dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

highly new, slightly improved open post

assorted morons

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FUCC:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[So it goes like this: as the eldest son, the idea that he'll one day marry for political convenience is not exactly a shock. After all, that's what marriage is for: to smooth over tensions or strengthen bonds, hoping to stave off war for another generation. If he gets along with his spouse, that's all the better, and he's even told that love might one day grow, but first and foremost, it would be for his family's sake.

That had been easy enough to accept when his spouse had been some nameless, faceless potential. Now--

It's a possibility, his father tells him. Not a promise. Simply see if you like him. But there's a hidden implication in those words, a quiet but urgent plea: it's in everyone's best interest if he not just likes this boy, but impresses him. Their family isn't entirely stable now, thanks to a few misplaced ventures here and there. They need a solid alliance with a high-ranking family, and who better than the Nies?

Impress Nie Huaisang, and suddenly they needn't worry about the future for a little while longer.

So here they are, meeting for the first time. It's a party, filled with music and girls dancing and everyone mingling. Sooner or later they'll all sit and drink and talk about heroic deeds, but for now: this is an easy way to meet.

Or it would be, anyway, if he could find him.

Because, see, the thing is: he has a portrait, yes, and he's certain they've met once or twice as children, but that isn't the same as knowing what he looks like right now. It's not as if the portrait was particularly true to life. He'd missed everyone's name being announced, delayed by this-and-that, and so now, on the night he's meant to impress and court his future husband, he cannot find the man.

Is he panicking? A little, yes. After a third loop of wandering around the party, he leans back against a pillar, hiding himself for just a moment so he can take a breath. This is fine. He isn't destroying all the work his family has accomplished in one night, he certainly isn't. He'll find the boy, he'll impress him (somehow, and he has no idea how, he can't even impress his parents), he won't ruin this.

God. He's so busy furiously worrying that he fails to notice a person near him, so well done, Jiang Cheng, really nailed that spot check.]

Shit . . .

[Just a little desperately, he tugs out the portrait again. It's much wrinkled at this point, but still, he studies it, trying desperately to figure out if he's seen this boy sometime tonight.]

Edited 2020-04-17 05:51 (UTC)

[When it comes to marriage arrangements or possibilities thereof, Nie Huaisang doesn't ever actually assume they'll amount to anything. Yes, his family is influential, and yes, his hand is worth quite a bit to a lot of people even if he's only a second son, sure sure sure... But inevitably the first few interest meetings with whatever suitors he might have peter off into polite silence. He knows why; his older brother is intimidating on the best of days, and marrying into the Nie family is more difficult than simply offering the best promise of eventual security, or manpower, or whatever else.

So when Mingjue tells Huaisang there's going to be another suitor, Huaisang doesn't, uh, do anything differently. He recognizes the name and knows a thing or two about the family, but he's not going to go above and beyond for this one party. Please— it's as Mingjue tells him gruffly, anyway: it's up to the Jiangs to impress them, not the other way around.

Not to say that Huaisang intends to be rude, no. He's looking forward to it, if only with, um, perhaps some lowered expectations thanks to his brother's reputation... But the party comes and he has no idea where the Jiang boy has even gone. The members of his family aren't hard to pick out of a crowd, but he can separate disciples from heirs based on dress at a glance, and where is this boy?

(And alright, so Huaisang is having a bit of fun doing the actual party things, floating around the party and enjoying himself more than he's seriously looking. That's fine! It's fine.)

It's when he's sidled away from everything, pointedly across the room from Mingjue's increasing ire at having to be at a social gathering, that he finally notices the nearby figure. Ah— that one, then. Huaisang sidles toward him slowly, in no rush since this boy- Jiang... Cheng, right?- is just sulking over here.

Huaisang gets close enough to lean over and look at the portrait and immediately blows his cover(?) by scoffing loudly.]

That's old!

[Unbelievable! The gall! Just look at his out of date painted fashion! Also, hey.]

Give me that! I'll find you a better one.

[Like seriously hey, it's him, but his principles demand sending his maybe-fiance home with a more attractive portrait.]

Hey!

[That is his only portrait, holy shit. It is old, but god help him, Jiang Cheng thinks the objection is for his age, not his fashion.]

Who asked you, anyway? It's not yours, it's--

[Oh, hm, because now he turns, scowl fierce on his face, the portrait held defensively close to his chest. This has to be some idiot disciple too many drinks in, or some cousin, something like that. Surely not someone important.

Except hey! It super is! It's literally the one person he's here to impress, and they're off to a fantastic start.]

. . . I've been looking for you.

[It's meant as vague explanation, not rebuke, but it comes out with more of an edge than he means. His eyes dart from portrait to person, and it's not that the painting is inaccurate, but there's something . . .

Mm. It's nerves, he decides, and ignores the feeling.]

And it doesn't matter if it's old, not now. We've met.

[Later Huaisang will be more endeared by this silly possessiveness of his portrait, probably— but right now it's terribly humiliating to have that old thing still circulating around, and he is thoroughly distracted.

Not so distracted that he misses the tone and the hasty, apparently uncomfortable glancing back and forth, but one thing at a time.

Oh, and maybe he should pretend to do this properly and introduce himself... nah! Grumpy Jiang boy already knows who he is, somehow, despite the terribleness of the portrait!!]

If it doesn't matter, give it to me.

[He holds his hand out expectantly. Give him the portrait? Boldly touch his hand for some other reason? This first meeting volley is in the air.]

[There's absolutely no reason for him to keep being this defensive save idiotic stubbornness. Which means there sure is a split-second in which he visibly hesitates, but thank god, common sense wins out over his idiotic temper, and he hands it over.

Do their fingers touch? Oh, yes. It's brief, a momentary graze of warmth, the tips of his fingers brushing against the back of Huaisang's hand. It's nothing. It's nothing, because the fact of the matter is that Huaisang means very little to him, not outside of a potential alliance. He has no feelings for him. He certainly hasn't been pining.

And yet still his fingers feel as though they burn as he pulls his hand back. There's an overwhelming need to reach for him that Jiang Cheng shoves to the side, ignoring desperately.]

What's--

[Focus, as he drops his hand and hides it beneath his sleeve, ignoring the urge to flex it.]

What's so much better about the other one?

[Jiang Cheng has made his first correct choice of the evening. Congratulations! Huaisang tucks the portrait swiftly away into his robes, where no one need ever see it again. Who gave this boy this stupid thing... ugh.]

What?

[Is that a real question? Does the Jiang family not sit for yearly updated portraits? Huaisang has sat for more than that... How strange.]

Well, you would have found me faster if you had my portrait, instead of this one.

[Technically, Huaisang found him-- but never mind that. He tilts his head and asks like he doesn't know:]

You're Jiang Wanyin, aren't you? My brother told our disciples to keep an eye out for you.

I wasn't bothering with them.

[And, possibly, he'd been stalking through the party so much that no disciple had time to get a word in edgewise. Stranger things have happened.]

But yes. I am. Ah-- it's good to finally meet you, Nie Huaisang.

[That's pleasantly polite, and he adds a stiff bow to boot. It's also assuredly not where his mind is right now.

It's just . . . how to explain the eerie sense of disconnect he'd had upon viewing Huaisang? Not the shock of a portrait that didn't match precisely, but something else, something . . . mm. Not déjà vu, but perhaps something like it. He'd looked up and seen bright eyes and the soft set of his mouth, and then his thoughts had gone all jagged-sharp, distorted and a little jittery.

It isn't anything conscious. Certainly nothing so much so it stops him in his tracks. Just a sense of displacement-- like knowing something's missing in a room before you realize just what. No, that's not right, not because the portrait is out of date or the fashion is out of style, but because . . .

What? He has the most absurd urge to step in closer, brushing his fingers against the curve of his cheek, and absolutely does not act on it because good lord.

He's never met Huaisang before, not properly. So why should he expect anything different than what he sees?

It's nothing, he tells himself, ignoring every instinct he's ever cultivated. It's nothing at all.]

Even if you do steal portraits. It wasn't that out of date. Is that how you treat every person who comes to court you? Steal their things? Perhaps I should do the same.

[It's nothing, and yet it's so easy to thoughtlessly say such a thing: not really rude so much as casual, a flippant answer more meant as an invitation to retaliate rather than invite an argument. Is that better or worse than stiff politeness? Assuredly literally every elder in his life would tell him worse, but--

Better, his instincts say. Better it was better he likes it better when you're honest rude direct, he likes you better as you are not as you should be--

He doesn't like me at all, Jiang Cheng thinks scoldingly.]

[Ah, ignoring the disciples... Mingjue will be thrilled. That doesn't much matter to Huaisang, who raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment on it. Jiang Cheng keeps talking and Huaisang is distracted, anyway, by the sound of his name in that voice. It stirs something in him, but that's stupid, because this boy has done nothing but argue with him since he came over here—

Which is perhaps precisely the reason, actually? Hmm. It's nothing, surely. It's certainly not worth worrying about now, and Huaisang laughs instead at the suddenness of even more rudeness. And right after such a stiff display of courtly manners, too!]

You gave it to me! Do you want to steal it back?

[He is definitely not getting it back, but it's the principle of the thing. Huaisang steps smoothly to the side so that his back is to the dim corridor beyond this pillar, away from the dance floor, hoping— or perhaps somehow knowing Jiang Cheng's gaze will follow him the way he wants.

Huh.

He holds out a hand, pointedly empty of portraits. Jiang Cheng doesn't even like parties, he thinks, and his brow furrows just briefly before he glances meaningfully over his shoulder.]

Let's sneak out of here and maybe I'll give it to you.

[Of course his gaze trails after him. It's like there's a magnet in his neck: the instant he moves his head turns, because he's already a little caught, even if he doesn't know it yet. And when he glances over his shoulder--

Ah, he thinks, his cheeks heating, hidden by the half-shadows. Ah, well . . . maybe there's more than one reason so many people are clamoring to court Huaisang.

The fingers of his left hand flex, and his arm even lifts for half a second, but-- no, he won't take his hand. That's improper. And even though he's been rude these past few minutes, he's not going to trample on every single social norm.

But he does follow, feeling only a twinge of guilt. The goal here is to court Nie Huaisang, not attend the party, it's fine.]

Fine.

[He clears his throat, glancing away, as they walk down the hall and the music fades.]

I guess you must be getting pretty sick of these things. How many have you had to go through now?

[Oh, no hand? Alright. That disappoints him for a reason he can't place and doesn't care to, as he turns to lead them down the darkened hall.]

Well... enough?

[He shrugs, because it's not like he dislikes the parties, necessarily! And yet he'd be just as happy lazing around watching birds with a would-be suitor, if he got to choose how he got to meet anyone. And look, no one has stopped him from casually walking away yet. What could go wrong!]

The last time I asked someone to come with me, he was too afraid of what my brother would think to move an inch. [lame.... but he gives Jiang Cheng an appraising side glance, just briefly.] We didn't wind up getting along.

[Is it inappropriate to tell this to Jiang Cheng, who is literally here to win him over and secure his hand? Probably! Woops!]

[Oh, well, good. He glances back over at him, surprised and gratified by that bit of praise.]

There's not a lot to be afraid of. It's not as if I'm--

[Well, there's a lot of ways to finish that sentence. There's a lot of things he and Huaisang could do in a dark corner that would court Nie Mingjue's wrath, and he kind of hates himself for just how vividly he imagines each one. Not just a vague fantasy, but rather an almost overwhelming sensation.

Huaisang gasping in breathless delight, staring up at him with kiss-bruised lips. Huaisang laughing as he pulls them deeper into the shadows, his mouth already at Jiang Cheng's neck. Huaisang with his robes falling off his shoulder, bruises on his fair skin and biting back whines, breathlessly urging Jiang Cheng into silence, and it's stunning, it's stunning how swiftly he thinks all that, unprompted and entirely unhelpful.

Fuck, he thinks, and clears his throat again as he stares straight ahead.]

Anyway. If he kills me for something like this, he'll start a war. He's too smart to do such a thing.

[Right? Yeah. Okay. That's as good a thing to say as any, because sorry, he's still caught up on the softcore porn his brain had just offered up to him. Where the hell had that even come from? He likes Huaisang, sure, he thinks he's attractive, but that's not the kind of man he is. He doesn't needlessly lust over every person he meets.

So, like, what the fuck!]

[What a strange boy? Huaisang blinks at him in the dim light, oblivious. Is there something stuck in his hair, or what? Odd! He does laugh again, more disbelieving than surprised.]

Just what do you think my brother would kill you over? Is that what you other families say about us?

[Well, about their, hmm, charismatic leader, at least. It is, he knows, but they'll be doing a lot less getting along in dark corners if anyone starts speaking ill of his family. His voice is still warm, if only thanks to that compliment Jiang Cheng slides in at the end there, but mmm. Still.

Clearly, there could be no other "something(s) like this" Jiang Cheng is thinking about besides walking together down a dark hallway and not touching hands. Huaisang doesn't wait for a fumbled answer, either, hurrying ahead to the end of the hall and turning the corner—

The house simply ends there, spilling out into a moonlit courtyard that's just as picturesque at night as it is in the daylight. Winding paths roam their way around trees young and old; at least one visible statue of what's probably an ancestor, given the saber, stands over a small pond that flows into a larger one, with a stone bridge arched over the stream. There's a sense of order to it, like nothing is out of place despite the gentle, twisting nature of how it's all arranged.

The moonlight hits the little bridge in the least dark corner way possible, and that's where Huaisang is headed. Come, come, stand on this bridge with him and watch him lean over the side to peer into the dark water. Feel free to share the tea about his family, he'll love that.]

[It's a beautiful scene, and he's glad for it. It captures his attention and focuses him away from . . . whatever the hell that was. Mm. He rubs his mouth, and does indeed join Huaisang on the bridge, glancing first at the water before stealing one over at the man next to him.]

They gave me a list of things to talk to you about, you know.

[He glances up, staring at the stars.]

To try and impress you.

[So at least Huaisang knows he isn't faking anything, even if he does keep sticking his foot in his mouth.]

And all siblings are protective of their own.

[Huaisang hums down at the water, not quite unimpressed but getting there. Protective siblings, uh huh, surely that's the extent of other families' gossip...

It takes, then, a second for the first part of Jiang Cheng's words to sink in. But then he looks up and over at him, eyebrows raised.]

They gave you a what? What did it say?

[Please... he has to know this crucial information. The Huaisang Cheat Sheet??]

Artistry, of any kind, but especially painting. Birds. Gardens. And if I could memorize any poems, all the better.

Is it accurate?

[Oh, it's not funny at all. Well, that's not anything special then— but Huaisang straightens up from leaning over the water, closes his eyes and quite simply recites, because of course he does:]

My idle dreams roam far,
To the southern land where spring is fragrant.
Wind and strings play on a boat on the river's clear surface,
The city is full of catkins flying like light dust.
People are occupied admiring the flowers.
My idle dreams roam far,
To the southern land where autumn is clear.
For a thousand li over rivers and hills cold colors stretch far,
Deep in flowering reeds, a solitary boat is moored.
Beneath the bright moon, a flute plays in the tower.

[And rest assured that he is good at it, being as he is a second son with no duties except to idle around and not embarrass the family too much. His voice is even and clear, evidently practiced for someone who mostly just reads poetry to himself and maybe the occasional curious disciple.

There's something to be said for Jiang Cheng coming prepared, he thinks, but for a good long moment after he's recited the last line he doesn't say anything or even open his eyes. Let a guy get lost in his poetry recitation for a second, hmm...

Okay. He opens just one eye, to look at Jiang Cheng.]

Do you even know anything about all of that? Just saying it to me doesn't count.

You're the one who picked it out, not me. That's an even harder test than just reciting it.

[But hang on, he knows this, vaguely. He's far, far from the sort of person who reads these kinds of things, but he'd had a formal education. He rubs his mouth just once, an idle gesture.]

It's about missing your home. Being so sick with longing for it that you constantly think about it. Not just the broad strokes, but the details.

[Like the thrill of standing on a pier's edge, watching stormclouds gather miles away, smelling the electricity in the air, knowing a storm is coming. Like how the lakes of Lotus Pier look at sunset, when the heat of the day has faded and the fireflies have already come out. Like leaning on a bridge just like this, fingers digging lightly into the grain of the wood, inhaling the sweet summer air, and then feeling a hand covering his own so gently--

It's not conscious thought that makes him guide his head up. Instead: it's as if it's been scripted and he's simply playing his part. His eyes slide slowly over the curve of Huaisang's cheek, meeting his gaze, and half-expects to see a soft smile returned. He feels outside of himself, watching himself, caught up in the duality of the moments.

He should be nervous. He was nervous a few moments ago, ping-ponging between that and a sort of resigned sullenness. And now he feels eerily at ease, because he knows this man, he knows this scene, except last time it wasn't here, it was . . . they were on a lake . . .]

All the little things that make it yours.

[He teeters at the cusp, feeling desperately as though he's on the verge of recalling something and not knowing what.

Right? Of course right, because Huaisang had taught him that poem years ago. Because he loved Lotus Pier, but Qinghe was where he'd been born, and he missed it dearly sometimes, missed his brother, missed his people, the rocks and mountains and chill, but I'd miss you more, he'd whispered, and Jiang Cheng had held him all the tighter.]

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highly new, slightly improved open post

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i like to call this icon 'whipped'

you're so right

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