He Who Hides Behind A Mask.

He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW.  Word count: 6k. 

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene… i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character. 

i.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.  

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

Keep reading

one thing i refuse to do is write a man who is normal about his partner. he must be frothing at the mouth, hissing at anyone who approaches them like a rabid raccoon, daydreaming about them 24/7 or what's the point?

there is none. go feral or go home

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

风月 (lit. wind, moon; pronounced "fengyue") — meaning "beautiful scenery" or "romance".

In which you drag Dan Heng halfway across the universe for a candied fruit skewer, and he gets a taste of the life that was once denied to him. (dan heng x gn!reader)

7.5k words of fluff and romance! Features an established relationship and many Chinese cultural elements. Cultural/Translation notes at the end. Note that "Yinyue-jun" is the Chinese for "Imbibitor Lunae". Reader's appearance is undefined, but they were raised on the Luofu and in the Xianzhou culture. Dividers by @/saradika.

Written for the Meet Fruit collab! Prompt: Dan Heng + Hawberry

It is absurdly difficult to find hawberries on this side of the Triangulum Galaxy.

Dan Heng discovers this after you begin a laser-focused mission to acquire some, scouring the grocery stores of three consecutive Astral Express stops for the elusive fruit. Why you're so obsessed with finding them, he doesn't know. He guesses he'd maybe triggered some kind of nostalgia for them when he'd made an offhand comment about tanghulu a few weeks back.

I’ve never actually had them before, was all he’d said. It had been such a brief remark; he's surprised it stuck with you.

He'd mentioned it in the archives, while sitting with you on the futon spread across the glowing floor. You'd been leaning against his shoulder, idly skimming the novella in his hands: a Xianzhou literary piece. Highly introspective, full of complicated relationships, blatantly romantic in its subject matter. The protagonist and his wife had been at a festival for lovers: Qixi Jie. It's a day widely celebrated throughout the Alliance, Dan Heng knows from all his books, and inspired by a myth about an ill-fated love between two immortals.

The couple had decided to share a skewer of tanghulu, and you'd been reading the scene when you sighed, Wish we could have one together. Then you gave him a teasing smile. You know, Heng’er—I didn’t think you'd be into this kind of story. Who knew you were such a romantic!

I’m not actually, he'd replied. But of course, you hadn’t believed him, and you ended up pestering him about his taste in romance novels for the better part of an hour. Apparently you were looking for a new one to read, but he had no trashy webnovel recommendations for you.

It is the truth that Dan Heng does not gravitate toward love stories. This novel is not his usual fare, and he'd likely have little interest in this sort of fiction coming from any other world. But he'd enjoyed the sentimental tone of this particular story, set upon the Luofu: he'd liked the way the text lingered on the golden warmth of its sun, on the frenetic bustle of its street markets, on the calm beauty of its starry nights. Even the smallest of actions, in the voice of this author, carried with them a quiet magic. The wind, the moon, the heavens and the earth—all of it had felt so palpable between those pages.

Of course, Dan Heng has never experienced any of that firsthand. For all he knows, everyday life on the Luofu might be as tiresome as it is on any other world. Certainly you’ve complained about it a great deal during your tales about your childhood spent there with your shifu: the traffic was terrible, the seaside markets were too crowded, and the fishmonger always tried to scam me! Supposedly, the air quality was going downhill by the time you had to leave, too.

Maybe Dan Heng would be equally disenchanted by it all. Maybe he'd hate the rush hour commute, the raucous streets, the ozone in the recycled air. Maybe the sun and the stars would simply feel like a backdrop to the mundanity of daily life. He can’t be certain that the reality of the Luofu is anything like the dream-like world painted within any book.

But he is certain about this: that for the fleeting moment he’d been allowed outside, Dan Heng had, for the first time, gazed upon the world on which he’d been born—

—and it had been beautiful.

Tanghulu Recipe:

Wash and dry 30 hawberries – substitute crabapple? gege allergic. will do strawberries.

Sterilize a bamboo skewer in hot water, and use it to skewer the hawberries

Add 150 grams of rock sugar to 150 grams of hot water; heat until boiling, then keep on high heat until all the sugar has melted

Once large bubbles start to form, turn to low heat and simmer until the mixture turns yellow

Roll the hawthorn skewers along the surface of the mixture until the syrup coats the entire skewer. – SHIJIE SAYS MUST BE QUICK! and not ugly!

Allow the skewers to cool at room temperature. – best to eat fresh, can freeze

“You seem disappointed,” Dan Heng remarks.

On any normal day, you'd give your boyfriend full attention at the mere sound of his voice: eyes set upon his features, diligently noting every microexpression and quirk of his lips. (In general, you pay an awful lot of attention to his lips.) But things are different today, and you hardly look at him.

Your gaze is instead occupied with the candied fruit in your hands: strawberries that Dan Heng had washed and cut a little while ago, strung up on a metal skewer that the Express chefs had donated to you. Each strawberry is glossy with a layer of syrup, a sugary concoction that you’d spent a half hour stirring. It had cooled by the time you sampled the fruit, a hard crunch between your teeth. The aftertaste is still in your mouth, sweet and tart.

It’s—it’s not bad.

“Did I say I was disappointed?” you ask, still studying your handiwork.

“You don’t have to say it. I can tell.”

Without warning, Dan Heng takes the strawberry tanghulu from your hands, and you squawk.

“Gege! There’s, like, ten other skewers!”

“Hm. That’s too bad. I want this one.”

There is not even a single trace of remorse in his eyes as he takes his first bite. He seems only contemplative as he chews, humming as he samples it.

"It's good," he says decisively. He raises a brow when he looks at you. "Why are you unhappy with it?"

"It is good," you admit, "but it isn't… traditional. Strawberry tanghulu is tasty, but, like—I grew up eating the haw ones, you know? That's the classic flavour. Like, when you read a novel and there's a Lantern Festival, the characters are having haw skewers. Not strawberry ones."

"Does it matter if I'm eating what I read about?" Dan Heng asks, and it takes everything not to say yes.

It's always been plain as day to you that Dan Heng is enamoured with the Luofu. He's always working his way through some Xianzhou novel, or trying to acquire an old film set on the Luofu, or labouring in the archives while a Xianzou drama plays in the background. At first you'd assumed that this was all motivated by some kind of nostalgia for his birthplace, a longing for a life that he'd been forced to leave—

—but then you found out that Dan Heng never actually had a life on the Luofu.

He'd been born and raised in a prison, he once confided in you. He didn't see the Luofu sun until he was an adult, and it was only for a moment before he was sent into exile. He hadn't been allowed a home, hadn't been allowed a family, hadn't even been allowed the privilege of breathing fresh air. The rich scent of bao being fried in the crisp morning air, the mad clamour of the streets at night, the act of sitting at a kitchen table and folding hundreds of dumplings with your loved ones: his childhood had been devoid of all those things.

All the things you once took for granted are things that Dan Heng's only ever experienced through books.

You've made it a mission to have him experience some of it now, of course. Taught him how to knead dough and showed him all the different dumpling folds you learned from your Shifu. Forced him to sit down for proper breakfasts and had him try youtiao and soy milk, which have now become comfort foods. Bought mooncakes for his first Mid-Autumn Festival and watched his complicated expressions as he bit into duck egg yolk for the first time (decidedly not a comfort food).

And—on God—you will also watch him have proper tanghulu made from hawberries!

"Eh. I guess it's not that important," you lie. "But I have a craving for it, Gege." You give him a killer pair of puppy eyes, and he visibly pauses. "Can we go to a market that might sell some? Or maybe find a street festival? Actually, you know—I don't even know the last time I went to a festival… Wouldn't it be fun to go?"

"I've actually never been to one," Dan Heng replies casually, and you gawk.

"You've never been to a festival?"

"Not a Xianzhou festival." He pauses, as if thinking. "Not any markets either."

"...how?"

"I've always avoided Alliance ships."

"But—but there's plenty of people with Xianzhou heritage who aren't with the Alliance?! Like—like on Xinghan Space Station! You've never visited?"

"Not aside from that one time we were there for business," he replies. "It's not like I ever go on vacation."

"Why not?!"

"Being constantly hunted for revenge makes it hard," Dan Heng deadpans, and he doesn't seem bothered, but you feel distinctly terrible about it.

"...okay. I'm forcing you to take a vacation on July 7th and 8th."

Dan Heng stares. "Why?"

"Because we're going to Xinghan to get some tanghulu."

He doesn't even blink. "Not a chance."

"Eh? Why not!"

"Because that's a silly reason to go so far out of our way." His eyes flicker, stress lines shifting and disappearing: possibly his most frequent microexpression around you. "And what if I'm recognized? We could be attacked."

"That's fine," you wave off. "If someone tries to kill Gege, I'll just kill them first."

"..."

"What? It'd be self-defense."

"...lethal violence should not be your first response to a threat."

"But it would be an effective one."

He gives you a flat look. Not for the first time, you wonder how a man who fights for a living manages to be such a pacifist.

"...okay, okay. If I promise not to kill anyone—will you go with me?" You latch onto his arm, pulling out all the stops and giving him your most pleading eyes. "I just want to have a romantic night together, Gege. We haven't been on a real date in so long."

It's nearly imperceptible, but Dan Heng falters. There are clearly two wolves inside him: one that wants to be responsible, and one that wants to spoil you.

It's obvious which one is winning.

"Qixi Festival is coming up," you add, a lilt to your voice, "and I bet we could find somewhere to celebrate it. Wouldn't it be nice to spend it together, Heng'er?"

He stares at the candied fruit in his hands: all strawberries that he washed and cut without a word, before you'd even thought to ask. Food that he'd made and tasted—like so many other dishes before it—only because you demanded it, no matter how troublesome it was to do it.

"...I'll go put in my vacation request with Himeko," he decides.

THE QIXI FESTIVAL is traditionally celebrated around the 7th day of the 7th month on the Xianzhou Normalized Calendar, with adjustments made for time dilation effects depending on distance between ships and proximity to large celestial bodies. Elsewhere in the universe, the Qixi Festival is celebrated in locations with significant populations of Xianzhou diaspora, such as the Xinghan Space Station and the Chang’E Moon Settlement. These settlements typically observe the Qixi Festival on July 7th per their local calendar dates. – Double check Xinghan dates; confirm ETA with Pompom. Has July 7th already passed on Xinghan's local calendar? CELEBRATORY PRACTICES vary significantly between different settlements, and even between the Xianzhou Alliance ships themselves. They may include street festivals, temple fairs, sewing competitions, and the worship of certain immortals and Aeons. In some places, people celebrate with a simple date night. Being the lover’s festival, many couples aim to get married on this day. – Search later: What do boyfriends get their partners for Qixi? DESPITE THESE VARIATIONS, all observances are dedicated to celebrating the myth of the Cowherd (personification of the star Altair; Bayer designation: Alpha Aquilae) and the Weaver Girl (personification of the star Vega; Bayer designation: Alpha Lyrae). IN THIS XIANZHOU FOLKTALE, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl were two immortals who fell in love and entered a forbidden relationship. The Jade Aeon tore them apart from one another, and they were shortly after banished to opposite sides of the Heavenly River (otherwise known as the Milky Way, within the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies). From henceforth, they lived separately, only able to watch—

“Wow, Gege,” you say, and Dan Heng nearly drops his book. “This is the most romantic myth in all of Xianzhou history, and you’re reading the driest possible textbook summary to learn about it? Why didn't you just ask me?” You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the page. “What the hell is a ‘Bayer designation’? 'Vega'?! Her name is Zhinü!”

Dan Heng is momentarily too bewildered to feel embarrassed about being caught with this book. "You don't know what a Bayer designation is? Don't you have a pilot's license? How on earth do you navigate in space?"

"Well, I have a tendency of getting lost…"

With significant horror, Dan Heng reflects on every moment he's allowed you to pilot the spacecraft the two of you sometimes use to get away for dates.

"...I am never letting you drive again."

"Fine by me, Gege! I'll rely on you from now on." You beam at him, pressing into his shoulder. Then—again, with significant horror—Dan Heng notices that you're reading his annotations in the book.

He instantly snaps it shut, but the damage is done: you turn to him with a wide, giddy smile, and start pawing at his arm with excitement.

"'What do boyfriends get their partners for Qixi?' Heng'er—were you trying to research this for me?"

Dan Heng considers lying for a moment. There are countless potential explanations as to why he decided to consult a textbook instead of going to you. He could easily say that you'd probably forget details in recounting the myth, and that wouldn't do because he'd wanted a comprehensive explanation (true). Or he was genuinely wanting to check the dates because he knew you wouldn't have accounted for different calendars (also true). He'd doubted that you'd remember that not everyone in the universe operates on Interastral Standard Time—a fair suspicion, given that you don't even know what a Bayer Designation is.

But seeing your radiant, pleasantly surprised smile—Dan Heng decides not just to lose face, but to practically obliterate it.

"Yes," he plainly confesses. "I wanted to know how to celebrate the Qixi Festival properly with you." He tries to ignore the heat prickling the back of his neck. "...and I wanted to surprise you."

You go a little wide-eyed, blinking—probably as surprised about the admission as him—and then peck him on the cheek, smiling. "Heng'er, you don't need to worry about celebrating properly or improperly. As long as you spend both days with me, I'm happy enough."

He hesitates. Truthfully, he's read probably an upward of a thousand novels and poems that mention the Qixi Festival and the associated myth—but nothing about how people on the Luofu celebrate it nowadays.

How you would have celebrated it.

"I just want to make sure you enjoy yourself," he explains. "And that I do all the things I should be doing. I have no experience with this… I didn't even know it was a two-day celebration."

"Huh? It's not."

"...it's not?"

"Well, I guess some places have events that happen over several days—but that's not a traditional thing. Qixi Festival is technically just one day."

He raises a brow. "Then why did you want the 8th off too?"

"Because I want to have a romantic evening with you on the 7th, and then a romantic night with you in the hotel, and then a romantic morning with you on the 8th."

"..."

"I'm talking many, many rounds of romance, Gege. That's the greatest gift you could give me."

"...of course it is."

You beam at him, exceptionally pleased. (Why or how, Dan Heng's not actually certain; it's not like you don't already have as many rounds of sex with him as the day allows.) But it still bothers him: the reality that he's never celebrated this before. That he won't know how to do all the right things, or what the right things even are.

The honey-sweet sesame taste of qiaoguo, which stars to look for in the sky, presents that he should gift you: he's never known any of these things, but will soon know them with you.

Or possibly fuck them all up with you.

"How did you celebrate the Qixi Festival when you were on the Luofu?" Dan Heng asks, somehow remaining expressionless.

You don't seem to catch onto his nerves, only pondering the question.

"Um… well, honestly, I didn't really."

Dan Heng stares. "What?"

"Well, like, Shifu took me to temple fairs and stuff. My friend participated in a sewing competition too, once, and I watched her. But I was a kid when I lived on the Luofu—they drove us out when I was still pretty young. I wasn't exactly going on romantic date nights at that age."

"...I see."

Lacing your fingers through his, you stare at your joined hands. Your voice is a little tender when you say, "The way I see it, Heng'er—I don't think we need to think about celebrating it the right way or the wrong way. We're gonna be lovers at the lovers' festival, which is good enough."

Dan Heng considers your words, his thumbpad running along the curve of your hand. "Is that right?"

"Yes! Like—who cares what lovers on the Luofu do with each other? It's much more important what my lover does with me." You pause, then, seeming thoughtful. "....as long as he tries some tanghulu while we're at it."

Dan Heng feels like he's drunk a nauseating amount of that tanghulu syrup—but also like his chest is going to combust. It's an unusual cross of emotions. He'll never get used to it, even though he experiences it nearly daily when you're around. And he'll never know the words to use, even though he's searched for them so often.

"...is food all that matters to you when you celebrate this?" is all can bring himself to say, voice dry.

"And the romance," you add neatly, not the least bit ashamed.

Dan Heng’s mouth twitches.

"Right, of course. The romance."

Thank you for booking with Xinghan Grand Hotel!

As one of this world’s finest establishments, we are pleased to host you for your stay on July 7th through July 8th.

Xinghan is a vast space station, remarkable for its terrestrial landscape and breathtaking countryside. Founded by Xianzhou natives several centuries ago, the beautiful scenery at the outer regions of the station mimics that of their various home worlds. Xinghan City itself is a vibrant and cosmopolitan metropolis with influences from planets all throughout the Pinwheel Galaxy.

You are encouraged to make full use of our concierge services to help you shape an itinerary for your stay. Our staff are happy to help you navigate the remarkable sights of Xinghan. Whether you are here for business or pleasure, there is something for everyone on the Heavenly River.

We look forward to your stay with us, Dan Heng Xiansheng.

Celebrating the Qixi Festival on Xinghan Station is hell.

The station itself is, of course, nearly idyllic in its beauty. And objectively, your romantic getaway with Dan Heng is lovely from start to finish. The two of you check into a gorgeous—and shockingly expensive—hotel in a quiet corridor of the city, not far from the outskirts of the station. The lobby alone startles you with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and marbled floors. You don't know if you've ever stayed in such a nice place.

(When you ask Dan Heng how much money he blew on this trip, he merely shrugs and says not to worry about it. You’d be terrified if it were anyone else who'd done the booking—certainly, Dan Heng would be terrified if you had—but your boyfriend is too fiscally responsible for you to question it too much.)

The concierge at the hotel provides a sightseeing itinerary that would be “perfect for a honeymoon”, taking advantage of all the Qixi deals at restaurants and theme parks. Dan Heng, though, seems more interested in exploring all the everyday happenings of the station. He asks to go to the morning market (you’ve never seen a man so enthralled by cheap fried dough), talks you into hiking the mountains so that he can take pictures of the rice terraces (you cheat by using your flying sword to carry the both of you up), and asks to stroll around the seaside harbour. You lounge there for a little, sitting on a bench and watching the junks drift by, their sails fluttering in the wind.

You frown as you study the ships.

“Why don’t they just use pneumatic tubes for transporting goods? Or automated starskiffs?” you ponder. “Like—this looks like a planet. But it’s still a space station at the end of the day.”

“The ships are likely more appealing to tourists,” Dan Heng says smartly.

“Huh. Does it appeal to you?”

“It’s—”

Dan Heng’s reply is drowned by the high-pitched trill of a reed, then the thunder of a gong: the unmistakable sound of a wedding.

Laughter and cheering fill the pier as a procession of men file through, bearing a fire-red palanquin. Both of you turn to watch the spectacle, and—even though this is your tenth time hearing the suona since you woke up this morning, which is absolute hell for your ears, and decidedly making Qixi absolute hell for you—you cheer and yell your blessings as they pass.

Through the beaded curtain of the sedan, you think you make out a wave from the bride.

“That textbook wasn’t exaggerating about people wanting to get married on Qixi,” Dan Heng muses as they trail away, their song growing faint. “I’ve never seen a Xianzhou wedding procession before today. Now I’ve seen nine.”

“Ten,” you correct him. “And you’ll probably see ten more before the night starts. Ah, Gege, my eardrums are going to burst at this rate…”

When you lean against him and feign exhaustion, he rolls his eyes. “So dramatic,” he says, though his hand presses against the small of your back, as if to steady you. “You don’t find it nice?”

“It's fine, I guess?" You squint at him. "Why? Do you find it nice? Are you the kind of person that really likes weddings, Gege?”

“I’ve never been to one, so I don’t know,” he says simply. “But it seems like people are enjoying themselves, and that’s never a bad sight.”

You give him a keen look, studying the way he watches the procession disappear around the corner—clearly intrigued by it. For someone who so often says that they don’t enjoy love stories, Dan Heng has been oddly fixated on every celebration of love you've come across today.

How interesting.

“Say, Gege…” Your voice is teasing. “Wanna elope?”

Dan Heng visibly pauses, blinking twice before turning to stare at you.

“What?”

You stifle a laugh. “Many people have proper weddings during Qixi Festival,” you say, smiling, “but tons of people also just decide to elope. All the wedding registry offices are probably crazy busy right now, but I bet we could find one that could squeeze us in and tie the knot for us. What do you say?”

He shoots you down instantly: “No way.”

“Eh? Why?” You look at him all hurt, your lower lip wobbling. “You don’t wanna marry me, Gege?”

“No.”

“Wow! That hurts, Ge!”

Dan Heng snorts. He turns to you, and—in an uncharacteristic move, only made possible because the two of you are alone and on a world where no one from the Astral Express is there to gawk at him—he cups your face with his hands.

His voice gets a little soft when he says, “Not today.”

“...oh.”

Your mind goes a little blank as you stare at him, at the tender glint in his jade-like eyes, and the soft curve to his lips—and fuck, who gave your boyfriend the right to look so fucking handsome?

You breathe deeply. Another suona tremors in the distance, and against the waves of the sea, its echo sounds almost soft.

“Not today?” you ask faintly. “But some other day?”

“Yes. Some other day. And…” He looks away, glances at the now-empty street. “...it would be nice to do it properly. Instead of just eloping.”

“Properly,” you repeat. “Like, um. You wanna wear a suit? Exchange rings? Or…" Your eyes follow his line of sight. "Do you mean like that wedding party?”

His head inclines—so slight that you nearly miss it.

“With a palanquin?” you confirm. “And a tea ceremony? You want us to do our three bows and all of that?”

He watches you carefully. “Would it be strange?”

“Huh? No.” You bite your lip. His eyes flick down. You’re finding it increasingly hard to focus with the way that your blood is rushing in your ears. “Why would it be strange?”

“Well, it is a Xianzhou tradition, and we don’t have any Xianzhou family—or, well. We don’t have any family. So it might be… odd.”

“Who cares?” you say. You’re only half-listening to him, too focused on holding back from kissing him. “I wanna see you in red, Heng'er. I bet it's a good colour on you."

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Alright. But it'll look better on you, I’m sure.”

You blink, feeling as startled as your face is hot. Not a romantic, my ass! you can't help but think.

You also can't help but tease him.

“...Heng’er,” you say slowly, a playful edge growing in your voice, “I knew you had a romantic streak in you. Forget Yinyue-jun—I should start calling you Fengyue-ju—mmmph!”

Before you can start running your mouth, Dan Heng silences you the way he knows best.

IN THIS XIANZHOU FOLKTALE, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl were two immortals who fell in love and entered a forbidden relationship. The Jade Aeon tore them apart from one another, and they were shortly after banished to opposite sides of the Heavenly River (otherwise known as the Milky Way, within the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies). From henceforth, they lived separately, only able to watch each other from opposite sides of the river bank. Seeing their grief, every magpie in the world took pity on them and decided to form a bridge across the Heavenly River, allowing them to cross it. The Jade Aeon, also upon witnessing their heartbreak, decided to let them see one another for a single day. According to myth, the birds have since gathered once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month. On that day, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl meet each other at the cusp of the bridge. IN TRADITIONAL CELEBRATIONS OF THE QIXI FESTIVAL, people would look up at the sky at night and admire the stars of Vega and Altair. They would also search for Deneb (Bayer designation: Alpha Cygni), which represents the Bridge of Magpies.

When the sun falls on Xinghan, you and Dan Heng return to the harbour at which you’d been spending your afternoon. Beneath a foreign night sky—illuminated by two oblong moons and stars rippling in the pattern of mares’ tail clouds—the pier is lit by countless lanterns and smiles. Women dressed in traditional robes weave through the crowd, the flowing silk of their ruqun trailing after delicate steps. The fresh seaside air mingles with the spiced fragrance of lamb skewers, the sweetness of cooking dough, the rich scent of grilling vegetables.

And at the centre of it all: your hand clasped tightly in his, guiding him through the chaos to all the dishes and games you loved most from your childhood. To all the things that he’s longed to taste for weeks now, ever since the two of you made these plans.

Dan Heng finds it almost—almost—perfect.

“Dan Heng," a voice calls out from behind the two of you, "Dan Heng! Wait up! I wanna get some corn!”

“What? Why are you getting corn? You can get corn anywhere… C’mon, those lamb skewers were calling to us… begging to be eaten… I can still hear them...”

“You can what now?”

Dan Heng rubs his temple, looking at you.

“Remind me again why you agreed to let March and Caelus come with us,” he says, and you laugh.

“Because festivals are fun with more people,” you say. Then you tilt your head, studying him. “Don’t tell me you’re not having fun, Gege?”

“I’m enjoying myself,” he says honestly, and not even the incomprehensible word salad coming from Caelus' mouth can ruin the mood, with the smile you give him.

You lean in, bring your lips close to his ear. Your breath tickles him as you ask, “Is it just that you want more time alone with me?”

“Well,” he replies, “watching Caelus go through trash wasn’t exactly the night I had planned for us.”

You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I think I have a way of shaking him off.”

Dan Heng gives you a questioning look, but you only wink and tug at his hand. You lead him through the crowds once more, yelling at Caelus and March to follow.

He has a half a mind to ask you to slow down, with how much the two of you are missing at this pace. You pass by a shadow puppetry show, the silhouettes of Niulang and Zhinü dancing on a luminous screen, and Dan Heng wants nothing more than to see the myth play out before his own eyes—but your pull is unrelenting. You skip past a man crafting sugar sculptures, a group of dancers twirling with water sleeves, a rack of crisp potato skewers, and countless other sights that Dan Heng's eyes trail after.

It’s only then that you slow down—and Dan Heng wishes you hadn’t.

The four of you are assaulted by what must be the most horrific stench in the Pinwheel Galaxy. He presses his sleeve against his nose and tries not to gag.

“Is there no garbage disposal at this festival?” Dan Heng asks with plain disgust, while Caelus perks up and simultaneously says, “Smells like there’s a dumpster nearby.”

March pinches her nose. “Ew—let’s get out of here. I wanna see those sugar animals—they looked so cute!”

“No, no," Caelus replies. "We can go back in a bit, I wanna go take a look first…”

He makes a beeline for wherever that ungodly odour is coming from, and March, with a deep sigh, follows him. “I’ll go keep an eye on him,” she says, voice heavy with resignation. “You two enjoy your date.”

“Make sure he doesn’t eat anything weird again,” Dan Heng says, and that makes you laugh. He narrows his eyes at you, noting your completely unbothered expression, and asks, “What’s so funny?”

“That smell isn’t from garbage, Gege. That’s stinky tofu. Completely safe to eat—and it’s actually pretty good, too.” You tilt your head. “I thought it’d be a good way to distract Caelus—but do you want to try some?”

He thinks he might be going green. “Maybe later,” he says, somehow keeping his voice neutral. “Didn’t you want to find tanghulu?”

Dan Heng tries not to sigh with relief when you say, “Oh, true… let’s go look for some.”

Funnily enough, hawberries seem to be as impossible to find on this side of the Triangulum Galaxy as it was on the other.

The two of you have been walking through the stalls for at least half an hour now, on a focused search for the elusive candied skewers. The two of you find an assortment of qiaoguo, a variety of persimmon cakes, and delicately crafted sugar paintings. (“Look, Gege! Let’s request one of the Azure Dragon,” you suggest, triggering an immense headache in Dan Heng.)

But you don’t come across any tanghulu.

After you finally give up, you retreat to a quiet corner of the pier, biting into a peach-shaped qiaoguo while your legs dangle over the water. Dan Heng, himself, has the dulcet taste of bronze sugar melting on his tongue: part of the dragon you’d requested from the sugar painter, set on a bamboo stick. Despite the sweetness of your snacks, Dan Heng picks out a bitter air from you.

You don't say anything, though. The two of you only peer at an artificial sky as you eat, taking in its strange features. There is but a single, round moon within it, and its stars are unusually bright. They run across the black night in a silver river: a precise copy of the Milky Way, in the Virgo Supercluster of galaxies, as seen from Earth.

Xinghan Space Station is capable of large-scale atmospheric projections, Dan Heng had read in the hotel’s travel brochure. Apparently, they like to recreate Earth’s night sky during the Qixi Festival, as an homage to the original stars that gave birth to the myth. They'd only switched it on fifteen minutes ago, and the both of you had stopped to stargaze.

You squint at the constellations above you.

“I have… no idea where Zhinü and Niulang are," you remark.

“No?”

“No… the Luofu never did these atmospheric projections. And—I guess I should be able to figure it out since I've got a licence, but, well… you know I’m not very good at navigating the stars.”

Dan Heng bites off the last of his sugar dragon, then crouches down next to you. Without a word, he raises the bamboo rod and uses it to gesture at the constellation of Lyra. “Zhinü is the brightest star in that cluster over there—right next to those four stars making a parallelogram.” He then points above it, at the constellation of Aquila; your line of sight follows the bamboo skewer closely. “And the bright one over there—that’s Niulang.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, humming. “Does the Bridge of Magpies represent a bridge of stars?” you ask. “Or is that something people made up?”

“It represents Deneb. You can see it there”—the bamboo in his hands points westward—“forming a triangle with Zhinü and Niulang.”

You hum at the information, but otherwise stay quiet. When Dan Heng chances a look at you, he finds you contemplating the sky, staring intently at the Heavenly River.

Though you no longer seem upset, it bothers him that you aren’t glowing the way you’d been half an hour ago. You’d been so alive running with him beneath all the festival lanterns, looking for tanghulu. To an outsider, it might seem odd, how much it ruined your mood when you couldn’t find any—but Dan Heng knows that this isn’t about a simple craving for a candied fruit skewer.

This is about the Luofu.

This is about the food you'd tasted on the Luofu, the scenery you'd gazed upon on the Luofu, the festivals you'd observed on the Luofu—those are the things after which you’ve been chasing, not tanghulu. The ship was once your home, after all, and not a home that you’d willingly left. It’s obvious how much you long for it, what with the way you always ask to cook Xianzhou dishes and observe Xianzhou holidays.

Dan Heng puts an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

"I'm sorry we couldn’t find you any tanghulu,” he murmurs. “Maybe Chang’E Moon Settlement will have some? I read that they have night markets regularly.”

“...it’s okay,” you say, in a voice clearly indicating the opposite. “I just thought it’d be nice to have at a festival, specifically… maybe we can head to Chang’E for the Lantern Festival.”

“That’s not a bad plan,” he says. “I’ve never celebrated the Lantern Festival.”

That makes you perk up. “Then I’ll have to make sure that Gege has a good time when February rolls around,” you say quite seriously. “I’ll do the trip planning next time—don’t worry about the hotels, or the travel itinerary, or the route to Chang’E—”

“I will plan the route,” he says decisively. “And I’m driving too.”

That makes you laugh. “Okay. You can do that. Ask for two weeks off from work, too. People on Chang’E take the Lantern Festival quite seriously, so—”

A familiar voice interrupts, calling out your names from a distance. You both look back and are met with the sight of Caelus and March running down the pier, waving at you. Caelus is holding what looks—and smells—like a container full of stinky tofu, while March has, in one of her hands—

“You found tanghulu?!” you exclaim. She nods excitedly as she bounces in front of you, two steps short of crashing into your bodies.

“Yeah! You were talking about wanting some earlier, right? So we grabbed one for you."

“I’ve got tofu too, if you'd like,” Caelus adds. March, shockingly, doesn’t berate him for the suggestion (Dan Heng considers it); she only points to it with a bewildered expression.

“It’s actually really good!” she insists. “You gotta hold your breath, but the flavour is great. You should both try it.”

“...I’ll take the tanghulu first,” Dan Heng says, rising from his seat to pluck the skewer out of March's hands. In a calculated move, he beckons you to stand and leads you away from March and Caelus—or, more specifically, away from the smell. While Dan Heng has no doubt that you’d like some of that tofu for yourself, you are predictably much more interested in a romantic moment with your boyfriend in a public space (your favourite type of situation in which to kiss him), so you happily wave goodbye to the pair.

When Dan Heng finally bites into the candied fruit—first cool and hard against his teeth, then sour and sweet on his tongue—he understands why you’d been disappointed with the strawberry tanghulu. It had been good, but it had also been different.

“How do you find it, Gege?” you ask, practically trembling with excitement. He feels his lip quirk.

“It’s good,” he praises. You smile, and Dan Heng finds himself thinking that none of the festival lanterns could ever compare to your expression. “Do you want some?”

“If you feed me,” you say, and Dan Heng rolls his eyes, but he humours you anyway, tilting the skewer toward you so that you can take a bite. The fruit colours your mouth red, and he watches as you hum and lick the sugar off your lips.

“Is it everything you’d hoped for?” he asks.

“Mhm. This is proper tanghulu.”

You seem content enough. You're eating, you're smiling—but something about your eyes bothers Dan Heng. Something about the muted quality of your voice. Something about the way you're studying the skewer in your hands.

Whatever bitterness was plaguing you earlier is still lingering, weighing down your words.

“I know,” Dan Heng says gently. He repeats himself: “But is it everything you’d hoped for?”

That makes you pause, blinking at him. Were you anyone else, Dan Heng is sure that you’d be mystified by the question—but you’re you, and you’re fairly attuned to the workings of his mind, and he’s reasonably discerning about whatever chaos is going on in yours. You have enough mutual understanding for you to stop and consider his question carefully, peering up at the sky.

Dan Heng waits patiently, watching Vega and Altair with you. Watching two stars longing for one another.

“...if it were up to me, Heng’er,” you eventually say, “I’d take you back to the Luofu, and we’d go sightseeing there. We’d visit the seaside town that I grew up in, and we’d go to the market I liked for breakfast food, and you…” You pause for a moment, struggling. “...and you could have met my Shifu. And you could have seen our home—how beautiful it once was. And I’d have taken you out for the Qixi Festival afterwards, and you could have seen the night sky there. Have I ever told you that it's the only stretch of stars I know how to navigate?"

The breath you let out is quiet, nearly drowned by the sighing tide. Dan Heng only hears it because he’s spent so often listening to the soft rhythm of your lungs.

“I wish I could have shown you all that,” you admit. “I’m sorry I can’t. I know you think about going back as much as I do.”

Dan Heng’s eyes soften. You allow his hands to cup your face, to shift it until he’s looking directly into the melancholy of your gaze.

“I don’t need to be on the Luofu,” he says quietly. “I am content to be here with you, I am content to live on the Express with you, and I am content to accompany you for as long as this lifetime will allow. And if you aren’t content with those things—then tell me what it is you long for, so that I can make you feel at home.”

You stare at him for a long while, bringing a hand to rest over the one on your cheek.

“Heng’er…”

“What is it?”

Dan Heng watches a number of emotions flicker through your eyes. He knows each of your microexpressions, because it is second nature for him to watch you carefully, with full attention to the state of your heart. He knows the way your brows lift when you’re surprised, he recognizes the specific quirk of your mouth when you try to stop it from trembling, and he notices the slow blink that you only do when you try to calm down. He knows, too, your instinctive response when you don’t know what to say:

You kiss him.

You kiss him, and it’s not the playful, fleeting sort of kiss that you use to tease him in public, nor is it the sweet and smiling sort that you drew him into earlier during the day, on this very dock. It’s long and deep, soft and tender against his lips, and he returns it fully.

After you pull back, you smile at him, looking more like yourself.

“That’s your second time kissing me in public today,” you comment. “What’s gotten into you, Heng’er?”

“Must be your bad influence,” he replies without a beat, running a thumb along your jawline.

“Oh?” You hum. “I’m not so sure. I think Fengyue-jun’s always been a little sentimental.”

Dan Heng snorts. “If I’m acting like it, then it’s only because you wanted a romantic evening.”

“I guess I did say that.” You link arms with him, pulling him back toward the festival. “Is our night going to be romantic too?”

“Our morning after as well,” he says. He feels his mouth curling at your excited little smile. “Would you like to spend more time here, or return to the hotel for your Qixi gift?”

“Whatever you feel like, Gege.” You press against him. "Just being by your side is enough to make me happy, no matter where it is you want to be.”

Dan Heng ends up choosing to stay at the harbour. It is partly because you’d seemed so keen on the tofu earlier, and he's a little curious about it himself—but it's mostly because he wants to see you in the glow of the festival for a little longer.

Dan Heng suspects that you feel that this night here, on Xinghan Station, is only a substitute for the life you've imagined having with him on the Luofu. Possibly it's inferior to it in every way. And he supposes that you might be right to think this way—that if ever he were given the chance to properly visit the world in which he was born, then he, too, might decide that Xinghan Station is nothing like it. That the lanterns hanging above the two of you right now pale in comparison to the Luofu stars. He can’t be certain.

But he is certain of this: that right now, Dan Heng has the privilege of hearing your laughter weave into festive song, of tasting sugar and berries on your lips, of seeing your smile awash in the light of the Heavenly River—

—and all of it is beautiful.

End

WE DID IT BOYS!! I am… too tired to do full cultural/translation notes but I'll try to hit the major ones 🫡

Translation Notes:

风月 (pronounced "Fengyue") literally means "wind, moon", but the characters taken together may actually mean "beautiful scenery", "romance", or "love making" depending on the context. When you call Dan Heng "Fengyue-jun 风月君", rather than "Yinyue-jun 饮月君", you're making a pun where you're calling him the Lord of Romance rather than the Lord who Drinks the Moon.

Gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close. It has either a childish or flirty edge to it (Ge and Dage, also meaning older brother, are more common between friends).

Shifu means "Teacher", used in the context of a martial relationship. IIRC, Jing Yuan called Jingliu this.

Xinghan is one of the names for the Milky Way in Chinese, as an alternative to Heavenly River.

Chang'E is the name of an immortal who lives on the moon.

Cultural notes:

Qixi Festival is a real celebration that takes place on the seventh day of the seventh month on the Chinese lunar calendar. It is indeed based on the myth of the Cowherd and Weaver Girl. The version of the myth that I put into the story is a paraphrased version of the one I heard growing up, but there are many others. You may also recognise it as the myth of Orihime and Hikoboshi from the Japanese Tanabata festival.

I was researching different ways that people celebrate Qixi Festival around the world, and funnily enough, I actually found that (1) mostly people don't make a big deal of it anymore, and (2) it varies pretty largely between various diaspora communities. Maocity holds a night market festival where there are many foods that our Asian diaspora don't otherwise have the chance to eat (😔✌️), so that's the inspiration for the festival in this story. If you are Chinese elsewhere in the world, Qixi Festival celebrations may look different for you, and I want to acknowledge this in the notes.

There were some references to traditional Chinese wedding practices in this. Here is one video of a wedding procession and here is another (you can hear the suona in this one). Traditionally the palanquin is a "bridal sedan", but for my nblm and mlm readers, I want to note that usually whoever is marrying into the other person's household will ride it (in novels/fics I've read)—so you can imagine either yourself or Dan Heng in the palanquin

Also I couldn't fit this into the story, but I like to imagine that when you and Dan Heng get hitched, you do the tradition of racing each other to your house—but this is just the archives so you're literally just running down the Astral Express, fighting off Caelus and March and co LMAOO.

Thank you for reading! Please drop a line if you enjoyed this… truly I put my whole writerussy into this fic LMAOAO

tagging in @trailblazernet also!!

SPY X FAMILY | SEASON 2 PV 10.07.23