carvedpetals



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    18 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    14 Apr 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “You have no idea who your parents really are, do you?” the Russian asked seriously after a few minutes passed of them staring at one another, though it was really more Shane glaring and heaving while Ilya calmly observed him with an unsure glint in his eye.

    “I have no idea what I’m doing here and what you want with them. If this is some kind of stupid business dispute, I have bad news for you, asshole. I don't know about their business, I don’t even know what their business is, and I’ve never been involved in their business,” Shane seethed as slowly as he possibly could so Ilya could understand that he genuinely had no idea of what was going on. “Now will you please untie me and take me home? I don’t even care if you knock me out again, just fucking let me go!”

    Ilya set the glass down to the side of him on the black leather cushion and rose from his seat, unfolding gracefully until he was towering over Shane with cool indifference. He bent slightly, leaned in close enough to Shane’s face that he could smell the vodka the Russian man had been drinking, then said easily, “I think I will keep you, actually.”

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    09 Apr 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

    He comes close, though.

    By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

    What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

    “Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

    Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.
     

    (Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

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    05 Apr 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    27 Feb 2026