#did I observe the three weeks or the nine days

[ephemeral-winter]

have decided that reading the Wikipedia page for any given tragedy befalling the Jewish people on the morning of Tisha b’Av counts for the mitzvah of traditional study of distressing texts

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐌𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 .

# with roronoa zoro.

in which zoro’s refusal to bathe is never-ending, much to nami’s discontentment — and your amusement.

⎰ & fluff. implied fem!reader. no y/n used. suggestive. zoro being stinky. me trying to be funny.

WC: 1.6K !

the light from the midday sun threatened to slip through the thick and darkened lenses of your glasses, forcing your eyes shut. warmth enveloped the many bare pieces of your skin as though a particularly startling — yet not quite unwelcome — hug. waves crashed against the sunny, humming a peaceful and gentle lullaby, with tendrils determined to guide you towards the vague pathway of dreams. a contented sigh trespassed the shut surface of your lips. limbs losing strength and sounds losing focus, it was but a matter of time until sleep claimed your consciousness.

until the interruption — rude, may you add — of those precious passage of seconds.

nami groaned for what seemed to be the uptenth time within less than half-an-hour. with the rise of an eyebrow, you placed the sunglasses above your head and peeked out at her abhorred figure, knees pressed to her chest and an enraged expression as she sat on the wooden-made sun lounger. with a sigh, your sunglasses returned to its previous position as you shifted your attention towards the bright-blue sky.

“what’s the matter?” you inquired, placing a hand underneath your head for further comfort.

“it’s been nine days,” the navigator hissed, to which you frowned.

“since what?”

“zoro’s last bath,” robin clarified from where she, too, had sat to sunbathe, her glance lingering to the page of the book she held.

“two days more than his usual,” nami continued, exasperatedly gesturing to the swordsman, who slept heavily at the furthest edge of the deck, his broad back pressed to a corner.

the sun was neither kind nor comprehensive with his lack of care towards his skin’s health. it licked at the tanned muscles as though a starving beast, whose motives and eagerness you could quite understand. due to the mere tank top he wore and the usual green bandana tied around his forearm, he’d be left with terribly mismatched tan lines, which usually meant him spending the rest of the week shirtless on deck to even them out.

not at all a terrible scenario, you mused with certain malice, having the fantasies of sweat and pleasure and bites interrupted by nami’s continuous complaints.

“his stench surpassed luffy’s! how can i enjoy the peace and warmth of the day with an open sewage on deck?” the navigator whined as you choked with restrained laughter over the comparison.

a splash accompanied by chopper’s cries and usopp’s shouting made it known that your captain had fallen in the sea mid-fishing. yet another splash indicated that someone had come to his rescue — jimbei, if you had to guess.

“considering the amount of times luffy dove underwater accidentally, it’s of no surprise that he’s smelling better,” robin noted with her usual factual tone, absentmindedly flipping a page with an amused grin.

“that’s not something for him to be proud of,” nami whined, throwing her weight back onto the lounging chair.

“maybe they’re competing to see who can withstand the longer without a bath,” you chimed in.

“wouldn’t sea bathing count then?” robin curiously noted.

nami observed the pair of you with utter terror — whether due to your nonchalance or the mere thought of such a competition taking place, you did not know.

the strong and characteristic scent of sanji’s perfume invaded both your nostrils and line of thought as he approached with a tray elegantly supported by his palm. three colored cocktails were above it, and the cook held himself with pride.

“a beverage for the ladies to freshen themselves during this scalding afternoon?” he offered smoothly, to which you beamed before accepting one — as did the other two women.

“see?” nami pointed out, taking a sip from her cocktail. “sanji has a pleasant scent. like a person who bathes everyday should.”

the contained manner with which he held himself vanished as he melted and fell down on his knees, shouting promises of love and adoration tangled with nearly unrecognizable words of gratitude. you moved your head closer to his neck, sniffing. sanji fell with his back against the deck, limbs spread as though a starfish anchored to a rock by the shore.

“too perfumed,” you decided, returning to your previous position.

“i will stop bathing for you, light of my life, rarest treasure of my seas, golden hand whose fingers hold the chain of my will,” sanji declared with a pompous and desperate tone, kneeling as he searched for your hand.

“no, you won’t!” nami shouted with nothing but rage, and you could see the gears turning inside her head: the awful prospect of the one and only man of the crew who bathed everyday, losing this costume all of the sudden.

“no i won’t, my beloved nami-swan, the thunder who restarted the beating of my heart and ignited the flames of love within me!” the cook agreed, turning towards her.

“pity,” you noted, sipping on your cocktail. sanji stopped mid-sentence, as if malfunctioning.

“you’ll break him,” robin said with certain amusement.

neither had the chance to test that theory whatsoever, as luffy’s drenched figure latched itself on sanji’s back, shouting for meat as per usual. once the cook left the scene with the captain on his trail, a second of peace lingered before nami, yet again, returned to the previous subject.

“i forgot men and bathing weren’t your thing,” she stated, to which robin peeked from her book with certain intrigue.

“i mentioned that at the island we last visited,” you explained to her, and the archeologist hummed.

“how did it came to that?” she had asked, absentmindedly returning to her book, though you had known the woman for long enough to catch on the genuine interest and the scheming behind that exterior. she caught onto something.

“the flirty and laidback opponent at the latest island we mentioned, who kept asking us our type in men and women,” nami clarified.

“and i’m presuming that you answered him,” robin concluded, observing your figure.

“muddy and hardworking,” you grinned with certain pride. “he was so beaten up, i doubt he can even manage to remember it.”

“besides, he was tidy,” nami added. “as in, wearing a stronger perfume than sanji’s and whining at a bit of grass, kind of tidy.”

“so, it was a diversion?” robin had asked, her tone amused. “to get him out of your feet?”

you shrugged. “not exactly.”

“enlighten me,” she replied at last, nearly laughing at her own train of thought. “wasn’t zoro paired up with the two of you on the last island?”

nami’s entire expression shifted to one of numbness. your posture straightened and the sunglasses slipped to your lap as a consequence. the navigator was fuming, eyes so intense it was as though they could ignite at any given moment.

“this is your fault!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

the defensive words had abandoned your mind and tongue as nami raised from her seat. without a second thought, you jumped from yours and ran through the deck, the navigator hot on your trail.

“fix that!” she demanded, her loud tone gathering the general attention and pinning it to the both of you.

you thought about the sweat dripping from his muscles after a particularly harsh battle. the seasalt etched to his body. the dried redness of his blood contrasting against the tanned tone of his skin. the mere prospect of maiming that sculpture built by memories and victories with your fragrances and soap and lotions left a sour taste to your tongue. so, you turned on your feet towards the one place you knew nami would never dare to follow — at least, not under those circumstances.

zoro opened his eye, awake due to the commotion. upon witnessing your sprint, a grin etched on his features as his arms traveled from his chest to his nape; as his legs spreaded out in one lazy, yet effective, invitation. once you were close enough, you slid on the deck, and zoro grabbed your waist smoothly to press the side of your body against his chest. the swordsman sat you on his lap effortlessly, and you guided your face to his pressure point, taking in the mixture of sweat and salt and steel.

a whisper of the scent of ointment and gauze from the treatment of his previous endeavors lingered still. minuscule particles of sand, from when he rolled and dug during a battle, scratched against the tip of your nose, and adorned his skin as though beach-kissed freckles. zoro was edges and violence and scars. yet, if one learned where to guide one’s eyes, the brutal exterior would melt into a pool of steel with recollections drawn with passion and effort. luckily, as it seemed, those small little details were sheltered from the external world: hidden through a mist of undeniable stench.

nami ceased mid-run and choked in disgust, covering her nose and mouth as zoro raised an armpit on purpose.

“cheater,” she accused, pointing to you yet again before turning towards zoro with a grimace, “and you, take a shower, you stenching brute.”

“can’t,” zoro answered with undeniable cockiness, hugging your shoulders. “m’girl likes me muddy.”

the navigator contorted her face before throwing the towel and deciding it was best to sunbathe further away. you threw your head back with a genuine smile to observe the swordsman as he smirked, guiding his free hand further down to give your ass a harsh squeeze.

“wanna take it to the crow’s nest?” he offered, a veil of lust settling in his glance.

“have you washed your dick today?” you inquired, precise and straightforward.

the swordsman groaned and leaned his head back on the mast, shutting his eye. “later.”

you hummed, following him suit to take a well-deserved nap, aware that you’d need the energy for when he decided to hop on that damned sink, returning with his pants drenched from the water and malice etched on his face.

muddy and hardworking it is — but with some limits drawn.

— 🐈‍⬛ as tsukumo yuki once said: i like ‘em stinky. and honestly i get her. romanticizing zoro’s stench because why not?

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the beginning

“No, I understand.” Steve smiles and then points to the wall of comics behind you. “So, if we’re going to be friends, I gotta ask about your Spider-Man obsession.” “Oh, now that’s just too personal. This is like, day three of our friendship. At least ask what my favorite color is, first.” Steve laughs again and nods. “Alright, fair. What is your favorite color, then?” And this is the beginning of your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

summary: BONUS EPISODE TIME ! steve becomes bookstrorindary's favorite loyal costumer, jonathan buys you a bug for christmas, you freak out your poor coworker alex, and suddenly steve is really hot and you're feeling so many feelings (bad ! it's all bad !).

rating: general, some swearing

warnings: swearing, angst ending (sorry gang), fem!reader and use of y/n

words: 6.5k

before you swing in: surprise ! bonus chapter that takes place between seasons 1 and 2. basically, as the title says, it's the beginning of everything between steve and reader. this is where everything starts to take shape, their beginning dynamic, and ultimately the horrible timing of it all. life is hard, steve is hot, and reader just wants to heal her physical and metaphorical wounds. enjoy !

-

November 15th, 1983

When Steve Harrington walks into Bookstrordinary your first day back, you think your lingering concussion from the monster is causing you to hallucinate. 

You had been struggling to reshelf some books, your crutches being a burden and hard to balance with as you stack, when the bell above the front door alerted you of someone’s arrival. 

“Welcome to Bookstrordinary, how can I help you–” You place the last back in the shelf and turn around, not expecting who you see. “Steve?”

He smiles at you and shoves his hands in his bomber jacket. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You can’t figure out my nickname if we don’t hang out, right? So,” He shrugs, as if this is just another Monday for him. “I’m here.”

You stare at him for a moment, unsure what exactly to do. While you hadn’t been lying when you told Steve that you guys could be friends, you hadn’t expected him to jump at the opportunity so quickly. His eyebrow is still healing from his fight with Jonathan in the alley and you’re stuck with crutches for the next two weeks. 

Wounds are still healing. You figured Steve would take some time to collect himself, but it appears that he simply doesn’t care, or maybe it doesn’t matter to him.

“How did you know I even worked here?” You ask the boy, now making your way over to the front counter where he stands.

Steve chuckles. “You really can’t give me credit for anything, can you? I pay attention, Y/N. I can be observant.” 

“It’s not like that,” you’re quick to correct, scared that Steve will think you see him as some mean jock. “I just… I’m not used to people paying attention to me, I guess.” 

You pause and make a face, not liking the way that sounds. “That sounded incredibly gross and cheesy, huh?”

“No, I understand.” Steve smiles and then points to the wall of comics behind you. “So, if we’re going to be friends, I gotta ask about your Spider-Man obsession.”

“Oh, now that’s just too personal. This is like, day three of our friendship. At least ask what my favorite color is, first.”

Steve laughs again and nods. “Alright, fair. What is your favorite color, then?”

And this is the beginning of your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

He spends almost two hours the first day at your job, asking you questions about yourself, your favorite food and color and animal, which genre of books you prefer, anything and everything he can think of to get to know you better, Steve asks it.

At first you’re unnerved by his onslaught of questions, but slowly you find yourself opening up to him and enjoying having Steve with you. He makes your last few hours of work bearable and fun. Before you know it, you begin asking him your own questions. You learn that he loves banana bread, secretly enjoys helping his mom around the house, and that blue is his favorite color. 

When your coworker Alex walks in to take over the next shift and finds you leaning against the counter talking to Steve, he almost spits out the milkshake he had been drinking. “S–Steve Harrington?”

Steve tenses for a second and, before your very eyes, he morphs into his King Steve persona effortlessly. You’re not sure what exactly he changes about himself, but he becomes more closed off, guarded, with an air of authority that frightens you a little. “Hey, kid. Do I know you?”

Alex shakes his head, too stunned to speak. 

“That’s my coworker, Alex.” You take pity on the poor kid. He’s only a year younger than you, but you suppose that a junior like Steve, someone well known and admired throughout the school, can be intimidating. 

“Nice to meet ya, buddy. I’m assuming that Y/N here is off the clock now?” 

“Y–yes.” Alex squeaks out. 

The bell above the door rings again, this time announcing Jonathan’s arrival. 

He walks in, distracted with some groceries in his arms, so when he finally looks up and sees you, Steve, and Alex all standing in a circle staring at him, he freezes. “Well, this is an interesting sight.”

Steve ducks his head, his King persona quickly fading away. “Hey, Jonathan.”

“Steve,” Jonathan responds cooly, looking between you and him as if trying to figure out a complex math equation. 

Great. 

You clear your throat and step away from Steve, heading to the back of the store to collect your things and clock out. “Just give me a minute or two to grab my things, then I’ll be all set to leave, Jonathan.” 

He nods at you, still staring at Steve like he’s some foreign creature, and you quickly hobble away to avoid any interaction between them. You’re not sure why having the two of them in the same room as you feels so wrong, but your head still aches from its concussion and your ribs are so bruised that breathing still hurts, so you really don’t have the time to figure any of it out. 

While you’re gone, Steve and Jonathan continue to stare each other down. 

“Picking Y/N up?” Steve guesses, eyeing the keys in Jonathan’s hand and the groceries in the other.

“Yeah, kinda something I’ve always done.” 

“Right.” 

Jonathan readjusts his grip on one of the grocery bags, having nothing better to do as he waits for you. Alex busies himself with rearranging some books at the counter, clearly equally as uncomfortable as the two teens are. 

Steve lets a whistle out and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets. Jonathan watches him in curiosity. The scab on his eyebrow has almost healed over, but Jonathan still gets a kick of pride seeing it. He’d done that. He’d marred King Steve’s handsome face. 

“Are you, like… Y/N’s friend now?” Asks Jonathan, the question heavy on his mind. He trusts your judgment of people, he knows you can read people better than anyone else, but having Steve around you makes him uneasy. The guy had been a grade A dick to you and him for years, especially his bullshit friends Carol and Tommy. 

“We made a compromise,” Steve says, a hint of humor in his voice. 

Jonathan frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well–”

“Okay, let’s go!” You walk back in, fearful of whatever conversation you’ve interrupted. 

Jonathan watches as Steve immediately turns to you, as if drawn in by your mere presence, and he starts to wonder exactly what the boy’s intentions are with you. All you did was walk into the room, and yet Steve is hanging onto your every word.

He doesn't blame him, god he doesn't. It’s you. You could command a room with just your smile alone, but Jonathan isn’t used to sharing that with others. 

Especially not with people like Steve. 

“Will you be working tomorrow?” Steve asks you, a twinkle in his eye. 

You nod at him. “Mhm, I work every day after school. On weekends I’m usually home doing homework or keeping that one in check.”

You point at Jonathan, who laughs. “Guilty.” 

“Then I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow?” Steve doesn’t even look over at Jonathan, which he rolls his eyes at. 

“See ya then.” You smile wide at Steve and for some reason Jonathan really wants to throw the bag of eggs he’s holding. 

This was not what he had been expecting when he told you earlier he’d be picking you up after getting his mom some groceries. 

And had someone told Jonathan that the rest of sophomore year would go on like this, he probably would’ve thrown the bag of eggs at Steve then.

– 

True to his word, Steve comes by and visits you almost every day leading up to winter break. He becomes a regular, hanging around the counter talking to you about anything and everything. The first few days you had been a bit nervous that your boss, Mrs. Waters, would have a problem with him, but she quickly dispelled your concerns. 

“Oh, that handsome young man? He can stay as long as he likes. I think he’s the reason we’ve been getting so many young customers recently.”

You look around and realize that, yeah, there is in fact a new group of freshmen girls who have started stopping by and browsing the romance section. You’ve noticed the way they stop and stare at Steve while he talks to you, whispering and giggling to themselves. 

Steve pays them no mind, always too busy talking about basketball or his latest issue with Nancy. 

That’s been the one downside to all of this, really.

You’re happy the two of you are friends, but between Jonathan’s moaning about the girl and now Steve’s worrying that he’ll never be good enough, you’re kinda sick of talking about Nancy Wheeler. 

Which is a shame, you actually quite admire the girl. 

“And today she looked at me in the hallway and I think she even smiled–”

“Steve,” you interrupt him, a headache forming. “Like I’ve told you a million times now, she needs some time. It’s only been a few weeks, I think she’s still recovering from what happened at Jonathan’s. She also lost Barb, you can’t forget that.”

You don’t tell Steve about the whole Jonathan and Nancy situation, partly because it isn’t your place, and partly because you’re not sure if it will do more harm than good. 

The boy nods, looking crestfallen. “Yeah, you’re right. I just… I want to get this right, ya know?”

“I know, and you will. Just… let her come to you, but also show that you’re still there for her. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Got it. Stay at a distance, but in a smooth way.”

You snort. “Not how I would’ve phrased that, but sure.” 

You go back to counting the change in your register, beginning the early stages of closing up for the night. Jonathan will be here in about twenty minutes, you’ve come to learn that if you distract Steve when he’s here, then there’s fewer awkward interactions. 

You’re hoping that once Nancy figures out which boy she wants that you can then all be friends, but until then you’re stuck with being an uncomfortable middleman who just wants to drive home with you best friend in peace after spending a lovely evening with your new and endearing friend. 

Speaking of your new and endearing friend, Steve begins to tap his fingers against the countertop, fidgeting around. Amongst the many things you’ve learned about Steve these last few weeks, you’ve also learned that he absolutely hates silence and standing still.

“Okay,” you place your hand over his fingers, stopping his tapping. “I’m going to start closing, how about I give you a list of the books and comics I need to bring home with me? It’ll make closing go by faster.”

Steve perks up, happy to be given something to do. “Alright, I can do that. What are they for, though?”

“Most of the comics will be for the boys; it'll be their Christmas gifts. The rest, the books mostly, will be for myself. I like to add them to my bookshelf at home.” 

“No way,” Steve’s eyes light up and he leans in close, a teasing smile on his face. “Am I about to get a look into Y/N Henderson’s mind?”

You shoo him off your counter, grabbing your crutches to start restocking books for tomorrow. Steve follows close behind, carefully watching your steps to make sure you don’t fall. “I wouldn’t be too happy, I doubt you’d be able to figure out which comics are for me and which are for the kids. As for the books… well, guess I’ll have to make you sign a contract stating our friendship is legally binding. Can’t embarrass myself.” 

“I’d gladly sign it,” Steve says, without even hesitating. 

You stumble a bit and he’s quick to steady you. Steve does that sometimes, says things that make you feel like you feel hazy and warm. Too warm. You’re not used to his candidness yet; Steve doesn’t hide how he’s feeling, he’s an open book. 

You’re not sure if his open vulnerability is a good thing, but you’re slowly starting to find it nice. Pleasant, almost. 

“Anyways,” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind and ignore whatever cologne Steve is wearing that makes your head spin. “The list is in my backpack by the counter. Grab it and start hunting, soldier.” 

Steve salutes you and does as he’s told. In no time he’s wandering the bookstore, humming to himself as he skims the many shelves and aisles to find everything you need. You busy yourself with your own job, arranging a new shipment of books so that Alex has a calm opening shift the next morning. 

The freshmen girls have long since left, leaving you and Steve alone. Mrs. Waters is somewhere in her office, probably seeing if there’s any way to hire Steve, and it’s nice being alone with him. The two of you work silently side by side, he diligently works on his task and you can’t help but sneak a few glances when he’s not looking. 

Steve Harrington has always been attractive, you can’t deny that, but learning this gentler and nerdier side of him has only increased his attractiveness tenfold. Pair him with Nancy and it’s no wonder the two of them were such a hit at school. They make a beautiful pair, something you almost envy. 

Just as you’ve finished stacking the last of the new shipment, the bell rings in the store. You look up, seeing Jonathan, and feel yourself smile. He looks more tired today, though you suppose it’s because he’s basically become the kids’ chauffeur now that he’s no longer working. He claims that he doesn’t mind, but you know he secretly wishes you were there to help. 

“Rough day, bee?”

He nods, walking over to you and places his head against your shoulder, letting out a dramatic groan. “Dustin insisted I drive them to the quarry to reenact Will’s body being retrieved. It was morbid, and yet… Kinda funny.”

“I…” you’re speechless, in complete disbelief. “Those boys are horrible, I love their freakish little brains.” 

“What’d they do now?” Steve appears, a giant stack of comics and books in his arms. “Hey, Jonathan.”

“Steve,”

You gently remove Jonathan from your shoulder and face Steve. “They reenacted Will’s dead body being found in the quarry. A typical Friday afternoon, really.”

Steve’s jaw drops, equally as speechless as you were, and you and Jonathan laugh at him. “They sound insane.”

“If we’re going to be friends, you really gotta get used to the boys.” You tell him with a shrug. 

Jonathan walks over to the counter and grabs your backpack, then goes to Steve and holds it open, motioning for him to place all the comics and books in there. “She’s right, you know.”

Steve lets a chuckle out, a hint of nervousness mixed in with delight as he drops your stuff in the bag. “I know, she’s always right. That’s what scares me.” 

You blush and leave the boys on their own to go inform Mrs. Waters that you’re closing up. You hear them start whispering to each other as you leave, and you make a mental note to badger Jonathan about it on the drive home. While you’re relieved they seem to be getting along tonight, you absolutely cannot have them forming an alliance against you. They’d lose, of course, but still.

– 

Winter break comes and you spend the first half of it with your family and the Byers. Your mom has slowly started letting you out the house again. When you came home with a sprained ankle, crutches, and bruised ribs, she’d almost fainted. You were promptly placed under house arrest, only allowed out for work and school, but you didn’t mind.

It takes some pleading, you manage to convince her to allow you to bike to the Byers’ on Christmas to deliver your treats for them. When she agreed, you were giddy, finally having some time to yourself. 

Though it’s snowing, you enjoy the beautiful serenity of it all. The layer of white, untouched and pristine, falling around the pine trees like a blanket tucking you in after a long day, makes you smile. 

It’s always so lovely seeing Will and Joyce and you wish you could stay longer, but your mom had been firm when she told you to be back within the hour, so you deliver the cookies and bid your farewells before Jonathan drives you home. 

After your conversation, making him promise that things will always remain the same between you two, the car ride is silent once more. You’re okay with this, finding that you’ve come to miss your comfortable silences with Jonathan. They’ve become few and far between ever since Will’s reappearance. You’ve both been busy attending to him and the boys, trying to make everything as normal as possible again.

When Jonathan pulls into your driveway, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over to kiss his cheek, but he stops you. “Hold on, I figured we’d do our gift exchange early this year.”

You gasp. “Did you plan this?”

For years now, you and Jonathan have given each other your gifts the day after Christmas so that it’s just the two of you, no one else, experiencing the moment. You love the tradition, it’s become your favorite part of Christmas. 

“Maybe,” he laughs, wrapping around his seat to get to the back. He pulls out a small box that’s so poorly wrapped, you know he did it all by himself. “Here, open it.”

“But your gift is inside, I didn’t–”

“Shush and open the gift, damnit.”

“How sweet,” you tease, but eagerly begin tearing at the wrapping paper. Jonathan has always given you the most obscure and wonderful gifts, every year he somehow manages to surprise you. You tear off the last piece of wrapping paper and open the small box, gasping when you see what’s inside. “Jonathan… you didn’t.”

Inside the box is a beautiful silver necklace. The chain itself is simple, it’s the pendant attached to it that takes your breath away.

Dangling from the necklace is a bee, no bigger than a centimeter or so. 

There’s small diamonds in its wings and the necklace itself is minimal, something you’d only notice if you were paying attention, and it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever been given. You touch it delicately, the metal cool against your fingertips.

Jonathan gives you a boyish smile. “Figured we could match.”

“What–” He raises his right hand and for the first time you notice a ring on his index finger. You gasp again and snatch his hand, bringing it closer to your face so you can get a better look. The ring has a thick silver band, and there, in its center, is a ladybug as small as your bee. The ladybug is all silver, its wings integrated through the ring’s band. “Jonathan…”

“Do you like it? I found the jewelry at a garage sale this summer. Came as a pair,” Jonathan wraps the hand you’re inspecting around your own. “Almost like fate knew I’d find it for us, ya know? Bug and bee, you and me.”

You have so many things you want to say, but the words are stuck in your throat and all you want to do is grab Jonathan and pull him in and never, ever let him go. “You’ve had the jewelry for months?”

“Hardest secret I’ve had to keep from you, honestly.”

You laugh and cry and kiss Jonathan’s cheek a million times. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Things are finally starting to feel alright again. Here the two of you are, parked in your driveway in Jonathan’s rundown car, off in your own little world for the first time in months. It’s just the two of you, no one else, with only the falling snow as your company. 

You couldn’t be happier. You feel complete again, whole, with Jonathan’s pinky promise from earlier as your oath. 

“I feel bad,” you say as Jonathan walks you to your door. “For Christmas all I got you were cassettes. Had I known you were being sentimental this year I would’ve given you a lock of my hair or something.”

Jonathan laughs, and the sound doesn’t hurt you as much as it used to.

– 

Working the day after Christmas has always been your favorite shift. No one ever comes in, it’s always just been you, your books, and your comics for five blissful hours.

Somehow, you should’ve known that Steve would stop by anyways. 

You’re admiring your new necklace in a mirror when he walks in, all bundled up due to the flurry of snow that’s encasing Hawkins. 

“How do you always manage to know when I’ll be working?” You ask him in lieu of a greeting. 

Steve unzips his coat and hangs it up. “A magician never reveals his secrets, Y/N.”

“Boring, I say they should.” 

“Well,” he walks over with both hands behind his back, hiding something, which you raise your eyebrows at. “Instead of my secrets, can we compromise on revealing a gift instead?”

You gape at him. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.”

“Steve! I didn’t even get you anything, I hate being empty handed! This is literally my worst nightmare–”

Steve places the box on the counter with a devilish smile on his face. “Just shush and open it, Y/N.” 

“But–”

“Open it.”

You sigh, very much against this entire thing, but curiosity gets the better of you. Steve has only been your friend for barely a month now, what could he have possibly gotten you? The wrapping is well done, vastly neater than Jonathan’s had been, which you comment on. 

Steve blushes. “My mom sorta helped me wrap it.”

Something warm settles in your stomach at the idea of Steve’s mom helping him wrap his gift for you. “Tell her that I admire her tasteful wrapping skills.”

Steve chuckles and tells you he will, but he’s too focused on watching you slowly unwrap the gift. Inside is a rectangular box, thin but sturdy, and you look up at your friend curiously. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.” Steve says, giving you a duh look. 

You roll your eyes at him but lift the box’s lid and almost scream when you see what’s inside. 

Steve anxiously studies your reaction, seeing the way your eyes widen comically and you throw your hands over your mouth to stifle a scream. You’re practically jumping up and down in your excitement to hold the framed poster up, and he feels relief wash over him. You seem to love the gift, he finally did something right. 

“How the fuck did you get this?” You exclaim, studying the incredible details on the poster. It’s the cover of the very first edition of Spider-Man, Amazing Fantasy #15. You eyes scan over it and notice scrawled handwriting next to Spider-Man’s leg. “No, oh my god.”

“Notice anything special about it?” Steve leans against the counter with his arms crossed, a pleased smile on his face. 

“It’s signed? By Stan fucking Lee?”

“Yup.”

You run out from behind the counter and engulf Steve in your arms. He’s stiff against you, having not expected such a reaction, but you don’t care. You bury your face in his chest and squeeze him, trying your best to exude your immense gratitude. “Thank you,”

Steve slowly relaxes into the embrace and wraps his arms around you, gently patting your back. “My dad knows a guy… Thought you’d like it.”

“I love it, Steve.” You whisper, your words muffled by his sweater.

You’re still wrapped in his arms, standing toe to toe with him, and you’re so happy it almost hurts. Steve’s arms are warm and strong and you feel him hesitantly rest his cheek atop of your head. He brings you in closer, secures his hold on you a little tighter, and you can smell that stupidly expensive and addicting cologne of his. 

Steve is internally freaking out. Not only is he hugging you right now, but he’s surrounded by you. Your hair is against his cheek, your soft perfume overtakes his senses, and the sweater you’re wearing has Steve believing that everything about you is just warm and comforting and lovely. He wants to pull you in deeper, pull you into him, even. 

He’s never been hugged like this before, so openly and with such sincerity. 

He doesn’t want this moment to end, honestly. 

Then your boss comes through the front door. “Well, hello there, children.”

You don’t necessarily pull away from Steve, letting an arm linger around him so that you can face your boss. “Hello, Mrs. Waters. We were just wrapping up, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She waves you off, winking, and scurries over to her office. “Oh, don’t mind me! Carry on!”

You and Steve laugh, no ounce of tension between you. He seems carefree as always, and you have to refrain from pulling him into another hug. You look up at him, still toe to toe, so your head almost butts against his chin. “I sort the books, you stack?”

He smiles down at you. “Deal.”

– 

Winter becomes spring and somehow you manage to finish sophomore year without any further problems. Jonathan remains by your side, Steve continues to visit you at work, and you even strike up a tentative friendship with Nancy. 

It was hard at first, especially after she got back together with Steve, but Jonathan seemed to do well at burying down his feelings and insisted that the four of you could make things work, so you do. 

Nancy is a joy to be around when you forget about the fact that Jonathan is hopelessly in love with her. She’s incredibly intelligent, cunning, and a great chemistry partner. Following the events of Will, you and her discover that by studying together, Kaminsky’s exams aren’t too difficult. 

You often study together in the library while Jonathan sits across the table doing his own work. Slowly, Steve begins to join in as well. He usually spends your study sessions cracking jokes and bugging Jonathan, but after a while even he breaks down Jonathan’s stoic demeanor and strikes up their own hesitant relationship. 

It’s not perfect, there’s still some underlying tension between you, Nancy, and Jonathan, but it’s enough.

Plus, it’s useful having Steve around whenever Jonathan and Nancy slip off into their own world. It’s become inevitable, something you’ve come to accept, but at least you can turn to Steve now and roll your eyes together. 

It’s really nice, actually. 

He eases the sting of losing Jonathan, even if he doesn’t realize it. Makes everything more bearable.

Summer comes and you don’t see Nancy as often, but Steve makes sure to visit your job whenever possible. 

One day he comes in looking nervous and doesn’t do his usual greeting. He doesn’t wave, doesn’t flash you his signature smile, he just walks straight towards the counter with a frightened look on his face. “I need your help.”

You put the book you’d been reading down and immediately feel dread overwhelming you. Something is happening again, all those contracts you had to sign by Hawkins Lab are coming back to bite you in the ass. Will is in danger again. “Is everything okay?”

He must see the terrified look in your eyes and he quickly reassures you. “Oh, no it’s nothing serious, I just… I need your help with something.”

“Holy fuck,” you let out a breath, feeling your heartbeat start to return to normal. “Dude, after the whole monster fiasco, can we use some discretion when it comes to asking for help?”

“Right, sorry.” 

“It’s fine… So, what’s up?”

Steve looks around the store to ensure no one is listening, which you find a bit odd, but whatever. He leans in close and whispers, “I need your help finding a gift for Nancy.” 

“A gift?”

“Yeah. It’ll be six months with her soon and I just, I don’t know. I want to be a good boyfriend and get her something she’ll like. But I don’t know what she’d like, I’m the worst gift giver ever.”

You frown. “That’s not true. The poster you got me is hanging in my room as we speak.”

“Thanks, Y/N. But Nancy is different, she’s… She’s still really shaken up about Barb and I want to make it up to her. Cheer her up, ya know?” Steve fiddles with his sunglasses, you’ve never seen him so closed off and guarded before.

“Okay, well. What did you have in mind?”

“Something she’ll love.” Steve thinks for a moment. “A diamond necklace, maybe?”

“Okay, woah.” You put your hand up to slow down Steve’s frantic ideas. “I know you mean well, but Nancy is like. Pretty well off. She can afford her own diamond necklace, but besides that, she’s not a very materialistic girl. She wouldn’t like a necklace.”

Steve sighs. “You’re right. That’s um, actually why I’m here.”

“Oh?” You’re intrigued now. 

“Nance has been going on and on about this news article that came out recently. Something about politics, or maybe the weather?” You stare at Steve, urging him to get to the point. “Sorry, doesn’t matter. Okay, basically I know she likes journalism. And you work at a bookstore, so…” 

“You want to get her some books on journalism?” You ask, your heart clenching. Here’s this guy, Steve fucking Harrington, who is gorgeous and kind and shyly asking you for book advice for a girl he so dearly loves.

Somehow you envy Nancy Wheeler even more than you already do. She really does have it all, and you can’t even begrudge her for it. She’s genuinely a nice person, it’d be easier to hate her if she was horrible, but she isn’t.

Typical. 

“Is that dumb? Actually, you know what, now that I’m saying it out loud it sounds stupid–”

You grab Steve’s hand, interrupting him. “Hey, no. It’s actually a really sweet idea. I think… I think she’ll really love it.”

Steve looks relieved and you can’t help but pity him. He’s trying so hard to be better for Nancy, to be all she wants him to be, and yet just yesterday you had to break up a weird staring contest between Nancy and Jonathan when you’d been at her place picking up Will and Dustin. 

Your heart aches for this boy, so in love with a girl you’re afraid may love your best friend. 

You guide Steve over to the journalistic section of Bookstrordinary and tell him some of your personal favorites. It’s not your favorite genre, but you’re familiar enough with it to give Steve a good starting point, which he’s immensely grateful for. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Y/N.” 

“What can I say? It’s a talent of mine.”

Steve starts to search through the books and you leave him alone to get back to work. It’s a slow day today, the mid July heat seemingly keeping everyone at home, so you spend most of your time watching Steve. He meticulously goes through each and every book, spending almost three hours reading their synopses over and over again to ensure that he finds Nancy the best book. 

Occasionally he mumbles to himself, shaking his head when a book doesn’t fit quite right with what he has in mind, or exclaiming with glee when he finds the perfect one. Slowly he accumulates his own little pile of books before he brings them over to you. 

He places the stack on your counter with a proud smile on his face. “I’ll take these, please.”

You whistle at the pile. “Think it’ll be enough?”

“Do you think I need more?” Steve asks, fear in his voice. 

“I’m kidding, Steve. This is more than enough; it’s perfect.”

You start ringing the books up and Steve leans against the counter, back into his usual stance at your job. The price racks up quickly, but you’re sure it’s no problem for someone like Steve. In total he’s selected six books for Nancy, and with each book you scan you feel more tugging at your heart. 

He deserves better, but he wouldn’t listen to you if you told him. 

“Thanks again, by the way.” Steve breaks the silence. 

“For what?”

“For helping me. You’ve always been so patient with me, well–I don’t know. It’s nice.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. 

You find yourself blushing as well, his words making you uneasy as always. “It’s nothing, Steve. We’re friends, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Well, I’ve never really had any friends before. I’m still new to this.” He confesses, looking away. 

Again your heart aches for the boy. Here King Steve is, admitting to you that he’s never really had any friends before. You can’t imagine what that must be like, being so loved by a crowd of admirers yet isolated because of it. 

You think about Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and the various people who seemed to flow in and out of Steve’s inner circle of friends. The numerous girls he never stayed with for long, the boys who only used him for his popularity, you never considered how exhausting that all must’ve been. Surrounded by all, yet loved by none. 

Hell, even with Nancy, Steve has confessed to you that he feels like he’s too much for her sometimes. 

“You’re a great friend, Steve.” You reassure him, trying to keep your voice level. You know that any hint of pity will only make him feel lesser than, but you really wish you could make him believe you. Steve Harrington has somehow become your favorite person to be around. “I promise, you’re a natural when it comes to friendship.”

Steve smiles. “You think so?”

“I know so. In fact,” you finish ringing Steve up and deduct your employee discount from his total, dropping the price significantly. “I just gave you my employee discount because that’s what friends do and I know you’ll do the same for me one day. That is, if you ever get a job.” 

He puts his hands in the air. “Hey, the way I see it: why get a job when I don’t need one?”

“Such wise words from a rich kid.” 

“What if the rich kid offered to buy you dinner to repay you?” Steve’s tone is teasing, but there’s openness in his eyes that makes you freeze. He wants you to say yes, he’s almost pleading with you to accept his offer with those big brown eyes that make you want to scream.

You want to say yes, to accept his offer and go out to dinner with him and laugh and tease each other’s food choices and feel like the only two people to exist in Hawkins, but you can’t. 

Steve is looking at you with a softness in his eyes that catches in the July afternoon light, and you see the shift. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s looking at you as if he’d do whatever you asked, without any hesitation, because he cares about you in a way that no one quite has before. 

Sure, you’ve noticed it before through his actions, but seeing the deep fondness behind his eyes is something entirely different. You feel this flutter within your chest and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. He’s looking at you as if you’re holding the goddamn sun, and you can’t do it. 

You can’t tell Steve yes. 

He’s Nancy’s. So is Jonathan. 

You can’t develop feelings for yet another guy that Nancy Wheeler has claimed for herself. 

You don’t love Steve, but you know how easily you could fall for him. With him, everything is easier. Your laughs feel freer, your heart a little lighter. With Steve, it feels like you’re coming home after being away for so long. First uncertain of what you’ve left behind, but then so full of love once you’re embraced with open arms as if no time has passed. 

It would be so easy falling in love with Steve. 

That’s why you tell him no. 

“I can’t.” You finally say. It takes everything within you to get the words out, as if your body is physically unable to break Steve Harrington’s heart. But you have to. 

Steve’s smile drops. “Oh, alright.”

You wrap up the last of the books for Nancy, take the cash from Steve, and then inform him that you have a lot of work to do before closing. “You should leave.”

“Already?” He looks so hurt and you want to just kiss his cheek, whisper how lovely he is. 

But he’s too lovely. Too selfless towards you. Too kind and charismatic and easygoing. 

He’s too much for you, but not in the way that plagues him with fear of rejection. 

He’s too much for you because of how easily you could embrace him entirely, how willing you are to make room for him even if you already know there’s plenty of space for him regardless. 

“Yeah,” you busy yourself with a meaningless pile of books. “Just go home, give Nancy those books.”

The words burn your tongue almost as much as your tears burn your eyes. 

But you remind yourself of Jonathan, of how much it hurts to hear him say Nancy’s name like a prayer. How Steve describes her as if she’s the moon and he’s a lowly astronomer tasked with studying her. 

You can’t keep putting yourself through this hurt. 

It isn’t fair to yourself, and for once you need to be selfish. 

Steve leaves, mumbling a soft goodbye, and you vow then and there to push him away. You’ve gotten too used to his company; you came too close to falling in love with yet another person who couldn’t possibly ever love you back. 

So you limit your interactions with Steve. 

You’re dismissive when he comes to your job the next day, then the next, and the next. He seems hurt at first, asking you if he’s done anything wrong, why you’re icing him out, but eventually after a few weeks he seems to let it go. 

You’re thankful for that. For his ability to read you and understand that there’s something more, you just can’t tell him. 

July turns to August and Steve stops coming by Bookstrordinary. 

You go back to only spending time with the boys or Jonathan, rarely ever Nancy. You don’t see much of Steve, and sometimes it feels like last November never happened. Like he never came into your life and flipped it completely upside down. The only reminder that it had been real is the poster that hangs on your wall, taunting you for your cowardice. 

Jonathan notices your change in demeanor, missing Steve more than you thought you would, but you make up some lie and change the topic. You know it’s for the better. It has to be for the better. And yet it feels like you’ve just lost something incredible. Something that could’ve been everything, an almost that you’ll never quite understand. 

But you refuse to fall in love with Steve Harrington. 

-

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[tleeaves]

Rule(heart)breaker pt. II

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: ritsu shinjo fails and try, tries again... and again... aaaand again. contains low grade angst and high-grade ridiculousness. slightly yandere vibes if you get real close and cross your eyes. Author's note: as requested, here's a part ii to this short fic idea here. longer than the first part and there's likely to be a part iii when I can get around to it. writing for ritsu kind of started as a joke since I also study law but now I'm kinda attached to this idea ngl. might eventually edit and upload this series to ao3 as a multi-chapter fic, we'll see. - T. Lee 🍃

It was Day Thirty-three of Ritsu Shinjo’s battle to get you back. He stood in his dormitory room, dressed in a matching set of pinstriped grey pyjamas ironed to perfection, and observed the corkboard he had set up on the wall. Notes, pictures, and red string wound around pins mapping out his trials and errors.

Everything began simple enough at first. A phone call the first day to ask you to reconsider your statement. You did not pick up. Nor would you for the next three days, at which point Ritsu considered his next step. He knew your class schedule by heart. So, naturally, he began trying to track you down between classes to make his case in person. By the end of that first week, you had called him nine colourful terms and flipped him off with three of those.

Ritsu Shinjo knew the risks of client abuses when working in the legal field. He knew the troubles of fickle associates and ruthless adversaries. No one prepared him for an unwilling business partner—let alone one that so swiftly appeared to detest him. A selfish and competitively ambitious partner, certainly, but not one he needed to keep who did not want to be kept.

It would be easier, he had reasoned, to merely acquire a more adequate person to work with who was less cranky, less preoccupied, and more enthusiastic. But Ritsu quickly found that to be impractical option. The use of you was that you were Darkwick Inspector. So, not only did he need you to reel in higher-ranked missions for Sinostra for the credit and sign offs, but he also needed an insider on all the other houses. You were, clearly, the prime person to keep close. And now he had gone and upset you���quite accidentally, of course—which placed Sinostra in a precarious position. Because during the second week, on exactly the Tenth Day of battle, you ignored the request to attend to Sinostra.

Ritsu had ensured the proper avenues from Vice-Captain Romeo S. Lucci to Captain Taiga Hoshibami (via a signature the captain was unlikely to remember giving out) to the heads of the houses and the chancellor himself were all followed. He dotted his i's and crossed his t’s, did it all by the book and followed the chain of authority for once. And somehow you had managed to worm your way out of the Sinostra assignment to take on a different one in Frostheim, a place you were much more difficult to reach when the likes of Jin Kamurai practically held you hostage.

It was affecting Sinostra’s progress. Ritsu Shinjo had brought this upon the house himself and now he needed to amend the mistake before Romeo’s wails of developing premature wrinkles over the matter actually manifested.

On Day Eleven, Ritsu managed to catch you on your way back to the cathedral, thankfully before closing business hours. He made his plea and even offered you an elegant fountain pen from his exquisite collection of stationery to gain favour. His father would approve of buttering up people with professional gifts.

You took the pen and promptly seized Ritsu’s hand to write “DICKHEAD” across the back. His fault, perhaps, for this being the one time he had not worn his gloves. He had watched you storm off (you kept the pen, as was your right, unfortunately, since he had already confirmed it was a gift and therefore equitably transferred ownership) swaying on the path, hand still aloft as the dark ink spelling out his crime against your good humour dried.

He tried coffees for the next series of mornings where he caught you on your way to 9 AM classes and mission calls. You were merciful enough not to spill any on him this time. But many likely poisoned the innocent shrubbery lining the academy’s pathways by the time he gave up that endeavour.

He really, really wanted to accuse you of assault, battery, or littering at the very least. Ritsu knew that to get on your good side though, his role now was not just an agent of the law but a savvy business partner. A partner would put their other partner first if it meant saving their business. And Ritsu was in the business of climbing the ladder, so he needed you. The temptation was difficult to fight when you threw the silver watch he bought you at his head.

He knew he should have opted for gold.

Third week in and he truly began to realise you changed. Ritsu listened back on recordings, paced a trench into the carpet of his rooms, and sorted through his appendices of photographic evidence to pinpoint exactly what it was and when it started. To his surmounting horror, the signs began well before you resigned.

When you first arrived at the academy, you were a timid honour student being dragged around by ghouls every which way with nary a peep made about it. The more familiar with the environment you became, however, the more pronounced your backbone grew. Ritsu felt with an odd sense of pride that you might have come into your own as an advocate like him—if you would only refrain from your more unruly tendencies.

On Day Eighteen, he gifted you a monogrammed handkerchief and kept his invoice for his dry-cleaning from the day of your resigning quiet. He could afford it, even if his pride and sense of equity told him you should be paying for the damages. Ritsu had managed to develop a behavioural chart for you, similar to the one he had for Taiga. That was how he knew the likely time to catch you in a more sedate mood, making you more susceptible to his gifts and pleas. Ritsu straightened up, pleased, when you accepted the handkerchief. You had not accepted his business offer, but he counted this as progress.

At least, that was until he found the handkerchief delivered to his rooms in Sinostra, decorated with dark lipstick marks that seemed to taunt him with its unwashed state. By this point, Ritsu could practically hear your voice saying, pay me for the dry-cleaning this time, asshole. Perhaps he should start a prediction chart for your responses to certain circumstances too.

Things were getting dire when you started disappearing for days at a time on more intense missions with other houses. You still had not returned to Sinostra. Romeo was hanging by a thread. Ritsu kept his cool, same as ever. There was no problem he could not solve.

Save for the fact that it became clear you were ignoring him. Calls, texts, summons, and waves on campus when he managed to catch a rare glimpse of you went unanswered. Worse still, you had other ghouls with you constantly now. That did not stop Ritsu from gathering intelligence though. Most students merely raised eyebrows and continued to ignore him when he recorded your conversations from around corners. This might have been considered a breach of privacy and perhaps even inadmissible as evidence in a court, but you were in a public space and he was not in a courtroom.

Day Twenty-nine and Ritsu found himself swallowing down an uncomfortable feeling. He was trying a bouquet of flowers today. That was professional. Many coworkers gifted each other flowers for various occasions. Ritsu figured this was not far outside the realm of associate-like behaviour.

You had just returned from another gruelling mission that landed you in the clinic. Ritsu carefully placed the bouquet at your bedside with a printed note. You refused to even look at him. If this continued for another month, your curse would be halfway in its progression already. Ritsu would never let the opposition see him sweat. But as he left your room, the one of six handkerchiefs he kept on his person was used to dab at his face.

Ritsu Shinjo was supposed to be perfect. He was going to be Japan’s top attorney. He had been training since early childhood for ruling the nation’s upper class with his knowledge of the law and how to reap rewards from their purses. He knew four languages, minimum, entirely fluently. He knew every classic opera, all manner of geography and jurisdictions, the top restaurants, and dressed impeccably. He got accepted into the most prestigious academy after making a deal with a demon.

If he did not leave this educational institution with the highest of accreditation, would all of that be for nothing? What was the point if he was not the best?

He needed the laurel crown for Sinostra with your assistance this year before either your curse turned you into an anomaly or you were freed from this place to return to your previous life. If Sinostra could come into the academy’s high graces again, it would make proceeding years easier for Ritsu to handle maintaining the house’s status on his own to ensure his graduation came from perfect results.

Five months were just about gone already. If something did not change, fast, he would be losing six, with only six more to go. What would happen the closer you came to the change? Would it be a gradual development or something that occurred all at once at the precise one year mark? If the former, would you still retain enough sound mind to work with Ritsu?

Would you become like Sinostra’s captain? Something worse?

And so here he was, Day Thirty-three and standing in front of his strategy board, breaking out into a cold sweat. Ritsu Shinjo was supposed to be unflappable. When it came to you, he was stumped. He had tried everything, from the direct approach, to notes, to gifts, to flowers, and even both a written and verbal apology. Every trick in the book.

What could he possibly be missing?

The door to his rooms burst open. Affronted, Ritsu took a half-step back, hand reaching for his compendium. “Vice-Captain? It is outside working hours and you are trespass—”

“Silence, YRT! You look to be working overtime anyway,” Romeo declared, slamming the door behind him. “This is GOOH, you need to FTI or so help me, I am ending your contract as Sinostra’s attorney!”

Ritsu blinked. “…GOOH? If you would please clarify—”

“GETTING OUT OF HAND, YOU SBA!”

Perhaps it was better not to ask and hinder the progress of the conversation. “I…” I, what? I have it under control? I will find a way? I, Ritsu Shinjo, paralegal, will resolve this in a timely manner? “How do you win someone over? Someone who hates you?”

Romeo’s irritation sputtered out a little, the creases on his porcelain skin smoothing. “Usually bribery.”

“Tried that.”

“Threats?”

“Futile, illegal.”

Romeo cocked his head to the side. “Have you tried locking them up?”

“That,” said Ritsu with a frown, “would constitute false imprisonment, which is also illegal, and is punishable by—”

“Whatever, shut up,” Romeo snapped, waving away the statement. “I thought you Shinjos were supposed to be morally bankrupt.”

Ritsu felt a prickle run up his spine. Holding his vice-captain’s gaze, he murmured, “No comment.”

“This is about that BB honour student, yes? She’s a woman like any other.” Romeo snapped his fingers. “Seduce her.”

“…I— beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! Seduce the honour student. That solves the part where she hates you, where she avoids you, and it will undoubtedly lead her back to Sinostra.” Wrinkling his delicate nose, Romeo added, “Just no risqué displays on the casino floor. I would rather not see that, nor do I wish to drive away the money.”

Ritsu opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened again. And fell shut. A peculiar heat buzzed over his skin. Finally, he said, “There must be another way. I will keep researching.”

Romeo scoffed. “At this rate, she’ll be an anomaly before she so much as looks at you again. If all other methods of enticing her to help us have already failed,” he explained, surprisingly patient, “then you must take more extreme action. People sleep with each other all the time to rise among ranks.”

“N— no one said anything about—”

“Shut up! Don’t you get it, you DTH? If you seduce her, she will become obsessed with you, will do whatever you say, and we can use her for Sinostra’s gain. It’s EAP.”

Ritsu wandered over to his desk chair and sat with the weight of his thoughts. What more did he have to lose if he tried this new strategy? You would reject his initial advances, undoubtedly, but perhaps if he investigated the best courting techniques and combined it with Romeo’s suggestion, it might be possible to soften you with something more personal than business. He supposed he had already tried everything else. It was nigh unreasonable how stubborn you were being. Yet…

“All right. I’ll do it.” Ritsu turned to his binder and his laptop to begin his research. “I will develop a plan and swiftly execute it within the next month. That should give Sinostra enough time to regain standing once I… have reacquired the inspector.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Romeo asked, dubious.

“Courting and seduction are thousands of years old arts, and I am something of a connoisseur of arts, naturally. I, Ritsu Shinjo, must move up my plan for a romantic partner. I knew this day would come eventually. It goes without saying that this need not be permanent, since I have different criterion—”

“Whatever, BSB,” interrupted Romeo. “Just get it done or you can forget about the contract.” The door slammed shut once again.

Ritsu glanced at his corkboard and then removed the sheet he had been writing on from his binder and pinned it up next to a picture of you.

The Girlfriend Strategy.

[charlidos]

Here's an extract from an interview with Orlando in a French magazine, in 2003 (translated by me). All these paragraphs contain information that I've rarely or never heard before, so I thought it was intriguing.

Did being in New Zealand help you get under the skin of an Elf? Yes, the country is very green and is full of great sites, it inspired me to do a lot of sports and have a very balanced life. I did a lot of swimming. I also stopped drinking coffee. At one point, we filmed during the night, for nine weeks straight and at the beginning, when I arrived at the set, I had drunk two big cups of espresso while doing make up. But as a result, I was completely over excited. When I saw the results in the dailies, I found I was touch much on the screen. So I decided to stop drinking coffee. Little by little, I could transform into an Elf. I drank herbal tea with lemon. I also tried to stop smoking. But, whatever Viggo may say, I didn't start eating only berries and nuts!

First, I want to know: did Viggo ever publically say Orlando only ate nuts and berries? It's such an hilariously surprising segue; sounds like something Viggo was teasing him about back then. Viggo maybe couldn't imagine being vegetarian? Or maybe he was worried that Orlando, being quite hyper and having a very physical role, would collapse from exhausting and malnourishment? It's a lovely little insight to all the ribbing going on.

It's also intriguing how Orlando describes his progress from bouncing off the walls (from too much coffee, youthful enthusiasm, nervousness and probably ADHD) to finding calm and his inner elf. Can't help imagining Viggo introducing Orlando to yerba mate and meditation. Viggo is often described has having endless energy, but he's also very focused and serene. And considering how much Orlando says he observed Viggo and learned from him, I can see that this must have been one of the things he learned: to channel your energy to when you need it, to control it.

Did you experience any mishaps on set? A lot! For example, I was in a car which got stuck in mud for many hours with Sean Bean and Viggo Mortensen. We had gone to the countryside to buy Christmas presents for our families. There were a lot of great handicraft shops on the way, but the roads weren't very good.

Is this a completely different story than the one so often told, about Sean & Orlando getting caught between landslides and having to stay over in cottage for a couple of days? Because that tale also contained Christmas shopping... But the story normally lacks Viggo, and they were never really stuck in any mud, only in a random cottage. If it's a different time, how many times did they drive around buying Christmas gifts? And if they got stuck in the mud "for hours", how did they get out? And did the three of them have a good time in the car while waiting? Hehe.

I'm forever intriguied by the myths created around the filming of LotR. The lore seems to have a life of its own, regardless of what actually happened.

Did your family spend Christmas with you in New Zealand? Yes, my family, my girlfriend at the time and my friends made the trip. I love celebrating Christmas and I organised a big party with lots of presents for everybody. It was summer in New Zealand so it was quite unusual to celebrate Christmas in the sun. The New Zealanders love to barbecue crayfish at that time of year. It was very special Christmas food! The other actors went home for the holidays, but I decided it would be more fun to stay. I had a brilliant house on the beach and I invited all my closest friends and family. They all loved New Zealand. We took a trip to the North Island by car and it was magnificent. Actually, I have cousins who moved to New Zealand, so I now have relatives there.

Seems Orlando's whole family came over for Christmas in 1999, including Orlando's then girlfriend. I mostly find this interesting because firstly, there were a lot more people visiting and being around from time to time than you'd think, if you just read the "official" lore. Secondly, this girlfriend story is always different; according to one she stayed in NZ with Orlando for seven months - "and then two more", before they broke up. In another, she came to visit briefly, but they broke up because of the long-distance thing. He's at one point engaged but mostly she was erased from the stories. And obviously, not all those things can be true at the same time. For me, it just shows how much we are NOT told about life on the set, and how much info is a little unreliable (including this).

[fireismine]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 6: House Targaryen → Targaryen Women + Love of Flying

Rhaenys the Conqueror

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores. Whilst no one ever questioned Visenya’s fidelity to her brother husband, Rhaenys surrounded herself with comely young men, and (it was whispered) even entertained some in her bedchambers on the nights when Aegon was with her elder sister. Yet despite these rumors, observers at court could not fail to note that the king spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every night with Visenya. - Aegon’s Conquest, Fire and Blood

Rhaena the Black Bride

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. Not long after, Rhaena made her first true friend in the person of her cousin Larissa Velaryon. For a time the two girls were inseparable…until Larissa was suddenly recalled to Driftmark to be wed to the second son of the Evenstar of Tarth. The young are nothing if not resilient, however, and the princess soon found a new companion in the Hand’s daughter, Samantha Stokeworth. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

Princess Rhaena had many a suitor as well, but unlike her brother she gave encouragement to none of them. She preferred to spend her days with her siblings, her dogs and cats, and her newest favorite, Alayne Royce, daughter to the Lord of Runestone…a plump and homely girl, but so cherished that Rhaena sometimes took her flying on the back of Dreamfyre, just as she did her brother Aegon. More often, though, Rhaena took to the skies by herself. After her sixteenth nameday, the princess declared herself a woman grown, “free to fly where I will.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Aerea Targaryen

Little and less need be said of the return of Rhaena Targaryen from Estermont after her daughter’s death. By the time the raven reached Her Grace at Greenstone, the princess had already died and been burned. Only ashes and bones remained for her mother when Dreamfyre delivered her to the Red Keep. “It would seem that I am doomed to always come too late,” she said. When the king offered to have the ashes interred on Dragonstone, beside those of King Aegon and the other dead of House Targaryen, Rhaena refused. “She hated Dragonstone,” she reminded His Grace. “She wanted to fly.” And so saying, she took her child’s ashes high into the sky on Dreamfyre, and scattered them upon the winds. - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Their Triumphs and Tragedies, Fire and Blood

Alysanne Targaryen

The last years of Alysanne Targaryen were sad and lonely ones. In her youth, Good Queen Alysanne had loved her subjects, lords and commons alike. She had loved her women’s courts, listening, learning, and doing what she could to make the realm a kinder place. She had seen more of the Seven Kingdoms than any queen before or since, slept in a hundred castles, charmed a hundred lords, made a hundred marriages. She had loved music, had loved to dance, had loved to read. And oh, how she had loved to fly. Silverwing had carried her to Oldtown, to the Wall, and to a thousand places in between, and Alysanne saw them all as few others ever would, looking down from above the clouds. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Alyssa Targaryen

The princess was seldom long away from the Dragonpit after that day. Flying was the second sweetest thing in the world, she would oft say, and the very sweetest thing could not be mentioned in the company of ladies. The Dragonkeepers had not been wrong; Meleys was as swift a dragon as Westeros had ever seen, easily outpacing Caraxes and Vhagar when she and her brothers flew together. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Laena Velaryon

Though Princess Rhaenyra had been proclaimed her father’s successor, there were many in the realm, at court and beyond it, who still hoped that Viserys might father a male heir, for the Young King was not yet thirty. Grand Maester Runciter was the first to urge His Grace to remarry, even suggesting a suitable choice: the Lady Laena Velaryon, who had just turned twelve. A fiery young maiden, freshly flowered, Lady Laena had inherited the beauty of a true Targaryen from her mother, Rhaenys, and a bold, adventurous spirit from her father, the Sea Snake. As Lord Corlys loved to sail, Laena loved to fly, and had claimed for her own no less a mount than mighty Vhagar, the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons since the passing of the Black Dread in 94 AC. By taking the girl to wife, the king could heal the rift that had grown up between the Iron Throne and Driftmark, Runciter pointed out. And Laena would surely make a splendid queen. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

~

The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.) In the Vale, Prince Daemon reportedly whipped the serving man who brought the news to him within an inch of his life. Nor was the Sea Snake pleased when word reached Driftmark. House Velaryon had been passed over once again, his daughter, Laena, scorned just as his son, Laenor, had been scorned by the Great Council, and his wife by the Old King back in 92 AC. Only Lady Laena herself seemed untroubled. “Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys,” the maester at High Tide wrote to the Citadel. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen

At the center of the merriment, cherished and adored by all, was their only surviving child, Princess Rhaenyra, the little girl the court singers dubbed “the Realm’s Delight.” Though only six when her father came to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a precocious child, bright and bold and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood can be beautiful. At seven, she became a dragonrider, taking to the sky on the young dragon she named Syrax, after a goddess of old Valyria. At eight, the princess was placed into service as a cupbearer…but for her own father, the king. At table, at tourney, and at court, King Viserys thereafter was seldom seen without his daughter by his side. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Baela Targaryen

“She is overly fond of boys,” the castellan wrote Baela’s father, Prince Daemon, after that incident, “and should be married soon, lest she surrender her virtue to someone unworthy of her.” Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark. - The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant, Fire and Blood

Rhaena of Pentos

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther. - The Lysene Spring and the End of the Regency, Fire and Blood

Daenerys Stormborn

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On Drogon's back she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of this world could not touch her. How could she abandon that? - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

~

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

[adore-laur]

SKIN

— a blurb from the dadrry universe 🤍

——

Harry's skin must be woven with threads of magic. There has to be an otherworldly magnetism entwined in his veins, bestowing captivating warmth on anyone who touches him. Or perhaps there's an underlying spell coursing through his bloodstream, effortlessly soothing deep-rooted aches and vociferating cries. 

It's been said before, but it bears repeating: Harry is a natural when it comes to being a lover. He has been by your side through every trial and tribulation life has cruelly thrown at you. He has willingly taken your pain during grief-stricken times and selflessly shared the burden. You've navigated the rollercoaster years of dating, marriage, and parenthood with him, all the while watching him adapt to each role with unwavering patience and grace. 

Witnessing him be a dad makes you firmly believe it's what he was made to do. It was written in the stars.

When you wake from a deep slumber—a long and uninterrupted one at that—the house smells like blueberries and homemade bread. Well, if four hours of sleep count as uninterrupted. You'll be the first to admit that you haven't missed the lack of sleep involved in caring for a newborn. 

You slowly make your way to the kitchen, surprised by how quiet it is except for the sizzling sounds of breakfast being cooked. Your tired eyes regard Harry swaying by the stovetop, a spatula in his grasp, and his one-week-old baby girl cradled in his opposite arm. She's wide awake, her swaddled body cuddled perfectly in the crook of his elbow as she mesmerizingly stares at her dad skillfully take a loaf of bread out of the oven. He has on his favorite fleece robe with the sleeves rolled up, and his hair— that's getting quite long—is flatly pushed back due to him restlessly tossing and turning all night. 

It's baffling how whenever Harry holds his daughter, she's completely content as long as her skin touches his. You don't quite understand it. You're well aware that skin-to-skin contact is essential, but it's wondrous how much she loves it with him already. 

You stand still and watch him for a few more moments, thinking about how, nine months ago, you observed him from the same spot as he made pancakes with his eldest daughter. Back when the baby he's holding now was just a tiny bump he would fawn over, growing rounder each month and getting plenty of kisses each day. 

Eventually, you refocus on the present and shuffle over to where your sleep-deprived husband is yawning and shutting the oven door with his hip. The both of you got a dreadfully short amount of sleep last night, but you think it isn't so bad when mornings look like they do with him. 

"Hello," you say, making your presence known before appearing next to him.

Harry loosens a golden-brown blueberry crepe with the spatula and sets it on one of three plates. "Morning, sweetheart." 

"When did she wake up?"

"'Bout an hour ago," he replies, his voice hoarse. "Just little whimpers, so I took her to the backyard for fresh air. She told me she wanted to make breakfast with me." 

You amusedly tilt your head to the side. "Oh, she told you that? I didn't know you could translate her baby sounds." 

"I can, actually. She also told me she wanted milk." He looks over at you and raises his eyebrows. "Pronto, preferably." 

"Here, give me her. She's definitely hungry." You take her from him and kiss her soft, munchable cheeks. "Thank you for making food, by the way." 

"That's my job," he says melodically as you walk over to the couch. You sit and slide the strap of your silk pajama top down, then remove the white swaddle from the baby's body. She instantly latches onto your nipple, causing you to wince as a dull ache initiates. 

As you feed her and zone out, you hear Harry plate the food and open the fridge several times before you sense him coming up behind you. He leans his torso over the back of the couch and rests his chin on your head. Breastfeeding has never been uncomfortable around him since you know he's appreciative of what a woman's body can supply and how draining it is to be the supplier. Often, like right now, he will silently observe his daughter fall into a state of tranquility as she suckles. It's beautiful to nurture another human using your body, and even though it's terribly time-consuming, the special bond formed during it is always worth it. 

"I'm going to get dressed," Harry says after a while, squeezing your arm.

You turn your head and pucker your lips for the first kiss of the day. He grants you several soft pecks that taste like blueberries, each with a satisfied hum, before leaving a long, dramatic kiss on his daughter's head.

A few minutes later, he comes back just as you finish breastfeeding. He's wearing a patterned jacquard-knit sweater and loose denim jeans with ripped holes near his knees. He stands before you and takes his baby girl from your arms, kissing and blowing raspberries on her full belly until she's screeching happily. 

"Who's ready for tummy time, hmm? Is it you?" She coos with a toothless smile, and Harry pretends to eat her cheeks. "I think it's you." 

He gently sets her on the blanket on the living room floor, then lies on his stomach next to her. You grab your phone from the coffee table and snap a quick picture of the sweet memory. 

After five minutes of encouragement and tracing every feature of her face, Harry picks her up and burps her. Meanwhile, you wander into the kitchen, grab the plates, and then slide the patio door open with your shoulder. You head out to the backyard, with Harry following closely behind. You're not too worried about your other daughter since she'll definitely be cranky if you wake her up this early. 

As you set the plates down and sit in the wicker lounge chair, Harry passes the baby over and settles beside you, chewing and swallowing a bite of bread. He says, "I was thinking of going to the beach later and swimming with the girls. The water is pretty calm today." 

You nod and pick at your crêpe. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll probably take a nap or something." 

"You don't want to come with us?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows. It's gorgeous out." 

"I don't really feel like swimming. I'm not feeling my best." 

He leans closer to you and places his palm on your forehead. "What do you mean, love? You feelin' okay?" 

"I'm just tired," you lie partially. "Don't worry about me." 

"Hey, look at me." He takes your hand in his. "I'm going to worry about you. You just gave birth a week ago. Gotta tell me how you're feeling mentally and physically. Otherwise, I don't know how to help you." 

"I know, but I swear I'm—" A fussy cry cuts you off, and you sigh as you start rocking the baby. Harry soothingly massages the back of your neck, leaving a comforting kiss behind your ear. 

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" he murmurs. 

You just weakly smile and hope he'll forget about it. 

——

The sun has just begun to set, and the evening sky is a bright, beautiful orange that makes the ocean glimmer. All of you are on the beach to spend time together before an early bedtime. Harry had made dinner and is now shaking out a blanket so the both of you can sit on the sand. Your eldest daughter is distracted with her beach toys, talking to herself as she toddles along the shoreline in her swimsuit and floaties.

There's no time for peaceful watching, however, because once you plop down on the blanket with the baby snuggled to your chest, Harry sits right by you and clasps his hands over his bent knee like he's about to give a lecture. He jerks his chin and says, "You know what I'm going to say." 

It's impossible not to roll your eyes. "Do I have to?" you mutter with a sheepish grin. 

"Yes. You're legally required to talk to your husband and baby daddy." 

You just groan and prepare yourself to vent about all the postpartum feelings that have been swirling in your pessimistic brain over the past seven days.

"I'm scared of losing myself," you say, exhaling heavily. "I remember the first time I became a mom and how I didn't even recognize myself some days. It took so much energy out of me, you know? With breastfeeding, being up all night, and trying to get my body back to normal, I guess I just don't want to fall into that dark mindset again." 

Harry nods understandingly. "Do you recognize yourself right now?" 

"A lot more than last time," you reply quietly. "I mean, we're both more experienced with how to handle a newborn. That definitely helps." 

He swallows, and his serious expression reveals that he sees right through you. "Can I know the real reason why you didn't want to go swimming earlier?" he asks with a gentleness that could break you if you dwell on it for long enough. 

You sometimes wonder if your skin is made of glass or if he knows you well enough to notice all the cracks. 

"If I talk about it, I'll start crying." 

He tuts and nudges your foot with his. "And what's wrong with crying?" 

Shrugging, you defeatedly mumble, "It makes me feel like a little kid." 

"You're my wife, not some stranger to me," he stresses with a soft laugh. "I hate that you think crying in front of me will put me off. Please be vulnerable with me. I don't want you to keep your feelings bottled up." 

Your lips wobble, and a teardrop escapes as you look downward. "I don't feel good when I look at my body. I don't think I could put on a swimsuit and have you see me." Harry scoots closer and wipes your tears away, a sympathetic frown on his lips. "And I spent so long trying to accept it last time I gave birth," you add, "and now having to bounce back again seems exhausting." 

"I don't expect you to bounce back," Harry says gently. "I don't expect anything of you that involves changing your body. It's your body. Do whatever you need to make you feel good, and do it at your own pace, all right?" 

Your heart lovingly falters at his statement. "Once we can finally have sex in five weeks, it's going to be terrible. I'll probably cry." 

He laughs, and you let one out too. "Is that really what you're worried about?" 

"No." He gives you an unamused look with a hint of a smirk. "Okay, maybe. I just don't want you to look at me. I could blindfold you or something." 

"Can you look at me right now for a second?" Harry asks earnestly. You adjust the baby in your arms and meet his eyes, which sparkle in the sunlight. I look at you and see a goddess," he says, holding your free hand. "A mother to two beautiful girls who make me smile every single day. You're my safety blanket. The body you think I don't want to see is the one that grew life. That is so precious to me." 

He begins tracing his fingertips across the light striations on your thigh as he continues, "The stretch marks on your skin are there because you grew two humans, which to me is the most powerful goddamn thing I could ever watch you do. And you've done it so effortlessly that I can't help but fall in love with you more and more each day." 

In that moment, you wonder why you were ever doubtful in the first place and how the man sitting next to you can always easily drag you out of any momentary insecurity. 

Harry suddenly stands and carefully pulls you up with him. He then kneels on the blanket and spreads his arms out. "Look at you," he says over the crashing waves. "You're literally glowing in front of me, holding our baby girl that you brought into this world all by yourself, and making my heart pound just as hard as the first day I met you." 

"Stop, Harry," you tell him, heat expanding across your face. 

"No, because look at you!" He exhales sharply and lowers his arms. "I worship you. Everything you do or say, every smile and laugh, every time you look at me... I'm hooked for eternity."

You kneel in front of him with tears threatening to spill over. He cradles your cheeks and kisses you with an intensity similar to the evening waves pelting the shore. Is there a way to thank the ocean for bringing him to you? 

As the sun says its routine farewell, you bask in Harry's glow that cascades from the solicitous words he speaks and the tender touches he gives. Skin that's unquestionably loved by him, and skin that you will love at your own pace. 

——

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #11, secret

Read parts 1-9 on AO3 here

++++++

The Perfect Place - Part Ten

They were riding in the backseat of a taxi to 221b Baker Street when Sherlock was struck by an unexpected and most unwelcome bout of nervousness.

Would John like the flat? Or would he decline like the previous nine potential flatmates? Sherlock gnawed his lower lip. Will I lose John as quickly as I have found him?

Sherlock remembered when one week ago, he had whined about this to Mike Stamford (Sherlock prefered to call it “complained”). As in being unable to find a suitable flatemate.

He told Mike that so far, every time a candidate had come to take a look at 221b, they had more or less quickly fled, using all kinds of excuses. Dumb ones like “sorry, gotta dash, I forgot to switch off the stove”, plausible ones like “bugger, it’s late, I need to be at work now” or ridiculous ones like the faked phone call that claimed “emergency at home, the neighbour’s run over my hamster with the lawn mower”. And so on and on.

Some of the disturbed looking candidates had kept their composure and simply went down the stairs whereas others had resembled headless chicken, about to run into a wall on their hurried way out.

Whichever way they ran, run they did. Why this always had happened every time remained a secret to Sherlock, one he could not solve. For all his observational and deductive skils, Sherlock stayed clueless about what scared them off.

(To everybody else it would be quite obvious.

The aspiring flatmates were greeted by a real human skull on the mantel and discovered a whole armoury of deadly weapons in the flat, reaching from a razor-sharp looking dagger over an antique Turkish scimitar to a literally bloody whaler’s harpoon. One peeked into the frigde and found himself face to foot with a human foot that was beginning to decompose. Another one was deeply troubled by the scrapbook with gory crime scene photos on the desk. A third one found the kitchen table strewn with the remnants of guinea pig embryos.

Sherlock found all of these circumstances perfectly normal, of course. Whereas these were deeply disturbing to the flatmates-to-be and triggered their instict of self-preservation. They presumed they would cohabitate with a murderous madman and left as long as they could.)

Anyway, after Sherlock’s complaining (whining) to Mike about his predicament, Mike had come up with a name (John Watson) claiming this man could be the pot to Sherlock’s kettle. Sherlock wanted to know more about this mystery man but Mike had simply smiled and said “Go and deduce him yourself, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s interest had been piqued but it died a sudden death when he found out that the address Mike had given him was “Bernie’s Bed Shop”.

How could Mike assume that Sherlock would be interested in sharing his flat with a stupid salesman of boring beds? Sherlock had grumbled for three days about Mike’s proposal but then the next two other candidates had run from the flat and Sherlock had caved and had gone to the Bed Shop for a stake-out.

As soon as Sherlock had seen John limping to the shop and opening the front door with a trembling hand, he had deduced all about this fascinating doctor-soldier-salesman. Sherlock immediately fell in love.

In the present, Sherlock decided to be extra cautious and give John a heads-up about the state the flat was in.

“Erm, John, a warning concerning the flat, though. It’s a bit cluttered at the moment (a blatant understatement) with all my moving boxes and the things that have not yet found their final place (and most of them also never would). So please, don’t let this scare you away.”

(Let’s attest it to Sherlock’s current nervousness and distracted state of mind (palace) that he even considered such a warning might discomfort John when all it did was the exact opposite.)

“It won’t, I promise.” John said and became more curious by the minute. What possible dangers might lurk there in secret parts of the flat?

+++++

It's late and I`ve just finished this, so please don't mind possible any typos.

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

[bl00dst41ned]

*.·:·.✦ baby tears ✦.·:·.*

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x female oc (named her Astrid)

summary: in which having a child can be hard but with the help of someone it may feel better

author's note: @l4vines asked for some fluffy dad Trent so here is my attempt to deliver. also i need to change these headers i despise them now. as usual, not proofread.

warnings: mentions of postpartum anxiety/depression, baby blues (I’ll try to approach the subject as carefully as I can)

word count: 937

The small lamp on the nightstand lightened the wide master bedroom. Light snores resonated from Trent’s mouth as he slept peacefully. At his side sat his longtime girlfriend, Astrid, legs folded with their newborn son, Elijah, lying on them and eating his milk out of his bottle. She looked at his face, beams of light showcasing his lips’ movements. His eyes remained closed as his fingers gesticulated, trying to grip his bottle.

Elijah was born two months ago, after nine long eventful months. Astrid had to be bed-bounded for the last three months of her pregnancy, which left her very frustrated.

After his birth, she felt relieved to be alive and mostly to have a healthy son. Though Astrid tried to give him all the care he needed, it still didn’t feel right. She would feel the urge to cry anytime she interacted with Elijah. Even if she did everything right, she could not stop doubting herself. And now was no different.

Small tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Elijah eat slowly. The mix of her sniffs and the baby’s whimpers woke Trent up. He slowly moved around on the bed before turning to face his small family. He held a little smile on his face but it soon turned into a frown once he realised his partner crying. Again.

Trent knew this kind of episode happened to her, and they became even more frequent the past week. In a talk with his mom, she taught him about postpartum and how it was not always an easy and happy moment for the woman. After a few researches on his own, Trent feared she would suffer from postpartum depression or something close to it. He didn’t know how to talk to her about it but he could not bear seeing her that way anymore.

“Azzy” He called her by her childhood nickname.

She quickly wiped her cheeks in an attempt to hide her emotions from her boyfriend. He sat up, leaning on the headboard. Since he could not properly hold her, he simply left a kiss on her temple as tears uncontrollably rolled down her face.

“I can’t seem to get over this” Astrid sobbed, her head on his chest and her eyes glued on Elijah’s face. “He deserves so much better and I just don’t know how to give it to him”

“You already do. You handle Elijah with as much care as you can give him, despite doubting yourself. No matter how you feel, you’re always there for him” His words definitely comforted her and soothed an inner wound that desperately needed it. “Elijah trusts you, now you need to trust yourself and know how much of a good mother you are”

“Thank you so much, Trent. Genuinely.” She put the baby bottle away about to place Elijah on her shoulder for him to burp “You don’t know how much it means to me”

“That’s what I’m here for. Get some sleep Az, I got him” He grabbed Elijah out of her hold placing him on his shoulder as Astrid laid back down under the covers, trying to doze off.

A few minutes later, she felt Trent get back into the bed, instantly wrapping his arms around her waist.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

In the following weeks, Trent made sure to be as supportive as he could of Astrid. He made sure to uplift her every day and compliment her so that she felt better not only about her parenting but also about herself. Slowly but surely, she gained more and more confidence as a woman and also as a mother.

“Give me the wipes,” Astrid asked as she lifted Elijah’s lower body up to change him.

Trent did as asked watching her eyebrows knit from her concentration. He observed her movements, and how soft she was whenever she touched him. He also listened to how she talked him through the process even though the newborn did not understand one bit. She was the best mother ever in his eyes, now it was her turn to see it.

Astrid finished dressing Elijah back up before giving him to Trent while she put the products away. She came back to the living room to a cute interaction between the two men of her life: Trent kissing their son’s face repeatedly, earning a smile and what could be a laugh from the newborn.

She joined them on the couch, sitting on her right leg as she smiled, looking at them.

“You’re good?”

She knew he didn’t mean it as of today but in general.

“Yeah, better since that night we talked. And I would not feel that way if it was not for you. You really helped me a lot”

“That’s what I’m here for” 

And he meant it. The moment he decided to get into a relationship with her three years ago, he accepted having to deal with anything she went through by her side. Even more, now that they had become a family.

“You’re ready for tomorrow?” He turned to face her but she broke eye contact.

“Not really. But it’s a step at getting better.”

They both decided that it could be good for Astrid to see a therapist, just to let her feelings out and receive some guidance. Trent even offered to go with her but she emphasized wanting these sessions to be for her only, where she was free to vent, with nobody she knew around her.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, don’t forget it” Trent spoke truthfully, her face blushing from his comment.

“I love you, Azzy”

“I love you too, Trent”

like, repost and suggest (closing on september 1st) (hope you enjoyed it)

masterlist for more

[swallowedbyfandom]

Her chambers soon begin to look like a florist shop. Colin has been a busy bee, she will give him that. He has sent her beautiful elaborate bouquets everyday this week with sweet little cards attached. In the week since that awful dinner at Bridgerton house Colin has managed to purchased a home in Bloomsbury. He has also interviewed and hired several servants to fill household positions. There have been trips to the lawyers and other legal affairs that has the Ton holding their breath. It is clear to all he is preparing to take a wife.

Her mother observes the situation with a shark's predatory anticipation. It is almost makes Penelope sad that her mother cannot see what he does not do. He has not gone to see a doctor yet nor has he had one come to call. She is serious about that, she had once overheard a midwife tell her mama that certain illness can led to infertility. While at the time she did not understand, what they were speaking on she does now. Her Papa's whoring likely left her mama unable to carry a child again. Colin has not come to call and he still has not come to her mama to formally declare his intentions to court her.

Frankly she has stated clearly what her expectations are for a suitor. That he is still falling short of her expectations is his own doing. He had eight weeks to work with. He just burned nine days of that with half measures. Flowers are a nice gesture but they are an empty gesture when she has a home filled with gentlemen callers daily. When they take time from their day to hand deliver her flowers and sweets. When they line up and wait to spend time with her. He is stalling, and falling woefully behind.

She is standing with Agatha who has used her dragon's glare to give her succor during the last three balls. The pickings of available bachelors worth spending time with tonight is minuscule. They are in the middle of giggling like schoolgirls over Lord Duncan trying to hide behind a curtain, when she spots Francesca looking uncomfortable with Lord Samadani. She lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Please pardon me. I must rescue Fran from the Queen's import. Please let her Majesty know they are incompatible. He wants an army of children and Francesca does not want more than two." Agatha lets out a snort, with a knowing smirk.

She makes her way over to Fran who is politely trying to give the Marquis a not so subtle hint. She flashes Fran a reassuring smile and smoothly cuts into Lord Samadani's ramble.

"Please pardon my interruption, my Lord. Francesca, Lady Danbury has been trying to get your attention. I believe she has a message from your mama to pass along."

Francesca gives her a relieved smile, before turning to excuse herself from Lord Samadani. Penelope opens mouth to excuse herself also, when she spots Fife making his way over to her.

She grabs Lord Samadani's arm and turns her wide panic filled eyes on him. She speaks rapidly.

"You must sign my card and take me to dance immediately."

To his credit he reaches for her dance card as he speaks.

"Why am I breaking the rules of etiquette to dance with a Lady I have not yet been introduced to?"

"You are a gentleman are you not? I am a Lady in distress. What better reason is there?"

They take their positions on the dance floor.

"Are you really in distress?" He asks her.

She places her hand on his shoulder and relaxes her frame while responding.

"I assure you my Lord, any Lady with sense would be distressed by Lord Fife. I am sure that if I am forced to dance with him once more tonight I shall stab him with a dessert fork."

He releases a deep rich laughter that draws attention to them. He smirks at her.

"May I have the name of the violent lady I am to dance with?"

Giggles escape her as she demurs.

"Penelope Featherington, my Lord. However I dispute the claim that I am violent. I prefer the term vigilant." She frowns as she continues speaking. "Lord Fife is swine. He enjoys making comments that are improper. While I may not understand the actual innuendos, I understand his leering looks enough to be uncomfortable."

The Marquis looks decidedly less amused by that. His frame carries a tension now it did not before. She distracts him with questions about his country. He is surprisingly charming and intelligent. He escorts to her to Albion after their set is complete and once he sees Lord Fife approaching again, this time trailed by Colin he signs her card for a second dance. Thankfully it is her last spot available on her dance card. She gives him a curtsy while graciously thanking him for his aid. Now she has a viable reason to deny Fife and Colin both a dance.

Colin is lucky she is not holding a drink in her hand when he asked why she did not keep a dance available for him. She for certain would have thrown it into his face at that moment. The hubris of that question fills her with rage. They have been at this ball for hours if he wanted to dance with her he should have asked when she arrived. She has danced six sets tonight with a variety of different gentlemen. She has danced an additional four sets that were second dances. Lord Samadani will be the fifth Gentleman she has a second dance with that night. That Colin thought he would swoop in the last hour of the ball and finally grace her with his presence. He must believe her desperate or still a silly girl waiting for crumbs of his attention.

The carriage ride back is entirely too long in Penelope's opinion. Her mother has spent the ride blatantly evaluating Penelope. She allows her mother to look her fill without comment until she figures out which question she wants to ask. Finally Portia seems to make up her mind.

"Have you finally given up on Mr. Bridgerton?"

She rolls her eyes. God, her mama is so short sighted.

"Contrary to what you like to believe I had never really set my sights on Mr. Bridgerton."

Her mother scoffs in response.

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, before she continues speaking.

"You don't have to believe me. Your opinion in the grand scheme of things matters very little. I have always adored the Bridgertons as a whole. It is also true I have always held tender feelings for Colin. However I never expected anything to come from it. I was aware that our close childhood bond would always have him viewing me as a little girl. I did not try to entice him. I never felt the potential fallout with his family to be worth the risk."

"If I were as blinded by love as you believe, I would have accepted his proposal. I did not because I am no longer certain he would be an ideal husband for me. He has allowed peer pressure to dictate a change in his values and behavior. What use would I have for a fickle husband?"

"If he wants to be my husband he will prove it. He will swallow his pride, eat his words and court me publicly. He doesn't get a pass because we were childhood playmates. We are not children any longer. I will not marry unless I am sure my husband will not leave me and our children in dire straits the way papa did to us. I am more practical than you believe."

"I do not need to be in love to marry well. I am looking for a stable partner I can grow to love. I am looking for a man who will think disappointing me is a fate worse than death. Who will choose me and our children before anything else. I would rather be a spinster than settle for less than that."

Her mother's lips are white with how hard they are pursed together.

"Colin Bridgerton looks down on our family, mama. He thinks he would be doing me a favor by marrying me, and saving me the shame of the Featherington name. Our family may be a scandalous mess, but we are survivors. While I am not proud to be a Featherington, I am proud to be Penelope Featherington. If I allow him the upper hand of being my white knight now, he will have it forever."

Her mama looks so pensive. Penelope allows herself to lean forward and drop a kiss on her forehead.

"I have been caring for myself for years now, mama. Put your efforts on my sisters they need you, I do not."

Her mama seems to startle at that. " I have tried my best with all of you girls. You know that right?"

Penelope exhales heavily she is too tired and short tempered for this conversation.

"No you did not. You tried and failed with my sisters. Phil and Pru are helpless and without a single drop of cunning. You married them to idiots. Albion and Philippa I can understand. They are in love and happy but neither of them is particularly bright. They are one shady steward away from poverty. Albion needs someone to teach him how to run an estate. Hopefully his parents will do so."

"Pru and Harry are doomed. Harry is sweet and simple, Pru will take advantage of him. While the Dankworth fortune is sizable, it is not so sizable that it can withstand Prudence's spending and inheriting the debt remaining on the Featherington estate."

"That your daughter's are completing to inherit that debt, should tell you everything you need to know. Yes a son will secure the title of Baron but it will also inherit the mess Papa and Jack made. If either of my sister's had sense they would pray for a daughter. If you had sense you would remarry and wash your hands of papa's mess. That is why I have finally entered the marriage mart. I am looking to wash my hands of our family."

"You have never tried to help me succeed, mama. Everything I am, I am in spite of you. Perhaps you were trying to make me strong? I doubt it though you are not a long term planner. You love me. I know this but you do not like me. That is fine. I feel the same way. We do not have to play pretend with each other, mama. We are adults."

Her mother remains quiet after that. She knows she has broken something irreparable between her mother and her. However they have been broken for years. Why should she be the only person to carry that burden?

She has carried the Featheringtons far enough. She has kept them off the streets. The more she thinks on it the more she realizes that the money she has set aside for her mother is unearned. Why would she leave almost half her earnings for her mother to spend on tacky gowns? Let her mother count on her son in laws or let her remarry.

She has worked hard to secure her future. Why the hell would she leave behind half her fortune? No. She isn't leaving anything behind. She has already done more for them, than they ever did for her.

[buckysgrace]

Nine

Illicit Affairs Masterlist

Professor Steve Harrington x Fem!OC

Robin forces Steve to join her for a round of speed dating on Valentine’s Day.

Steve

The room was bright and vast, crowded with far too many people as he wiggled his way about. Cheap Valentine’s decorations were thrown about, almost in a lazy manner. Like this whole thing was a second thought. Which, he was sure it was. 

He did not want to be here.

Robin had been trying to convince him for the past week, then went as far as threatening him when he continually refused. He continued to grumble and kick his feet about it, but he was a good friend.

“Speed dating,” Robin nodded her head, “Wait, it’s separated?” She asked as she held her hands on her hips. She narrowed her eyes, her tone paling as she confirmed her observation. 

“I would think so.” He mumbled as he glanced at the various ways the chairs were set up through the building. He thought it was necessary, particularly for Robin and her dislike of men. 

“Don’t be grouchy,” She grinned as she passed him a cup, “Enjoy your free punch.” She scoffed as she shook her head. He took a little sniff before he pressed it up to his lips, confirming that it was just watered down Kool Aid. He should’ve taken her up on her suggestion of a few shots. Or a gummy. He’d gladly take either at the moment. 

“You couldn’t download a dating app like a normal person?” He asked her seriously, moving out of the way as a group of women approached. 

“Before apps there was this,” She said dramatically as she gestured around, “Even though it is pretty lame.” She nodded her head in agreement, wrinkling her nose up as she looked towards some of the red and pink balloons that had fallen to the floor. 

“Very lame.” He sighed as he dropped his drink in the trash, trying to find a way to improve his attitude before he was forced to socialize. He really did think he’d have a lot more fun if they’d had a little weed beforehand. He’d at least find this funny. 

“But good thing we don’t have to impress anyone.” She reasoned with a smile, giving her shoulders a little shrug. He supposed she was right, but it didn’t make him grow excited by any means. He was thirty and attending a speed dating session. It was laughable. His other friends had laughed. 

Then again, they were all in serious relationships. Him and Robin were the only single ones. Maybe this would help. Not that he really wanted to dive back into a relationship anyways. 

“Uh huh,” He sighed, “So where are we meeting at when this is done with?” He asked, checking his watch to remind himself that it would only be an hour. If he was lucky. That was the most he’d let himself suffer anyways. 

“Maybe I’ll go home with someone.” Robin suggested as she stood on her tippy toes, trying to get a good look of the women she’d be competing for. 

“One night stands on Valentine’s Day is not a good idea.” He reminded her, recalling the last time he had accidentally done that. The next morning had been very awkward. 

“For you,” She clarified, “Uh but at the double doors. I’ll text you.” She smiled as she gave him two thumbs up, looking a little nervous before she waltzed away. He truly hoped that she had a good time, but he doubted she’d find someone interesting. Neither would he. They’d spend another Valentine’s drinking their sorrows as they recounted the same romantic stories they were more than familiar with. 

He wasn’t impressed as they stuck a sticky name tag on his chest, or how they forced him to write at least three facts about himself on a flimsy notecard. His chair was plastic and creaked underneath him each time he shifted, making him a little fearful that he’d plop down too harshly and it would snap underneath his weight.

“Once the timer goes off at three minutes you shift to your left, easy right?” The girl asked once she was satisfied with where everyone was situated. He nodded his head, trying to keep from grumbling as everyone shifted their gaze to her. She did a little countdown before she blew a whistle, signaling them to start. 

Four rounds later he was doing all he could to keep from yawning in his spot. It honestly wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. The girls were pretty enough, probably fairly interesting too. He just wasn’t thrilled about it. 

He dragged his feet over to the next chair, exhaling louder than he meant to as he slowly sat himself down. He shifted, the chair creaking from underneath him as he shifted his eyes up towards the woman to make his next introduction. Then he froze. 

“Hey,” She looked at him in surprise, blue eyes wide and red lips pressing into a bright smile, “Funny running into you here.” Daphne said, humor laced in her tone as a soft laugh left her lips. He felt his face burn as the humiliation suddenly hit him. 

“Robin thinks I need this.” He blurted out, nearly wincing at how immature he sounded. But he really didn’t want her to think that he was lame. Then again, she was here. 

“So do my friends,” She agreed softly, “So uh, I guess we can just wait for her to whistle.” She looked really pretty in her dress. It was pink, dipped low enough to show off her cleavage before it hugged her shoulders again. He was a little proud of her for actually wearing long sleeves this time, but her legs were still revealed as the hem of the dress fell against her upper thighs. He looked at her cowgirl boots for a second before he met her bright eyes again. 

“No,” He shook his head softly, “You can tell me your facts.” He stated a little more urgently than he meant to. She wrinkled her eyebrows together, beginning to rub the edge of the notecard against one of her open palms. 

“They’re kinda lame.” She wrinkled up her nose as she spoke, showing off her teeth as she cringed a bit. He cocked his eyebrows, even more curious than before. 

“I don’t mind.” He grinned as he crossed one leg over the other, hating how fascinated he was with her. She was far more riveting than even she knew. It was dangerously tempting. But this just happened to be fate. Cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Um, not really anything interesting,” She wrinkled her nose up, pressing her lips together as he continued to wait, “I can line dance, which you know. I uh, grew up on a ranch and well, there’s only one nut that I’m not allergic to.” Her lips curled towards a frown as she spoke her facts, her lips pulling apart to show off her shiny, white teeth. 

“Oh, wow.” He felt his eyebrows rising on his forehead, his mouth pursing into a smile at her words. Surprising, but at the same time it wasn’t. He thought it was absolutely something that she would say. 

“Yeah, that sounds pretty terrible but in my defense I didn't think you’d be here.” She twirled her hair around her fingers, wincing as her cheeks flushed brightly. He chewed on his bottom lip, a little flattered with her words. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here either,” He laughed once again, “But I’m glad to see you. And to know that you’re allergic to nuts.” He replied as he gestured towards her, making a mental note not to eat any before he met with her. Not for any physical reasons, of course. 

“Not all nuts.” She reminded him, laughing softly as her face only grew a brighter red. Almost matching the color of her hair. At least she could laugh at herself. 

“Right, all except for one,” He shook his head, “That’s important information to know.” He rubbed his fingers over his knee, watching with interest as she shifted closer to him. 

“What are your facts?” She asked a little too eagerly, features lighting up as conversations were beginning to slow around them. He didn’t pay too much attention to them, fully intrigued in what she was doing. 

“I’m a professor, which you already know,” He started, chuckling as he looked down at his notecard as a wave of nerves crashed over him, “I’m an only child and I just turned thirty.” He repeated his facts, which felt very boring in comparison to hers. 

“That’s all very fun,” She smiled reassuringly at him, “Did you like the cookie?” She asked suddenly, eyes flashing with curiosity. He did his best to bite back a smile. 

“It was very delicious,” He promised, “I did end up having to split it between the girls.” He explained, remembering how it had been a fight to try and get his own bite out of it. He enjoyed watching them, but it always made him realize that he wasn’t ready for his own children yet. 

“They were sweet.” She nodded her head in agreement, smiling excitedly as she listened to his words. He drifted his eyes towards her lips for one fleeting second, giving himself that satisfaction. 

“They’re little sugar monsters,” He chuckled softly, fairly certain that they had eaten all of the desserts out of his apartment, “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”

“Two nephews and a niece,” She confirmed as she counted off of her fingers, “Perhaps more. My older brother likes to get around.” She explained with a laugh, making him a little intrigued as to what her family life was like. Or what her parents thought. His parents weren’t happy with any of his current life choices, he couldn’t imagine what they would do if he had followed in any of their footsteps. 

He stalled as people next to him began to move at the sound of the whistle, signaling that he had to do the same. Daphne smiled at him, holding her hands up to give a little shrug. He chewed on his bottom lip, not quite in the mood to leave. He was having fun. He was allowed to have a nice conversation with her. 

“Uh, do you want to just skip.” He shifted towards the guy standing next to him, clearly waiting for him to get up and leave. But he didn’t have any interest in doing so at the moment. 

“Skip?” He asked, looking around in confusion as people began to introduce themselves again. The girl next to Daphne sat awkwardly, waiting for someone to join her. 

“Yeah, we’re having a good conversation.” Steve explained as he glanced back towards Daphne, trying to keep his heart from bouncing out of his chest. He was allowed to talk to her as a friend. 

“That’s not a part of the rules.” The guy huffed in frustration, adding to the tension in the room. Steve thought the rules were dumb. Why should he not be allowed to talk to someone longer? 

“Gotta stick by the rules,” She teased as she pressed her lips into a smile, “I guess I’ll see you around?” She gave him a little wave, making him nod his head in defeat. It was probably for the best. He couldn’t do much with her anyways. 

“See you,” He dragged his tongue outside of his mouth, rolling it across his bottom lip before he hopped into the next seat, “Nice to meet you.” He said softly, politely before he drifted his eyes back towards Daphne. She held eye contact for just a second before she turned away, beginning to speak her lines from her card again. 

The woman in front of him did not intrigue him, nor did the next one. Or the one after. His gaze kept wandering, glancing back down towards the redhead who politely introduced herself to each of her new dates. 

He felt a rush of jealousy bubbling in his stomach, spreading through his chest as he watched the way Daphne laughed at whatever her current partner had just said. He certainly wasn’t that funny. There was no way.

“Did you hear what I said?” She asked him, snapping him away from his thoughts right as Daphne brought a palm up to hide her smile. He felt bitter suddenly. Very, very bitter. 

“No,” He admitted, sticking his tongue back in his mouth as he met the dark eyed girl in front of him, “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” He surprised himself as he stood, ignoring her shocked expression so he couldn’t think about what he was doing for too long. 

He walked quickly down the aisle, weaving past various different conversations as he focused on how there was only one person he wanted to talk to right now. And why not? They weren’t at the university. It would be fine. 

“Hey,” He approached her, hands in his pockets as he cut off the guy that was sitting in front of her. Her blue eyes grew wide, eyebrows raising on her forehead as confusion filled her features, “Do you want to head out of here? Or are you interested in what he’s saying?”

“Oh, uh. No, no we can go,” She nodded, her cheeks turning pink before she snapped her attention back towards the guy in front of her, “But I am interested in what you were saying.” She quickly reassured the guy in front of her; her eyes widening as she turned towards Steve again. 

“Ready?” He grinned as he held a hand out, his palm gliding against hers easily as she rose from her seat. She was beaming from ear to ear, her cheeks a rosy hue as they zig zagged between the different rows of chairs. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” She spoke up, making him believe that she was serious until he met her amused grin, “I mean breaking the rules like that? Crazy.” She shook her head, brushing her shoulder against him as he glanced back at their empty chairs. 

“Is that really against the rules?” He questioned her, afraid to admit that he didn’t listen or read any of them. He had sort of just gone in blindly, with an attitude. But it had worked out. 

“I think so.” She shrugged her shoulders, her blue eyes glimmering from the overhead lights. He felt his heart hammering inside of his chest as he bit down on his bottom lip, glancing over his shoulder once again. 

“I’ve got to tell Robin that I’m leaving,” He told her softly, knowing she’d be offended if he didn’t say something to her, “Don’t go far.” He grinned as he jerked his thumb towards the section to the far side of the room. 

“I was not planning on doing so,” She laughed as she crossed her arms over her chest, “I’ll be right here.” She pointed down towards her boots, making it clear that her feet were planted. 

He walked over, following a similar suit as he weaved through chairs to reach his friend. Women sent him odd looks, clearly not very happy as he crouched down near her. 

“What are you doing?” She asked stiffly, a smile frozen on her lips as she glanced towards him. She was holding her notecard tightly, clearly more nervous than he had thought she would be. 

“I’m heading out.” He stated, pursing his lips together to keep from smiling too big. He was playing a very dangerous game, but he didn’t care about that right now. His jealousy had taken a hold of him and steered him about. 

“On your own?” She cocked an eyebrow, clearly recalling what he had said earlier. Perhaps she was right, but that wasn’t going to happen. He was just going to hang with Daphne. That wasn’t illegal. 

“Not exactly,” He smiled sheepishly, “Do you need someone to walk you back?” He asked her worriedly, not wanting her to get hurt. 

“I’m actually going to head back with someone as well,” She grinned as she held her chin up, sounding confident, “Text me about your fun time. You can leave some details out.” She added as she wrinkled her features up in disgust, before turning her attention back towards her partner. 

Daphne was exactly where he left her as he approached again, feeling a little lighter as he held the door open and escorted her out. He didn’t let himself get in his head too much, knowing he’d only ruin this if he did so. He was allowed some sort of fun on this day. 

“Have you been to Mom’s Place?” She asked him curiously, arms still tightly covering her chest as they walked down the sidewalk. He had no idea where they were going, but it just felt right. 

“Can’t say I have.” He admitted, knowing that he had heard of it but never actually been inside. He had just always assumed that it wasn’t his scene. 

“I hope you like karaoke.” She grinned proudly as she took the lead, a little hop in her step as they waited to walk down towards the left. He stood a little closer, wondering if she was cold. It definitely wasn’t the warmest out, but it wasn’t as chill as it had been. 

“I’m not singing,” He shook his head, laughing at the way she grumbled in response, “I definitely haven’t drank enough for that.” He told her honestly, knowing he’d have to be fairly gone to even consider it. He’d done it before, but not sober. 

“It’s fun,” She persisted with a little whine, “But I won’t force you.” She asked, the heels to her boots clicking against the sidewalk as his arm continually brushed against hers. 

“How kind.” He teased her, taking a second to admire her. She had similar moles across her exposed chest and neck, but none on her face. Minus a few freckles. Her eyebrows were thin but dark, eyes hooded and lips thick. Her nose was straight, the bottom of it bulbous. Really pretty. 

“Did my facts really win you over?” She turned towards him suddenly, lips pressed together as she wiggled her eyebrows at him. He laughed, rubbing his thumb across where he’d unknowingly stuck his tongue out. 

“Mhm,” He hummed softly in agreement, “Something like that.” He promised her, knowing that he shouldn’t give her false hope. He shouldn’t really be doing this, but he figured it was only fair to put both of them out of their misery. At least that’s what he kept trying to convince himself. 

“Keep your secrets then,” She laughed, “It’s just up here.” She pointed her finger up ahead, gaining a little skip in her step as she rushed towards the building. He narrowed his eyes at the multi-colored lights that were leaking out through the windows. 

He held the door open for her as she walked inside, instantly being greeted with Christmas lights that were dangling all through the ceiling. As well as a few smaller disco balls. He felt a little overwhelmed, even more so when she gripped his hand and tugged him inside. 

“Hm,” She paused as she looked at the slip of paper, then turned towards him with narrowed eyes, “Am I feeling Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan?” She asked, squinting her eyes thoughtfully as he snapped his attention back towards her. 

“Uh,” He furrowed his eyebrows together, “Who?” He questioned her, snapping his gaze back towards the loud singer on stage. Definitely drunk and positively off pitch. 

“Scratch that,” She laughed, “Adele is probably too serious, don’t you think?” She questioned him once again, making him blink as he faced her again. There was a blue hue that was radiating off of her, making her look angelic. 

“I suppose so,” He chuckled as he watched her contemplate her options, “You’re really going to sing?” He questioned her, raising his eyebrows as he tried to determine if she had mentioned that before. 

“Uh, I love singing,” She clarified with a smile, “Do you have a favorite artist?” She asked, tapping the pen against her chin. He thought for a moment. 

“No, not really.” He shrugged his shoulders, holding a bad habit of just listening to whatever. He had grown fairly interested in podcasts recently as well. 

“That is not fun at all,” She teased, humming for another second before she filled out the paper, “Katy Perry it is. You know who that is, right?” She teased him as she slid her name into the rest of the stack. 

“Yes,” He laughed, following her towards the bar, “I’m not that old.” He reminded her, still feeling dreadful about being in his thirties. He did his best not to think about it too deeply, knowing he’d only spiral if he did so. He thought he’d be much further ahead than what he was. 

“First round is on me.” She told him as she plopped her elbows up on the counter, looking at the shot menu thoughtfully. 

“Generous,” He grinned, “Just a shot of tequila right now.” He added a second later, still feeling a bit overstimulated by everything that was happening in the bar. It had been a while since he’d been to one set up like this. 

“That’s it?” She hummed for a second, “We can share a vodka redbull then.” She told him, pulling out some cash before she repeated the order to the bartender. He let his eyes drift for a moment, admiring the curve of her spine and the way her dress rose over her thighs. 

“Thanks,” He grinned, tapping his glass against hers as he downed his shot. He wiped his lips with the back of his palm, grinning at the way she gagged once she finished her shot, “No?” He questioned, amused as she quickly took a sip from her other drink.

“I’m not a tequila person,” She admitted as she carried their shared drink towards one of the tables in the corner of the room, “It has a nasty taste to it. And I make bad decisions on it.”

“Oh great,” He laughed as he pulled the chair out for her, “You could’ve warned me.” He added, thinking back to the night she’d flashed him. She was a bit wild.

“I just did,” She grinned, keeping eye contact with him as she took another sip from her drink, “Does this count as professional?” She asked him curiously, her bangs flopping in front of her eyes.

“Most definitely,” He smiled in return, wondering why she was so hard to avoid, “Just as friends.” He added, but knew it would do nothing to soothe the blow if they got caught out together. Especially after the email he’d received.

“Better than being alone on Valentine’s Day.” She replied wistfully as she sat back in her seat, crossing her ankles underneath the table.

“You really didn’t have a date or anything?” He questioned her, turning so he could face her better. He thought it was odd that she would be alone tonight. She was really pretty, young. And she had a strong personality. He didn’t understand why she didn’t have a boyfriend already.

“I’ve had a hard time getting back out there,” She admitted as she passed the drink towards him, “I overthink too much and come off as too forward.” She shrugged her shoulders, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“I never noticed.” He teased her, nudging her shoes with his own. He liked that about her. There weren’t any games between them.

“Mhm,” She grinned at him, “I just want to be honest, you know? I just want to be clear with my expectations.” She nodded her head, determined with her answer.

“That makes sense,” He nodded at her, “It’s a good thing.” He promised her, feeling his pulse quicken a bit at the way her eyes softened at him. “What about you?” She cocked her eyebrows, observing him expectantly. He knew she had wanted to hear more about his failed marriage, but he didn’t want to really bring that up. Not when they were supposed to be having fun.

“I don’t think I ever want to be with someone seriously again.” He answered honestly, rubbing his thumb across his lip as he thought about it. She turned towards him in surprise, lips parted to answer.

Her comment was interrupted by her name being read out, luring her onto the stage. She bit back her smile, standing slowly as he shot her an enthusiastic thumbs up. He hoped she wasn’t as bad as the former singer.

He watched the way she gripped the mic, giving her head a little shake so her bright hair fell back behind her shoulders. She rolled her narrow shoulders back, straightening her posture as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her eyes snapped towards him for a second before she turned away, looking at no one in the middle of the room. The only sign he’d seen thus far to tell him that she was nervous. 

He listened in surprise, honestly not expecting her to sound so good. Her voice was a little higher pitched than usual, but it allowed her to easily hit the notes she had to climb to get to. He thought she looked sweet as she shut her eyes, letting the music carry her away. He supposed she must be passionate about music, or perhaps the shot had kicked in earlier than he thought it would. 

“You did great.” He told her seriously, grinning from ear to ear and still clapping as she walked back to him. Her cheeks were a bright pink, flushed from embarrassment. 

“Thanks,” She grinned, holding her fingers together as she sat down next to him again, “Maybe we can sing something together.” She suggested, making him scoff at the thought. He would have no idea what to sing. The only song he’d been hammered enough to sing had been Tequila and that had been Robin’s idea. 

“That’s a crazy idea.” He told her seriously, taking another drink from her cup as she thought about it thoughtfully. He felt a warmth spreading through him, admiring how pretty she looked at the moment. 

“Maybe.” She shrugged her shoulders gently, a laugh falling from her lips as he hooked his foot underneath her chair and scooted her closer to him. He wished he could blame it on the alcohol, but he knew he hadn’t drunk nearly enough for it to be that. 

He cupped the side of her face, his finger brushing against her cheek as she stared at him with wide eyes. He admired the way her eyes twinkled, how her flush grew to a deeper red. She drove him absolutely crazy. 

He leaned forward, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle on her before he dragged his mouth against her sticky lipstick. He didn’t even care at the moment, nor did he mind that he was being very public about it. 

Her lips were warm against his, smooth and comforting as his hands fell to her small waist. He tugged her even closer, desperate to feel her heat radiating off of his own. He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat, could feel how badly he wanted her. 

A soft whine left her lips, vibrating across his mouth as he found his mind going hazy. He was crossing a dangerous line, one that he had warned her they couldn’t cross again. Damn him. Damn his lust and emotions. But that didn’t stop him from nipping at her mouth, from squeezing her waist a little tighter. 

“Please,” She begged softly, a hazy look in her eyes as she looked up at him, “I wanna suck your cock.” She whispered underneath his breath, making his dick ache underneath his jeans. He desperately wanted to give her everything she wanted, everything he wanted.

But he couldn’t.

“Fuck,” He groaned as he dropped his head against hers, sighing as she continued to brush her lips across his, “I can’t.” He mumbled, knowing if he did this one little thing that he’d be gone forever. There would be no coming back from it. 

“Why?” She whined, petulant and sulky. She flicked her tongue out, licking the curve of his mouth as he nearly dropped his reluctance then and there. He really did want to see what her mouth could do. But he had a reputation to uphold. Sadly. He wasn’t like his father, he didn’t have a good enough name to fuck around however he pleased. He, at least, cared about what people thought of him. 

“You know why,” He hummed softly, enjoying the taste of her that rolled off of her tongue, “I’m sorry.” He told her honestly, squeezing her thighs as he imagined himself spreading her apart. That’s what he really wanted.

“I hate your job,” She mumbled, pulling away softly with an amused glimmer in her eye, “You should be able to enjoy Valentine’s Day.” She pouted, making him wish he could give her everything that she needed.

“I did,” He said truthfully, biting his bottom lip, “This was a lot of fun, truthfully.” He added, knowing that he better take her back before he let things go too far. And even though she’d be gone, she’d remain on his mind the rest of the night.

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter three

[ 3k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two ] [ masterlist ] "it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

you’re on call every day from eight at night to eight in the morning, so by the time richie rolls up, you’ve usually just eaten a late breakfast and he’s heading home after work. there’s a consistency to his late night appearances, a rhythm that becomes comforting.

there’s no pretending and no politeness—what would be the point? they should invent a word for this. maybe childhood-friend-in-law would do, except you had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever marrying michael and you always knew it. that’s the feeling, though. familiarity comes built in. even when he gets truly infuriating, you don’t leave feeling worse than you did. more pissed off, sure, but never worse. it’s a distinction worth noticing. 

some nights are easy. you talk about questionable obscure music in which you really do not overlap or middling mainstream music in which you do, running out of concerts and context. sometimes it’s pure bullshit, gossip or make believe, starting up elaborate jokes too lame to admit to in front of anyone else, then discarding them when they’re outworn. sometimes it’s old stories, sometimes it’s pure speculation.

hand to god, some nights are good.

and then there’s this night.

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.

you’re barely out the front door when richie calls out, hey. where the hell were you?

you got called in real early yesterday, so you missed seeing him last night. but that’s no cause for him to yell, the entitled little jerk. you shoot him a baleful glare. then, as you take in the sight of him, you settle a little.

he’s not truly angry. you’ve spent enough time with him now, you’d know.

with a shrug, you shove your hands deep in your pockets and come stand beside him. 

last night i had to smoke all by myself like a fuckin loser, he says. 

that's your cue to say, you are a fuckin loser, but you don't take it.

he offers you a drag on his own cigarette, and you shake your head. you want it bad, but you can’t. you all but smoked yourself to death between crises yesterday, and you’re trying to convince yourself now that giving it up will somehow fix things. 

but nothing will be fixed, and it’s not your responsibility anyhow. this is not your city. you’ve felt that acutely of late, as each of your last links to it is broken one by one. coke or the cops, what difference does it make? the caruso kid didn’t listen to you, didn’t listen to anyone, and once his infection got bad enough, his wife called an ambulance. it’ll be the cops for him if he survives, and his father after that, the next domino to fall. you yourself are somewhere in that long line, just waiting for your turn. 

work sucks, huh, richie says. 

you look over at him to find that he’s already looking back at you, a little sleepy but not good enough an actor to hide the keenness in his observing eyes. it’s dangerous that he noticed you were gone and it’s dangerous that he’s noticing you now, but it feels really, really fucking good. 

yeah, you say. i thank god every day that i am a woman of leisure.

he laughs. well, i’m just grateful that you allow yourself to associate out with me, you know. me in my rags and you in your pearls and finery. he gestures at your sweatpants and gigantic parka.

once my tiara’s back from the cleaner’s, it’s over for you, you say.

sure, and i’ll be crying my eyes out in a pint of cherry chocolate chip. 

with that, he launches into a long, winding tale about the shenanigans he pulled at the beef today, installment nine hundred and seventeen of his neverending battle with a guy named fak. you’re not following, but you’re not trying to follow particularly hard, either. you’re too tired, and you’ve got other shit on your mind.

that’s the closest richie has gotten to mentioning your job in weeks. 

used to be that he’d poke around with dogged persistence, as though he thought he could needle you into submission. he asked after your boss’s health, your credit score, your childhood high school. he complained he had to take a shit or that it was too cold out to stand around. all that. anything to invade, get inside, get a little more information. 

michael was like that, too. the difference between the two is that michael won. conquered you, most if not all of your secrets, and fell asleep in your bed long before even a month had passed. but richie’s been at it for a few months now and he seems to have given up. he doesn’t know your job, your last name, or your phone number. he could pick you out of a lineup but he could never track you down. and he’s decided to let that go.

it’s just as well. you’ve got leftover dim sum in the minifridge right now, and if he pushed hard enough, you’re pretty sure you’d take him up to share it. siu mai re-steamed and slices of lo bak goh re-fried in hot oil in a pan, savory and delicious, nothing better. you can’t cook, but you’d still feed him well if given half the chance. you’d arrange the table with takeout napkins and your only two sets of matching cutlery, you’d—

the real richie rudely interrupts your thoughts. 

you’re not even listening to me, are you, he says. 

no, i’m not, you admit without an ounce of compunction.

just like everyone else, hey? fan-tastic. there’s a real bite to the way he breaks the word in half.

you look at him, startled and stung. don’t be such a fucking baby.

man, fuck you, he says. real anger, rocketing out from his chest. 

fuck you! you stare at him, legitimately astonished. maybe it’s your fault for not paying attention, but you really have no idea where this is coming from. you’ve been good. maybe your mind strayed for a while tonight, but what about every other night? you’ve always listened, or at least pretended to listen, to the travails of his divorce, his money problems, his insane workplace, his dysfunctional quasi-adopted family. and there’s a hell of a lot of it. you’ve been really fucking good!

apparently, not only has he not noticed this, but he thinks he’s entitled to even more.

you say, what do you expect here when you’re going on for eons like fucking always. do you think this is fun for me?

well, someone has to talk since you won’t say shit about shit with that paranoid secret agent—

oh, fuck. something about the way richie cuts himself off. you dread whatever he’s got to say next.

he says, what’s that supposed to mean, do you think this is fun for me?

jesus christ. you fumble in your coat, only to remember that you threw away your last pack. i don’t speak in fucking riddles, richie, this is not that type of situation.

then what type of, like. his face wrinkles in horror and disgust. am i a charity project? 

this is like having a migraine, but worse. i never said… truly, what the hell is going on? how did you even get here? 

dredging up the last of your energy, the emergency fund, you turn it into bravado, your default response to an unexpectedly angry man. you give it your all cause that’s the only way to do it, turning and facing him head on, putting your shoulders back and standing square over your own two feet. 

what is this, richie? you wanna fight? you really wanna fight?

yeah, i think i do actually, says richie, alarmingly ready. i think i really fuckin do. 

fine, you spit. 

you tilt your chin up so you can look him square in the eye and you give him the worst you got, spiteful already, and then you start trying to anticipate his next move.

there’s a lot of things he could say, as it turns out, a lot of things that only he could say, because he was there for everything. he witnessed the aftermath and attended the funeral. he could have you skinned like a caught rabbit given half the chance, and you just handed it to him on a silver platter. 

besides, he has a right. he loved michael even more than you did.

the realization dawns on you far too late, and then the dread sets in. can he see it in your face? when he opens his mouth, you’re setting your jaw so you don’t flinch. 

forget it, he says flatly. he turns away a little, steps back to lean against the building, and in the shadow of the building all you can see is the shape of him. if you concentrate, you can make out his profile against the gray concrete. 

.

.

.

at first, you can’t quite believe it. it’s mercy, after all, and that’s rarely reliable. but after his last cigarette, richie folds his arms tight across his chest and tilts his head back, eyes looking up towards stars that neither of you can see through the city lights.

eventually, you do start to think the mercy is real. you test it.

can i have one? you say.

richie doesn’t even hesitate. he reaches into the left pocket of his tracksuit pants, produces a pack, and hands it over. it turns out to be brand-new box of menthols. 

you look at it for a moment. your throat’s doing that thing again. he really did notice that you weren’t here last night, huh.

i don’t do charity, you say, after a second.

it’s fine, forget it, he says. 

i don’t, though. you don’t know what to say, but you know you can’t leave things there, so you keep pushing, and the words just come out. richie, i’m—i’m really a piece of shit. 

he looks at you directly again, but this time it’s a question. he doesn’t try to negate it with a brainless autoresponse like ‘no you’re not.’ he just listens, plain and simple. for a second, you’re at a loss. 

sudden and frightening as a car crash at the next intersection, the impulse flashes through you: tell him the truth, the whole truth. test him for real, watch that mercy melt away, inevitable as ice on hot pavement. teach him to hate you like he should. it’s like strong hands digging their fingers into your shoulders, the thought, and you’re reeling.

i… you swallow, smash it down, yank the car back onto the road. i hate ice cream and babies and long walks on the beach, i hate old ladies and libraries. you look over at him. i kick dogs every chance i get. 

there it is, at the corners of his mouth.

heartened, you go on, nearly tripping over your words. like, small dogs, richie. puppies. right in the head, i kick them. 

now you’re both smiling, and the relief is so fucking crazy. you’ve fought with him so many times before, but you’ve never gotten scared by it before. this is a first, and you have no idea what to do. all you can do is repeat, i don’t do charity.

okay, he says. okay.

you lean against the wall, and you’re absurdly heartened when he does the same right next to you. something about the symmetry, something about the weight off. you finally light up one of the menthols, and you have the night with richie back again. the breeze brushes by, chilly but not unbearable. it’s perfect.

what happened today? you say.

i thought you’d like it, he says. it was funny. 

go on, then. 

you wonder if richie might try to make you say please, but he doesn’t. he walks you through the whole day of catastrophes, from the broken toilet to the loss of electricity, from the loss of electricity to the fucked-up fridge, from the fucked-up fridge to the outdoor grill—

that’s really cool, you say.

he grins. right? 

whose idea?

from his crooked, exasperated smile, you know it wasn’t his. 

syd’s, he admits.

you raise an eyebrow. so i take it the culinary institute is good for something.

he scoffs. no way they taught her that. that—he points at you—was pure chicago.

oh okay, so we’re giving the credit to the city.

yeah, we are, cause it’s like—

the city, not the woman.

it was very chicago of her! that’s a compliment. don’t make it a feminism thing. his voice matches yours, a near-laugh ribboning through it like fudge in ice cream.

alright, okay. you’re smiling like a fool and you couldn’t care less. so then what?

so turns out fak’s connect isn’t much of a connect, surprise surprise, and it’s gonna cost us fifty-five hundred just to get the fridge back up and running. so he and carmy come to me, all hat in hand, and they’re like—shit. i didn’t tell you about the dealing, did i? you got me all turned around.

didn’t tell me bout the what now?

fak snitched on me earlier, told carmy i was dealing in the alley back behind the beef. i’m not moving much weight, just like. he gestures vaguely. covid, he adds, like that’s an explanation. please don’t have a fit about this, i’ve had all i can take from carmy already.

you shake your head once, thinking hard, processing. the more you think on it, the more it unsettles you. 

i knew he was dealing, obviously, but i didn’t know about you, you say. after a second, you add, richard edgar jerimovich?

jesus, he mutters.

is that right?

and here i thought carmy was going full mom. edgar, jesus fucking christ. richie’s torn between aghast and amused. where’d you get that from?

that’s your middle name?

yeah, but—

you hold up a hand, not rude, just asking him silently to let you finish, and he does. 

richie, you broke your wrist when you were twelve trying to play tackle football with the big boys on asphalt. at some point in your thirties, you started getting a rash every time you ate shellfish, but you still do it anyways, ‘cause fuck it’. and to this day you hate nightmare on elm street cause he convinced you to watch it with him when you were both way too young. 

none of this richie told you himself. it all came straight from michael. 

you say, how do i know all that, but i didn’t know you were dealing? 

richie says nothing, so you look over and find him watching you already. it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity. 

you got a pretty good memory there, huh, he says.

it’s coke, right?

it’s just coke, yeah. was coke. it’s over now. richie shrugs wearily, turns away, and stubs out his spent cigarette on the concrete wall. mikey and his fucking secrets. i don’t know what to tell you. 

you can say that again. 

richie says nothing for a beat, then: mikey and his fucking secrets, i don’t—

okay, okay. 

he breaks into a small smile as you watch him, and then you keep on looking at him even as the smile subsides. a car goes by, and you look down at the pavement as the headlights sweet over both your faces, only looking back up at him once the car is gone.

the thing is, you really did think you knew him. what a crazy thing to think, when this is a mistake you’ve already made before with michael. you thought you knew him too. 

there could be so much of richie you don’t know, because michael didn’t know—or because michael didn’t tell. and yet richie isn’t a stranger. at any moment you could close your eyes and picture his face, imagine his voice. he’s in you that much, at least.

so here he is, through your own eyes. you’re determined to fix him in your mind, not richie from the stories, but richie as he really is. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he stinks of kitchen in general and arby’s curly fries in specific. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real. 

he rubs his nose with the side of his wrist. 

you must be tired, you say quietly.

when he smiles like that, it’s almost like you can look down past a few decades and see the teenager you never got to meet. i’m never tired, he says.

he’s always tired, you realize. of course he would be. you only ever see him after his long-ass shifts. go to bed, richie.

that was too gentle for sure, because he says a little curiously, getting some real weird vibes off you right now.

you take one last drag, then push off the side of the building, gathering yourself to go. you want normal, don’t come to me. 

heard, he says with a chuckle. g’night.

goodnight.

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[ chapter four ] [ masterlist ]

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@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1 — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

[lonestarflight]

Cancelled Missions: Apollo AS-204 (aka Apollo 1)

Planned Launched: February 21, 1967

Commander Pilot:CDP Virgil I. Grissom

CM Pilot:CMP Edward H.White.II

LM Pilot:LMP Roger B. Chaffee

The tragic fire that claimed the lives of Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffe and postponed the debut manned flight of the Apollo Spacecraft. The Apollo AS-204 was cancelled as NASA officials investigated the cause of the fire and came up with changes to the block II Command Module, set to debut now on Apollo 7. Set back Apollo program by 18 months. This deserves its own post

Here is what was originally planned for the first manned mission (C-type) of the Apollo Command and Service Module:

"Originally planned for the last quarter of 1966. Numerous problems with the Apollo Block I spacecraft resulted in a flight delay to February 1967. The designation AS-204 was used by NASA for the flight at the time; the designation Apollo 1 was applied retroactively at the request of Grissom's widow.

Apollo 205, a second solo flight test of the Block I Apollo CSM, was planned but cancelled on December 22, 1966. The Schirra, Cunningham, Eisele crew from that flight became the backup crew to Apollo 204 (replacing the original backup crew of McDivitt, Scott, Schweickart)."

-Information from Astronautix.com: link

One proposal was to launch Gemini 11 (or 12 or both) and Apollo 1 at the same time and rendezvous in orbit. If the first two Apollo missions (AS-201 and AS-202) were a failure, then AS-204 (AS-203 did not carry a CSM) would be flown unmanned and a Gemini astronaut would EVA transfer to and enter the CSM-012, check out its systems, and return to the Gemini. However, with the delays with getting CSM-012 ready, having to reconfigure the Gemini capsule to work with Apollo and the eagerness to finish Gemini to focus on Apollo, this proposal was cancelled.

"The Apollo 1 prime crewmembers for the first manned Apollo Mission (204) prepare to enter their spacecraft inside the altitude chamber at the Kennedy Space Center (KSC). Entering the hatch is astronaut Virgil I. Grissom, commander; behind him is astronaut Roger B. Chaffee, lunar module pilot; standing at the left with chamber technicians is astronaut Edward H. White II, command module pilot."

"For the first two and a half hours in orbit, CSM-012 would remain attached to the S-IVB stage much as a Moon-bound Apollo would do prior to trans-lunar injection. After separation of the CSM, Grissom would perform a station keeping exercise with the spent S-IVB stage so that White and Chaffee could photograph the stage as it vented its residual propellants. This would provide vital observations on the behavior of the S-IVB stage to aid in planning future mission activities.

At this point, Apollo 1 would perform an open-ended mission which could last for as little as six orbits in order to meet at least the highest priority mission objectives or as long as two weeks, provided that CSM-012 continued to function adequately. The primary objectives of the mission basically centered on testing all the systems of the Block I Apollo spacecraft during ascent, in orbit and during descent. The first pair of firings of the SM’s SPS would take place the day after launch to raise and circularize the orbit of Apollo 1. No attempts would be made to perform a rendezvous with the spent S-IVB stage. Afterwards, burns of the SPS were planned to be performed every other day during the course of the mission with each astronaut taking turns in the left-side commander’s seat – three burns each by Grissom and White as well as two burns by Chaffee. Apollo 1 would carry a television camera which would allow live broadcasts from inside the CM cabin during the mission. The camera would also allow ground controllers to monitor the CM’s control panel during key parts of the flight.

In addition to the laundry list of systems checks, Apollo 1 also carried an array of hardware to perform a total of nine medical, scientific and technological experiments during its long orbital mission. These consisted of the following:

The storage locations of some of the hardware for flight experiments inside the Apollo 1 cabin.

M-3A In-Flight Exerciser: This was simply a pair of bungee cords that would loop around the astronaut’s feet and grasped by the hand via a handle. Each astronaut would spend three ten-minute sessions each day exercising with this device to determine the utility of in-flight exercise to stave off the effects of prolonged weightlessness. A similar M-3 experiment was flown on the Gemini 4, 5 and 7 long-duration missions during 1965.

Diagram showing the M-3A exercise experiment that would have been carried by Apollo 1.

M-4A In-Flight Phonocardiogram: The purpose of this experiment was to produce in-flight recordings of the crew’s heartbeat to determine the effects of weightlessness on heart function. Grissom and Chaffee would be the subjects of these tests. This was similar to the M-4 experiment flown on the long-duration Gemini missions.

M-6A Bone Demineralization: The goal of this experiment was to determine the effects of weightlessness on the demineralization of certain bones in the body. This experiment required no special in-flight equipment and would rely on measurements derived from X-rays taken before and after the flight from all three crew members. Once again, this was similar to the M-6 experiment performed during the long-duration Gemini missions.

M-9A Human Otolith Function: The objective of this experiment was to determine the effect of prolonged weightlessness on an astronauts sense of orientation. Each crew member would spend 15 minutes each day in orbit wearing a set of test goggles with their responses recorded by a 16 mm movie camera. A similar experiment was conducted during the Gemini 5 and 7 missions.

M-11 Cytogenetic Blood Studies: This experiment sought to determine if the space environment produced cellular changes in the blood of the crew. No in-flight equipment was required with the necessary data coming from blood samples taken from all three crewmen at set intervals before and after the mission.

M-48 Cardiovascular Reflex Conditioning: In this experiment, one of the astronauts would don a set of vascular support tights one or two hours before the end of the mission to determine if such a garment helps prevent physical fatigue blood pooling in the lower body following return to Earth.

S-5A Synoptic Terrain Photography: This was similar to the S-5 experiment flown on most of the earlier Gemini missions. The crew would use a 70 mm Hasselblad camera to perform near nadir-viewing photography of the Earth during 9 AM to 3 PM local time. Two color film packs with a total of 110 exposures were to be carried on the Apollo 1 mission.

Diagram showing the in-flight stowage of the camera and film packs for the S-5A and S-6A experiments on the inside CM crew hatch.

S-6A Synoptic Weather Photography: Similar to the S-6 experiment conducted on most of the Gemini missions, the purpose of this investigation was to provide orbital photographs of weather phenomena at a much higher resolution than was possible with contemporary weather satellites like NASA’s TIROS or Nimbus satellites. One color and one color-shifted infrared film packet along with an ultraviolet filter for the camera would be carried to support this experiment.

T-3 In-Flight Nephelometer: This experiment used a device to measure the size, concentration and distribution of particles present inside the CM cabin. Measurements would be made every six hours starting two days into the mission."

-Information from DrewExMachina: link

The mission was scheduled to last about 2 weeks and would have been recovered by USS ESSEX (CV-9) in the Pacific Ocean on March 7, 1967.

- Apollo 1 mission patch

NASA ID: S66-30236, S66-58038, S66-36742

source, source

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Sixteen on Ao3

or read Chapter Sixteen below the cut

Astarion probably should not let Shadowheart linger unattended for so long. He’d spent much of the last two days hiding from Isolde, either taking a sentinel position beside Aurelia as she slept, or else also hiding from Aurelia while she was awake. His security let him know Shadowheart had arrived and was lingering on the edges of the estate, but he took a few extra moments before he went out to meet her, and in that time, she’d found a mark. Of course.

Not that he should concern himself. Isolde, for all her fragility, and for all the ways in which she’d so often been the distressed damsel in need of galant rescue—ultimately, he couldn't continue to take responsibility for her. He needed to let her go get herself into trouble that he wouldn’t save her from, eventually. 

Still, the idea of finding her wandering the streets of Baldur’s Gate in a few weeks, time, emotionless, and unable to recall who he was—unacceptable. He’d make sure that Shadowheart undid whatever she had worked on the poor girl before she left. He led the Mother Superior to his office in silence, a little bit weighed down himself. Shadowheart was potent today. Her very presence made him feel… strange.

They’d had no appointment, but he could assume that her visit probably had something to do with what had happened the other day. He fell into one chair without a word, regarding her with what he hoped was confident, skewering expectation.

Far too familiar with the vampire lord to be intimidated, Shadowheart turned away in a gesture that he strongly suspected was meant to hide her rolling eyes, and merely paced the room before him, pretending to be interested in the paintings and kneading at the old wound in her hand absently. Strange. He’d thought that well healed.

He was grateful for the distance, he decided after a few seconds. If she got much closer to him, the whisper of Shar might start to buzz a little louder in his ears than the whispers of the night.

“She’s sweet,” Shadowheart finally observed.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you went in for sweet.”

“I’m not that picky, and she’s not that sweet.”

“You are picky,” Shadowheart laughed at him, but it was warmer than he’d heard from her in some time. “Predictable.”

“Uncalled for,” Astarion flashed his teeth at her.

“Reliable then,” Shadowheart shrugged, “means the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Need something, do you?” Astarion wondered.

Shadowheart eyed the chair in front of his desk, empty. She swanned into it gracefully, folding her legs and clasping her hands together. “Let’s talk,” she suggested. These words came and left such quiet in their wake. No whisper of Shar, no voices of the night. The presence of the Chosen of Shar was especially dark today.

Irked all over again, Astarion remembered what he’d overheard in Jahiera and Minthara’s thoughts at the Eltans’ the other day. Their idle speculations that Shadowheart didn’t associate with those she cared about when they were already tipping towards darkness. Did she have some reason to believe his mood had changed, or had she decided she didn’t care about him anymore? Or, perhaps it was the goddess herself who wanted something with Astarion? Or, was it all a load of bollocks anyway?

When Astarion neither protested, nor began to spill all his secrets at her, Shadowheart let out a slow breath and took in the middle-distance before she began, “so, you’ve grown bored of your paramore, and she’s quite hurt, and that’s the end of it, am I correct?”

“Astounding insight. Bravo.”

“You shouldn’t second guess yourself,” Shadowheart ignored his sarcasm and seemed to take his words at face value, forcing him to do the same. Gods, that was one trick he’d never quite managed to pull off. He hated to admit it, but she was just better at this kind of thing than he was. Probably came very naturally with the territory of being a Chosen of Shar. “Your instincts are correct. You should let her go.”

“That is the plan,” Astarion narrowed his gaze at Shadowheart, unsettled by the uncertainty of what she was trying to get at.

“You’re so good at those,” it was her turn to be sarcastic and she risked the smallest wrinkle to her eyes, as she continued to search him. “But truly. I do mean to commend you. There are few people I know, who have not yet embraced my mistress, with such an innate understanding of the rewards one can expect from consummate loss. From letting the past die.”

That iced him over and set his jaw. Shadowheart knew better than to preach to him. He’d only had to tell her off the one time and she learned her lesson about trying to convert him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the gods, especially not that vindictive bitch, Shar. What was she driving at? They regarded each other in total silence for a few tense moments while he considered how to respond. A tantrum wouldn’t suit—wouldn’t even feel good. Pushing back felt redundant. He could tell by the way she looked at him that the problem wasn’t her own memory. She knew full well that she was irritating him. She was doing it on purpose. Trying to provoke him? To what ignominious end? “Such dark wisdom,” he hissed, “whatever could I have done to earn the loving ministrations of a Chosen of a Goddess?” he asked through clenched fangs.

“The Lady of Loss accepts all who accept loss. Her shade embrace is a void. All will come to her, eventually.” And through her delivery, he saw, finally, conviction. She really did believe that.

But, he still didn’t think that sincere belief was the motivation to speak to him now. She knew how he felt. He’d lost quite enough. There was acceptance, and then there was fixation. What she described was the latter.

“We all get there. Certain souls have quite the talent for getting there more quickly through your own misguided attempts to find something that will fill you in such a way that my dark lady could not simply hollow you out again. On your way to oblivion, if you take up and leave behind little pebbles as you go, so be it. So long as the destination is utter absence. ”

“Is that how you see your beloved gith? A pebble to pick up and discard?” If Astarion wounded her with that little jab, she didn’t show it.

Shadowheart’s demeanor was still that of a patient teacher with a very dull student. “You could sculpt more heartbreak, for both of you. If it was your pleasure to do so. You could stop her leaving, say whatever you need to in order to convince her, lie to her, about how different it might be. With more time. With her sweetness.” He reassessed his previous impression that he hadn’t hurt her feelings, bringing up Lae’zel like that. There was vitriol in her words now. “I don’t think it would take much pressure at all. But what would come of it? You would only delay the loss of her. You should let me have her now. While it’s the plan.”

There was absolutely no way in all the fucking hells he was going to let that happen—and then, before he could open his mouth to say so, he saw her massage at her hand again and faltered.

Oh, gods.

She was managing him. And herself. He felt a slight twinge of embarrassment that he hadn’t picked up on the full extent of her manipulation sooner.

Whether or not Jahiera and Minthara were right about what Shadowheart’s personal rules might be—the fact was, she did have rules. Her short tether to her dark lady affected everything she said and did. She was powerful, but that power came with obligations. She could never say what she wanted to say. She had to say what Shar wanted her to say.

“You can have whomever you like, whenever you like,” Astarion let his tone fall into relaxed flippancy again. “I certainly won’t stand between you and a promising, uh…” he’d almost said victim, “congregant.”

“Well,” Shadowheart brightened ever so slightly, “I’ll admit, I was intending for this to purely be a short social call. I don’t afford myself to take many of those these days, but I can see now that my mistress guided me to do her bidding after all. And you helped prepare the way. Many thanks.”

She didn't need to twist the knife, but Astarion acknowledged it was so very like Shadowheart to do so. “Was there anything else?” Astarion tried not to sound too suspicious, but wasn’t there more? She’d never before stopped by just to look in.

Shadowheart shrugged, “I merely meant to meet the woman I failed to help you with, and see how you fared.”

“Solicitous of you,” he still didn’t believe her.

“We’re neighbors, after all,” Shadowheart arose from her seat, rolling her closed parasol in her hands. It was a disguised channeling rod, he was sure of it. He hadn’t known her to use one of those in the past. “I can see myself out.”

“Hmm. Tah tah.”

#

No sooner had Shadowheart quit the room than she sped up. She wasn’t sure why she felt such a drive to get out, to get far away from this place, but the feeling had been building for several minutes. Almost since the instant she was alone with Astarion.

It was the discomfort in her hand. It had been mild at first, so she barely picked up on it, could have easily dismissed it, if it hadn’t been so persistent. The thing had started to heal after she embraced Lady Shar completely, five years earlier. There had even been a time where she thought the damn thing was finally gone forever.

But the old pain, that punitive anger from her lady, never really went away, because her spirit was still so weak. Sharrans valued obedience above all else, so it often humbled Shadowheart to remember that it was her greatest flaw in her devotion. For every time she did exactly what Shar asked, no matter what it was, there were always dozens of small rebellions that were still counted against her. Rubbing at it helped a little, and she slowed her pace again, caught her breath, as she neared the exit of the palace. Her hand tingled, and stopped keening.

That hadn’t been so bad, she decided, with a slow exhale. Credit where it was due, she hadn’t said anything to Astarion that went against the dogma. The problem wasn’t the words themselves, it was the receptacle, and Shadowheart’s sure knowledge that saying those things to Astarion was guaranteed to have a specific effect on him, and one that was not entirely in keeping with Shar’s wishes.

It was fine. The girl was no specific target. It wasn’t as though Shar had sent her to collect Isolde—she was nobody, just a convenient wandering, despondent waif. Easy to collect. Shadowheart had been nearly instinctive about the whole thing. It was only when she saw Astarion that she reconsidered what she’d just done to Isolde. To the pair of them, really.

Astarion was not doing well, even for him. For all his faults, Shadowheart had to admit that she had always enjoyed their conversations. He had a way of being present and attentive that she appreciated. It helped that he was so easy for her to read, even—perhaps especially—when he was lying. Today though, she had seen him losing focus, guarding something. Successfully. She was impressed.

And Shadowheart hoped it was just the girl. He liked her more than he thought he should, and he didn't know what to do with that. Cute.

If that was all it was.

She didn't want to consider what else it could be.

Nothing good.

It was shaded and blue outside, dark enough that lamplighters were out. She could see them like fireflies in the vast view of the lower city below the balcony.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a small bodied person shift beside the same trellis she'd been lurking under when she met Isolde. A child? She started, but her eyes barely fell over the little golden-skinned gith when her hand suddenly spasmed, anticipating a bolt of pain before she felt it, almost warning her to brace herself. The pain was so intense that it blinded her, stopped her breath. She felt her knees come loose beneath her. She didn't realize she was falling until her body connected with the ground.

She was prone there until she managed to catch a breath that became a whimper that she had to stifle. She sat up, afraid to look at her hand. It was as bad as she had ever seen it, no longer faded to pale scar tissue, but angry and inflamed once more. 

Left in silence, she did not need to hear her mistress' voice to know how she felt. Shadowheart’s passive efforts to give Astarion a little motivation to mend things with his paramour had been noticed. She should have known better than to try and do anything clandestine that Shar wouldn't approve of. The clandestine was part of Shar’s domain.

“Forgive me,” she murmured.

There was nothing to see beside the trellis any longer. Shadowheart was certain she hadn't imagined the child.

#

After the office door clicked closed, Astarion wondered if he really ought to just let Shadowheart go, but only for the few seconds it took him to decide that trying to make her stay was too dangerous an idea to entertain. He probably could force her to undo what she’s done to Isolde, but he could just as easily do it himself, without risking the wrath of Shar. Besides, there was a very good chance that Shadowheart had already done everything that she safely could do for them; she’d changed her course after battering Isolde and then let him know, in her own way, that he had put Isolde at risk with his pointed neglect, and that Shadowheart (and by extension Shar) had taken advantage of that risk by digging into the pain she was experiencing.

The emptiness lingered in the air, making it just a little bit harder than it had ever been to get up from his desk and leave the office. That effect of being in Shadowheart’s presence wasn’t always so bad. She had been a normal half-elf maiden when they first met, but as her power grew, so did the mantle of Shar. He thought she probably had some ability to temper the effect, but if so, she hadn’t done so. Not tonight.

Astarion felt heavy, numb, and wholly ill equipped to try and bring Isolde back from the edge of despair. But, there was nothing else to it. Probably the easiest thing to do would be to initiate physical intimacy.

Yes. Easy. Direct. But, perhaps, not effective.

The only way to combat the thick miasma of Shar’s emptiness was to live, to feel, to be fulfilled. Sex could do that, but it could also be utterly empty, something he was sure Shar took advantage of whenever possible. He had centuries of experience to know that.

As he walked down the hallway to Isolde’s room, listening for some sign that she’d gone back there. If he focused he could sense her heartbeat and flowing pulse just out of sight and through a layer of stone. He paused, considering his options. If he just strode in there right now, with no idea what to say or do, he would default to old habits, something he was sure Shar could use.

Alternatively, anger was something. Anger was a feeling, just as reviled by Shar as any other feeling that existed where she thought there should be nothing at all. If they fought, that might drive away the supernatural oppression that they were both experiencing.

But, a fight might just as easily play into Shar’s game. He couldn’t practically believe that he would keep Isolde out of the House of Grief by fighting with her. 

He didn’t want to actually hold her captive either.

That really only left one option and it cowed him to a standstill, to have a staring contest with her door.

He had to talk to her. Really speak with her, and get her to acknowledge and work through all the feelings that he’d so intentionally cultivated in her over the last few, silent days.

And he wasn’t sure he was up to it.

It had been so easy to wound her, when he himself felt so wounded. Between the revelation about her heritage, his unknowing contribution to her isolation and insecurity, and trying desperately to avoid thinking about the real reason why he’d instinctively brought Aurelia back, he wasn’t emotionally ready to talk.

Especially not to Isolde.

If he didn’t, he’d probably lose her. Really lose her. Not just in the sense that he wouldn’t see her again—that was ultimately acceptable. But in the sense that she’d be actually lost. He might remember their time together fondly, alone, and even that small comfort would always be tainted by the knowledge that he’d destroyed her. Shar would take everything, because he let it happen. That was what Shadowheart had been telling him, in her own jarring, “dark lady bless me” kind of way.

He shut his eyes at her door, and tried to quietly rehearse what to say. Maybe he should just tell her outright that Shadowheart was a Sharran—but, that had its own risks, maybe the strange little morbid raggamuffin would be more intrigued. Maybe, he’d upset her enough that she wouldn’t be able to hear his entreaty. It might be wiser to just talk about what had passed between them and to try and repair the damage he’d done. Wiser, and, if he was honest, less cowardly.

But, gods, it wouldn’t be fun. It would likely hurt, and humiliate him. Maybe her too.

He turned away from the door. He’d come back after a warmup.

He couldn’t just jump into this unprepared.

At the far end of the hallway, a fuzzy Alice froze, someone else—smaller, slipping behind her. One of his groomsmen? He seemed to remember one of them being lamentably short without the excuse of being a member of a small bodied race. “Alice—do you know if Aurelia is awake?”

“Ought to be,” Alice angled herself strangely, so he didn’t see the other person clearly as he simply turned down the next hallway.

He’d talk to his sister first. That conversation was going to be rough as well, but at least only one of them would be smothered under the heavy cloak of Shar’s ‘embrace.’

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — May 12-18

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This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

05-12 → Gong Jun reposted a post in memory of the 2008 Wenchuan earthquake. Added caption: "I have never forgotten it in the past 16 years. Bless Wenchuan with everlasting life." The same was also reposted by his studio, added caption: "Remember the pain and pay tribute to the new life. May the world be well and the country and the people be safe."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted fourteen photos from Go Fighting! episode 4. Caption: "Unlocking the limited baby-raising day! The clown brother @ Gong Jun Simon battles wits and courage with the kid brother, slaying the whole audience~ 😎 Please look forward to more exciting things"

→ Go Fighting! episode 4 aired. [full ep with subs]

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted three memes of him from the Go Fighting! episode.

05-13 → Za posted a commercial featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of "Zhang Zhehan" running.

→ PRSR posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

05-14 → Nothing of note.

05-15 → Gong Jun posted a commercial he did for Messika, announcing himself as their new spokesperson. (1129 kadian) Caption: "Delighted to join forces with Parisian fine jewelry brand @ Messika. Please follow me to explore the charm of sliding diamonds and experience the 'new attitude of diamonds' together." He also posted this to his Instagram, caption: "Shine bright like a diamond." (originally in English)

→ Messika posted two photo ads [1] [2] featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian on the first)

→ The Instagram posted five photos of "Zhang Zhehan" running and two photos of feet, because Hewitt can't resist sharing his fetish.

05-16 → Gong Jun posted four photos from his ad campaign with Messika to his Xiao Hong Shu. Caption: "Ouch See you at Cannes, the next stop for work photos ✌️" One of these was also crossposted to both his and Messika's Instagrams.

→ One of the antis sued by Gong Jun is currently being restricted from high consumption (ie. not allowed to use first-class public services) for not complying with court orders. The anti in question had been running over 20 different accounts that he used to promote Zhang Sanjian and other associated people, and to harass and post malicious content about Gong Jun. No prior history of him being a Zhang Zhehan fan has been found, strongly suggesting that he was paid to run these accounts.

05-17 → Two photo ads Gong Jun did for Tissot were crossposted both both their Instagram and his.

→ The Instagram posted five photos of "Zhang Zhehan" and five of scenery.

→ Gong Jun attended the Cannes Film Festival, where he walked the red carpet for Kinds of Kindness. Fan Observation: At one point some fans in the audience yelled "Ba!" In videos, you can see Gong Jun smile and wave at them. 🥺

→ Jia Nailiang posted a silly douyin of himself and Gong Jun. Caption: "Why is our transition by clinking glasses different from others?"

→ Gong Jun posted nine photos of himself in Cannes. Caption: "Encounter with a widdle pubby." These were also posted to his Instagram, caption: "Wandering in Cannes. 🐶🐶🐶" (originally in English)

05-18 → Gong Jun's studio posted another six photos of him in Cannes. Caption: "A classic suit style paired with a unique hand-made corsage (feat. Children of the Stars), @ Gong Jun Simon's inspiration is unfettered, warm and healing, listening to the sound of every lonely universe turning."

→ L'Oreal posted a video of Gong Jun arriving in Cannes.

→ Za posted a promotional video spoken by Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

→ Gong Jun's studio posted six photos of him in the red carpet at Cannes. Caption: "Red carpet moments! The beautiful southern France and the gentle breeze illuminate the character of the gentleman @ Gong Jun Simon."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from the photoshoot at Cannes. Caption: "The beach? The market! @ Gong Jun Simon’s citywalk has its own ideas 😎"

Additional Reading: → The novel This Time It's Real by Ann Liang was discovered to include several mentions of Gong Jun, specifically in the context of him being an example of a beautiful man. → Something I'm able to include here because I'm late lol: It has been announced that Gong Jun's drama Fox Spirit Matchmaker: Red Moon Chapter will premiere on iQiyi on 05-23.

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[enhaloverss]

Do you hate me? pt. 2

After a dinner full of gossiping, laughing and stolen glances between the Gryffindor and I, we made our way to the dungeons to go to our dorms, me following Violet because I obviously didn’t know the way. While we were walking, she was telling me anecdotes about the castle and the classes we were gonna share tomorrow, which were potions and divination in the morning with students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw and after lunch (the moment I was waiting for the most) we would have flying lessons with the Gryffindors. Not the wisest choice if you ask me, I don’t think after having eaten like you do on Christmas Eve flying is the best option. What was actually cool is that we were finished with our day after flying, by four. Violet told me it was not usual to get that much spare time so we should use it wisely.

Upon entering the common room, I immediately thought it looked amazing. There was a big fireplace surrounded by wooden couches topped by hundreds of fluffy blankets and yellow and green colored cushions. I just wanted to throw myself onto one and stay there until the next morning. The room was illuminated by candles which gave It a really cozy vibe. On one of the walls was hanging a painting of a woman, holding a cup of beverage.

-Violet, who’s this?

She turned to me, before looking at the painting.

-This is Helga Hufflepuff my dear.

She said to me, while putting her hand on my shoulder.

-She’s the founder of our house.

-Yeah I kind of got that with the name you know?

She laughed before asking me how I thought the room was.

-It’s cool, I like it. The plants look amazing tho, do you use magic on them?

-Sometimes, but nothing’s better then just watering them every morning. We’re supposed to do it in rotations but I always avoid it.

-I could take yours if you want, I don’t mind.

-We’ll see if you still think that after being completely soaked ten minutes after you just woke up.

We were interrupted by our prefect telling us that it was time to go to bed since it was already ten, and we still needed to shower and tidy our rooms. And one thing was crystal clear, we needed to wake up at seven the next morning, breakfast was at eight and classes began at nine.

We entered our room and it looked like the common part but tinier and with more furniture of course. There was two desks, one bed for each person of course and shelves to put our clothes and stuff on it.

I was sharing the room with Violet and another girl from our year, Sarah.

I was finishing putting my clothes and all of my other stuff on my shelf when she talked to me for the first time.

-Hey, I’m Sarah, nice to meet you.

She extended her hand and smiled at me.

-Y/n, nice to meet you too.

She seemed like she wanted to say something else for a minute but maybe she thought she could save it for later, or not.

-Look, I know you’re Sam’s sister and I promise I don’t care about it, I just wanna be friends with you, you seem cool.

I smiled at that, maybe not everybody was gonna be interested in my status more than my person.

-Thanks, and it’s cool don’t worry, it’s not like my brother’s in Azkaban or something.

Violet showed me the showers and told me that I could use it in the evening or in the morning but not both, so I settled for the morning, I can’t go to class feeling dirty personally. The three of us changed into our pajamas and went to bed. It was only ten thirty so I decided to get a book and read for half an hour before going to sleep. I picked one about magical creatures that I already started a few weeks ago. I’ve always liked magical creatures, observing them in Beauxbâtons was one of my favorite things to do in my spare time. I hope Hogwarts has as much as my old school. One class I know I was gonna enjoy for sure was magical creature’s care.

The next morning I was woken up by Violet’s loud ass alarm, that I urged her to stop.

-Jeez Violet, did you enchant that thing? Why is it so damn loud?

-I don’t even know myself, I’ve been trying to get it to shut up for the past year but I don’t know how to turn it off.

-Why don’t you just smash it?

-It’s a gift from my mom she’d kill me if I do.

I groaned before getting up and heading straight to the shower and putting my uniform on, a plain grey skirt with a shirt and of course, the famous tie harboring the colors of my house. I decided to also put the high knee socks because why not and got out of the shower. When I came back in the room, Sarah and Violet were dressed and waiting for me. They were both night shower persons.

The temperature in the dungeons was really cold compared to the inside of the room but it got better as soon as we took the stairs to the Great Hall.

There were already a lot of students inside when we got here so we decided to quickly sit somewhere before there was no space anymore. I chose to eat some eggs and a slice of bread, despite the stares of Violet, who was way more of a sweet breakfast kind of girl.

-Seems like we really are opposites, between the shower and this.

I pointed out to her, while she smiled before telling me the corniest sentence I’ve ever heard.

-That’s why we’re made to be friends.

-Oh my god don’t ever say anything like that again.

We were bickering and going back and forth at each other while Sarah was holding her tummy because of laughing so hard.

-By the way y/n, you’re born in December aren’t you?

-Yes, 1st why?

-Oh so you’re the only one who’s still fourteen you baby.

-Hey, there’s only a few months left before I’m fifteen, don’t tease me like that.

-Kidding kidding, we’ll do something big for you birthday I swear.

-Why am I scared.

-With Violet and her weird ideas you should be.

-Hey!

Violet suddenly got up and started chasing Sarah in the hall, leaving me laughing like crazy at the table, but a bit ashamed at the same time that these two were my friends. I was finishing my plate when I noticed a shadow on the table, right next to me. I turned around smiling.

-You’re done chasing each other?

But instead of seeing Violet or Sarah, I met none other than Yang Jungwon, who was staring at me, his gaze once again piercing my soul.

-Hum, hello?

He just stared at me before furrowing his eyebrows and finally letting his eyes wander somewhere else, coughing a little bit when he probably figured that starring at someone wasn’t the most polite thing, and finally carried on to his table.

My eyes were fixed on his back, watching him go away before turning back to my plate, confusion written on my face.

Violet and Sarah came back running probably from having seen the interaction from the other side of the room.

-What just happened??? said Sarah.

-Yeah what the frick was that about?

-I don’t know, he just stopped here, looked at me very intensely and then just left.

-Man that’s weird.

-Yeah, you tell me about it Violet.

I said while turning around, seeing him at a table with his friends, his behavior completely different, laughing with the biggest smile ever.

We realized it was already eight forty five and we needed to head to potion class if we didn’t want to be late, which we definitely didn’t want to be according to Sarah.

-Professor Snape doesn’t like Sarah at all, explained Violet, she’s really bad at potions and blows a cauldron at least two times a week.

I laughed at that while Sarah was sulking.

-I’m trying my best Vi, you know that.

-Don’t worry Sarah, I’m also not that good at potions, we’ll cry together, both from the lessons and Snape.

I said while intertwining our arms.

The door of the classroom was already open when we arrived and we sat at a table with two other girls, both from Ravenclaw. We said hi to each other and got our stuff out.

Minutes later the professor came in and explained really quickly the lesson of today.

We were gonna do a common antidote. Or ‘try to do it properly’ said professor Snape while eyeing Sarah, who just smiled in return.

The recipe was pretty simple and I was actually surprised at myself for doing it right. Maybe I was just struggling in Beauxbâtons, or it was just a simple one and things were gonna get complicated, who knows?

Violet finished her potion in first and Snape allowed her to clean her stuff while he was checking on the other students. I finished mine ten minutes later and I felt like Snape analyzed my face more than my potion.

-Good enough y/l/n, but I must admit your brother was better.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at his comment but nodded and got up to wash my cauldron, Violet in the background trying to hold back her laugh.

-Your face was priceless.

-Does this dude always get into personal stuff like that?

-Yep, once he told Sarah she was bad because her parents probably never told her about it.

I tilted my head to the side, not understanding.

-Sarah’s parents are muggles.

My eyes went wide at that statement and I whispered for nobody but us to hear.

-That asshole!

-No chatting in the classroom, if you are done cleaning your cauldrons you can go you are dismissed.

We waved to Sarah on our way out and told her we were waiting for her in the corridor to go to our next class together.

She nodded and continued her potion, hoping to finish on time. We waited a little further in the corridor for her and started talking to pass time.

-So, what did you think of your first class?

-I would’ve rather for it to be something else than potions but I’m glad Snape went easy on me.

-Next is divination, I hope you’re ready because this class is something.

-Do you need to be high to understand what the teacher is saying?

-If someone is high it’s her trust me. By the way, I think you were too immersed in your potion to notice, but you got someone’s attention.

She wiggled her eyebrows at me in a playful manner and I scoffed.

-Who?

-His name is Cole, a Slytherin, he is a third year like us.

-God it was already enough to have one guy’s attention on me.

-You should talk to him, he’s cute.

-Thank you for trying to be my wings-woman but you know sometimes being cute isn’t enough, take Jungwon for example.

She nodded before turning her head back at me.

-Wait a minute, you thing Jungwon’s cute????

-I mean, did you see the guy, he’s far from being unattractive and I know I’m not the only one that can possibly be thinking this.

-You’re actually right, he’s pretty cute.

-Oh my god, I’m free, FREE.

We turned around seeing Sarah running towards us while holding her book in a dramatic manner, repeating that she thought she was gonna die.

-Come on Sarah, let’s go to divination, you can sleep all you want in this one.

Her face lit up at that comment and she grabbed our hands to run to divination. Our next class took place in the astronomy tower, a beautiful aisle, the tallest point of Hogwarts. I was glad to finally be able to feel the air and breath, after an hour of class in the dungeons were it smelled like rotten carrots this was heaven. We took place in the middle of the classroom, Sarah complained that she couldn’t sleep well if she was to close to Trelawney, her sudden screaming bothering her.

Professor Trelawney was a weird lady, but quite interesting I must say, I don’t honestly know if she’s believing in what she says or just playing along.

She gave us the work of “reading in the crystal balls to see and try to understand each others future”. Sarah fell asleep pretty quickly, tired from Snape’s harassment and Violet and I were trying to understand whatever we could of this class.

-Okay Violet, I see, hum I see…

She nodded, interesting in what I was about to say, her eyes showing excitement.

-I don’t know I don’t see anything except weird smoke wandering inside that thing.

-I had hope in you! Come on tell me I’m gonna be drowning in money!

-Unfortunately, this might mean that you are gonna end up really poor Violet… Sorry for you.

-Man, it sucks…

We looked at each other briefly before laughing, waking up Sarah by the same occasion.

-Girls, my dream was good.

She said sadly, us apologizing a hundred times before getting back at laughing at whatever stupidities we were saying.

The bell rang and I was actually surprised at how fast students were getting up, not even paying attention to the poor teacher who was trying to give homework. This class really was the opposite of potions. As soon as we got to the Great Hall, my stomach was rumbling because of the delicious smell that was lingering in the air. We opened the heavy doors and found a table to sit at.

We didn’t waste a second and got up to fill our plates with delicious foods. I opted for a slice of meat pie and sweet potatoes. I then filled my glass with water and when I turned around, I noticed that Sarah and Violet weren’t next to me anymore, but a few meters away from me, saying goodbye to a boy I only saw the back of, but recognized the green and silver robe.

-Who was that? I asked as they approached me.

-Remember the guy from potion class, Cole?

Answered Violet.

-He asked your name, seems like he fancies you.

Continued Sarah, wiggling her eyebrows at me and giving side eyes to Violet.

-Don’t pull that face, I don’t even know the guy I’m not gonna date him.

-If you say so… I’m still hoping to see some romance tho, from one of you two!

Violet sighed at Sarah’s comment, before asking her when she was gonna find someone. The pair bickering once again. Seems like the great hall was their favorite place to do so.

-Anyways, we should eat guys, next is flying lessons and we’re gonna need some strength believe me.

We all agreed at Sarah’s comment and decided to dive in our plates and get our stomachs full, but not to much, it’ll be better if I don’t throw up and embarrass myself in my first flying class.

The training stadium was great at this time of the year, a little breeze was making our hair slightly dance and was bringing freshness. We each grabbed a broom and walked in direction of professor Hooch, ready to start the class.

-Okay everybody, welcome to your first class of flying of this year, I’m excepting you to behave as well as to stay focused once in the air since accidents happen quickly. We are gonna learn how to do a roll. Miss y/l/n, I heard that you already learned it in Beauxbâtons?

All eyes were suddenly focused on me from both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and it took me quite a second before focusing back on the teacher and answering her.

-Hum, yes, we’ve haven’t learned diving neither loopings but we did learn how to roll.

-Perfect then, can you do a demonstration and maybe help students who aren’t comfortable on their brooms?

-Yes professor of course.

I slowly advanced in front of the group, not comfortable myself in giving a demo, rolling was something I only did a few times last year and I hadn’t flown on a broom since then.

I sat and quickly breathed out, trying to ease my stress before launching. The roll was pretty quick to do and I thanked my muscle memory for remembering how to do it well.

I landed back on the ground, silence overtaking the class before professor Hooch started talking again.

-Wonderful y/n! You fly great, you should start thinking about applying to be in the Quidditch team, 10 points for Hufflepuff.

I turned around to meet the proud faces of Violet and Sarah, smiling at me like proud moms and showing me their thumbs. I went back to them before thanking our teacher, and the lesson started.

Some students started trying, failing most of the time on the first attempt which was normal. All except one. I was looking up the sky when I saw a Gryffindor failing once, before successfully doing a roll and landing on the ground. Yang Jungwon.

Professor Hooch felicitated him, also giving points to his house before also telling him to help the other. The hour went on with me trying to explain to Violet how to do a roll without her breaking her neck and she actually did! I jumped in her arms when she landed, proud of her. Sarah on the other side did her first roll twenty minutes ago and didn’t stop since then.

-Sarah!!!

Both Violet and I screamed from the floor. She came to us, her hair in all places and her cheeks as red as the Gryffindors ties.

-What?

-Stop going around like that you’re gonna throw up.

She laughed and came back down, realizing that we were probably right. Miss Hooch whistled and the class was dismissed and allowed to go. Violet and Sarah were ahead of me when I noticed my shoelace was untied, I crouched to tie it back, telling them they could go again and I’d join them in the library in a few minutes. When I stood up again, something hard crashed in my back, or rather someone. I quickly turned around to apologize, when I came face to face with none other than the dark haired Gryffindor boy.

-Oh, hum, I’m sorry, I didn’t see that you were coming.

He just looked at me with an expression I quite didn’t recognize before getting back to normal and continuing walking.

-Do you never talk?

I asked him smiling even tho he couldn’t see it. He stopped in his tracks, and mumbled something, probably choosing whether to answer or not. After a few seconds, he turned back to me and came closer.

-What exactly do you want me to say?

I don’t know how to explain it but he sounded exactly like how he looked, if that makes sense.

-I don’t know, anything. Are you just gonna stare at me and go away each time we meet?

-Do you want me to start a conversation, to be my friend? Because that’s not gonna happen.

-Ouch okay, hum rude. Anyways, pleased to meet you.

And this time I was the one to go away, passing him before muttering a quiet ‘shithead’ that I hope he didn’t hear.

When I arrived in the corridor, I realized that I actually didn’t know were the library was. I was about to go full on exploration mode when I noticed a familiar figure approaching me. I sighed and mentally cursed, before the person was right in front me.

-Hey, hum, y/n right? We share potion class, I’m Cole.

-Hum, yeah. Would you tell me where the library is please?

-Yeah of course no problem, I could take you there if you want.

He said smiling with a weird look in his eyes, and I wondered for a moment in what sense he meant it. I was suddenly not feeling really comfortable in his presence.

-No it’s fine I’ll go alone.

-Sure?

-Yes sure.

-Alright, it’s on the first floor.

-Thanks.

I continued walking when he stopped me, grabbing my arm. What the fuck. I tried to distance myself a bit for him to stop holding onto me, and he did, thank god.

-I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me sometime, you know, get to know each other.

-I’m not sure I’ll have time for that.

I answered distancing myself again, trying not to sound like I was lying, even if I was.

-Or we could grab lunch together if you think-

-I don’t think she wants to see you at all Cole.

Interrupted a voice. I looked over Cole’s shoulder to see none other than Jungwon, leaning on the wall only a few meters away from us.

-Jungwon! Nice to see you again.

I honestly didn’t think I’d say that one day but I was actually pleased to see him right now. At least he knew how to read the room.

-Can’t you see the girl’s not interested?

-How would you know that? I believe you don’t have a lot of experience with girls.

-No need to have to understand she doesn’t want you unless if it’s five feet away from her. And if by saying that to me, you imply that you have experience with girls, sorry to break it to you but harassing doesn’t count.

Cole didn’t answer but just fixed him and I thought for a moment he was gonna punch him in the face, but the tension was broke when we heard footsteps approaching.

-There you are! We started getting worried when we saw you weren’t arriving.

Sarah said, before looking between the three of us, surely noting the weird atmosphere.

-On time. I said quietly only for me to hear.

I joined them and looked back one more time, seeing Jungwon going back to the stadium. I’m gonna have to thank him later.

-What was that all about?

Asked Violet.

-Why don’t we go to our room, we’ll go to the library after I explained you guys.

And with that, we were on our way to our dorm.