder to pull open than it should have been. With one final hard tug though, the metal gave and creaked open.

In all honesty, Laurent hadn’t even thought about who was knocking. He had been so focused on trying to open the door, of trying not to have to ask for help, that further contemplation hadn’t occurred to him. He certainly wasn’t expecting it to be his brother.

Like something out of a dream, Auguste stood on the other side of the door, smile unsure and facial hair patchy.

He looked….sturdier than he had the last time he’d been around. A year ago, right around the holidays, he had been thin, so unlike the athlete he was, and it had sent the entire DeVere household into shambles, Hennike begging her doctor to up her own medication and Aleron threatening to have Auguste institutionalized if he insisted on acting crazy.

“Hi,” Auguste said, and there was a smile on his face, a sad one, as he looked Laurent up and down. “You’ve gotten so much taller, Laurent.”

Before Laurent could choke out his own hello, could transform his own face into something with a readable expression, Hennike turned the corner.

“Laurent, who is —” She stopped, her Loubiton heels almost lifting off of the ground. Then she dropped the vase in her hands and it shattered onto the ground in a million pieces. “Auguste? My darling, is that you?”

“Hi, Mother,” Auguste said. His smile, whilst still sad, perked a little, and it all but turned jubilant when Hennike jumped over the glass shards and pulled her oldest into her arms, crying incomprehensibly into his shoulder.

Laurent, hand still on the door, watched them, feeling detached from it all.

As Hennike dragged Auguste inside, ran her hands over his shoulders, his face, as if checking for injury or sickness, Laurent went to hide in his room. He had learned things were often easier that way, out of sight and out of mind. But unlike normal, it didn’t last that long.

There was a knock on the door not but an hour or so later, quiet and hesitant so definitely not his mother, and Auguste was there, eyes downcast.

“Can I come in?” he asked, learning against the doorframe and Laurent shrugged in attempted indifference, his knees coming a little closer to his chest.

Auguste’s weight on the bed shifted the pillows just enough that one toppled over. Its fabric rustling and moving was the only sound for a moment. Then Auguste, without looking at him, but instead taking in the room that was Laurent’s, said, “You have a lot of books.”

A few years ago, when Laurent was much more naive than he was at the ripe age of eleven, Laurent would have taken the invitation to talk about all of his favorite books and stories. He had dreamed more than once of such an opportunity, to tell Auguste about the adventures of the mythical dragon riders, the magical world in the caves of Ver-Tal, the love story between the warrior prince of Akielos and the second son of Vere, or the queen that united the kingdoms despite raging war. But now he didn’t want to say anything about the stories he loved.

“Why are you here?” he asked instead.

“What?” Auguste asked back.

“Why are you here? Last time you were here you came just to tell us you never wanted to come and see us again.”

If possible, Auguste’s expression darkened, saddened, even more pronounced than it had been at the door. For a while he didn’t say anything and Laurent didn’t say anything either. Then, moving slowly, Auguste moved to sit against the headboard, shoulder pressed into Laurent’s tiny shoulder.

“There’s a girl,” Auguste started, and it was the last thing Laurent expected him to say. He turned, blond tendrils whipping around his face as he took in his brother’s scratchy facial hair, took in the somber turn of his mouth. “I met her a few months ago. She’s —” he stopped himself, then laughed, the sound incredulous and near-wild. “She’s everything. She’s sweet until she doesn’t want to be and she’s smart and she speaks her mind and she’s so far out of my league it’s insane. And yet she talks to me and she says she wants to let me love her and, even crazier, wants to love me back. But she said I have to get my shit together.”

Dark gold eyebrows furrowed together on Laurent’s tiny face. “That’s why you’re here?”

“Laurent,” Auguste said. It was the most pleading of sounds. “Laurent, I should have been here a long time ago. I should have been here to see you grow up and the fact that I wasn’t is something I’m going to have to deal with. But I promise you, Laurent, I promise you I’m going to be here. From now until forever, it’s me and you. Okay?”

With the same kind of hesitancy as his earlier knock, Auguste extended his hand to Laurent to hold. Laurent looked at it, looked at the lines on Auguste’s palm, looked at the blunt underside of his fingernails. Then he asked, voice barely above a whisper, “Auguste?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to meet her.”

Auguste’s hand was warm.

***

Laurent woke up before the cooks arrived.

Though he was alone in his room the remainder of the night, Laurent had found it difficult to sleep. There was a strange feeling of unfamiliar people sleeping just rooms away. That, paired alongside the general events of, but not limited to, a humiliating dinner and an awareness of how little his presence was generally wanted as well as a whirring brain of contemplation, made him restless, sleepless, and in dire need of coffee.

Like it was most mornings in the dead of winter, the house was wintry with cold. The windows were cloudy with frost, condensation barely forming on the other side quite yet, and the floors were so cold that it went through Laurent’s socks and froze his feet. But none of it mattered, not when there was coffee to be made, not when there was peace, and he was huddled up in a yellow sweatshirt anyway, one that read ‘University of Arran’ on it in white lettering.

As much as he truly did like the cooks his family hired, he genuinely enjoyed the stillness of the kitchen that didn’t have his mother in there making drinks too. The counters were pristine, the dishes put away, and Laurent felt a silent joy in the fact that he was going to be able to make a pour over in this tranquility.

Pour overs were methodical. It was science in every step. The weighing, measuring, pre-warming, the bloom, the pour. Laurent’s favorite device was the Chemex, its vase-like structure beautiful and its filter thicker, made for pulling out most of the oils from the coffee grounds. First came the warming of the kettle, reminiscent of last night’s tea making. Then came the pre-warming of the Chemex, the hot water poured over the filter to take away the paper taste, to slide down the sides of the Chemex’s base and settle at the bottom, the steam rising and keeping the glass warm. Then came the measuring of the coffee beans, twenty-four grams, before pouring it into the coffee grinder, a white immaculate thing that ground beans into a course texture within seconds.

After the grinding was supposed to be the draining of the water in the Chemex before replacing the filter and pouring in the grounds. But a creak of the stairs made him pause.

Damen looked like he was frozen, his arms stuck to his sides. Like Laurent, he paused and the two of them looked across the way at one another, Laurent not ready for human interaction quite yet and Damen seemingly trying to thaw his jaw enough to open it and talk.

“And now look at them. This one is rising to the top with every passing second, and is quite handsome while doing so, and Kastor, like my Auguste, is about to be a father and —”

“We meant to tell you.”

“Please don’t do anything. Not now. I promise we’ll all talk and —”

“I’m not doing anything. It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

“Do you drink coffee?” Laurent asked. Damen nodded vigorously. He was still wearing those gingerbread men socks.

Laurent measured out another twenty-four grams of coffee and ground it just the same. Then he went about the rest of the steps, pouring out the water pre-warming the Chemex, replacing its filter, and pouring in the grounds. While he was doing so, Damen managed to shuffle his way over to the counter. Then he said, “I’m afraid hypothermia may have taken my fingers and toes.”

A small smile crossed Laurent’s face at that, though he wasn’t sure if Damen could see it as his head was angled down, watching the scale as he began to pour water, just enough to cover all the grounds in order to let them bloom.

“Welcome to Kempt,” Laurent said.

While the coffee grounds bloomed, for just a minute or so, Laurent took some of the hot water and filled two mugs to the brim, pre-warming them the same as he had the Chemex. Then he began to pour the water over the bloomed grounds, his hand steady and eyes on the scale; he needed it to get to 700 grams.

“Is it always like this in the morning?” Damen asked. His eyes were sleepy still, heavy and dark and flicking between Laurent and the brewing coffee.

Laurent hummed. “Normally the cooks are up and at work in the kitchen. They start the fireplace as well and it’s quick to warm up the house. But the both of us are up before they’ve arrived so…”

“Fire place?” Damen started, waking up just a little more at the idea of warmth. “I never saw a fireplace.”

The coffee was going to take another few minutes to brew. “I’ll show you. Then we can light the fire so your poor Akielon blood can thaw.”

The wood had already been placed in the pit of the fireplace, ready for a quick morning lighting, and within just seconds a small fire was started underneath the bottom log, in the embers of yesterday. Damen let out a sigh.

“Thank the gods,” and then he huddled as close as possible to the rising flames without catching his clothes.

“I’ll bring the coffee in here,” Laurent said, amused as he watched Damen hold out his hands then snatch them away, the rushing heat a little too much.

There wasn’t time to think was all Laurent could feel as he padded back to the kitchen.

“For what it’s worth, my brother and I didn’t plan on this. We haven’t seen each other in two years. The last thing either of us wanted to do was meet for the first time in that long of a time at a house owned by people who have been nothing but a name to us for a decade. But our parents insisted. And instead of lamenting the parties I was supposed to be attending, I’m going to try and make the best of this. If you’d like to do the same, let me know. We shouldn’t all have to feel lonely surrounded by so many people.”

He came back and gave Damen one of the cups before falling into one of the tall-backed chairs, one foot tucked underneath himself.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted any sugar or cream. There’s some in there on the counter if you’d like,” Laurent said.

“Black is great. Thank you.”

Damen stayed up by the fire, the mug and its steaming coffee held close to his chest. Every passing second he appeared to loosen up more. And Laurent, despite everything, couldn’t not watch as limbs appeared longer, Damen’s shoulders no longer held in like that would conserve warmth, his height reaching its full potential once more. It was like watching a flower blossom in spring.

“This is good coffee,” Damen said, facing the flames that were growing steadily and controlled. “It almost tastes Akielon.”

“Close. It’s Patran.”

“Where’d you get your hands on Patran coffee up here?”

“I didn’t get it here. A —” Laurent paused, remembering Torveld, a PhD candidate at Arran who, for all intents and purposes, showered Laurent in gifts like the courting rituals of old. “A friend from university gave it to me.”

Damen was facing him now. He raised his mug in mock salute.

“Kudos to your friend on their taste then. No offense, but you northern countries can’t grow coffee for shit.”

He smiled when he said it, the comment a friendly dig, and Laurent hated him for how good he was at talking to strangers. Laurent snorted, the action a graceful exhalation of air from his nose. It made Damen’s smile bigger.

It would have been easy to fall into a, shockingly comfortable, silence then, to allow the crackling of the flames do all the talking. But Laurent had been up all night thinking and now wasn’t the time to keep doing that.

Don’t think, he told himself, and don’t let the conversation lapse.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Laurent said then and he immediately took another sip of his coffee. “You were being kind and I tried to dismiss that because of my own anger.”

If possible, Damen’s smile somehow got even bigger again. “Laurent,” he started, and his voice quieted on the second half of Laurent’s name, “it’s fine. And understandable.”

“That doesn’t make it right. Those conversations, that tone, should be reserved for my father, not for you.”

Warm enough to move, Damen took the available chair next to Laurent. He rested his elbows on his knees, his coffee held between both hands. Then he shook his head and, of all things, laughed a little.

“I don’t think yesterday went the way anybody was expecting it to go,” Damen said.

“I honestly didn’t have any concrete thoughts about it,” Laurent said, and he sunk further into the chair’s cushions. “I just thought it'd be uncomfortably awkward. I was right, only it was more than just that.”

“I had thoughts about it.”

“Did you now?”

“I thought my parents would stage an intervention between me and my brother within seconds of walking in the door. I thought things would maybe feel the way they did when I was fifteen. I thought the house would be smaller.”

That got a far less graceful snort from Laurent. “Please tell that to my mother and father. Tell them how much more sense it would make for two soon-to-be empty nesters to have a moderately sized house, especially considering the both of them use the same four rooms.”

“If I told them that, I’d be a hypocrite considering the size of my parents’ place in Ios,” Damen said. “Of course, nobody was ever going to convince them to not get a house that big, not when my father has spent most of his life talking about his dream “palace that overlooks the sea.””

“Our parents truly are birds of a feather,” Laurent mumbled.

“In more ways than one. I never expected my father’s cruelty, especially to a stranger.”

“Is that truly the first time you’ve seen that side of him?” Laurent asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Damen said. “He’s always been so supportive of both me and Kastor. To say what he said….I know I apologized yesterday, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Your father has always supported you and your brother because you pursued careers with Artesian Affairs. If it had been anything else, if it had been anything like what I’m trying to do, I’m sure you would have been on the receiving end of that more than once in your life,” said Laurent.

It was Damen’s turn to pause before responding, and he paused just long enough that Laurent had time to barrel through and continue on, had time to change the direction before things got away from him, from them, and they were interrupted by the cooks, by Victoire waking up because of the baby.

“You said something else yesterday, something other than an unnecessary apology,” Laurent started and Damen cocked his head far too endearingly for a man nearing thirty. “You said that you were going to try to make the best of this,” he motioned around them, “even though you had many other things in mind.” Damen nodded. “It’s going to be a little difficult to do that when you’re the only one actually trying.”

“That’s why I invited you to join me,” Damen said.

“Well,” Laurent trailed, “I think I’d like to.”

If possible, Damen’s head cocked even further, his eyes widening at the same time. “You would?”

Laurent had thought about it all night. It had plagued him since gingerbread men socks, since the kitchen, since “We meant to tell you,” since “I’m going to bed,” since the guest bedroom door had closed and not opened again until an ungodly hour this morning.

Holidays, as long as he could remember, were spent anticipating dread. The feeling had faded the older Laurent had gotten in the way something chronic sometimes seemed lessened as it was the standard. This was the second time things were different; the first was when Victoire became a constant in their life. But even then, she was so inherently part of Auguste and together they were their own family, whether or not Laurent was there. This might be the only year to —

“In case the events of last night didn’t make it obvious, I’m not exactly the most popular amongst my family. Somehow my very existence leads to arguments. I’ve tried to accommodate. I’m sure there are instances I could have done better, but the fact of the matter is that things are not working out the way they’re going. So, instead of sticking with the routine that’s been in place, instead of allowing my parents to be the only ones having a good time, I accept your invitation to do whatever it is that pleases me. And you, I suppose, as it was your idea.”

“Thank you for keeping me in mind,” Damen said, but he was smiling brilliantly, a rejuvenation of the soul from this morning’s cold melancholy. “I’m glad it resonated with you enough to reconsider.”

“Well, it’s not something I’ve necessarily not thought of before. But I’ve never had someone that wanted to do it as badly as I did,” said Laurent. “I will confess, in my contemplation last night, I did begin to wonder why it is you want to do this so badly. You seem to fit in quite well with our fathers and brothers. Company men, all of you.”

“If you know anything about the company,” Damen started, “it is that nothing is ever quite as it seems there.” He paused then and looked as if he were going to keep going. But instead he took a deep breath, one that filled the entirety of his chest, before saying, “If we’re going to make the best of this situation, we should probably create a game plan. Things to do. Preferably things out of the house given the company.”

Laurent raised a brow. “I assumed you already had a plan. Or at least ideas for one.”

“I sort of did. Do. But I don’t know Kempt well enough.”

“Ah, so that’s why you actually asked me. You needed a guide,” Laurent said. Damen looked ready to dispute him, both eyes taking on something akin to panic, but Laurent stopped him with a raising of his hand. “I’m kidding. But you did make it sound like you’ve kind of done this before.”

“In a way, I suppose. Things in my life,” he trailed, but picked back up quickly, “got kind of bizarre two years ago. And I desperately wanted to let it get the best of me. I was so angry at it all. But a friend of mine called me an idiot and spent the next few weeks making me do things I enjoyed and making me do new things too. It didn’t make the bad shit disappear, but it made it easier to step back and breathe. This situation isn’t quite that bad for me. I think it is for you though.”

This time, Laurent didn’t get a chance to respond. The front door opened with the rattling of a key and in came Orlant, bundled head to toe and carrying a bowl underneath his arm, the plastic wrap on top tightly sealed. He didn’t appear to see Laurent and Damen at first, too busy making certain he wasn’t dragging in snow, but when he looked up his eyebrows immediately furrowed together, eyes darting between Laurent and the fire and Damen.

“You’re not supposed to do my job for me,” Orlant said after a minute.

“You were slacking,” said Laurent.

Orlant bowed. “Forgive me for not being up while the wolves are still running in the Northern Steppes.” He looked at Damen then, and quickly at the fire then back. “I’m Orlant. I hope your family likes cinnamon rolls.”

“I don’t think there’s many people that don’t like cinnamon rolls,” Damen said back and Orlant grinned. It made his crooked nose even more uneven. He kept the grin in place as his eyebrows rose a little in exaggerated concern.

“Laurent, want to show me where your mother hid the damn sifter?”

Laurent, ever controlled, didn’t react to the strange question, but followed Orlant dutifully to the kitchen whilst Damen stayed warm near the fire. Orlant knew where the sifter was. They both were aware of that.

“So,” Orlant started, setting the bowl of risen dough on the counter, “that’s one of the Vallis’?”

“Damen. The youngest son. He’s around Auguste’s age,” Laurent said. Orlant hummed.

“You two know each other well? Your mother said you all hadn’t seen them in quite some time.”

“I knew him at one point. But I wasn’t even in double-digits.” Laurent tilted his head downward, looking at Orlant with suspicion. “Why?”

Orlant had that look on his face, the same one he had when Auguste and Victoire had first came home and whispered not to serve alcohol with Victoire’s dinner because she was pregnant, the same one he had when more gifts from Torveld had arrived at the front door with bows and letters attached. But he only shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t do that,” Laurent said, demanded. “Speak your mind, Orlant, or I’ll tell my father of the time you let the steaks spoil and, in a panic, used plant-based meat to serve as his dinner.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re not that cruel.”

“You know I am.”

A deep sigh. Then, “You two looked….at ease. That’s all.”

Laurent glowered. “I’m leaving. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“You did though!”

“Hurry up and make cinnamon rolls. They don’t require you to open your mouth,” Laurent said over his shoulder, ignoring the fact that he could feel Orlant’s crooked-nose grin.

Back in the sitting room, Damen was standing again by the fire, his eyes trained on the outside. The sun was slowly starting to rise, reflecting off of the white snow and making it shimmer in tones of deep blue and the starting of purple. He looked unsure, staring out at the snow, like there was something out there he couldn’t quite make out.

“I promise there’s nothing lurking in the snow banks except for dead grass,” Laurent said as he took his seat again.

Damen smiled. “I didn’t think there was.” He set his coffee cup on the mantle. “No, it reminds me of Akielos a little. The sunrise reflects on the snow similarly to how it reflects on the ocean. There are differences. The ocean moves and gives the light life. But they both sparkle.”

“Akielos is responsible for all the great oceanic tales of sirens and sea monsters. Sometimes, when I’m reading, I wonder if Akielos almost has too much life.” Laurent settled more against the armrest. “Of course, one could argue too much life is better than no life, like Kempt’s desolate frozen wasteland and the stories of slow despair.”

“Don’t underestimate the snow. I’ve never seen it before and I like it. There’s a quiet beauty about it,” Damen said with a smile. He was looking at Laurent now.

“Yes, until it turns gray and lingers like the stench of death in the air.”

“You’re not snow’s biggest fan, I take it?”

Laurent shrugged. “I’m fond of it. I just hate what it represents. Snow means my mother’s parties and my father coming home smelling of cigars and burnt coffee and being assessed by all of their acquaintances who they know through Artesian Affairs and the socialite wives of all the men in Artesian Affairs.”

“Well, we’re about to change that,” Damen said, and he sat down. “My father will be up soon as he’s always an early riser so we should probably talk about the plan.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself. You haven’t heard my mother’s plan yet and whatever we come up with will have to be adjusted accordingly,” Laurent said.

“Your mother’s plan?”

“Hennike comes up with very detailed plans to get through the holidays. There are endless gatherings to attend, town events necessary to go to in order to keep up our high class status, family traditions to take part of, and, most importantly the three largest parties of the year: the Marcantel’s, the Mayor’s, and my mother’s very own that will be hosted here. Some of those won’t be that difficult to get around, but some will be required.”

“And she’s going to tell us about this….?” Damen trailed.

“She’s going to type it out and hand us each a calendar,” Laurent said pointedly. Damen stared. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I would say you’ll get used to it, but considering this will probably be the only year you all allow yourselves to get wrapped in a DeVere nightmare, you probably won’t. And, to be quite honest, I’m not used to it and I’ve been dealing with it my whole life.”

Damen gave a half-hearted laugh and then his face pulled into a nearly pained smile as he asked Laurent quietly, like suddenly the house could hear them, “She does this every year?”

“Every year. Without fail. She’ll list the time each event starts and everything.”

“I’m concerned.”

Laurent mimicked Damen’s pained smile. “You should be.”

“Well, that’s okay. You said she’ll hand it out today?” Damen asked.

“Probably. I’m surprised she hasn’t yet, but my father probably begged her to let you all be in the house longer than ten minutes before bombarding you with calendars and schedules to keep.”

Their time had run out. A creak of the wood floor (a creak Hennike would be panicking to fix once made aware) had both of their heads turning and Damen said, not missing a beat, “My father is up. He must have smelled the cinnamon rolls.”

“We can reconvene later today. It should be relatively easy once my mother gets distracted by gods-know what,” Laurent said.

Then, like the creak had broken a spell, things felt too intimate. Coffee alone all morning in front of the fire, the sock-clad pattering of feet, the hushed tones, the stillness of the morning air. Laurent didn’t know why his face was choosing to redden now.

The feeling only intensified when Damen smiled at him while he stood, the smile deep and bringing attention to that damned dimple. “Thank you for the coffee. And for agreeing to partner up with me on this makeshift plan of fun. I hope it’ll live up to the expectation.”

The first thing Laurent heard as Damen exited the room was Damen’s good morning to his father followed immediately by, “Why did you bring those socks? You’re a grown man, Damianos.”

***

Laurent had been right on the money about the calendar.

After breakfast, a breakfast in which everyone woke up at different times and poor Orlant had to make two different kinds of tea, three different coffees, and two batches of cinnamon rolls, Hennike had made an announcement in typical Hennike fashion. She had used her spoon to knock on the side of her cup of tea three times while clearing her throat in too high of a tone before asking for all eyes on her. Then she had said, oversized sleeves of her sweater swinging, “As we are all here, I ask for you to stay a moment longer so that I can go over the schedule of the next weeks with you,” before she was gone, heels tapping, to retrieve the calendars so artfully printed.

Laurent looked up to find Damen looking at him knowingly and it was enough to make him smile, the inside nature of the look warmer than the cinnamon rolls and coffee in his stomach. He had kept his head down until his mother came back, a stack of laminated (gods, she laminated them this year) paper in her hand. She walked the perimeter of the table, ignoring, or entirely unaware of Aleron’s pulsing vein at his hairline or Hypermenestra’s confused brows, handing each person a sheet until all that was left was the singular one in her hand.

On the top of the paper was the month, ‘December’ written out in fancy script and surrounded by glittering branches ended with holly, and below that was the actual calendar, intimidatingly with many of the days filled.

“Today is, of course, the eleventh of December, meaning we have exactly two weeks until the holiday. And, as you can see, there is so much for us to do before that time!”

Laurent terribly wished, in that moment, that he could record this, record the settling reality everyone here was experiencing, a reflection of the way Laurent felt while at this house at all times. There was a grimace of some sort on nearly everyone’s face, all except Hypermenestra who seemed to be taking on the emotion of attempted understanding instead. Kastor looked downright nauseous.

“As it’s Friday, Aleron will be going to go to his cigar aficionado club, which I know he’s been dying to show you, Theo. And I’m sure that if Auguste, Kastor, and Damen wished to attend as well they’d be more than welcome. So many of the men there are Artesian legends. Then, this Sunday, the annual tree lighting ceremony is taking place downtown and we DeVeres haven’t missed a single one since we moved here!” She ignored Auguste’s protested, “Hey, I haven’t!”

“Then on the fifteenth there’s a ten day countdown event also downtown. But after that, things get,” Hennike giggled, “a little wild. The Marcantel’s holiday party is on the eighteenth and my own holiday party will be on the twentieth. Of course, after that is the mayor’s holiday party on the twenty-fourth, one that will go well into the night of our holiday, and before we know it, we’ll be opening gifts and hosting a fabulous dinner. There are a few smaller things in between all that, such as my luncheon event on the fourteenth and Victoire’s baby shower on the twenty-second, but the big parties and events are all highlighted in silver so you can’t possibly miss them.”

There was, of course, a general feeling of horror then. Hennike continued on.

“Any questions? I take it you all brought party clothes, yes?”

“Not enough that I won’t be repeating an outfit once or three times,” Hypermenestra laughed nervously.

“That simply won’t do,” Hennike said gravely. Then her face brightened. “That gives us all the reason to go shopping today! Yes, I’m going to take you and Victoire out. After all, the new glowing mother-to-be needs some maternity dresses and you need something Kemptian and beautiful!”

Hypermenestra smiled at Victoire, the smile all teeth and with a familiar kind of uncertainty behind her eyes, but Victoire only laughed.

“I could do with a maternity dress, if I’m being honest. I swear my stomach has doubled in size in the last three weeks,” Victoire said.

“It’ll be perfect! The men can all go to the aficionado club, we can go shopping, and Laurent can….” Hennike trailed.

“Enjoy the peace and quiet he’s always saying he doesn’t get enough of?” Aleron provided.

Laurent’s smile was sharp. “Father, you do listen when I talk.”

Aleron breathed a breath just strong enough to be noticeable. Damen hid a laugh behind his new cup of coffee.

“Actually,” Damen started as a quick recovery, the first part of the word coming out too high, “I’m going to stay behind. I’ve never been a cigar man.”

“But you smoke,” Theo said.

“Yeah, I smoke for the sole purpose of being able to take smoke breaks. That’s why I smoke cheap menthols. They’re disgusting and don’t put a dent in my bank. Cigars are too high-class for me.”

“Going to stay behind and watch snow melt?” Kastor asked. Damen smirked.

“Actually I was going to call some clients and wish them happy holidays personally. Give that networking the extra touch, you know? Better than a card,” Damen said, and Kastor visibly clenched his jaw as their father said aloud, “Good work, son.”

“Then it’s settled!” Hennike said. “Cigars, shopping, networking, and whatever Laurent’s heart desires. Are there any questions? Any concerns? Any requests?”

“Would it matter if there were?” Theo mumbled to Aleron, but he wasn’t heard over Victoire lecturing Auguste about becoming a smoker.

“I don’t care how many men around you are smoking, I’m not going to tolerate it,” she was saying. “You can sleep on the sofa the rest of your life if that’s the case.”

“Victoire, honey, I have no intention of taking smoking up as a habit.”

“You better not.”

***

Chastillion to Kempt 8-9-ish Years Ago A Time Spanning Several Months, if Not a Year or More

Auguste called Laurent every Tuesday and every Saturday from there on out. On Tuesday, he’d call after dinner and on Saturday he’d call in the morning when Laurent was still half-attached to the idea of sleeping. They would talk about everything, but mostly of Laurent, and it was in those days, weeks, months, year or so, that Auguste discovered that his little brother was one of the most amazing people on the entire planet.

He was whip-smart and growing smarter with each passing day. Auguste was ninety-percent certain he could give anyone Auguste knew a run for their money on general knowledge, and was one hundred percent certain he could best anyone anywhere in certain subjects.

For the first time in a terribly long time, Auguste was desperate to visit home, to see his too-smart little brother grow up, to make up for the time he had missed. But Auguste was trying to make up for the time he had missed in….well, everything else too. Home would have to wait.

It was easy, however, with Victoire at his side. She was a steady guide in a world resting on crashing waves and, like magic it seemed, by the end of the year things were calming.

The calm must have been palpable, even through a phone, because the next time Auguste called Laurent, Laurent, with his voice starting to break, couldn’t not ask, “When are you going to come see us?” The ‘see me’ was implied.

“Soon,” Auguste said, though he hadn’t thought about it all that much.

The “Really?” Laurent asked came out almost as a squeak and Auguste felt his chest clench at the sound, at the thrumming excitement underneath that one word and suddenly, with conviction he hadn’t felt before that swam through his veins like a drug in its suddenness, said, with all sincerity, “Yes, absolutely!”

“Are you going to bring your girlfriend?”

The thrumming stuttered, for only a moment. “I’ll talk to her, but I’d like for her to come.”

“Me too.”

Victoire, of course, of course, of course, wanted to come along. She’d been dying to meet Laurent since she learned of his existence, since she first laid eyes on a photo of him in Auguste’s arms some decade earlier, and the moment he asked, she was ready to run and pack a bag for the trip.

It took a few days to work out time off from work, to work out if he should show up as a surprise instead of as a planned event, to work out what to do, what to say. He agonized over Victoire coming, wanting it to be painless for her, her meeting of the DeVeres.

“I don’t think you understand,” Auguste said whilst in the car on their drive there a few weeks later. “My parents can be a lot.”

“So can the entire population of Kempt,” Victoire said dismissively. “And, not to sound insensitive or anything, because I truly do want to meet the people that created you, but I am far more interested in meeting your brother. I have a feeling he and I are going to be best friends.”

Like most things in life, Victoire was right. The initial meetings had been somewhat uncomfortable, what with Auguste’s still strained relationship with his family and with Hennike’s over exuberance at everything and with Laurent’s shyness. In fact, by the end of dinner that first night, Auguste was pretty sure it was a disaster and he could count down the hours until Victoire ended things with him.

But then —

“You’ve got quite the collection,” Victoire said. Auguste could hear her through the wall. They were, a little awkwardly, staying in the bedroom that had been saved as “Auguste’s room” which was, of course, the room right next to Laurent. She must have, on her way from the kitchen to the bedrooms, stopped in where Laurent was, no doubt, reading.

“I like them,” Laurent said, voice quiet. He was talking about all of his books.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“No. There are too many.”

Victoire hummed thoughtfully. Pressing an ear closer to the wall, Auguste listened for what one of them would say next. For a moment, there wasn’t any sound, but then came the muffled shift of bedsprings. She must have sat down.

In true Laurent expectation, Auguste readied for Laurent to start talking about whatever book he was reading at this very moment. Auguste had experienced it firsthand for the last year via phone calls, Laurent’s rambles that could go on forever about any detail held within the pages of the novel currently occupying his thoughts.

“Auguste said you’re the reason he came here and started calling again,” Laurent said instead.

“Well,” Victoire started, and the bedsprings made another noise as she assumingly shifted once more. “Part of the reason. He really missed you. He just...didn’t know how to start talking again.”

There was a small huff of air. “He said you were one of the best things to ever happen to him. He said that a lot on the phone actually.”

“Did he?” Victoire laughed.

Laurent hummed an affirmative.

“At least once a week,” Laurent said. “I think you’re the best thing to happen to me too. You gave me my brother back.”

It was a gut-punch, a fist that forced its way through Auguste’s sternum until it could hold his heart. There was a desperation clawing at him, to comfort the boy that had been left behind by his own selfishness, and he left the room in a hurry, arriving at once at the threshold to Laurent’s book-invested space.

Laurent and Victoire were sitting on the bed, Victoire’s arms around his tiny twelve-year-old shoulders, his face at her collar. Over his head, Victoire smiled at him and Auguste, for maybe the first time in his entire life, felt an overwhelming sense of happiness at the sight of them.

***

Aleron, Theo, Auguste, and Kastor left the house around six that evening, just after dinner and just before the sun set too low in the sky. Kastor had walked out first, a cigarette already in his mouth as if preparing for the countless cigars he’d be smoking in half an hour, and Auguste had given both Laurent and Victoire an apologetic look, as if being doted upon as the golden boy was a hardship he couldn’t bare for a few hours. Not fifteen minutes later Hennike, Hypermenestra, and Victoire had left too, but not before Laurent practically shoved Victoire out the door as she sing-songed, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” whilst staring at Damen’s broad shoulders across the room.

And then they were alone. Damen and Laurent.

Like this morning, it felt too intimate, only now the feeling was immediate. Laurent’s footsteps on the floor were too loud. So was his breathing. Damen gave him a big smile when they met at the newly cleaned dining table they had been sitting at not even an hour earlier for dinner.

“Small victories,” Damen said, pulling out one of the chairs and sliding into it. He kept his legs spread around the seat, slouched like he was comfortable with this, like he couldn’t tell the breath was stuck deep behind Laurent’s lungs. “No one said anything rude at dinner this time.”

“That’s because that would have required them to talk about something other than their glory days in the company.”

“Luckily for us,” Damen started, “we don’t have to hear about any of that the rest of the night. Because that’s all anyone is going to talk about at the club.”

“No, instead we get to talk about this,” Laurent said, and he placed one of Hennike’s calendars between the both of them on the table.

The calendar hadn’t lost its ridiculousness in the last hours, but its usefulness as a tool for Damen and Laurent’s successful avoidance of all things suffocating had grown. For the first time in Laurent’s life, his mother’s anal retentiveness for the appearance of perfection was working out in his favor. She had been correct in what she said was highlighted, but there was so much more too. The big events were highlighted in silver, but all the start times of the events were made significant with green the color of holly leaves. Smaller events, like the town’s holiday market, were highlighted in blue, a pastel blue reminiscent of ice and Hennike’s own eyes.

Laurent didn’t move his hand fast enough from the calendar’s edge because when Damen went to move it closer to himself, their fingers brushed. It was only a second, maybe two, but it was enough for Laurent to note how warm Damen’s hand was in comparison to his own.

He didn’t mean to snatch his hand away like the warmth had been burning, but he did. His heart skipped a beat in his chest as he waited for Damen to say something about it, to pull a face, to look at Laurent like he was a child because he suddenly felt like one. But if Damen noticed, he didn’t give anything away. His eyes were focused on the calendar, scanning the events leading all the way to the holiday.

December

11th: Cigar Club

12th: Blank

13th: Tree Lighting Ceremony

14th: Ladies’ Luncheon

15th: Ten Day Countdown Event

16th: Blank

17th: Catering Meeting

18th: Marcantels’ Holiday Party

19th: Last Day Preparations for OUR Party

20th: DeVere Annual Holiday Party!

21st: Clean Up & Prepare for Baby Shower

22nd: Victoire’s Baby Shower

23rd: Blank

24th: Mayor’s Holiday Eve Party

25th: ~Holiday!~

“Some of these seem vague,” Damen said after a minute. “What does ‘preparations’ really mean?”

“Well, you’ve seen how my mother laminates monthly events, so take from that what you will,” Laurent provided as explanation, letting Damen fill in the rest of the blanks there.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. What about these other days, like the fourteenth? Are we going to have to sneak away from a ladies’ luncheon?”

“Not necessarily, but as our mothers will be out, I’d anticipate our fathers trying to have some kind of networking event. And you will have to have a good enough reason to get away. That’s where things get complicated, Damen,” Laurent said. “If you were more of a fuck up, like myself, this would be relatively easy.”

Laurent felt Damen’s eyes move from the calendar to his face, and the fear Damen was looking at him like he was a child was quickly back. But when he met those brown eyes, there wasn’t anything malicious behind them at all; instead they looked at him — not with pity, but with something like devastation. Laurent couldn’t think about what that meant.

“I can give a basic rundown of other events I know of,” Laurent started instead, his voice too loud initially, “but if you’re planning on attending any parties I’m afraid we’ll have to research as I’m not exactly aware of them all.”

“I’m not really planning on anything,” Damen said.

Laurent’s eyebrows furrowed. “But that’s exactly why we’re —”

“I wanted to plan how to get away from some of these things,” Damen said with a grin. “I don’t much care what we do, just as long as it’s not sitting at stuffy events and being around my brother all day.”

“Oh.”

Damen was looking at him again, this time utterly amused.

“Did you think we were going to sit down and plan out each day by the hour?”

“Well,” Laurent said, fumbled, his face turning red-hot. It somehow got even redder, even hotter, when Damen laughed, the base of the sound felt in Laurent’s stomach.

“I think you’re a tad more like your mother than you’d care to admit.”

Laurent’s first instinct was to scowl. But at Damen’s ever-growing grin and the inescapable heat of his face, he found laughing won out against his instincts and he laughed too.

“Gods, don’t tell me that,” Laurent managed to say between laughs. “It’s one of my many fears come to life.”

“I think it's actually pretty charming,” Damen said. Then his grin turned into a bitten down expression, like he hadn't meant to say that at all (and Laurent couldn't think about that either) and he continued quickly with a deep breath that brought his chest high. His fingers pulled the calendar close once more.

“So, tell me what we can expect at a tree lighting ceremony.”

[hana-bean]

Close to you (6/7)

Even if I'm reborn someday I will surely find you

---

Serenity busted through the door of her shared chambers with the king, almost taking off the doorknob. Her excitement grew tenfold when she saw a clump of suitcases nestled in the corner.

“Mamo?” She looked around the room until she heard him respond from the bathroom.

“In here, Usa!”

She trotted over to him, catching him post-shower with a towel around his waist and cleaning his ears within the air's warm mist. With one rabbit jump, she threw her arms around his neck.

Endymion squeezed her waist. “How are you, Usa?”

“I’m good.” She nuzzled his neck.

“Are you sure?” He asked through a chuckle, concerned that her embrace felt tighter than normal.

“Yes. I just missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He gently pulled her head back to give her a just-as-gentle reassuring kiss. “I got something for you. It’s on your nightstand.”

With Endymion trailing her, Serenity sauntered into the bedroom and toward her side of the bed to see the new and unfamiliar present sitting there—a red ceramic pot supported by three legs, with two handles on each side, and covered in red geometric flower designs. Its scent was distinct, like fragrant olives, causing her heart to race in hopefulness.

“What is this?”

“It’s an incense burner. I found it in Dubai. Does it look like the one you were looking for?”

Unable to remove her gaze from the apparatus, she put her fingers to her cheeks. “I… I don’t know. I mean, yes it does, but there are so many like it out there…”

“When you told me about the Starlights, I figured we could try to find something in the wild. I would send out my detail in each city we visited and one of them came back with this one. If nothing else, it’s a very unique and beautiful design. It would look good in the study.”

“Yes,” Serenity nodded her head. “Oh wow, if this is it, I don't know what I'd do! Thank you, Mamo!” She then took her husband in another tight, quick embrace before grabbing her phone to text Seiya.

---

Seiya burst through the door of his room to be met with Serenity standing at a desk, visibly trying to hide something.

He smirked. “With all due respect, your highness, do I need to be prepared for bad news?”

“Not on that level, I promise.” She winked and stepped aside to reveal the incense burner sitting on the tabletop.

Seiya’s eyes peered at it as his jaw dropped slightly, approaching the table with big strides, his faded gimp only a couple of days from disappearing.

“This is it.” His hands floated above the burner, afraid if he touched it, it would disappear. “This is hers.”

“Really?!”

He nodded with vigor as he looked at the queen with excitement in his eyes.

Serenity bounced and quietly clapped her hands with a grin. “That’s amazing! We found your princess! We did it!” She threw herself into Seiya’s open arms, the strength of her squeeze trying to match his.

While laughing and shrieking, they held each other while jumping in several circles. Though before too long, they stopped for a few moments until they caught themselves sinking too deep. Pulling away with blushes, they looked in every other direction besides at each other.

Seiya cleared his throat and scratched his head. “So where did you find this?”

“Mamo found it during his travels. Can you believe that? The database is only at twenty percent right now. Who knows when or if it would have found it.”

He sighed as his eyes glistened with the onset of tears of joy. “This is amazing. We’ve been looking for so long… I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

“If anyone, you need to thank the king the next time you see him.”

He nodded, his awkwardness about that prospect reflected in his darted gaze.

Serenity then bent over while resting her hands on her knees as she peered into the holes of the top. “So is she in there?”

“Maybe. I definitely feel her energy.”

“Aww, I’m sure she’s so cute being that little. Does she have a kitchen in there?”

Seiya snorted. “She’s not like… a mini fairy princess, she’s a regular-sized person. She can just take on different forms.”

“How does that work?”

“We’re able to harness the power of stars. Since stars are technically a gas, they can take the form of whatever shape it wants. And when mixed with guardian magic, we’re able to take the form of things like human males, or as an… astral body of sorts.”

“Ah,” she nodded as she straightened back up; the explanation only caused more questions to germinate in her mind. “So how do we get her out?”

He slipped his hands in his pants pockets before shrugging. “We don’t. She’ll come out when she’s ready. If she’s even in there…”

Again, Serenity nodded, the silence hanging on their shoulders, their eyes avoiding each other. She bit into her lips and pulled a stray tendril behind her ear.

“Are you doing okay, Seiya?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

“I know we haven’t properly talked about what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain… your highness.” He gulped, adding the formality at the end on purpose to re-establish and reverse their intimate dynamic.

“I just wanted to confirm that you will be discreet about it.”

“Of course. I haven’t told a soul—I wouldn’t tell a soul!” Taking his hands out of his pockets to gesture, Seiya rambled in an effort to prove true to his word. “You’ve helped us so much and we owe you so much. The last thing I want to do is tarnish your image. I know you’re a good person and what happened has not changed my respect for you. You are still my queen first and foremost.”

Serenity giggled. “You consider me your queen?”

He choked on his voice. “Well… uh…”

“Would your princess be okay to hear that?” She held an open hand next to her mouth as she whispered with a wink.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Seiya displayed an uneasy grin as he gingerly grabbed the burner from its handles and went into his closet. After placing it on a shelf, he whispered for its forgiveness and then closed the door on his way out.

Pausing to gather his wits, he then angled his body in a bow toward the queen. “After discussing it with the others, we decided we would like to take residence here if the offer is still available, your highness.”

“Yes, of course, Seiya.”

“However, if we have to take an oath—pledge our allegiance to you—we ask that you still recognize our loyalty to our princess.”

“Of course." She stepped toward him. "I will not take away her royal status, nor invalidate your allegiance to her.”

He came back up. “Thank you, your highness. We’re forever indebted to you. And again, I understand that day was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive, one-time… thing. We can forget it ever happened.”

The side of Serenity's mouth twitched into a disappointed smile. “Personally, I don’t want to forget.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. “You don’t?”

“Do you want to forget what happened?”

“I—no… I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Her fingers traced the buttons of his shirt as she chuckled at his assumption and deepened her voice. “All I asked was for you to be discreet, not to forget about it.”

As his breath and body quivered at her words and touch, Seiya stayed put as she inched closer. “Yes… I can do that… both of those.”

She smirked. “That is, unless you want to forget about it, I can respect that,” she drew her fingers back.

While shaking his head, his hands came up to grasp her hands and pull her body into his. “No. I wouldn’t have, even if you asked me to.”

Having maintained her smirk, she leaned in to engage in a passionate kiss with him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands explored her waist, hips, and bottom over her silky dress. While they both craved to take the makeout session further, Serenity pulled away with a kittenish giggle.

“I, um… I have a meeting in a little bit. And I know you have some news to break to Taiki and Yaten.”

“What time is your meeting?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Soon.” She emphasized, pecking him on the lips before walking out of his hold.

“Will we be able to continue this?”

With her hand resting on the doorknob, she turned to give him a wink. “Of course, but later.”

He chuckled, happy to be at her mercy. “Whenever you need, your highness.”

Just as she was about to take her leave, Serenity caught sight of a small picture frame sitting on the desk. The person in the photo intrigued her to the point that she abandoned her intent to exit to walk over and grab the frame for a closer look.

“Who’s this?”

Seiya stepped closer to verify exactly what she was looking at. “That’s my mom.”

Her mouth formed a smile as she released a gasp. “Really? Where is she?”

“She died.” He cleared his throat. “Before Galaxia, though. She had cancer.”

Sighing, she put a sympathetic hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Was she a guardian, too?”

“Yep! That’s where I get it from.”

“She’s beautiful.” She placed the frame back down on the desk. “She reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

She shook her head with a smile; there was no time today to get into that. “Someone else special to me. I’ll tell you about her later.”

As the queen finally departed from his room, Seiya picked up the frame for one last nostalgic look at the woman with pink hair and red eyes.

---

---

Please note if you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hana bean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

[duskowithapen]

Day One: Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Writers Month 2020: Day One

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Luka x Marinette

Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles

Miraculous AU where Marinette is the tattoo artist with some very impressive ink and Luka is pining from across the way where he works at his sister’s flower shop. Day One of Writer’s Month 2020 – Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

“You’re drooling.”

Luka straightened quickly, wiping a hand over his chin. “No I’m not.” He turned around to see his sister walking in from the back room, a sprig of lavender tucked behind her ear.

“You might as well have been,” she says, walking closer to lean beside him at the counter. “Not that I’d blame you – Marinette’s cute.”

The Marinette in question was the owner of the tattoo parlour across the way. On quiet days like today, she could be seen sitting outside her shop with a sketchbook. Luka swallowed dryly. The sun was shining off her impressive tattoo – a full sleeve that wound around her wrist and up over her shoulder in a tangle of flowers and vines that he couldn’t see clearly.

“Well?” Juleka’s dry voice snaps his attention back.

“Well what?”

She waved a hand towards the door. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

Luka splutters. “W-What? Why would I – what makes you think –” How’d she known I’d considered it?!

He’s saved by the bell – literally – as Rose walks in. “Jule’s, what are you doing to your poor brother this time?” She asks, joining them at the counter which was suddenly feeling a little cramped.

Pecking her partner on the cheek, Juleka smiles innocently. “Trying to convince him to get a tattoo.”

“Oh, you totally should!” Rose claps her hands. “You have to go to Marinette – between her and Nathaniel, you’ll get the coolest tattoo! Marinette was the one who designed ours!”

“Really?” Luka glance at Juleka’s uncovered wrist. It was ringed by a flower wreath – red and purple roses (passionate love and love at first site), hot pink dahlias (commitment) and bright red gladiolus’ (strength and integrity). Rose had one exactly the same. It was a beautiful representation of their relationship – one Luka was waiting for them to consummate with a marrige. It was also a nod to their shared brainchild.

The Secret Garden might have only been a few years old, but it had blossomed into one of the most successful flower shops in Paris, often completely selling out around any holiday, and with a reputation for incredible flower arrangements, which Luka was proud to say he had a hand in.

Luka smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a tattoo,” he said after a moment, “Maybe something for you and mum – like her raven tattoos.”

Juleka’s smile was small, but no less terrifying for it. “Then go talk to Marinette now. Doesn’t look like she has any clients.” She was still sitting outside her shop.

As Luka was pushed out the door, Rose shoved a small posy of cherry blossoms into his hand. “Give Marinette these – they’re her favourite!”

How does she know her favourite flowers? Luka thought wildly as the door locked behind him. Slowly crossing the narrow avenue, he could feel their gaze burning into the back of his neck, and his hands became sweaty. They were making him nervous. He didn’t normally get nervous. He normally wasn’t going to ask a very cute girl to give him a tattoo.

Marinette looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were. Luka dug his fingers into his leg. You’re here for a tattoo, he reminded himself, not to check out the artist! But he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the blue sheen to her pigtailed hair, the welcoming smile stretched across her face, the impressive artwork which looked even better close up. Spiralling around her arm on pale green stalks and vines were cherry blossoms, pink orchids, blue morning glories, larkspur, hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils. Renewal, fertility and abundance, affection, cheer and goodwill, sincerity, luck and good fortune… he thought absently. After so long working with flowers – and even longer hearing about them from Rose – the symbolism came to mind automatically.

“Uh… hello?”

Luka blinked. Her eyes are really blue. Then he remembered himself and smiled. “Sorry. Are you Marinette?”

Her grin became wider. “Yup! Are you Juleka’s brother?”

“Yeah. She and Rose said that these were your favourite flowers?” He held out the blossoms. “They asked me if I could give them to you.” Well, technically they did. Even if it was meant to be more from me than them.

“Awww, thank you!” Marinette buried her nose in the pale pink petals and breathed deep. “They’re beautiful!”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said numbly. Her smile was almost blinding. “Uh, there was something else.”

Marinette’s head tilt made her pigtails bounce. It should be illegal for someone to look this adorable. “How can I help?”

“I was wondering about getting a tattoo.”

“Oh, of course!” Marinette leapt to her feet. “What else do you come to a tattoo parlour for? I’m so sorry, come in and we can get started right away!” She babbled. “Or should I say, welcome to Charmed Ink! Do you have any ideas for what you want? I’m partial to flowers as you can see, but I’m good at more tribal stuff too, and lettering, but Nathanial’s the best for portraits and a lot of the animal stuff..”

She continued to talk even as Luka took in Charmed Ink. The art on the inside of the tattoo parlour made it look larger than the comparatively small storefront suggested. The back wall was painted with an incredible mural of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, framing a red bridge arching over a river. The side walls were white and in scattered groups were photos of tattoo art – in one clump was a variety of dragon tattoos, in another was various words in all different fonts. The two tattoo stations were set in the back corners, with a small waiting area directly before the entrance. This was where Marinette led him, stopping quickly at a desk partially hidden by a folding screen.

She noticed his awed look at the back mural and smiled, a little calmer now. “That was a collaboration between Alix and Nathanial – he’s my other tattooist. They were all in my class in collége and lycée – same with Juleka and Rose, actually.”

“They did a great job,” Luka murmured. “And I’ve seen your work before – the tattoo you did for my sister was incredible. I was kinda looking for something similar.”

“Were you wanting a tattoo on your wrist too?” Marinette sat on one of the plush couches, and Luka sat across from her.

“No, I was thinking of something on my shoulder – my left shoulder,” He gestured, “Maybe going down my arm a little? I don’t want to go for a full sleeve now, but looking at your tattoo, I’d definitely consider it for the future.”

Marinette’s blush travelled across her cheeks and up her ears. “That – that’s a good plan. I can definitely work with that.” She made a note before looking at him under he lashes. “Were you wanting flowers?”

At Luka’s confused look, she continued, “You said you wanted something similar to your sisters, but you didn’t want it on your wrist…?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Luka tapped at his knee a little, quick staccato beat. “Yeah, I was thinking blue iris, gladilous and maybe daffodils.”

“Is there a meaning behind those flowers, or…?” Marinette made another note.

Luka nodded. “Yeah. Gladiolus’ are mum and Juleka’s birth flowers, not to mention their symbolism – strength and integrity. Blue Iris’ are my birth flower, meaning faith and hope, and daffodils are good luck and good fortune, but I also like the yellow.”

Marinette hummed. “I take it your favourite colour is blue?” She asked, waving her pencil at his blue hoody and matching Jagged Stone t-shirt. With a wince, he realised he was still wearing the Secret Garden apron over his faded jeans. Whoops.

“How did you guess.” Luka deadpanned, and he grinned at Marinette’s chuckle. “But seriously, yeah, I like blue and yellow. And, if we’re going for something like the start of a sleeve… think you could incorporate a snake or something in there?”

“Snakes are transformation and renewal, aren’t they?” Marinette murmured as she wrote. “There was this one symbol I remember, with a snake biting its tail…”

“The ouroboros,” Luka nodded, “It’s an eternity symbol.”

“Hmmmm…” Marinette started sketching in earnest. “So we’re going for something that can be added to later, definitely going for a circling snake – probably around your arm – but should the head be going up or down – put the flowers in colour clusters, or mix them up… maybe have them growing out of the snake? But if the snake is blue… you’ve got the more teal tips to your hair, so I could go for something more on the green side of the spectrum to help tie it in, but the snake should also stand out…”

All Luka could do was watch as Marinette seemed to get lost in a creative haze. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page as she sketched, occasionally going back over a line with her eraser, muttering about her hand not listening to her brain. Once or twice she looked something up on her phone before continuing – at one point, she leapt out of her seat to go and stare at one of the photos on the wall.

This process went on for about twenty minutes, Luka browsing through social media in between watching Marinette with what Juleka would probably class as a ‘disgustingly lovestruck’ look on his face. He couldn’t help it! She was just so vibrant, pouring all this passion into her work. Not to mention the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle with something at the bottom of the page.

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down with a bang that made him jump. “So! I have a tentative outline – tell me what you like and don’t like, and we can work from there.”

The sketch – and Luka didn’t know how Marinette could class this as an outline given the level of detail – featured all the aspects he wanted. On the front and back sketch of his arm and shoulder was a winding snake, the head sitting just under his collarbone and the rest of its body circling his arm before ending just above his elbow. But it didn’t just circle his arm. It also twisted around the gnarled and knotted stems that supported intricate bursts of flowers. An iris sat directly below the snakes head before more flowers dotted the stem around his shoulder to a larger, more detailed flower on his shoulder blade. Gladiolus’s tangled with the main body of the snake, interspersed with tiny iris’ and leaves, merging with daffodils close to his elbow. Each flower differed in size, though the iris on his back was the largest, probably about the size of his palm if he got the proportions right. Notes on both sides of the sketch were arms with arrows and a frankly scary amount of question marks. Luka looked away when he saw the words ‘dark coffee brown’ and ‘burgundy vs wine’.

“This… this is incredible Marinette.” He looked up at where she was wringing her hands. When she bit her lip, he had to refrain from reaching up and biting it for her. Concentrate Couffaine!

Marinette giggled, the sound high with nerves. “Thanks Luka. It’s a bit rough, and I’d want to go over the colours with you before we start anything, but I’m glad you like it. Anything you’d want to change?”

“Not really,” He hummed. “How would you continue this, if you were going for a full sleeve?”

When Marinette took a seat at his side, leaning into his shoulder a little, Luka stiffened. He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d split the posy of cherry blossom flowers into two and attached them to her pigtails – their scent wafted over him, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, if I was going to do a full sleeve with the snake, I’d make the snake the body of the tattoo,” she said, pointing at various parts of the sketch, “Probably make the circuits wider and accentuate the gaps a little more with the flowers. The head would have to be a little bigger, to make it proportionate, but otherwise not much would change.”

Luka nodded slowly. “So, say, if you maybe did that – the thing with the head and the – the circuits? And then have the snake ‘end’ in a clump of flowers above my elbow.” It was his turn to point, dragging a finger along the clump of daffodils and trying very hard to ignore the way Marinette pressed just a little closer to see. “Maybe if you added some of the gladiolus and iris here as well, and then if I add more to the tattoo later, you can have the rest of the body kind of emerge from there.”

“That would work really well actually,” Marinette said as she took the sketchbook back. Luka tried not to pout as her warmth moved away. “I can make a wreath just above your elbow – kinda like what I did for Juleka and Rose – and have the snake’s body ‘disappear’ into that. It would be easy work to make it ‘reappear’ beneath it later.”

Marinette scribbled these notes in as she spoke, before turning back to him. “So, about price… for a piece like this – half sleeve, colour and design… you’re looking at about one and a half grand.”

His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “That low?” While he hadn’t seriously thought about getting a tattoo before today, he’d spent time with a lot of people who had. A full sleeve tattoo could cost as much as four grand – a half sleeve would be at least two.

“You’re getting the friends and family discount.” Marinette shrugged. “And I’ve been in a bit of a designing rut lately – all people seem to want are dragons or family names. This is a bit of a godsend, actually.”

Luka smirked. “Friends and family discount, huh?”

With her nose in the air, Marinette sassed, “Of course. Juleka’s my friend, and you’re her family.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Luka leaned in a little. “That’s why, huh? I’m hurt Marinette.”

“Hopefully you aren’t so sensitive when it comes time for me to break out the needles, Luka. I don’t want to listen to you crying for the six hours this is going to take.” The smirk she shot him sent a thrill through his chest. She’s got some fire.

“Oh believe me, Marinette.” Luka steadied himself on the couch back behind her shoulders and gave Marinette his best stage-ready, sweet-talking, come-hither bedroom eyes before growling out, “I don’t think six hours with you will be any hardship.”

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Not Broken Part 11 (Jaehyun Mafia AU)

Not Broken Masterlist

Jaehyun X Reader 

Trigger warning: Mentions of abuse

Awakened by the rays of sunlight that shined a little too brightly for comfort, I lifted the covers over my head, keeping my eyes shut in the hopes that I could continue my much-needed slumber.  

I felt myself melting into the mattress. It felt so much softer than I had remembered. The pillows fluffier, the duvet silkier, and the entire bed felt roomier than I was used to.

Everything was so warm, so nice, so... comfortable. I wondered how long it had been since I felt this at peace.

My eyes fluttered open at the thought.

How long had it been?

I threw the bedspread off my body to see that I was wearing something that definitely didn’t belong to me. I normally went to bed either in a tank top and boxer shorts or in my day-clothes depending on whether or not I drank too much the previous night but right now I was wearing satin teal pajamas covered in a seashell design. It felt too early in the morning to have this much to process, even without the confusion surrounding the tacky nightwear.

This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my bedroom. Where am I?

After the initial shock of having woken up in a new place finally managed to wash away, the memories that I was free of during my harmonious slumber were back and I felt as though I were drowning in them.  

I noticed my breathing was almost at the point of hyperventilation, so I took in several slow breaths to calm myself.  

The last thing I want to do in this scenario is panic. I must be smart about this.  

After a split second of searching, my eyes landed on a window. I stood up from the bed and quickly yet quietly moved towards it.  

Maybe I'll have a better chance of escaping if I climb out through here.

I easily removed the window screen before wrestling with the window itself, trying to figure out how to open it. It was unlocked.  

Yes, yes, yes!

No, no, no!

After finally managing to open the window wide enough to climb through, I stuck my head out to find that I was at least three stories high and that there was no way to climb down without a rope.

I looked to the bedsheets and practiced tying them together like in the movies, but the satin fabric slipped undone as soon as even a little pressure was added to the knots.  

Curse these soft fucking sheets.

Just as I started to realize that the window plan wasn’t going to pan out, I spotted a nearby door.

My nerves worsened as I walked towards the small beacon of hope. If I wanted to make it past them in a house I knew nothing about, I was going to have to be quick in my escape.

My hand reached for the knob. I hesitated, noticing the coldness of the metal before a small bout of adrenaline encouraged me to turn it. I swung the door open more harshly than I had intended but the adrenaline had taken hold and I ran into a fucking closet.  

What the fuck? Ow!

I rubbed at my forehead.  

As if I wasn’t bruised enough already.  

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I, Y/N, tried to escape by running into the bedroom closet.  

Thankfully, the closet was filled with enough clothing that it served as padding to my idiocy.  

Still on the floor of the closet, I waited a few seconds hoping that any noise that may have arisen from my sudden encounter with the closet wall wasn’t enough to draw any attention to the fact that I was awake.  

Stepping out, my eyes noticed two more doors. More slowly this time, I opened the first one, still taking every precaution not to make any unnecessary noise.  

Bathroom.  

Okay, on to the next one.  

I knew that this time it had to be the right door given the fact that it seemed pretty unlikely that they had built an entire room around me as I slept.

I turned the knob expecting a clicking sound but it never came.  

Locked.

I sighed in frustration.  

Of course, it was locked. What did I expect?

I turned around, resting my back against the door as I slid down to the floor.  

A groan left my mouth as my image reflected itself on a large mirror on the other side of the room.

I hadn’t had a chance to look around the room yet since once I realized it wasn’t mine, I had become preoccupied with the goal of leaving it. Now, seeing as I had nothing else to do, I figured I could at least find something to turn into a makeshift weapon or something along those lines.  

Taking in the bedroom’s décor, I noticed that it was a lot less flashy than the bedroom that used to belong to IU. Where her room was mostly covered with purple detailing, this room was filled with more black and grey tones. The walls were painted a plain white color. The hardwood floors were coated in a dark glaze that really drew attention to the wood’s natural patterns. The room only had 5 pieces of furniture: a bed with a charcoal-toned net canopy, the sections of which were tied around the tall wooden bed poles; a nightstand that matched the wood of the bed; a medium sized vanity table, on top of which was the mirror I spotted my reflection in, with a small matching chair, along with armchair on the other side of the room that reminded me of one of those movies where wealthy old men would sit in front of the fireplace smoking a cigar.  

I carefully stood up, painfully aware of the aches and pains that taunted every nerve. I walked towards the vanity, never talking my gaze off the mirror’s reflection. My eyes weren’t as swollen as they once were, but I couldn’t help but notice that they were even darker than before.  

<><><><>Flashback<><><><>

“Bruises take around six days from the point of the injury to fully develop. After that, they’ll turn slightly green, then yellow, and then they’ll start to slowly fade away,” My mother told me as she rummaged through the cupboards.  

I was sitting on the bathroom counter, watching her as she searched for the first aid kit. My older brother, the one who ended up disappearing with our inheritance, had pushed me down after I tried to join him and his friends in their soccer game. My knee hadn’t been scraped since my jeans shielded its impact, but it was obvious that a bruise was starting to form. I was eight at the time.

“So, they don’t turn purple immediately?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“That’s so stupid! You mean that I have to wait for it to get purple before it goes away?”

My mother rolled up my pant leg, a slight smile adorned her features.  

“Sometimes things get worse before they can get better. That’s the way life is,” She hummed opening a jar that lacked any sort of label.

She noticed my pouting expression and let out a chuckle.  

“But you know, you don’t have to just sit there and put up with it. That’s why we use vitamin k cream, to clot the broken capillaries so that the bruises fade faster,” She explained in her usual sing-songy tone.  

“That’s so stupid. What does that even mean?” I whined.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”  

<><><>End of flashback<><><><>

I smiled at the memory but the tears that filled my eyes revealed the real truth.  

My mother always seemed to know exactly what to say. It was like she always knew that everything was going to be okay, no matter how bad it appeared to be. That knowing smile which reassured me that things would turn out the way they were supposed to, ended up being a false comfort. Things didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to. Not then when she and my father died in that car accident, and not now.

My mom wasn’t here to tell me everything was going to be okay and she never would again.  

Staring at myself in the mirror, the tears spilled over one by one, until a sudden series of knocks started coming from the locked door.  

I tried to wipe the tears away using the sleeve of the pajamas, but the unabsorbant satin merely spread them over my cheeks.  

Seriously?

“Y/N? I’m coming in now,” the voice announced.

Making one last effort to wipe the moisture from my face with my hands, I turned towards the opened door. The first thing I noticed was red.

It was Taeyong.

I didn’t allow myself to feel relieved that it was him entering the room instead of one of the more violent members, especially since he was still one of the men who had been holding me captive.  

He was holding a lunch tray with a bowl resting on top of it. I couldn’t see what it was at first but as he drew closer, finding out the contents of the bowl wasn’t my biggest concern. I retreated from the man’s approach by climbing onto the bed only for him to walk past me to set the tray on the vanity.

“How do you feel?”

Still foggy from having woken up, I passed on coming up with any form of a snarky response. Instead, I just stared at him.

“You slept for quite a long time, but I guess that makes sense since you weren’t able to get much rest the night before,” He commented, referring to the lack of sleep I received due to the adrenaline shot I was given at the time.

He leaned against the wall across from me. I stayed silent.

“I’m not gonna ask you if anything hurts, because I know that everything probably hurts right now, but I’d like you to answer some questions for me,” Taeyong explained.

He stared at me expectantly.

“Nod your head if you understand.”

I paused before nodding.

Taeyong’s gaze lingered on me awkwardly before kneeling in front of the nightstand beside the bed.  

I lifted my feet onto the bed out of instinct but either he didn’t seem to notice or was purposely ignoring my jumpy antics.  

“Do you feel any dizziness?” Taeyong asked as he opened the nightstand drawer.  

He took out a first aid kit before turning to me. I shook my head.

“What about swelling?”

Again, I shook my head.  

Taeyong continued to ask me a grocery list of questions regarding how I was feeling. I answered no to most of the questions by simply shaking my head but then he started asking things I couldn’t silently answer.  

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“My ribs.”

“Huh, how would you describe the pain?”

“It’s aches when I inhale,” I replied, downplaying the extent of which the pain was restricting my ability to breath comfortably.  

“Okay, what else?”  

“My head hurts.”

Taeyong opened the first aid kit and brought out a small flashlight.  

“And you said you weren’t feeling any dizziness, right?”

I returned back to answering with subtle head nods.

“Keep your head still and follow the light with your eyes.”

I did as Taeyong instructed as he performed a series of tests I hadn’t gone through since I had participated in my middle school’s sports team.

“No concussion, that’s good. I was worried that you hit your head on the floor when the chair broke.”

I frowned at the memory in which Winwin tried to explain how Jaehyun had basically destroyed the chair with me in it.  

“What else hurts?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It would have been easier if he asked, what didn’t hurt. I was too tired to make any effort to express my anger over the current situation and it wasn’t like he didn't already know.  

“Everything else just kind of aches.”

“I see,” Taeyong pondered.

“I’m gonna have to take a look at your rib so I need you to um...”

He seemed reluctant to finish his statement.

“Could you remove your shirt for me?”

I stared at him blankly.

“Uh, I can go grab you something to cover up with while I take a look at it- Uh, your rib, I mean.”

I took in a shallow breath.

“No need,” I replied, unbuttoning the pajama shirt.  

“I assume you were the one who dressed me in these wine aunt pajamas in the first place. Am I correct in that assumption?”

Taeyong nodded sheepishly.

“Then it isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.”

I let the top fall past my shoulders.  

I scowled at Taeyong making it clear that I wasn’t trying to act coy, I was just tired and didn’t really care what he saw, especially when it seemed like half of the members had seen me naked in one form or another.  

“Which side does it hurt on?”

“This one.”

Taeyong sat on the bed on the side of me I had referred to, the side opposite from the vanity. His hands hovered over my body as if asking permission to touch it. I looked him in the eye but made no expression of encouragement. Once he got the hint that I wasn’t going to give him any, his hands met my skin.  

I flinched at the sudden contact and I could feel the goosebumps that began to dust my exposed skin. I hadn’t been embarrassed before, but after being touched by his cold hands, a small shiver went up and down my spine. I began to feel self-conscious, worried that my hardened nipples would give him the wrong idea. I did my best to avoid his gaze by fixing mine on the vanity, but was instead met with his reflection, which seemed to be even more uncomfortable than I was. His features were tinted a light shade of red that almost matched his fiery locks.  

“Sorry,” He muttered as he continued to carefully feel around my ribs.  

“Ah” I winced as his hands found my injured rib.  

He quickly withdrew his hands from my body.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” I groaned through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to push on it a bit to make sure it isn’t digging into your lungs.”

Just great.

I couldn’t believe the situation I was in but here I was.

“Do what you have to do,” I grumbled.

Taeyong’s hands returned to my body. The injury was in the most awkward spot possible. Two inches to the left and his hands would have been touching my breast.  

“Ah, ah!” I winced again.

“Just a little longer... and done.”

His hands instantly retreated from my body and were now raised in front of his chest like a contestant on a competitive cooking show. One whose time had just ran out and was required to cease any finishing touches he might have been adding to his dish.

Once he realized what he was doing, Taeyong lowered his hands and stood up from the bed.

“Uh, umm. Good news, it isn’t broken, probably just cracked.”

“Yay for me,” I cheered in a monotonal voice.  

“There isn’t much that we can do for a crack rib. It’ll heal on its own. I can get you an inhaler to help with the breathing and prevent you from developing pneumonia, but that’s pretty much it.”  

Taeyong’s face had returned to its normal color once I finished buttoning the pajama shirt over my chest.

I looked up at him. Visible sympathy in his eyes. He must have thought I was pitiful, and he would have been right. I wanted this whole thing to be over, but the end was far from sight.  

“Here, take this,” He instructed, handing me a small white pill and a glass of water from the tray.  

I just looked at the pill and Taeyong immediately noticed my hesitation.

“It’s just a regular aspirin. We have stronger stuff, but I don’t know if you’d be willing to take it.”

“I would prefer it actually,” I replied.

Taeyong let out a small chuckle instantly regretting the action when he saw the coldness in my gaze.

“Sorry,” He muttered apologetically before taking out a what I assumed to be a hydro or an oxy from his pocket.

He handed me the pill and reoffered me the water which I readily accepted.  

“You should eat some food with that. Here, I brought you some dakjuk, I hope you are okay with eating meat.”

He gestured toward the vanity and pulled back the chair. Too hungry to refuse the gesture, I got up from the bed and repositioned myself at the vanity. The pain made it difficult to bring the porridge to my mouth but I pushed through it.  

“I’m sorry for undressing you while you were unconscious,” Taeyong began.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable in these. I’m sorry they aren’t to your liking.”

I set the spoon back into the bowl before turning to Taeyong.

“Really? Are you sure you weren’t inspecting the product?”  

“What?” Taeyong asked in response to my sudden accusation.

“I know that the only reason you’re administering first aid is so that you can sell me off to the highest bidder. I’m sure damaged goods don’t sell as well,” I elaborated bitterly, making it obvious how much disdain I held for the man who was pretending to be concerned for my well-being.

When Taeyong finally understood what I was insinuating, he began to trip over his words, struggling to find the right way to assure me that his intentions were anything but sinister. I turned back to face the mirror only to glare at his reflection instead. After having finally ceased his unintelligible rambling, Taeyong brought his hands to the side of his head and sighed.  

“Okay, you’re right. I lied about why I changed your clothes, but it wasn’t because we plan on selling you or whatever.”

My expression softened slightly waiting for further explanation.

“The clothes that you were wearing belonged to IU. When Jaehyun recognized them as IU’s clothes, he got angry and told you to take them off, which I’m guessing you misunderstood as him suggesting something else which is probably why you fainted.”

Unable to believe that he was finished, I continued to stare at the red-headed reflection for what felt like several minutes.  

“Okay, first of all, that’s stupid and second, why didn’t he just say that?” I demanded.

Taeyong rubbed the sides of his head.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated. This is complicated. Everything is so goddamn complicated!”

I flinched at the sudden rise in volume and sunk into the stiff chair.

Taeyong glanced at my shrinking figure and immediately regained his gentle composure.  

“I won’t try to explain Jaehyun’s actions toward you by telling you about his sister. I have a feeling that you wouldn’t think of it as a proper excuse for what he’s done and I don’t blame you. What I will say is that you don’t have to worry about it happening again. Those pj’s were what we could find at the moment. Due to the current situation, all unnecessary staff have been sent home so we couldn’t have one of the female maids dress you. For that, I’m sorry. I took your measurements while you were asleep and sent them to one of our on-call maids, so that you’d have clothing for the remainder of your time here. I had her hang most of them up in your closet. Anything that couldn’t be hung was put into baskets on the floor. If they aren’t to your liking, we can send someone out for clothes that are more suited for your comf-”

“Wait, what? The remainder of my time here?” I gawked.  

“How long are you planning on keeping me here?” I demanded, sounding more upset than intimidating.

“I’ll let Jaehyun explain all of that to you when we go see him.“

“W-what?”

“He sent me here so that I could bring you to him.”

“No way. I’m not going.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but you don’t really have a choice. I’m surprised he allowed you time to eat first.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel like I owe him?”

“No, it’s supposed to help you understand that he might not be so willing to accommodate you in the future if you don’t cooperate with us.”

I couldn’t help but feel defeated. I never saw myself as the person to just go along with whatever someone said, especially not someone like Jaehyun. Sadly, I couldn’t ignore the situation I was in, not unless I was willing to withstand even more damage.  

“I’ll let you get dressed. Knock on the door when you’re ready. If you take too long, I’ll come in, whether you’re dressed or not,” He warned, interrupting my thoughts.  

Making his exit, Taeyong left me alone with my reflection, closing the door behind him.

I glanced around the room, hoping to find a clock of some sort, but to no avail. Looking at it, the room seemed very minimalistic, as though it were a guest room that often went unoccupied. It didn’t surprise me though. If this building was able house to every member of NCT 127 and still have empty rooms, then it made sense that they wouldn’t put as much effort into furnishing the rooms with the least amount of traffic. I just kind of wished it had a clock so that I could keep track of the time.  

I walked over to the closet and opened it. I hadn’t considered that the clothes were meant for me when they had cushioned my failed escape attempt earlier. I was amazed by how much they had bought for me in such a short amount of time. I respected the maid’s shopping ability. I couldn’t say the same for her taste though. I enjoyed dressing up or I guess... dressing down for burlesque shows, but I didn’t like to dress up in my everyday life. Don’t get me wrong, I like to feel pretty as much as the next girl and I’m not ashamed to say it. It’s just that the closet was filled with colors I usually tried to avoid and it reminded me of a closet that would belong to one of the desperate housewives. I tended to gravitate towards blacks and dark blue colors and sometimes the occasional white, but it almost always ended up with a huge stain before the day ended. This closet was filled with more colors than I knew existed and if you think I was exaggerating, I wasn’t. Well, maybe a little.  

I rummaged through the closet ignoring anything I deemed too fancy for a meeting with the man I loathe, which turned out to be all of the closet. Giving up, I considered not changing for our meeting so that I could show him how little I cared about respecting him, but after insulting the pajamas’ seashell design so many times in my head, I decided to just pick something before Taeyong came barging back in.  

I took out a pair of leggings from one of the baskets and put them on, checking the mirror to make sure they weren’t too see-through. Then, I found an emerald green dress. The color caught my eye and greatly reminded me of not only the necklace, but of the dress I had stolen from IU’s corpse. Maybe a detail of the story, I was glad to have left out. Unlike the dress from that night though, this dress was very casual looking. At first glance, I had almost mistaken it for a long-knitted sweater. Maybe it was. Either way, it covered enough of my lower half that I didn’t have to pick out anything else to wear underneath besides the leggings.  

I looked in the mirror. The dress was nice, but still too nice to feel completely comfortable in, especially when it was paired with two black eyes. My hair was a mess, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want Jaehyun to think for a second that I was trying to impress him, so I allowed it to remain in its tangled state.  

Just as I knocked on the door, I realized that I had forgotten to look for something I could have used to protect myself, but it was too late.  

“You look nice.”

“Pound sand, Taeyong.”

Taeyong raised his hands in a surrendering motion and I heard a laugh.

It wasn’t just Taeyong, Doyoung was there too.

Great.

Based on how much of the house I had already seen, I thought that Jaehyun’s office would be several minutes away, but here we were only a few rooms apart. There wasn’t enough time to psych myself up and before I knew it, I was already being forced through the doorway by a less than patient Doyoung.  

I nearly stumbled onto the floor but was able to catch myself at the last minute. The first thing I noticed going in was an empty desk, then the large window behind it and the bookshelves on each of its sides. I could hear Taeyong scolding Doyoung in a hushed tone as they also entered the room. I was relieved thinking that it was only us three who made up the room’s inhabitants, until a deep voice announced its presence, startling me in the process.  

“Ah, good. You’re here.”

Jaehyun was leaning against another bookshelf beside the door we walked through. He was holding a short crystal glass filled with a clear liquid and a few noticeable ice cubes floating around.  

He pulled his body off the wall and approached us. Taeyong and Doyoung stood behind me but that didn’t stop Doyoung from holding me in place by my arm, not that I was brave enough to go anywhere anyway.  

Jaehyun stopped directly in front of me and took a sip of his drink. His eyes grazed over my body like he would a car when inspecting its new paint job.  

“I assume you two brought her here without any problems?”  

Jaehyun’s question was directed toward the two men behind me, though he kept his eyes fixed on me as he asked it. I avoided his gaze.

“That is correct, sir, I made her aware of the circumstances she’d be putting herself in if she refused to come willingly,” Taeyong announced.  

The intimidating man tapped the glass with his middle finger a few times before responding.

“Good, you may leave us now.”

Following their boss’s orders, the two men exited the room. The sound the door made as it closed felt a lot louder to me than it probably was.  

Jaehyun made his way to the desk and sat down, setting his drink on a nearby coaster while I stayed put.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” He asked with a sly smirk.

I looked at the chair facing opposite his. His desk was large enough that it would provid quite a bit of separation between us, but it still wasn’t enough. Nevertheless, I obeyed.

I kept my eyes glued to the drink on the table, but in the corner of my eye, I could still see him staring at me, an amused look on his face.  

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can I offer you a drink? I’m drinking a gin and tonic, myself.”

I could feel my stomach turn sour as my mind flashed back to that night I almost drank the spiked gin in Lucas’ wine cellar.

“No? Then let’s get to the point, shall we?”

My eyes flashed towards him for a split second. His voice had gotten noticeably colder and so had his expression.

“You were brought here under suspicion for being involved in the murder of one of my family members. That reason being the emerald necklace you wore matched the one owned by said family member, a necklace that was specially designed for her wear.”

The way he spoke about his sister as if she were a stranger was baffling.  

Were they not close or was he trying to be professional? Clearly, he had to have been torn apart by her death for him to have acted the way he did towards me.  

“Since I recognized the necklace, we certainly had reason for suspecting your involvement in her death which is why we brought you here.”

Brought? He makes it sound like I was invited here for tea and a chat.  

“During the interrogation, you refused to tell us your actual relationship with Lucas and so we may have taken things further than we usually would have to extract the truth from you, given the importance of the matter we were asking you about.”

May have taken things further than usual? Was this supposed to be an apology? 

It sounded like he was reading from a script.

“I didn’t tell you that I killed Lucas because I thought you would kill me if you found out!” I angrily blurted out.

Jaehyun’s eyes continued to look at me in disinterest as though he had expected the abrupt disruption.

“Seeing as your story has been confirmed,” He continued, ignoring my outburst like he would a child’s tantrum.  

“-we now know that you are not involved in IU’s death and that you somehow managed to kill the person responsible-”

Jaehyun’s eyes showed a hint of distaste as he finished his sentence.

“-even if it somehow occurred by accident.”

I could feel the rage bubbling inside of me.  

“I recognize that you may feel as though I’ve committed a great injustice towards you.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” I stood up from the chair and slammed my fist on the desk unintentionally spilling the contents of the half empty glass on the desk. The liquid managed to drench several important looking documents, but still, Jaehyun made no effort to save them.  

Yet for the first time, Jaehyun’s eyes showed something other than utter discontent. They widened in surprise at the sudden gesture only to return to their previous state within an instant.

“That being the case, I would like you offer you reparations,” He kept going, leaving me astounded, my fist still on the desk.  

“We are willing to offer you 120,000,000 won (roughly 100,000 USD) in exchange for your silence.”

I didn’t care how scared I was of this man. He thinks that he can call me in here and tell me that this is my fault? That he isn’t responsible for all the shit that happened since that night? I was kidnapped, bound, beaten, injected with adrenaline and starved. I’ll never be able to return to the Heart Breakers again. Wendy could be dead for god’s sake! And this bastard thinks that he can just pay me off in exchange for my silence?

“No.”  

Jaehyun raised his eyebrows at my response.  

“Really? I thought it’d be a good deal for someone like you. I guess I could raise th-”

“Someone like me?”

I had been avoiding his gaze for most of our meeting thus far, only taking the occasional glance to gauge his reactions, but I had gotten gutsy. I looked him directly in the eye with an intensity I didn’t know existed. I knew what he meant but I was daring him to say it outright.  

I questioned my state of mind as I swore I could see the slightest smirk on his lips.  

“Oh, I just meant that for someone of your profession, I’m sure there are a lot of things you’d be willing to do to earn such a generous amount of money.”

I was shaking. I couldn’t believe this was happening, not that I was surprised. I wasn’t exactly expecting a warm apology, however for him to not only take zero responsibility for what he did to me, but to insult me?  

“We can negotiate the specific amount at a later time, but for now, you will be given full accommodations during your time here. If you need or want anything within reason, someone will fetch it for you.”

“During my time here? I told you that I had nothing to do with IU’s death. You said you confirmed it! You can’t just keep me locked u-”

“You are free to leave whenever you want, but I’d advise against it.”

Confusion took over my features and I silently scolded myself for being so easily readable. The man in front of me began to elaborate.

“Wayv, the group whose leader you killed knows of your actions from that night and have demanded we hand you over to them. Now I can’t say I know for sure what they want with you, but I can tell you it isn’t good. Once we found your name, we had no trouble finding information about you, such as your home address and I can guarantee that Wayv is capable of the very same.”

“W-what?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

Instead of repeating himself or rephrasing his words, Jaehyun merely tapped his fingers on the desk as if he were keeping time.

Wayv wanted me dead. There was no denying it.  

“So what? If I leave then that’s it, I’m dead? What am I gonna do, just stay here forever?”

“That’s up to you, but I can assure you that we are working to take down Wayv. We may require your assistance in the near future, but nothing is decided yet.”

“My assistance? You mean use me as bait?”

“Not necessarily,” He answered.

I gawked at him in disbelief.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, now I have to remain here under the same roof as him. It didn’t matter how big this house was, there would never be enough rooms between us.  

“The money we’re offering you is to compensate you for your silence once you leave, but for reconciliation, I will allow you to stay here until Wayv is dealt with. I’ll make sure my men and staff do everything in their power to make you comfortable during your stay here as long as you’re willing to follow a few house rules.”

“Rules?” I quirked.

“I’ll have Taeyong explain all of that to you once you head back to your room.”  

Jaehyun stood up and finally started collecting the soiled documents that had remained on the desk all this time. I simply stared at him, waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t. It was like he was silently telling me to let myself out, but I’d be damned if I was going to make this easy for him after all he’d done.  

I knew that he was right and that leaving this house was suicide, yet I couldn’t stand the idea that he believed he was doing me a favor instead of what he was actually doing which was throwing money at the mess he made of my life.

I stayed there and watched him, knowing that he would eventually have to acknowledge my presence since I made no effort to remove myself from his office.

After several agonizing moments, Jaehyun looked at me and stopped what he was doing.

“Taeyong? Could you please come in and escort Miss y/l/n to her room?” He called out.

Shit.

Taeyong entered the room and walked towards us. I had to take my chance.

“I have a request,” I stated clearly.

Taeyong froze in place unsure of what he should do while Jaehyun quirked an eyebrow.

“And what might that be?”

I swallowed hard, previously unaware at how much my nerves were affecting my body.

“That night, the night you took me, no, kidnapped me. I saw one of my closest friends get shot. Wendy. I want to know if she is okay. Not just her, I want to make sure they’re all okay, and if not, I want you to do something about it.”

Jaehyun paused, deliberating on my request.  

“Is that all?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“And if she didn’t make it?  What then? How do you suppose I make that right?” He pressed, dropping the papers that were in his hands back onto the table.

I looked down at the floor. I didn’t know how he could make things right... in any sense, but I had to know whether Wendy was okay.  

Jaehyun eyes left my softly trembling frame to meet Taeyongs. I didn’t see this but Taeyong nodded his head signaling something to his boss.

“I’ll send in some of my men to search out what they can about your colleagues and the state of your friend Wendy. I’ll let you know what they find. Taeyong?”  

Taeyong grabbed my arm and brought his lips to my ear.

“Come on,” was all he said before guiding me out of the office.  

As we walked through the doorway, I immediately spotted Doyoung leaning against the wall with a bored look on his face. Taeyong paused for a second to give him an update.  

“I’m taking her back to go over the house rules, you good?” He asked.

Without answering, Doyoung fixed his gaze on me as I was half hidden behind his colleague.  

“Boo!” He half whispered half shouted.

I jerked back slightly only to recoil in embarrassment.

Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“I guess we’ll be off,” He announced, motioning that it was time for us to head back.

<><><>

Doyoung waited until Taeyong and I had disappeared from his vision before knocking on his boss’s door.  

“Come in,” Jaehyun consented.

Doyoung opened the door and propped himself against the doorframe. Jaehyun looked up at him from his desk chair.

“What?” Jaehyun demanded.

Doyoung chuckled at his boss’s intimidation tactics and took his time in forming a response, something most other members wouldn’t dare to do.

“I said, what?” Jaehyun thundered.  

Although Doyoung’s laughter had faded, his smile remained. He took a step forward and closed the door behind him.  

“Did you really mean it when you said she was free to leave, Boss?”

Jaehyun’s furrowed brows relaxed. Leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the table, he opened his desk draw and pulled out two cigars. Doyoung walked over to his desk and sat in the very chair Y/N had used only a few moments prior. Jaehyun extended one of the cigars to the man who readily accepted. Doyoung leaned forward as Jaehyun lit his cigar with a silver lighter, feet still on the desk. Running a hand through his oddly streaked hair, he took in a puff of smoke and held it for a few seconds before releasing it into the air. Jaehyun took his time in lighting his own cigar before turning back to Doyoung.

“Say what you will about the old codger, he always did buy the best stoags,” He laughed examining the cigar band.  

“Stealing from daddy’s stash, are we?” Doyoung jokingly mocked.

Jaehyun’s face turned cold. Removing his feet from the desk, he leaned forward, staring into  Doyoung’s eyes.  

“What did you say?”  

Doyoung matched the man’s intense gaze, leaning in to show his lack of fear. Their eyes remained fixed on each other’s, unblinking until-

“Pfft!” Jaehyun chortled, Doyoung instantly joined in his laughter.

“So, you heard everything, huh?”

“Well, you did ask us beforehand to wait by the door until you both were finished,” Doyoung reminded.

Jaehyun nodded before setting the cigar down on a marble cigar stand.

“So, you’re really going to let her go?”

“Of course not. If Wayv wants Y/N, then I will do everything in my power to make sure she’s out of their reach.”

“Then why did you tell her that she was free to go?”  

Jaehyun paused.

“I’m still not sure she’s telling the truth.”

“Sir?”

“If she’s working with Wayv, then she’ll have no reason to stay other than to find out information. Taeyong is informing her of the rules she’ll have to follow as we speak assuming she chooses to stay. These rules will make it impossible for her to gain access to any information we don’t want Wayv to know. If we make it clear to her that these are the conditions under which she may stay at the estate and that they will continue to be enforced until Wayv is dealt with, then she will have no reason to stay since her life wouldn’t actually be in any danger in the first place.”

“You really thought this through, didn’t you?” Doyoung complimented.

“Right down to the last detail,” Jaehyun mused.

“So, what are the rules?”  

“Taeil is currently bugging and placing cameras in her room, which she will be informed of. Only the bathroom is free from any form of recording devices. These cameras are transmitted through wiring to a house computer disconnected from Wi-Fi and therefore unhackable meaning she won’t be able to send any messages to Wayv through the cameras. She will be under constant supervision and she will be unable to leave the room without-”

“-being escorted by one of 127’s members for the entirety of your excursion out of your room,” Taeyong read out loud.

We had returned to the room I had woken up in and Taeyong had started informing me of the rules that were listed on his clipboard.  

“What? This is ridiculous.” I exclaimed.

Taeil was setting up cameras, checking to make sure there were no blind spots.

“There won’t be any cameras in the bathroom so feel free to change comfortably in there. As long as we have the room completely covered, we’ll be able to see anything suspicious you might bring in there,” He explained.

“The boss said he believed my story. Why is he making me follow all these rules and why do I have to have cameras in my room?”  

“He does believe you. We still have to take precautions though given you aren’t a member of 127,” Taeyong interjected.

“There are still more rules we need to cover. You aren’t allowed to leave the room during any of 127’s meetings without specified permission from the boss. You will not be allowed access to any devices that allow you to contact anyone outside of this house, but don’t worry, we will have plenty of things available for your entertainment. You are allowed to ask for anything within reason.” Taeyong continued.

“What do you mean, within reason?”  

“Okay, good question. Things within reason are things such as clothes, books, makeup, small pets, furniture.”

“Pets?”

“Yeah, small ones like cats or birds. We could have one delivered tomorrow if you wanted. Just don’t name it Louis.”

“What? Why?”

“Umm. Don’t worry about it. Anyways, things that are out of reason are things that can be used to break any of the rules on this list along with things in extreme excess like houses or things that are impossible to fulfill.”

I stared at Taeyong in disbelief.

“Oh, and you can just ask me or Taeil when you have a request. It’s best not to ask the boss himself since he has a lot going on now.”

“What if I want to leave my room?”

“There will be a member at your door at all times. When we’re all in a meeting, we’ll either have a member stay in your room with you and catch them up later or we’ll have one of the staff watch over you. When you want to leave your room, just open the door and whoever is there will act as your escort.”

Hopefully Doyoung won’t be guarding my room all that much.

I stopped for a second to process everything he was saying.

“And if I refuse to follow the rules?”

“I can make arrangements for you to go back home or wherever you want to go along with the money that was promised to you if agree to our confidentiality agreement, but I have to warn you, you won’t last long out there with Wayv on your case and we have other ways of making sure you keep quiet. Ways that aren’t as beneficial to you as the agreement is.”

“So, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice. Sometimes the best option just isn’t what you’d hope.”

I made no efforts to hide my frustration as Taeyong moved on to explaining how things would be from now on. Meals would be made by the few staff that were kept on hand which according to Taeyong, were not that many. According to him, they had a few staff members that were specially trained to double as bodyguards in case of any house invasions. Besides these select few, the majority of staff were sent home on paid leave to prevent any issues while dealing with Wayv. There were always risks of traitors so limiting the amount of people who entered the household was necessary. Sometimes they would send outside staff to go on delivery runs, but everything that came into the house went through inspection. I was allowed to eat in anywhere and anytime I wanted, but if I chose not to leave my assigned room, meals would be delivered three times a day at set mealtimes. Taeyong told me that he would find a clock for my room. He also asked if the room was to my liking, telling me that he chose one of the smaller rooms since he believed there was a large chance that I would feel more at home in one of the less flashy rooms. He was right but he still offered to move me into a bigger one if at any point I choose to do so.  

Taeyong left for a little bit and returned with the clock he promised. During his absence, Taeil explained to me where all the cameras were in the hopes that it would make me feel more comfortable knowing. It didn’t. Taeil left and then it was just me and Taeyong.  

“I know that this will be a drastic change for you but try as best you can to adjust to your new surroundings. You might have to follow several rules but remember that you are a guest in this house, and you won’t have to worry about anyone hurting you here.” He promised, getting up to leave.

“That is, unless I break one of the rules,” I muttered.

Taeyong stood in the doorway, looking at me with those same sympathetic doe eyes he had flashed me earlier. I hated them. I hated how they were always filled with pity.  

“Try your best not to,” He told me as he started to close the door.

“Welcome to the Soo-man estate.”

I looked at the clock.  

11:42.

How was it still this early after everything that happened today?

[pomrania]

Fantasy space

Spelljammer is a cool setting. Unfortunately, it was first written in 1989, for 2E D&D. I'm not going to require anyone to read old sourcebooks, even if they're really cool once you remove the old-edition-mechanics from them, so here's an overall summary of how it works. Additionally, there were some things I didn't like in "official" Spelljammer (like clerics not being to regain higher-level spells in a different crystal sphere), so it just makes sense to write out my version of things. (To clarify: everything I put here is consistent with “official” Spelljammer, to the best of my knowledge. If there is something I didn’t like, then I simply did not include it. There are also other things which I did like, but I did not include here because they were too specific for a general overview, or because I forgot.)

1. Fantasy space follows different rules than real-world space

We're not playing a sci-fi game, we're playing a fantasy game, after all. I'm putting in a brief summary of everything here, so hopefully it will make sense. Further sections give more details.

Planets happen inside wildspace, which is kind of like space-space but it isn't a vacuum. Each planetary system, with its planets and wildspace, is encased in a crystal sphere. The various crystal spheres are surrounded by the Flow, which is flammable and also prevents dimensional travel.

When in wildspace or the Flow, everything has its own air envelope; the air inside this will not vanish, but it will get used up and go bad. The larger the thing, the larger the air envelope. Large enough things have their own gravity, and the effects of its gravity reach as far as its air envelope.

2. Wildspace

Wildspace is what you get between planets. There is very little there, other than asteroids (which may or may not be inhabited), other ships, and wreckage (which may or may not have already been picked over). Most space travel happens in wildspace, because the things to travel between are closer together.

You will not die from imploding if you are thrown unprotected into wildspace. You will however probably die from suffocation once all your air has gone bad, since wildspace does not have atmosphere, but you will have some time to be rescued or find air before that happens.

3. Crystal spheres

A crystal sphere contains a planetary system. Inside of it are planets and wildspace; outside of it is the Flow.

The shell of a crystal sphere cannot be damaged by any known means. If you want to get through it, you need an opening. These openings happen naturally, and they seem to be at random. If you do not want to wait until an opening happens nearby, you can use magic to make an opening happen where you are. Sometimes this magic is built into a ship, but that makes the ship more expensive.

4. Phlogiston / the Flow

(The "proper" name is "phlogiston", but I'm going to call it "the Flow" because a) that's easier to write, b) it is synonymous in the sourcebooks, and c) I don't know how to pronounce "phlogiston".)

The Flow is what you get between different crystal spheres. It is luminous and rainbow-coloured, and also extremely flammable. If you light a fire while your ship is in the Flow, you're going to have a bad time. If you light a big fire while your ship is in the Flow, like if you're trying to cast Fireball, you are going to have a very bad time. Even if you're fireproof, and if your ship is made of things that don't catch on fire, chances are that your friends and your cargo are not also fireproof.

The Flow provides as much light as an overcast day. This is good because if you need to see, you do not want to light a candle or a torch if you enjoy not being on fire.

The Flow prevents any dimensional travel or access. If you have a Bag of Holding, you will not be able to access its contents while your ship is in the Flow. You will not be able to teleport, go ethereal, or summon creatures from other planes.

The Flow can preserve things. If you run out of breathable air while in the Flow, you go into suspended animation, and then wake back up once you have proper air. This preservation only lasts while in the Flow. Sometimes there are ships floating around in the Flow, where all the ship's air has gone bad, and everybody on board is in suspended animation. They could be there for days or months or years or decades, and nothing would change for them. If you have to be thrown off your ship and left adrift, try to have it happen while in the Flow. You will start to suffocate as your air runs out, but it will not kill you.

The Flow has its own currents. If you know them well, or are lucky, you can arrive somewhere faster than anticipated. If you make a mistake, or are unlucky, it could take you a very long time to arrive.

5. Gravity planes

If something is large enough then it will have its own gravity. "Large enough" in fantasy space is significantly smaller than you might think. Gravity points "down", instead of "towards the centre" (unless you are dealing with a spherical planet).

The larger something is, the farther its gravity will reach. If two different large objects come close enough that their gravity fields interact, then the gravity angle of the smaller object will change to match the gravity of the larger object. This can be extremely inconvenient if the two objects are ships, you're in the smaller ship, and "down" is now "sideways" and everything has fallen all over the place. Because of this, if two ships come near each other, the smaller one will generally turn so that its "down" is pointed in the same direction as the larger ship's "down".

Gravity in fantasy space is a yes-or-no kind of thing. You are either within something's gravity field, or you are weightless.

6. Air envelopes

The larger something is, the more air it carries with it. If you go in space just with your own body, you will have enough air along to survive for a little while, but not for as long as you would probably like. If you go into space with a large object like a ship, there will be a lot more air.

The air around something is called its air envelope. The size of an air envelope is the same as the size of its area of gravity, if it has a gravity field. If you can fall, then there is air available, even if that air might have gone bad. Things that are too small to have gravity still have an air envelope, but it is smaller than the air envelope of something that is large enough to have gravity.

When you breathe, you use the air in the air envelope which you are in. If the air envelope is small, then you will run out of usable air sooner than you would like. If the air envelope is large, then it will not be a problem for a long time. A ship generally has enough air to last its crew and passengers for a couple weeks or months, depending. If there are more people in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster. If there is a fire in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster.

There are ways to keep the air fresh for longer, some of which are plants and some of which are magic. It is possible to have it so that the air never needs to be replaced, but usually something goes wrong along the way.

7. Ships that travel space

"Officially" they're called spelljammers, but I just call them "ships".

a) Helms

Space is large [citation needed]. Normal ways of getting from one place to another, even very fast ways, are impractically slow when it comes to travelling in space. There are several ways of powering a ship fast enough to make space travel feasible, but helms are by far the most common. A helm gets a ship to go fast and also gets it to go where you direct it to go (which might not always be where you want it to go, but that is why navigators are a thing).

A helm is a chair with ship-go-fast magic added to it. It can be transferred between ships, which is good because it is expensive. In order to use a helm, a spellcaster sits in that chair, and that both powers the ship, and lets the spellcaster mentally direct the ship what to do. This uses up their magical energy for the day. A spellcaster can only helm a ship if they're full up on magical energy before they start.

Helms are designed so that a ship will automatically slow down from space-travel-fast when it approaches something large enough that it would hurt if they collided. You can still run into things, but it will be at a speed where you have time to try and move somewhere else if you want.

b) Ship varieties

There are many different types of ships in space. Some of them aren't able to go space-travel-fast. These are mostly used to go short distances, like to transport stuff between big ships and places where the big ships can't land, or for space combat, when nobody can go space-travel-fast anyways. These are generally smaller ships that are more agile, but they can also be larger ships where someone didn't or couldn't put in a helm.

Many ships in space look like a cross between a water-ship and a fish or insect. This is because that is cool. There is almost always an open deck, since air won't escape the envelope, so there's no reason to close everything in.

These are a couple of different things people might want in their ship, which is why there are so many different designs:

more storage space

more agile

harder to damage

more weapons

needs fewer people to crew it

able to fit into more places

able to land on ground or water

fits someone's standards of a good-looking ship

easier to repair

costs less money

((Black lives matter, and trans rights are human rights.))

((Also posted on Pillowfort, here.))