#as i think it encompasses the political moment perfectly

[dms-a-jem]

Depeche Mode Interview

1988 - RTBF (Belgian TV)

Disclaimer: I’m not an astrology buff, but I feel like their answers perfectly encompass their horoscope signs:

Andy (Cancer): Avoid drama, just say yourself

Alan (Gemini): Is polite and gives a dignified answer, but can’t help the subtle head-shake as he thinks “what a juvenile question”

Martin (Leo): Loyalty to his bestie, but in order not to offend the other two explains his reasoning and then cracks a joke to lighten the mood

Dave (Taurus): Uncomfortable giving an answer, jokes about spilling the drama to deflect for a second…but in the heat of the moment wants to answer honestly. Then his brain finally catches up and he realizes “no wait, I love Martin and Andy too” and rambles on about how they’re all buddies

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Cuddling with Tall Vampire Mommy? Please? 🥺

Okayyyy.. so I totally set out to have this just be a sweet and tender little cuddling snippet but welll.. I’m thirsty 🤣  So, I hope you’ll all enjoy some soft, tender sex with our Lady! I know I enjoyed writing it 🤤 .. Also, I put the finger riding thing that I mention before into this one  👀  (at over 3300 words, this gets a cut 😅)

****

“Pet?”

The Lady’s voice was soft, catching you off guard as you jumped. Quickly wiping the tears from your eyes before hastily going back to your evening duties. The small wettened handkerchief stuck deep within your pockets as you heard her enter the room.. 

“Pet… look at me.”

“My lady?”

“I did not stutter.” 

You took a deep breath, only hoping that your face wasn’t as flushed as it felt - forcing a weak smile across your lips as you turned to face her. 

“Yes, my lady.”

She very slowly began to close the distance between you, a soft look in her eyes that you had yet to see there before. Her hips swaying silently with each elegant step that she took. The length of her looming over you - casting you in a deep shadow as she reached where you stood near the bed. The feeling of gentle fingers on your chin as she turned your face from one direction to the other, sighing deeply before releasing it. 

“You’ve been crying, pet.”

“I… Y-yes, my lady.”

“Care to tell me why?”  

You bit your bottom lip, slightly averting your eyes before she clicked her tongue - forcing you to look forward. An even deeper blush painting it’s way across your cheeks while you tried to think of a way to explain yourself. 

“My lady.. I.. “ 

You paused, taking another deep breath as you shook your head. The Lady only sighed, taking a seat in front of you on the bed. A somewhat tired expression across her face, the deep lines of it sharing their journey with you as they creased in response. She gave you a soft smile, patting the spot next to her on the bed. 

“Come here, pet. Sit with me.”

You looked at her curiously for a moment, but she firmly held your gaze - not dropping it until you began to move from your spot. Placing the small rag you had been using to clean the glass on top of the windowsill, you joined her. A look upon her face so fond that you had no chance at stopping the swift blush from swiftly moving across your cheeks. And you sat there for a moment, wondering how you could explain it. How you could tell your Lady that, in the simplest of words, you missed the feeling of another’s body against yours - of them holding you close as they stroked their fingers gently through your hair. You blushed harder at the thought of it, quickly clearing your throat before speaking.

“My lady, I… it’s kind of.. embarrassing.” 

“Dear, have I not chosen you as my personal servant? As my pet?”

“Well, yes, but I…”

She waved her hand dismissively, cutting you short before scooting herself a little closer to you on the bed. 

“There is nothing you can say that I would ever judge you for, my pet.. and I certainly can not help the situation if you do not tell me what it is.” 

“I’ll.. I’ll try, my lady.”

“Good, pet.”

She smirked a little as your blush grew deeper at her word choice, stroking her hand over the side of your head affectionately. And it was true, the two of you had grown closer in the weeks since your promotion. The Lady had almost seemed to be growing.. fond of you. With the nights where her desires and needs overflowed only seeming to be becoming more frequent and little more tender. You swallowed hard, trying not to allow the mere proximity of her fluster you anymore than you already were.

“It’s just that I.. well, you see…” 

You sighed as the words refused to leave your tongue. The look on Alcina’s face growing from soft to knowing as she watched your eyes begin to trace over the length of her. 

“Ah… Have you been feeling a little lonely, my pet?’

You bit your bottom lip, averting your eyes as you nodded. 

“I see… has your Lady not kept you satisfied?”

“W-what? No, no! It’s not that.. it’s just that I-!” 

She chuckled as you began to grow increasingly more flustered, allowing her fingers to stoke over your hair and down your back before finding your waist. A slight gasp to your lips as she pulled you closer to her.

“It’s alright, my pet. I believe I understand.”

“You.. do?”

You met her eyes shyly, watching the deep embers within her own grow a little softer. Her heady pheromones sweeping over you as she lifted you slightly and pulled you onto her lap. A deep breath escaping from her lungs as she leaned you both back against the headboard. One strong arm wrapped securely around you, tracing fingers through your hair, while the other rested on your thigh. 

“Is this what you had in mind, pet?” 

The light flush upon your face turned to a deep crimson, forcing you to hide it in the crook of her shoulder - snuggling in as you sighed into her.

“Yes, my lady. Thank you.”

“Such a sweet pet.”

You hummed against her neck, burying your face into it as she placed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Do not be afraid to ask for such things in the future. You may be my servant, but your needs are important. Understood?” 

“Yes, my lady.”

Your words were half muffled into the softness of her skin, a slight shudder from her body at the feeling of it. A single finger stroking softly through your hair, another gently caressing over your thigh - just inches from being able to slip beneath the hem of your uniform. The mere presence of her stirring a fierce heat deep within you. Relishing in the moment of it - in the simple closeness of her exquisite body. 

“I can hear your heart racing, pet. Do I have such an effect on you?”

“Pretty sure you’d have such an effect on anyone in this position, my lady.”

She chuckled, forcing cool breath across your forehead. 

“Perhaps.”

“There’s no doubt, my lady.”

She hummed softly in response. The fingers on your thigh beginning to trace idly over the soft flesh of it. Small circles turning into more abstract designs the higher up they moved. The gentle pressure of them compelling a deep want across your body - a desperate need for more of her. 

Where this wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in such close proximity to the Lady, it was the first time she had held you in such a way. With her steady breath rising and falling against your increasingly heated body. With the soft smile that rested so perfectly against the top of your forehead, occasionally gifting it with a tender kiss. You were positive that every inch of your face was flushed, that every part of your body was slowly becoming encompassed by the presence of her, and nothing more. 

Without giving it a second thought, you placed a sweet kiss to her neck - forcing a sharp inhale across her lips. 

“Pet.” 

She said the words calmly, promptly stopping the idle movements of her fingers. You blinked, quickly remembering your place as you pulled your lips from her skin.

“I.. I’m sorry, my lady.. I should have asked first.. I shouldn’t have-!”

“Hush now, pet.” She quickly interrupted, her fingers returning to softly stroke over your hair - immediately calming your nerves. “It’s not that it wasn’t appreciated.”

“O-oh.. May I ask why you stopped me, then, my lady?” 

“Always so polite, my pet” She smirked, chuckling softly. “It’s just that I’m.. unsure whether or not I’ll be able to stop myself from touching you, if you continue.”

“Ah.” 

You felt the small flame that had already been stirred deep within you ignite even further as your imagination ran off with her words - filling your mind with the most delicious of fantasies.. with memories of the times before.. of the countless thoughts you’d had of your Lady on the nights where you had nothing more than the warmth of your hands to keep you company. 

“And… what if.. I wanted you to touch me, my lady?” 

You felt a tiny growl reverberate throughout her throat at your words, the pressure of her fingers on your thigh enhancing slightly. 

“Well, then, pet... by all means, continue.” 

You hesitated for only a moment before bringing your lips back to her soft skin, a slightly salty taste upon them as you allowed your tongue to sweep gently over each kiss that you gave her. The small gasps and tiny whimpers that deliciously slipped past her lips only willing the juices between your legs to build. She was exquisite, in every sense of the word. A physical masterpiece brought life, and it were your lips that were slowly unraveling her control. 

You gasped slightly as her fingers began to move from your thigh and higher up, a whimper of a moan dancing through the air as she pressed one firmly against your clit, instantly forcing your hips forward. 

“Mmh.. such an eager little pet.”

“Y-yes, my lady.”

She only hummed in response, starting teasingly slow circles over the thin fabric of your uniform. Her touch being everything you ever wanted, and yet, still you wanted more - needed more - of her, of everything that she had to offer you. 

“Ah-! My lady... may I.. undress?” 

“Of course, my pet. I appreciate your asking, but you do not need to.”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you.”

She released her arm around your waist, watching you carefully as you adjusted yourself from her lap and slid the bottom parts of your uniform from your flushed body. A single raise to her eye brow as her gaze followed your movements. 

“You are quite beautiful, my pet.” 

You could feel yourself blushing fiercely under her gaze, and even more at her words.

“As are you, my lady.”

“Mmh.. and such a stunning blush.”

“I... th-thank you, my lady.”’

When she chuckled at your response, and you were positive that your cheeks were about to burst into flames at any second. Her fingers tracing sweetly over your hair and down your back as she allowed you to take your time to get ready. The smoldering embers of her eyes never leaving you for a second, not even when the last bit of fabric fell from your eager body - an inherently intense feeling sweeping over you at just the knowledge of having the unwavering attention of the one and only Alcina Dimitrescu. 

“Ready, my pet?”

“Yes, my lady.” 

She held out her hand to you, smiling softly at the slight tremble to your fingers as you took it - pulling you close to her as you shyly smiled back, unsure if you would ever grow accustomed to her affections. 

“Is there anything specific you had in mind today, pet?”

She smirked as your gaze fell to her fingers, chuckling before she nodded. 

“Very well, pet. Let’s try something a little more intimate this time. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course, my lady.” You replied, not quite sure of exactly what she meant until she rested her hand out on her lap, fingers up. 

“Take your time, pet.” 

“Yes, my lady.”

You swallowed hard, lifting yourself back onto her lap. The sheer thought of her fingers filling you so deliciously only making the juices in your core begin to steadily drip. A deep breath escaping from your lips as you slowly straddled your Lady’s hand - a thigh on each side of it as your eyes locked onto hers. A fond smile painted across her perfect lips.  

“You may hold onto me for support if you need to, pet.” 

“That’s .. very kind of you, my lady.”

“I want you to be comfortable, pet. Always.”

You blushed a little at the utter softness to her voice - at the absolute gentleness to  a voice that could normally scale over mountains. That could reach the darkest corners of death and find its way back again. But now, every word she muttered dripped from her tongue like the warmest of honey. 

“Well… same goes for you, my lady.”

She chuckled as if you had just said something truly remarkable. As if you were the first person outside of her family to actually care about her comfort.

‘Of course, pet.” She replied, humoring you with a smile. A sunlit gleam to her eyes as she leaned in, placing a single finger under your chin as if lifting it to meet her. You felt yourself growing more flushed the closer that your lips grew. A hitched breath across them as she stopped just short of her pressing hers against you. 

“You may... kiss me, my lady.. if you want.” You blurted out shakily.

“Such a sweet pet.. thank you for your consent.”

You were barely able to muffle out an incoherent reply before her lips were on yours - they were sweet and indulgent, and immediately set the world around you spinning. A gentle touch upon your cheek as she deepened the kiss.. pulling you closer as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to her. You melted into it, moaning slightly as you began to lower yourself down onto one of her fingers. A divine sting across your body as you felt yourself stretch around her. 

“That’s it, pet.. nice and slow.” 

She murmured the words against your already kiss-swollen lips and you nodded in response - wanting nothing more than for her to keep kissing you. For her sinful lips to stay exactly where they were and never leave. She pulled you back in, kissing you eagerly. The intoxicating feeling of her tongue sweeping over yours causing your entire core to clench deliciously against the length of her. A profound heat spilling over you like a wildfire, engulfing everything in its sight. A steady rock to your hips, holding onto your Lady’s neck for support until she pulled away. The absence of her lips almost offensive to you, making you whimper.

Smirking, Alcina locked her eyes onto yours. “Worry not, my pet. This tongue will be yours for the remainder of the evening.” 

“Fuck.”

The curse slipped from your lips before you even had a moment's thought to stop it, to even think about it, closing your eyes as you waited to be reprimanded - but the Lady only chuckled.

“Yes, pet.. that too.”

As if to punctuate her words she thrusted her finger firmly up inside of you, forcing you to fall forward. The soft fabric of her dress cool against the flushed skin of your face - silken ivory against a sea of crimson as your body fell directly into her. Her supple flesh soft beneath you - and you swore, for just a second, that you felt a slight chuckle to her breath.

“Comfortable, pet?”

“S-sorry, my lady.” 

You lifted yourself up, blushing fiercely as you adjusted your body - resting your hands gently against her ribcage. 

“Quiet now, pet. Are you comfortable?” 

You gave her a small nod, the girth of her finger pressed exquisitely against your walls as your hips started to move again. Juices dripping down as you eagerly took the full length of her back into you - forcing your desire to trickle down to her wrist with each indulgent thrust. Your fingers gripping into the soft fabric of her dress as you held on tightly, the pace of your hips only becoming more and more greedy. Rolling your hips firmly down into her, writhing against the air - against nothing more than the softness of her body. The relentless heat that had embedded itself deep within your aching core only continuing to build - continuing to smolder over inside you. Your body ignited - engulfed - as the fierce blush that had made it’s way across your cheeks and down the landscape of you steadily grew more and more brilliant against the crisp white of your Lady’s dress. 

“You’re taking me so well, my pet.” She whispered.

Small whimpers turning into deeper moans as she thrusted the length of her finger as deep inside of you as she could. Every desperate cell in your body set a blaze as she matched the pace of your hips, forcing the deep crimson of your face into the softness of her chest - muffling your moans into her as you held onto her like a lifeline. The utterly tender touch of her fingers stroking through your hair, the relentless movements of her other in your core - the most exquisite contrast between firm and soft - just like the Lady herself. 

“Such a sweet, perfect pet.” 

She placed a soft kiss to your temple, only igniting the fire within you even further. Your body rocking fervently against her as the unrelenting pleasure inside you grew - as it built - steadily swelling like the tidal wave of warmth that was currently coursing through your racing heart. She picked up her pace even more, the cool fabric of her dress the only escape from the feverish flame that was spilling over you. A deep moan reverberating though your body as she held you close, as her finger mercilessly increased it’s rhythm, willing your hips to do the same.

“That’s it, my pet. Let your Lady hear you. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

A profound cry ripping from your body as she placed the base of her hand directly against your clit. 

“Ah-! Mmph.. fuck, my lady.. I .. you feel so good.. I’m-” 

Your face fell back into the soft cushioning of her chest, body too overcome with the raw and unfiltered pleasure that your Lady, and only your Lady, could deliver. She hummed softly, placing another soft kiss to your skin. The firmness of her finger inside you - of her heated skin against your clit - forcing stars behind your eyes, causing a galaxy of bliss to promptly spill over you. Her gentle touch holding you close as your core stretched exquisitely around her - your pace growing fervent - growing more and more desperate for release. The softest of moans slipping from your mouth, imbedding themselves into the silken fabric of Alcina’s dress. The coolness of her breath across your ear as she leaned down to whisper.

“Come for me, pet.. come for your Lady.”

The white hot pleasure that immediately spilled over you - that inhibited every cell in your body, every pore that covered your overly flushed skin - compelling a barrage of fireworks behinds your eyes. Her thumb against your clit, merciless as it circled over you.. her fingers inside you, divine - wholly wrecking you. Every part of you brimming with energy, alive with nothing but passion for her - for your Lady - as you brought your core down onto her finger vigorously, forcing an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain to spread across your body. Screaming out her name in unbridled ecstasy as your pleasure crashed over you like a fever dream, causing your whole body to shudder - to convulse deliciously against her. Her fingers holding their pace until you eventually fell breathless on top of her. Your perfectly flushed face buried deep within her chest - breathing in her scent as your pace slowly came to a halt. 

“You did so well, my pet.”

Alcina’s voice was soft, gentle as it danced across the cool air of the castle. Her fingers in your hair as she stroked over you tenderly, splattering sweet kisses across your forehead.

“..... Thank you.. my lady.”

Your words were muffled into her, your face buried deep within her dress as you held onto her - keeping her close. Relishing in nothing more than the solace of the moment - in the perfectness in it - in the utter softness that she had allowed herself to show you. Small whimpers still escaping from your throat as your breath began to steady. 

“Shhh, my pet. I’ve got you.. for as long as you need me.”

You snuggled in closer, inviting her presence to wash over you - to completely envelope you in her safety and warmth - finding the simplest of comfort in her words. A content smile upon your lips as a single word spun unhindered through your mind in response.

‘Forever’

[madaboutmunson]

Creep - Part 9 of 12 - Would?

Your home has been your only safe place for the longest time, but something about Eddie's home was incredibly comfortable, well, eventually anyway.

Initially, there were a few moments of awkward but cute standing around with accompanying silences, but thankfully Eddie decided to give you the tour, which allowed for questions and info dumping. This ultimately resulted in you sharing some cereal, like popcorn, and watching an AC/DC Let there be rock VHS.

"This might be the last recording with Bon Scott as lead singer. I think it was recorded in Europe someplace" he turns over the case in his hands, "Ah, Paris, yeah, of course."

You had half expected to have been pounced on, in some way or another by now, but it hadn't occurred. You were slightly disappointed, but also, dare you say it? Pleased. Impressed maybe? Was that totally arrogant? It had certainly taken the pressure off of the evening for you anyway, which you were grateful for.

"Wow, this guy, Angus, is it? He's wild! Does he run around like that all the time?" You are mesmerised by this show. You've never seen anything like it. Your Dad had talked to you about concerts he's been to when you were younger, but this was so loud, fast, and powerful. Not like the concerts you and Connie had been thinking about attending at the time. Like Duran Duran.

You still had a few of the mixtapes you had made together from around that time. Each one was put together perfectly, ready for choreography with accompanying lip sync, so when you played it in your room, you could perform like you were on stage yourselves.

"Yeah, pretty much!" He answers in semi awe, gazing at the screen.

You both reach for the last tiny piece of cereal. Eddie politely waves for you to have it and moves the bowl from in-between you both, scooching over to you.

The tiny little cereal bite makes it to your lips when he says, "I've changed my mind" scooping the side of your face in his hand, the ice-cold metal of the rings sends a shockwave to your temple and kisses you so incredibly softly.

He pulls away a few millimetres and stays there for a few seconds, staring deep into your soul. Your eyes feel like they must be glazed over, like in a cartoon. When a character gets hit over the head. It's only when you hear him audibly crunch the last bit of cereal he just stole from your mouth that your brain returns to earth. The audacity!!

"Why you little thief," you say, tackling him until he's lying back on the sofa. His mischievous cackle fills the trailer as you mock scold him, "Well, now I'm gonna just have to call it in! Grand fucking larceny right in front of my face." Your hand slips whilst you try and pin him down, he's much too wriggly, and he arches his body to the side, giggling furiously, "Mr Munson, are you....are you ticklish?!"

You raise your hands in the air like a puppeteer, "No, no, please", he protests between fits of giggles.

"You must pay the price for your crimes, Edward," you say in your best Hopper impersonation and tickle his sides mercilessly.

After a while, he can take no more "Ok, ok, stop! No more, please", he says, tears of laughter in his eyes.

You release him, "Shit, the things you gotta do around here to get a girl to touch your body" he's trying to make you embarrassed and is, unfortunately, successful, but you attempt a little play revenge.

"Oh, I see. Was that another move from the great Munson playbook, was it?" You tease, "I mean, I'm not sure or not if it was, in fact, much cooler than leaping on me like a koala bear, to be quite honest with you."

"Oh, not sure, huh? Maybe you need a few more samples to decide?" He turns the tables much faster than you expect. He's now straddling your lap, with you sitting bolt upright, against the back of the sofa in surprise.

He grabs your face and furiously plants hundreds of small aggressive kisses all over it. Your face is encompassed by his deep mane of hair.

"Ok, ok", you put your hands up, "I get it! Enough! You Joker"

"What was that?" He leans back a little, still holding your face, pretending not to hear you, "Too many? Hmm, maybe longer ones."

He dives back down and starts dishing out intense closed-mouth smooches all over your face, each pressing into your face for at least a few seconds.

"I swear if you give me a mark, my Dad will kill me, and then you."

He leans back again, pouting, "Yeah, ok, much too intense, I get it."

"Stop it, you dork", you laugh.

He stops suddenly, "Hold on a minute there!! Did you just call me..." He pauses with his thumbs and index fingers pinched together. His face is pretend offended "...a dork?"

You try to reply, but he quickly interjects with a dramatic rendition of Shakespearean-level theatrics, "Ah, so the day hast finally cometh. Where the magic of Munson has withered away and perished. A d'ork she had called him and his only, and if I do say so myself, fitting response was, Goodbye cruel world," and he lets himself fall backwards from your lap, towards the floor.

On reflex, your arm reaches out and grabs at his t-shirt and pull him back up towards you. He's already smiling broadly, "and that ladies and germs is how it's done. A-thank you," and he bows to a pretend audience.

You sit, gently laughing together until the piercing rings of the phone calm your merriment. Eddie rolls his eyes and gets up to answer it. He's talking quietly, but he keeps looking over at you, smiling and making faces at the person on the other end of the phone.

You quickly check your watch and realise the time. Jesus, it was nearly midnight. How had the time gone by so very quickly?

Eddie puts down the phone and notices your demeanour has changed, "Time to go home?" He says, trying to hide his disappointment. He must not want you to leave but also didn't want to guilt you into staying.

"Well, it's nearly midnight, and I haven't called my dad, and he said he expects sleepovers, but I needed to be open about them, and I wasn't expecting one, so I didn't mention it, and you didn't say anything, so you know, well, I've just lost time, haven't I?" You're waffling nervously and spilling way too much information, but the barrier between brain and mouth has just been blasted through by the muscle car of your panicked train of thought.

"Hmmm," He says thoughtfully, then puts his hands in his pockets. "Well, from my side, I had no expectations....hopes maybe..... I just was enjoying the evening, that's all" you smile at one another kindly.

"Me too," you say, standing and putting on your jacket, "I've had a great time." You pause mid-zip up and decide to ask the dreaded question. After all, you were about to leave anyway, so if he said no, it would be way less awkward, "Would you wanna, maybe, do it again some time?"

The question lands, and you brace yourself for an awkward set of excuses. Instead, he strides up to you confidently, putting his arms around your waist, his eyes searching yours, and utters gently, "I couldn't think of a single thing I would rather be doing." He kisses you on the forehead, and you relax into his arms for a few moments before heading out.

When you eventually step out of the trailer, the night sky looks absolutely stunning. You walk around, looking up into the stars, "Wow, is it always like this here?"

"No, not always," he says, stepping into the night, "it's an especially clear crisp night tonight, though. So, you know, they're putting on a good show" he waves his hand vaguely into the sky.

You point your finger at the blanket of stars and trace a wonky W shape, "Cassiopa", you say.

Eddie double takes, "The what now?"

"Cassiopa", you repeat.

"Cassiopeia", he corrects, laughing.

"Oh", you laugh, feeling a bit dumb.

"A vain creature, that one", he adds.

You take offence, "Vain, me?"

"No, no, no, no," he says hurriedly, "Not you. Her!" He points into the sky again and traces the wonky W shape.

"It's a person?" Your brow furrows with confusion.

He looks sorry for you and puts his hands to his mouth, "You don't know, do you? You don't know there is a whole story up there?"

You shake your head, "I just know that one constellation."

"One?!" He makes a fist and bites his knuckle, "You know what I think? I think you need to call your Dad right now and let him know you are staying here, and if he's worried about anything....well....you know what... Yeah...why not?....then he's welcome too, but there is no way I can possibly let you leave here when all you know is one measly constellation."

"I'll ask and see what he says. Don't get your hopes up though"

You go back in and call home. Your Dad picks up immediately, "Honey, are you ok?! Where are you?"

"Sorry, Dad, time just went so fast and then I was leaving, and we were looking at the stars, and Eddie was telling me about them, and I thought maybe I should call and ask if it's ok if I stay over?" You blurt out the question as quickly as possible, like a band-aid, you think to yourself.

You narrow your eyes, bracing for Dad's rage. Eddie is standing in front of you in full support mode, silently crossing his fingers.

Your Dad clears his throat, "a-hem. Well...." He goes quiet

Remembering what Eddie said, you quickly add, "You know if you feel uncomfortable about it, Eddie said you are more than welcome here too."

Eddie nods enthusiastically at you. You let out a little nervous cough, "Plus..." You are struggling to find the right coded words, "There won't and haven't been any choices to make this evening." Eddie looks at you, shocked, mouthing, "What the actual fuck?" You silently shrug back him in an 'I didn't know what else to do' way.

You hear your Dad grumble a little. He's probably shocked you are being so forthright.

"Nothing.....er...compromising", you try.

Eddie throws his hands in the air like the battle is lost.

A little more phone line silence, "Hmmm.....You know what, seeing as you have followed the rules, and I don't detect any lies....though it is over the phone..." He's pondering it further, " I'm gonna give you this one, ok, but if anything, and I do mean anything happens that you are uncomfortable with, you get straight back here, ok. Call me if you are worried. I know where the trailer park is" he says that so quickly you wonder if he's trying to say it before another part of him stops him from saying it.

"How did you-"

"Sorry honey, it wasn't just music recon I did today, alright? But that is beside the point. Remember what I said earlier about being smart. I want to trust you on this sort of thing, so you can have freedoms and be happy." He pauses again. You can almost see him pensively stroking his chin in thought, "I guess it is Saturday night after all.......ok, sure, but do not make me regret this, ok?"

"I won't!! Thank you. Love you. Bye," you say, putting down the phone carefully.

"I've got a pass!!" You shout, and Eddie punches the air a few times in excitement.

"Ok, ok" he's pacing around, half talking to himself, trying to plan everything. He rushes into his bedroom and starts rustling around. A few moments later, he emerges with some sleeping bags and his lunchbox, which he dumps into your arms, and starts ushering you outside.

Once outside, he climbs up a ladder to the top of the trailer, "Pass them up then", he hurries. You do so and then follow him up there. He's laid the sleeping bags out neatly next to one another and pats one for you to come and sit down.

You make your way over to your designated seat. Eddie joins you, seating himself on the other sleeping bag. He opens up the lunchbox and starts rolling a joint.

"Do you wish to partake?" He jokes, holding it between his fingertips, "You know, seeing as you don't have to drive home now."

"Sure, why not" it had been a long time since you smoked weed. In all truth, the first time, you and Connie had found a prerolled one in her parent's stash. You spent probably ninety per cent of that 'session' coughing and spluttering, and it was little to no fun.

The times after were more medicinal, or at least that is what you told yourself. Just to have some peace from the constant questioning and maybe get some quality sleep in place of the same flashes of a nightmare.

"I'll make sure to let Dad know that minutes after he had agreed to let me sleep over, you plied me with drugs," you say in the most serious tone you can muster.

Eddie stops for a second in alarm and then rolls his eyes, "Ha, ha, very droll", he says sarcastically.

You both lie back on your respective sleeping bags as Eddie narrates the story in the sky, outlining each of the character's constellations as he goes, "So Cassiopeia and Cephus over there, were married, and had a kid called Andromeda...that's her there see."

He traces the arc of Andromeda in the sky, passing you the smoke. You take a slight drag and continue listening, "So Cassiopeia is extremely vain, and she's all like, I'm so much better looking than those sea nymphs. Unfortunately for her, those sea nymphs were Poseidon's kids. He's the king of the sea. So he's pissed and sends out a sea monster, Cetus, over there to attack their shores." You pass the joint back over to him. There is a slight pause in storytelling for him to get his hit.

You love looking at the stars, you had pretty much no idea what was going on up there, but you loved them all the same. You feel so happy right now. It was almost like they were twinkling their hardest just for you.

"Anyway, so, they are all freaking out about the sea monster thing, so they think, ah we need to appease it, so they plan a sacrifice. I mean, it was a big leap, as parents, that they decided to choose their own daughter, Andromeda" you quickly point and trace out the part of that constellation you remember, "Very good!! Now so this chick is tied to a rock, and there is this big old sea baddie, but luckily for her, Perseus just happens to be flying back from a quest on Pegasus, and rescues her"

"Wait like the flying horse, Pegasus?"

"The very same." He confirms.

"Whoa," you said in awe of the sky, it's starting to hit you a little now, but it's a very pleasant, relaxing feeling.

Eddie laughs, "Whoa indeed", and he passes it back to you.

"So, are there any other constellations we can see here?" You say, looking at the very star-crammed heavens above you.

"Yeah, there are some like zodiac sign ones here and here, and then there is Triangulum." As he speaks, he points them out and traces them quickly like he's drawing them into the sky.

"Triangulum? Who's that? Like a pointy god with three heads or something?"

"No, I think it just means triangle."

You take a drag and partially sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows, "So what you are saying is, amid all the heroic action adventure, there is just a random triangle?"

"I mean...I guess you could say that," he says slowly.

You both look at one another for a few seconds and explode into laughter.

"Don't mind me, Perseus. I'm just a triangle." You say in a silly voice in between giggling fits. You sigh and lie further back on your elbows.

"That was such a great story, thank you. You're so good at storytelling, dude. I'm actually a little jealous." You say, patting his head in congratulations.

"Jealous of storytelling?" He says, half laughing.

"Yeah, sure, for about 2 years now, that's all anyone wants out of me really, and I..." you flourish your hand to yourself and take another drag, "...can't give it to them."

You flop back down onto your sleeping bag, holding out the joint for Eddie to take, and stare into the night sky, "Maybe you could write me a story to tell them, so at least they have something rather than nothing".

Eddie rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, and puffs on the joint whilst you are still holding it, "You can't tell them what you don't know, darlin' ", the slight drawl when he utters that last word makes you feel giddy.

"I liked that. Say that again."

"What? Darlin' ?" He says, amused.

"Yeah, it feels funny in my mouth if I say it" You start imitating the word, and you both start laughing again.

Once you've calmed down again, and the laughter fades to sighs, something has been bugging you, "Hey Eddie, you know cultists, are they real?"

"Oh yeah, sure, look at all that Manson family stuff for a start", he answers.

"No, I'm thinking more like in Dungeons & Dragons, like with all robes and hoods and stuff."

"Well, I guess anyone could have a robe and hood, but that sounds a lot like the whole satanic panic type thing. Why on earth are you asking about cults?" He's still smiling, but there is a tinge of concern there.

"Oh, it's silly, really. I think my brain just mushed the D&D game with my reoccurring nightmare."

"You have a reoccurring nightmare?"

"Well, I call it a nightmare, but really it's just all I can remember from when Connie and I went missing."

He's quiet for a moment and probably doesn't know what to say.

"It's ok, I don't often get to explain without someone getting upset with me, so this could be a first. Unless you don't want me to, of course. It's a big deal, but, you know, it's a short story."

Still slowly blinking at the vastness of space, you say, "I mean, I can't blame them. I'm angry with myself too. Only difference is, I know for sure I'm telling the truth about not remembering. You know, even this week, a teacher gave me a book on like guided visualisation or some shit. I mean, I guess it might help, but what if I go through all that, and people get their hopes up, and nothing comes of it."

"So how does it work, this guided stuff?" He asks with a big inhale

"I think basically you have a tape or a shrink talking to you whilst you walk around your memories, or what you can remember. They talk whilst you are in there and like set a scene, or ask you questions and stuff."

"Huh. Well, we could try that if you like? I mean, I don't mind doing the talky bit if it helps you."

"Really? You'd do that? For me? It might be pretty fucked up in there, man. What if I did something really bad, or I remember something horrific?"

"Then I'll be right here with you. Look, I heard the gossip stories about you and Connie that weekend, and the person in those stories and you, do not match up. Like square peg round hole type of shit, man. I mean, don't get me wrong, you look like you could be pretty handy in a fight, but I don't think you'd hurt anyone out of malice."

"What if it was an accident, though? And my brain has blocked it out."

"Then it was an accident, man. It's cool. I'm not trying to pry or force you to do anything you don't want. The offer is there anyway." He reaches for your hand and interlocks your fingers with his, "I just don't want you to be hurt anymore, that's all, and if there is a way I can help you, I wanna help you."

Eddie's words and his hand latched onto yours fills you with a sense of bravery. "You know what, I'm sick of being useless and powerless to help. Let's give it a try."

"Ok...but first, let's get down from here before that becomes a lot more complicated...maybe get some snacks and drinks" he smacks his lips, "yeah, definitely drinks."

You gather up the sleeping bags, and Eddie grabs his lunch box, the climb down is at a snail's pace, but you make it eventually. You sway around a little more than him, but it's not unpleasant. Once you get back into the trailer, you go to Eddie's room.

You give Eddie the basics of what you can remember from skim reading the book and the bullet point memories. He nods and cracks open a beer, "Right, ok, " he takes a swig from the can, "So anywhere you particularly want to investigate?" He asks, breaking out his notepad and tucks a pencil behind his ear.

"I think maybe the hooded people, they are troubling most right now," Eddie asks you to describe that scene in as much detail as possible, which you do.

"Ok, got it" he makes a few scribbles on his page and adjusts his pillow so you can lie perpendicular to where he sits.

You close your eyes, and Eddie starts talking you through some generic scene building, a meadow with a specific type of flower, anything worlds away from your memories so you can tell the difference.

Once you are fully emersed, Eddie asks you to look up and see the figures leaning over you, "What colour are their hood and cloaks?" he asks.

"Like a dark red", you reply sleepily.

"What do they want with you?"

"Not sure...can't hear them...they're laughing at something"

Eddie urges you to stay in the moment, listen, and see as much as possible.

Your visions start to flicker like an incorrectly tuned TV set, but you desperately try to stay in the memory. Something catches your eye, "shiny....a shiny watch."

Eddie scribbles down everything you say, "Metal, sparkle, clock face has hands."

As you are examining the watch face in your memory, it feels as though something grabs the back of your clothing and pulls you, hurtling you backwards away from it.

It feels as though your back crashes through the surface of a body of water, and you are still being dragged back at an alarming rate. You feel like you are drowning until you are pulled out of what feels like the other side.

You land with a thud and look to your right. The ripples. You watch the ripples move, but you feel like something is different this time. It is much more viscous. This isn't water,

"Not water, something else."

"Can you smell or taste anything?"

"Only metal" your hand is plunged into the ripples, and you feel a warm sensation, "Warm."

"Can you look around for me? Do you feel any sensations different to the warm liquid"

You desperately try to feel anything else, a chill touches your back.

"It's cold, where I'm laying it's cold, I'm cold" your eyes search behind your eyelids, a flash of something above you, "red cloak and a table," you say as you see one hurriedly swishes past you and stops abruptly at the edge of a table.

"Something's wrong" your stomach beings to flip over as the red cloak darts around in front of you.

Eddie takes a swig of beer, "What do you mean? Has something changed?"

"Panic, running. One is running. They've gone"

Another grab at your back plunged through yet another surface in the darkness. It's like your subconsciousness is dragging you through recollections you had long forgotten, but not long enough for all the details you want.

This time you aren't anywhere different, you are still in the same place, but this time you feel it. You can't move, "I'm stuck", you say as you try to "gotta get out of here" you try to move your body in the memory. You are stuck fast.

In Eddie's room, you are desperately squirming against nothing. He puts down his beer and notepad slowly. "Ok, I think that's enough now," he says.

You can hear him, but it's like listening to it from underwater.

In the visualisation, something drops from the table towards you. It's hard to determine what it is because it's so close to your face but just sways above you. You try to refocus your eyes.

"Hey, did you hear me? I said that's enough," Eddie says, a little more worried, but you are so close to focussing on the object.

A drop of liquid hits your lips from the pale object in front of you, which twitches and crunches, and that's when you see it. The little purple butterfly ring, "Connie?" You say weakly.

"Connie?!" You say in more alarm and try to move again. Nothing.

"CONNIE" you scream in terror and immediately find yourself back in Eddie's room, sitting bolt upright, breathing heavily, looking at the wall.

You turn to the side and hear Eddie scream. He is firmly pinned up against the other wall, "What the actual fuck?" He pants, staring at you, horrified.

The lump in your throat rises, and you feel your eyes fill with tears. What kind they are, you aren't sure, terror, sadness, joy,

"Eddie.." you say in a hoarse whisper, "I saw the ring she used to wear all the time. I-I think it was Connie" you look down at your hands, "I just couldn't do anything, I couldn't move or reach out to her" your voice cracks a little.

Eddie slowly peels himself from the wall, sits next to you and drapes his arm around your shoulders. You gratefully lean into him and let a few tears fall. He felt so warm right now, compared to the memory sensations of the cold, hard ground. "Did you get much info this end?" You ask without much expectation.

"Well, I think I might have nearly had a heart attack", he jokes, trying to mask his worry, "I wrote down everything I heard and made notes of any descriptions. Well...except the last bit...because I.... well, let's just say it was pretty fucking scary in here."

" What happened?"

"Your body just went stiff as a board man, then you were vibrating like a cheap motel bed, then nothing, absolutely nothing at all. I thought you'd had a seizure or something. When I touched your arm, there was no response. You felt cold, like unnaturally cold. Then you said her name, did one hell of a sit-up and screamed her name into that wall there."

You rub your face with your hands, "I'm so sorry I scared you. I just thought I'd see something else if I could stay in there a bit longer."

"Hey now", he tries to comfort you, "so I got a little worried there for a second. I'm fine, you're fine, and potentially we have more clues for you. Well, at least some words", he gives your shoulders a little squeeze. You look up at him, and he can't hide his concern on his face this time but dips back into humour to ease the tension. "What do you say we get a little more 'fresh air," he says using air quotes, "with our friend the mighty triangle and then catch some z's."

You nod into his chest, wrapping your arms around his lithe torso and giving him a little squeeze back. He makes a noise of appreciation, "or...we could just stay here," he says gently, snuggling into your arms some more, gently walking his fingers along your arm.

You shake your head and smile, "You know, for a man who just got scared half to death, you recovered pretty quickly."

"What can I say? I've got priorities, and my goods are the best in town."

You look at his cheeky grin, and the bad feelings get pushed way down.

"Goods?" You say with a slight smile.

"Well, I was talking generally about lunchbox contents, but they aren't the only goods I've got." He says enthusiastically, purposefully poking your curiosity.

You sit up, "Well, now you are going to have to tell me."

"Well, first of all, these things." He rolls up his sleeve and flexes a bicep at you, "then of course 2 buns of steel, eyes you get lost in.... repeatedly!! a 100kW smile, I mean I could go on," he laughs.

"Oh, I see, "you pat yourself down, "well, that's too bad. I've clean forgot my wallet."

"Well, you know, we accept payment plans here," he says flirtatiously, pulling the sleeping bag over the top of your both.

You giggle in the moment, but mid-kiss, you open your eyes, trying to take in every detail of his face, just so you could recall it exactly when you needed it next. Trying to give your brain so many details, it could never forget this.

You knew you were absolutely in way too deep, too soon. His soft brown eyes are closed, hidden from you, and it feels like you almost know something he is blissfully unaware of. Deep down, you know, this guy was going to, when it was over, not just break your heart, but obliterate it to its very atoms.

Good things don't last for you. They never have.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

22 with Zukka for the prompt list? Also hi :)

"Give me a brush. I'll fix your hair for you." + zukka

Zuko was angry.

He supposed that wasn’t that shocking—he was angry a lot—but the amount of genuine anger and frustration he was accumulating due to his hair, now that wasn’t fair nor normal.

It was stupid—he had to attend some dumb public event since he was the Fire Lord and stand at the side applauding politely, then say a few words. Really, he’d been through more stressful times in his life than that.

Even still, there was an hour left before he had to arrive, and he was getting ready in his chambers. Or, he was supposed to be getting ready. He was still in his sleeping robes, aggressively pulling a brush through his hair

Honestly, at this point, he was just beating his scalp.

No matter how carefully or slowly he ran the brush through his hair, it was still tangled. It still looked greasy, and even when he said “screw it” and just threw his hair in a top knot, he nearly chopped it all off because it looked terrible. The bumps at the top of his head were so large it looked like he hadn’t even brushed his hair in the first place!

Logically, he knew that his dad was far far far away right now and would in no way, shape, or form be attending the same event or see said event, but he couldn’t block out Ozai’s voice in his head telling him how big of a disappointment he was due to the state of his hair.

Zuko grunted, throwing the brush across the room and leveling the cursed object with a furious pout. It’s what the brush deserved.

“Hey, Zuko! I can’t decide whether I should wear my cobalt robes or my lapis robes. I know you don’t think there’s a difference, but I swear to you—are you okay?”

The angelic sound of Sokka’s voice caused Zuko’s face to shift from fury to a soft smile. He turned around, his fingers twitching when the brush left his sight because it needed to know how angry he was, and shot Sokka what he hoped was a soft look.

His boyfriend was also wearing his evening robes, something far too casual for the event they were attending, and it took everything in him to focus his gaze on Sokka’s face rather than his shoulder where the fabric was slowly slipping off.

In his hands were two tunics which absolutely looked the exact same color-wise, but he just chalked that up to Sokka being picky about his wardrobe (no, he wouldn’t acknowledge that he was unsure whether it was that or the fact that he couldn’t see properly out of his left eye).

Sokka’s hair looked impeccable, tied tightly in a wolf tail, much unlike his own.

“Sunshine?”

Oh, he’d been staring, hadn’t he?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand over his face and collapsing onto his bed. “I’m just trying to get ready.”

He watched as Sokka’s eyes flickered between Zuko’s tapping foot, his hair, and the brush on the floor behind him.

His face morphed into understanding and he carefully draped his clothes over the back of Zuko’s vacant chair, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Give me a brush. I’ll fix your hair for you,” he said gently, nudging Zuko’s foot with his own.

“Get it yourself, Lazy,” Zuko muttered, but either way he shifted his position so he could roll onto the other side of the bed and reached, swiping the brush off the floor and tossing the cursed object at his boyfriend.

Sokka poked at him with his finger (and Zuko tried not to melt at the way Sokka tapped in patterns of three—it was the nonbender’s favorite type of pattern, he did everything in three’s. It became Zuko’s favorite number as their relationship developed and became not only a form of comfort for Sokka when he had his bad days, but also for him) until he got the signal and turned so his back was to Sokka.

“Your hair is very pretty,” Sokka remarked, gently grabbing a small chunk of his hair and starting at the edges.

“It’s greasy.”

“No, it’s really not. You know I don’t like touching greasy hair. I wouldn’t touch it if it was greasy.”

They both knew that was a lie—Zuko’s hair was an exception.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Sokka asked, twisting the edges of the now brushed section of Zuko’s hair while separating it into a second section.

“My hair.”

“I got that.”

“It’s not… it’s not perfect…”

And that was it, wasn’t it? The event wasn’t that big of a deal—in fact, it was so insignificant to him that he wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was, but when his hair wouldn’t work the way he wanted, he started getting stiff and on edge.

If his dad saw him like this… Zuko couldn’t help but shudder at the mere thought.

“Babe, Sunshine, light of my life,” Sokka began and oh how Zuko practically melted, “you don’t need to be perfect.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Zuko shot back. “But I do have to be perfect. Everyone’s watching me—I’m the Fire Lord! If I don’t look perfect then…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to focus solely on the feeling of Sokka’s fingers in his hair.

“Oh, I get it,” Sokka said softly. “This isn’t about your hair, is it, baby?”

Zuko just sniffed.

“I know I’m not the best person to talk to about being okay with things being imperfect, but something I’ve begun to learn over the years is that there’s never a time when everything’s perfect, no matter how hard you plan… or brush…”

Zuko chuckled.

“But something that you can always count on is me being there; you know I’ll always be there, right? Because I will be,” he continued. At this point, Zuko was certain Sokka had set the brush down and was just using his fingers, which was somehow more comforting despite the slightly uncouth method.

“Besides, you’re already perfect to me. You don’t need to try and please everyone else anymore. Quite frankly, they’re all idiots.”

Zuko laughed. It was quiet and more half-hearted than anything, but it was a laugh all the same. He could feel water beginning to pool in his eyes, and Zuko let out a choking gasp. “Sorry.”

“Shush, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just… I saw my hair and it wouldn’t—it wasn’t right and I didn’t know what would—“

“Shhh.” Sokka coaxed him into silence, purposefully taking deep breaths along the way to remind him to breathe (which was really helpful since he had forgotten).

“It’s just me. No one else is here—he’s not here. It’s just you and it’s me. And I, personally, think you have the prettiest hair in the entire world, even when it’s greasy.”

Oh, what did Zuko do to deserve someone like Sokka in his life?

Sokka stopped running his fingers through his hair, and Zuko felt the bed shift as Sokka adjusted his position. The nonbender flung his arms around Zuko’s neck, holding him close.

“You’re going to have the best public appearance in the history of pubic appearances today,” Sokka informed him, and Zuko hummed, allowing himself to fall back into Sokka’s embrace. “And if anyone complains about your hair, they may have a run in with my boomerang.”

“Thank you.”

Zuko opened his eyes, allowing his face to fall into its natural frown, but prayed to Agni that Sokka could see the appreciation and adoration in his eyes.

He slowly rose, pushing himself off of his bed and turning so he could see his reflection in the mirror.

His hair it… it wasn’t bad. But it still made his muscles clench and his breath hitch. There were some strands tumbling out of his top knot, falling out of rhythm with the rest of his demeanor.

It was so insignificant, but that’s what Zuko thought when he was younger.

(There was nothing insignificant when it came to Ozai.)

He felt more than saw Sokka stand beside him, and together they gazed in the mirror.

Despite knowing he was being self-conscious, Zuko found himself biting his lip in anticipation as Sokka looked at him. He knew Sokka didn’t think he was disfigured or that his hair was an awful mess, but that wasn’t enough prevent his heart from racing and his fists at the ready to raise to block his—

“You’re beautiful,” Sokka breathed, his eyes so wide that Zuko thought they could contain the depths of the entire ocean, encompass the entirety of the night sky. What made his face flush was that the stars in Sokka’s eyes were directed on him—focused solely and only on him.

“Oh.”

It pained him that that was all he could say. Sokka could compliment him like it was nothing, but Zuko couldn’t do any more than reply with one word.

Sokka frowned and no, that wouldn’t do. Zuko didn’t like when he frowned—more so, he hated being the reason his boyfriend’s smile vanished.

“Are you still…” He cut himself off, his neck jerking and lips pursing, then he waved his hands around for emphasis, as a way to finish the sentence.

Shamefully, Zuko nodded.

Without warning, Sokka grabbed hold of Zuko’s hands and placed them on the top of his head. He intertwined their fingers, almost as if they were holding hands, then started moving them.

For a moment, Zuko held his breath because what was this idiot doing? His hair was the definition of perfection—no strands were loose, he looked regal, the blue and red beads in his hair were perfectly placed… and here Sokka was, guiding Zuko’s hands around his head and messing it up.

Zuko tried to pull away—tried to free his hands from Sokka’s grasp because they couldn’t do this—they couldn’t mess up is hair! The Fire Nation was already terribly critical towards Sokka, being Water Tribe and all, not to mention being the Fire Lord’s boyfriend meant more publicity than either of them were comfortable with… the public would tear Sokka apart if he walked out with messy hair.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hissed through grit teeth, still trying to yank his hands away to no avail. “You’re messing up your hair—I’m messing up your hair!”

Sokka ignored him, but Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to glower at his idiot because his tongue was sticking out of his mouth the way it did when he was concentrating and it was so authentically Sokka and so adorable and—

“There,” Sokka said, interrupting his thoughts. “Now we match!”

It was then that Zuko realized his hands had been released, and he clutched them close to his chest defensively.

Sokka was cheekily grinning at him, his eyes shining, and his hair… oh. His hair was a travesty. His wolf tail became undone and half of it was falling out. The top of his head looked like someone build hundreds of tiny bridges with the way his hair had been tugged at.

As terrible as it was, Zuko was basking in the absolute adorableness of his boyfriend.

“It may not be perfect,” Sokka started, locking hands with Zuko once more, “but we’re doing it together. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Penguin.”

Sokka leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Okay, then: should I wear the cobalt or lapis tunic? I feel like lapis is a more luscious color, but cobalt brings out my eyes…”

Most of what Sokka was saying made absolute no sense to him, but Zuko knew Sokka so he knew that his feeling weren’t being brushed aside. Sokka was just trying to distract him—to make him laugh.

So, Zuko sat back down and listened to Sokka ramble about the pros and cons of each color, even though they had to be at the event in half an hour.

Sokka was right (he always was)—it was never about his hair (maybe it was a little about his hair, whenever Ozai was involved, it was about everything). He spent the majority of his life trying to live up to the standards of everyone else—his hair had to be perfect, his back had to be perfectly straight…

The Fire Nation thrived on the idea of perfection. So much so that Zuko knew if Sokka had been born and raised here, he would have been isolated or forced into muteness due to his imperfections, or his tics. It was a terrible thought that was proved true by the looks he saw shot his boyfriend’s way by some elders—from the way that some people would address Zuko rather than Sokka when they were together or ask Zuko why he hadn’t fixed Sokka or what places he took Sokka to to do so.

But they weren’t imperfections, Sokka’s tics. Zuko reminded him countless times that they were just a part of who he was, something that made him as special as he was. And he supposed that’s what Sokka was trying to show him… though through his unorthodox and irritatingly charming methods.

Zuko never did fix his hair for the evening—he wanted to continue matching with Sokka.

[this can be seen as a mini prequel to threshold of eternity hence why zuko gives azula the advice about how to 'handle' her hair and toe kind of inspired this one hehe]

'101 ways to say i love you' prompts

[mysterystarz]

kairosclerosis:

summary: oikawa knew that he was happy, so then why was it so difficult to preserve that feeling?

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 1.4k

genres + themes: reverse comfort, angst

warnings: a lot of oikawa's inner thoughts, mentions of self-doubt

a/n: so this was a very self-indulgent fic (inspired a lot by this word and perfectly wrong by shawn mendes) and kind of encompasses a lot of feelings that i've been experiencing sometimes, but i feel like this was one of the things i've written that i'm kind of happy about ! i hope you enjoy this <3

Happiness was a feeling that was always difficult for Oikawa to identify. There were moments in which he could confidently taste the sensation on his tongue, a golden sort of taste that brightened his soul from the inside out, but other times, it was almost indecipherable to the other emotions that he seemed to find.

Why was it so complicated?

He often found himself sitting late at night, wondering how, if anything, people seemed to find glory in every glance, while he had to spread himself thin just to catch a glimpse. It was a question that drove him in circles in some of his lonelier moments, a constant reminder to the way he could never find the same sort of...fulfillment as others did.

It was something that bothered him with his late night practices, serving ball after ball across the gym, until the burning in his muscles was enough to drown out the feelings of inferiority he seemed to feel.

Happiness was as good as an illusion. To Oikawa, the feeling was far too short lived, far too fleeting to even be considered as a reality.

The day he discovered what happiness could be, was the day he met you.

It had been a normal day by all standards, the sunshine casting it’s glow delicately onto the buildings and the numerous sakura trees that lined the entrances of Aoba Johsai. It was a lovely spring day, one with the type of breeze that struck a freshness into everyone’s hearts, as well as their minds.

He liked these types of days for the simple pleasures he could indulge in. Eating his milk bread, he could pretend for a small moment that he was just another highschool boy, somebody who could make fun of Iwa-chan while being made fun of by Makki and Mattsun. He didn’t need to shoulder the expectations of the world, but he could still reach for the stars, and even hold one in his hands. It was why these days brought a rare sort of feeling, and it was why he managed to treasure them when they came around.

It had been on one of these days where you had strolled into the gym during practice, a concentrated, yet polite look on your face as you handed their coach your manager application, a gentle smile on your features when it had been accepted. You had done your job as manager to perfection, and he felt the morale of his team increase with every praise you sent in their direction.

Never him though.

He knew his sets weren’t as accurate as Kageyama’s, but they were still consistently improving. He didn’t expect praise from anyone, and yet found himself doubting his abilities when your calculated eyes didn’t make a comment on them. It was a neutrality of sorts. You never wrote it as a point of improvement, yet never complimented them.

Did that mean he was average?

The darkness enveloped his surroundings as he served again, his knee straining uncomfortably. He had been in the gym for hours now, doing anything, to get his mind off the precedent of facing Shiratorizawa the next day. It was a thought that nagged at him.

What if he wasn’t good enough?

Oikawa was supposed to be happy. He was happy for sure. His team had won the earlier matches, and cheers of their school name and the sight of his school colors was enough to send a wave of warmth and pride straight to his chest.

The way he felt defeating Tobio was one he savored continuously, the very thought of him beating one of his own demons fueling his morale incredibly.

So then why was it that he felt this way still?

Ah. No matter how many victories he held in his pocket, he could still never shake the way he always managed to lose somewhere else. He won against Tobio due to skill and observation. Was that really him and his team? Or was it just the circumstances?

A final serve over the net had him kneeling down, a million thoughts enveloping him at once.

Happiness wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to feel like. All he knew was the way he picked apart the scenarios, wishing time after time that the feeling would linger long enough. Call him goal oriented, but surely his ambition would allow him to truly appreciate the way something seemingly light hearted and accomplished would be like.

“Oikawa. Are you okay?”

He suddenly looked up, only to find your concerned face across the gym. You jogged over to him, water bottle in hand as you examined his position. He was on the floor now...somehow.

When had he fallen over?

“I’m alright Y/N-chan.” He smiled charmingly, “What brings you here now?”

“You’re lying,” you sighed, tossing him the water bottle. “Drink this, and then try that sentence again.”

He hesitantly took a sip of the water, feeling it soothe his insides until suddenly, he had downed the whole bottle itself. A glance in your direction saw him identifying a knowing look in your eyes as you smiled back at him, almost gently.

“You have to rest before the game tomorrow you know,” you chuckled, joining him onto the floor. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Why are you here?” Was what he asked instead, watching the way your expression never changed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“Iwaizumi-kun told me something like this could happen,” you admitted, “I hoped I wouldn’t find you here, but here we are.”

He found himself brightening slightly at the thought. He knew that Iwaizumii cared. Behind the gruff and tough persona he put on, he cared deeply for everyone he was close to, always worrying for their well being and putting all of himself into ensuring that.

He must have told you about all the past times he’s been in situations like these.

But then why was it you that came? You were one of the smartest students in their class, and even despite that, you somehow made time to juggle all your other obligations.

He was important....to you?

“I’m here because I care about you Tooru,” you said, hesitantly ghosting your fingers over his cheekbones. “Please, don’t internalize what you’re feeling. I’ll provide you answers to anything you ask me, but please, just speak your thoughts. They’ve been troubling you, and that troubles me to know that.”

“What does it take to feel content, Y/N?” He questioned, feeling his confidence spike momentarily. “What is contentness when there’s always something new to climb for?”

“It’s where you can look at your achievements and feel like you’ve done something worthwhile.” You smiled, “But there’s something deeper than that. What makes you overwork yourself when you’re one of the best?”

“I’ve never been good enough to get completely to the top!” He groaned. “There’s always been obstacles and a victory...it makes me happy but it never lasts! Why can’t it last?”

“Hey,” you said, leaning slightly closer, “Maybe it’s because you never believe that you deserve the happiness you feel. I think you deserve this and a whole lot more you know.”

He turned his head upwards to meet your eyes, reassuring and genuine at his predicament. Perhaps what you had said had some truth to it.

Yet he still felt something weighing him down.

“I just want to feel on top of the world for real one day,” he admitted, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Yet anytime I try to, it always just disappears. I’m practicing so maybe we have a chance at winning tomorrow. I’ve tried so hard, but somehow the talent always beats that.”

“Tooru…it’s alright to let it out you know.” You placed a hand gently on top of his, a hesitant act that he found quite endearing. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Always do,” he mumbled, “And I feel pathetic for it. Y/N-chan, is there something wrong with me?”

“No way!” You argued, the passion ever so present in your eyes. “You devote all of yourself to this. You are worthy of all good things. I swear it.”

“I can’t bring myself to feel that though.” There seemed to be a tension building up into his chest and his eyes.

“Your team believes it. All of your fans too.”

He met your eyes again, watching your breathing slow. “What?”

“They believe you deserve the world.” you affirmed, your mouth set into a straight line of seriousness. “And I think you do too.”

Underneath the dimmed lights of the gym, your hand a gentle anchor atop his own, Oikawa finally broke down.

Perhaps happiness was the feeling of being loved.

He realized that as long as you were beside him, that feeling would never fade.

©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited

taglist: @kousukii @iwasunshine @kawaii-angelanne @haikyuutothetop @catchmewiddershins @animated-moon @perqabeth @sunarinluvr @elektrosonix @shoyotime @milktyama @ebiharachan @kitacharm @angelecho @bokuatsubro @pockydays @possiblypoe @srkuv @kacchans-sparkiez

click here to join the taglist [if you're interested!]

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

[ushidoux]

Not Enough - Oikawa (Haikyuu) x Reader x Gojo (JJK)

Summary: Your relationship with Oikawa feels more like a curse than anything else as it comes to a close. (~4.2k words) or tl;dr gojo is mr. steal your girl

Warnings: breakup, idk Gojo is a warning, cracky angst?, pegging mention, yandere themes

A/N: Ngl I’m patting myself on the back for making a crossover fic work somewhat LOLLLL, you can roll your eyes if you want this is hella melodramatic.

(if you wanna commission more niche things, you can always dm me <3)

---

“I-I think it’s best for us to end things here, Tooru...”

Oikawa’s fingers tightened around the cell phone in his hand at the sound of your shakily delivered proposition, and further at the abrupt pregnant pause thereafter - not because he was angry, nor afraid, but out of an all-encompassing confusion.

Two things were wrong with this situation. First of all, it was late enough for you, thousands of miles away, that he was genuinely surprised that you were still awake in the first place and the fact that your voice was thick with tears was particularly upsetting, implying that you’d been up all night before you decided to call. Second, you had to be feeling unwell because you were talking pure nonsense.

He must have not heard correctly. You wanted to ‘end things’?

End what? You and him? That couldn’t possibly happen.

Moments passed, maybe even a full minute, and Oikawa stood perfectly still in spite of the uncomfortable combination of a weightless sensation in his legs and a feverish pounding in his chest as he tried to let himself understand what you were saying. Suddenly lightheaded, he realized he had been holding his breath while you remained quiet on the other end of the line. Maybe he was hoping for you to fill the silence, but he knew you wouldn’t offer anything additional; he could tell from the single soft sniffle that betrayed your sadness.

He sucked air into his lungs.

“I... don’t know what you mean,” Oikawa replied, his voice steady even if his body wasn’t.

You continued.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s really hard… and I get so lonely, and I know it’s wrong, but sometimes it hurts to see you so happy without me…”

Your voice was smaller still, enough that he strained to hear you past the rush of blood past his temples. For a moment, he considered pretending he couldn’t hear you say such unpleasant things just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality unfolding in front of him in this disdainfully sunny early afternoon, while he stood in the middle of the hallway right outside of his high rise apartment.

The fact that you had finally given up on him after all this time.

In a small way, Oikawa couldn’t blame you. While he had been gone chasing his dream, the emerging star had just as quickly been running further away from you day by day. He knew this was mostly his fault: he called you less frequently and whenever you did talk, the conversations were shorter and less substantial until you and he both felt like your interactions were a simple chore, a checkbox on his never-ending to-do list.

But yet, he could and would absolutely blame you. Long distance was hard but you had promised you’d stay by his side, hadn’t you? You’d promised him, rain or shine, through drought and storm. What could possibly be the issue now?

Even if you hurt, it would only be temporary, and he could always make up for it in full or even twice-fold. In fact, he was on his way to come see you in person this very second; it would just be mere hours before his flight would depart. Coming suddenly on holiday like this was meant to be a surprise, and his suitcase beside him was filled with gifts and souvenirs for you that would, at least partially, assuage your hurt.

At least he thought. Maybe the issue stemmed deeper, starting with the very fact that you weren’t such a fan of gifts - what you really craved was loyalty and quality time - and that too, he had chosen to ignore. Because it was easier to love you the way he wanted to love you, rather than the way you wanted to be loved.

You were often indecisive anyway. Did you ever truly know what you wanted?

“___, stop being silly. I love you -”, he paused at this last declaration for emphasis, gauging your reaction, of which you gave him none, then continued, “-and I’m coming to see you before the sun sets tomorrow,” he insisted, a stern edge in his voice to further supplant the denial that was keeping him able to breathe. Strength returning to his limbs, he resumed his path to the elevators, dragging his belongings behind him.

You were silly. You missed him and you were delirious from loneliness and sleep, and that’s why ridiculous things were coming out of your mouth, that’s all it had to be, he figured. End things? What you had was something precious and irreplaceable. Nothing could be better than what you were together.

It would be you and him for life, at least to him.

Unfortunately for you, that ideal had long since perished.

Any other time, you would have paused, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart pounding as you conjured up the image of your Tooru coming to be in your arms once more, to cross the vast distance and be yours again as it should be. He’d be quick to show you that he chose you over crowded gyms full of adoring spectators, a perfect set, the rush of victory, or a pretty Instagram model.

Any other time before, but time had run out with both you and him unsuspecting, in a flash of clear blue eyes.

---

A few months earlier...

“I’m not interested.”

Your voice was flat and so was your expression. Muttering a soft ‘excuse me’, you walked past the tall young man who had taken the fact that he’d helped you reach an item on the highest shelf (despite the fact that you were still somewhat tall, you still had struggled), as an invitation to follow you around the grocery store.

The stranger had started off indiscreetly at first, and you had to admit, when you’d passed him in the aisle, you had given him a double-take, and it wasn’t just because you were wondering how he could see the food before him with a black blindfold wrapped over his eyes, so you hadn’t thought too much of it. He was admittedly handsome - at least the lower part of his face was - and his relaxed voice and posture as he reached over and handed you your box of cereal reminded you just a smidge of your Tooru.

Your Tooru wouldn’t be caught in that nondescript dark ensemble, though.

Saying “thanks” and continuing on your merry way should have been enough. But instead, this same man had immediately started walking besides you as you pushed your cart as though he knew you, making comments about your groceries.

“I’m not particularly fond of eggs, but they’re a good source of protein.”

“You seem to have a sweet tooth, just like me!”

You probably should have been concerned about this man’s mental state, but he didn’t exactly seem harmful or delusional, just weird. But you were almost done with your shopping trip, and now he was in line with you with a single bag of chips in his hand, and it occurred to you for a while that this stranger might try to follow you home.

“Do you need something, sir?” You told him in exasperation.

He furrowed his eyebrows in mild confusion, still a smidge too close behind you and raised his bag of chips. “No, I’m fine.”

“Why are you following me?” You finally said, bolder than usual in this semi-crowded grocery store. You had had enough of being polite and you’d tried very hard so far. Today had been a long day and you just wanted to cook a meal and sleep, not argue with strangers.

“Oh, I was trying to be friendly,” he replied, shrugging, as though that were normal behavior, and thus here you were, switching lanes abruptly while making it clear to him that he needed to leave you the fuck alone.

Checking out of the store with your items occurred without incident but you had to admit you were both irritated and confused about that encounter, and again, while you didn’t exactly feel malicious intent or really any sort of ‘creepiness’ from the young man, the behavior was nevertheless alarming. You surreptitiously glanced over your shoulder just to make sure he wasn’t still in sight, only to catch him walking in the other direction, whistling again with the single bag of chips in his hand, now paid for.

Again stunned, you found yourself lost in a stare for a moment, a million questions in your head.

What was he trying to accomplish? And most importantly, how could he see with that blindfold?

What did he look like without it?

Quickly realizing your questions were getting absurd, you decided that whether he was attractive or not was a completely inconsequential thought, because the fact of the matter was that he had to be clinically insane. Absolutely.

With that thought in mind, you texted a friend briefly sparing the least salient details.

Call me in about thirty minutes if I don’t call you first. I’ll fill you in later.

Just for safety’s sake, but thankfully, you didn’t think you’d ever seen him again.

You may have brought up your odd encounter to Tooru that night, if he had managed to return your call.

---

“Go to sleep, I’ll talk to you when I land tomorrow. I love you, ____.”

Before you could protest, the line cut off abruptly and you lowered your phone to your lap. Now it was no longer just your voice wavering, but your entire body trembling as you sat over the side of your bed. You lurched forward, the pit of your stomach heavy with guilt.

Your Tooru was coming to see you and for once, he was the last person you wanted to see.

---

You had left your home a little later than usual but given that you would rather die than miss your morning coffee and croissant, you still stopped by your neighborhood bakery.

Noting that the line was a little longer than expected, you queued up, humming softly to the beats of your favorite song, not registering that the man standing before you had turned slowly in your direction and was now smiling down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here again.”

Your eyes furrowed as you looked up, then almost yelped in surprise when your eyes registered the same white-haired stranger who had stunned you at the supermarket lined up just two paces before you.

What the-

Of all the coffee shops in this city, why here? The hairs on your neck stood up on end, worse when he decided to keep speaking.

“Let me buy your coffee,” he proposed, tentatively. “Only condition is that you have to drink it with me.”

Today, the strangest of strangers almost looked normal; rather than a blindfold, his eyes were hidden by a dark pair of sunglasses and his hair had been allowed to fall into a slightly windswept cut. He was also dressed less eclectically, in a loose-necked long sleeved shirt and a pair of fitted dark jeans.

Like this, you could call him fashionable. He was definitely forward, at the very least.

He was obviously flirting and normally you would have a curt prepared answer for him, but the manner in which he leaned forward, smirking with hands on his hips, again felt too familiar. Like Tooru, who had forgotten to call you back and instead sent you a quick text that promised he’d get back to you.

If he remembered.

Before you knew it, and almost embarrassed as soon as it left your mouth, you blurted out, “I… have to go to work.”

It wasn’t a lie but for some reason it came out like one. Perhaps because what you would have normally said was, “I have a boyfriend,” without giving him a second look.

He frowned nevertheless.

“That’s too bad,” he finally said, letting out a loud sigh, excessively dramatic for the situation. You stared at him, dumbfounded, and he suddenly clasped his hands together, preparing to say something else but the barista had called for the next customer.

He made a motion for you to go before him, and flustered, you obliged, giving the barista a look that implored for help in any way he could offer it. The barista knew you well enough to ring up your order before you even asked for it, but not well enough to sense that the man behind you was actively harassing you.

“I can buy my own coffee, sir,” you murmured once you saw him rummage in his pockets and pull out his wallet while the barista went off to toast your pastry.

He grinned widely.

“Call me Satoru.”

---

“A drink for you, sir?”

The flight attendant’s voice betrayed a hint of irritation under her sweet tone of voice, hinting that she had been waiting for him to answer a while, and Oikawa realized that he had been staring at his phone for a lot longer than he expected. He flashed her his classic pearly whites before nodding, but the wheels in his head were still turning.

A mere couple of hours into the first leg of his flight back to Japan, he had taken to poring over his last few conversations with you.

Conversations that, at least from his end, had become pressured, short, and at times, he had been downright dismissive.

But he loved you - you had to understand that! It was a lot to manage:  being available for you but also giving 150% of himself to the game.

So what if he missed your calls but kept his Instagram up-to-date? So what if he was a little bit too cozy with his fans (and known to be so)?

There was always you, and you were supreme. He’d do anything for you.

“Wine?” The attendant offered him the higher octave in her voice making it clear that Oikawa had managed to charm her back into her retail persona.

Maybe a glass, but he’d limit his drinking. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you when you met.

---

You were shocked.

Satoru stopped a car that was meant to crush you, and you were still trying desperately to comprehend what had just transpired.

You were possibly too eager to escape that coffee shop, to get away from the young man whose presence both unsettled your stomach and made your face grown warm, that you’d hurried out into the crosswalk, somewhat complicated drink and slightly crisped pastry in hand, and right into the path of a car hurtling through a red light.

You didn’t have time to scream or rarely even time to drop your drink, but the impact of your carelessness and preoccupation, between him, being late to work, wondering why the fuck your boyfriend had yet again forgotten to text back, never came.

Instead, the car seemed to halt to a stop almost immediately before you, before him who now stood before you with lips held into a neutral expression, and one hand in his pocket. Even if time seemed to stop for a split second, the force that should have struck your body didn’t, instead hurtling around you in a terrifying gust of wind.

But you were safe.

There was a shatter of glass windows as energy redistributed and the car took the brunt of the shock, and airbags deployed, engulfing the driver who could have possibly ended your life.

When Satoru finally turned to you slowly, looking at your cowering form, you finally caught a glimpse of piercing blue. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he was suddenly much more terrifying than anything else.

As though the mask had come off.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Instead, he asked you to control your grief.

---

You shouldn’t be able to love anyone so much that your heart breaks repeatedly.

Something about you had to be pathological - it couldn’t be normal to feel the pain of separation this acutely. It was just a long-distance relationship, even if he was just getting more famous and less available by the day.

You shouldn’t wake up wondering if you could still breathe without him.

You shouldn’t.

---

“I’m a sorcerer,” Gojo revealed as he stirred a warm caramel latte, as though he had said the most natural thing in the world.

You tilted your head over so slightly, knit eyebrows betraying your confusion.

“... Like a circus performer?”

The repetitive turn of his wrist halted almost immediately and he looked at you, the constant smug smirk immediately awash from his features.

“Do I look like I belong in the circus?!” He half-exclaimed, half-whined, as though you were the only patrons in this bustling coffee shop. Part of you was bent on saying yes, but you kept mum yet staring at his face in distress, you find yourself stifling a giggle.

Now that he’d saved your life, you felt (and probably erroneously so) obligated to at least indulge him in coffee, and your curiosity about the young man sitting before you a whole day later now waffled between morbid and genuine.

Cursed energy? Leaking from you? Sorcery?

He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair once he realized you were more entertained by his distress than anything else, crossing his arms and raising his legs on the table. You stared at the bottom of his shoes with mild disgust but instead focused on his face.

He really was like your Tooru, the boyfriend that slipped away from your reach in your nightmares, causing you to wake in a cold sweat. You shook the thought of your head, a quick barely perceptible movement, and crossed your own arms.

“You’re sad enough that I can sense it, which despite the fact that I am obviously quite gifted, can be a bit of an issue long term.”

“Why would it be an issue to you?”

“Because grief creates spirits and spirits are a pain in my ass.”

You furrowed your eyebrows again.

“So you followed me because you thought I was sad?” It sounded far fetched enough but absolutely on brand for a weirdo like the man before you. You took a sip of your tea - you’d picked chai for this… meeting. It wasn’t a date.

He grinned, an elbow rested on the table propping up his chin as he leaned back towards you.

“No, it’s because I thought you were beautiful.” ---

For the first time in a year, Oikawa’s first step back on Japanese soil did not immediately bring him joy but anxiety.

It was odd for him to feel anxiety, this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but of course it would dissipate the moment he saw you.

But first, a warm shower in his new hotel room. Then he’d go to see you.

It felt odd not to have you waiting for him, your million dollar - no, priceless - smile on your face, so he could kiss you dramatically in the midst of all watching to again reassert that you are his, and his alone.

But you were upset, and understandably so.

So he would come to you, as a good boyfriend should.

---

“I have a boyfriend,” you told him immediately and indignantly, as you got up to leave. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m not interested.”

He didn’t rise as fast as you did, watching you calmly instead as you balled your fists in irritation. It’s so shameless how he flirts, you thought. He’s so bold and rude and even if he’s a ‘sorcerer’ as he claims, there’s no spell that he can cast onto you that will make you leave Oikawa for him.

Not your Tooru, whose last Instagram post features a beautiful, tan, large-breasted and bikini-clad woman you’ve never met.

“Where is he then?” Satoru said in a low voice. He didn’t necessarily mean to cut but it did anyway. A lump formed in your throat.

“Overseas.”

---

The sound of chirping crickets is surprisingly loud for this part of the city, Oikawa considered, as he made his way towards your apartment building. It was an atypically warm evening for this point in the spring and he briefly mused if that is what excited them. Maybe they were cheering for him. They sounded a lot like the crowds if he closed his eyes.

He also hoped you had room for the gifts he carried with him, the most important of which was a Cartier bracelet he would hand to you once he departed, with a solid gold T for Tooru.

If he was on the search for fame and glory, he had to spoil you too, right?

To think that you were so angry with him that you had not yet contacted him since he had landed.

He knocked on your door finally, noting the shuffling of too many feet towards the door. This was the right door. He didn’t understand. Did you have friends over?

He called, and you didn’t immediately pick up.

---

“You have to leave!” You hissed. The statement was a plea and it was a command and it was a curse.

The blue of Satoru’s eyes was less electric in the dim moonlight, now more of a cool ice. Bare naked like this and barely visible save for the cracks of the illuminated city through your blinds, he was unfairly beautiful, as though he were carved out of marble. Again like your Tooru. Like, not better.

But still, he was there when Tooru wasn’t.

But Tooru was there now, knocking on your door, having traveled thousands of miles despite the fact that you had broken up with him just yesterday.

It was too little, too late.

But you didn’t love Satoru. He was just a band-aid for the loneliness that wrung agony out of you.

Right?

“I don’t want to leave,” your makeshift lover replied, flatly.

Your glare was sharp and instant, but Satoru matched your look, less pointed but unwilling to sway.

An unstoppable force, no different from the day he’d saved your life.

But he’d caused the problem in the first place, hadn’t he? Would you have run out so carelessly if not for him?

Your voice softened as you slipped on your clothes. The fight was lost before it started.

“Please? I… I can’t do this to him.”

Only a plea was left.

Your phone started to ring and your throat felt as though it would close up.

“___?”

Before you knew it, you heard your front door open and your heart dropped into your throat.

---

“What the fuck-”

Blue eyes were cruel.

Oikawa prided himself on his height but Satoru was taller, and his smirk was wide, while Oikawa’s face was ghostlike, devoid of any appreciable expression. Stunned.

“So you’re the boyfriend?” His voice dripped with mock amusement and he patted him on the shoulder before swinging open the door wide, letting Oikawa into his own girlfriend’s apartment, only to stand face to face with you whose feet seemed glued to the floor in shock.

“I.. T-Tooru..”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

His voice came out as a cry and his tears hot and fast. You never thought you’d see him crumple so fast, for you, for anything.

Your mouth opened and closed, and your hands shook but again, you stayed planted to the same spot while Satoru, still shirtless (but at least with the decency to have worn a pair of pants before answering the door), settled himself on the couch.

Before you could open your mouth to find a word to defend yourself to your sobbing boyfriend, your visitor let out an exaggerated yelp.

“____, you really showed no mercy on my asshole, did you?” he jeered. Then covering his mouth, he made a gesture of ‘Oops.’

What could you do?

Oikawa looked like he would stop breathing any second. He wanted to fight and maybe scream, but what use was that?

You had broken up with him yesterday.

You approached slowly, attempting maybe a touch, anything that would make your mistake less grievous.

You’d only been seeing Satoru for several weeks to… you weren’t sure why, really? Tooru was the one you loved. And to see him curl up like this… someone who was normally so proud...

You were disgusted with yourself.

“Tooru-”

“You said you’d wait for me.”

It was shocking how quick he rose, broken dignity, gifts and all.

“Tooru!”

He turned to leave, while Satoru contented himself on picking the earwax from his ears. It was easier to be like this, insufferable, than to gracefully accept the idea that his object of affection loved someone else.

He’d coveted you from the day he’d met you.

“Tooru!!!”

You were running after a man who gave 150% to everything, yet again. 

Everything but you.

But had he at the very least given you 100%? You weren’t sure.

Oikawa was the last person who could accept the thought of someone else. You weren’t sure if he’d call you ever again. You weren’t even sure you wanted to break up.

Cursed energy. Maybe you didn’t just leak cursed energy. Maybe you were just cursed.

Heart shattering to pieces once Oikawa was no longer within view, you made it back to your room. Satoru was there waiting, and you couldn’t see the look in his eyes, but his arms were open, and so you fell into them.

[nutty1005]

“A Dream Like A Dream” Fan Review Report by 十月息

Original Article: https://weibo.com/6574125081/KcrfzBjYL?type=comment#_rnd1619312989712 Original Author: 十月息

(TN: This is the translation of the famous 10,000 character repo on Weibo, so be warned that this is very long article. Permission to translate granted by OP.)

Part 1 – Review of Xiao Zhan’s Acting According to the Script

Finding Patient No. 5 B

At the start of the play, there were many people surrounding the stage, I was very frantically searching for Xiao Zhan. One of the ladies besides me patted me and said, that one with the messenger bag! After that I immediately found him. His legs were really long! So, at the start of the play, watch out for the messenger bag! (That was the look in the waiting photo.) After this, I was following him around using my binoculars, hahaha.

Patient No. 5 and His Wife’s Initial Encounter

This part was very interesting. No. 5 was queuing behind his wife, then still a stranger, and buying movie tickets, and his wife had an argument with her then lover on the phone, and rashly stuffed her other movie ticket and grilled corn cob into No. 5’s hands. When handed the movie ticket, No. 5 was still able to comprehend, but after he was given the corn cob, he was starting to get confused — Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 widened his eyes, stared at the corn cob in his hand, and then turned around and looked around, looked at the people queuing behind him. In the next second, the 7 or 8 people behind him magically took out their own corn cob, as though getting a corn cob at the movies was a perfectly normal thing to do, and if No. 5 did not have one he would be out of place. There was full comedic effect, the whole theater laughed, No. 5 was embarrassed as he turned around and entered the cinema holding the corn cob. Starting from here, we could see that No. 5’s body language had completely corresponded with that of a comedic trope, it was relaxed and lively, and even when he met with unexpected situations, it was clumsily adorable.

Patient No. 5 Eating Sushi with His Wife

This segment was at the stage left, which also happened to be my visual blind spot, so I could only see the projection from the big screen, which was very regrettable. His wife said the the person she just argued with on the phone was a pig, and she did not want to talk about it, so when No. 5 mentioned that person, he used snorting to represent him, “…. that *snort snort*…”, that snorting was in imitation of a pig, it was really too cute! Xiao Zhan had also snorted in “Our Song”, here, No. 5’s snorting was even more lively, to the point that I was stunned, took 2 seconds to react in my brain that, oh my goodness that was actually Xiao Zhan snorting! It was simply too cute!!

His wife had squeezed a large amount of wasabi on the sushi, No. 5 said “no one puts so much wasabi”, (TN: Chinese had their own term for wasabi, jiemo, but Xiao Zhan used the Japanese term instead), I really loved it when he used languages other than Chinese, I just felt that it encompassed so much cuteness, moreover it was with the Taiwanese accent that belonged to No. 5, it was even more adorable. Both of them ate that wasabi laced sushi, and coughed wildly due to the irritation, Xiao Zhan was coughing so vigorously, by the sound of it I thought he was going to cough out his lungs, just exactly as though he really ate a huge amount of wasabi. But amazingly, his voice was exceptionally clear while coughing, perhaps because his voice for lines had became deeper more robust, in comparison, he did not deliberately deepen his voice while coughing, so he sounded literally like a young man.

No. 5 continued to chat with his wife, in this conversation, No. 5’s Taiwanese accent was even more obvious, which once again became part of my adorable collection of “Xiao Zhan’s various accents”, I was quietly punching the air in my mind!

His wife told him that she had never seen her father before, and she was unable to face him, No. 5 then told his wife to close her eyes and give it a try, she was initially unwilling, No. 5 coaxed her gently, and then she closed her eyes. Thereafter, No. 5 started talking in a old man’s voice deliberately, “My girl! Turn around and look at Papa! Papa owed you too much, forgive Papa, I’ve also missed you terribly! My good child! Papa bought a very beautiful doll to meet you!” Everyone could attempt to see how you would sound like when you talk in an older voice deliberately, it would definitely be quite funny, when Xiao Zhan acted it live, it was even more funny, the audiences laughed heartily. What made me even more excited was that this was the only the beginning of No. 5’s story, but I had already heard Xiao Zhan snorting like a pig, Xiao Zhan speaking Japanese, Xiao Zhan coaxing people, Xiao Zhan talking like an old man, I felt as though I was exploring all the different voices of Xiao Zhan! When Xiao Zhan spoke like an old man, it was also very cute!

Almost forgot a very important point, that is from this old man act and the snorting previously, we could actually see that No. 5 was very good at flirting, and it was the sort that was very natural and well practiced! In the instant as he acted as an old man, besides laughing with the audiences, I also thought in envy, good job young man, you are flirting again and again! I just had to say this, Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 was really very charming in and out.

Patient No. 5 Begging The Doctor to Save His Child

This part seemed ordinary based on the script, but you would only feel the amazement when watching it live! When looking at the script, it seemed like only the wife was begging the doctor, but in fact I remembered that it was his wife who stood further away from the doctor as she carried the child, No. 5 was beside the doctor, just like the stage photo shared by XZ Studio. His wife was more emotional from start till end, No. 5 was initially more calm, and even looked back to signal his wife to calm down. But later on as the doctor kept rejecting him, No. 5 started to lose the controlled calmness on the surface: he turned around and kneeled before the doctor, begging pitifully, his voice full of hurt and pain, with an agonizing crying tone. In here, his emotional progression to explosive was not that long, but it was very excellent, that moment he was just a father of a child, with an unbearable pain of loss on his shoulders. The doctor continued to refuse, No. 5 said no more, and the whole theater went silent.

Patient No. 5 Getting His Wife to Pick Up the Phone

After the child passed away, the relationship between No. 5 and his wife drifted apart, and No. 5 contacted that strange disease. At the same time, he started receiving calls in the middle of the night, but no one spoke after he picked up. There was one night, it was rare that No. 5 was at home with his wife, and he picked up that call again. No. 5 yelled into the receiver for a long time but yet no one replied, so he yelled at it, “I’m going to fight it out with you… after all, the telephone fee’s on you!” His tone was incensed, but yet the words he used were exceptionally funny, it was supposed to be a scary suspense story, but it wore the cape of a comedy.

The lines following that were similar. No. 5 finally yelled at the receiver, “Fine, I’m done playing with you today!” Till then it was still quite normal, but unexpectedly before he hung up he suddenly yelled another line: “Good! Night!” This type of contrast continued to add comedic colors to the play, because No. 5 was actually speaking harshly, but in the end he still politely said good night, but yet that good night was still harsh and irate. I believed that no matter how unclear the image of No. 5 was in the audiences’ hearts, in this moment they would definitely feel that No. 5 had a cuteness stemming from the contrast in his personality, he was interesting, cute and lively.

I feel that this was something that was hard to control in performance. On a whole, “A Dream Like A Dream” was a very serious and standard play, and would occasionally use comedic tropes to balance the heavy keynote. Hence when actors were performing, they had to say those random lines in a serious tone, and if done too lightly, the audiences would not feel that it was funny, but if done too heavily, it would destroy the pace of the story. Whereas Xiao Zhan’s performance was simply just right, it allowed audiences to easily understand the funny bits, but yet it did not breakaway from the general tone of the story. I remembered when we studied or appreciated ancient poems in high school, there was this term called “using lively music to contrast sorrow”, in fact “A Dream Like A Dream” was like this. The more amusing the funny parts were, after the audiences were done laughing and continued to immerse themselves in the story, the heavier they would feel.

Following this was the part, which Xiao Zhan angrily yelled at his wife to pick up the call, that many reports had mentioned. There was actually a progression, the script as below, the parts in parenthesis was how I remembered it was acted out:

No. 5: It's your turn to pick it up. (His tone was quite calm）

His Wife: What for do I pick it up? No. 5: It could be for you. (He was starting to raise his voice)

His Wife: How could that be?

No. 5: Secret lover! You should pick it up. (You could hear the anger)

His Wife: Why?

No. 5: Because it is yours. (His tone had already went from questioning to factual) Every time he calls, not long after, you would return, I think he hasn't finished talking to you. (This looked like narration, but in fact when Xiao Zhan said this he was speaking hastily, already at the brink of exploding, his voice was very loud, and was starting to ring in the audiences' ears. In reality when someone hears a tone like this, we would subconsciously avoid it, as we feel that this person would explode the very next second.) You pick it up. (I was starting to shake)

His Wife: For what? It's not mine. (I was starting to fear for his wife, I mean was this not adding oil to the fire? Please don't... I was praying this in my heart, because the very next moment, lightning was going to strike!)

No. 5: PICK IT UP! [TN: The word used was a single syllable, jie.]

Just that word, the tone was so harsh, I could say that I have never encountered this in my life; the sound was so loud, it almost deafened me, the word was echoing within the hall, and gave me a feeling that when Xiao Zhan yelled out this word, he was also resonating with it. My father’s temper was not that good, and he would yell at me when I was a child, his voice was loud enough, but I actually felt that it was not as loud as a third of Xiao Zhan’s. Not only the voice was loud, the tone was very fierce, so fierce that if he was your boss, you would have kneeled before him, if he was one of your peers, you would have felt weakness in my legs and could not even run away if you wanted to. At that time in the theater, I was truly frightened, I felt as though my heart had frozen in my chest, and then there were palpitations, I felt as though all the yelling I had received previously were not worth mentioning. The whole theater definitely had a fright, because after Xiao Zhan yelled it, the whole theater was silent, not just ordinary silence when watching a play, but even the sounds of breathing stopped, the air was scarily quiet.

Patient No. 5 Searching for His Wife among the Passersby

No. 5 and his wife went to watch another movie, just like how they first met. When queuing, his wife went out to pick up a call, and suddenly disappeared, No. 5 started searching for her everywhere. Over here as well, I did not feel that it was very emotional when reading the script, No. 5 was like going through the process of looking for his wife, but when I actually watched the performance, it was another of Xiao Zhan’s highlight.

No. 5 was holding onto the grilled corn cob, and grabbed hold of a passerby, asked, “Sorry, can I ask if you saw my wife?” but this passerby did not hear him. No. 5 continued to run forward, the other passersby were stoic and slow, No. 5 frantically walked through them and seemed especially out of place. He grabbed the next passerby, continued asking, “Excuse me, did you see my wife?” The passerby continued to ignore him. I don’t know how to explain this specifically, as these two lines were similar, but the emotions in No. 5 was obviously changing, the sense helplessness and breakdown that was transmitted through his tone and his body language completely grabbed the hearts of the audiences.

No. 5 continued to grab passersby, asked, “Sorry, did anyone see a lady holding two grilled corn cobs? Her hair is slightly yellow, she’s very pretty, her eyes are very big…” “Excuse me, did you see my wife? She’s of mixed race, she never saw her father, our child died, she’s very upset… I’m really not feeling well… did anyone see?” I believe that even if I did not describe Xiao Zhan’s tone, we could see from the lines that No. 5 had already went from precise questioning to emotional rambling, the lines contained family background information unrelated to the search. In the final questioning, he was already in crying tones.

After countless of his question left ignored, No. 5 finally despaired, he stopped in his tracks, broke down and shouted, “Did anyone see my wife?! She just bought two grilled corn cobs!!!” This howl completely used all his strength and was even hysterical, it was filled with helplessness, despair and utter collapse. This lines actually contained comedy, since who would have brought up grilled corn cob at this point in time? But No. 5 did, and this was similar to what I said previously about “using lively music to contrast sorrow”, the more ridiculous the trope was, the better the contrast could highlight the sorrow in the reality, and in reality most of the tragedies did not happen like a Shakespearean story, but accumulated from the smallest and most ridiculous things.

In comparison to the doctor scene, I felt that this No. 5 broke my heart even more… Because he asked different people again and again, but he was ignored and tossed aside, bit by bit, he despaired and broke down… He used all of his strength but he could not do anything, except cry and howl helplessly…

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong at the Laundromat

This was a completely propless performance, with the exception of a laundry basket, there was no props, so Xiao Zhan was performing with the air as he opened the washing machine, took his clothes, folded them and placed them in the laundry basket. But his movements were very natural and ordinary, it was not deliberate, you could understand what he was doing with a look, i.e. that sequence of actions I mentioned previously. The way he folded (air) clothes was very cute, and there was the part that he did not know how to use the washing machine, and was poking poking poking at the air, that was also super cute! Haha.

Patient No. 5 at Jiang Hong’s Apartment

After No. 5 caught his disease, his posture, etc, had started displaying the weakness of his illness, Xiao Zhan very accurately portrayed this point, no matter whether it was his walking speed or his hunched back, as well was occasional coughing and panting, constantly reminded audiences that No. 5 was a terminal patient with not many days left. However in comparison to these, what best displayed No. 5’s illness was when he went up the staircase to Jiang Hong’s apartment, Jiang Hong stayed on the 7th floor, every time No. 5 went upstairs it felt like an ordeal and a massive challenge, he kept holding onto the handrails (which of course did not exist, there were no staircases onstage, he was acting with air), he would rest every 2 steps, panting, and made us feel that No. 5’s health was rapidly leaving his body.

After this was basically the envy inciting scene of the whole play. Jiang Hong’s apartment was very small, No. 5 could only sit on her bed. So we slowly watched how No. 5 and Jiang Hong got closer and closer… Amitabha. I do not want to describe it in detail, ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡. There was this part that was very cute, Jiang Hong said, “No other person ever lived in this space. When I first moved in there wasn’t even space to have a cat, but now there’s a man, when he lies down, he uses up the whole bed.” After the line ended, Xiao Zhan basically laid on the bed in a 大 shape, instantly occupying the whole bed, both of his legs even extended beyond the bed. The audiences laughed at that moment, and I also directly understood even more that Xiao Zhan is really tall! Big sized! Before that when Xiao Zhan curled on his side on the bed, he was still very big.

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong’s Couple Details

It was not that moment of intimacy that made me envious, but it was the continued subconscious intimacy that really made me envious. No. 5 and Jiang Hong became a couple, they were like they had been together for a very long time, the intimacy was natural and well practiced. When she and No. 5 walked together, he would hold her hands; when they stood side by side, he would hold her waist; when they spoke face to face he would look down at her, very focused on her eyes, as though only she existed in the world, and would also gently stroke the back of her head, or smooth her hair; sometimes No. 5 would even slightly adjust her collar… etc, every detail was exceptionally natural.

When No. 5 and Jiang Hong went to see a gypsy with spiritual powers, that person told No. 5 to look at the crystal ball like how he would look at his lover, No. 5 turned around, looked up and looked lovingly at Jiang Hong standing behind him, saying coquettishly, “Yup, looking at my lover,” just like a willful boy in his first relationship who is unable to leave his lover. In that moment I became extremely envious.

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong at Normandy

This section is completely No. 5’s highlight!

At the start in the town’s hotel, the Grandpa gave No. 5 a flower circlet, No. 5 took it and placed it on his head. This was just right on stage left, which was my blind spot, I could only see it from the blurry screen, I was so angry and regretful! I could only imagine Tang San wearing the flower circlet, when Xiao Zhan wore it live it would definitely look a lot better, I could not see that with my own eyes, that was the biggest regret of my life ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡.

When entering the hotel, the receptionist said it was 1,550 Francs per night, Jiang Hong immediately felt that it was too expensive and tugged No. 5, but No. 5 was instead very relaxed and yet unyielding as he said, “It’s almost the same, it’s all this price! It’s reasonable!” “No matter, I want it, I’m paying.” And then he pulled Jiang Hong into the hotel. That time I could only think, good job dude, that was how an unreasonable boss trope should be like!

No. 5 and Jiang Hong went to have a meal in the hotel, but however the rule of the restaurant was formal wear, but both No. 5 and Jiang Hong were in casual wear, so the host gave No. 5 a tie, No. 5 was to wear the tie and take a seat. In the script, it was No. 5 who tied his own tie, but in Xiao Zhan’s version, he did not continue to tie it himself, instead he raised his chin and leaned his neck over, signaling Jiang Hong to tie for him. My goodness, this part was seriously too sweet, I started complaining in my heart at this dude ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡… I am not sure if everyone watched a behind-the-scenes from “Superstar Academy”, where Xiao Zhan finished a drink (or tidbits, I cannot remember), and he just waved the cup in his hand, requesting the co-actress beside him to take it, and then the actress simply took it. His sort of natural ability to influence the opposite gender really makes me fall head over heels for him.

No. 5 and Jiang Hong were mistaken for Japanese, the two of them went back to their room and started conversing in synthetic Japanese, this was really No. 5 at the peak of his cuteness!!! No. 5 gave Jiang Hong a gentlemanly bow, and said “Hi!” in Japanese accent multiple times, the tone was both serious and flippant at the same time. No. 5 also said “Ah li ga duo” for arigatou. When No. 5 was describing guns to the French waitress, he use the onomatopoeia “Bang bang!”, with finger guns action, super cute. He also said “Duo La A Mong” for Doraemon, “Sa yo na la” for sayonara, and most select phrases mentioned in countless reports were “Ka wa yi” for kawaii and “Da me da me” for dame dame, these phrases did not exist in the script, they were basically his own creation. My description of that scene was basically like this:

When he said “Ka wa yi”, he placed his palms on his cheeks like a flower shape, and dragged the “yi” sound, the tone was slightly coquettish; when he said “Da me da me”, he swished his hands around (similar to a orchestra conductor), his tone was coquettish but also lilting.

After he said these two phrases, the audiences were no longer calm, many of them were sniffing in envy and these sounds filled the hall. I almost fainted at the spot, blanked out and stared at the ceiling, wondering how lucky I was to be able to hear Xiao Zhan said “Da me”, and in a coquettish manner, who was I where was I, I must had been dreaming.

No. 5 also told Jiang Hong “Ah yi xi tie lu”, which was “I love you” in Japanese. This phrase in Japanese is actually very formal, because in normal circumstances, the Japanese would use “suki” to confess their affection, which meant “I like you”, “I love you” was very rare. Then No. 5 placed his arms on Jiang Hong’s shoulders and hugged her, looked lovingly down at her eyes, his expression full of emotion and tease, and said every syllable with a pause “Ah, yi, xi, tie, lu”. That moment I hated myself, I wondered why I had to understand Japanese, why!

Following this is another highlight of No. 5, when he was mistaken as an artist he gave a speech in the restaurant, in the script, there was this big segment of lines, it was slightly different from what Xiao Zhan said in the play, but in general it was the same:

"From that day when a disease that I don't recognize found me, everything changed. I had no choice! Did I know this virus? Why did it come to me? I don't know. But it just came! Just like you said that until now there are still children in Cambodia with a missing limb due to mines! The war had already ended for 25 years! Who placed the mines? Did he know that child? Where did such great hatred came from, that you had to blow up someone you didn't know? How different am I from that child? He is just like you and I, that one day, standing under the sun, standing on the road, and suddenly, bang! It's over! The 'freedom' we yell about everyday is just bullshit! How could we have choices?!..."

I felt that I had to type out this section in full because I felt that Xiao Zhan’s live performance had to be appreciated with this section. Frankly speaking, when I first saw the original script, I felt that here, No. 5 was just someone who was very adaptable to the sudden situations, able to talk his way out, so I did not really look into the contents of this section. At that point in time, there were people who also posted this part online, but I felt that it was making a mountain out of a molehill when we place Xiao Zhan’s personal experiences along side it, No. 5 appeared to be making up a speech without much deeper meaning. When I saw Xiao Zhan himself performing this part, I realized that I was too flippant then: Xiao Zhan really had the ability to help his audience empathize, when he said this section, it felt as though every word struck my heart, as though there were other hidden meanings, especially when he said these two lines “Where did such great hatred came from, that you had to blow up someone you didn’t know?” and “The ‘freedom’ we yell about everyday is just bullshit!”, I really had instant flashbacks to the unpleasant memories of 2020… I always felt that hardship is just hardship, there is never a need for us to be thankful to it, but I had to admit, for Xiao Zhan to walk to this stage, he had went through the trials and tribulations of hardship.

Patient No. 5 and Gu Xianglan’s Kiss

In the script there were no kissing scenes between Young Patient No. 5 B and Young Gu Xianglan (by Xu Qing), i.e. the video clip that was posted by Yanghua Theatre on the 22nd. So that day, the last scene of the upper half, everyone exclaimed (of course, a big part of it was that no one guessed that there would be other kissing scenes besides that with Jiang Hong). In the video clip, No. 5 and Gu Xianglan walked slowed to each other, their shadows overlapped, their faces slowly overlapping into a kiss, it told a story, and that sense was even stronger when watched live. Just that the live performance did not have the later half of the clip, that is after they kissed they slowly separated, during live the two of them kissed using the trick of positioning and then the lights dimmed, and with that, the upper half ended.

No. 5 wore a leather jacket with jeans, Gu Xianglan wore cheongsam; No. 5 was from modern Taiwan, Gu Xianglan was from the 1930s Shanghai. So as they slowly moved towards each other face-to-face, there was really the sense that two eras were slowly merging and overlapping, the feeling was very wondrous, almost as though there was a time and space disorder, yet there was also a sense of revolving fate that merged the past and present, East and West, and created this love story that transcended space and time. I had to say that this additional scene was really fantastic, it had such a sense of story and of fate that it could match the scene of 2 different Gu Xianglans walking in the long corridor of illusion and shadow, which would really stir the audiences’ curiosity and wonder.

Hence, I surmised that the script for this tour had made some changes, No. 5 would likely be Baron’s reincarnation, confirmed when the dying Old Gu Xianglan laid on her bed, holding Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 B’s hands, and directly called him “Henry”.

Patient No. 5 on the Hospital Bed

Over here I really wanted to punch myself, I clearly read the script, but yet I forgot that in the second half, the person on the hospital bed would be No. 5 B! I entered the hall early, and I long saw the doctor at the hospital bed aiding the patient’s breathing, but I really did not pay much attention, I was so regretful!! After the show started, No. 5 started talking, the whole hall started to exclaim as they realized that oh dear, that was Xiao Zhan!

Wearing the patient gown, Xiao Zhan seemed even more ill, looked especially frail, weak, and immediately reminded me of Xianxian in the red undergown, I believe when I said this, everyone would have the image in their mind.

Patient No. 5 with the Dying Gu Xianglan

Old Gu Xianglan laid on the hospital bed, Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 sat by it, his left hand had always been on Gu Xianglan’s back, gently patting and soothing Gu Xianglan, never stopped, I had been staring for a long while. I kept feeling that this was especially “Xiao Zhan”, because Xiao Zhan himself is just that gentle and considerate.

Gu Xianglan narrated her story until she was short of breath and passed away, No. 5’s gaze had never left her, and he held her hand. No. 5 was like just like that, quietly watching Gu Xianglan until she passed away, he did not say anything, but his compassionate expression, slightly furrowed brows, exuded a strong sense of unspeakable sorrow gushing out from his body. As I wrote this part, my mind would sometimes flash back to the scene of No. 5 sitting by the bedside, and suddenly I would feel like weeping.

Patient No. 5 Reading a Letter at Jiang Hong’s Apartment

No. 5 returned to the apartment where he and Jiang Hong lived, and from under the floorboards he found a letter, he was simply kneeling as he read the letter, and kneeled for a very long time. “Hi, the person with the fever…” As he kneeled there, I could only see his back, and I just kept watching his back, listening to him read the first few lines of the letter and after which Jiang Hong continued, I felt that there was nothing else in my heart, I was very upset, but yet my tears were locked in my eyes. I stared at his pointed toes and the long, long legs in jeans, stared at the hands that were grasping the letter. Once again, No. 5 encountered another separation of a lifetime, and I knew that I was going to bid farewell to him as well.

Before the Passing of Patient No. 5

Here, No. 5 A laid on the bed talking, while Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 B stood around 1m away at the left side of the bed, looking at No. 5 A. Here is the most obvious display of compassion from No. 5, because he stood for a long time, so I kept staring at him — his gaze was gentle and sorrowful, looking at the other version of him lying on the bed almost reaching the end of his life, I wondered what he was thinking of? Xiao Zhan’s eyebrows were especially good looking, I kept thinking that if I studied him from a certain distance, the first thing I would see would be his eyebrows, and that was something I did not think would happen when I looked at him via a video on my mobile phone screen. His eyebrows were just too good at conveying emotion, if it was relaxed I would feel relaxed as well, when it frowned I would feel upset as well. No. 5 kept his brows furrowed, it was melancholy and sorrowful, he did not need to have tears in his eyes, he could convey emotions with his brows.

Finally, No. 5 A stopped breathing, and the light on No. 5 B dimmed, he was slowly consumed by darkness, in that instant I felt as though my heart had been drowned by sorrow, I kept on staring at Xiao Zhan, and unwittingly as I wrote to this point, tears started brimming in my eyes.

Patient No. 5’s A Cappella

The lyrics to the song was like this in the script:

Did anyone, see my face before? I think I remembered, I think I forgot, You used to wander in my dreams; I think I remembered, I think I forgot, I used to sing in your story; I think I remembered, I think I forgot.

At this point, all the actors will take out candles, Gu Xianglan A would ring a bell, all the actors will blow out their candles, and the play ends. I wrote on Weibo that this part wrote a cappella: Xiao Zhan sang it at the end, I was literally shaking. It was clearly a cappella, without any instrumental music or sound effects, but it was particularly ethereal and pleasant. It sounded like I went to a tall and quiet church, and listened to the choir’s singing. His voice came with its own bass. There was really this sense of sanctity, which made you feel as though any stray thoughts would be a blasphemy. I was clearly seated at an elevated location, but spiritually I felt that I was looking up at him. It was almost surreal, a dreamlike illusionary existence.

When I was seated in the hall, I was more excited, because I remembered that there was still the curtain call and gratitude ceremony. Now, reviewing this with the script, I am completely immersed in the sorrowful atmosphere of the script, and as I recall Xiao Zhan’s a cappella, I am now especially upset, and I miss him terribly.

Part 2 – Praising Xiao Zhan from All Different Angles

What Was Xiao Zhan’s Role (DUH)

At the start, No. 5 was an architect, a salary man, as he hurried on the streets, the sense of salary man was really obvious. After he met his wife, he started his flirtation mode, which was a humorous and interesting young man. After he had a child and as he carried that child, he was really like a father, I almost yelled “Daddy” in my heart! After that he fell sick, and no matter where and when, he was able to portray the sense of someone who had an illness.

Xiao Zhan’s Lines

Before the start of the show, Xiao Zhan broadcasted the important notice, his voice was like a newscaster, the XFXs around me could not believe it was him. In the hall, the voice was especially vigorous and magnetic, which was quite different from how he was like in previous interviews, overall it was especially pleasant, it felt like he changed his vocalization method, there was probably more technique into it.

Secondly, his pronunciation was very clear and professional, I could hear every word clearly, and when he was at stage left where I could not see him, I pretended I was listening to a radio show. No. 5 was from Taiwan, hence Xiao Zhan specially spoke with a Taiwanese accent, very natural and very cute. His emotions were very very on point! When he was coquettish his voice slightly lingered, when he yelled it was fierce, when he was sad it was sorrowful… When he was joking, it was as though every sound he made had a smile, when he was stern it was very shocking! “Ka wa yi” and “da me” were my top favorite!

Xiao Zhan’s Body and Face

Xiao Zhan’s No. 5, his back was hunched, he occasionally coughed, and we could see that his style of walking was different from Xiao Zhan’s: No. 5 was ill, he frequently had fevers, and he would tire when he went upstairs. From the play, we could say that we could not see the healthy and strong Xiao Zhan at all, we would only feel that he was No. 5 with a terminal illness, that was acting and character portrayal from in to out. But when he bowed with his back facing me, I still could clearly see the lines from his back muscles pushing against his shirt.

His legs were especially long, his proportions were really extreme, I always felt that humans could not grow like this, did he steal Jianguo’s leg length (No). His face was particularly small, especially when viewed from my distance, it was outstandingly exquisite, as though I could pinch it with just a hand. This hairstyle really showcased his ears, which were pointed, completely elf-like!

Besides his outstanding eyebrows, his nose was also super magnificent! Even if you looked at him from the front you would feel that he really looks very chiseled! Even more so from the side! A miracle of beauty!

From my location, I had a lot of chances to look at his 70% side view, as the light shone on that face, it was like a sculpture, I wondered what kind of divinity would be able to sculpt that: that nose line, that lip and that melancholy eyebrows…

Xiao Zhan’s Compassion

The tone that Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 as a whole gave me as a whole was melancholic, or I could say it was his compassion. Previously, I frequently saw that everyone said that Tang San had a sense of compassion, but I feel that the compassion in No. 5’s aura was superior to Tang San’s. Firstly, he himself had a terminal illness, and then he experienced so many changes, the departure of his family and loved ones. Secondly, the inner aura of No. 5 himself came with a bit of compassion.

I saw at the back row, at times when I used the binoculars, his facial features would be slightly blurry, of course most of the time it was clear, so I always first spot the most obvious, the tightly furrowed eyebrows.

Accompanying that frown would be his exquisite facial features, his eyes, especially the line of his nose, it seemed almost supernatural. Hence I would really relate it to the Greek sculptures, as in their expressions were also solemn, as though they were looking down upon the emotions and pain of the world. And they themselves were the representation of human beauty.

I always felt that the reason why Xiao Zhan’s good looks were well accepted by the masses was because his good looks was universally acceptable.

Of course, for Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 to be able to attain this level of compassion, it not only depended on his innate aura, but even more so, his own hard work, which caused his looks to be able to give off this kind of aura. For example, he became even more thin, such that his cheeks were more protruding, and there were possibly shadows on his cheeks, this would make you feel that, truly, his melancholy and compassion was clearly affecting his body.

His aura, his physical shape, was completely in service of the character.

Xiao Zhan’s Acting Skills

I posted on my Weibo that Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 was very compassionate, and then there were comments asking if it was because of his past experiences, such that he was able to portray this kind of compassion, actually it was not that I did not agree completely, but it was something that I did not even think of.

Why? Because when you watched Xiao Zhan’s dramas and movies, it was the same, when you watched his play life, his performance was even more so — just that he was not deliberately acting, you would feel that he did not use any life experience, or very obviously using his experiences to aid his portrayal in the drama. He was not like this, he would give you a very very natural sensation.

Xiao Zhan’s acting was like spring water, naturally flowing down from the cracks on the hill side, and not like cracking a water pipe, which would come gushing out suddenly, it was not like this. Even if it was an explosive scene, it would also smoothly flow downwards like a waterfall tumbling from the top of a cliff.

Although I say that Xiao Zhan’s acting was very, very natural, so much so that you could not see any trace of deliberation, but in fact this did not mean that this skill came inborn, on the contrary, this acting skill required doubly effort to attain.

My Trance

I don’t know how to explain my feeling: that is when watching the play I would sometimes feel hazy, like I would suddenly break away from the play, and then stare at Xiao Zhan, thinking — wow, this is a real Xiao Zhan, a lively Xiao Zhan, and he’s under the same roof as me in this very second, moving and talking…

And then I would go into that trance.

The Ocean of Flowers in the Courtyard

So romantic, star chasing is so romantic, loving Xiao Zhan is so romantic.

The night of Wuhan, I stayed in the midst of the crowds, outside of my windows were the streaking colors of everyday life.

My heart remained sweet, because I knew that in that very moment, I was sharing the same sky with the one I love.

And yet my heart was weak, as soon as I saw that endless brilliance of red, I would feel that my tears would well up.

Walking through the ocean of flowers, I saw countless adoration, gentleness, admiration, well wishes…

In that second, I was in Wuhan, and I had a romance with No. 5 at the ends of the world.

Appendix: 2013 Version of “A Dream Like A Dream” Behind-The-Scenes Documentary Review

(Written on 23 Mar 2021)

Upper Half

Firstly, the documentary emphasized on its star-studded cast on its very first Mainland China premiere in 2000. Besides the well-known famous actor, there was also a renowned female singer crossing domains, as well as some familiar, well-known actors, such as Tan Zhuo, Xu Qing. Xu Qing was going to continue her role as one of the Gu Xianglans in the upcoming 2021 version of “A Dream Like A Dream”. At the same time I also discovered that Shi Ke was in the 2013 version of “A Dream Like A Dream”, she was the lead actress for Xiao Zhan’s “Heroes in Harm’s Way – Blessed Community”.

In the documentary, besides bringing more attention to this play, the star-studded cast also brought another challenge, because the group’s actors had to spend more than a year to break into this 8 hour play (that time when “A Dream Like A Dream” first came into Mainland China, everything had to be started from scratch, there were a lot to adapt, hence the timeline would be longer, 2021 version had the previous foundation, and therefore did not need this long for preparation), and singers would have to take a few months to prepare for their fan meetings and concerts, television and movie actors would have to take a few months to film their dramas. In rehearsing this play, the actors would have to reject many invitations, their “loss” in revenue could be up to millions or even more.

Xiao Zhan’s rehearsal period for “A Dream Like A Dream” appeared to be an empty period to the external world, but plays truly needed wholehearted participation into practice time.

Director and playwright Lai Shengchuan said, plays are even a greater challenge to these stars, because their capabilities, their acting skills, would be obvious to the audiences after 2 or 3 shows, and this will dictate the success of the play in Mainland China.

Hence for the first entry to Mainland China, all the preparation from all angles had to start from zero, the 2013 version encountered many difficulties in terms of location, props, etc. While the cast attracted a lot of attention, the strict control behind the stage, for example, prop preparation was actually done by a Year 4 Journalism student; the rehearsal initially started in a crude empty factory. Then, the in-charge of Yanghua Theatre, Wang Keran, was the main in-charge for bringing in “A Dream Like A Dream” into Mainland China, he and his team’s office was in a simple 3 bedroom apartment, he directly said that bringing in this play was to raise the influence of plays but he could not bankrupt the backstage, hence cost also had to be tightly controlled.

For the 2021 version, the documentary gave me the most anticipation was the process that in the 2013 version, the actors and the directors went through a lot of breakthrough and recreation process during their rehearsals. While rehearsing, Xu Qing gave a totally opposite view on her role to Lai Shengchuan (on Gu Xianglan’s love to Baron), the understanding and identity from the actors themselves were in fact the most important part to character creation. Finally, Xu Qing’s persistence convinced Lai Shengchuan, who specially added some scenes in Act 9, and allowed the character Gu Xianglan to be more logical. Lai Shengchuan was a renowned Asian Theatre master, “A Dream Like A Dream” was his 3rd script after his 10+ years of experience. Even so, when meeting a brand new acting crew, the script might still display its inadequacy or limitations with the times, etc. At this moment, it would require actors to use their acting experience to improve upon it, and perform character and scene recreation. We could say that, Xu Qing was a good actress who had her own opinions and thoughts, and was persistent about them, Lai Shengchuan was a good director who progressed with the times.

It just so happened today that Xu Qing praised Xiao Zhan, I believe that with my narration on this part, everyone would understand how much weight Xu Qing’s praise carried — there is no praise that is more encouraging than that from a fellow actress who is persistent and serious.

I believe that Xiao Zhan is also a hardworking actor who will seriously analyze his scripts, and have his own opinions and thoughts. Hence, I really look forward to fireworks that Xiao Zhan and “A Dream Like A Dream” would create, as well as the new soul this would bring to the role, Patient No. 5.

Lower Half

Firstly, the documentary introduced the costume designer for “A Dream Like A Dream”, renowned designer, Ye Jintian. Ye Jintian was the costume in-charge for many movies and dramas, the most famous ones were “A Better Tomorrow” and “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”, he also won the Oscar for Best Costume Design for the latter movie. 2021’s Costume Design Executive was still Ye Jintian. When rehearsal conditions were unable to reach the performance conditions, actors would have to use costumes to find their entry into the character, and as such, it showed how important costumes were to the play.

The premiere in 2013, was such a major cultural event, in the press conference before the first show, they exhibited a shorter segment of the play. Lai Shengchuan wanted people to focus on the story itself, but the media placed their attention on the star-studded cast, the 8 hour long performance, the ring shaped stage, and other gimmicks etc. Lai Shengchuan said, that was the misguidance of the media focus. I felt that, that was unavoidable, since it was a challenge, it was even more so an opportunity, because everything would increase the attention on the play itself eventually. Lai Shengchuan hoped that people would not watch this play for entertainment or escapism, but instead, use this story to face their problems directly, to think about the meaning of life and death.

Surprisingly, the documentary then emphasized on the participating well-known singer’s influence. It said that she had millions of passionate fans, many of them entered the theater because of her, whereas in Lai Shengchuan’s vision, the audiences for “A Dream Like A Dream” were those who had watched many other plays before. We could even say that such a young and influential singer’s addition then truly changed the audience composition for such an elite form of art. On this, Producer Wang Keran expressed that it was something the production team was happy to see, because marketization was the nutrient for such highend art. Moreover, “A Dream Like A Dream” was 8 hours long, they had 400 over sets of costumes, as well as many innovative stage art design, the cost was very huge. Hence, the show for this type of play became a gamble, a gamble between art and market. After all, theater workers would have to eat, and audiences only cared about results, and they would not analyze the difficulties behind it.

The 2021 version that Xiao Zhan joined was built upon the mature experience of 7 years of public showing from the 2013 version, and definitely had lesser problems, but due to Xiao Zhan’s commonly known qualities, the 2021 version would carry the same mission as the 2013 version: using the actor’s huge influence and interest, attract more “first time goers” for theaters, and use the market to nourish the play. To Xiao Zhan personally, this was the rarest and best experience for an actor.

I would mostly skip through the following interview of the famous actor, but there was an important phrase within which he generally said, “To return to theater is to remove the burden of a celebrity.” I felt that this point was suitable to Xiao Zhan.

That time, the production company for “A Dream Like A Dream” (should be Yanghua Theatre) was actually not rich, we could see that the theater scene was still in its infancy. The Stage Designer Zhang Zhelong, was also very competent, he created many aesthetic and unique stage effects for “A Dream Like A Dream”, the most famous was the handover between 2 Gu Xianglans, 2 graceful figures, the former slowly absorbed into the light, blurry and vague, just like a dream. The 2021 version’s Stage Designer is still Zhang Zhelong.

Finally, it was the interview with the well-known actor Jin Shijie, who acted as Baron then. He said that now is the era for speed, everyone could use an electronic device to watch many shows in a night, they could even watch new technologies such as 3D. But, plays were like they carried many ancient rituals. You would need to leave the house, take a car ride, queue, and then sit in among a group of strangers, and watch the stage in the dark, and finally return home. These process were complex, but yet it also seemed especially ceremonious — hence Jin Shijie said that the stage was the most primitive. Whereas for me personally, I like this type of primitive art, this is a form of art that up close, without any misplacement in time and space, and the most realistic.

[drarrymybeloved]

Love in a Five Part Act

my third entry for the summer writin challenge! prompt: crashing a party, trope: fake dating & craft: reverse chronology. many thanks to @the-starryknight for holding my hand through this one <3

Harry is pacing. He’s walking in tight circles in the entryway, drawing curious glances from everyone passing through. He tugs at the collar of his robes, the same ones he bought with Draco. No cravat this time, though.

Draco likes to show up to these things twenty five minutes after the indicated time – “You mustn’t seem too eager nor must you be tardy” – so Harry’s been pacing for the last twenty minutes.

His stomach is a shivering ball of nerves and there’s the slightest of tremors in his hands. He could have just written a letter, or shown up at Draco’s house, but Draco likes grand gestures and Harry’s the all-in sort of guy, so here he is. Pacing.

The main doors open just then. Harry looks up, gut tightening. Dressed in peacock blue with hints of dark green, Draco looks gorgeous. Harry’s nerves calm for a second as he takes in the familiar sight – despite everything, Draco feels like home. And then Draco’s eyes find his and the nerves are back tenfold.

Draco’s mouth drops open a bit and his brow furrows before he quickly schools his features into a polite mask. He approaches Harry and asks without preamble, “What are you doing here?”

“Attending the ball?” Harry attempts feebly. He hadn’t bothered to think of exactly what he would say to Draco. Not one of his finest ideas, in retrospect.

Draco arches one unimpressed eyebrow. “Obviously, Potter. I meant why are you here?”

“Draco,” Harry whispers, giving up on a heartfelt speech and letting the one word encompass everything he’s feeling.

Draco’s eyes widen, surprise making his mask drop. He takes an uneven breath in. “We agreed, remember? We don’t need this,” he pauses and looks around before continuing in a lower tone. “This arrangement anymore. You got what you needed and so have I.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “I got what I needed. But what about what I want?”

A moment passes. The silence between them stretches and swells, the din of the nearby party falling away.

“And what do you want?” Draco asks finally, his voice nothing more than a whisper. His hands are restless, the tips of his fingers coming together in patterns only he’s privy to. Harry remembers Draco doing this before, when Skeeter wrote a vicious article on how “Malfoy’s Death Eater nature” was going to “corrupt our Saviour.” He remembers wanting to catch those fluttering hands in his own, to tell Draco no one listens to Skeeter anymore, tell him that he likes having Draco around and to hell with Skeeter and her ilk.

Harry allows himself to reach out this time and gently laces his hands through Draco’s.

“This,” he says, heart pounding but voice sure. He squeezes Draco’s hands once. “For real this time.”

Slowly, a smile blooms over Draco’s face, his body relaxing. “I’ve been told I’m high maintenance,” he says slightly breathlessly.

Harry laughs, relief flooding through him. “Nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure.”

“No, you did rather well,” Draco murmurs, genuine under the banter.

Warm with fondness, Harry presses a kiss to his cheek before gesturing to the ballroom. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm. Draco smiles and tucks his hand securely in the crook of Harry’s elbow.

They are yet again subjected to stares that have not gotten any subtler and conversations that keep prodding at personal boundaries. But none of that matters because this time when Draco calls Harry “darling” he’s not holding anything back, and when Harry calls him “love” it’s because he wants to and not because he’s fulfilling a role.

-----

Harry steps through Draco’s Floo into his living room, letting the bright space settle the apprehension he’s been unable to shake off ever since he got Draco’s letter. He loves this room, with its neutral toned furniture interrupted with colorful cushions and throws. It suits Draco. The kitchen was more of a surprise. When he had first come here, about a week into their arrangement, Harry had been expecting modern fittings and a minimalist layout. Instead, Draco’s kitchen has exposed brick walls and buttery yellow cabinets. A honey oak table stretches through the length of the space and potted plants sit in the windowsills. Now that he knows Draco’s penchant for baking and how he likes to unwind by immersing himself in time-consuming recipes, Harry thinks nothing could suit Draco more.

“Malfoy?” Harry calls out. He’s Draco now, really, but only in the privacy of Harry’s head.

“Kitchen,” comes the answer.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling a little at the sight of Draco in a cozy jumper bathed in warm afternoon sunlight. “Is this about the gala day after tomorrow? You think we should attend it?”

An uncertain look crosses Draco’s face before he takes a deep breath. Harry feels his smile slipping.

“Yes, I think it would be a good opportunity to meet a few people I’ve been hoping to talk with,” Draco hedges, and Harry can hear the “but” coming from a mile away. Sure enough, Draco continues. “But, I think we’ve done enough damage control, both in terms of everyone’s opinion of me and your situation with the press. I can’t keep pretending–”

He cuts himself off and presses his lips together, hands clutching the counter behind him. He’d look almost relaxed if it weren’t for the tension evident in his shoulders, his pronounced knuckles. Harry remembers kissing those knuckles, tipsy on champagne, and spinning Draco to some fast number.

“Right,” Harry says hoarsely, unable to formulate a response over the echo of “I can’t keep pretending” in his head, a mocking symphony.

He can’t think beyond the roiling in his gut and the ice pooling at the base of his spine. This was coming, it had always been coming, so why is he so surprised?

“So, that’s it then?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” Draco says stiffly. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Harry nods woodenly. Manages a “You too,” before he turns and leaves.

-----

Harry hears the Floo flare from downstairs. A second later, Malfoy calls out, “Potter?”

“Yeah, up here, second floor,” Harry answers from his room, wrestling with the complicated tie – “It’a cravat, Potter, honestly” – Malfoy had him buy for the Ministry event they’re attending tonight, along with a whole new set of dress robes.

He hears an annoyed huff from near the doorway before Malfoy comes to stand behind him.

He meets Harry’s eyes through the mirror. “What on earth are you doing with that? Here, let me.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but starts to turn around. Malfoy stops him, holding onto his shoulders to make him face the mirror again.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, steadfastly ignoring the quickening of his heartbeat at the brief contact.

Malfoy shrugs. “It’s easier this way,” he says, reaching around Harry’s chest to tie the cravat, the movement bringing him tantalisingly close to Harry.

Harry stays perfectly still, painfully aware of Malfoy’s proximity. He can feel Malfoy’s body heat, can smell his sweet vanilla scent – one tiny step backwards, and his body would be flush against Malfoy’s.

Harry closes his eyes briefly, swallowing forcefully. He opens his eyes and fixes them firmly on Malfoy’s hands in the mirror, competently manipulating the cravat with slender fingers.

Oh Merlin.

“There we go,” Malfoy tucks the cravat into Harry’s robes and smoothes his hands down Harry’s chest in a perfunctory fashion, making gooseflesh erupt all over Harry’s arms.

“Thanks,” Harry all but gasps, stepping quickly away from Malfoy, hoping he can’t see the furious blush on his cheeks. “Let’s get going then.”

It’s been a while since he’s had any good reason to attend a Ministry function, but Harry’s been to enough of them to detest the entire enterprise. He’d much rather make his donations from the safety and privacy of his own home, thank you very much. So it’s with no small amount of trepidation that Harry enters the ballroom with Malfoy on his arm.

People immediately take notice, the whispers spreading like wildfire. Harry can already feel a headache building.

“We knew they would stare – let them. I’ll do the talking, you try to look like you’re not being tortured,” Malfoy murmurs at his side, smiling charmingly at the guests they pass.

Despite himself, Harry snorts. “Who says I’m not?” he whispers back, feeling a pleasant jolt at the genuine grin Malfoy shoots him before he turns the charm back on.

As the night progresses, Harry has to admit, he’s not being tortured. It’s definitely not his idea of a fun time, but with Malfoy there, it’s at least tolerable. Each time the conversation starts heading towards Harry’s personal life, Malfoy subtly changes the topic with a well-placed enquiry.

“Would you get a glass of champagne for me, darling?” Malfoy asks, turning towards him a little, a private smile on his face. Harry’s breath hitches. The endearment is a new addition to their arrangement. But of course, it would only be natural for Malfoy to use one, especially where others could hear them.

“Sure, love,” Harry answers, not deciding to use an endearment of his own until he had already said it. Along with Malfoy’s champagne, he returns with a glass of Firewhiskey for himself, letting the spicy warmth settle his nerves.

They don’t stay for too long – Harry had been adamant on no more than an hour and a half and was surprised when Malfoy had agreed without any complaints.

“That wasn’t so bad actually,” Harry tells Malfoy as they walk towards a secluded part of the lawns to Apparate home. Their respective homes, obviously.

“Yes, it went quite well, I think,” Malfoy responds with a bright smile. “I was a little worried people might not buy us,” he gestures between them, “together, but they lapped it right up.”

Something cold and heavy sinks into Harry’s stomach, replacing the tentative warmth that was glowing through him not a minute ago. Of course. In between all the touching and the endearments and Malfoy’s surprisingly considerate nature, Harry had somehow managed to forget that this was all a show.

“Right,” Harry says, throat tight. “I think I’ll head home now, tiring night and all that.” He gives Malfoy the best approximation of a smile he can manage and Apparates away.

-----

They step out of the restaurant together, holding hands. The number of reporters camped outside had been steadily rising as Harry and Malfoy fed each other bites of food and exchanged fond looks — all carefully planned and executed of course.

The questions come hurtling at them from all sides, accompanied by bursts of camera flashes. Most of them are directed towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, are you courting Draco Malfoy?"

"Mr. Potter, sir, did Ginevra Weasley leave you because you're interested in men?"

"Smile for the camera sir!"

“Was your relationship with Ms. Weasley a sham?”

Too much, it’s all far too much. Harry has never been good with dealing with the press, and he’s out of practice now. The flashes blind him and the questions echo oddly in his head. His chest burns with every sip of air he struggles to take.

He feels an arm snake around his waist, gripping firmly for a moment, before withdrawing to his upper back and rubbing faint circles between his shoulder blades. Malfoy steps forward, smoothly answering questions, appearing totally unruffled, while his hand continues to move over Harry's back. Harry isn't listening to a word of what Malfoy is saying. Instead, he focuses on Malfoy's hand on his back, letting the point of contact ground him, the repetitive movement soothing.

When they land on Harry's doorstep, Malfoy shoots him a curious look. His hand still rests on Harry's back — once he had answered all the questions he intended to, he'd neatly stepped back from the gaggle of reporters and Apparated them to Grimmauld right then and there.

Harry makes the mistake of looking at Malfoy. Caught up in his intense gaze and feeling a little discombobulated from the restaurant, Harry freezes. His mind is still stuck on the comfort of Malfoy’s hand on his back, of his solid grip on his waist, and his feelings are a tangled mess. Some of it must be showing on Harry’s face, because Malfoy’s expression changes and he turns more fully to Harry, the beginnings of a sentence on his lips.

Hot panic bursts in Harry’s chest. Hastily stepping away from Malfoy, he stumbles over his words. “I should, um– thanks for today, er, send me an Owl for next time,” he says, backing away towards his front door. He shuts the door before Malfoy has a chance to say anything, leaning against it for support.

-----

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, Potter,” Malfoy insists.

Harry scoffs, turning back to stare at his tumbler of whiskey — the muggle variety. He rarely visits wizarding pubs now, not unless he wants to make the front page of the Prophet and every other godforsaken wizarding tabloid.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Malfoy rolling his eyes.

“I know strategy hasn’t always been your strong suit, Potter, but do think for a minute. Ever since your break up with Ginevra Weasley, the media attention you receive has increased tenfold. You can’t even have a drink in peace, can you?”

Harry turns back to face Malfoy, raising a pointed brow. Disappointingly, Malfoy doesn’t take the bait.

“You want the media to stop hounding you about your love life and I want to not be undesirable number one,” he continues. “It’s a simple equation, Potter, put the two together and the solution is obvious.”

“And yet, you’re the only one who’s arrived at it,” Harry says flatly, ignoring the whisper of it could work, actually floating at the back of his head.

“Please, Potter, we both know who the smart one is in this relationship and it certainly isn’t you,” Draco says, smirking.

“I never actually agreed to this fake-dating nonsense, Malfoy.”

“Potter,” Malfoy deadpans. “It’s been, what, five months now since your relationship ended? The press isn’t going to stop any time soon. Not unless you do something about it.”

“Thrilling that you’ve been keeping count,” Harry mumbles into his glass before taking a healthy swig. Malfoy’s right and Harry knows it. He’s tried everything — polite non-answers, straightforward “no comments”, pointed silence, and even snarled insults to leave him the fuck alone. None of it worked. This might just be his only option. No, it is his only option.

Harry sighs heavily and turns to Malfoy. “You’re going to be really high-maintenance, aren’t you?”

Malfoy smiles, languid and satisfied. “You know it, darling.”

[fizzychocolatemilk]

The Little Moments (Bakudeku Tropetember Drabble)

I'm back with another Tropetember drabble! This one side-tracked me when I was working on Belleza que Atrae, and it became WAY LONGER then I intended. For day 17: Accidental Baby Acquisition / (Single) Parent AU / Babysitting  AO3 link here.

The door creaked open as Katsuki came home and pulled off his work boots. He had a minute to feel the relief of finally being home when he heard the pitter-pattering of a child’s feet. He quickly turned and scooped up the tiny blonde as the little boy screamed, “Daddy! You’re home!”

Katsuki smiled into his son’s hair as he hugged him, “Yeah...I’m home, little man.” He carried the boy into the main room and paid the babysitter before cuddling his son on the couch for the few minutes they had before dinner.

Izumi sat on the counter as Katsuki made their meal. He smiled fondly as he listened to his son ramble about his day. Little moments like these made the hours that Katsuki pulled and the things he put up with worth it; it was all to make sure Izumi had a good life.

Izumi was chattering about his class when he mentioned something that caught Katsuki’s attention, “And this year, my teacher’s super cool and nice. Midoriya-sensei is really amazing!”

Katsuki loved his son, but he could easily admit that Izumi usually had a hard time getting along with his teachers. So naturally, Katsuki was insanely curious about what made “Midoriya-sensei” so different than the teachers his son had had before. “Midoriya-sensei, huh? What do you like so much about her, ‘Zumi?”

Izumi looked scandalized and he hit Katsuki with a couple of tiny fists before shouting, “Midoriya-sensei is a boy! Not a dumb girl!” Izumi looked angry for a second before turning his head away from Katsuki and grumbling, “Midoriya-sensei is kinda pretty like a girl though, like the nature spirit-y things in some of the stories you read me. Nie—Ni—Nim—What is it again, daddy?”

Katsuki chuckled, “I think you’re thinking of nymphs, son, but those are usually water spirits. The nature spirits are called dryads.”

Izumi’s eyes brightened and he nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah! Those! Midoriya-sensei looks like a dryad! Like he could turn into a tree, but in a pretty way! And he always makes sure that everyone is having a good day and understands his lessons! Usually teachers just don’t bother with the stupid kids and the mean-looking kids, but Midoriya-sensei makes sure that everyone is doing good! I’ve haven’t met anyone who doesn’t like him yet! He’s like a superhero!”

Katsuki nodded with a fond look across his face at his son’s enthusiasm. He turned off the heat on the stove and plated the food before picking his son up and setting him on his hip. Izumi was starting to get too big for it, but Katsuki didn’t work out for nothing. He would carry his son for as long as he was able and Izumi was willing.

“‘Zumi, I’m very glad you like your teacher this year.” He set Izumi in his chair and set a plate of food in front of him. Katsuki grabbed his own food and sat down across from his son before continuing, “But remember...don’t call your classmates stupid just because they have a hard time understanding what you’re learning. Some people learn and understand things differently, and that’s perfectly okay. Alright?”

Izumi nodded and slurped his noodles before smirking at Katsuki.

Katsuki smacked the hand that wasn’t holding his chopsticks with enough force that his son would feel it, but not enough that it would hurt or turn red. “I guess you really don’t want the mochi that I’ve got in the fridge, huh? Shame—I just made them last night and in your favorite flavor too,” Katsuki feigned nonchalance, but grinned inwardly as Izumi’s eyes widened and he shook his head empathetically.

“NO! I WANT MOCHI PLEASE!”

“Eat the rest of your food without slurping and I’ll think about it.” Katsuki smiled fondly into his chopsticks as he watched his son finish his food quickly but politely. Yeah—moments like these were Katsuki’s favorite.

.

.

.

Katsuki walked into his son’s classroom with all the purpose of a boat cutting through the water. In this case, however, Katsuki was his yearly mission to make sure Izumi wasn’t getting royally fucked over by his school. Neither Katsuki nor Izumi really enjoyed parent-teacher conferences, hence why Katsuki had left Izumi with a babysitter, but it was something they had to deal with and Katsuki would never pass up the opportunity of intimidating his son’s teachers...it was just too funny.

.

.

.

The only thing that kept Katsuki’s jaw from hanging open at the man sitting in front of him was the fact that he had prior knowledge of what he would look like. The only thing wrong with Izumi’s description of his sensei was the fact that Midoriya-san didn’t just look like a nature spirit—no, he looked like a whole-ass god.

Midoriya’s hair fell in shiny, green ringlets over his head, accenting his defined yet delicate features. His freckles were spattered over the bridge of his nose and along his cheeks in curious constellations that made Katsuki want to spend eons tracing them and counting Midoriya’s freckles like stars.

His eyes were green, but Katsuki thought the word green could never encompass the countless universes that Midoriya held in his eyes. They swirled with specks of gold, and highlights of lime, and depths of pine in almost black shadows, and they shone with the light of someone who was truly happy with what they were doing. They shone so brightly that Katsuki felt overwhelmed as those eyes looked, with their vast swirling universes, at him.

“Hello, Bakugou-san! I’m Midoriya Izuku, Izumi’s teacher. It’s lovely to meet you. Your son is such a delight to have in class! He’s very smart and helpful. Even though he’s a little gruff, he’s passionate and kind to his classmates. Such an amazing child you have!”

Katsuki smirked at the praise for his son, but his insides felt like they were melting from the warmth that Midoriya-san gave off.

Midoriya bit his lip, causing Katsuki’s brow to furrow, before speaking, “I’m sorry if this is rude, but I’m just a bit curious….usually mothers come to their child's conferences, you see, so...I was wondering….”

Katsuki sneered before replying to Midoriya’s gross attempt at making it a polite question, “Pardon my language—but my son’s shitty incubator was a bitch-ass whore. I regret fornicating with her, but I don’t regret Izumi. Never Izumi. So stop with the shit and let’s talk about my son, Deku.”

Midoriya had been staring bug-eyed at him while Katsuki was speaking, but he looked even more surprised at being called, “Deku? Maybe you misheard, but my name is Midoriya Izuku .”

“I don’t call rude assholes that insinuate that I’m a bad parent by their names, Deku ,” Katsuki smirked as he watched Deku’s jaw drop for a quick moment, but Katsuki was a little surprised when a flush rose on Deku’s cheeks and he gained a determined gleam in his eye.

“I apologize if  I insinuated anything, Kacchan , no excuse is a good one and it wasn’t my intention….I was just trying to be subtle.”

Katsuki had slammed his hands on the table at the word “Kacchan”, but now his brow furrowed in confusion, “Subtle about what, stupid Deku?”

If it was possible, Deku seemed to flush harder at this question, but Katsuki remained stead-fast and waited for an answer. Deku flustered for a second before the determined gleam came back and he answered, “I-I-I think you’re hot, okay?! Oh my goodness, this is so fucking unprofessional of me! I can’t date the parent of a student! But Bakugou-san is so fuckingbeatifulandprotectiveandkind—”

“Shut the hell up, dumbass Deku!” Katsuki was blushing furiously. The god-like green-eyed man thought he was attractive and dateable! Katsuki knew that he was sexy as fuck, but he hadn’t been on a date or even been interested in someone since before he had Izumi. Deku had been rude, but it didn’t seem like he meant it in a derogatory way like some teachers and parents that Katsuki had met before—and he was really pretty, so Katsuki paused for a second before speaking, “Tomorrow is Saturday. If you’re free, I’ll pick you up at 10 am. Now let’s talk about your class and my son. What sort of things will you be teaching this year?”

Deku’s jaw was hanging open as he stared wide-eyed at Katsuki, “Ummmm...I’m good with 10 tomorrow. Will Izumi be there?”

Katsuki scoffed, “Fucking obviously.” And their conference continued with no further talk of the date.

.

.

.

Katsuki held Izumi’s hand as he knocked on the door, but suddenly the boy tugged on his shirt and made the motion that meant he wanted to be picked up. Katsuki’s heart melted. It had been a while since his son had asked for uppies. As he was nuzzling the boy on his hip and Izumi was giggling, the door opened to reveal Deku. “Am I interrupting something?” Deku asked with a teasing smile.

And just like that, Katsuki’s heart had reformed and started beating at a frantic pace. Deku was wearing a pastel green and white plaid button-up over a white shirt that said “date shirt”, jeans that were loose enough for the physical activities that they would be doing today, and….red sneakers. He looked dorky as fuck, but somehow Deku was able to make the ensemble look adorable.

Katsuki smiled at the man and was about to greet him, but his son beat him to it. “MIDORIYA-SENSEI!?! Daddy didn’t say we were going to see you! HI!!!” Izumi was squirming to get down now, so Katsuki gently sat him on the ground so he could run and give Deku a hug.

Deku smiled fondly at Izumi, making Katsuki’s heart warm, before asking, “Well, what did your daddy say you were going to be doing?”

Izumi thought for a moment before turning back to Katsuki. “Daddy what are we doin’?”

Katsuki chuckled at his cute son before responding, “Your teacher and I are having a date, but since I’m taking him for a picnic in the park, I thought it would be fun if you could come too. We haven’t gone to the park in a while, have we, squirt?”

His son’s eyes had widened at the word “date”, but he seemed to forget the surprise in favor of being excited about going to the park. “PARK! Park! Park! Park! Let’s go now, daddy! What are we just standing around for?!?”

Katsuki looked to Deku, who had a wobbly smile on his face and a fond look in his eye, and held out a hand for him to take. Deku’s eyes widened a bit before he shot Katsuki in the heart with a shy smile and a pink blush. Deku grabbed his hand, and they made their way to Izumi, who was waiting at the end of the walkway and bouncing on his toes in anxious excitement.

Izumi eyed Katsuki and Deku’s clasped hands and held his hands out. Katsuki and Deku let go of each other at the same time, looked at each other in surprise before smiling, and simultaneously grabbed Izumi’s outstretched hands. As the trio began walking towards the park, Katsuki thought that this might be the start of something great.

That’s it! Hope you enjoyed! I think I only have three more drabbles to wrap up my tropetember series! See y’all soon!

[sabraeal]

Climb to the Rooftops

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...

And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV

He knows her.

That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--

He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...

Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.

It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.

He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.

Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”

It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.

She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.

“Obi?”

He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”

“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”

Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.

“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”

He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.

“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”

“We...can’t?”

Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”

His brows raise. “Illegal?”

The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”

“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”

Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”

She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.

“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”

“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”

She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”

Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”

“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”

“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”

“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”

“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”

There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--

“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”

It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”

“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”

He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”

“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”

“That just makes her even more--”

“Don’t.”

RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.

Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--

Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”

Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”

“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”

“Gesundheit.”

Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.

With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”

Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--

Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.

He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.

Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.

And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.

“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”

Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”

He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.

“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”

“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--

“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”

“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”

It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”

“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”

“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”

Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”

She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”

Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--

He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’

“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”

“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--

The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.

“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--

“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”

She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”

He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”

Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”

“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”

The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”

He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”

Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”

“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”

“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”

He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”

She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”

He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”

She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”

“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”

“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”

“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”

Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”

She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.

Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.

“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”

Doc blinks. “Huh?”

“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,’ you know.”

Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”

“Fuck you?”

“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”

Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.

“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”

“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”

“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”

Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”

She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”

He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.

But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”

Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.

“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”

“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”

Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”

“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”

“Record store.”

“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”

“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”

“Looking for it?” he offers.

She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.

“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”

“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”

“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”

“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”

“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”

Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.

“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”

The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”

Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--

“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”

Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”

Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.

“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”

“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”

Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”

As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.

“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”

The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.

She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.

“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”

Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”

If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”

The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”

“It’s our kink.”

“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”

The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”

Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.

“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”

Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”

This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”

Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”

The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”

Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”

“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”

No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.

It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--

And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.

The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”

Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”

“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”

She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”

“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”

His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part 1

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff/Smut (Smut in Part 2) Word Count: 2826 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

December 23, 2020

My head spins as I haul my suitcase from the trunk, using two hands due to the heft of the dirty clothes inside. Setting it on the ground, I yank on the handle before grappling with the two shopping bags filled with presents, reaching back for the decorated Christmas tin that is filled with homemade cookies, fudge, and other delicacies baked by my colleagues at Apple Music. 

Wrestling with my hands full, I close the trunk with an elbow, shivering in the chilly LA air. At the front door, I want to cry. Dammit. I could clearly remember that when Glenne had given me the code for the front door and the alarm, I placed them in my phone under her contact information. 

“FUCK!” The primal scream is released from my lungs, likely scaring the neighbors if any of them are outside enjoying Christmas lights or having family celebrations on this Christmas Eve Eve. Balancing the tin of cookies on top of the suitcase, I set down the shopping bags to reach for my phone. My purse slips off my shoulder, knocking the container of sweets, and in the scramble to rescue them, I nearly fall head over heels into the bushes. 

It isn’t until I punch in the numbers and drag my personal effects inside that it occurs to me that the alarm isn’t armed. Had Glenne and Jeffrey forgotten to punch in the code before they left for Palm Springs? Deciding I don’t care, I leave everything by the door as I drag my suitcase to the main floor laundry room, dumping everything in without regard to color or type of clothing. Since we’ve been working remotely the majority of the time for the last fucking nine months, “dressing up” encompasses blue jeans and the occasional blouse, but most of my clothing is sweatpants and t-shirts. Deciding washing the blue jeans and blouses with the sweatpants and t-shirts is the worst idea ever, I fish those out before pouring laundry detergent over the remaining garments and starting the washer. 

Glancing down at the clothing currently on my body, it seems completely reasonable to drop them into the washer too. Stripping the t-shirt from my body, I toss it into the swirling water before adding my bra, socks, and leggings to the murky mix. Wearing only panties in the cool house makes my nipples bead. 

Ha! I’m sure my nips are happy to get any action after almost a year with no dating of any sort because of the fucking pandemic. Which reminds me that I’ve forgotten my vibrator at home. Shit. Of all the things I don’t mind borrowing from Glenne, I do have a line I won’t cross. 

Placing the tin of Christmas yummies on the kitchen counter, I grasp the handles of the two bags of gifts. It might be silly to put them under the tree since I’m the only one in the house, but it will make me feel better. More like I’m at home with my family in Indiana. Less like I’m stuck in quarantine in an empty house for my favorite holiday. Sniffling, I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand as I pad down the two steps into the living room to the tree. 

Kneeling at the fake tree, I reach for the switch to turn on the lights. As the colors begin blinking, I carefully withdraw each present, reading the tag before gently placing the gift under the tree. Even my brother had sent a present through the mail which must mean he misses me his year. Right now, we should be challenging each other to the most ridiculous games to see who is the best. Inevitably, he would win some while I beat him at others until eventually we declare a tie. My mother would chastise us both with a grin on her face, implicitly encouraging us to continue our “reindeer games” as my father called them. 

From behind me, I hear a shuffling sound. Hadn’t they taken Myles with them? No matter. I could use the company a dog would provide. 

“Santa, you’ve changed!” a soft voice exclaims, and I jump, twisting around to find another human wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“It’s you!” Both voices exclaim simultaneously. “What the fuck are you doing here?” We both pause, “Stop saying what I’m saying!” 

Out of breath, I stare at him. The Harry Styles. Fuck. 

His eyes roam over my body, and it finally dawns on me that I’m wearing nothing but my Victoria’s Secret lace panties. Shit. 

Pacing measuredly to the couch without openly cringing, I grasp a wool throw and wrap it around my chest regally like I’ve just exited the pool at some exotic locale near the equator. My shoulders straighten, and I face him openly. 

“Are you joining Glenne and Jeffrey in Palm Springs?” My back is a board, and my tone is barely restrained. 

“Nope.” His nonchalance combined with his truncated answer pisses me off, per usual.

“So you’re flying home, waiting here for your flight tonight?” The hopeful tone is obvious to me and probably to him as well.

“No.” Those green eyes of his rake over my nearly-naked body, and I shiver. From the cold of course. Jesus. Get your heads out of the gutter!

“Watering the plants prior to returning to the Soho?”

“Uh uh.”

Delayed dread begins to fill my stomach. “You mean --” I clear my throat -- “you’re staying here?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.” Running my hand through my hair, I ponder the impact and my next steps. 

“You?” He asks politely, even though I know he doesn’t feel solicitude at this moment.

“Glenne told me I could stay here for a few days. I made arrangements for my place to be fumigated while I was in Indiana for Christmas.”

His raised eyebrow mocks me. 

“I’m not going, though. Okay?” 

“Why not?”

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been, Styles? In case you didn’t know, there’s a global fucking pandemic, and all of Los Angeles is locked down. So no -- I am not getting on a plane with a bunch of potentially infected and contagious --” Emotion overwhelms me, and I have to stop and catch my breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I turn away from him so he can’t see the tears that form in my eyes. 

“Whatever, Smith.”

“My name --” I draw myself up and gather my anger around me like a cloak -- “is not Smith.”

“Yeah, right. Which bedroom are you planning to sleep in?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we both stay here?” Appalled, I stare at him with my mouth open. “I’ll get a hotel room.” When I realize my wardrobe is in the washing machine, I softly say, “As soon as my clothes are dry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Smith. We’ll share the space. It’s only a couple of days.”

“Excuse me!?” Anger wells up. “Only the most important days in the entire year!” Superiority makes me stand up fully to him. “Besides, I’ve been quarantining for months. No way do I want to share germs with you!”

“Oh please! As if you’ve got a monopoly on quarantining! I’m perfectly safe. We get tested every morning before we film. When was the last time you were tested?” 

“Two days ago!” She’s at her boiling point. “Look, if we're both staying here together, then we’re just going to have to avoid each other. It’s a big house. We can do that.”

“Maybe once you put some clothes on,” Harry comments, smirking in that way he has where the left side of his mouth tilts up. 

Mortified, I glance down at myself. Briefly I consider scurrying for Glenne’s closet, but I pause. Why should I rush away? Because he’s male? Because he was here first? Because he’s sexy as fuck and my panties can’t take anymore? 

“Fine,” I respond as I brush past him like the Queen of England. “I’ll find something to wear, and then we can hash out the details.”

“Great plan. I’m ordering something for dinner.”

My stomach growls, and I suddenly feel an irrational hatred for that part of my body. How I long to state that I’ve already eaten or that I plan to cook something! But alas, I’ve brought no food with me, and I’ve no clue what’s in the kitchen. If Glenne and Jeffrey even left anything. 

“Does that mean you’d like some too?” He gloats, and as much as I would like to smack the grin off his face, I’ve not eaten since a quick bite for breakfast hours before. 

Knowing I’m going to have to grovel, I face him. “I’m capable of ordering for myself.”

“Yes, but that’s not necessarily good for the environment, is it? Sending two drivers to the same address from different restaurants?” Pausing, he appears to swallow whatever snarky comment was forthcoming. “Can we agree on this one small thing? I’m thinking poke.”

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. That’s exactly what I would have ordered. Fuck. 

Casually, I shrug. “Yeah, whatever. I can choke down some poke.” As I saunter away, tucking the ends of the makeshift shroud under my armpits, I call back to him, “Spicy please.”

Quickly I make my way to Glenne’s closet, surveying the items there. Ripping down a pair of joggers and a Full Stop Management hoodie, I drop the covering I’ve been wearing and rapidly draw the clothes over my naked body. Nothing I can do about not having a bra, but the hoodie is roomy so I worry less. 

In the bathroom, I run my fingers through my hair, combing out the curls as best I can in this environment. In no way do I want it to appear that I’m trying to look amazing for Harry. Biting my lip, I admit to myself that the opposite is true. I absolutely want him to fall at my feet. 

Which isn’t going to happen, I remind myself. Give up the ghost of a fantasy. 

Making eye contact in the mirror, I provide a pep talk for myself. “Listen,” I remind my reflection, “this is just one more fucked up situation in 2020. You’ve gotten through worse. It’s truly a giant house, so there’s no reason -- wait. Why is he staying here anyway?” For whatever reason, I had allowed him to dodge that incredibly simple question. 

Tucking my hands into the hoodie’s front pocket, I amble to the kitchen where Harry is just disconnecting his phone. 

“Food will be here in 45 minutes,” he promises. 

“Why are you staying here again? I missed your answer earlier,” I prompt. 

I’m confident I see a flash of embarrassment crossing his face as he lowers his head. “Wine?” He asks, gesturing towards the extensive rack of reds and then the chiller of whites. 

Unsure as to whether I should allow the diversion or press, I examine him. His eyes look tired and sad. His clothes, while comfortable, aren’t upbeat. Nor is his current demeanor. Is he okay? 

Planting his hands in his hoodie in an unconscious mimic of my pose, he glances at me before his eyes stray to the side, examining the marble countertop. That look tells me more than I need to know, and my empath side emerges as I toss him a life preserver. 

“With poke? I think perhaps a Reisling.” 

He nods, bending to look through the wines in the cooler before he extracts one, holding it up for me to inspect the label. My eyes start to widen at the vineyard, assuming the extravagant cost, but I calm my features. “Perf!” I declare. 

Grasping the wine opener from a nearby drawer, Harry removes the cork as I snatch two wine glasses from the cabinet and place them near him. Carefully comparing the amount in each glass, he pours enough before recorking the bottle. Taking my glass, I move into the living room where I can view the tree. It’s Christmas Eve Eve after all, and I refuse to be deterred from watching the lights twinkle and celebrating the season. 

Harry apparently has a similar idea as he fiddles with the sound system before a crackle of ‘Jingle Bell Drunk’ by RaeLynn starts playing which causes me to giggle. 

I settle on one side of the sofa, and Harry plants himself on the other side. Separately, we each take a sip of the riesling. My tongue does a happy dance at the flavor on my tongue. “This sweetness will cut the spicy quite well. Excellent choice.”

“You made the selection,” Harry reminds me, and I cringe. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

Silence descends as the song proclaims “I’ve been naughty. I’ve been nice.” 

“If there was ever a year for this song, this is it.” I announce into the quiet. 

“Yeah. It’s been quite the year.”

Sharply, I glance at him. Perhaps I had missed something? “Excuse me? You’ve had one hell of a year, Styles. Grammy nominations aside, there were how many music videos released during this global disaster? Plus a movie!”

“Agreed.” He’s quiet, his jaw clenched, and suddenly his words burst forth as though a gate at a dam has been opened. “But no tour. And almost no family time.”

Wait. Was this superstar feeling some of my emotions? He’d had a stellar year in anyone’s estimation. Maybe I could be more sympathetic. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about tour. I had tickets to Vegas and one of the LA shows.”

His head swivels to me more swiftly than an owl focusing on prey. “You had tickets?”

“HAVE.” I swallow. “Thanks for not canceling by the way. I cannot imagine the bloodbath for getting tickets in the future. You’ve become the ‘it celebrity’.”

A blush is followed by a sheepish smile. “You can always get tickets, Smith. Just ask.”

“I don’t do that.” My voice is filled with the prickles that I feel at his words. 

“Do what?” 

“Use my privilege to get tickets to shows.”

“Oh. I…” His words trailed off. 

Suddenly, I feel less uncomfortable around him. Reaching out, I shove at his shoulder. “You’re a giant star, and you have a ton of fans who want to see you. Me? I’m just happy to be a member of the audience.”

“Really?” Incredulous is what I sense in that one word. “Why?”

“Seriously?” I’m appalled. “Do you not know what an amazing entertainer you are, Styles? Fuck. If I hadn’t been able to see your Fine Line show at the Forum last December, I probably would have cried. You know exactly what your audience wants, and you deliver it. Consistently.”

“But --”

“Hush. Don’t you dare negate your talent!” Taking another sip of wine, I reveal unabashedly, “Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really enjoy your shows.”

“Smith?” He inquires, and my hand stalls with my wine glass halfway to my mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like my shows?”

Stalling, I run a finger through my hair and empty my wine glass before holding it out to him. “More please?”

He rises, but I can read his reluctance. Within moments, Harry is back at my side, handing me a second glass of the riesling. I can’t help but notice that he’s topped his own off too. 

“Answer the question, Smith.”

“My name isn’t Smith. In fact, there’s not a single part of my name that’s related to Smith. Why do you call me that?”

“Tell me why you like my shows, and I’ll reveal the meaning behind the nickname.”

My head feels fuzzy from the wine and the headiness of being near Harry, and I watch the lights flashing on the tree for a few minutes while Meghan Patrick belts out her version of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ over the sound system. 

“You make your fans feel like they matter.”

“How?” His question comes rapidly, and I have to gather my thoughts. 

“You...talk to them. Listen to them. Watch them. Appreciate them. It’s rare, Harry. I mean, I’m in this business too, you know. Not every artist does what you do.”

“False.”

“I’m fucking serious, you asshole.” I gulp down more of the wine. “You make your audience feel like they’re your closest friends. I wish more artists did that. Specifically the ones I represent.”

“Oh.” His single utterance is enough, and we sit in pure tranquility for several minutes as the lights blink and Ava Max sings “Christmas Without You”. 

“Wanna watch the quintessential holiday movie?” I inquire, looking at him. 

“Which is?”

“Die Hard, of course,” is my response. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Nope. It’s pretty good. In the top five for sure.”

“Wait. What are your top five?”

“Oh, that’s easy. ‘Die Hard’, ‘Home Alone’, ‘A Christmas Story’, ‘The Santa Clause’, and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly?” I giggle at the joke since ‘Die Hard’ is full of death. 

“Fine. But we watch ‘Wonderful Life’ afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Part 2

[cerastes]

If I may, except for Hehe Funny Seadragon Deals True Damage, what makes you like Weedy so?

Oh no no, it’s the other way around: Hihi huhu funny cannon does an 8k true damage is a nice added bonus to Weedy, not the main reason I like her. I like her design a lot and, beyond the obvious, such as the invincible white hair red eyes combo and the fact that she’s Aegirian (though not from the Abyss per se), I think her attire is creative and really well put together; it has excellent balance of colors (I love the way the yellow and the drab green are used to accentuate one another in irregular patches of shapes) as well as being equal parts classy and enticing (it’s basically a sundress but made with plastics and other synthetic materials, as she is an engineer and spends a lot of time in her lab, but it also accentuates her legs, particularly her thighs, with the transparent ‘window’ strip on the bottom of the ‘dress’, tastefully obscured by the light refraction on the plastic). Going back to the color palette, the particular shades of yellow and green used on her clothes have a very similar contrast game as her tone of white hair that contrasts with her black ribbons. Speaking of, I love the peculiar shape of the ribbons, they are very charming (they are meant to evoke the leaf-like protrusions on a seadragon). She also has tsurime eyes, my favorite. And last but not least, she’s got not one, but two huge cannons.

So, basically, I am a huge fan of her design, I immediately loved her design the moment I saw her. Still, I’m not at all the kind of person that likes a character for their design, I have to actually like the character for them to be anything beyond “a nice design” for me. Well, she manages to triumph there too. First of all, I have a big affinity for scientist-type characters (bioengineering, in her case), they are inherently appealing to me. I like that her Files paint a pretty interesting individual: She’s not Infected, and her files open up with how Closure tends to have a lot of difficulty finding talent for the engineering teams of Rhodes Island because of the stigma the Infected have, which in turn because a stigma Rhodes Island has to bear: People by and large don’t want to associate with them. Despite this, Closure has one department she says she never has to worry about, and that is the Bioengineering Department, led by Weedy.

It gets stranger because Weedy is an Aegirian from Iberia, which is closed from the rest of the world, and apparently, she received a job offer from Rhine Lab as well, which, unlike the ever-roaming Rhodes Island, is a well-established, notoriously elite, cutting edge entity in the world of sciences with no doubt a far safer environment (on paper at least, we all know Rhine has skeletons in their closet) and a better salary. Weedy still chose Rhodes Island:

“Weedy is not shy about mentioning her belief that Rhine Lab is better suited to her work than Rhodes Island is, but whenever this topic is brought up, she will tack on the phrase, “but I think Rhodes Island is pretty good too.” Of course it is. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen to set foot upon the battlefield either.”

She doesn’t really elaborate on it further than “no yeah, Rhine Lab would be far better for my work, but this place is cool too, we good”. She also consciously and personally decided to become an Operator in addition to being a head researcher, of her own volition... Which apparently, wasn’t easy for the unathletic Weedy.

Weedy’s physical qualities are somewhat at odds with our impressions of the Ægirians. In fact, after she successfully passed the other exams, she spent an entire three months before she was able to pass the physical component. Other than her physical strength and endurance, her condition is completely normal, her regimented routine with extra attention to hygiene bears mention. She is arguably even healthier than most of her fellow operators.

Imagine being used to associating “Ægirian Operator” with superfreaks of nature such as Specter and Skadi, only for this physically weak shorty to collapse on the training field after some cardio. And I love it: She put the effort in and succeeded in doing something she definitely didn’t need to do, but felt the need to, and ended up being a top-class Operator herself.

She’s apparently an older staff member of Rhodes Island, like Warfarin, but she simply wasn’t qualified to be an Operator until recently... Which makes her stated 3 years of combat experience all the more interesting: We’ve heard Kal’tsit, Dobermann and Amiya explain that being strong, physically conditioned and skilled at fighting are NOT the only things that matter when it comes to being approved as an Operator. The implication here is that, for whatever reason, she actually has plenty of real combat experience, and likely depended on her inventions (particularly her cannons) to get the job done more than any physical training or formal combat skills. It is noted, after all, that she passed all other exams successfully, and it was just the physical component of the battery that she had trouble with. Her Files also note that not even Closure can talk back to her, and I quote, “a rare sight to behold indeed”, which suggests a rather strong temperament and way of carrying herself, and we see more of this in her lines.

All in all, it all paints a pretty interesting character. There’s also the fact that she’s explicitly got OCD, particularly about neatness, but it, along her ladylike demeanor, are portrayed in a delightfully human way instead of just going for the easy one-dimensional take both of these characteristics tend to be shown as, and we see this mostly in her lines: She doesn’t really freak out about untidiness as much as she’ll politely but firmly tell you to get your shit together if she notes anything disorderly about you, and her way of carrying herself is very ladylike, but not in the typical overbearing/arrogant ojou way or the yamato nadeshiko way, she’s firmly professional and cordial, but not at all a hardass (like, say, Saria) and, as we’ve seen with the other Ægirians, pretty keen on socializing and hanging out with those she likes, as well as being rather talkative:

Weedy invites Doctor practically all the time to go flower-viewing for a nice chat, fine-tuning operation-relevant experiments and equipment, and to check out her cool inventions and possibly her hydraulic pressing a bowl of Skittles. Perfectly cordial but obviously very fond of Doc and makes no mystery of it.

She pretty much says “no yeah I don’t really like having people around me but you’re an exception”, especially since her Files state that “under normal circumstances, she is never seen in public”. I like that no non-sense attitude.

She’d also like for you to understand that she does NOT talk to her robots when she’s alone, and that if you ever heard Closure claim so or think that you are pretty positive that you did hear her talking to one when she thought no one was within earshot, well, that’s just bollocks, and you should KNOW BETTER.

So, yeah, due to all of this, I like her a lot, she’s very fun and interesting to me, and encompasses a lot of things I like very much, plus I identify a lot with liking peace and quiet but also being very talkative when I feel comfortable with someone, as well as getting very into researching and developing my craft further.

[hercleverboy]

turning page

spencer reid x reader 

genre > fluff 

wc > 1.6k

spencer has loved the reader for as long as could remember. when they meet again years later by chance, will everything fall back into place? 

Spencer had loved Y/N for as long as he could remember.

He recalled how they’d met when they started school together. She was his only real friend, his best friend. They walked to and from school together, he taught her how to play chess, and sometimes even let her win. She always defended him from the bullies who relentlessly tormented him. He’d never forget that she was the one who’d untied him from the goal post his tormenters had strapped him  to humiliate him. How she’d offered him her jacket, walked him home. She’d even offered to let him stay the night at her house, aware of his mother’s condition. He’d politely refused, but was also so grateful that she’d bothered to ask. They were young, but he knew he loved her. 

When he moved away for college, it was one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make, leaving her behind. He wanted to ask her to come with him but he knew she couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to. She had family and commitments she had to uphold. (”I can’t just drop everything and go, Spence. But if I could I’d be with you in a heartbeat.”) The last time he hugged her, he relished in the feeling of his skin on hers, tried desperately not to think about how this may be the last time he’s fortunate enough to hold her in his arms. They loved one another, that much was certain. 

but it went unspoken, the fear of rejection, the innate human need to protect themselves from being hurt. 

So he’d said goodbye to her, and for years after he wished he’d told her he loved her before he left. She lingered in the back of his mind as he grew up, still evading his thoughts from time to time. His heart would still race at the thought of her, at the crystal clear memories he still held so close to him.

It was four years after joining the BAU that he met her again. Completely by chance, in a random coffee shop a block from his apartment. Initially, he couldn’t believe it was her. She still had the same smile, the one he could still remember as if he last saw it yesterday. She was still so beautiful, in fact, her beauty almost put his memory to shame. Eidetic or not, it couldn’t possibly encompass her beauty. It radiated from her like the sun, and he just knew he had to talk to her again.

“Y/N?” He’d asked, the nerves creeping up his throat and making him nauseous.

She turned around, her confused gaze leaving her features and being replaced with one of shock as the realisation hit her. “Spencer?”

He nodded with a timid grin, and she smiled. “I’m so glad to see you! It’s been so long, how are you?”

And they talked for hours, just as they had all them years ago. They chatted and laughed as if not a day had passed since they’d last spoken. As though they’d simply picked up where they left off.

It didn’t take Spencer long to realise that now she was back in his life, he wasn’t going to let her go so easily.

It only took him two months to ask her out.

Nothing prepared me for

What the privilege of being yours would do

After an entire year together, Spencer still couldn’t seem to comprehend just how lucky he was. Every morning he got to wake up beside her, his girl, he thanked every star for giving him a woman so incredible, so loving and compassionate.

It was a privilege to love her, and to receive her love in return.

Whenever he woke up early on days that he knew were going to be hectic, he liked to take a moment to watch her as she slept. Her head would rest on his chest, soft snores leaving her slightly parted lips. He’d noticed how the early morning sunlight that streamed through a gap in the curtains seemed to perfectly frame her natural beauty. He let his eyes travel over her face, remembering the place of every freckle, how her eyelashes brushed so delicately against her cheeks. He buried the memories deep in the crevices of his mind, hoping he’d never have to face a day where he couldn’t remember those details. The details he treasured so greatly.

On days like that, he would think back to all those years he’d lived without her (and he couldn’t understand how he’d managed it, now his life would be so empty and incomplete without her warmth). He would think back to the late nights that he stared up at the ceiling, recalling conversations they’d had many years before, analysing them, berating himself for letting her go.

He recalled how he’d cried one night, when it finally seemed to hit him just how much he missed her, and how the chances of finding her when he had no idea where to start were astronomically small. He was so sure he’d missed his shot with her, that he’d had his chance already, that he wasn’t lucky enough to be given a second one.

Luckily for Spencer, the universe had other plans. (It does work in mysterious ways, you see.)

Every kiss is a cursive line

Every touch is a redefining phrase

Spencer learned to indulge himself in every moment they shared. To really take in how her lips felt against his, how they made him feel so safe and happy and home.

He thinks he would kiss her forever if he could.

When a case was rough and he just needed her to hold him, to press light kisses to his forehead and assure him that everything was okay.

He truly treasured every touch, no matter how small, every kiss, no matter how quick. In his line of work, the little things are what mattered at the end of the day.

She was what mattered.

Y/N was everything to Spencer. His only constant, the one who held him through pain and anger and upset and never questioned or ridiculed him. He knew how important his job was, and he knew that every day he went to work he was making someone’s life better, he knew that his work mattered.

But he also knew that jobs would come and go, that he could easily find another job elsewhere, it would be no hassle at all. He would never find another her, however. She was it for him. He’d seen relationships crumble because of the job, he’d watched Hotch lose his wife because of the job and he knew he never wanted to lose Y/N to the job either.

He’d quit the BAU tomorrow if she asked.

(But she would never ask.)

I surrender who I've been for who you are

For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart

On the really bad days when all he needed was her arms around him, for her soothing voice to fill his ears, he realised exactly what he’d give up for her. For the love of his life, he not sure there’s anything he wouldn’t do. For her.

He recognised how his heart swelled with true happiness whenever he was with her. He recalled the time they decorated their apartment together for Halloween, Y/N had been hanging decorations from the ceiling when Spencer had spooked her. She’d squealed and given him a death glare that was soon broken by a fit of giggles as he swarmed her with tickles and kisses. (She could never stay mad at him, and Spencer was sure that her laughter could cure any illness and right any wrongs.)

He found strength in her. In how she would gently place her hand over his when they were in loud public places and he began to get anxious. In how she would send him reassuring smiles from across the room whenever she watched him give a guest lecture to a room full of aspiring agents, which would immediately soothe his nerves. In how she’d let him rest his head on her chest on the nights where he needed immediate reassurance that she was safe in the form of her heartbeat.

He always worried that he wasn’t as good of a boyfriend as she deserved, as she always seemed to do more for him than he did for her.

(She’d shut that down quickly by shaking her head and whispering, “Spence, you do enough by just being here with me. I’ll never ask for anything more from you.”)

Spencer guessed he was just lucky like that.

Although Spencer had never been a lucky man, he didn’t even really believe in luck. To Spencer, everything could be explained scientifically. He didn’t like to think that things in his life were a result of luck, a result of pure chance. He didn’t believe in such a factor until he met Y/N.

Because how else could he explain how someone like her wanted, loved, someone like him?

If it wasn’t luck, he didn’t know what it was.

But he’d like to think that him and Y/N had come together on their own. That there was no luck or change involved, no will of the universe wanting them together.

No. He chose to believe that they were simply meant to be. That their love could withstand the weight of the world and not crumble.

And for Spencer, that was more than enough.

Though we're tethered to the story we must tell

When I saw you, well I knew we'd tell it well

With a whisper we will tame the vicious seas

Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees

[chaoticpuff17]

Something Wicked

part 4

masterlist

Hello my darlings! Here you go! Enjoy part four! We’re going to see how it works out bouncing between Jin and Yoongi’s stories, but please give me some grace between this and school, I might have to put on on hold. They’ll both get done eventually, but not quite as speedily as ADG. Thanks so much for reading!--- chaotic puff 

Jin couldn’t have been happier. Granted he didn’t have his darling by his side, but he could be generous. She needed some time after the day before, and it allowed him the opportunity to swoop in and be her knight in shining armor. She was all alone now and so fragile. It was the perfect opportunity. She needed comfort, stability, and Jin was going to provide it. She would officially be his in no time. He’d already prepared the house for her.

He was thrumming with excitement. He would bring her flowers, take her to the ballet. He would woo her. She wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. No woman could, and now there were no obstacles in his way. Everything was perfect. Everything was going his way, until she stepped into his office.

He was thrilled to see her at first, thrilled that she’d chosen to come to him despite him giving her the day off, and then he took note of her appearance. Never once had he seen her in jeans, but there she was in jeans and a flowy top looking as casual as he had ever seen her. Even when he called for her assistance late at night, she came looking perfectly put together. This was new for him. Another point of notice was the dark circles that made themselves at home under her eyes. From the look of it, she hadn’t even tried to conceal them. It didn’t look like she was wearing any makeup at all, and her hair was pulled half back messily strands falling haphazardly into her face. All in all, she looked absolutely exhausted like she hadn’t slept at all, and she hadn’t.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked rising from his desk to greet her. “You look ill. You should be at home resting.” He swooped in pressing a hand to her forehead that she pushed away gently giving him a stern but tired look.

“I’m fine.” There was no smile. She always smiled at him. “I actually came to give you this.” She turned from him to dig around in her bag to retrieve an envelope, one that Jin knew exactly what was in it. It was a fucking resignation. “I apologize, sajangnim, but I won’t be able to serve you any longer.” She held out the envelope bowing politely and waiting for him to take it.

He was silent for a long terrible moment before snatching it out of her hands and ripping it in two. “No.”

She straightened up looking at him quizzically. “No?”

“No.” He growled glaring down at her.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders determined to stand her ground. “I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t your choice to make. I’m sorry for the sudden notice, but I cannot continue to work for you.”

The words were so calm, so clinical. It infuriated him. She wanted to leave him. After everything he’d done for her, she was just going to leave? He’d built her up from nothing, and she thought she could leave? This was not his darling. This was an ungrateful brat, and Jin hated brats.

“And if I choose not to accept your resignation?” 

Of course when she became his, she would no longer work for him. Kim Seokjin’s woman would have no need to work, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was trying to leave on her own terms, and that simply wasn’t allowed, not when she belonged to him.

“Then I’ll take my leave and pay the penalty for breaking contract.” She responded chin held high though she had the drawn appearance of someone who was tottering on the brink of exhaustion. She looked small and weak, and Jin could only blame the boy for that. He was the reason for her pallor, for her exhaustion, for her defiance. 

“You’re exhausted and shocked after yesterday, unsurprising for someone so delicate.” He ground out trying to keep his cool. “I’ll ignore this as a lapse of judgement caused by the stress of the last few days.”

Y/N was taken aback by that. He was brushing this off as what? The overreaction of a delicate demeanor? She made no attempt to hide how offended she was at the insinuation. 

“Delicate? I do not make decisions based on exhaustion or shock. Min Seok was my fiancée,” she paused taking a breath. “Almost my fiancée. After what’s happened, I would find it inappropriate to continue working for you especially considering I’ll be hiring a lawyer to defend him.”

“What?” The question was breathed out in shock, rage barely in check. She wanted to defend the little bastard? She believed herself that in love with him? No, she was just confused. Jin would help her see reason.

“I don’t believe that he would embezzle from the company, and I’m going to stand by him. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She bowed again, turning on her heel to leave, but Jin’s far larger hand encircled her wrist tugging her back making her stumble into his chest.

“Mr. Kim.” She scolded pulling herself away.

“I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you, darling.” He cooed the sympathy coating his voice was saccharine and completely offset by the gleeful twinkle in his eye. “Kim Min Seok is dead.”

She paused the entire world standing still for a moment. “What?” The question was barely even breathed out as she stared at him with wide eyes tears welling up in them. “No.” She shook her head backing away. “You’re lying.”

“No, darling. I’m not.” He sauntered over to his desk picking up the falsified file that had been prepared for an instance just like this. “He escaped police custody and died in the attempt to flee.” He held out the file to her. “I have the file the police brought over just this morning.”

He watched attentively as every bit of color drained from her face. “No…” She whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” Her hands went up clawing into her already messy hair as she tried to make sense of the news. “He can’t be!” She cried eyes wild as she began to hyperventilate.  

“I’m so sorry, darling.” He wasn’t, but the pretense of providing comfort gave him the perfect opportunity to wrap his arms around her gently rubbing his large hands up and down her arms in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. It had the opposite affect though. His proximity. The smell of his cologne. The news. It was all so overwhelming. She felt sick, dizzy.

“He can’t be dead.” She whimpered tears flowing freely now. “He can’t be. He was… he was alive. I saw him. He was fine last night. I just saw him.”

Jin shushed her pulling her further into his arms, wrapping himself around her. “It’s alright.” He cooed. “You’re going to be alright.”

“NO!” She cried ripping herself away from him not wanting him near her, not wanting him touching her. “He’s not dead!”

This man, this man was the devil. How could he tell her so casually that Min Seok was dead? How could he tell her it was alright? What kind of heartless creature was he?

“Darling…” Jin approached her slowly, carefully, not liking the way she seemed to sway on her feet. “Darling, you need to rest.”

“No.” The word was barely a whisper now as her world crumbled around her. “No. He can’t be…he isn’t.”

Jin lunged forward as he watched the swaying grow worse. He was just in time to catch her as her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to crumple. He gently lowered them both to the floor relishing the feeling of her tucked safely away in his arms. She was still drawn, looking completely wiped out, but she was safe in his arms. He moved a strand of hair from her face lovingly, cooing at how fragile she looked in his arms.

Eventually, he pulled out his phone calling for his driver. It was time to take her home. A hospital would have been more practical, but Jin wanted her safely at home. He could bring the doctor to her.

He scooped her up in his arms carrying her out of his office. It was a spectacle. The employees were all clamoring at the sight wanting to know if she was alright. He brushed them all citing exhaustion as the reason behind it all. She’d be well soon enough. Jin would make sure of that. His darling would have the best care, and she’d soon forget all about her suitor. She had Jin. What need would she have for anyone else?

Y/N came to in a horribly familiar room. This was not her home, nor was it the hospital despite the IV that was attached to her arm. This was Jin’s home. This was his bedroom. The panic did not set in slowly. It came all at once like an all-encompassing wave. The panic only worsened when she realized, these were not her clothes. She didn’t own anything this fine. She didn’t own nightgowns let alone long silk nightgowns. She preferred the same ratty old comfortable pajamas she had had for years.

She ripped the IV out of her arm uncaring about the pain or the blood. Her only focus was making it to the door and getting the hell out of there. She didn’t know why Jin had brought her there, but she didn’t want to find out. She ran through the penthouse stumbling down the stairs in her desperate dash for the door.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She never came her of her own volition. It was too intimate. Not even Jin’s parade of women would go to his home, and it always made her skin crawl when the called her there.

It was an easy dash. She knew the way. She had been to Jin’s home many times before, but when she reached the door, she found something she was not so familiar with. There was a lock placed there that had never been there before. It was sleek and black, ominous. But still she tried the door even though she was unsure if it would open for her. It did not. She tugged at the handle trying her hardest to open it out of sheer force of will, but it was unyeilding. She tried the keypad as well, tapping in every combination she could think of, but every time, the keypad flashed red telling her she had failed.

“Please!” She shrieked banging on the door. “Please!” She continued to scream and plead banging against the unyielding wood. No one was there though.

Jin lived on a private floor. The elevator opened to a narrow hallway separating the penthouse from the rest of the building. Her only hope would be if someone was coming up to the penthouse and would hear her screams. It was unlikely though. Jin didn’t like anyone invading his space, his immaculate home, and there was no sign of the house keeper that made his home so immaculate. The most likely person to find her was Jin himself, and at this time, he was not someone she wanted to see.

The commotion had summoned him though. He stayed back watching indifferently as she screamed and cried trying to leave, but Jin had planned for that. She wouldn’t be able to get past the lock. He’d allow her out in time, but for now he needed to make her his sweet darling again, his sweet obedient darling. The boy had made her defiant, a brat. Jin wouldn’t put up with that, and it was safer to keep her inside away from harm while she grieved, while she adjusted. Jin would be everything she needed. She’d see that soon enough. She’d realize how lucky she was, how perfect they were together. 

He watched her until she’d tired herself out slumped against the door crying, trembling and completely exhausted before he made a move.

“Oh darling,” he clucked sympathetically coming to crouch next to her crumpled form. “Look at you. You’ve exhausted yourself.” He tutted fussing over her and moving her hair away from her face even though she flinched back from him violently. “Now, now, darling. None of that.”

He scooped her up, ignoring her weak struggles. She couldn’t struggle against him really. She’d used what little energy she had trying to open a locked door. His poor stupid darling.

The doctor had confirmed that she was dehydrated and exhausted. That combined with the shock had been too much for her. She’d be fine after some rest and a good meal.

“The doctor didn’t want you up and about yet. And you’ve hurt yourself, my poor darling.” He fussed looking at the place where she’s ripped out the IV, stubborn girl. There was blood smeared against her arm. She hadn’t been gentle when she’d ripped it out. She’d caused herself more damage than needed.

He could have tied her down, prevented this, but it was better for her to know now that she wouldn’t be leaving him. He was the only one with the code to open the door, and they were too high up for her to consider something as foolhardy as jumping from the balcony. It also helped that she had a decided fear of heights. It was something he’d discovered when he’d brought her on her first international business trip with him. She’d been petrified the entire flight despite their luxurious seats. She wouldn’t be making any stupid decisions like that, and if she did? God help her. Jin would not put up with such disobedience.

“Let’s get you back to bed. Okay, darling?” He asked smiling down at her with a lovesick expression. Everything would be perfect now.

part 5

[alsanderecho]

Tales of San Derecho: The New Press Secretary

The formation of a whole new state from the parts of two others should have been a surprise for the nation after a national election but it wasn't. Its new boundries encompassed part of southern California, as well as land in Arizona. There was very little fuss about its existence for the general public, as if it had always been there.

But there were those who did ask questions about how this new territory came to be. Some of them traveled to the newest state in the union, seeking the answer. These are their stories, along with those who found themselves now residing in the state of SAN DERECHO...

====================

"Shannon, something strange is going on."

The reporter looked with one raised eyebrow at Sheila Gerrolds, his editor. The both of them work at the Q-News, a website dedicated to reporting on national events and international happenings important to the LGBTQ community.

"Strange, how?"

"I mean, do you remember Joaquin Guerrero?"

Shannon had to think for a few moments before he remembered the outspoken gay Latino activist, which immediately struck him as being wrong somehow. Hadn't he done an interview with him during last fall's gubernatorial election in San Derecho?

"Y...Yeah. But not until you mentioned his name, Sheila. That's...weird."

"Exactly my point, Shannon. And he's not the only one..."

The editor rattled off about a dozen more names, and memories of these gay and lesbian activists flooded Shannon's memories. And again, he was at loss at how he could have forgotten them, considering some of them had been long-time friends/

"What's going on here? Where did they all go?"

"That's what I want to know. Over dozen of the most prominent LGTBQ activists go missing  on the West Coast over the last year and no one is raising a stink about it? There's a story here, an important one."

Shannon nodded in agreement, his mind already honing in on who might be responsible for these disappearances.

"And you think the new governor might be involved somehow."

"Precisely. You know what his platform was during the election, and now some of his biggest critics are missing? It just stinks to me."

"Right, I get it. Guess I'm going back undercover..."

Sheila nodded, aware that her best reporter had spent a good portion of the election last year infiltrating a certain candidate's campaign. Despite the success of getting on the inside, the whole thing hadn't turned up any actionable material.

"Yeah, but I want you to be careful. We don't know what is really going on here."

"I get it, but we've got to find out the truth. And maybe, we can bring this bastard down once and for all..."

====================

Getting an invite to the governor's mansion had been pretty easy, as Shannon's cover identity was intact and uncompromised. Still, he was being careful, as this whole thing was more than a bit like walking into a hungry lion's den carrying chunks of raw, bloody meat. If the governor or any of his people got even a hint of who he really was, it could go very bad for him very quickly.

Maybe that's why he waited in the car for so long before finally mustering his courage to approach the front door and ring the bell. The wait for an answer seemed to drag on forever until the door clicked open. Standing there was the governor's chief of staff, Jonathon Grey. Dressed in a dark grey suit, the man was the very image of the hyper-conservative types that the chief executive of the state San Derecho liked to surround himself with.

"Ah, Mr. Jones. So nice to see you again. It has been awhile, hasn't it?"

Shannon nodded affirmatively. He hadn't been this close to Grey since election night, and he was trying to ignore how attractive he found the man. It was a little bothersome because he reminded him of someone else...

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I needed sometime to figure out things after the election. But now, I think I know what I want."

"Excellent. The governor will see you in his study."

This surprised Shannon, who hadn't been aware that the governor even knew who 'Shane Jones' was. Every instinct the reporter had was screaming this was a set-up of some kind, but it was not something he could walk away from. Because despite the danger, it was an opportunity to get even deeper inside this crooked administration and find out what happened to his friends...

"Lead the way then."

====================

The study was a comfortable room with oak paneled walls and high shelves stocked with numerous leather bound books. In the fireplace, flames crackled and suffused the room with a flickering glow of yellow light. Shannon was ushered inside by Grey, who remained outside but closed the doors behind him. An almost faint click told the journalist that he had been locked in as well. He took a few cautious steps into this den of conservatism until a voice called out for him to "take a seat."

Said seat was in a thick leather chair with a high back and wings on either side of its occupants head. It was set in front of a dark oaken desk behind which sat the governor himself, his fingers steepled and a grin on his face. On his desk was a framed picture of him and his blonde wife. Shannon couldn't quite recall her name before his host spoke.

"Shane, welcome. So glad you've come for a visit. Can I offer you a drink?"

The gray-haired politician motioned to a small bar set into a wall behind him. Shannon shook his head to say no as the governor seemed amused at the response. The older man's expression then became serious.

"Now, can we dispense with this pretense, Shannon?

The millennial reporter was caught off guard by his real name being spoken aloud by the governor. He tugged nervously at the maroon sweater he wore, trying to laugh it off. But the man behind the desk wasn't having any of it.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence or that of my staff, Shannon. We've been aware of your true identity and the website that employs you for quite some time now."

"I..I..I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I said to NOT insult me, Shannon."

The gay journalist shuddered slightly, as the governor's voice resonated with a surprisingly arousing air of authority. He had to keep his head about himself.

"Alright, fine. I am who you think I am. Do you know why I'm here?"

"Of course. You're here to investigate what happened to my most outspoken critics in the LGBT community. I did wonder how long it would be before you or your editor would notice. Anyone really..."

Shannon said nothing, trying to remain focused on his surroundings. If this man was this free with his words, then this had to be a some sort of trap...

"Please, please. Do relax. I'm perfectly happy to tell you everything."

"Is this some sort of trick?"

"No, it's merely the truth, Shannon. Isn't that what you really want to hear? The truth?"

Shannon nodded, feeling a calm settled over himself. It was strange, but the words coming from the Governor's mouth seemed to be the source of this new tranquility. The smile of the older man's face confirmed it.

"So, shall we begin?"

====================

Shannon sat there, dazed. He wanted to get up, and flee this place but for some reason, he found himself just sitting there listening to the Governor talk.

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Shannon. All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective and understanding..."

The reporter nodded numbly in agreement.

"This modern world is losing touch with its past. Things were so much simpler before all of this social justice nonsense overtook everything. Black and white, right and wrong. Don't you think?"

Another nod, but it was accompanied by a rippling of Shannon's clothes. His sweater seemed to moving of its own accord, the material clinging closer to his body now. Sudden, it pulled itself so tight that it ripped apart at the shoulders, and revealed that underneath were the sleeves of a crisp white button-down dress shirt that hung a little loose on his arms.

"A simpler time....black and white...right and wrong...man and woman..."

The part of the sweater that remained was fluttering as most of it split into two thin straps that looped over his shoulders, reconnecting into a y-shape via a triangle of brown leather from which another strap clipped its to the back of his jeans. In the front, the new suspenders settled into place as brass snaps clamped down Around his neck, a heavily starched collar unfolded itself, sending a line of buttons down the front of the dress shirt. A rustle of fabric revealed that the last piece of his old sweater had curled itself under the collar and knotted itself into a long tie.

"Black...White...Right...Wrong...Man...Woman..."

The words battered into Shannon's head, as he tried to understand what was happening. He was afraid as he could something or someone stirring in the depths of his subconscious, drawn to the power of those words. If he'd only realized that his fear was only going to quicken the pace of his transformation...

====================

"You're not the first to hear my message, Shannon. Far from it. And you won't be the last, But I digress a little. I did say I'd tell you the truth, didn't I?"

Shannon couldn't respond, his body frozen as new changes begin to effect him, this time below his wait. The jeans he'd been wearing were shifting, denim softening into a light blend of cotton as blue was leeched away and replaced with a dark brown. Crisp creases snapped into place down the front of the developing trousers.

"You see, I didn't always have this...influence over people. I'm not sure where it came from really but it showed up when I was just starting my political career. I discovered that my words had an effect on people, especially those who disagreed with me. Not only did they come around my point of view, but some of them actually completely changed!"

A leather belt slid into the loops at Shannon's waist and tightened itself as as if locking him into his fate.

"Do you remember Lizzy Dion? Probably not, I suppose. She was my opponent for mayor during my first re-election campaign. A very outspoken advocate for gay rights, and a tough debater. That old bag really had me on the ropes during our first head-to-head if I'm being perfectly honest. Might've beaten me too, but oddly she disappeared before election day."

The governor chuckled a little, as if at some private joke before he stood up and came around the desk to seat on its corner. Shannon wanted to curse at him but...why? After he'd done a lot for this reporter, hadn't he? He didn't realize he was starting to grin.

"Of course, I'd soon meet my beloved Lisbeth and she became my first real supporter in my rise to the office I currently occupy. The perfect politician's wife really."

Shannon nodded in agreement. The governor's wife was a real smart cookie, and quite the looker too. He blinked, not sure why he found a woman to be attractive, let alone that woman. But his cock? It knew what it liked and that blonde matriarch really got its attention!

"Getting back on track, with my wife by my side, I ascended the ranks of the Republican party swiftly. I had a great staff as well, picked up all along the way. You'd be surprised how many times I got asked where I found so many loyal and dedicated people..."

The clothes which had been hanging a little loose on Shannon grew more fitted now, as his lanky frame began to fill in with muscle. It was still lean, but now held more strength than one might expect. His butt tightened up, as his old sexual practices were wiped away. He'd do a lot for a story but letting someone get past his backdoor? Never!

"Like me, boss?"

"Exactly, my boy. How are you feeling now?"

"I feet great, boss. But I'm still a little confused about why you're telling me all of this..."

The governor grinned at the still changing reporter, who was coming along nicely. The fading Shannon's feather and poofed hair was starting to slick itself back, darkening from brown to black in the process. His once smooth chin had squared itself out, and the first signs of his trademark five o'clock shadow were gracing with each passing moment.

"Just a little refresher, son. After all, you're working on my next address to the state, right?"

The reporter nodded enthusiastically. He'd been working on a real firecracker of a speech for the governor. His grin widened to reveal a set of white teeth that seemed to sparkly. A thump came the floor next to him, where his smart phone had been pushed out by his transforming pants. It had shifted and twisted, glass splintering into nothingness as it became a leather-covered notepad out of which stuck his favorite pen.

"Good, good. Now where was I again?"

"You were talking about your loyal staff, boss."

"Right. I don't know what I'd have done without you or Joaquin..."

Looking up from his notepad and the notes he'd been busily scribbling in it, Stanley Journo stared blankly at his employer and mentor as the strange name crossed his lips, A shrinking part of who he used to be seemed to be rallied by its mention.

"Who, boss?"

"Jonathan?"

"Oh...right."

And just like that, that last bit of Shannon faded away as he realized what had happened to Joaquin Guerrero. But the man sitting in the chair now didn't really care about that anymore, because he had more important stories to cover.

"That's should be enough for the speech, boss, I'll have it on your desk first thing in the morning."

"Great, Stanley. But I do have one more task for you tonight. In your capacity as my press secretary, I need you deliver a message for me..."

The governor pulled out a tape recorder and presented to the retro-styled journalist. The snarky grin was now permanently plastered on his ruggedly handsome face, as he tilted up the fedora resting on his head.

"Whatever ya' say, boss..."

====================

Sheila had not left the offices of the Q-News, her concern for her best reporter telling her that she needed to be here just in case. But she didn't even notice that she could no longer recall that reporter's name as she spoke to her girlfriend on the phone.

"Listen, Elle, baby. I'm gonna be home late tonight... It's a big story and I'm waiting for...

A knock on the door caused Sheila to jump out of her seat a little. As she finished up on the phone, the door swung open to let in a tallish lean man dressed in a dark grey vest and brown slacks. A cigarette hung from his lip while a old-fashioned press pass rested in the band of the fedora that rested atop his slicked back do.

"Heya, Chief. I got a scoop you just gotta hear to believe..."

*CLICK*

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Sheila... All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective."