#Flat buying documents

[neonvqmpire]

becoming an adult is slowly making yourself through more important official documents and organisational stuff every year that as a child seemed like impossible magic your parents were doing to you

[transgendz]

In the past threeish days my phone has been stolen, my roommate got a flat in our only form of transportation, and my other roommate got an infection in a minor skin-deep leg injury that is currently serious enough to have him struggling to walk. We may need to take him to the ER soon. Additionally, due to bad timing in needing to submit documents with work, I need to complete a two factor authentication to continue working.

I need to replace my phone before I lose my job. My phone hadn't been paid off, and I am totally at a loss at the ungodly cost of it. I am the main supporter for both of my disabled roommates. I cannot lose this job.

Please buy my art? @theartistrans Dm me for proof or details, and I'll put details in the tags

$174/$960

PP--V--$C--kofi

[jinnie-ret]

perfect blues

chan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 0.8k

summary: she's been letting too much get to her head, so chan, being the loving boyfriend he is, decides she needs a holiday

requested: @cheesemonky

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If only something, or someone, could take her far away from the current sole cause of her woes - the job she was tirelessly working overtime due to someone recently quitting the firm. It meant longer hours, and late nights weren't unusual in the Bahng household with Chan often coming home late from the studio. So it was odd, when your routines with your boyfriend started to swap around, with him coming home earlier than you.

The day dragged on into the night, and relief seeped through your veins the very minute your flat work shoes met the house mat of your apartment. Right there, to welcome you to your safe haven, was Chan, holding a bouquet of an array of different flowers; roses, tulips and lilies.

"Hi love," Chan smiled sadly at you. He had seen you put yourself through hell and back to help keep the company you worked at stable, and whilst he admired your determination, you were a workaholic as much as he was. That's why you were perfect for each other.

"Hiya love, what's with the flowers?" you go straight into his arms, your head relaxing against his chest.

"Hey, can't I buy flowers for the most beautiful girl in the world?" Chan wears a shit eating grin on his face.

"You're so cheesy!" you move out of his arms, smacking his chest as you carry the flowers into the kitchen, looking for a vase in a lower cupboard.

You wince as you crouch down, knees cracking yet you continue your search in the cupboard, only to surprised by the two hands that squeeze your hips.

"You love it though," Chan chuckled into your neck, increasing in volume when you gasped with a laugh of your own.

"Can't say I don't," you fondly strokes his cheek before pattering over to a different cupboard, abandoning the bouquet on the side as you reached up for a glass.

Chan studied your movements carefully. The way you yawned as you poured water into the glass, the slight winces when you stretched too far, he could see the tiredness and the sadness within you.

"You've been working so hard, love," he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"Yeah. Well, you know... Someone resigned and so I've had to have their workload too and-"

Chan pondered when to reveal the surprise to you, something that could take the burden off your shoulders, even if it was just for a week.

"-it's just been really tiring I guess. But I have to do it," you sighed, putting down your empty glass as you spun around in his arms and looked at his blank expression, brows furrowed into a frown.

"You don't have to," he kissed you on the head by your hairline.

"Chan, you know I do," you whispered into his ear as he rocked you back and forth in his arms.

"I've got a surprise for you," he murmured quietly, changing the subject mildly.

"The flowers were enough, love, I-"

"Follow me," Chan's warmth pulled away from you yet it was still evident in the way he looked at you with so much love. He pulled you into your bedroom, where two bags and a suitcase were packed with a document on top.

"What is this?" you questioned curiously, eyes scanning diligently across the information on the paper before your hand rose to your mouth.

"Like it?" Chan fiddled with his bracelets, anticipating your reaction.

"Love, I... I can't. I'm meant to be in work next week. I'm sorry. This is a really nice surprise but I can't," you sighed, eyes filling with tears from pure emotion overwhelming you. It was such a sweet thing for him to do but you couldn't just take off without saying anything.

Good thing he had done so already.

"I've called your work, told them that you're stressed, and that you need a break. I can see it too, you know," Chan cradled your face his hands, thumbs wiping away at the tears that slowly pooled onto the apples of your cheeks.

"You're sad, tired... You need a break, a holiday. We both do. It's been a while since we've been able to go on one together. Everything is already sorted, ok, love? We can fly out tomorrow afternoon and breathe."

We can breathe. You can breathe.

You can actually have a moment to yourself to bask in the affection of the man you love the most.

"We can?" your voice cracked, hoping that this really was an opportunity for you to finally relax.

"We can," Chan hushed you soothingly.

"Wow, I really needed this," you grin in delight, sipping at a cocktail, lying down on a sun lounger at the beach.

Chan, lying on one directly next to yours, grabbed your hand and squeezed it gently, "Feeling better?"

"Better than I have done in a while. Thank you, love," you kissed his knuckles delicately, staring up into his warm eyes that told you everything you needed to hear. He always knew what you needed, and you, him.

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @kpopmenace143 @haodore @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @leonchansblog26 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @michelle4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143

[ukrfeminism]

One morning in 2007, Frances Harper was taking a bath and listening to the local news on BBC Radio Suffolk when one story caught her attention. A young woman, Louise, was being interviewed about her life as a sex worker in Ipswich. “I couldn’t see how this interview was helping her situation at all,” says Harper, who was 60 at the time. “I got out of the bath and made some notes. I realised she needed a documentary to tell her story properly and I thought perhaps I could try to make it.”

Harper had never owned a video camera and had no idea how to shoot a film. She had spent the past four decades working in secretarial jobs, as well as raising her son and supporting her husband in his construction business. “I was busy but something was always missing,” she says. “Something I could do for myself.”

Armed with a sudden sense of purpose and without a current job to keep her occupied, Harper rushed out to buy a basic camera, read the manual and began looking up ways to contact Louise. The police wouldn’t share her details, but after finding the name of her solicitor in the local paper, she left a letter with the firm to be passed on. “Soon after, Louise phoned me and we decided to meet in a cafe in Ipswich,” Harper says. “I told her I’d like to make a documentary to share her story and help her. She agreed, and that was my entry into an entirely new world.”

Following Louise most days for weeks, Harper documented her life on the streets, her drug addiction and sex work, all while learning how to shoot and interview. “She told me that no one had motivated her or really cared about her life,” she says. “She was interested in art and history, so we went to galleries together and I even took her to an afternoon tea – all things she’d never done before. We spent a lot of time together because I had the time to spare.”

The more Harper got to know Louise, the more concerned she became about her life and especially her living situation. “She was basically sleeping in an electrical cupboard on the streets of Ipswich,” she says. “I started booking her into bed and breakfasts to keep her off the streets. It really showed me how lucky I had been. It’s changed my thinking ever since.”

Once she had enough footage, Harper put together a taster of the film and contacted the local BBC News office in Norwich. The idea of an older Ipswich resident befriending a young sex worker and producing a film was so unusual that Harper was invited to a meeting and commissioned to shoot a half-hour special for BBC East, which aired in February 2008. “I couldn’t believe that Louise’s story would be out there,” she says. “I hadn’t told too many people about it so my friends were shocked when it came out. Once it did, I also managed to battle with the council to finally get Louise a proper flat.”

Sixteen years later, Harper, 76, is fully immersed in film-making. After her experience with Louise, she became interested in the world of drug addiction and produced a film for Sky, which was narrated by Davina McCall and followed two mothers coping with the impact of their sons’ drug abuse. She has also completed a commercial film for the seaside town of Southwold and a charity short for an emergency response service. She is now working on a series about women in horticulture as well as a film about the life of female fighter pilots.

“I just can’t stop,” she says. “It really feels like I’ve found my calling. I get ideas all the time, although I can’t make all of them because I fund my own projects and it’s hard to come by funding for older people.”

But age does have some advantages. “I think people are more inclined to be polite around me because I’m older,” she says. “I’ve also gained newfound confidence through this work. I didn’t know whether I’d achieve anything but I just kept going. I weaved around the obstacles in my way.”

As well as changing her life, Harper has recently learned how her films have had a profound impact on other people too. “Louise contacted me last year and we just carried on talking as if no time had passed,” she says. “She told me: ‘You were the only person who believed in me.’ It made that decision to pick up the camera completely worth it.”

You can watch Harper’s films via the link below:

[rjalker]

Flatland: An Adventure in Many Dimensions, a 2024 translation into casual English, is done!

You can read and download it completely 100% for free on the Internet Archive!

When it's done loading, you will be able to read it directly online, and the Internet Archive will automatically generate audiobook versions with text to speech.

You can also download and torrent various versions as PDFs, epubs, and editable documents so you can change the font, paragraph styles, and do anything else you want with it, like give everyone neopronouns or turn them into unicorns!

I will also be making my own audiobook version at some point. but that's gonna take a while since this is around 38,000 words long. You can make your own too! And you can translate this into other languages!

Edit: The "lazy" (unedited) audiobook is now available on youtube! It is in two videos, since my computer wouldn't let me combine them lol.

“https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpFcEwm88RUsMYmhY6DBYZcIvvKv6_ZS3”

Did I mention this is public domain? Because I hate capitalism and I'm poor and I want other people to also be able to enjoy books for free.

Buy the cheapest possible print version for $7.45 (I get $2).

This version is a paperback with no illustrations, no prefaces, a greyscale cover to make it as cheap to print as possible, so that more people can afford to buy it.

Buy the regular print version for $22.17 (I get $5).

This version is a hardpack with illustrations, the preface from the original author, and one from me.

You can also download all the HD illustrations included in this story here on the Internet Archive.

If you enjoy reading it, you can also donate directly to "TinyelFlatland" on paypal!

And if I haven't made it clear yet, this is Public Domain. You are 1million% encouraged to download it, print it, share it, do literally anything you want with it. I am 100% serious.

Now you can all join me in laughing at the narrator :)

Edit: oh wait lol. I realize I wrote this post assuming only people who already know what Flatland is will see it.

Uh so people who have no clue what Flatland is, here's a quick summary:

The narrator, who hides his identity using the alias "A. Square", is a resident of a world called Flatland, a world that only exists in two dimensions, where every person is a flat geometric shape. A. Square tells us the history and culture of his world, which is rife with bigotry that he buys into without question. Until New Year's Eve, before the first day of the year 2000, when a mysterious stranger claiming to come from the third dimension appears in his living room, and starts saying things that sound absurd, and performing what seem like magic tricks.

The original Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, was published in 1884 by Edwin Abbot Abbot. It is both a scathing political satire criticizing the systems of bigotry in Victorian England, and an entertaining introduction to the concept of more than three dimensions.

Edit: Now there's an itch.io page too!

Edit again: And you can read it here on tumblr now! @flatland-a-2024-translation and on Pillowfort!

[misted-dream]

♟️ between heaven and hell ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ bodyguard!winwin x fem!reader ➛ part of the mad city series | go to district V

content | smut, sprinkle of angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love but not really, forced proximity, a little bit of miscommunication, yn is mentioned to be shorter than winwin, slow burn?, winwin is kinda a dick at first

warnings | fingering, profanity, mentions of food, mentions of a shooting

word count | 18k

synopsis | being born into a repulsive fortune, your life is threatened more often than not. you’ve grown less and less affected by it throughout the years. however, as the day where you take on your father’s much coveted title looms nearer and nearer, more frequent and dangerous threats draw in. with all the money in the world, is it enough to buy trust?

note | ln stands for last name since yn is addressed by her last name quite a bit in this. the ending is a little bit rushed, pls excuse that and ignore the fact that this basically takes place in a week. what is pacing, idk.

tags @90s-belladonna thank you for supporting me!

a smattering of rain hits against the arched window pane of the library, filling the room with a soft pitter-patter. usually, from where you are seated, you can look directly into the well-kept and always blossoming garden. now, it’s too dark for you to make out anything but the slightest silhouette of your father’s treasured magnolia tree.

“miss ln?”

you direct your attention away from the book in your hands, and towards the library entrance that you had your back to.

“your father would like to speak with you.”

this late? you thought.

“thank you, priscilla,” you smile and your housemaid dismisses herself with a gentle nod. you glide your extended legs off of the couch and set down your book next to you on the velvet material of the sofa. sliding on your slippers, you make your way out of the library, softly close the door behind you, and amble along the long hallways and down the staircase leading to your father’s office.

you knock twice on the thick wooden doors painted in a pristine white. "come in," your father calls out. you apply pressure to the metal handle, cold to the touch, and the hinges creak slightly.

you greet your father, sat in his usual spot in the middle of the office with a floor-to-ceiling window to his back. then, something else catches your attention. a tall, backlit figure stands broadly next to your father. the room is illuminated by the moonlight and a gold accented lamp in the far corner, barely enough light to see 3 feet out in front of you clearly.

“yn,” your father addresses you faintly. you instinctively go to pull out one of the two leather seats tucked under the large, hand-carved wooden desk, its’ surface littered with documents and fountain pens. as you take a seat, your father begins, “as you know, your succession is planned for a little over a week, if all goes well. taking into account the latest incident, i have decided to take preventative measures to ensure no more dangers come to you during the lead-up.” your father pauses, his palm opens to gesture towards the man standing beside him. “this will be your new personal guard,” the man steps forward, “dong sicheng.”

confusion evidently sits upon your face. you want to flat out ask, ‘why do i need a bodyguard?’ but you bite back your tongue, trying to come up with a more eloquent and precise prod.

the man doesn’t reach his hand out, as you would expect, to introduce himself. he simply voices, “miss ln,” with a curt nod of his head.

you pull your eyes away from your new bodyguard, you still can’t make out too much of what he looks like. “father, i already have personal guards,” you state matter of factly.

“of course,” your father leans back into his chair. “but none of them are with you 24/7. sicheng will be, ensuring no harm comes your way.”

unbelievable. on the surface, it seems like he truly wants you under protection, but you understand your father’s schemes; you understand your father more than anyone else. what he’s really saying is that he has hired this man—dong sicheng—so that you will be put on his watchlist.

your father smiles a gentle smile. “but,” at the very first sound of a protest, the corners of his mouth begins to droop, “if this is about last time—”

with a firm shake of his head, your father cuts you off. “this isn’t negotiable, yn.”

normally, when you would argue things to be your way, your father would at least hear what you have to say. so, to be cut off so bluntly... a pang of helplessness strikes you square in the chest, and your eyes divert towards your new guard.

“i recommend you use your time to get adjusted to this change,” with that, your father dismisses the both of you out of his office.

you shuffle out into the cold, sterile hallways. marble pillars line the walls with ornate sconces attached upon them, each bearing a flickering candle. besides just hearing the firm footsteps of someone else tailing right behind you, you can also feel an almost omniscient presence shadowing you. swiftly, you spin around on your heels only to be met eye level with someone's chest. your guard's. you have to angle your head upwards so that you can look into his eyes; he seems to purposefully ignore your gaze, staring straight at one of the pillars opposite him.

he's undeniably gorgeous. the hallways are more lit up than your father's study, allowing you to examine every detail of your guard's face.

you wait a few seconds before breaking the silence, "are you not going to say anything?"

he drops his focus onto you. coldly, he replies, "that's not what i'm paid to do, miss." he lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, before returning to look at nothing.

he can tell that you're clearly annoyed by his response, but he makes no show of it. you continue, "if you're not even going to look at me, how are you going to protect me?"

"is there something i need to protect you from in your own home, miss ln?"

he knows. at least he's alluding to knowing about your last little incident. you curse yourself for being careless in your head. if you hadn't caused a ruckus when you snuck home a few nights ago, you wouldn't have this bizarrely handsome, yet callous man looming over you until your father sees a reason to think otherwise.

"no, i suppose not."

you turn around once more, facing the rest of the hallway. an archway leads to a stately staircase at the end of the corridor. you walk down the hall, trying to dismiss the delayed footsteps behind you, and enter through the archway. the staircase spirals upwards into the corridor connecting the bedrooms; yours and your father's. of course, there are other rooms upstairs, such as the library, the games room, other rooms that you don't concern yourself with too much. a grand piano sits in the centre of the spiralling staircase, its' glossy surface lit up by the moonshine flooding inside through the domed skylight.

you proceed up the stairs, not expecting your bodyguard to follow you up, but he does.

you pause, and look back around for the second time now in the span of less than 10 minutes.

"there aren't guest rooms upstairs," you point out flatly.

he responds, meeting your coldness with his own but only 10 times more intensified, "i won't be requiring one."

puzzled, you ask, "you're not going to be sleeping in my room, are you?" half jokingly, half serious.

"miss ln," he takes one step up on the staircase so that he's at the same level as you, forcing you to tilt your head upwards at him. the heels of his shoes echo loudly on impact against the quartz steps. "there are boundaries i must follow in my duties. so whilst i won't be requiring my own room, i also know not to overstep into your privacy." he scans your face, looking for any hint of understanding. then, he adds plainly, "i will be guarding your bedroom door outside. you can rest assured."

you can feel a sly smirk creeping up onto your face, "shame. here i was thinking that you would follow me everywhere. speaking of," you make an exaggerated movement out of looking down at the watch on your wrist. "i should better shower; it's getting late."

sicheng's face is unfazed but still, you simper, looking pleased with yourself.

he stalks behind you wordlessly as you make the rest of your way up to your bedroom. and sure enough, he stops and stands outside to the right of your door.

"you can't be serious," the thought in your head slips out through your lips.

he doesn't look back. "i'm afraid your father is a vey serious man, miss ln."

how does father expect this man to stand outside of your room all night long? assuming he doesn't sleep, given the 24/7 hour-ness as mentioned in your father's spiel, how will he even have to energy to do his job?

you study the profile of his back for a few seconds before pushing your door closer to the frame, not completely shutting it.

your bedroom connects to an en suite bathroom. to say it's grand is underplaying the extent of luxury which you live in. the room is unnecessarily spacious with marble counters and a tall ceiling with intricately moulded details. a round bathtub sits in the centre, integrated directly into a gazebo-like fixture. a golden chandelier hangs overhead the bathtub, softly lighting up the room, creating a warm atmosphere. to the right side of the tub, facing across from the mirror and the sink, stands a shower area enclosed by frosted glass doors.

you reach for your zipper on the nape of your neck. you slide your thumb underneath the metal tab and begin to pull it down between your fingers. it budges an inch or two before it gets caught onto the fabric of your dress. "ugh," you vocalise. forcibly, you attempt to get the zipper unstuck, tugging and tugging but it won't shift.

you can only think of one solution.

"uh," you call out loud enough so that your bodyguard outside is sure to hear you. you're not quite sure how you should address him; calling him by his name feels weirdly a bit too intimate.

putting you out of your misery, he responds, "yes?" from outside in the halls.

"could you... come in?"

there's a break before he answers back to you. "i'm afraid that's unbecoming of me unless there's an emergency, miss ln."

you roll your eyes, despite knowing he's not there to see. "there is an emergency. will you come in now?"

"...are you decent?" he seems to contemplate his words carefully.

"god, you're frustrating," you blurt out, "yes, i'm decent- who do you think i am?"

there's a brief pause in time before you hear footsteps step into your bedroom. you can see him stop in front of your bathroom doorway in your peripheral.

you look over at him, standing tall and poised with his hands clasped in front of him. "what's the emergency, miss?"

turning your back against him, you sweep your hair over your shoulders, baring your zipper. "i can't get this unstuck."

he doesn't take any steps towards you, "and you needed me to come in for this?"

your patience grows thinner and thinner by the second. "if i could've got it myself, i wouldn't have called for you, would i?"

with this, he takes one... two... and three steps. just three steps before he's in reach of you. you can feel a warmth draw closer to you. turning your head towards your shoulder, you can see him standing behind you in the mirror. without knowing, you hold your breath. he goes to pull gingerly with one hand on the back neckline of your dress, the other trying to unwedge the fabric jammed underneath the zipper. he frees the tab and smoothly, he unzips you down to the middle of your back, stopping himself from releasing the zip all the way down. immediately, he drops his head and removes his hands from your dress while simultaneously taking a large step back from you.

"if that's all, i will leave you to rest for tonight, miss ln." his head is still angled downwards, eyes glued to the bathroom tiling.

you mutter, "thank you," finally taking in a breath again.

he nods, and begins to step backwards out of the bathroom. before he disappears completely from your field of vision, he is stopped by your expulsion of an 'um.'

without a word, he waits for what you have next to say. turning around to face him, he lifts his head and meets your eyes, still as emotionless as they were when you two were on the stairs.

"goodnight, sicheng."

you can see his chest rise, and fall before he speaks again. "goodnight, miss ln."

there's gentle thumping at the door but you can't be sure. your head and senses are foggy from sleep. your eyelids remain shut, trying to phase out the knocking.

"miss ln?"

for a brief moment, you don't recognise the voice calling out for your name. it is much deeper than the normal voice of your housemaid. your eyes open to a squint to see the morning sun rays surging into your room through the mesh veil of your curtains. another part of the garden can be seen through the windows to the right of your bed.

"miss ln?" sicheng calls out again.

"yes?" groggily, you answer as you push yourself up, propping your back against the cushioned headboard.

"your housemaid informs me that you have errands to run today."

your head snaps, remembering what today is. the gala.

he continues speaking, "i tried to send some of my men to help carry out your errands for you instead, but i was told to get your permission."

you manoeuvre out of your bed, tossing the throw blanket off of you. heading directly for the double doors, you swing them open to find dong sicheng standing right outside with his arms behind him, his head bowed. the sudden movement causes him to jolt his head upwards.

"no, i'll go," you scan him quickly up and down. he's dressed in the exact same outfit as last night, hair still combed over only a bit more disheveled. you want to ask if he really stood outside of your room while you slept throughout the whole night, but you know what he will say. your father never made promises he can't follow up on, mainly because it was never him personally who fulfilled his promises.

sicheng, looking caught offguard for the first time quickly steels his face back again into his trademark stoicness. "then, i shall accompany you." he gives your get-up one swift look down, then back up. "i'm ready whenever you are."

feeling only slightly annoyed at his gesture, you close the door on him and go to get dressed.

...

sicheng sits next to you in the car. the driver in front seems to pay no attention to his presence. you glance over, trying to make your staring not as conspicuous, but to no avail. his posture is perfectly upright and his hair looks more groomed than when he was stood outside your bedroom door.

"do i look to your standard, miss ln?" it's only when he finishes asking his question that he meets your gaze. it's clear in that moment that he didn't expect an answer to his rhetorical question.

feeling only slightly embarrassed, you lower you eyebrows at him, "do you remember last night when you said you don't get paid to talk?" feigning curiosity with your head tilted to the side.

the slightest smile breaks on his face. "very well," eyes diverting away from you and onto the road out in front through the windshield.

the rest of the ride is silent, which your chauffeur took as a sign to turn on the radio. the first piece that blares out ever so softly is liebestraum no. 3.

the car then comes to a halt in front of a private wine bar. sicheng opens his door and holds onto the handle as he waits for you to shuffle out behind him. then, he shuts it and waves the driver off to a direction. you readjust your outfit from having been sat down.

carefully, you traipse your way towards the entrance of the wine bar, being deliberate to not place a heel down in between the crevices of the cobblestone that lined the courtyard.

"i'm surprised you haven't voiced your displeasure for me going out of the house, yet," you remark, "surely, my father told you i was not to be let out."

for having been against the idea of having a bodyguard just yesterday, you seem to have grown rather used to having sicheng around you rather quickly. you can only hope that he doesn't pick up on this.

"not to be let out without protection, yes."

he's quick on the draw. you pause right in front of the heavy mahogany door, the top of it curved inwards to a sharp point. your eyes gloss over the coffee brown grain pattern before you place a palm onto it and push inwards.

...

it's been a few hours since you've arrived back home from the wine bar, having picked out the perfect gift for the gala host tonight. sunset falls upon the horizon and that's your cue to start getting ready.

you've always had a habit of putting on your makeup by yourself as opposed to having someone else do it for you. however, that habit doesn't carry over to styling your hair.

you're sat in front of a full length mirror, a baroque style detailing frames the entirety of it. priscilla, one of the housemaids who's similar in age to you, stands behind you, attentively pinning the hair in the back of your head into a detailed updo. you look at your dress in the mirror. the square neckline makes space for your freshwater pearl necklace that glows softly against your skin.

"and... all done," priscilla announces.

you turn your head in the mirror to get a better view of her work, "it's a beautiful job." you stand from your seat, catching her eyes in the reflection, "thank you."

she smiles brightly, her youth glints in her eyes. "here," she looks to the side to grab a pair of long silk gloves, holding it out to you. you pull them over your left hand all the way up to your elbow, then your right, struggling a little over the bandage wrapped around your palm.

after tucking your purse in between your arm and your ribs, you're ready to head out.

sicheng is already in the foyer, waiting for you. when your heels first click against the quartz stairs, his eyes darts toward you at the top of the spiralled staircase. you delicately place a hand on the iron banister and as you make your way down the steps, you glide your gloved palm along the railing.

sicheng watches your every action.

when you reach the bottom of the staircase, you shake your head gently to push back the strands of hairs that had fell in front of your face.

"how do i look?" you ask with a teasing smile.

you can see sicheng's lips part faintly, only for him to clear his throat right after. "as you do normally, miss ln." he subtly straightens his posture and pushes his shoulders back. "after you," he gestures towards the front door.

...

sicheng pulls open the door closest to you. he extends his palm towards you, with his other hand cradling a small, rectangular wooden box. you take his hand as you lift one foot out of the vehicle and onto the tiled courtyard of the xiao family house.

the butler comes to greet you. you've known him and the family that he works for for as long as you can remember, and seeing him again tonight struck a chord within you. a certain spark of gloom settles inside your stomach when you see him smile, his wrinkles deeper and his hair greyer than you remember.

the butler leads you down the main entrance hall towards the gala that's already well under way behind the closed doors. you've been down these halls more than a handful of time, the same paintings have been hung up on the walls for at least a decade, but the air of elegance and grandeur that the xiao family home exudes never fails to knock your breath out of you.

sicheng notices you seemingly lost in a thought, and before the trio of you reaches the superfluously tall double doors, he quietly utters, "is everything alright?" being mindful and not wanting the butler to overhear if something was amiss.

you glance over your shoulder, out of your trance, "yes."

he doesn't press, anymore. even if he did want to ask more, ask if you were sure, he knew his place, and so he didn't pry further.

the butler pushes open the double doors and a gentle puff of wind blows against you, travelling along with the music to your ears. "enjoy the gala," he smiles, and you return his display of friendliness.

as he walks back down the other direction, sicheng inches ever so slightly closer to you.

the cold and eerily too refined hallway is starkly contrasted by the lively atmosphere of the gala ballroom. attendees are chatting, networking, dancing. they all look extremely distinguished; pearls and diamonds and crystals draped all over them. the chandelier hanging in the middle of the ballroom is glistening, and a small orchestra is performing at one end of the hall.

you pause on top of the stairs for a moment, taking in the scene in front of you, and simultaneously searching for a face. then, you find it.

you begin to make your way down to where everyone else was on the dance floor, and sicheng follows closely behind you. as you weave your way in between the attendees, your senses are hit and overwhelmed with notes upon notes of fragrances. it transitions from roses to vanilla, cedarwood to bergamot. individually, these aromas would typically be more than pleasant, but combined together along with the heat emanating off everyone, it muddled your senses so much that a headache began to creep its way into your temples. it's clear as you manoeuvre your way across the dance floor, that sicheng stood out to everyone as an unusual date of yours. they would flash a faint smile at you then take one, or two glances at the man trailing behind you. guards weren't uncommon, yes, but to bring a personal guard to a gala hosted by a well respected member of the upper echelon? that was uncommon.

finally, you're face to face with the person you've been looking for: the host.

"mrs. xiao."

"yn!" she enthusiastically greets you, a beaming smile on her face. her arms open up and pull you into a warm embrace. "goodness, i haven't seen you in so long!" she expresses as she begins to pull away.

"i know, it's been way too long," you politely respond.

if you were talking to anyone else in this room, you'd be dead before you were caught speaking so casually to them. but you grew up next to mrs. xiao and her family. her son, dejun, was practically your childhood best friend. well, it's hard to tell if a best friend really is a best friend when that was your only option, but nonetheless, your two families were close.

"oh!" you voice as you turn around to sicheng. you stretch your hands towards the wooden box that he was carrying and he places it gently into your palms. "here, i got you some merlot," you turn back around, "i asked barnie at the winery to give me your favourite," a curl stretched your lips taut.

a wave of gratitude washes over mrs. xiao's face. "you're still as thoughtful as ever, yn." she takes the box into her arms, and as if on cue, someone dressed in a neat uniform comes towards mrs. xiao and takes the box away so that she doesn't have to carry it herself for more than a couple of seconds.

and right at the moment, dejun approaches where you are stood in the centre of the ballroom, walking alongside some other guests, one you know, the other you don't.

mrs. xiao turns to him, trying to contain some of her agitation as she mutters, "where have you been this whole night?"

"i've been in here, ma," he responds equally as quiet, but more passive aggressively, disguised with that bright smile of his.

mrs. xiao turns her head away from him with her nose up, trying to swallow down her irritation. "anyway," she breathes out. "dejun, aren't you going to introduce your friends?"

he took that as a sign to do as his mother asked, but not before sighing a shallow breath first. in an instant, he puts on a charming smile. you know he's not doing it for you, he couldn't care less about being charming towards you; both of you knew you would see right through it anyway. "yn, this is rin. rin, yn. and hendery's here as well, i guess," he mutters the last part of his sentence.

you stifle back a smirk at dejun's attempt at humour and extend your palm for a handshake with rin. "it's a pleasure to meet you." she doesn't say anything but shakes your hand gently and mirrors your smile back to you, except hers looks very practiced and unnatural.

mrs. xiao tuts her teeth, so subtly that it's barely audible. she turns her body into you ever so slightly, leaning forward and muttering under her breath into your ear, "i really wish you were here to stop my jun兒 from falling into these circles. look at them, no manners at all."

dejun watches almost awkwardly, then he switches the attention onto you. "what about you, yn? aren't you going to introduce us to your little armpiece?" he cocks his head in sicheng's direction.

mrs. xiao shoots dejun a stern look, one that carries the weight of a thousand words. but in front of such a crowd, the extent of her reprimanding ends at, "don't speak so crass."

dejun only shoots up his eyebrows in response, and sucks in a quiet breath.

"this is dong sicheng," on instinct, your hand sweeps out to the side of you and sicheng nods. "he's the... bodyguard, that my father hired."

"bodyguard, huh?"

"don't start, xiaojun," you try your best to make it seem subtle enough, but dejun chuckles at the sight of you rolling your eyes.

mrs. xiao cuts through the brief pause in conversation, "well, we would love to stay and chat more but i should go greet some of my other guests. you don't mind, yn?"

"no, of course, not."

mrs. xiao gives you one last squeeze before she's off again waving halfway across the room to somebody else, and dejun and his friends trail behind her.

you're about to turn around when a waiter passes by you and sicheng, one hand balancing a tray full of glasses of champagne.

"a drink, miss?"

you pinch the stem of the glass in between your fingers and your thumb. when the waiter offers one to sicheng, he declines.

as you bring your champagne up to your lips, sicheng slips his fingers around the bowl of your glass and forcibly pulls it away from you. "he offered you one," you look at him in disbelief, but he acts as if you didn't say anything.

he hovers the rim of the glass under his nose, swirling the champagne around as he does so. you watch, still half incredulous and half in puzzlement. he brings the rim up against his lips, tipping the glass towards him as he takes the tiniest sip of champagne that you’ve ever seen. as he swallows, he smacks his lips together lightly, then he passes the glass back to you.

“what was that for?” hesitantly, you sit the bowl of the glass back into your palm. you’re not sure if you should sip from the same cup as he did—is that even appropriate in this setting?

“not laced,” he states nonchalantly, eyes darting around the room.

it takes your brain a few seconds to fully process what he just did, and said. “and why would it be laced?” a confusion intertwined with your voice.

sicheng stares at you, not blankly, but not aggressively either. it’s like you can read what he’s doing in his head, going down winding paths to find you an answer, but you can’t read exactly what it is that he’s thinking.

he finally responds after a good few moments of him turning your question over in his head. “you are my responsibility,” he can sense that you are about to object this statement, so he quickly continues. “regardless of what you may think, you are. whatever i do, i do in your best interest. do you understand now?”

truthfully, you want to reply, ‘not quite.’ how does that explain why your drink at a gala held by people you know, people you trust, would be laced?

sicheng leans in close enough so that you can hear him at a whisper, but not so close that people will see and start to speculate. "miss ln, may i remind you you're a successor. i know you've already lived through some threats, but if they were willing to threaten you when you arguably held no power, imagine what they would do if they knew you were taking over your father's position as mayor."

he backs away; face still as cold as steel, not letting anything that he's thinking or feeling show. you can't help but feel a bit shaken at his words. yes, you've received threats before, but they were mostly empty-handed words scribbled on a note. you never thought anything of them, until sicheng said something just now.

"there's no reason people here of all places would want to do anything to me; you're too paranoid." as the words leave your mouth, you can feel your doubt coating your tongue, but you wash it down with some sparkling wine. just a little bit.

sicheng studies your expression for a second, his head tilting slightly to the side. "have you ever heard of a wolf in sheep's clothing, miss ln? maybe you're not paranoid enough," his last word drags off and almost becomes inaudible.

you blink your lashes a couple of times looking up at him, and then an echoing voice pierces right through the ballroom.

"hello everyone! thank you all for attending my little gathering."

both you and sicheng turn your heads to the origin of the sound. mrs. xiao is stood on the little stage that the orchestra has been performing on.

a pleasant smile drawing on her face as she addresses her guests, "it is so great to see so many of you. as you all know, my husband and i-"

the lights cut. the chandelier that was hanging above the dance floor flickers off.

mrs. xiao's voice can be heard again, but this time loudly proclaiming without the help of her microphone over the gasps and murmurs of confusion. "everyone please remain calm—i'm sure the lights will be back on soon."

a sudden pang of fear hits you. your heart thumps faster in your chest, and your breathing becomes shallower and shallower. there's darkness all around you. you try your best to look for, or rather, feel around for sicheng but you remain quiet, knowing it will only add to the chaos. people all around you are shuffling, nudging everyone else. whispers and mumbles all fade into a singular stream of white noise around you. then, you feel a hand grasp on your upper arm. a sense of relief washes over your mind, sicheng. but then, the grasp feels begins to dig deeper and deeper into you, and it becomes clear to you that whatever grasping you isn't a hand. at least, it's not a hand coming into direct contact with you. the fingers digging into your arm are clothed by a silk or sorts; sicheng didn't wear gloves.

you try to free your arm by wrangling it away from whoever it is that has a hold on you. then, in an instant, you feel the hand drop from you so forcibly that it tugged your arm downwards along with it. a new hand has made its way onto you, this time just slightly below your shoulder. you hear a whisper in your ear, "come on, let's go," and the relief you felt earlier resurfaces. this time, it's definitely sicheng's voice.

he takes hold of your wrist, not too tight but just enough to guide you to the exit. as you two are about to head up the stairs to the double doors, the lights flicker back on and mrs. xiao is on stage again.

"there we are. i apologise profusely for that disruption," her hands grip onto the mic stand tightly.

sicheng leads you up the stairs and out the doors without second guessing; everyone else seemed too caught up in the middle of the chaos to notice.

...

back at your home, you and sicheng enter through your foyer and he's spluttering out orders and demands over the phone. as you pass by the large circular mirror hanging in one of the walls of the foyer, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. you double take. one of your ears are still adorned by the beautiful pearl earring that your father had got you, but your other one is missing.

sicheng gets off of the phone that he's been on since the beginning of the car ride home. then, he notices you staring at your reflection in the mirror. "what's the matter?"

you give a gentle shake of your head, fingers drawing at your bare earlobe, "nothing, just one of my earrings is gone."

"i'll have my men try to find it for you," he responds without missing a beat. "miss ln, are you sure that nothing else happened whilst the lights went out?" his eyebrows curve in a slight s-shape.

"yes, i already told you. someone grabbed me by the arm, but that was it. maybe they just thought i was someone they knew."

sicheng shows no reaction to your theory, "i will have this investigated, miss ln. i advise you to get some rest," he says with a bow of his head.

your nightly routine goes by like a blur. priscilla has been dismissed for the night, so you undo your hair, your gown, and clean off your makeup all by yourself, but your mind isn't fully in the present.

sicheng went off after telling you to get some rest, presumably to inform your father about what'd happened. you don't know for certain if he's still speaking to your father, or if he's standing outside your door right now.

it's not that your mind is dwelling on what happened; in fact, you are precisely thinking of nothing. everything in your vision passes by you like you're watching someone else lead their life. even as you get changed, crawl into bed, and try to drift to sleep.

suddenly, you hear a creak from outside your window. your eyes shoot open. trying your best to calm yourself, you reason that it's probably just mice who'd made their way into your garden. a strong gust of wind blows past. then, silence.

and another creak. all logic and rationale flys out of your mind. the only thing you can think of to do is...

"sicheng!"

you tried your best to hold your own earlier, down in the foyer, but right now the sense of urgency in your voice betrays you. sicheng bursts into your room, the buttons of the collar of his shirt undone.

"yes, miss ln?"

his eyes are solely focused on you, despite you looking out towards the windows.

"there's... i heard some weird noises," you gesture with your head pointing at the garden.

sicheng follows your gaze, then he looks back at you. he could tell you that you're in your own home, that you're safe, but instead, he walks over to your windows and draws open your curtains. "there's nothing here, miss ln." hoping that he can provide you with some reassurance, he looks back at you, "we've already done a perimeter check, you're safe here, i assure you."

you drop your eyes, responding with a gentle nod of the head.

"i'll be outside," he says as he begins to make his way back to the door.

before he can reach the handle, you stop him, "wait." he looks at you with an expectant expression. "can't you just stay here?"

even though he's a distance away, you notice a flinch in his brows as he registered your words. "i'm afraid that's not appropriate, miss ln." he says this, but he doesn't take another step.

"there," you point towards the sofa chair to the right side of your bed, "at least just stay there." you wanted to add a 'please,' maybe plead with him, but your dignity had to be kept even if you were fearful.

he doesn't protest as much as you thought he would. quietly, he shuts your door and makes his way to the chair.

your fingers hop from one note to another, pressing down with force and lifting again at the flick of your wrist. a familiar tune emanates throughout the room, rising up to the skylight, then sinking back down again.

your hands dance along the keys of the grand piano at the bottom of your staircase. a bittersweet melody fills your ears, and as you come to a decrescendo in the piece, the faint sound of footsteps through the marble halls overtake your playing. you swiftly turn your head around.

sicheng is stood behind you. under the bright morning light, his cheekbones stand out prominently. "i've been looking for you, miss ln," his chest falls as he says this.

"you dozed off," you turn your attention back to the piano, "i didn't want to wake you."

"i apologise; it won't happen again."

"you need to rest, too," you raise your hands and gently set them on top of the keys, "do you even sleep?"

there's a slight break in between your asking of the question and his answer. "occasionally, but not when i'm supposed to be on duty."

you turn back around, "well, like you said: i'm safe here." you scan him up and down, he's changed out of the outfit he wore to the gala last night, but all his outfits resemble each other. a black button up shirt, a fitted black blazer, black suit paints, a black tie, and a small white brooch on the lapels of his blazer. "do you play?"

he looks to be slightly caught offguard, "no. well, yes but-"

"play something for me."

you shuffle yourself to one side of the bench, making room for sicheng next to you. he slowly walks around and slides into the spot you've made for him. for the first time, you can visibly see that every one of his actions are carried out with hesitation.

his posture is perfect, head slightly tilted downwards and a curve at his wrist as his fingertips lay upon the whites of the piano keys. he clears his throat. then, a single note as he presses down with his index finger. the beginning is slow, slower than the piece was intended to be, but you know what he's playing regardless. nocturne op. 9 no. 1. there's a certain silent agony in the way he punctuates the flow of the melody. the second of the set of nocturnes that chopin had composed has always been regarded as chopin's more famous piece of work over this one. yet, the manner in which sicheng plays this piece makes you wonder why.

the stiffness that was prevalent in his body is now gone, fully immersed in the rhythm. the crescendo comes devastatingly, he leans forward into it, the melody tugging at your chest despite it sounding a bit brighter than the introduction of the piece. you watch in silence as his fingers glide and cross over each other masterfully, a sonorous tone emitting from his movements.

he doesn't finish the piece, but he finds a place to stop after a minute or so of playing.

his fingers linger on the notes as the melody fades out gradually.

"you play beautifully," softly, you remark, "where did you learn?"

he lifts his hands from the keys, clasping them together on his lap. "thank you—my mother taught me."

you watch as he swallows, his adam’s apple dipping slightly. a thought occurs to you. you barely know anything about this man who’s supposed to protect you. maybe that’s for privacy, confidentiality, or security reasons but, there’s a certain yearning in you that wants to find out more about him. after all, trust can’t be built without a foundation. you just don’t know where to prod.

“…and what about your dad?”

sicheng glances over at you, slightly confused at your sudden interest in him. his eyebrows flinch again. “he, uh, used to work for your father. that’s why i’m here. my family owes a lot to your father.”

he gulps again.

you’re not completely sure how to navigate through this conversation. do you ask where his father is now? what if it’s a sensitive spot, why else would sicheng be acting this uncharacteristically. his cold and cool demeanor seemingly melted away. “your father… is he…”

you don’t finish your sentence, but sicheng knows what you’re hinting at. “no, no. he’s just retired. too many injuries on the job.” he clears his throat and stands up from the bench. “sorry, i didn’t mean to intrude on your space, miss ln.” he begins to walk back around the bench.

you can’t help but let out a faint chuckle. “drop the title already. it’s just yn.”

he’s standing tall, hands clasped in front of him, and he purses his lips together. he dips his head rather jerkily, “as you wish.”

then, a ping sounds out.

you pick up your phone that was laid out on the top cover of the piano, and sicheng fishes for his in the inside pockets of his blazer. as he brings out his phone, you begin to hear a vibration sounding out. he holds it in his hand and flashes a quick glance at you, “excuse me,” then he accepts the call. as he brings it up to his ear, he spins on his heel and start to walk off into a distant hallway.

you divert your attention back onto your screen and begin to see messages popping up at the bottom. ones from dejun that read:

"my mum would like to apologise to everyone here about what happened yesterday."

it's sent to the group chat thread that you rarely respond to, though, you do keep up with its messages.

then, another:

"i don't believe in apologies without actions, so you're all cordially invited to come to dreamers' oasis in d119 tomorrow night."

"on me."

the last message was an important detail. you click on the notification bubble and already see others typing in the group chat.

hendery writes, "you are so gonna regret saying that."

a tiny smile creeps its' way onto your face. your thumbs begin moving on the keyboard; hitting send on a message that says, "hendery's going to bankrupt you," which earned you a dislike from dejun.

he ignores your comment, "will you finally be joining us yn? you know, seeing as it's your last week as a free woman."

the last part of his sentence hits you; maybe not to that extreme but it is your last week before you have to take on your father's responsibilities.

every time dejun invites you to a night out, it's most of the time a no brainer and not in a positive way. all the clubs and bars that your friends choose are out of your district's boundaries. and it's not like you didn't have clubs and bars in this district, but the fun ones—as dejun puts it—are only in district 119. you've only taken the risk a couple of times, but now, with especially an extra pair of eagle eyes on you, the possibility of sneaking out is practically 0.

before you can respond, hendery already sent out a message in your place, "have you seen her little boyfriend yesterday? there's no way man."

as much as you want to disagree, you can't. there is no way.

"not my boyfriend," you finally type out.

messages keep popping up on screen, a plan coming together with the people that can go. before you exit out of the thread, you type in "i'll see what i can do," but you stop short of pressing send.

quietly, you head off in the same direction as sicheng, scanning the halls for any sign of him. you're not quite sure what you'll do once you see him. beg him? please let me go out with my friends and get wasted? no. you haven't reached that point, yet; you still have some decorum within you.

you spot him still talking over the phone behind a marble pillar. as silently as possible, you sidle over to where he is, not wanting to disrupt him. once you're close enough, you catch glimpses of his conversation that he's having: "do you understand? whatever you do... we can't let her find out what happened."

your brain made the connect pretty quickly, the 'her' in question had to be you—who else? and what is he keeping from you? he continues speaking but nothing is going through you. all you can think about is, what is he not telling me? as quietly as you came, you retrace your steps back into the piano room.

you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a spark of fury beginning to catch within you. if you are to trust sicheng, why would he purposefully keep something from you? the more you think about it, the more agitated you grew. the fact that he seemed to treat you like a child needing protection every step along the way annoyed you—and what if his intention wasn't to protect you? your head can only spin with theories and speculations.

you unlock your phone again, and hit send on the last message you typed out.

...

your father wanted to have dinner with you tonight, alongside sicheng, of course. and you know now after sitting down to begin your meal, he really wanted to have dinner with sicheng tonight.

"any updates?" your father directed the inquiry towards your bodyguard.

the three of you are sat on a long, oval table. your father sitting at one end, and you and sicheng sitting across from him, sharing the other end. the candelabra stands in between you and your father in the middle.

"no, not yet, sir. we're still trying to investigate the intent behind yesterday's actions."

he finishes his sentence before continuing to cut into his ribeye. you sit adjacent to him, observing every movement he takes. as he stabs into the meat with his fork and brings it up into his mouth. he sets his fork down on the edge of the plate, bringing the napkin laid flat on his lap up as he chews.

"yn, you're not hungry?" your father's voice booms from across the room, breaking your attention away from sicheng.

you look down at your plate, barely touched aside from you swirling the sauce around. "no, i'm afraid not." you set down the fork that you have been toying with flat on the tablecloth. you pull the napkin from your lap and place it on the other side of your plate. standing up, you voice, "i'm a bit weary tonight." you spot sicheng shifting to get up from his seat in your peripheral, "no, no, please finish dinner. father, would you excuse me?"

"well... of course," with your father's approval, sicheng sits back down. you turn around, the heels you're wearing click at a steady pace as you're headed for the doors.

you haven't spoken directly to sicheng since dinner last night. the whole of today you spent cooped up in the library. that's not to say that you were being passive, though.

you haven't forgotten about dejun's invitation for drinks tonight—you just needed the perfect cover.

it's around 8pm, your maids have come and gone bringing you food and tea from time to time. you glance at the grandfather clock propped up against the wall in between all the bookshelves.

you slide the book that you've held in your hands back into its spot on the shelf. rather than actually reading it, your eyes have been skimming the pages and the words scattered throughout absent-mindedly. you turn your plan over around in your mind as you did so, and you have been for the past few hours, at least.

you drag your feet over the wooden floorboards of the library and crack open the doors. you peak your head out into the crack, then the rest of your body follows. oddly enough, sicheng isn't standing right in front of the room.

like a stereotypical action movie, you give the hallways a quick glance in one direction, then the other. you've never felt as much like a thief in your own home. sneaking, tiptoeing around the hallways, caution bubbling in every part of you.

when you reach your bedroom doors, footsteps sound behind you.

the looming presence of someone else doesn't speak, the only indication of them even being there is the shadow of them casted over your own feet.

you turn around, and you're met with the face that you've come to expect these past few days. "i'm... having an early night in."

sicheng's expression is unfaltering. the return of his stoicism makes you feel like a schoolchild being reprimanded by some vague authority figure; desperate to give more and more answers, to keep speaking and reasoning.

he watches your frozen body, as if you'd been caught doing something you're not supposed to, when in reality you're just stood outside of the doors to your own bedroom. "just thought i'd tell you," you add.

"well, don't let me stop you." his torso leans forward ever so slightly, the tone of his voice catching on the edge of a faint whisper.

the handle of the door clicks as you push onto it. when you look back to shut it, sicheng repositions himself with his back to the wall that lines the outside of your room.

once you're completely alone, you strip yourself of the sleeping clothes that you'd been wearing for entirety of today immediately and go over to your closet where you'd already hung up an outfit that you picked out last night.

you slip it on hastily: a tight fitting camisole top with a miniskirt, paired with some knee high leather boots and an oversized jacket for warmth. most of this outfit doesn't even look like it belongs to you. the people in your life knows you for wearing pretty dresses and skirts that reach your knees at least, but if tonight's going to be anything close to fun, then you need to look the part. you can't afford sticking out like a sore thumb, especially in district 119.

you'd texted your friends—or rather xiaojun, and his friends—earlier, asking if they could park right outside the gazebo at the far end of the garden, waiting for you to show up. this plan has worked precisely 2 times before with a 100% success rate, and you're counting on it working for a third time.

you would open the doors to your balcony, climb over the balustrade and scale your way downwards on the water pipe right next to your balcony landing. the garden wasn't fenced in like the front of the house. after all, this house was on private land belonging to your father; anyone who tried to trespass would've been seen by at least one person working on the property. so, it was an easy enough escape from the garden compared to your exit route down from your room.

you walk through the gazebo, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket as you try to shake the cold of the night off of you. dejun's suv is there, headlights off.

they must've seen you even in the dark, because once you're about a step or two away, the passenger door to the suv swings open—dejun himself in the driver's seat.

...

after finding a quick place to park, you and the group walk a block to where the club is, having had a drink or two on the way here.

the streets are anything but quiet. the heavy void of the sky sits atop the city like a dome, the neon signs colouring the deep blue like a palette of dulled paint. the closer and closer you get to the club, the music already begins to boom from within. laughter erupts from the rest of the group from a joke that you missed.

a pair stands right outside the entrance of the club, one of them leaning against the brick wall whilst the other squats; cigarettes in both their hands. you hold your breath as you walk right into a fresh cloud of smoke, courtesy of the man standing up.

on one hand, you want to let loose tonight; have fun. but on the other, you can't help but wonder if you were meticulous enough, or even at all. there's no guarantee that sicheng wouldn't just open your door and find that you are nowhere within the vicinity. but he wouldn't for no reason, you try to calm your racing mind.

you find yourself at the back of the pack, watching everyone in front of you filter into the entrance, disappearing into the darkness surrounded by a rectangular frame.

dejun is right in front of you, he takes note of your hesitation. he comes back down from the steps leading to the entrance stopping right next to you.

lowering his head, he looks at you through his brows, "don't tell me you're gonna pussy out when you're right outside."

you try to dismiss the doubts flaring around in your head. "you wish. drinks still on you, right?" you shoot him a quick wink, then stride up the steps and like others before you, submerge into the darkness.

and immediately, flashing lights take over the darkness. a neon green fog floats just above the floor. a circular platform stands in the middle of the club with a metal pole going through the centre of it. the club itself is a lot bigger than you'd imagined, given what the exterior of it looked like. circle booths surround the platform and smaller ones are peppered all throughout. the ceiling is tall with decorative vines and ivies hanging from it, not low enough for anyone to reach. 2 bartenders stand behind the bar, busying themselves with orders upon orders for a room of, what looks to be about 200 people. a small, spiralled staircase stands to the right of the bar, leading to what resembles a loft platform with people drinking and laughing up on it.

it's as if your feet are stuck to the ground as you take in the scene before you. dejun places a hand on the small of your back. he utters right by your ear, "come on, that way," as he guides you towards one of the bigger booths right in front of the platform.

you plop down on the red leather couch, warmed against the back of your thigh.

remixes of popular songs blast unapologetically out of the speakers that lined every few inches of the walls. you can hardly hear the people in front of you speaking, debating what drinks to get first. you lean forward, wanting to get an in on what they're discussing. shots, shots, shots. after a word or two from dejun, everyone agrees that they should do shots first. melon flavoured, to be exact.

dejun vanishes into the group of people crowding around the bar.

"so, yn, how's leaving your house for the first time ever?" one of dejun's friends sprouts up.

you can feel your breathing pick up its pace. you weren't expecting much conversation seeing as 'friends' isn't exactly the label you'd put on these people, with the exception being dejun, and maybe hendery.

"great actually, thanks." you slide back into your spot on the booth, only slightly cramped with the amount of people sharing one area.

hendery lands a punch on the guy's arm, "watch how you speak to our princess." a smirk picks up on the guy's lips as hendery finishes his sentence, his tongue poking into the crevice of his cheek.

and just as quickly as the attention turned to you, it leaves you even faster. comments are thrown around about the female bartender.

"hendery, i'll give you £100 if you don't ask for her number tonight," someone chimed.

hendery quickly steals a glance at his phone before returning his eyes to the bettor, "i guess we're not leaving until after midnight, then." he sits back, throwing an arm around the girl next to him.

dejun makes his way back, hands holding as many shots as he could—which was 8. not all of them were filled equally, which you can only assume was attributed to dejun's bumping into people as he was on his way back. the small glasses were filled with a somewhat cloudy liquid. everyone picked up a shot as he set them down on the glass table, including you.

"to xiaojun bankrolling us!" a voice chirped up with a glass in the air. everyone else followed with a chorus of cheers, clinking the shots together before tipping their heads back and downing it.

as you swallow, there's a hint of sweetness from the melon flavour but the vodka is inescapable. you can feel it travel all the way with a burn down your oesophagus until it settles in your stomach, a heat spreading from it.

...

the overwhelming boom of the music does not phase you anymore. you are past the point of hazy where the only thing you can comprehend is what is immediately happening in front of you. object permanence? gone.

for the past few hours, you and the rest of the group you came here with downed shot after shot, drank beer after beer. no matter how high your tolerance was, tonight definitely pushed you over that line.

"xiaojun!" you shout across to your friend at the bar. he acknowledges you with a quick wave of his hand.

the others have their arms around each other's shoulders, foundering as they approach the exit. you lean against one of the walls right in front of the fog machine, waiting for dejun.

"come on, yn!" one of the girls shout, grabbing your wrist in her hands and linking you to the rest of the group. dejun finally makes his way back over, and instinctually you fling an arm around him, too.

the bunch of you look ridiculous; grown adults stumbling their way out of a club in the dark. half present smiles seemingly glued onto your faces. all of you count together as one by one, you take the couple of steps down onto the pavement.

once back on the street, you open your eyes to more than just a squint. the road looks the same as before. time has no effect on this district, neon signs still alight with strangers roaming the streets at any hour of the day. you bask in the warm orange glow of the lamp post directly above you, and you scan around for dejun's suv.

and that's when you see something across the road.

a tall, lean figure slanted against the hood of a car. you recognise his posture all too well.

oh shit. shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

you'd gotten so carried away tonight that you completely forgot that you weren't even supposed to be here. the drinks flushed every doubt, every worry out of your mind. it is only when your eyes see sicheng standing right across the road from you, and your mind consciously registers that, that every thing you tried to forget comes rushing back to you.

"xiaojun," you mutter under your breath, but he's not entirely in it, either.

sicheng spots the group of you, head tilted, and that's the moment he recognises you, in an outfit he'd never seen you in before, around people that he has seen before. he pushes himself off of the hood and crosses the road. you have exactly 3 seconds before you're done for.

the night is blustery, gentle, but breezy nonetheless. he's wearing a white button up with his sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. as he's making his way towards you, his hands are tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

sicheng takes 3 steps onto the pavement that you're on, and you are met face to face with the guard that you attempted to escape tonight. he quickly eyes the rest of your group, too drunk to even comprehend what is happening and who he is. a misstep happens and three of them stumble, fall, and stack on top of one another. they laugh it off.

he returns his gaze to you. "miss ln."

it's magical the way you suddenly feel sober. confrontation is one hell of an antidote. "listen," you breathe out. but it's no use, even you know it.

sicheng spares you no pity. "shall we head home?"

you don't know what you prefer: him still being cool and calm and collected, or have him be so seethingly furious with you like your father would be. in that moment, you decide that his reaction is much worse. how can he stand there with the state of you like this and still ask such a question with a steeled face? does he not care?

you look over to dejun, who has now walked around you to help his other friends get up.

trying to make up your mind whether to plead your case in that moment, there is something else that you can decide easier. going home with sicheng. there's no use fighting it, and frankly, you didn't want to. so, you take a step, passing by where sicheng stood in front of you, and then another, and until you're across the road about to get into the car. your friends left on the curb—they'll manage, you figured.

your body can't help but shake as you step into the passenger seat. a jittery feeling overtakes you. do you explain? do you not? what even is the explanation?

sicheng gets into the driver seat. he turns on the engine, back up from the parking spot, and begins to drive off, doing this all without a word.

you steal a glance over at him, not wanting to appear too sheepish. a sudden apologetic sentiment freezes your body, but that same feeling quickly turns sour. you open your mouth to speak, but no noise leaves you. quickly, you snap your head back around and lean against the window. the quietness of the car ride has you feeling all the effects of the events tonight.

"you didn't think i'd know?"

your eyes shift over. sicheng's focus is entirely on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that the veins on his arms are prominent under the moonlight. he might not sound angry, but his body language gives it away.

"no, i thought..." you take a deep breath in. "i don't know what i thought," you finally admit.

if he'd heard your answer, he gave no indication of it. he continues driving, fingers still clenched tightly around the wheel. his silence lingers around for a good few minutes. no music, nothing; just the sound of the friction of the tyres speeding against tarmac.

"if something had happened to you, do you know what that means? for all of us?" he asks, in a tone that's more or less condescending.

you stay quiet—you didn't see a point in arguing your case. or maybe it was just the alcohol taking the fight out of you, the steady rocking of the ride seem to begin to lull you to sleep.

the rest of the car ride home was silent. sicheng's grip never loosened. and you can tell none of his frustration dissipated by the way he slammed the car door shut.

as noiselessly as possible, the two of you slide in through the main doors into the foyer. you pull on the heels of your boots to take them off, struggling with your balance slightly. as you're about to make your way up to your room with your boots in your hands, sicheng stops you with one statement.

"i won't tell your father."

you turn, feeling a disjointed mix of emotions. you're relieved, but confused...? and grateful, but suspicious. "why?" you bluntly ask, questioning his ulterior motives if he has any.

sicheng takes a deep breath in and rolls his head to his left side. he takes a single step towards you. the rest of the house is dark, the only light being from the two sconces on either sides of the foyer. as he looks into your eyes, his irises are two swirling rings of mystery. you can never guess what he's thinking.

"because it won't look good on either one of us," he whispers. "if you wanted to go out, you could've just told me and i would've helped you," he added, now with a certain softness breaking into his gaze.

your focus shifts from one eye to the other. sicheng can read every wrinkle in your brow and every glint of confusion in your stare. what are you supposed to make of the fact that the man your father hired to watch you like a hawk is willing to help you get up to things your father will never approve of?

"but why?"

it's as if the drinks had broken down your every guard, every filter that you're so used to imposing on yourself. the bluntness in your tone is something even you didn't recognise.

"tonight proved that you would sneak out regardless of circumstances. so, why not tell me so i can at least keep you as safe as i can?"

sicheng finds himself exploring every inch of your face with his gaze, studying the smudged eyeliner and lipstick on you, before meeting your eyes again. he continues, "i have a job to do, you know?"

it seems as though you're not the only one with a broken down barrier. the formality in which he normally speaks with is nowhere to be heard.

"and why should i trust you?" there's an edge in your voice that makes the question come out as offensive. "i can't," you quickly add before he even has a chance to reply.

and now it's his turn to be stumped. your sudden change in attitude evokes a return of the wince in his eyebrows. "what do you mean?" he falters.

"i heard you yesterday." your head shakes, the clear of your eyes glisten with a lack of faith. "what am i supposed to think of you when you're actively hiding something from me?"

it's like a wave of realisation hits sicheng. he recalls the phone call that he took yesterday, and realises what you must've overheard. it takes him a few seconds to collect his thoughts together.

"you can't possibly think that i would want to harm you."

"i don't know you!" you exclaim, maybe a bit too loud for this hour. "you waltz into my life and tell me that you're trying to save me, but i don't know you."

sicheng exhales and drops his head. his chest rises slowly as he takes in a deep lungful of air. "i didn't want to tell you because i didn't want you to feel... betrayed."

your body language communicates all there is to say. you urge him to go on with a shake of your head and a furrowing in your eyebrows.

"we have reason to believe that..." his voice is small, and soft, as if he's laying down cushioning for telling a child that santa claus isn't real. "the person threatening you runs in your immediate coterie."

your friends. that's what he's hinting at, that's what he's explicitly telling you right now. that possibly someone you went out with tonight have reason to threaten you. sicheng thought that telling you now would diffuse the situation, but in fact, it does the opposite.

"isn't that all the more reason for me to know? and you hid it from me for w-"

"yn," he corrects his slip of words, "miss ln." he cuts you off ever so calmly, "i understand that emotions are heightened right now. i think it's best we talk in the morning."

a knot works its way up into your own chest. your frustration is fuelled even more by his coolness. you stare at his ridiculously poised expression, and in that moment, you give up trying to argue.

you finally begin to walk up the stairs, with your boots still in your hands, ready to crash and give out onto your bed.

you wake up the next morning, or rather the same morning, with a throbbing pain in your head. one of your ears feels blocked and no matter what you do to try and make it so that noise isn't muffled as it filters into your ear, it doesn't work.

in the bathroom, you stare at your reflection and are in shock over how badly you removed your makeup last night. eyeliner stains the corners of your eyelids, patches of concealer are still on the sides of your face. you turn on the faucet, wait for it to become warmer, and scrub the remainder of the products off of your face.

in the midst of washing your face, you realise that you haven't had a proper meal since yesterday afternoon, as signalled by a grumbling in your stomach.

as discreetly as possible, you try to get out of your room, taking a gentle step out onto the hallway. you're not entirely sure why you needed to be stealthy, perhaps it's just the aftereffects of last night.

however, your plan to be concealed quickly falls to shambles as sicheng is, as always, guarding your door outside and your father is walking down the hallway heading in your direction. your heart starts to beat faster and faster; if sicheng didn't stick by his words last night then you are dead for all you know. that conversation you had in the foyer didn't leave your mind even for a second when you tried to fall asleep earlier, and you plan on following up on that talk he offered you.

your father reaches your room and stops to take one look at you.

"goodmorning, father." you utter. a tinge of sheepishness can't help but crawl onto the apples of your cheeks.

"goodmorning, dear," he stretches a warm smile directed towards you, and gives a simple nod of the head to sicheng.

so he didn't lie. that's the first thought following your relief that your father isn't absolutely furious with you. you glance at sicheng as your father walks past you continuing his way down the hallway. he flashes you an expression, one that says, 'what did i tell you?'

sicheng keeps his eyes on your father and as soon as he's out of earshot, he mutters, "surprised?"

a look of almost disbelief takes over you. the nerve on this guy. your heart almost jumped out of your chest and he has the cockiness to make a remark like that.

"stop fucking with me. you still owe me an explanation."

sicheng says with a simple shrug, "i've told you everything i know."

before you can speak back and challenge him, one of your housemaids yell out your name from the foyer.

you quickly make your way downstairs with sicheng following right behind you.

you spot priscilla kneeling down to pick up a package left right in front of the doors to the house. "what is it, priscilla?" you ask, as she begins to stand up again.

"i'm not sure—but it's addressed to you, miss," she responds, reading the tag tied to the parcel with a thin ribbon.

it's odd enough that a package made its way directly onto your doorsteps since the mail that you and your father receive are usually intercepted and collected at the mail room, or placed into your father's study. it's even more strange that it's directly addressed to you with your name typed and printed out in a sans-serif font.

you hold the box in one hand as your other goes to unravel the ribbon. you pull the knot through, and the box undoes itself. the 4 walls fall down revealing another note with your name on it, this time handwritten in a sparkly, gold paint.

you pick the note up and twirl it around with your fingers. sure enough, there's a message for you on the back. it looks like it was typed out on a traditional typewriter, it reads: "next time, i'll have your pretty head along with it" signed with kisses.

you suck in a sharp breath, a shock dawning on you. you look down at the opened box, under the note was a cushioning of tissue paper along with one earring. it took you a few seconds to study the singular earring, then it hits you: the pearl earring that you lost at the gala. your fingers begin to tremble, and sicheng watches as you're overcome with theories and conclusions.

he snatches the note from your hands, eyes scanning every word hastily and sees the earring in the box. it doesn't take him time to put two and two together.

immediately, he voices, "priscilla, did you see who left this outside?"

"no, uh, i opened the door because there was a knock and as soon as i saw the parcel with miss ln's name on it, i called for her." priscilla is evidently taken aback by the sharpness of sicheng's voice. her gestures are overt as she explains the situation.

sicheng pulls his phone out and his thumbs slide over the bottom part of his screen as he swiftly sends out a message.

he turns to you, "i'll go look over security footage right now. yn, go back up to your room." he motions over at priscilla as if to tell her that you needed to be escorted upstairs.

usually, you wouldn't just blindly listen to what anyone tells you, but your mind is running at 100 miles per hour. you recognise that gold paint, the writing, the flicks and hairline strokes that stylised your name. you've received a note from the same person before. only that last time, it wasn't as explicit a threat as it is this time.

...

you haven't stepped foot out of your room since sicheng told you to go back this morning. your maids have come up with breakfast and lunch earlier, but now it's well past dinner time, and the food outside your door remains untouched. the sky outside is darkening, with some rogue streaks of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.

nonstop, you've been thinking it over and over in your head. putting together what sicheng told you and what you know yourself. someone close enough to you is threatening your life—but why? sure, there's the obvious reason that in a matter of days, you may possibly take over your father's title of mayor, but who would risk so much to send you a petty note? and everyone in your circle has a good enough status; what would they have to gain from this? surely, there's a blind spot that you must be missing.

your train of thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a knock at your door.

"come in!"

sicheng walks in to find you curled up in bed, knees tucked against your chest. he glances backwards briefly before closing the door behind him, "you didn't eat?"

"i'm not hungry."

you notice that he's not wearing his usual attire. a thin t-shirt covers his torso, and his regular slack pants are replaced by loose-fitting joggers. his footsteps are muted as he approaches you. there seems to be a debate in his mind whether or not he should be approaching you as he stops with at least 10 feet of space in between you and him.

"did you need me for something?" you mutter, patience thinning out on the edge of your voice.

you watch as he opens his mouth, but a response fails to be conjured up without a pause. "no, i just wanted to check on you."

you throw your blanket off of your feet and push yourself off the bed. the distance that sicheng left between the two of you disappears as you draw nearer to him.

you're not entirely sure what to do, or what to say. you look up at him and he returns your gaze. a breath hitches within you that you try your best to stifle. a knot forms in your throat and you swallow hard, dropping your eyes from sicheng.

"hey," he murmurs airily, bringing his hand up to your face. sicheng stops just short of cupping your face in his palms. you reach for his hand, taking it into your own, and he takes that as a sign to delicately graze your cheek with the side of his thumb. the lightness of his touch floats over your skin. "you're okay," he reassures you with a whisper.

it's hard to pinpoint what it is that you're feeling. there were books and lessons when you were growing up on how to be well-mannered, how to hone in your etiquettes, but there were never any rulebooks to teach you how to feel. especially, in a situation like this. how do we know if there's a right way to process our complexities?

you lean into sicheng's touch. "what can i do for you right now?" his tone coming off as a genuine offer of comfort, rather than him sounding like he is indebted to you.

finally, you lift your head, eyes running up against sicheng until it lands onto his again. "just stay with me tonight," though you meant it as a statement, bordering on an order, it ekes out of you with an uncertainty.

he nods, mouthing a soft 'okay.'

with his hand in your grip, you lead him to the edge of your bed. you can feel the hesitance in him, but he doesn't outright stop in his tracks. sliding into your covers, you shuffle over to make room for sicheng. admittedly, he didn't think this was what you meant when you asked him to stay with you tonight. he thought that he would just spend another night in the chair next to your bed, like he did before, but no.

you sit up against the headboard.

"you're... comfortable with this?" his voice is softer than dusk.

you nod, and with that, he slowly slides into your bed, a respectable distance between the two of you.

sicheng lays on his back, one hand behind his hand as you shift closer to him. though he tries his best to hide it on his face, the beating of his heart gives him away when you lay a hand over on his chest.

he rolls onto the arm closer to you, now face to face with you on the bed, leaving your hand in front of his chest on the mattress. he looks at you with a lustre in his eyes, the strong arches of his brows soften and his eyelids flutter.

you're close enough that you can hear the rhythm of his breathing and feel the warmth of his body against you. your fingers inch back onto his chest, running over the fabric of his shirt delicately, and onto his jawline. the tips of your index finger skim the contour of his chin, and up along his cheekbone. your eyes follow your fleeting touch against his face when it runs back down to the corner of his lips.

there's a few seconds in between you inching closer and closer to sicheng, and him whispering.

"we can't."

you stop—your breathing stops as well.

though you don't voice it out loud, the look in your eyes expresses every ounce of regret that you feel. your hand stiffens on sicheng's face, your fingers resting on the edge of his jaw.

his gaze flickers in between your eyes and your lips. it stays on your lips for a moment longer.

"i can't kiss you like we're lovers, when we're not."

the last three words slip out from his lips breathier than the rest.

you draw your body even closer to sicheng's, until there's only a sliver of empty space in between you.

"then, don't kiss me."

you plant a soft peck on his bare neck, and he can't bite back the tiny hum he lets slip. your lips stick to the warmth of his skin, a saltiness to it mixed with the clean scent of his cologne. simultaneously, he tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers laid flat on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer.

his hand runs down the side of you, finding a spot on your waist which he grips onto tighter. your teeth grazes against a vein in his neck and a groan catches in his throat.

your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they start swaying forwards, colliding with sicheng's thighs. "what are you doing to me?" he mumbles under his breath, so faintly that you nearly couldn't make it out over your own humming against his neck.

sicheng is overtaken by instinct. his hand find its way between your thighs, sliding up and down over the softness of your skin. you can't help the purrs of approval that tumble out of you involuntarily.

his fingers trace soft, soft rings on the inside of your thighs, stopping just an inch below the hem of your shorts. whatever you've started, you needed to have more of it. you pull your lips away from him and wrap your fingers around his wrist that hovered so close to the heat pooling underneath you. if he wasn't going to touch you, you'd rather have him not tease you at all.

sicheng looks at you through half-lidded eyes with a faint tug on his lips, "put my hand where you want it."

you drag his hand an inch upwards, and almost naturally, sicheng finds his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shorts. "fuck," he breathes out. "you're not wearing anything underneath?" you smirk, unable to say anything because if you did, he would know how insane the raspiness in his voice drove you.

the tips of his fingers trace along the folds of your cunt, smearing your wetness all over. your breath escapes you shakily, and he revels at the sight of you. god. he knew you were pretty but you've never looked prettier than when you're squirming under his touch.

he rubs a loose circle around your clit with his middle finger, eyes steadily watching your every expression. your whole body is electrified. you feel as though you've come alive just from his touch. then, he draws another. you sink your teeth down into your bottom lip, trying to keep your breathing at a constant. the hand that you have wrapped around his wrist untightens itself and it runs up sicheng's arm, nails digging themselves into his bicep as his fingers move faster and faster on you.

then, they slow right back down. your eyelids shutter open fully, looking at him watching you with a gentleness.

he eases one finger inside of you, engulfed into your warmth. a gasp falls upon you quickly followed by a moan, which sicheng muffles with his other hand. he shushes, "you can hold it in, can't you?" you nod your head against his hand covering your lips. so badly, you want to just scream out his name, but you can't.

then, he slides another finger inside. the two of them drag up and down your heated walls, coated in a slickness. you struggle to keep from sounding out noises that ultimately gets caught in your throat. you pull his hand down from your mouth, managing a breathy, "fuck, sicheng."

he continues shushing you, balanced out with a subdued, "i know, i know." the length of his fingers carries on diving deeper and deeper into you, his thumb working small loops on your clit. you can't help but grind down against his hand, meeting him halfway with every stroke. your own fingers replaces his thumb, rubbing so relentlessly that it makes you throw your head back.

you begin to feel a tightening in your core. each moan that comes out of you is strained and muffled, your sealed lips pressing together so hard that it starts to become numb. "i'm so close," you try to voice out but a broken string of whimpers fall out instead.

your knees impulsively push themselves together, trapping sicheng's hand in between your thighs. "yeah, like that, baby. just like that," he picks up the pace in which he plunges his fingers in and out of you, "keep it quiet, though, okay?"

at this point, you've lost focus on what he's saying. the only thing on your mind is how good his fingers feel inside of you, and the violent pressure that your own fingers are exerting isn't helping. your arm is starting to ache when you finally begin to feel the release in your core. the knot tied in your stomach falls apart and so do you. your hand stops and grabs onto sicheng's wrist again. each moan that's knocked out of you quickly transitions into you panting for air. all sicheng can do is caress your cheek as you slowly come down and steady yourself again against his embrace.

you lay there next to him as you're catching your breath. sicheng comforts you with words that you can't quite hear. you take his hand up to your face, fully shutting your legs together, and lick the slickness off of his fingers. he watches you with a groan as you take his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. you pull his hand away slowly, and when your lips close together, he lets go of a deep sigh.

sicheng looks deeply into your eyes, the faintest trace of satisfaction visible on his face. "get some rest now, okay?"

a part of you doesn't want to just stop now, but the other part of you is worn out beyond repair, not just from this. your post-orgasm crash wears over you like a spell putting you to sleep, and you have no will left to fight it. so, before you know it, you drift off to sleep with sicheng's arms wrapped tightly around you and your face pressed up against his chest.

he wasn't supposed to and he wasn't planning to, but sicheng dozed off last night with you cuddled up against him. the only thought running through his head this morning: i fucked up. and that's only taking into account that he literally slept with you next to him.

the chorus of bird chirps sounds aloud from out in the garden. the bright symphonies fill the morning air.

as slowly as he can, he pulls his arm back from underneath you, a tingling feeling spreading from where your head laid upon it. hushedly, he slides his legs off of the edge of the bed, trying not to wake you. he stands up, and his movements are halted by a hum from you.

your eyes peer open, and sicheng is glancing back at you. "morning," he clears his throat, "i didn't want to wake you."

"it's alright," your voice scratches. you push yourself onto your palms and sit up, straightening your back. "um," you stutter out, looking around your bed to avoid any eye contact. there's an unspoken tension between you and sicheng that you can sense right away.

sicheng presses his thumb into the palm of his opposite hand and echoes your filler words.

you want to ask out loud, 'why is it so awkward?' but that will probably do nothing to help ease the atmosphere.

sicheng breaks the silence, "i shouldn't have... came in last night."

your eyes dart towards him, but he's looking down at your sheets. is it bad that you felt a sinking in your chest right as he said that? you didn't think you regretted what happened, but maybe you should given what sicheng's stance on it is.

"i don't..." you trail off, unable to finish the rest of your thought.

"it was my mistake. we don't... have to talk about it."

"is that what it was to you? a mistake?" words take over you before your rational thinking can catch up. if you really slowed down and thought it over, his words probably didn't warrant as much of a reaction, but in the moment, you're hurt and that's all you can focus on.

"no, i mean," sicheng struggles to find the proper words to expand on his point. as he opens his mouth again to speak, he's interrupted by someone else knocking at your door.

the knock is closely followed by a call out of your name, "miss ln!"

it distracts you from the conversation, but sicheng's comment is actively sitting on the back burner of your mind. "yes?" you return.

"your father has arranged some prior engagements for you. your chauffeur is waiting for whenever you're ready."

you can't help but let out your frustration in the form of a quiet 'ugh,' before going back and thanking the messenger, which they then dismiss themselves.

you're not in the mood for whatever errand your father has arranged for you. one, because your body is so physically tired out for some reason that even getting up out of bed will take a substantial amount of effort, and two, sicheng will follow you to whatever activity and there won't be a conclusion to this conversation you're having because there's no way you're willing to discuss this in public.

sicheng speaks up after the footsteps travel away from outside your bedroom door, "i'll leave you to get ready."

"don't-"

but sicheng completely disregards you, and leaves you alone in your room.

...

turns out that the 'errand' your father has planned for you was to pick out a few outfits from the atelier. this past week you've been so preoccupied busying yourself with activities that you haven't fully recognised that your father will officially announce you as his successor in a couple days' time. that means more responsibilities, more problems. you don't know if you're fully prepared for it, but it was never up to you; it never has been.

you posed like a mannequin for the seamstress for a good couple of hours. every blazer and every skirt being tailored to fit you perfectly. sicheng sat in the beige couch in the corner watching patiently as she took in your measurements, held up garment after garment up to you in the mirror, and finally was content with what she had created for you.

by the time you were done, you had a handful of bags in each hand, each containing a new bespoke outfit made just for you.

you're walking out of the studio with your new belongings in your hands, sicheng opening the door for you. the designer bids you an affectionate goodbye and you step out onto the concrete, heading for your ride parked in the middle of the lot.

during the whole of this visit, sicheng hasn't said a word to you. and vice versa. so when he's the first to say something, you try to look at him with an indifference in your expression.

"let me carry the bags," he offers.

"i'm alright, thank you."

you'd be lying if you said you weren't at least a little bit upset with him. although you knew there's nothing to be achieved from petty displays of stubbornness, you wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine: his nonchalance, and frankly apathetic attitude.

he doesn't challenge you, perhaps he knows better than to do exactly that. his footsteps trail behind you as you approach the car. your chauffeur pulls open the door to the backseats for you before returning to the driver's seat. sicheng simply observes as you begin to load in the bags, not wanting to tick you off even more by helping.

he catches a flare in the mirror image of the window panes all the way up on the rooftop of a nearby building. he swivels his head around, looking directly at where the spark was in the reflection. his throat tightens.

"yn, get in the car." the calmness in his voice wasn't something you weren't used to, but as you turn and find him fixated at a spot up on a roof, an alarm starts ringing in your head. "now."

you jump up onto the ledge of the footboard and hop inside with a slight panic. sicheng grabs all the remaining bags and throws it in with you. he hastily slams the back door shut and turns his focus towards that same spot again. you can barely see out of the tinted panes, but you think you hear a distant pop and sicheng's body jerks, curving his spine inwards. he clambers into the front seat, a hint of franticness in his movements. the passenger door shuts with a crash and sicheng flings his head back against the headrest.

"drive. go, now." he tells the chauffeur, clearly in a state of confusion, but he listens to sicheng. his voice is weak and breathy, like he just ran a marathon.

you push your way up to the space in between the front seats. "sicheng... what happened?" apprehension sounding out in your words.

he gives a faint shake of the head, his hand gripping tightly onto the fabric over his shoulder as he swallows a lump in his throat. you mutter a faint, 'oh my god,' under your breath as you go to pull his hand away.

sicheng breathes deeper and deeper. you uncover a small hole in his shirt, the edges splayed out with raw threads hanging off of it.

"sicheng-"

"i'm okay," he exhales. does he know how ridiculous he sounds?

a wave of distress suddenly overtakes you. "you're-"

"don't worry, i'm okay."

half of your mind has gone blank, and the other half is still stuck in 5 minutes ago before whatever happened, happened. words tumble out of you, laced with confusion and unease.

...

as soon as you arrive home, you barge in telling your housemaids to call over your doctor. sicheng has one arm wrapped around the chauffeur as he inches in with his help, his other arm limp by his side.

everything blurs past you.

sicheng is set down on the long leather couch, laying against the arm as he holds his shoulder. someone pushes past you to tend to sicheng's injuries, and all you can do is stand and stare.

...

you sit on the other end of the couch watching as the nurse is wrapping bandage around sicheng's shoulder, his torso completely bare. he grunts as she pulls tighter on the strip looping underneath his arm.

"you're lucky it didn't hit you in the ribs, or it'd be a lot worse."

sicheng mutters a soft, 'i know,' sucking in a steady breath.

the bullet sits in a tray next to the couch, completely clean, the light ricochets off of it and it gleams.

you look back over to sicheng, a deep burgundy already seeping its way underneath his skin. if it weren't for the bulletproof undershirt he was wearing, you'd be looking at admitting him into the ER. still, he's not completely devoid of any injuries.

the nurse said that aside from bruising, he had a fracture to his collarbone. "it should heal on its own anywhere in between 6 to 12 weeks."

you nod, and she gives you a brief smile before she helps fasten the sling around sicheng's neck and begins packing up her kit.

several sets of footsteps approach the doorway to the guest room that sicheng was set down in. you don't look over, eyes fixated on sicheng as he winces at any slight movement that he does affecting his injured collarbone.

the footsteps move in closer and closer to you. sicheng hears them as well and opens his eyes. "sir," he manages gravelly.

you and the nurse simultaneously look up, and there you see your father with his assistant a few steps behind him. he nods towards the nurse.

"the doctor couldn't make it on such short notice, but mr. dong's injuries are mild. i've already informed miss ln of mr. dong's condition," the nurse explains to your father.

"thank you for your help," your father tells the nurse. she picks up the kit that she brought with her and bows her head before leaving the room.

the expression on your father's face is ambiguous to say the least.

sicheng takes your father's silence as an opportunity, "i should've been more careful. i'm sorry..."

your father inhales shakily, "it was too close, yes." he looks over at you sitting on the couch, then back at sicheng, "but yn wasn't injured, and i have you to thank for that."

"it's my duty," sicheng simply responds.

your father gives him a satisfied smile. "take some time to rest, i'll have someone else look over your responsibilities for now."

with that, your father and his assistant leaves you and sicheng alone in the guest room, now allocated for his recovery.

you haven't said a word to him since the car ride back.

you sit on the edge of the couch, palms planted flat on either side of you. "does it hurt?" you look over, and sicheng leans on the sofa back, his injured arm suspended in a black mesh sling. his eyes are closed as he takes in a heavy breath after another.

he opens his eyes up to a squint, glancing over at you. "a bit," you think he's gone insane when you see a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

you shift over towards sicheng, his unwounded shoulder being closer to you. the bandages the nurse had wrapped him up in doesn't entirely cover up his bruising. a gradient of pink, red, and purple spreads over atop his pecs. your fingers trace over his abdomen, hovering when you draw near his injury. "you scared me," you whisper.

"i know," sicheng says, "i'm sorry."

"why would you do that?"

he looks at you, a dazedness in his eyes, "do what?"

"take a bullet like that." you gulp, feeling the coarseness in your throat.

sicheng expels a weak chuckle. "to be honest, i didn't think i would." you peer at him with a tilt of your head. "i was so focused on you not getting hurt, but now that i think about it..."

he trails off.

"what?" you prompt gently.

"i don't think they were aiming at you."

your eyebrows raise themselves gingerly.

"i mean, they had every opportunity to... shoot you, but they didn't. with the time it took me to even notice them, they could've gotten the job done and vanished."

you realise what sicheng's implying. and you suppose he is right. thinking it over in your head, your reaction wasn't the fastest, given the state of shock and confusion that you were in. so, that means they were gunning for sicheng. but why?

he carries on, "and with where the bullet hit me—it was nowhere even near where you were stood." he shakes his head, "it just doesn't make sense."

"so, why?"

"i mean, i don't-"

"no. why would you ever risk yourself like this? a job like this; it surely isn't the first time you got injured."

sicheng looks at your face, so painstakingly close to his. he runs his good hand through your hair, twirling the ends of a strand in between his fingers. "it's not," he smiles weakly, but falls short of an answer to give to you.

you swallow hard. "you know, you've made it clear to me countless times that you're supposed to keep me safe... but who looks after you?"

"i can manage myself."

"i know—you're more than capable. but..." the words you're speaking has to be dragged out of you, a broken intonation. "that's not the same as looking after yourself."

he drops his gaze from yours, fingers now fidgeting and cracking his knuckles as a means of escape from this conversation.

"you don't let me kiss you, you want to forget whatever we did and dismiss it as a mistake. that's fine, but is that what you want, or is it just your guard?"

he turns his head towards yours, but still avoiding eye contact with you. for a moment, you thought he would say something, but he doesn't.

you sigh.

"just let me take care of you while your shoulder heals, okay? i'm here."

you're about to push yourself off of the couch, you lean back, but sicheng holds onto your hand. he draws you in to the spot you were at before. your faces inches apart from each other.

he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, "kiss me."

your heartbeat drums against your lungs. you slide your fingers up onto his face, pulling him in closer. and gently, you oblige.

his lips fit yours perfectly, as if you were both individually sculpted for each other. you try not to lean onto sicheng given his injury, so the most pressure you put on him is through your hands pulling him closer into you. you press your mouth against the softness of his lips, a tenderness to his movements. he breathes your scent in, and it's like it completely soothes the sharpness in his shoulder. you take him in deeper and deeper. his lips had a hint of peppermint to them, but sweeter. he let you utterly devour him against your own lips, fuelling a desire you didn't know you had in you. god, you didn't want to pull away, but your stupid, stupid lungs had to regather some air within them. and you part from him with a gentle smack.

sicheng's eyelids flutter open, like you'd just woken him from a dream. "if your father ever finds out-"

you shush him with a finger up to his mouth. and you attach your lips onto his again.

you're deep into your sleep when you hear alerts coming in nonstop on your phone. you stayed in sicheng's room with him; he's asleep on the bed and you've decided to give him more room by taking the couch. you open your eyes groggily, the sky outside doesn't make it clear to you what time it is. reaching out onto the coffee table, your phone doesn't stop buzzing in your hand.

the brightness of the screen causes you to squint. messages roll in, from dejun. without reading the notifications first, you click onto the grey bubbles. a litter of text threads open up on your phone. ones reading, "are you okay?" and "i heard what happened," and of the like.

stiffly, you go to type in a response. you tell dejun that you're fine, briefly glossing over the situation.

...

the second time you wake up this morning is when you hear sicheng talking to someone just outside of his room, the conversation muffled. he shuffles back in and you're more or less glaring at him, unintentionally.

"who was that?" you strain.

"um," he lightly massages the back of his neck. "they... found the shooter. and he talked."

that instantly catches your attention. you sit up straight, and signal to sicheng to take a seat next to you on the couch.

he slowly paces himself over, his back kept upright the entire time as he sits down next to you.

"the shooter is no one special, but," he begins, an almost sheepish look on him, "he told us who sent him. and we think that it's the same person who sent you that note, with your earring."

"who?" you jump in, impatient for him to tell you.

sicheng looks into your eyes for a split second. the sky outside is still dark. half of your face is lit by the orange ember that glows out from the fireplace.

"who?" you repeated, this time a little bit louder.

"i don't know how close you are to her. rin? full name, rina lee. her dad... owed some debts to your father."

your brows furrow. rin? you've only met her once, and that was at mrs. xiao's gala. what would prompt her to threaten you to such an extreme?

"i'm sorry, it must be-"

"no- what else do you know?"

sicheng sucks in a quick breath. "well, it's rumoured that her father, mr. lee, took a loan from your father. it was never paid back... and let's say your father didn't like that."

you didn't know what to make of your emotions—what to make of yourself. did you deserve this?

subconsciously, you start shaking your head lightly. you were in denial, but of what, you didn't know.

"i'm sorry," is all sicheng can say to provide you with some semblance of solace.

"i just..." you breathe out a heavy breath, "i can't believe it."

"i know, but it'll be over, soon. you'll take on your father's role tomorrow, isn't that something to look forward to?" sicheng tries his best to divert your focus away from the news.

you scoff. and then a sigh.

"i guess."

sicheng runs a hand over your head, smoothing over your hair, "let's go back to sleep, it's still early."

the whole of yesterday you spent getting ready, signing agreements, and attending meeting after meeting with your father. you'd spent the night before tossing and turning, unsure of if you'd be happy with this route that you're headed in.

last night, you were doing the same. tossing, turning, thinking. you never really had a choice, and it's weird how you feel apathetic towards that.

you've always lived comfortably and maybe you're just not ready for that to change yet, that's what you thought to yourself.

you woke up this morning, still a bit shaken up, mind still fuzzied from how your life has spiralled seemingly out of your control over the last week.

and now you're standing behind the drawn back curtain to the balcony, where your father's speech is being broadcasted live.

"serving as mayor to this beautiful district has been one of my greatest prides. but i'm afraid people grow old, and i am experiencing that for myself first hand."

your father's voice wavers, and it stings your cheeks a little.

"nonetheless, i know there has been rumours going around surrounding my retirement. i would like to keep this concise. today, i am officially stepping down as the mayor of district V, and appointing my daughter to serve the rest of my term." he turns towards you, hand stretching out in your direction, and you step out onto the landing.

your father steps aside to grant you some space on the podium. you take a deep breath in, before crouching down slightly to speak into the microphone.

"it is my honour to be appointed the role of mayor for a district as notable and celebrated as district V." you recite the script that your father's assistant had written for you, the syllables drilled into your brain throughout all the practices yesterday.

you remember the words that the assistant had said to you, 'this district's citizens don't care much for politics. they just want to know if they can continue living in their merry way as they did before.'

"i will see to it that this transition is as seamless as possible, and i will do my best to humbly serve each and every citizen to the best of my ability. thank you."

you back away from the podium and disappear off where it is visible on the landing. your father continues on delivering the rest of his spiel.

it's been less than a minute since you've officially accepted your new position, but you can already feel a tightening around your chest. you plop down on a chair all the way on the opposite end of the balcony, thinking it over again. is this what you want?

that's when you catch sicheng peering into the room from the hallway.

"what are you doing here? you should be resting," you jump up onto your feet.

"i didn't get to see you yesterday, so i thought i should at least congratulate you today."

you sigh, and plaster a grin onto your face, "thank you."

sicheng takes one step closer to you. "so, miss mayor, i suppose i'm no longer at your service?"

slowly, you can feel a genuine smile twinging at your lips, "you wish." you swiftly glance over at where your father is, back still facing you. you steal a quick peck from sicheng. he looks at you with his eyes wild.

"what?" you tease.

even though you're not sure the path given to you is what you want, you know that as long as sicheng is by your side, you'll manage to find joy in the little moments. the stolen kisses. and the fleeting glances.

and it's not for ever, anyway. just until this term ends.

"you are now under me," you whisper with a smirk.

humming, he raises his eyebrows with interest. "so, what's the first order of business?"

you roll your eyes. "focus on healing your shoulder up, and then we'll talk."

he leans in closer to your face, a cheeky spark in his eyes. "yes, ma'am."

© misted-dream 2024

thank you for reading between heaven and hell ! this fic is a part of a series which you can learn more about here ! hope you enjoyed :)

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

Pinned FAQ

How do I request a card?

You can request up to 3 cards for free during openaskbox events! During those, the /ask inbox opens up for a few hours, during which I try to write as many as I can live on twitch and post them on tumblr.

After the event is over and I close that inbox, there are still a BUNCH of leftover requests. This is how I fill the daily content queue, I use those up til it's empty again and then run another openaskbox.

On Sundays at 3pm EST I write all 28 cards due to go up for the week from that pool of leftover asks live on twitch and then queue them to go up after stream

What if I don't wanna wait?

If you'd like to throw a bit of cash around instead of waiting, you can buy via the etsy listing or you can tune in to those^ Saturday livestreams, there's a variety of ways to donate to get cards written for you on the spot

How do I buy the card I've requested?

The etsy listing is available here! Please remember to include in the notes of the purchase which card(s) you want to buy. If you'd like me to bundle together all the cards you've requested over a period of a few years, dm me here on the blog and I can quote you on a cheaper bundle price

Why did you answer all those asks, it messed up my dash?

Sorry about that! So to keep all of that ^ organized, at the end of the month, I answer about 112-140 leftover asks in order to record them to a proper "to-write document"

It helps me keep organized, it allows me to easily search for spelling issues, and it gets a few eyeballs on the request in case someone tries to slip an obscure slur into their request that I'm not cool with writing (it has happened)

Lots of the regulars are used to this dash nonsense, but there are folks who want to avoid it entirely. If you're on mobile I'd just recommend unfollowing for a while, but if you're on desktop, you can blacklist the tag "added to notepad" and go to xkit to tick the "fully hide blocked tags" option so it clears up your dash

Wait I thought requests were closed, why can I still send things?

That's because requests use /ask, but /submit is always open because it's for YOUR calligraphy, pet photos, fanart of man... etc. Requests are NOT open when it's not openaskbox day but feel free to send me cool shit YOU made anytime

Wait you have a twitch, do you do anything other than calligraphy?

I try! my schedule at work (restaurant) varies week to week so I try my best to stream whenever I've got free time to, nothing's really planned out though

What are your regular writing tools and paper?

I mainly just use speedball nibs, specifically the c-series (c-0 through c-4) because they're angled flat nibs that let me do most blackletter hands I write. I have a supply of leonardt thin tips for detailing and illustrating

As for paper, the cards you see on the daily are on plain index cue cards I buy from staples. When commissioned/doing larger pieces, I work with a variety of paper, including a 32 lb xerox paper that has juuuust a perfect amount of lamination that avoids ink feathering, black paper that I bought a hundred sheets of in 2019 and I no longer remember the label, and a BOATLOAD of southworth's ivory parchment paper at both 32 and 64 lb weights.

[hetalia-club]

Hetalia Olympics Drama

because it's very important that someone is documenting it.

England- was instructed by the British Olympic committee NOT to eat the meat at the Village.

Everyone- collectively hates the food and have said so in interviews and online DAILY. They have all been going out to do their own shopping and buying grills and flat tops to cook for themselves, because teh food is so retched. It has been given a 0/10 most days and on rare days a 2/10 by the Americans.

Norway- has gained the nickname 'muffin man' for commandeering the ONLY edible thing in the village, which may or may not be a hate crime, the beloved chocolate muffins. which they have all been fighting over. He was spotted the other day eating jelly toast, disgracing his name. Duolingo called it blasphemy. His team posted his shame for the world to see on tiktok. Scandalous

Australia, America, Canada, Greece, Italy, Denmark and England - Threw a fit until they were allowed to bring their own personal AC units to the village because the village has NONE, it is '79 degrease' in the rooms, how miserable. Australian and America made this possible by threatening not to come if they can’t have AC. I do not blame them at all. Could you imagine being outside playing tennis all day in 80 degree heat and then going back to your room to relax where it is STILL 80 degrees.

America- has brought his own mattress because the mattress is a thin piece of foam and everyone has been complaining of lack of sleep and back pain.

Canada- was caught cheating by using a drone to spy on New Zealand's soccer practice.

Hong Kong & Italy- Italy accused Hong Kong of fixing the fencing competition by paying off reffs (This is untrue and the fencing coaches are being sore losers, the athlete himself agrees with teh decision). Hong Kong has been taunting Italy with pictures of pineapple on pizza. Pizza Hut Hong Kong is offering FREE pineapple on any pizza for the next 2 days. Tragic. We don't know what this will do for his mental health I will try and keep you all posted.

England- Whilst mountain biking got a flat tire, had to carry his bike to get fixed and somehow still managed to get first after passing a French biker going around a tree in the forest. French spectators threw water bottles at him!? The fuck.

America- though not really drama but America has built their own “Team America” house for all their many athletes to come hang out in, it has AC and also it’s decorated like a frat house and looks like a frat house. They have ice cream, video games, iced coffee (extremely important!!) and clothing stores for merch, a big room like a movie theater where everyone can go to to both eat and watch the games together. If you’re not an American athlete it’s 300 bucks to go to for the day. This has angered other athletes who just want to go inside to see. Just import to note.

Belgium - Belgium got a gastrointestinal infection after swimming in the Seine river. Several atletes were seen vomiting after swimming in the water.

[phr3ia]

Love Game (Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader) [Chapter 17 : I Remember Now]

Toji burst into Shiu Kong's office, the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Shiu jumped, startled, his newspaper crumpling in his hands.

"What the hell, Toji?!" Shiu exclaimed, standing up from his chair. "What's gotten into you?"

Toji stood there, breathing heavily, "I need a mission. Now."

Shiu raised an eyebrow, setting his newspaper aside. "A mission? Toji, you were just released from the hospital yesterday. You should be resting, not jumping into another job."

Toji took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. "I can't rest. I need to keep my mind occupied. Give me something, anything."

Shiu leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Alright, spill it, Toji. What's really going on here? This isn't like you, coming in here all hot and bothered, demanding a mission."

"It's nothing."

Shiu chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, man. We both know that's bullshit. Is this about Y/N?"

Toji's eyes flashed at the mention of your name, but he quickly relaxed his expression. "No, it's not about her." he lied, his voice flat. "I just need something to do, that's all."

Shiu narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "Toji. You're a terrible liar. Now, sit down and tell me what's really going on."

Toji hesitated, then reluctantly sat down in the chair across from Shiu's desk. He sighed, "It's just...Y/N. She's been spending a lot of time with this guy, and it's bugging me."

Shiu leaned forward, a smug grin on his face. "Ah, I see. So, you're jealous."

Toji scowled, crossing his arms. "I am not jealous. I just don't like seeing her with some random guy, that's all."

Shiu leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he regarded Toji with a knowing look. "So, you're telling me that you're not jealous, yet here you are, barging into my office, demanding a mission because the Detective is spending time with another man?"

Toji shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I already told you, I'm not jealous. I just...don't trust this guy."

Shiu raised an eyebrow. "And why is that? Because he's competition?"

Toji scoffed, "That's ridiculous. There's no competition."

Shiu chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, Toji. You can't fool me. I've known you for too long. You're in love with Y/N."

Toji's expression darkened, and he stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. "That's bullshit. I'm not in love with anyone. Least of all, Y/N."

Shiu shrugged, unfazed by Toji's outburst. "Love doesn't always come at a convenient time, Toji. Sometimes it sneaks up on you when you least expect it."

Toji laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. "Love? What a joke. I don't have time for that nonsense. I don't need some sappy emotions clouding my judgment."

"You can't run from your feelings forever, Toji. They'll catch up to you eventually."

"I'm not running from anything. I just don't buy into all that romantic crap. It's a waste of time." Toji hissed.

"You know, for someone who claims not to believe in love, you sure seem awfully invested in Y/N's personal life." Shiu rolled his eyes.

"I'm just concerned, that's all. She's important to me, as a friend." Toji replied, looking away.

Shiu retorted, "A friend? Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've got it bad for her."

Toji waved a dismissive hand at Shiu, ignoring his comments. "Whatever. Do you have a mission for me or not?"

Shiu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine, fine. I do have something, but it's not exactly...challenging."

Shiu opened a drawer and pulled out a thick file of documents, and started flipping through it. "We've been keeping tabs on a local Sorcerer, monitoring his activities. Nothing too suspicious, but we like to keep an eye on him nonetheless."

He handed a single file to Toji so he could further examine it. "What am I supposed to do with this? Babysit him?"

"No, no. We just need you to...verify some information. Make sure our intel is correct. It shouldn't take more than a day."

Toji looked up from the file, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "That's it? Verify some info? No Assassination? I can do that in my sleep."

Shiu shrugged. "Like I said, it's not exactly challenging. But it needs to be done."

Intrigued by the thick file that Shiu was holding, Toji snatched it from him and began flipping through the pages. He was surprised to discover the sheer number of Sorcerers and Cursed Users listed within.

"Jesus Christ, there are hundreds of these bastards all over Japan?"

Shiu nodded solemnly. "Yes, unfortunately. And that's just the ones we know about."

"How did you guys manage to keep track of all these people?" Toji still flipping through the documents, his surprise growing with each turn.

Shiu grinned "Years of experience, Toji. Years of experience. Plus, we have our ways of gathering information."

Toji whistled softly, shaking his head. "Impressive."

Toji was busy flipping through the pages, skimming over the various faces and names. When suddenly, his thumb paused on a photograph, and he felt a jolt of recognition as he realized who it was.

"That son of a bitch..." Toji growled, pointing at the photo. "This guy. He's the one Y/N's been seeing."

Shiu leaned over, squinting at the photo Toji was pointing at. "Ah, yes. That's Suguru Geto. Quite the impressive Sorcerer, I must say. Special Grade, and the best friend of Satoru Gojo, if I recall correctly."

"Geto? Isn't that the same guy I ran into a few years back in Kanagawa? The one with the Cursed Spirit Manipulation Technique?"

Shiu nodded. "Indeed, it is. You two had quite the brief encounter, if memory serves. Though, I suppose it's understandable that you might not remember. After all, it was just a few seconds of clashing."

Toji scowled, clenching his fist around the photo. "I should've known better than to forget a face like that. Especially now that I know he's involved with Y/N."

Shiu raised an eyebrow. "Involved, you say? You make it sound like they're more than just friends."

"I don't know, okay? All I know is that she's been spending a lot of time with him, and it's making me...uncomfortable."

Shiu chuckled. "Uncomfortable, huh? That's a start, I suppose. But listen, Toji. Geto may be a powerful Sorcerer, but he's also a decent person. At least, from what I've heard. Don't go jumping to conclusions just yet."

Toji grunted, tossing the file back onto Shiu's desk. "I'll reserve my judgment until I meet him again."

Toji hissed, "I'll finish this mission immediately. Consider it done by sundown tomorrow."

Shiu watched him leave, a concerned look on his face. "Toji, wait-"

But Toji was already gone, slamming the door behind him.

Once outside, Toji stormed down the street, his mind racing. Why would you choose to spend time with a Special Grade Sorcerer like Geto, of all people?

Toji gritted his teeth, clenching his fists at his sides. He knew he couldn't dictate who you chose to spend your time with, but damn it, he couldn't shake this feeling of anger.

"Why him?" Toji muttered to himself, kicking a nearby trash can in frustration. "Why the hell would she choose to hang out with a Special Grade Sorcerer like Geto? There are plenty of other guys out there who aren't walking disasters. Why him out of all goddamn people?" 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "I know I can't decide for her. I know that. But seeing her with him...it just pisses me off."

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

End Of Chapter 17 🥀....

A/N : Let's fuck Suguru in the next Chapter 🥵...

@meowforluv @miizuzu @geniejunn @scorpiosugar

[bullet-prooflove]

Put it in a bowl and mix it up prompt list:

9. Girl, I meat what I said When I said, "I do"

Lee Dutton

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthiss @foxfabled @trublu2u @worlds-tallest-fairy

Companion piece to:

1993 - You read out a letter to Lee over the phone.

A Boy from Bozeman - Lee says goodbye to the woman he loves.

The Worry Doll - Lee still keeps the worry doll you gave him.

Wild Fire - Lee tells you the truth about the wildfire.

Experiance (NSFW) - Lee's gained some experiance since the last time the two of you were together.

Blind Date - John puts the word out around town that Lee needs a wife.

Fire Wood - Lee always chops firewood when he's pissed.

Wedding Bells - You and Lee tie the knot in secret.

Until Your Dying Day - You make a promise to Lee.

Duty - Dutton men don’t marry for love.

Never Again - You promise Lee that John won't come between the two of you.

The Sun Doesn't Shine - You are faced with a horrible decision regarding your marriage.

The day after you receive the annulment Lee turns up at Yellowstone with fire in his eyes and the paperwork bundled up in his fist. He tosses it across the breakfast table where his father sits, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

“You have a fucking nerve.” He snarls as John sets it down alongside his plate.

“I thought Anna would see sense.” John tells him as he surveys the documentation in front of him. “I can see I was wrong.”

“You have no fucking right!” Lee snaps, jabbing his finger at his father.

“I have every fucking right.” John erupts as he raises to his feet. “This ranch, it’s legacy, it’s supposed to be in your hands and you’re just throwing it away for a marriage that shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lee retorts. “Is this about Lou? You didn’t get your happy ending, so I can’t get mine? Is that what it is?”

“Don’t…” John says, his jaw clenching as his temper starts to simmer. “Do not talk about that woman.”

“How about her son Joseph? Should we talk about him instead?” Lee continues, his voice raising once more. “You’re a fucking hypocrite. At least when I say I do, I fucking mean it!”

John’s eyes raise up to meet his and Lee knows, he just fucking knows that this has everything to his father’s history and nothing to do with his future.

“Are you done?” John asks him, his palms coming to rest flat on the surface of the table.

“Yea I am.” Lee tells him. “I’m done with you, with this ranch and with this bullshit legacy that has been a noose around my throat my entire fucking life.”

“Let’s see how that works out for you.” John responds, his tone turning glacial. “Let’s see how you do when your blackballed from every single ranch in Montana...”

“I’m not sticking around Montana.” Lee tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m taking Anna back to California and I’m going to do what I should have done twenty years ago. I’m going to live.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mothandpidgeon]

Aunt Flo's First Visit [pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader]

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Sarah gets her first period, Joel is determined to be a supportive parent despite the fact that he doesn't know the first thing about menstruation. But when he goes to the pharmacy to shop for supplies, he finds himself in way over his head.

Words: 2k

Rating: G

Warnings: period stuff and everything that comes with it

a/n: This is really fluffy and a little silly. I saw a tik tok by a menstrual product company about a customer trying to find the right thing for his daughter and it just gave me such Joel energy this happened. I haven't finished any fic in MONTHS because I'm working on my book and that's not finished either so it feels really good to complete something. (If you want to keep up with my publishing journey, I'm mainly documenting it here.) Please enjoy.

Also, I challenged myself to write in present tense bc I never do and I really was struggling so pretend the grammar is all correct. Thank you.

Joel knows how to do a lot of things. He can manage a crew, change a flat tire, and build just about anything. He never considered himself smart by the classical definition but he knows how to make a car battery from scratch despite the fact that he got a C in chemistry. 

If somebody had told him a decade ago that he’d one day be paralyzed with fear in the feminine hygiene aisle, he would’ve laughed. But right now, Joel would give all his knowledge along with his left arm if he could just figure out what the hell he ought to buy for his daughter.

He knew this day would come eventually. It’s his own damn fault he never prepared himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he must’ve expected Sarah to just know how to handle it. Being a single dad wasn’t a walk in the park but he couldn’t imagine how much harder it would be if Sarah wasn’t so damn self sufficient. Even at 13, she can get herself fed and dressed and off to school without help. Of course she could figure this out on her own.

But Joel was reminded that Sarah’s still just a kid when she finally told him that she’d gotten her period for the very first time. She was so embarrassed to admit it, Joel practically had to drag it out of her. 

He was angry with himself. He should’ve been ready, wished that he knew the right words to say. Joel promised himself he would put things right so she wouldn’t feel like she ever had to hide anything from him. 

That was a lot easier said than done, he realizes now.

Joel stands in the aisle overwhelmed and confused. Boxes and soft packages in friendly, pastel colors stare at him from the shelves. He’s never spent much time with the feminine hygiene products, not unless he was scooting by them to pick up a little carton from the family planning section. He hasn’t bothered to learn about that stuff. Women’s stuff. He’s not disgusted by menstruation, isn’t afraid of it. It’s just one of those things he never had to deal with. 

Without Sarah’s mom, though, he’s had to figure out plenty of girl things. He can remember the lesson on managing Sarah’s curls from the kind woman at the hair salon. Names of Shampoos and oils that felt foreign were now routine and he’s mastered using the combs and clips that looked more intimidating than some of his power tools. But he struggled for a good long while before that kind stylist took pity on him. 

And here he is again, flying blind into the female whirlwind. 

There’s so many options on the shelf. Words like HEAVY and gentle and sport. And the prices. Christ! He thought the hair stuff was expensive.  

Joel’s head is spinning but he has to get it together. He’d vowed long ago that he would be Dad and Mom too. That’s what his daughter deserves. 

Just a year ago, he hovered outside of the dressing room at the mall as Sarah tried on training bras. 

“Did you find one? You were in there for a while,” he said when she emerged.

“Dad,” she replied in that tone she was using more and more often, the one that told him to shut up.

It isn’t the changes to her body that scare him, all of the subtle ways she’s becoming less familiar. His little girl is growing up and he mourns her childhood. It won’t be long before she’s driving, going off to college. Maybe she’ll have a daughter of her own but Joel hopes she’ll wait longer than he did, have a chance to make a life for herself.

Speaking of which, he realizes he’s going to have to sit her down for a real talk about boys next. He better get ready for that one. Explaining where babies come from hadn’t been too difficult. Condoms and venereal diseases are a whole different ball game. Teenage boys are gremlins– he’d know– and Sarah’s so smart and pretty, she’s going to have to be careful. 

Joel doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the shelves when a woman appears in the aisle, another shopper. She’s got her keys looped around a finger, headed straight for the tampons, her flip flops smacking against the bottoms of her feet. Joel has a box in his hands. He doesn’t even know what he’s picked up, it’s just got the least intimidating packaging and the price is reasonable. He can’t help but catch the woman’s eye and the look she gives him is a little wary. It must be obvious that he’s out of his depths. But she gives a polite, tight lipped smile and proceeds to ignore him as she approaches the pantheon of period products. 

He watches as her eyes dart around the shelves and quickly she makes a selection, plucking up a box clad with pink and purple silhouettes. So easy. Well, it must be easy for her. He wonders how many times she’s visited this part of the pharmacy, if her mother brought her to the store when she was Sarah’s age and showed her all the options. 

His free hand fidgets at his side and he swallows dryly. He feels like an idiot but he reminds himself that he’s got to do this. For Sarah. The woman is already half way back to the end of the aisle by the time he’s found his voice. 

---

“Excuse me, miss. Could I trouble you for a second?” you hear from the man behind you. 

You turn around, confused, but there’s nobody else that he could be talking to. Here you thought you could get in and out quickly. You’re cranky and tired and all day you’ve had toe curling cramps. It hits you like a ton of bricks every month. All you want to do is get home to your couch to watch some crappy reality tv. 

But this lumberjack of a man– broad shoulders wrapped in a flannel shirt– is giving you puppy dog eyes. You’ve never been hit on while holding a box of Tampax Pearl but there’s a first time for everything. 

“I apologize. This is real awkward,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck with a big hand. “I’m trying to get something for my daughter but I’m a little lost.”

His voice is warm and sweet and he’s handsome as hell but you keep your distance. 

“Didn’t she tell you what to get?” you ask. 

His expression grows even more bashful and his voice lowers. 

“I’m afraid it’s, uh…well, it’s new territory for both of us,” he admits. 

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that forms on your lips. Some poor preteen girl just got welcomed into the cruel arms of womanhood. It will be all downhill from here. Wild mood swings, angry breakouts, blood leaking through her favorite pair of pants. At least, it seems, she’s got her dad on her side. It takes a lot of balls for a guy to pick up a box of tampons let alone stop a stranger and ask for help. 

You’d like to tell him that you’re too busy to help– you can hear your Haagen Dazs calling you all the way from the freezer– but you at least owe it to this kid to help him out. 

“What’ve you got?” you ask, nodding towards the powder blue box in his grasp. It looks so little in his big hand. You walk back towards him and take a look. “Oh. Nice try but I wouldn’t go with that.”

He regards his choice again. It’s kind of adorable, the way the corners of his mouth frown as he squints at the words on the front. “What’s wrong with these?” His words aren’t defensive, he’s genuinely curious. 

“Tampons can be pretty tricky when you’re that age. And those don’t even come with an applicator,” you explain. You remember trying to use a tampon that first time. You’d never put anything up there before and it stung like hell.

“Applicator?” His brows furrow and you can see fear in his brown eyes. 

“So you can put it…in,” you tell him and motion with your finger, jabbing your pointer upwards. 

His cheeks go pink. Ears too. You try to suppress a giggle as his brain short circuits for a second. His throat works as he swallows and places the box back on the shelf— gingerly, like it might explode. 

“Which are the ones that don’t…go inside?” he asks. 

It’s impossible to keep from grinning. 

“Pads,” you say. 

He nods. 

You choose a package and place it in his hands. It’s a multipack, everything from light to heavy, and no wings so she doesn’t feel like she’s wearing a diaper. 

“Try this,” you say. “She might not like them. It takes some trial and error.”

He reads over the circle in the corner that claims it’s 100% Leak Free! You can see he’s still overwhelmed but he’s far less nervous. He really is good looking and you have to wonder how he doesn’t have a woman in his life to help him out.

“This many?” he asks. 

“She might need more.” You shrug. “Just stay away from the scented ones. And you have Tylenol at home?”

“I think so.”

“How about a heating pad?”

He shakes his head. 

“Go get one,” you advise. 

He blows out air and then steels himself with a nod, ready to face the red menace. 

“I’m awfully grateful for your help,” he says and you can tell by the look on his face, he means that. 

You feel your own cheeks heat. 

---

Joel ends up behind her in the checkout line after securing an electric heating pad and grabbing an extra bottle of Motrin. 

“What do you think?” he asks, showing her what he picked.

“Good job,” she tells him. Her smile is tinged with amusement but his chest still swells with pride. Maybe he’s not such a failure of a father after all.

Now that he’s less bewildered, Joel can’t help but notice how pretty this woman is. She’s dressed for comfort without any make up as far as he can tell but that smile and the kindness in her eyes is what does it for him. If they met under different circumstances, maybe he’d try to flirt. Not that he’s had the opportunity to practice recently. It’s for the best, though. There’s absolutely no way the combination of bumbling idiot, single parent, and menstruation makes for a romantic connection. Besides he’s here on an errand for his daughter.

Joel tries to keep his eyes from wandering over her as the teenager behind the register rings her up, the pink box and two bags of M&Ms. She gives Joel one last smile before leaving the store. 

He thought he might feel embarrassed buying nothing but period supplies but he’s too busy thinking about how helpful she was. Sarah would just about die from mortification if he told her a complete stranger gave him a crash course in maxi pads. He chuckles to himself. 

“Hey!” someone calls as Joel approaches his truck.

It’s her, the woman from the pharmacy, crossing the parking lot. Joel smooths his hair.

“These are for her,” she says, handing him one of her bags of candy. “Chocolate helps.”

Joel gives a soft laugh as he weighs the M&Ms in his hand. “That I knew,” he says. 

“And, uh, here,” she tells him, holding out the long receipt. 

Joel takes the paper. On the back she’s scribbled her name and phone number. 

“You know, I don’t know. I just thought– if she has any questions. Or maybe if you do,” she says, shrugging. She’s much less confident now than she was in front of that endless selection of menstrual products. It’s cute and makes Joel feel a little less like an idiot for the way he was fumbling a few minutes ago. 

“I owe you one,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Just be patient,” she warns. “She’s gonna be a bitch but don’t take it personally.”

Joel grins. 

“You’re a good dad,” she tells him and he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

She’s already backing away towards her car and waves again. 

Joel looks at her number, once again finding something he doesn’t know. He’d give his left arm to figure out how soon is too soon to call. 

---

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[penny-anna]

i bought a flat this week.

was off work sick last thursday/friday with what turned out to be the beginnings of a bad cold but at the time i was just like 'oh no why am i so tired is this the return of the Mystery Fatigue'

let's backtrack for a second!! back when i had the offer accepted on my flat my solicitor suggested october 6th as a move in date and i was like sure that works (this was around the beginning of september). then i didn't hear anything from them for many days and then i started getting major dry eye problems that became all consuming so i didn't get around to chasing them.

anyway!! tuesday last week i get an email from my solicitor like 'hi are you still able to complete friday' and i did not have the headspace to deal with it so i didn't reply

Wednesday my solicitor calls like 'hi. we need to know if you want to complete friday'. i'm like 'actually i'm really not feeling well this week, could we postpone'. she calls back a few minutes later like 'they cannot postone'. at this point i'm still thinking that if i get a decent night's sleep i'll feel better so i tell her i'll deal with it in the morning.

Thursday i feel spectacularly worse. have to get up to go to an appointment with my optometrist. almost start crying in their office bcos i'm just so exhausted. (he seemed weirdly unfazed by this?? looking back i wonder if he thought my eyes were hurting or something and didn't realise that i was holding back tears gfhglj) call out sick from work.

plan is to take a nap and then look at the documents my solicitor sent over but she calls me again like 'hi. sorry to bother you i know you're sick but can we complete today' so i'm like ah shit ig we're doing this now. please walk me through exactly what you need me to do here. 'we just need you to send us the money'. yeah i can do that. i've never made a payment this big before tho.

(i'm buying w money inherited from my mother so even for a flat purchase it's an unusually large amount of money)

'oh yeah you won't be able to that online. *pause* are you well enough to go to the bank?' i am tired enough that going to the bank will suck but not so sick i cannot go to the bank.

i had gone fully back to bed. spurred on by sudden wave of adrenaline, get out of bed and dressed and get the bus into town to the bank.

my bank closes at 3pm weekdays and by the time i get that it's about 1:45. explain the situation. turns out that to make a payment this big you need a sit-down meeting with a member of staff and they are booked solid till 3. 'can you come back tomorrow at 9:30 when we open' *dying inside* yes. i can come back tomorrow at 9:30.

go home. remember that i'd told my manager that i'd call her at 9 to let her know if i'm going to be working (i will defo not be working & she knows this) which will be tricky if i have to leave at 9 to go to the bank. have a pretty interminable IM conversation via microsoft teams about this wherein i suggest i message her first thing and call a bit later and she isn't going for it. eventually agree to call at 9 just so i can end the conversation and go to sleep.

Friday morning end up calling my manager from the bus. get to bank. whole thing takes a full 30 minutes so yeah i can see why they couldn't fit me in thursday afternoon ghfdljkfhdj. i'm so so tired. they have to go over a whole fraud prevention statement with you. 'you should be aware that scammers can pretend to be your solicitor'. me, exhausted: okay what if just this one time. a scammer is pretending to be my solicitor.

make the payment. go home to sleep finally.

later in the afternoon get another call from the solicitor. 'hi we have the keys you can come get them whenever'. oh yeah i'd been so caught up in trying to get them the money i'd kinda forgotten about. actually getting the flat.

(side note at no point was i planning to move in on 'moving day', an advantage of being a first time buyer is that i don't have to & i want to redecorate the place which is easier while it's empty)

initially say i'll come in next week but then realise that ideally next week i'll be back at work (i am not but anyway) so i might as well go now. it's pushing 4pm so will need to head out ASAP.

eyes are very dry and itchy from sleeping all day but fortunately i just (on a recommendation from my optometrist) bought a thing called a facial sauna which is a very weird contraption but does work extremely quickly.

pack my eye drops and also a peanut butter sandwich to eat in my new flat (why not) and go get the keys.

arrive at the flat. on inspection realise that the envelope i've been given seems to contain the most random assortment of loose keys. eventually identify an actual set of keys.

put my key in the lock of the flat door. abruptly hear a cat meowing, somewhere very close by.

previous owner had cats (plural) (i know this bcos i saw them when i was viewing the place). have a sudden moment of panic that i've somehow wildly misunderstood the whole situation and that she and her cats are still in residence.

look down. there is a very large, very fluffy white cat standing next to me, looking up at me as if expecting to be let in.

'you can't come in. this is my house.'

make my first mistake: think that if i open the door i will be able to prevent the cat from entering.

cat goes straight on into my flat.

i'm now pursuing the cat from room to room saying 'hey! hey you can't be in here! this is my house!'. the cat doesn't give a shit for obvious reasons (it is a cat)

i might have considered just shooing the cat outside and shutting the door but have arrived at an IMO not unreasonable concern. cat seemed very determined to enter this flat in particular and is now roaming around as if looking for something. previous owner had multiple cats and moved out AFAIK today. i have heard stories about people accidentally leaving cats behind when they move.

at this point it's 4:55 on a Friday. call my solicitor and explain the situation. ask if she could pass on a message to the seller's solicitor. unfortunately they have already closed for the week so it will have to wait till Monday but she will do her best.

decide the next course of action is to see if the cat has any ID. the cat is wearing a harness & collar so might have a tag with an address. make my second mistake: pick the cat up.

the cat does not have any ID on the harness. the cat does NOT like being picked up. cat gets very squirmy and then begins scratching me. cat manages to break my skin through a hoodie.

i put the cat down. the cat hisses at me. this is very rude considering that it is in my house.

head across the landing to see if the people opposite are missing a cat or, failing that, know their neighbours well enough to recognise the cat. there's no answer.

however!! i hear a voice down in the stairwell that sounds like it could be someone calling out a cat's name. 'hi!! is someone down there looking for a cat?' no answer.

look down the stairwell. on the ground floor there is a very large fluffy brown cat wearing a harness. !!!!! that is my cat's friend!

retrieve the cat from my flat (fortunately it just follows me out) and head downstairs. am met partway up by the cat's owner.

'oh thank god is this your cat'. it is her cat. apparently she had opened her front door to let them out into the garden and it had wandered off. 'i just moved in today it came into my flat'.

she is very apologetic. cat is unrepetent.

go back inside. call my solicitor's office. 'hi was it you i spoke to just now about the cat' (I told 2 people about the cat) 'no i just answered the phone because it was ringing. what cat.' 'can you tell *solicitor's name* that i have found the cat's owner. she will know what you mean'.

problem solved!! time to eat my peanut butter sandwich. :)

[tgmsunmontue]

You need to learn how to fall 3/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the Airforce and Navy to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006

2007-2010 – The middle years

                He ends up with another part-time job, fortunately using his human performance part of his degree and working as a personal trainer, mostly early mornings. Jumping out of planes is expensive. He moves out of the house him and Mav usually live in, but months later ends up moving in with Ice when he’s diagnosed with cancer. They don’t sugar coat things, not now that he’s an adult. He has to listen to them talk about wills and property and investments and assets; wants to stick his head in the sand and just chant la-la-la until it all goes away. He doesn’t want to consider his life without them both in it. Hard enough to think he’s already lost his actual parents, he can’t lose them too.

                He sits through it though, signs forms he reads carefully because both Ice and Mav frown and look disappointed the first time he signed without even looking. They get similar forms for him, given his current career and he’s pretty sure Mav has to excuse himself to go and throw up when he says he doesn’t want to be kept on life support indefinitely if he has a bad fall. Ice just nods and accepts his decision with quiet equanimity and he wonders if it’s because he is facing his own mortality. He starts a YouTube channel, figures out how to take effective video and then edit it properly. Loads them up without commentary; originally it’s for those he’s taken up for tandem jumps, but then it’s for other instructors around the country, and then a couple of them move overseas. His channel has a small but dedicated following.

                One of the silver linings of Ice’s cancer diagnosis is the fact he seems to no longer give any fucks about what people might say about his relationship with Mav. Don’t ask, don’t tell is still in effect but it’s also definitely very firmly in the don’t tell realm as far as Bradley can figure out. Everyone who they interact with seems to simply know that they’re together, and have been for as long as everyone remembers. Definitely for as long as he remembers. No one wants to tell and he guesses that Ice is high enough up that there’s probably blind-eyes all over the place.

                Then Ice insists on Mav moving in, which he promptly leaves the house for, not wanting to hang around for listening to the argument or hearing the makeup sex that will surely follow. So they put the house on the market, then he’s given the money and told he can finally buy the plane he wants which he delays a little and carefully shops around, listening to the advice of his old instructors and also Ice and Mav. All his gifts for years are centered around either skydiving or filming and editing software. It doesn’t escape his notice that Mav’s gifts tend towards the safer indoor aspects, while Ice tends toward the safety needs. They’re both supportive in their own ways.

                Living together, all of them, properly for the first time, results in the sudden influx of photos that pop up, every flat surface has frames with photos and Ice starts taking more photos. All of their lives are visually documented on the walls and bookshelves, although Bradley notes the front room Ice uses as a study and work room remains very formal and devoid of any personal touches. Other than formal portraits, like his graduation photo. Regardless of what room he’s in he feels like he is at home.

…             …             …

                His nightmare becomes a reality, although not in full. The call he got was from Bradley, starting off with I’m alive but I’m on the way to the hospital. He’d then passed the phone over to someone else. Apparently he’d taken a bad landing after being forced to use his second backup shute. He’d been too close to the ground so had hit it hard. His hands are shaking as he walks down the hospital corridor, the only thing that has him not vomiting is the fact that Bradley is the one who called him. That Bradley was alive; maybe not alive and well, but alive enough to call him.

                “Bad fall,” Mav mutters. “Like he’s tripped over the front step and grazed his hands…”

                He pushes the door open to Bradley’s room. He’s pale, face covered in bandages, one arm in a cast and both legs in braces, but not as he’d imagined a broken spine and him being in something like full-traction it’s a little bit of a relief.

                “He’s damned lucky.”

                “Doesn’t look lucky.”

                “He had his legs tucked up, hit the ground and rolled. Like it was as natural as breathing. He dislocated his shoulder but continued with the momentum… most people I know would have hit the ground feet-first despite years of training and the shock would have caused spiral fractures. They’ve braced his ankles as a matter of precaution because the x-rays showed no damage, which is a miracle but also isn’t surprising considering he walked into the hospital. We don’t usually say that you can be a natural at skydiving, but this kid is definitely a natural.”

                Mav sighs.

                Of course he is.

…             …             …

                “If the cancer didn’t get me, then I’m sure jumping out of a plane isn’t going to kill me either.”

                “Fighting words. It’s a good thing I’m taller than you. When we come into land you’re going to lift your legs.”

                He listens as Bradley takes him through everything, despite the fact that he knows it all, having listened to it so often he’s pretty sure he could repeat it back, learning it alongside Bradley and quizzing him on it. He can follow Bradley’s instructions, he’s in the Navy. When he’s strapped to Bradley, waved the all-clear he feels a little frisson of abject terror but it’s too late, he’s falling toward to the ground and then his fear fades away and he lets out a whoop of joy, hears Bradley’s amused laughter before it’s whipped away by the rushing air. They hit the ground and it’s gentler than he thought it would be.

                “Woo! What a rush!”

                “Yeah? You like it?”

                “It reminds me of my first launch off a carrier. Damn. Yeah. I get it now. Love you kid,” he says, knocking his own helmet against Bradley’s, the words aren’t ones he says often, but feels the need to say them more often now. Doesn’t want Bradley to ever doubt how he feels. Mav either for that matter…

                “Love you too.”

…             …             …

                “You were both up there, together.”

                He should have known it would give Mav another nightmare and he curls himself around him, makes gentle shushing noises under his breath, glad now that he doesn’t have to try and do this over the phone.

                “Do you trust him?”

                “Of course I do!”

                “Then know that skydiving, especially tandem skydiving is safer than driving to and from the hangar. Car accidents are far more common and hurt far more people than skydiving does. You’ve seen him with his gear. Hell, we check it. He’s damned good at what he does. He’s meant to be up in the air just as much as you are…”

                Mav lets out a little hiccupping breath and Tom knows he’s got something that’ll definitely take his mind of everything else.

                “You know, there’s something else I want to check off on my bucket list…” Tom says, and he’s not going to move, but his otherwise grand plans aren’t getting a look in right now. This feels right.

                “What?”

                “Pete Mitchell, will you marry me?”

…             …             …

                Ice and Mav leave plans on the table one night. An extension to the house, with a shared internal door but his own front door; effectively making two houses. A large bedroom, another room for an office with a desk, extension to the garage so he can store his gear, enough room to roll out his chutes and carry out checks. It’s very clearly an invitation to never move out, but also to live independently and he finds the sticky notes they use to communicate when they’re too busy to actually stop and talk. Simply draws a heart and writes love it in the center.

                He doesn’t bother looking at moving out of home again.

2011-2015 - The later years (NEXT PART)

[pickledpascal]

Long Story Short, It Was a Bad Time

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

Warnings: transphobia, homophobia, horrible parent john winchester, homophobic language, implied past prostitution, based on 14x13, angst with a happy-ish ending

A/N: in this, dean is trans and visually looks similar to another of jensen's characters, beau arlen.

Word Count: 4.8k

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

Dean Winchester had known he was a boy since he could talk. Hell, before he could talk. 

He wasn't aware he wasn't a boy until after his mother died and every single teacher in every single town they went to called him a girl and separated him into the girls' lines instead of the boys. It got increasingly mind-numbing as he entered his pre-teen years. His first period came around and his dad wasn't sure what to do. Pads were one of the most expensive supplies he had to buy and he never failed to make Dean feel bad about it at every turn. 

“Suck it up, Deanna.” 

“Don't go tellin’ anyone I don't do anything for you, Deanna.” 

“You better clean the garbage out when I get home, Deanna. I don't wanna see that.” 

The name itched him like a bad rash. Made him want to scream. But all he could do was cry. After John was gone and Sammy was asleep. 

His boobs were growing in and everything about his body felt wrong. He was glad he was naturally tall and that he was able to gain more muscle the more John let him go on hunts but it wasn't the same. His shoulders weren't as broad as the other guys in his class, his hips jutted out too much for his liking, and he hated his long hair. 

Dean cut it on his sixteenth birthday and told his father it was under the guise of wanting to be safe. Unpullable hair meant one less thing he had to worry about when it came to monsters. John looked at him suspiciously. He must have known. But he didn't blow up like Dean expected him to. That made the wrenching feeling in his gut twist more. There had to be a catch. 

He came out two weeks after that.

“Thank God.” Dean blinked at the reaction. “I thought I was gonna have a dyke of a daughter. Now, I have another son. You going by another name?” 

Dean wanted to throw up. Somehow, that made everything worse. His father would rather have a son than a lesbian daughter? He didn't want to think about the fact that he still liked boys just not as much as girls. 

He had a few mishaps, he'd look at a few guys as he passed them with John at his side. Dean didn't think too much of it since nothing came of it. Why would John punish him for something as simple as a glance? 

Then his seventeenth birthday came.

Dean's first hunt by himself, specifically curated by his father. He watched the fire in the hole he dug earlier with his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. The two bodies were as intertwined as they could be for rotting skeletons. 

The heat was nice. But bittersweet. He was close enough that it could burn him. Dean would've loved to burn to a crisp as well but he had a brother to protect. 

Dean swallowed thickly and gathered up his supplies.

Message heard loud and clear, Dad.

Dean's top surgery was one of the things he remembered the most about his more medical transition. He couldn't get testosterone as much as he wanted to with forged signatures and documents but Bobby offered something else. 

So Dean was laid down on a steel examination table asleep on some anesthetic Bobby was able to get off the black market. Bobby didn't have much experience being a surgeon so it wasn't the best but it was as sterile and safe as it could be. But Dean couldn't have been happier. His chest was flat. That's what he cared about. Even if he had to be at Bobby's for weeks. He was just glad Sam was there too instead of having to leave him alone with John. 

Time passed. Dean leaned hard into his masculinity after John died. A little too hard. 

“You are way out of my brother’s league.”

“Guess how many of these cheerleaders are legal.”

“She's a bitch.”

“Fucking bitch!”

“Bitch!”

Part of it was his frustration with nearly being killed every day of his life, not even by monsters, the other part was the things John beat into him at a young age. If Dean wanted to be a man, he had to be one at John's discretion. He had to like girls but not enough to actually settle down with one. He had to look out for Sam even if that meant he would die. 

So he did. 

Made a deal. Went to hell. 

Except he didn't expect to come back. 

That gas station would forever stay in his mind. He walked for hours to find it. His whole body felt a little different. Jumbled around but he could tell his body was still his. He immediately went for the water bottles and broke the seal, downing it in one go. 

Dean caught a glimpse of a mirror out of the corner of his eye. He walked up to it and licked at his bottom lip, staring at himself. He noticed his sharper jaw decorated with stubble, his hair seemed to be less chopped, his shoulders more broad, and… he had bowlegs? He looked down and then back up. 

Intrigued, he lifted his shirt. His lips dropped open. The scars under his pecs were still there but they were different, no longer botched and scary-looking, but smooth. And his chest. It wasn't completely flat like it was before. His pecs looked more natural, protruding a bit. Like a “real” man. Dean let his shirt drop as he breathed. The handprint on his arm was there too and, for a moment, he knew something cosmic had to be the reason for this, but something inside him felt so happy. Giddy. 

He snuck a peak under his jeans. And, yeah, no he still didn't have a dick but he didn't particularly care about that anyway. One of the only things about his body that didn't matter as much. Well, at least now he felt comfortable in himself even if it came at a price. 

Over and over again. He was reminded of what he “really” was. 

“Daddy's blunt little instrument.”

“Daddy's little girl.” 

Hell, half of it came from himself. As a joke. Not one he particularly wanted to be true.

“I've been re-hymenated.” 

“Ever since I was a little girl.”

“You got anything that’s real?” “My boobs.”

As Dean grew older, he started to shed those kinds of ideals. Not only did it get too heavy to bear but he started not to care anymore. John was dead. Mary was dead. Who did he have to impress? So he didn't mind talking about the fact he didn't have a dick and indulging himself on some things that may be seen as feminine. Like a few satin panties tucked into the bottom of his drawer or the few times he painted his nails—it never lasted long when he went on a hunt. 

Although Dean still thought of his body as a tool, something he could use against their adversaries, it was a little easier to live in when he was in control of what he could do to it. When it was the kind of body he always wanted. So he got more tattoos to cover his body—they were mostly covered by his layers of denim and flannel except for one that creeped onto the side of his neck—his nipples got pierced and he nearly forgot he actually had nerve endings there when it happened, he grew out his hair a bit—not nearly as long as Sam’s but enough that he could style it better—he started wearing earrings and rings again. Not many and usually not during hunts because he had a feeling any monster, or human for that matter, would take advantage of it and tear his ear in half.

Sam and Castiel didn't mention it. Ever. And Dean wasn't sure if he should be grateful for it or not. 

“Why did you…” Dean breathed, glancing up at Castiel. He didn't want to finish the rest of his question. It was right after Mary came back and she had locked herself in some random room in the bunker to process something. 

Dean was no longer her beautiful, young four-year-old daughter Deanna. He was a grown man with shorter hair, a sharp jaw, and stubble. He knew it would be a shock for anyone, especially someone dead for so long but he didn't expect it to reopen a wound he thought had healed years ago. People had only ever thought of Dean as Dean. A man. 

Even the very few women he got with after transitioning still thought of him as a man afterward. 

Castiel’s eyes softened at Dean. He could sense the turmoil inside his head. “I was given liberty to rebuild you in the way I thought would prepare you for Micheal,” He admitted softly. He could see Dean was holding in a breath. “I decided to give you the body you wanted. The one you deserved. I had never seen a soul shine as bright as yours as you looked at my handiwork in that gas station. I knew then, I made the right decision.”

Dean's cheeks flared with blush, averting his gaze to look at anywhere but Castiel. He never quite thought about him being there, watching him admire himself. He knew that was Cas, of course, he did, but to Dean, it wasn't Cas just yet. The Cas he knew was so different from that grinding, high-pitched noise he remembered hearing.

The Cas he knew was safe. His best friend. The closest thing to family he had beside Sam. He was able to be open with Cas in a different way than Sam. 

More and more shit came and went. More and more apocalypses. But Castiel was a constant. Even if he died a few times. Even if he left a few times. He usually came back. Dean wanted him to stay. For good. But even if he was more open with being a transgender guy and liking girls and guys, he still wasn't that open about his feelings. His more complicated feelings. 

“Sam? Deanna?”

That fucking pearl. 

The sight of his father. That's not what Dean wanted. That wasn't his deepest desire. Hell, he didn't even know what his deepest desire was. And that name. He hadn't heard that name in years. Mary caught on quickly that Dean was Dean and that was it. But, of course, his father wouldn't. Even if he liked having Dean as a son more than a daughter. 

That fucking pearl was supposed to get Micheal the fuck out of his head and kill him for good measure. Instead, it brought him the one thing Dean hated more than anything in his life.

On autopilot, Dean locked himself in his room. He nearly fell to his knees but he braced himself on the wall and had half a mind to punch a hole in it. He winced as that banging in his mind got louder. Micheal screamed. Dean slid down the wall and pushed his hands into his hair. His breathing was harbored and he felt suffocated as if something was weighing down his chest.i

Why did that pearl do that? Dean was happy without him. As happy as he could be with an archangel in his head and tonnes of baggage. 

A soft knock brought Dean back to reality. Cas. He pushed himself off the ground and opened the door. 

“Sam told me about your father,” His tone was deathly serious. Dean hadn't heard Castiel sound like that in a while. He was grateful for it. “Would you like me to smite him?”

Dean swallowed. The offer was tempting. “Jesus, Cas, no. I—” Want him gone. Dead. Obliterated. Erased from his memories. Back in Hell. Gone from Heaven. Tortured to be forgotten. “I need you. Here. With me.” His shoulders slumped after the admission. 

“Of course, Dean. Whatever you need.” Castiel's voice softened as his eyes did as well. It was so truthful, said with such fondness Dean nearly cried. 

Dean sat at the end of his bed and motioned for Castiel to do the same. The angel obliged. He knew there was this thing between them. Obvious enough Sam started to call him out on it, never in front of Cas to save him from the embarrassment, but it was always on his mind when they were alone together. He wasn't sure what to do with it. All his feelings. Everything was so complex. Yet simple. It was a strange dichotomy. One he wasn't sure he wanted to admit out loud. 

But the fact that Castiel had only ever seen Dean as a man helped. Drove it into his thick skull what this thing was. Love. Castiel spoke to him so reverently. Spoke his name like a prayer. One Dean desperately wanted to hear over and over again. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Of course, Dean.” 

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

“This is a good thing, Dean.”

“He called me Deanna,” Dean admitted softly, eyes focused on his boots. He was naturally tall, even before resurrected by Cas, but the boots gave him an extra inch or so to not look as small next to Sam. He could feel how tense Castiel was after his words. “It's… funny,” He let out a dry laugh, “For years, I've been fine. Been good in that area. But that's just—” Dean took a sharp breath. “People see me as a guy now. At least, they do until they get in my pants. But Dad—John, I fucking look like this,” He gestured to himself, “And he calls me Deanna? Fuck me.” He scoffed. 

For a second, he had a feeling John only humored him when he was younger. Called him Dean, got him a binder before his surgery, just because it was easier. If Dean became a man then he wouldn't look as much like Mary anymore and then maybe he wouldn't see her in his eyes or his face. 

But John still did. This was proof of that. 

“Your father, for lack of a better term, is a bitch.” Castiel said shamelessly. “You are so much more than a man born in the wrong body. It's a shame your father is too blind to see that.”

Dean's breath caught in his throat. And then he laughed. Hard. Hard enough his lungs started hurting and he had to gasp for air. Hard enough that tears started to form at the edges of his eyes and a few even rolled down his cheeks. He didn't register his hand on Castiel's thigh until he set his hand on top of it. 

Dean pulled it away. Or tried. Castiel held it in place. “Your soul…” He murmured. “It shines so bright when you laugh.” 

His voice. So soft and reassuring. Dean screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't help the fluttering in his chest. For the first time in a while, Micheal was silent. It was just him and Cas in the middle of his bed. Safe. Outside his room might be different. 

Dean's eyes lifted to meet Castiel's. They were a brilliant shade of blue he couldn't quite place. Nothing matched it. Sure, he could compare them to the ocean or perhaps the sky but even those didn't come close. Without thinking too hard, Dean let himself go. 

His free hand pulled Castiel close as he brought their lips together. The surprised noise the angel made was cute and Dean could feel him melting into the kiss. Castiel's lips were chapped, Dean chalked it up to him not caring for his vessel much, but everything felt so right. Their fingers intertwined while Cas threaded his free hand through Dean's hair. 

A cough. And suddenly Dean and Cas jumped away from each other. It was Sam. Dean took a breath, thankful that it was Sam and not John. Sam smirked as his eyes flickered between the two men but it was quickly wiped off his face. “Mom and Dad… they want to have dinner together.” He explained, focusing on Dean. 

There was still a lot Dean didn't tell Mary about John. About their life before the Men of Letters bunker. What Dean did to survive, to make sure Sam could live as comfortably as possible, to put food on the table and get a bed to sleep on, even while John was still alive. Bathrooms in gas stations on his knees, in the back of bars, dingy motel rooms. 

John never asked where the money came from, he took it anyway. 

If Mary knew, Dean knew she would look at John in a different light. A part of him didn't want to tarnish that for her. Even though it took some adjusting, she had accepted Dean wholeheartedly. Hell, she only messed up on his pronouns a few times, that was a lot better than when Sam first found out. 

“Dean, do you want…?” Sam didn't finish his sentence. He didn't know the full extent of what John did to him but he knew Dean intentionally took the brunt of the abuse for Sam. And he could never take that back. “He's asking about you. Saying you—you finally look like a man. Wondered what kind of work you had done. Thinks you're…” Sam wasn't trying to guilt trip Dean, quite the opposite. “Thinks you get a lot of girls. Asked if you had a wife or something. Asked if you,” He coughed, “Got a dick yet.” 

Dean’s fist clenched as his face contorted into disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Castiel getting frustrated as well. 

Screwing his eyes shut, Michael crept up in his mind again. The screams. The banging. It came back tenfold. “What does he even want? For us to be fucking normal?” Dean huffed.

“Yeah,” Sam said simply. “Dad… he's from 2003. That's what he does best. Act normal when nothing is.” He smiled sadly. 

Dean stood up from the bed and rolled up the sleeves to his flannel shirt. He wouldn't—couldn’t—let his father undo everything he had ever built in the last fourteen years of his life. The small little family he made. Sam, him, Mary, Cas, Jack, and Claire. That was his family. Not John. 

Castiel looked at Dean, concerned. “Are you sure, Dean?” He could see that little boy inside him, still scared of what his father could do to him. But he could also see the grown man he came to be, unafraid of his father because he could likely overpower him now. 

Before he could think about it too hard, Dean nodded. “C'mon, sunshine. I'm not letting him fuck with my head again.” His leg bounced slightly. Not from nerves. 

Dean, Sam, and Cas made their way into the war room where John and Mary sat at the map table. John’s head lifted to look at Dean. Fully look at him. Take in his new appearance. When he appeared, Dean didn't stay long enough for John to get a good look at what he had become. The last time he'd seen Dean, he was twenty-five, wore too big clothes, had a skinner frame, and his hair was short and was never styled. This Dean… was not that.

He grew into his height, broad shoulders, visible muscles under his flannel—John would have never guessed Dean was born a girl. That he was his daughter. 

“Deanna.” John breathed. 

“Dean.” The man corrected. “You're… here.” He wished he wasn't. 

John’s eyes narrowed momentarily. Normally, he would've slapped him for something like that but he wasn't stupid. This Dean had a few pounds on him. “I am. Sam and your mom caught me up on everything that went down,” His eyes shifted to land on Castiel. “That the angel that pulled you out of Hell?” 

“Hello, John.” Castiel greeted, void of any emotion. Dean glanced at him. He knew the angel inside and out and he knew Castiel was getting increasingly annoyed simply being in John's presence. 

Mary sensed the tension between them and coughed. “I was thinking we could have Winchester Surprise?” She suggested softly—ever the peacemaker. 

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his mother. He knew Mary was desperate to have John, they didn't have much time together and she was still very much in love, but no one else wanted him there. Dean didn't and neither did Sam and Castiel was so close to stomping John into a curb. 

“I'm not sure that's a good idea, Mom.” Dean finally said. As much as he wanted to protect her from the real John, the one who was hiding behind a loving façade, he had to break the news to her. There must always come a time when the veil gets taken away from someone’s eyes, showing them the truth.

John tilted his head and Dean couldn't help but feel it was condescending. “Why not? We're all family here. We can be normal for a night,” He stared at Dean a little too hard. “As normal as we can be.”

“We were never normal,” Dean ground out. It took all his self-control not to just yell at him. Mary looked at Dean worriedly. She'd seen Dean mad, specifically at her, but nothing like this. His shoulders were tense and his nose was drawn into a snarl. 

“You–You don't get it. Never will. You suck for a father. I had to raise Sam myself. You'd fuck off to who knows where drunk half the time and make me, a four-year-old watch over a fucking baby. And you liked me better as a son than a girl who liked girls? What the fuck?” Yeah. Fuck that self-control. Dean’s jaw set in place. “Guess fucking what dad? I like girls and boys. And I could care fucking less what you think of—”

Dean's jaw throbbed. Surprise shivered down his spine. John flexed his hand as he stared down at Dean as he cupped his face.

“John!” Mary yelled.

Castiel nearly jumped John before Dean did. With a single right hook, John was out cold on the floor. He flapped his hand afterward, feeling the soreness immediately. It had been a while since Dean had to punch someone, usually, he had a gun or knife when fighting, he was a little surprised at how effective it was. 

“Dean!” Mary huffed as she went to John's side.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He decided he might as well come out with it. “Fuck him, Mom. He was never my father. He never tried to be. I was the only person who watched over Sam. A tool in his life while he was dead-set on revenge. We could have been normal. If he never went on a rampage.” He looked down at the pitiful heap that was his father with disgust. He glanced at Castiel over his shoulder. 

Mary shook her head, trying to reason with Dean. “We're a family. We don't give up on family.” She whispered. 

“Sometimes you do,” Dean huffed softly. As much as he and Sam fought, as many times as they took turns dying, it never got so bad that Dean thought he hated him. At least, not for more than a day or so. “I'm good with who I am. Dad isn't. I don't want him in my life. I don't think I ever had but… this is my life now. I get to live it. Meaning I get to choose who's in it,” He swallowed thickly, knowing what he was about to admit. “In ten years time, it's not with him. Never was.” 

“Dean, you don't mean that.” Mary sighed. Pleading. She wanted to keep John, make up for lost time.

Sam took a step forward. “Mom, you don't get it either. The shit John put Dean through—put both of us through—no kid should have to go through that.”

Mary huffed, “Then tell me. You can't just expect me to know.” 

Castiel stared at her. “Your sons don't have to say anything they are uncomfortable admitting.” He said it as if he was stating the weather forecast. 

Dean pursed his lips. Hurt. He knew Mary wouldn't understand but he didn't quite expect this. He turned on his heels and made his way back into his room. 

Eventually, everything was as it was. John was sent back after Sam destroyed the pearl and Dean could breathe a little more comfortably afterward. Mary shut herself off from them but he had a feeling that would get resolved as much as the gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach told him it wouldn't. He never wanted to see or think about John ever again. Hadn't wanted to for years after the shit he's gone through. 

Dean heard a knock on his door after he got ready for bed. Hell, he was halfway underneath the covers when it happened. He grumbled under his breath, not thinking to put on a shirt or a pair of pants as he opened the door.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said softly. As soft as each time before. Dean was suddenly very aware of how bare he was. “Do not be alarmed, it's nothing I haven't seen before.” The angel stepped inside his room, closing the door behind him. 

Castiel's words did nothing to ease Dean's beating heart. It felt like a hammer against his chest, wanting to tear itself out of him. 

Castiel’s eyes never wavered from his face, studying it as if it were a work of art. He lifted a hand to Dean's cheek. Dean felt as if the air was punched out of him. “I want to know if you're okay, Dean.” Those blue eyes—they never looked at him in pity, never. They looked at him with wonder and understanding. 

Dean didn't register the single tear that rolled down his cheek until Castiel's thumb wiped it away. “Not really, Cas.” He breathed. Admitting it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. 

“Why—” Castiel took a breath, saddened by how destroyed Dean's eyes looked. “Why do you think the pearl… gave you John?” He asked softly as he and Dean sat on his bed. 

Dean glanced at the corner of his room, lip trembling with a mix of rage and sadness. “Maybe the pearl thought I wanted a Dad. Someone who could love me unconditionally. But I—” He paused sharply, eyes finding Castiel's all over again. He wanted to memorize his eyes as if it were the first time he saw them. Or the last. “I have you.” He breathed. For the first time, Dean hadn't been compelled to add Sam at the end of his sentence. 

“You do,” Castiel smiled. And, god, Dean's heart wrenched at the sight. Cas didn't smile, not often. “You always have.” 

Dean let out a shaky breath, leaning into Castiel's hand as it caressed his cheek. He sniffled slightly. “Cas, please…. Please promise me you'll stay. Even—Even if I push you away. You,” He was full-on crying now and Castiel was looking at him as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. “You'll stay. No matter what.”

“I will.” Castiel whispered light as a feather. Two simple words but it was a promise that meant so much to Dean. 

It was a promise Castiel never intended to break. Why would he? Especially when Dean seemed so desperate. So distraught. He could never leave Dean. Not again. 

“Kiss me.” Dean whispered. Pleaded. He wanted to memorize everything about Cas. The strange body heat he gave off, the tilt of his head, how his lips pressed into a thin line when he was only minorly frustrated by Dean, the roughness of his stubble. Everything. 

For the first time, Dean saw a smirk grace Castiel's lips. “Whatever you want, Dean.” He brought their lips together with a sigh. 

They kissed for a while, pausing for breath in between kisses but they didn't go past that, ending up with Castiel in bed with Dean after he shed his trenchcoat, shoes, and tie. Dean dozed off, peaceful enough to fall asleep in Castiel's arms. 

Even with a fading grace, Castiel didn't sleep much. His body ran well enough on it that sleep wasn't needed. So he stayed up, playing with the hairs on Dean's neck as he watched over him, soothing him as much as possible when he sensed a nightmare coming on. 

“You think you're cursed sometimes Dean,” Castiel cooed on deaf ears but he didn't mind. He had to get it out. “That hate is the only thing that drives you. That you're not built for love. But you are. I think, sometimes—no, I know—that’s all you're made up of. And I–I promise we will find a better way,” Cas lifted his hand to Dean's shoulder, positioning it right above his scar. The scar he burned on his skin. “I love you, Dean.” He whispered into his ear.

For the rest of that night, Dean didn't have nightmares. For the rest of that night, he burrowed himself closer to Castiel. For the rest of that night, Michael was quiet.

[bracketsoffear]

Journal 3 (Alex Hirsch) "Ford Pines travels to Gravity Falls, becomes obsessed with unraveling its paranormal mysteries, makes a deal with an all-seeing demon to achieve his dreams only to discover he's been duped, and descends into violent paranoia about being watched and keeping secrets."

1984 (George Orwell) "In 1984, civilisation has been ravaged by world war, civil conflict, and revolution. Airstrip One (formerly known as Great Britain) is a province of Oceania, one of the three totalitarian super-states that rule the world. It is ruled by "The Party" under the ideology of "Ingsoc" (a Newspeak shortening of "English Socialism") and the mysterious leader Big Brother, who has an intense cult of personality. The Party brutally purges out anyone who does not fully conform to their regime, using the Thought Police and constant surveillance through telescreens (two-way televisions), cameras, and hidden microphones. Those who fall out of favour with the Party become "unpersons", disappearing with all evidence of their existence destroyed.

In London, Winston Smith is a member of the Outer Party, working at the Ministry of Truth, where he rewrites historical records to conform to the state's ever-changing version of history. Winston revises past editions of The Times, while the original documents are destroyed after being dropped into ducts known as memory holes, which lead to an immense furnace. He secretly opposes the Party's rule and dreams of rebellion, despite knowing that he is already a "thought-criminal" and is likely to be caught one day.

While in a prole neighbourhood he meets Mr. Charrington, the owner of an antiques shop, and buys a diary where he writes criticisms of the Party and Big Brother. To his dismay, when he visits a prole quarter he discovers they have no political consciousness. As he works in the Ministry of Truth, he observes Julia, a young woman maintaining the novel-writing machines at the ministry, whom Winston suspects of being a spy, and develops an intense hatred of her. He vaguely suspects that his superior, Inner Party official O'Brien, is part of an enigmatic underground resistance movement known as the Brotherhood, formed by Big Brother's reviled political rival Emmanuel Goldstein.

One day, Julia secretly hands Winston a love note, and the two begin a secret affair. Julia explains that she also loathes the Party, but Winston observes that she is politically apathetic and uninterested in overthrowing the regime. Initially meeting in the country, they later meet in a rented room above Mr. Charrington's shop. During the affair, Winston remembers the disappearance of his family during the civil war of the 1950s and his tense relationship with his estranged wife Katharine. Weeks later, O'Brien invites Winston to his flat, where he introduces himself as a member of the Brotherhood and sends Winston a copy of The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism by Goldstein. Meanwhile, during the nation's Hate Week, Oceania's enemy suddenly changes from Eurasia to Eastasia, which goes mostly unnoticed. Winston is recalled to the Ministry to help make the necessary revisions to the records. Winston and Julia read parts of Goldstein's book, which explains how the Party maintains power, the true meanings of its slogans, and the concept of perpetual war. It argues that the Party can be overthrown if proles rise up against it. However, Winston never gets the opportunity to read the chapter that explains why the Party took power and is motivated to maintain it.

Winston and Julia are captured when Mr. Charrington is revealed to be an undercover Thought Police agent, and they are separated and imprisoned at the Ministry of Love. O'Brien also reveals himself to be a member of the Thought Police and a member of a false flag operation which catches political dissidents of the Party. Over several months, Winston is starved and relentlessly tortured to bring his beliefs in line with the Party. O'Brien tells Winston that he will never know whether the Brotherhood actually exists and that Goldstein's book was written collaboratively by him and other Party members; furthermore, O'Brien reveals to Winston that the Party sees power not as a means but as an end, and the ultimate purpose of the Party is seeking power entirely for its own sake. For the final stage of re-education, O'Brien takes Winston to Room 101, which contains each prisoner's worst fear. When confronted with rats, Winston denounces Julia and pledges allegiance to the Party.

Winston is released into public life and continues to frequent the Chestnut Tree café. He encounters Julia, and both reveal that they have betrayed the other and are no longer in love. Back in the café, a news alert celebrates Oceania's supposed massive victory over Eurasian armies in Africa. Winston finally accepts that he loves Big Brother."

[realtimefanduboutofcontext]

some thoughts

I'm very aware some people think the strike fell flat during its last few steps, but it's good that we had SOME coordination rather than none. I hope that we can arrange this again, because our action towards Israel should hit it where it hurts - the organizations that support it

At the end of the day, you are fighting with your voices, with your wallet, with your protests, uplifting each-other and honoring the memory of the 26,000+ martyrs who were senselessly killed by the IOF, while also remaining steadfast to protect those who are still alive.

The fact that there are still Palestinians with hope should signal to us all that there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Freedom for all of Palestine. Freedom for all oppressed nations. For Sudan, for Congo, for Yemen, for the Uyghurs, and many more. And if nothing else, please document their memory like Palestinians would want you to.

I will share with you the poem written by the Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer, titled "If I Must Die". He wrote it before being killed by the Israeli army.

If I must die,  you must live  to tell my story  to sell my things  to buy a piece of cloth  and some strings,  (make it white with a long tail)  so that a child, somewhere in Gaza  while looking heaven in the eye  awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—  and bid no one farewell  not even to his flesh  not even to himself—  sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above  and thinks for a moment an angel is there  bringing back love  If I must die  let it bring hope  let it be a tale

إذا كان ال بد أن أموت  فال بد أن تعيش أنت  لتروي حكايتي لتبيع أشيائي وتشتري قطعة قماش  وخيوطا (فلتكن بيضاء وبذيل طويل)  كي يبصر طفل في مكان ما من ّغّزة  وهو يح ّّدق في السماء  منتظرًاً أباه الذي رحل فجأة  دون أن يودع أحدًاً  وال حتى لحمه  أو ذاته يبصر الطائرة الورقّية  طائرتي الورقية التي صنعَتها أنت تحّلق في الأعالي  ويظ ّّن للحظة أن هناك مالكًاً  يعيد الحب إذا كان ال بد أن أموت  فليأ ِِت موتي باألمل  فليصبح حكاية ترجمة سنان أنطون 

Thank you so far for sharing what I've been learning this past week, and cumulatively these past few months. I have hope for Palestine. I just hope that we can break the system so the bloodshed will stop soon enough.

Until then,

CEASEFIRE NOW! FREEDOM TO PALESTINE!