#because i quite simply will not miss apple season

[toomanywatchers]

So I saw this popular post floating around amid the Watcher drama-

-and here is my response to that with some iconic Watcher quotes:

Shane: "What's the deal with cousins?" - in TMS season 3

Ryan: "Hey dipshit, are you scared?" - in TMS season 3

Steven: "What's the trauma version of nostalgia?" Shane: "Trauma?" - in Pod Watcher ep 5 (aka the glorious Nose Soap Apple ep)

Shane: "I don't like people to acknowledge me as a human being." - in Are You Scared of Working Out

Ryan: "Class dismissed, you little blue ball sack." - in Puppet History's The Dreadful Demise of the Dinosaurs

Steven: "Who cares, man!" - in Making Watcher ep 4

Shane: "As soon as there's an element of competition, my brain just quits" - in Weird Wonderful World Roller Derby ep

Ryan: "You killed me!" Shane: " You're dead?" Ryan: "Yeah, because you asked for a blowjob." - in Survival Mode Demonologist

Steven: "Oh, I can't process the world right now." - Steven Eats Through Korea for 24 Hours Straight

Bonus one from the Patreon because I think about this moment at least once a day:

*answering the question on when would a gen z bark* Sam: "during doggy style?" Shane in disapproving dad voice: "Sam!"

and that is just a few quotes that I think about or quote from time to time. If you have a favorite quote and want to add to this post to out-ratio the original blogger- go for it!

Now my little rant that I've been trying to keep in but imma just add it here: it seems that most of the haters throwing out nasty comments seem to be old BFU fans who only watch Ghost Files and can not let go of the past and does not realize that BFU has been over for almost 3 years now. Guess what?

It's.

Never.

Coming.

Back.

It's totally ok to miss and grieve the loss of something you love, but continuously comparing Watcher to just BFU is tiring. Watcher is so much more than BFU, and if you guys would just simply read Watcher's company motto then you would know that.

So how about instead of living in 2018, you come and join us in 2024 and recognize that Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara, and especially Steven Lim are still fucking hilarious alongside the wonderful team at Watcher.

ps: I decided to use a screenshot and cut out the name instead of reblogging the op's post because I simply do not want to give them any more attention.

[spacedlexi]

Hi Lexi

What do you think of partially blinded Vi? You never seem to draw her that way, and I kind of just wanted to know what do you think of it as a certified Vi lover.

I personally think that while something like this can be "cool" (as in, being beneficial to the character design), it's handled quite poor for Vi and it just looks a bit... ungrateful. Simply doesn't look good, doesn't fit her personality or character (am I missing something?) and it doesn't seem to fit or suit her...unlike Kenny's iconic eyepatch. To me, it has become a pivotal thing in his design to a degree in which Kenny with both eyes seems a bit odd looking. I see it as a symbol which stands for Ken being a martyr and all he's lost and sacrificed. He is all about family and helping those he loved, his loved ones truly were the "apple of his eye". It all makes sense, doesn't it?

But for Vi, it's excatly the opposite. I'm just so sorry to see her like this. 😭😭😭 I don't think it makes sense in any way. Louis losing his tongue because he's so talkative and "won't shut up" does kind of make sense, but I cant help but see Violet losing sight as kind of lazy writing. "We need something bad happening to her!!! suffer the children!!!'- the writers exclaimed.

i think vi losing her eyesight is incredibly impactful on her character and i honestly dont understand why some people say its lazy writing. especially since it was foreshadowed multiple times. vi losing her eyesight i think is even more impactful on her character than louis losing his tongue because at least louis still has his music to express himself and uplift spirits through (and its not like he cant communicate At All. his note still makes clem laugh). the reason i dont draw blind vi very often is because of how sad it is to me. for multiple reasons

violets whole thing is wanting to be able to protect the people she cares about, and feels immense grief and guilt about the times she feels shes failed them (thinks if she had been there with the twins that day that she couldve done something to save them. feels she failed everyone taken by the raiders. is scared of failing clem too "if something happened to you because of me? i cant lose you too. i wont". its why she cant leave minnie after shooting her. and a kidnapped vi attacks clem because she doesnt want anyone else to get hurt. hell it even ties back to her grandma and feeling guilty about not doing anything for her)

so for her to lose her eyesight? she took pride in her ability to fight and now she cant do that anymore. cant protect the people she loves. and as someone who started the season as an isolated loner, it forces her to rely on those around her for help, stripping her of her independence (and her independence is what allowed her to stand up against the group for clem when it came to the marlon situation in ep2). a blinded vi is forced into accepting community, whereas a saved violet accepts it on her own. her and clem turn ericsons into the home violet could never see it as

the other reason blind vi makes me so sad is that it is Directly a result of clems actions. kidnapped vi had nothing and wanted nothing to do with the bomb, and yet shes the ONLY ONE who gets hurt by it. clem choosing to let vi be taken means clem both breaks her heart, and then burns out her eyes. louis and his tongue is between him and lilly and was a choice THEY each made outside of clems direct influence (even if it was clem who inspired him to speak up, it is ultimately his choice to keep talking, and lilly hurts him for it. its sad he gets punished for a character moment, but clem had no direct hand in him losing his tongue. its why hes not angry to see her in the cell. he doesnt blame clem for what happened), but the way vi is feeling in that cell is DIRECTLY due to clems actions. vi feels like clem abandoned her after she had put herself on the line for her multiple times. she always had clems back but clem didnt have hers. clem is the one who planted the bomb and vi gets caught in the blast. clem hurts her emotionally And physically. and vi apologizes for getting upset (she tries to apologize on the beach too before theyre forced out in the cart, so she felt wrong for those actions immediately even tho they were understandable. lilly and minnie used her moment of weakness to get in her head. she just wanted everyone to be safe)

kidnapped blinded vi is just so incredibly sad to me, especially when you compare her to a fully realized violet. a violet who has come into herself, has confidence, has opened up, has stopped pushing people away out of fear and lets herself love again. shes a leader. a fighter. a protector. and those are all things a blinded violet loses

neither vi losing her eyes or louis losing his tongue is supposed to add anything to their characters. its about what theyve lost. both of them have important parts of their identity stripped away from them after being taken by the delta. its supposed to be sad. heartbreaking. regrettable. unfortunate. they have not gained anything by their time at the delta, only lost important parts of themselves to it

[stranger-chichka]

Mike is a character who we associate with the blue color the most, right? Also, blue is kinda associated with the Upside Down and Vecna because of that blue light we see there.

Blue is the basic color of mlm pride flag. It was created in 2019. And you know what? In russian slang голубой (which is translated as “blue”) means “gay" and it originates from the '60s.

Almost every outfit Mike wears in s4 is blue.

credits to @lesbianmindflayer from your fellow subscriber who try not to miss any video analysis! <3 Also, I feel you'll be quite excited about the following thing, which is the origin and usage of that slang in relation to the gaybirdgate too.

The phrase “fly, doves, fly” used to warn gay men in russia reminded me of the moment when Dustin navigates Murray in s3. “Fly right, Bald Eagle. Fly right.”

The phrase “fly, doves, fly” used to warn gay men in russia reminded me of the moment when Dustin navigates Murray in s3. “Fly right, Bald Eagle. Fly right.”

Mike is also associated with an eagle because of the poster he had in his basement and later gave to El.

Eagle is a symbol of America. America -> Mike. I don't want to go in-depth here, because that's the whole other thing, but I'm adding the links on Nintendo and Americantendo theory, which I wrote based on @nadia-zahra 's observations and my posts about Erica ("you can't spell America without Erica") for those who're interested what is the connection. BUT the gaybirdgate is not closed yet.

Nintendo theory;

Nintendo 2.0 (Americantendo);

@doriandrifting 's post, connected to that theory.

Erica will take Murray's place in s5;

Erica is level 14 in D&D;

Erica & the spaceship;

Erica & "I Want To Break Free" easter egg;

Erica & opening the door;

Erica & Tina's Apple Jack's party (+Murray's The Bald Eagle poster analysis);

The phrase голубая мечта (translated as "blue dream") caught my attention. The expression appeared under the influence of the famous play (with a very fairy-tale-like setting -> "It looks like a fairytale") "The Blue Bird" written by Maurice Maeterlinck in 1908. The blue bird is a symbol of happiness that has been in the home all along; the children simply have not recognized and valued it.

As we already know, dreams are one of the key themes and focus in ST, especially in season 4 with “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, but let’s not forget about “Never Ending Story.”

Not only has it a line "fly a fantasy," but "dream a dream, and what you see will be." What is Mike’s blue dream? Of what is he dreaming secretly? Or better say, of who? It’s a rhetorical question for bylers. But the GA will find out too, with the help of Vecna and his mirror (aka the visions he shows to his victims of who they really are). The answer is upon a rainbow. Literally.

In the picture of Mike's room I pinned above, you can also notice a heart with a heart, cloud, rainbow and something written on it.

"Rhymes that keep our secrets will unfold behind the clouds, and there upon a rainbow is the answer to a neverending story." "Without heart, we'd all fall apart." Will's words rhyme and Mike is Will's heart.

@angelwithnightmares 's guess is it may say If you can dream it, you can do it" (Walt Disney's quote) and doesn't it connect the dots? Taking into account @madwheelerz manifestation theory and how Mike (the writer and the DM) & Will (the artist) -- the duo with huge imagination manifested the events in ST because of their dreams nightmares feels very real to me.

PLUS, I'm tagging @there-was-a-hole-here-itsgonenow and adding links to her Disney’s Figment the dragon posts here and here, because HE IS IMAGINATION. We can spot him in the Bingham house below Suzie’s window. When we hear the birds are singing outside. Behind the yellow & blue curtain.

What made me do this post may you ask? Listening to Mike's playlist. There are two songs with the word “blue.”

#12: “Can’t Shake That Feeling” by Grum

#33: “Blue Monday” by New Order

And plenty of songs about the dreams too. I counted seven of them.

#7:

#13:

#15:

#17:

#25:

#27:

#47:

[wisteria-winter]

Like I had a dream of Season 2 last night, and weirdly it seemed exactly like what Season 2 might actually be like in terms of reveals. Like it turned out Alastor was actually a fraud, he didn’t kill all those overlords when he first got to Hell, but rather lied and said he did, and began attaining some power over the years with that rep, never a lot but enough to beat out smaller names, that being why he was so dependent on smaller deals like those he had Rosie keep an eye out for. He wasn’t pacing himself but desperately trying to live up to the myth of the Radio Demon. And it turned out Husk had been more powerful than Alastor when he acquired his soul, and the day he did was just as stressful for Alastor as it was for Husk. Then Vox tried to have him join the Vees, Alastor turned him down since he didn’t want to truth of his power being much lower than thought being found out, they got in a fight, and Alastor was legitimately hurt but managed to hide it and leave before Vox realised, just as he did with Adam. Alastor then encountered the real force responsible for those overlords going missing: Eve, the first woman. Basically in the world of ‘Hazbin’, before Heaven and Hell, there was simply Good and Evil, literal personifications, concepts given awareness. Good was the first to gain mass, becoming God, creating the angels and then Earth, Adam, Lilith, Eve, while Evil was left a simple force, until Lilith formed the apple of free will and gave it to Eve, infecting her with Evil, and so she became its embodiment, God’s counterpart in evil. Who could be seen in the opening storybook in the first episode, Go(o)d a closed eye amongst clouds, Evil a red eye(s) and smile amongst darkness, I checked once I woke up to ensure that shot was real. So basically all descendants of hers, humanity, would have both good and evil within them: the reason Adam was in Heaven was that in spite of being a jerk, he never had Evil as a concept within him. So what neither Alastor or Eve would have known was that because of this, he was among the few that could ever kill her (Evil), and now that Niffty took him out of the picture, the only ones left who could do so are Lilith and Charlie, the only ones of human descent not to be infected with Evil on some level (angels not having the right stuff to make it work). Anyway my dream had it that Alastor and Lilith hadn’t really met, but once Alastor made his deal with Eve, and she got herself a representative, Lilith felt it, and immediately fled to Heaven. And we would find this out since in Season 2, overlords started to go missing again as they once did before, only this time Alastor couldn’t really claim credit. My dream ended before it was clear who had killed them, whether it was Eve trying to find a new rep (the process having dissolved the souls of most whose wills were not powerful enough to escape her, before she had found Alastor, who would have spent the seven years he was gone attempting to escape her mass, regain corporeality to act on Eve’s behalf), or whether it was Lilith trying to figure out which overlord was Eve’s rep and wipe them out, but it did feature Vox be killed later on in the season, and Valentino and Velvette had a beautiful mournful ballad in response to this, like with her being the source of all Evil in this world I could have seen Val apologists in real life saying all he did wasn’t his fault because of her, what her influence did, which wouldn’t be great, but the scene my mind came up with was (great). So anyway Alastor’s purpose would have been to prevent redemption within Hell from being possible, since it would ruin Eve. It seemed surprisingly plausible to canon as we know it: I was thoroughly impressed with my subconscious mind on waking up.

Oh, that's quite a delight

I too am impressed by your subconscious mind I can imagen something similar to this being fully possible

I do find that Alastor just taking credit does seem odd though, (Like he'd practically be putting a target on himself, by doing it), unless he had some connection and knowledge of what was actually going on.

Possibly he could have been chosen at random, just needed a sinner no one knew, or they could have had some underlying connection before he fell into hell.

Then when chosen, he wasn't really part of how it happened, but had a part in making sure that the screams were heard. I can imagen that he could have gained some power from the overlords that were taken away. So that when he was powerful enough, that's when he announced it was he who did it. For at that point, if someone did attack him, he'd be able to defend himself.

And maybe when he announced himself, that was when his support stopped and the reason he seemingly haven't attacked any of the newer overlords (for he doesn't have the power too).

And that's when his real struggle began, having to truly work himself up, but now without the extra help.

Meaning the power we see from Alastor is mostly just his and what he got in the beginning. Implying that when he says that he wants to "unclip" his wings, he means that he wants to get the support back. Possibly trying to find a way to force them to help him again. Maybe find a way to control them (like a puppet on a string)

I do really like the thought that Alastor is mostly just going on "Fake it till you make it” and is able to fool everyone in hell. Especially on the part with Husk, where he was truly bluffing and possibly betting everything he had obtained until that point. Yet, still able to win the soul of one who's whole deal was being able to gamble good.

It sounds like a very risky move though, so I wonder how many of those he did. I'd think he did most of them in the beginning, just after the announcement, to gain some extra power fast and prove to himself that he could do it. (Like it was some sort of test)

And then after that he'd move onto just smaller deals, to ensure that his powers were steady and increasing (+ wouldn't be easily overshadowed)

As for being hurt by Vox, maybe Alastor didn't start with small deals until after being hurt by Vox. Like being hurt there made him realize that he needed more power, but to not make it to obvious he focused on just some small deals (while still doing his daily radio segments of screams. (Something I'd assume he'd gain some power from))

___

I do also like the image of Alastor, badly hurt, crawling back to his radio tower, only to be meet with his 'benefactor' Eve. Her smile wide as she berates him over how weak he's gotten, "How could he have not seen it coming?", "I though you were better than that."

The it's like she's trying to get him to depend on her again, letting him fall deeper in her trap, and the worst part is, it's kinda working. Though he steadies his resolve and declines her offer, trying instead to gain power the 'normal' way (with a little help from his friends).

__________________________

I like your interpretation of the storybook,

It's a interesting way to explain why Adam could be in heaven despite him acting like he does. [ He never bit the apple -> never got corrupted -> free entry to heaven ]

And it's an interesting thought, that Adam would be one of the few threats to Eve(Evil) (Considering that his exterminations might have actually been beneficial towards her).

Though, as you said, him dead leaves us with only Lilith and Charlie as the only real threats towards Eve(Evil). Which doesn't bode to well, Charlie isn't one for combat and Lilit seems to be MIA up in heaven.

___

It's an interesting thought that Alastor and Lilith have never interacted, but instead the reason they'd both went missing at the same time is simply because they were affected by the same event.

Possibly, he had another fight with Vox, semi-lost and fled (but was able to corrupt the video files so all that was left was the parts where Vox was seemingly loosing). Then he was meet with Eve(Evil) and decided to take up the offer, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. The deal then being that event (that started the 7 years).

Though it does make me curious, why would Lilith flee to heaven when Eve got a representative? And wouldn't Lilith be at least a little bit suspicious of Alastor, considering how he seems to stand out from the rest by virtue of his 'origin'?

__________________________

Having overlords going missing being a big part of season 2 would be quite a way to start things off. I'd assume, at first everyone thinks that it is Alastor’s doing. Then, due to the fact that he doesn't know anything about it, he tries his best to not answer and is mostly just very vague. Until the hotel crew notices that there is no way it could be Alastor, for they were with him when one of the overlords went missing. (Though they are still a bit suspicious that he knows something or might have an accomplish that did the deed.)

___

You have an interesting idea of what happened during the 7 years,

Which I understand as after Alastor accepted the final deal he was practically absorbed by Eve(evil)/hell, becoming incorporeal, and had to work his way out. Possibly having to create a body/puppet to inherit (which would be why he is sometimes shown being a bit stitched together). So after being stuck for 7 years he finally escaped and found a sort of refuge in the hotel. (Maybe the reason he hadn't visited Rosie in a while was because she lives quite a bit away and he was worried he would be caught without an escape. Meaning having Charlie with would ensure some sort of safety, especially now in which she'd promised him a favor.) Though I'm not fully clear on if Eve allowed him to escape. Like, did she want him to go to the hotel? Like maybe in an attempt to find a way to heaven so she can invade and take it over. Also meaning that whatever deal they have would still be with them. Or did he manage to escape on his own, without her approval and traveled to the hotel as a safe haven? If that was the case, then what happened to their deal? Would it not break the terms to escape? Maybe the terms where broken and that resulted in Alastor falling deeper into her clutches. To which Eve(Evil) proposed a new deal, one where he had to go to the hotel and find a way to get to heaven. In addition, he should do his best to keep the status que of the exterminations. She doesn't really tell why, but he can probably guess that she gains from having them be a thing.

___

Going back to the overlords going missing and the possibilities of why.

I'm unsure on it being Eve(Evil) trying to find a new rep, considering that Alastor should still be in her control. Though I can imagen that removing overlords might be a way to threaten Alastor, tell him to hurry up. Like maybe she can't hurt him or something, but she can hurt Rosie. So, each time he hears an overlord has disappeared he always fears that it's Rosie. Getting more and more paranoid after each one. (Would probably also try and convince Rosie to stay at the hotel, but she can't, she has a whole town to take care of.)

As for it being Lilith, it does feel like she would have a suspicion it's Alastor that's the rep. Considering his public backstory and the fact that he went missing when she felt the deal fall into action. So I'm unsure of what her reason to take out overlords would be.

___

The idea that Vox will die at the later end of season 2 is quite intriguing. Makes me curious on how it would happen. Wonder if Alastor would have any part to play in it, or maybe Vox was one of the overlords that went missing?

I can imagine that the Vee's at first didn't really show that they cared over Vox not being with them anymore. Then they start cleaning up his stuff and reminisce about all the things they've gone through together. Possibly giving us a little musical number showing all the fun things they've done together, like watching sports and ruining the life’s of everyone in hell.

___

Do you mean that the dream showed Val's actions weren't fully his and were instead influenced by Eve(evil)?

(Do you remember how the scene went?)

Like in a way I can see it being true, but that's mostly in the sense that everyone is on average 50% good and 50% evil, as you mentioned before. So, he'd try and push the blame on her, when in reality he was just indulging in the evil within.

__________________________

Having Alastor's main goal being preventing redemption is quite interesting. Especially considering that most seem to think it's impossible. Which would mean that Eve(Evil) knows that knows it's possible and for some reason doesn't want it to happen.

Which makes me curious of, why? Having redemption could result in:

1. No exterminations -> Less power gain each year

2. Redemption = Good person is vaporized -> Nothing from that person can be absorbed -> Less power gain

Which I can see being things that Eve(Evil) wouldn't want

Still though, having Alastor help the hotel seems pretty counter productive to that goal. Realistically, if Alastor hadn't showed up, they would only have Angle who most likely wouldn't have too much fun at the hotel without the bar and Husker. (Just look at how unengaged he is in most exercises)

Considering that, maybe Eve(Evil) could use redemption in a way? Maybe there is a way, through redemption, for her to break into heaven? Like, when Sir Pentius was reformed, he seemed to have skipped the gate and went directly into heaven. Now imagen if Eve(Evil) was able to do that without losing the (Evil). Like, if she was able to get in, then maybe she could corrupt everyone? Leaving no one around with the ability to stop her, or something like that

___________________________

TL;DR

That's a pretty cool dream!

Like the idea that Alastor didn't really have powers and was mostly faking it during his prime. Though too add to that, I'd say it feels like he had to have had some help in the beginning, just to kickstart his fame and give him a good starting point in terms of power.

And having his purpose be to prevent redemption has some interesting implications in regard to what Eve(Evil) want and knows.

___

Also, Thank you so much for sending the ask!

Sorry that it became so long, (it's around 1900 words), but I wanted to go through it all, hope it's to your delight ᵔᵜᵔ

It's a really impressive dream and it would be really fun if parts of it became true

[rikasfundingassociates]

[New Chatroom] A Sparkling Surprise.

This chatroom originally took place on April 1st, 2023.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

--- [ACTOR has entered the chatroom.]

[ACTOR]: hmm... so quiet!

[ACTOR]: you people are so busy.... certainly you could spend some time to keep me company, hm?

--- [HEIR has entered the chatroom.]

[HEIR]: I'll put a bookmark in my work just for you. ^^

[HEIR]: It is really quiet today, though. I wonder why ...

[ACTOR]: [HEIR]! oh darling it's so lovely seeing you ^^

[ACTOR]: I wonder if it's because of the holidays... so much to do this time of the year

[HEIR]: That's true too ... I guess spring around this time does get quite hectic.

[ACTOR]: Any big plans✨ or just the same old same old?

[HEIR]: Nothing that I'm aware of ... I'm only looking forward to Easter because of a close friend, but that's really it. I'd love to plan something more worthwhile though ... Lately, I've only ever around after work. T T

[HEIR]: What about you? Do you have anything coming up? :0

[ACTOR]: ohhh just the usual! Well- aside from all the seasonal stuff! It's fun being able to be on the opposite end of the runway this time of year for sure...

[ACTOR]: I know I'm one to insist but I'd love to have you model some of my clothes sometime! ^_^ You'd look dashing in anything

[HEIR]: I've never done anything like that before .. but I appreciate the offer!

[HEIR]: Perhaps one day, I can.

[ACTOR]: Lovely

--- [ASSISTANT has entered the chatroom.]

[ASSISTANT]: 😑

[ASSISTANT]: Notifications.

[ACTOR]: 😅

[HEIR]: We apologize ...

[HEIR]: But it's simply too quiet!! :(

--- [GAMER has entered the chatroom.]

[GAMER]: omg!!!.. u have a good point!

[GAMER]: it is kinda quiet... not anymore though ^^!

[HEIR]: Not anymore indeed!! >:) Hello, [GAMER].

[GAMER]: HI [HEIR] !

[ASSISTANT]: It's fine, I suppose.

[ACTOR]: aw... come on [ASSISTANT] cheer up where's the pep in your step darling?

[ACTOR]: And yes! hello [GAMER]

[GAMER]: :]! helloo..

[GAMER]: u should totally cheer up !

[GAMER]: it's the first of the month!! new month new u..?!

[ACTOR]: I quite like that motto

[ASSISTANT]: It's nothing special, really. But fine, I will refrain from being annoyed. I just find it to be unprofessional for my phone to be buzzing while at work.

[ACTOR]: ... you're still at work?

[ASSISTANT]: No, but I'm doing work at home and it's the principle that matters.

[HEIR]: So productive!

[HEIR]: But I fear the stress ...

[ASSISTANT]: ...

[HEIR]: .. If you insist.

[ACTOR]: work, shmerk, I get a little tired hearing about it...

[ACTOR]: so happy to see you all in one place again

[ACTOR]: at least... almost all of us

[GAMER]: awwww...

[HEIR]: It is fun to see most of us here together. I miss this kind of thing...

[ACTOR]: I miss the days we would put on those parties...

[HEIR]: I MISS THOSE DAYS TOO!!! They were so much fun ..

[HEIR]: We need to get out heads back in the game!! We mustn't stall any longer!!! One of these days will be the right day. I know it. I am ... confident.

[HEIR]: .. ^^;

[GAMER]: this is so!! nostalgic!! omg..:]

[ACTOR]: it certainly is... just like the good old days now isn't it?

[ASSISTANT]: You all are in quite the reminiscing mood.

[ASSISTANT]: But... I suppose that this isn't too bad. I've only hear stories of the parties you used to throw, and I would like to see what you all can do one day.

[ASSISTANT]: With my help, of course.

[HEIR]: Of course ..

[GAMER]: YEAH!!! ofc ..<3

[GAMER]: i think reminising is nice sometimes. its always fun aswell^^!

[ACTOR]: I am hopeful of the future call it wishful of me, but I can feel it in my bones. There will be another party I swear by it

[HEIR]: Well if that's wishful, then I'll be wishful with you!!

[ASSISTANT]: Ah. Speaking of.

[ASSISTANT]: It seems I have received a... few strange emails.

[ACTOR]: hm?

[HEIR]: ?!

[HEIR]: Strange emails?

[GAMER]: whatt?? do u have any idea who it's from?

[ASSISTANT]: Yes.

[ASSISTANT]: Perhaps I am being a bit jumpy, but it's almost as if they're applications.

[ASSISTANT]: Applications to join the RFA.

[ASSISTANT]: Which I do not remember sending out.

[HEIR]: We haven't hosted a party in a year, who's sending out applications now? Did any of you guys call for volunteers?

[ACTOR]: i haven't no...

[GAMER]: ?!! not that I remember ;;;..

[ASSISTANT]: None of them are from anyone I'm familiar with either.

[ASSISTANT]: We've gotten 6 so far. Which is... very strange.

[ASSISTANT]: Nothing in common from what I see either, at least, what I can find googling their names.

[ACTOR]: ,,, maybe it's a prank 😅 April fools?

[HEIR]: If that's the case, what a cruel prank that is...

[ASSISTANT]: I doubt it, this has been over the past week, not just today.

[GAMER]: maybe..!? what if we like... got hacked....;;

[GAMER]: that'd be a super planned out prank..

[ASSISTANT]: Hacked? Don't we have measures for that?

[GAMER]: YEA!! thats why it'd be crazy if it happened..

[HEIR]: This is so weird.

[ACTOR]: I hope it's just... nothing

[ACTOR]: it's so very strange

[ASSISTANT]: Indeed.

--- [HACKER has entered the chatroom.]

[HACKER]: WHO DID IT.

[ACTOR]: oh my- is everything alright?!

[HEIR]: ??!

[GAMER]: WHAT

[ASSISTANT]: [HACKER].

[HACKER]: DON'T ACT ALL INNOCENT

[HACKER]: ONE OF YOU IS CAPABLE OF HORRORS BEYOND HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

[ACTOR]: dear heavens...

[HEIR]: What are you on about???

[HACKER]: OKAY !!! OKOKOK

[HACKER]: OK

[HACKER]: imagine !!!

[HACKER]: no wait i need to properly conceptualize my experience

[HACKER]:

>be me

>its a hot day and i want to browse the tube !!

>i got for a good old reliable, dr. pepper

>IT WAS NOT RELIABLE

>MY MOUTH TASTES LIKE BUZZING

[HACKER]: i know one of you recognizes that story now...

[ACTOR]: ...buzzing????

[ACTOR]: isn't that just the carbonation..?

[GAMER]: DUDE

[GAMER]: DID YOY GET POISONED

[HACKER]: THE EQUIVALENT OF POISON, YES

[HACKER]: THAT WAS NOT SODA CARBONATION

[ASSISTANT]: How dramatic.

[HACKER]: THAT WAS SPARKLING WATER.

[GAMER]: OH NY GOD

[GAMER]: how many fingers am i holding up

[HACKER]: seventeen

[HACKER]: anyways did you do it

[GAMER]: oh my god....

[GAMER]: :dove:

[HACKER]: please avenge me..,..,.

[GAMER]: I WILL!!!!

[HEIR]: Pardon me for laughing but ... that sounds really silly, [HACKER], I can't help but giggle.

[HACKER]: YOU CAN'T BELITTLE MY TRAUMA !!!! THIS IS VERY SERIOUS

[ACTOR]: This is a bit entertaining^^ you always manage to make me laugh [HACKER]

[HACKER]: i know it's april fools and all... but this is a new low for even me

[ASSISTANT]: Who's not to say you're pranking us right now?

[HACKER]: DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY MOUTH.

[GAMER]: it's ok [HACKER].. it's ok. im here....

[HEIR]: Gasp ...

[HEIR]: The plot thickens

[HACKER]: I CAN SEND RECIEPTS.

[GAMER]: no :(

[GAMER]: pls do not

[HACKER]: thank you, [GAMER]... at least someone understands ...

[GAMER]: i do ....

[HACKER]: i still continue to struggle to understand how anyone could ever enjoy sparkling water

[HACKER]: what is there to like about it !!! its the antithesis of everything fun and cool and good

[HACKER]: it looks like water .... but it HURTS

[ACTOR]: sure, why not^^ send the receipts if you wish I'm a little curious

[ACTOR]: wouldn't you have noticed your dr pepper was in fact not that?

[HACKER]: i don't know !!!! it was in the regular can and everything

[HACKER]: the lovely logo was there as always to greet me

[ACTOR]: oh my.... this all sounds so elaborate...

[GAMER]: that's a lot of effort to prank u... seems personal... ;;

[HACKER]: that's why i KNEW it had to be one of you !!

[HACKER]: only someone who knew my deepest weakness could hoodwink me so well

[ACTOR]: what a silly case of who dunnit....

[GAMER]: bamboozle

[HEIR]: Sounds like dedication, really

[ASSISTANT]: And a lot of free time, which I don't have.

[HACKER]: evil genius and pure diabolicaness !!!

[GAMER]: i could never be that evil.. wasn't me :broken_heart:

[HACKER]: who could ever have it out for poor me...

[ACTOR]: I don't really have much of an alibi outside of me just knowing I did not do it

[ACTOR]: I guess my innocence comes down to trust

[HEIR]: Yeah.. I didn't do it either :(

[HACKER]: i trust you, [ACTOR]

[HACKER]: the others, not so much...

[ACTOR]: :adore: how sweet, [HACKER]

[HEIR]: You don't trust me ?!

[GAMER]: omg

[GAMER]: this is getting intense...

[HEIR]: I'm wounded ... T T

[HACKER]: forgive me [HEIR], but you're like the peak stereotype of a sparkling water enjoyer

[GAMER]: am i not trustworthy!! i comforted you during this hard time... </3..

[HEIR]: HEY WHAT

[HACKER]: THE IMAGE IS SO CLEAR

[HACKER]: SITTING IN YOUR SKYSCRAPER WINDOW OFFICE AT YOUR DESK... FANCY GLASS IN HAND

[HACKER]: filled with what, you might ask?

[HACKER]: SPARKLING WATER

[ASSISTANT]: Not to point fingers but anyone who aims to appear more innocent would instantly comfort the victim, especially if they were the culprit.

[GAMER]: HUH!!

[HEIR]: For the record, my fancy glasses are typically filled with RED WINE. AND!!! EVEN IF I WAS A SPARKLING WATER ENJOYER (Which I am not.) ... What could have possibly possessed me to have even an ounce of dedication to impose such a prank on you?!

[HACKER]: joyous whimsy

[HEIR]: I'm wrongfully accused. :crycry:

[GAMER]: oh my god ive set myself up...

[GAMER]: it's just us , [HEIR]

[GAMER]: watch my back ill watch yours...

[ACTOR]: how intense!

[HEIR]: nuh uh ... I think [ASSISTANT] has a point ... You're more suspicious than me!!!

[GAMER]: NOOOO

[HACKER]: [GAMER] MY BESTIE

[HACKER]: be honest with me

[HACKER]: .... did you do it ?

[GAMER]: NEVER!!!

[GAMER]: i wouldn't dream of it :(:(

[HACKER]: I DON'T KNOW WHO TO BELIEVE !!!!

[GAMER]: WE BONDED!!!

[HACKER]: WHAT IF IT WAS A TRAUMA BOND ...

[HACKER]: STOCKHOLM SYNDROME ...

[GAMER]: THAT WOUOD MEAN I GOT TRAUMATIZED TOO

[HACKER]: MAYBE YOU DID

[GAMER]: WHAT IF SPARKLING WATER GOT SNUCK INTO MY DRINKS TOO

[HACKER]: FROM PRANKING ME

[GAMER]: NOOOO

[ASSISTANT]: You people and your theatrics...

[ACTOR]: it's almost like a soap opera...

[GAMER]: IT WASNT ME....

[HACKER]: BUT IF YOU DIDN'T NOTICE...

[HACKER]: DOES THAT MEAN YOU LIKE IT?

[GAMER]: NO

[GAMER]: NOOOOOO

[HACKER]: [ACTOR] HELPPPP

[GAMER]: HELP....

[HACKER]: THE ONLY PERSON I CAN TRUST

[HACKER]: WHAT DO YOU THINK

[ACTOR]: hm...

[ACTOR]: oh i hate choosing between friends >.<

[HACKER]: one of these people ISN'T a friend

[ACTOR]: :hehe:

[HACKER]: i was never good at mystery games ...

[ACTOR]: nor was I!

[ACTOR]: does this make me the watson to your sherlock?

[HACKER]: it's merely elementary ...

[ASSISTANT]: And juvenile. You all have a very funny way of going about this.

[HEIR]: :rose_giggle:

[HACKER]: don't you see how life or death this matter is ???

[GAMER]: :broken_heart:

[ACTOR]: come on now [ASSISTANT]... this situation is very dire...

[ASSISTANT]: :raised_eyebrow:

[HACKER]: don't you care about the security of the RFA !!! if there's a rogue prankster in our midst theres no telling what else might happen !!

[ASSISTANT]: :jaeheesigh:

[ACTOR]: i think.... the culprit should confess... and if they do we will forgive them <3

[HEIR]: Well, it wasn't me. That's for sure.

[HACKER]: i won't.

[GAMER]: IT WASNT ME!!

[ACTOR]: then who WAS it??!

[HEIR]: What a cliffhanger ...

[HEIR]: Perhaps, we will never know. :(

[ACTOR]: ... :SCsorry:

[GAMER]: omg...

[HACKER]: i guess a prankster can never reveal their ways :"

[ASSISTANT]: Certainly. That would spoil his fun.

[HACKER]: yeah .... that IS true ...

[ACTOR]: ...

[HEIR]: Hm

[ACTOR]: [ASSISTANT] darling, that is a funny choice of pronouns ^^

[ASSISTANT]: I know.

[GAMER]: ....omg........

[ACTOR]: is there... something you want to tell us?

[ASSISTANT]: Hm?

[ASSISTANT]: Oh, I suppose.

[ASSISTANT]: Sparkling water isn't that bad.

[GAMER]: OMG.

[HACKER]: ………. … .. .. .

[HEIR]: No. Way.

[GAMER]: OH MY GOD...

[HEIR]: NO WAY?????

[HACKER]: IT WAS YOU??

[ASSISTANT]: What it is is spending several hours replacing the doctor pepper.

[GAMER]: YOU MADMAN

[ASSISTANT]: ? Yes.

[ASSISTANT]: April Fools.

[HACKER]: WHAT THE FUH HAKAXZA

[ACTOR]: Oh my :hehe:

[HEIR]: That is a plot twist

[ASSISTANT]: You have been, as they say, played.

[HACKER]: HAHAHAHAHAHA

[GAMER]: THIS IS CRAZY

[HACKER]: I DIDN'T EXPECT THAT FROM YOU, [ASSISTANT]

[HACKER]: i guess you really do learn from the best !!! :3

[ASSISTANT]: Haha.

[ASSISTANT]: Yes, let's say that.

[ASSISTANT]: :)

[HACKER]: i’m dropping off Kirby at your house btw

[HACKER]: and he's not leaving

[HACKER]: :3

[ASSISTANT]: ....

[ASSISTANT]: If you insist.

[HACKER]: enjoy litter box duty, funny guy

[HACKER]: gotta go wash out my mouth, peace !!

-- [HACKER has left the chatroom.]

[HEIR]: :rose_giggle:

[ACTOR]: :adore:

[GAMER]: BYEEEEE!!!

[HEIR]: That was a good laugh :cmere:

[GAMER]: im still processing it... omg...

[ASSISTANT]: I am glad it was enjoyed by all. I spent very long on it. :)

[HEIR]: I would have never expected such a prank from you, [ASSISTANT]

[HEIR]: I applaud you ...

[GAMER]: TOTALLY!!! kudos<3

[ASSISTANT]: I thought it would be nice to step out of my comfort zone as many suggest.

[ACTOR]: Yes yes!!! :UWAH: this was done so well... the commitment...

[GAMER]: YEAH!!!

[ASSISTANT]: I do have to go now, however. I still have work to make up after spending so much time replacing soda.

[ASSISTANT]: Thank you all for your time.

-- [ASSISTANT has left the chatroom.]

[ACTOR]: bye bye :adore:!

[HEIR]: Bye!!!

-- [HACKER has entered the chatroom.]

[HACKER]: IT WAS MORE THAN ONE

[HACKER]: HE FILLED THE REST OF THE 12 PACK WITH SPARKLING WATER TOO

[GAMER]: WHAT

[HEIR]: WOW

[GAMER]: WHATT

[HACKER]: FOOL ME ONCE SHAME ON YOU

[HACKER]: FOOL ME TWICE ....

[HACKER]: im really impressed

[GAMER]: fool u twelve times...

[HEIR]: Fool you twelve times ..

[HEIR]: :rose_giggle:

[HACKER]: no way im throwing the rest of these out

[HACKER]: no... wait...

[HACKER]: that was 10 dollars

[ACTOR]: welll... maybe drop them off with Kirby? he did say he didn't mind it :hehe:

[HACKER]: maybe if i just close my eyes... and pretend ....?

[GAMER]: robbery..

[ACTOR]: no... don't do it !!!

[HACKER]: I PAID GOOD MONEY FOR THOSE DR PEPPERS

[HACKER]: perhaps i will give him the rest

[GAMER]: im so sorry for ur loss.....

[HACKER]: he's probably the only one of us that could make use of them

[HACKER]: thank you ....

[HACKER]: he'll pay dearly one day

[GAMER]: i believe in u ..

[GAMER]: ive gotta like totally process this...

[GAMER]: ill see u guys around though!!^^

-- [GAMER] left the chatroom.

[ACTOR]: Goodbye!! :UWAH:

[ACTOR]: perhaps we can plan something in the future...

[HACKER]: seeya [GAMER] !!!

[HACKER]: you think we can give it another try ??

[HEIR]: I think so. I kind of ,, hope so.

[HACKER]: ... :)

[HACKER]: i'd like that

[HEIR]: ^^

[HACKER]: . crap boss is calling

[HACKER]: see you guys around !! :3

-- [HACKER has left the chatroom.]

[HEIR]: Seeya !!!

[ACTOR]: bye... :cmere:

[ACTOR]: I suppose you'll be off too, then?

[HEIR]: Yeah ... it's getting late.

[HEIR]: I'm still so nervous though. :nervy:

[ACTOR]: Over the applications?

[HEIR]: Yes...

[ACTOR]: me too...

[HEIR]: Getting applications is so lovely and my optimistic side wants to see it as a sign to get things going but it's also so bizarre and weirdly timed.

[HEIR]: And peculiar in general

[ACTOR]: It's not like we'd be looking for people either...

[HEIR]: Right ...

[ACTOR]: Hm...

[ACTOR]: I just hope [ASSISTANT] will be able to handle it.

[HEIR]: I'm sure he will. He's capable!! And generally great! >:0

[HEIR]: I might ask him to forward them to me ... I'm curious.

[HEIR]: But I also want to keep all hopes up! Good energy! Positivity! So if we do end up hosting a party again, it will be smooth. :adore:

[ACTOR]: fingers crossed for all good things then!!

[HEIR]: Crossing my fingers as we speak!!!

[HEIR]: Goodnight, [ACTOR] ^^

-- [HEIR has left the chatroom.]

[ACTOR]: And good to you as well^^

-- [ACTOR has left the chatroom.]

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Transcript provided by [UNKNOWN]. rika's funding association (or the "rfa" for short) is a private, non-profit organization whose primary objective is to make the world a safer and kinder place for everyone. they will pay for what they did to me. can you hear me?

[oracleorion]

The Adventures of The Boys

One bright spring morning, in lovely little forest by a crystal clear lake, sat 4 young, handsome Kobolds, with lovely red scales and, of course, perfectly shaped snouts. They sat upon a fallen log, one they had found already fallen, so as to absolutely not deface the beauty of the woodlands around them, and a particularly large rock, which they had also found, but pushed for several meters.

First, in the most literal sense of the word, was Kil-Kil, who stood at a staggering three feet tall, who hatched before the rest of his siblings by a whole, entire three minutes. Kil-Kil earned his name when some strange, tall creatures kept yelling it at them while he swung his two swords around for all to bask in his simply amazing display of skill. They were all so impressed by Kil-Kil that they ran to tell their friends, and some even fainted and fell right to the ground with how cool Kil-Kil was.

Second was Pow-Pow. Now, Pow-Pow was born as a girl, but he never felt like a sister to his siblings. One day, he told his chief that he did not want to be a sister anymore, and his chief told him "Then you are BROTHER Pow-Pow!" Pow-Pow earned his name from the sound the things he threw at people made. No one was ever quite certain where Pow-Pow found these wonderful tubes of glass and small metal balls. No one, that is, except his chief, who had seen, one fateful night, Pow-Pow being handed these things by a tall, hovering cloak, with arms and legs that stuck from inside it. The cloak did not stick around long though, as once it noticed Pow-Pow's chief, it threw down a large glass jar filled with sour cucumbers and vinegar and disappeared in a confused haze of chewing and splashing. The cloak did leave behind 5 moldy avocados, two whole onions and a pair of discarded leg coverings, far too small to fit the cloak things legs, and smelling of cottage cheese and apples.

But, as I seem to have lost my point, I digress.

Next was Nik-Nik, the smartest and second tallest of the brothers. Nik-Nik earned his name because that was the sound people made whenever they gave him things. Nik-Nik's most prized possession was a rather large book, which was once quite rare and priceless, but had long since been a place for crudely drawn doodles and bright, colours to tell tales words could only dream of. Nik-Nik was the smartest of the siblings because he could some times read and knew how to count all the way to seventeen, assuming one did not care about missing a number here or there.

Finally, there was Chief Snarl, mightiest and fiercest Kobold in all the lands. Snarl was an astounding two feet tall, towering over most bugs and many large, fuzzy creatures. Snarl was the last of his brothers to hatch but was the strongest by several country miles, and even a few city kilometers, but he struggled with certain things, like shapes, colours, names and closing both his eyes at the same time. Oh, but Chief Snarl, strong of heart and brave of body, loved his brothers dearly and would do anything to protect them.

The four brothers sat on their log and their rather tall rock while a bounty of minnows and half of a two day old trout bubbled and sizzled over their roaring fire, which burned nearly as tall as Snarl himself, if one could imagine such a feat! The fish had been delicately seasoned to perfection with saltpeter and charcoal by Pow-Pow with loving care as he threw his little metal things into the water. Pow-Pow always made the best fish. The brothers relaxed in their comfy seats, basking in the warm sun and nice cool breeze, when suddenly, a rustling from behind alerted them all. Well, it alerted three of them, at any rate. In his gracious benevolence, Chief Snarl, who was so brave as to ignore the sound, was drawn to the sound by his wise elder, Kil-Kil.

Snarl turned his head to see two tall fleshy things. They had no scales and their skin was a pail pink colour, but they were so tall. Snarl stared in amazement at these towering behemoths more than twice his size and he knew just what to do. "You welcome, friends! You play?" snarled Snarl in the most friendly Snarl he could, but the giant things looked confused and muttered some unintelligible gibberish at the brothers four. "These poor giants" said Nik-Nik "they don't even know how to talk right." Snarl pondered for a moment before hopping down from his impressively tall rock, and hefted it over his head. "It okay, they understand" he snarled as he flung the boulder at one of the very tall creatures.

Unfortunately, the very tall creatures did not understand, and the boulder hit one of them right in the middle of their body, knocking them over. Their gibberish became louder as the second giant helped the first up and the two turned and began to run from the brothers. "Oh! It worked!" cried Kil-Kil "they're going to get their friends! Great job chief!"

Chief Snarl, strongest of the forest, was proud, and pushed his comfy rock back up to the fire to wait for their new giant friends to return, and eat some very tasty fish.

[zukonostalgia]

Zuko sells pastries and fruit at the farmers’ market, Sokka visits his stall every sunday morning

once a week, Zuko makes his way into the city with a big van, all of his wares stocked in the back, so that he can set up a plastic tables and tablecloths, with biodegradable baskets of strawberries and blueberries, and one full table in the U-shaped set up that’s just his homemade bread and pastries

and he’s usually pretty successful. he sells out of berries and fruit early, because they’re just so juicy and fresh, and then rearranges to present his fruit pastries and blueberry donuts and sourdough bread, but those are a little more difficult to sell. there are a lot of vendors at the market selling their bear claws and apple fritters.

but one weekend, he gets this guy, with an undercut and his hair pulled up, who immediately looks to his bread and pastries 

“whoa,” he says, “what is this?”

he’s pointing at a raspberry tart. so Zuko says, “it’s a raspberry tart. I made it.” he thinks it’s good, but he doesn’t want to elaborate. 

“it looks great,” undercut guy says. “I’ll take one, thanks!”

so Zuko wraps up one of his beloved fruit tarts and hands it off in a little cardboard box. “let me know what you think,” Zuko says, “it’s a new recipe for the pastry.”

and Sokka takes his pretty little fruit tart home, and shares it with his friends. and it’s such lovely, flakey pastry, and tart-sweet raspberry filling. and he’s thinking damn. I want more of this.

the next weekend, Sokka goes back to the same stand, a little late this time, and weighed down with his reusable canvas shopping bag, stuffed with vegetables and fruits that Katara wanted him to pick up

and he’s so relieved to see Zuko’s table still set up

“oh man,” he says, “I’m so glad you’re still here. I was worried you’d have run out of these by now.” Zuko is flattered okay

so he shrugs and says, “we’re more known for the fruit, really. the pastries and stuff are just on the side.”

“well yeah, but they’re so good. I don’t know how you’re not selling out within the hour”

and this time he gets a blackberry danish, and picks up a half dozen blueberry donuts to bring home to Katara and Aang and their roommates

and Zuko’s kind of reluctantly flattered, because he’s usually offloading excess pastries onto his uncle, to sell at his tea shop. he never sells out of this stuff

Sokka, charmed by this blushy, grumpy guy, asks “so are you going to be here next weekend?”

“yeah, I’m always here.” he’s looking down to hide how red his face has gotten. “there’s going to be orange-chocolate babka next week. I’m testing a new recipe.”

and Sokka just absolutely lights up, he’s so fucking pumped. “oh my god, man. I will be here.”

and, to Zuko’s surprise, he is. early this time, with a totally empty canvas bag. “I wanted to get here first in case you ran out,” he explains, accepting his loaf of orange-chocolate babka.

“yeah, well. like I said, we don’t usually run out.”

“that’s kind of a travesty,” says Sokka. “I could eat this for the rest of my life.”

and like a flirtier version of himself has somehow possessed his body, Zuko says “well. if you really wanted to, we could make it happen.”

and Sokka’s eyes go wide, but he recovers immediately and says “absolutely. as long as I can taste test all the pastries.”

Zuko can feel his ears go bright red while he aimlessly rearranges some baskets of berries, and says “okay. sounds like a deal. I’m not testing any pastry right now. so maybe I can see how good your taste buds are over coffee?”

and Sokka plays right along, smiling wide with all his teeth and his eyes crinkled nearly shut. “I’ll come back once I’ve done the rest of the grocery shopping. I’ll take you to my favorite cafe.”

and he does. and Zuko is pretty ready to spend the rest of his life with a dedicated pastry taste-tester.

[the-dream-team]

Can I Try Again

Another ridiculously fluffy one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week four prompt: picking berries // I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right // the entire song, pink in the night <3

She is beautiful and he is in a perpetual state of falling. Down and down and down the goddamn rabbit hole, but somehow the further James plummets, the brighter his life becomes. It’s the kind of brightness that blinds him- somewhat painfully- and leaves his vision spotty, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lily Evans walks ahead of him, a spring in her step, sunshine pouring through her hair. She’s cut it short for the summer, just above her shoulders, and he’s mesmerized by the way it bounces around her neck as she walks through the gardens of his family’s home. It’s an image he’s played over in his head an infinite number of times, but his rosiest daydreams don’t hold a candle to the real thing. The afternoon light hits his glasses just right and suddenly there’s a halo of glowing stars framing her as she tucks a dark red strand behind her ear. He can’t even see her face, but it doesn’t matter. I could stare at your back all day.

He is the luckiest boy in the world and every moment is made up of the sweetest form of torture. Agony and exuberance whipping his heart back and forth like a rogue Bludger.

She must know, he thinks. Must have some sort of clue that she’s occupied every corner of his mind for well over a year now. Even more so now, after the platform. He wishes more than anything for the ability to read minds as she glances over her shoulder with those startlingly green eyes, that friendly grin.

He can’t help but smile back- or maybe he was already smiling before she even turned around. It doesn’t matter. By some miracle, she’s here, and he can only marvel at the kindness of fate.

***

It had been a passing comment. One of those early morning conversations as his friends frantically scribbled out unfinished essays while shoving waffles down their throats. Chatter muffled by mouthfuls of eggs and yawning. Remus had commented offhandedly about the fruit bowl being passed around, and then-

“Oh, raspberries are my favorite.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already looking at her when she spoke. But truthfully, he was always looking at Lily, a habit he’d long since stopped fighting once he realized how fruitless his efforts were. She was beautiful and he was hopeless. Simply lucky to be in her presence. She was the sun, and he, but a lonely planet, entirely reliant on and endlessly seeking out her light.

Sirius spoke the words James should have if his mind hadn’t gone fuzzy from hearing her voice.

“You know, the Potters have a raspberry patch in their gardens.”

“Oh, really?” She glanced from Sirius to James with a brilliant smile and excited eyes, so purposefully glued to his that he had to duck his head and rake a hand through his hair to hide his heating cheeks.

“That’s right,” he said more to his plate of sausages than to her. “They’re usually ripe to pick by early August.” When he peered back up, she was still looking his way.

“You should come over this summer and take some off our hands,” said Sirius casually, turning towards James as if it had been his idea.

“Yeah,” he jumped in a little too eagerly. “I mean- if you’d like, you’re more than welcome.”

Her smile widened, rounding the apples of her cheeks in a way that made his stomach flip pleasantly. “That sounds like fun.”

He assumed she’d forget the conversation, it had been just another morning, just another casual chat among housemates, but that didn’t keep him from daydreaming about the potential of a far-off day in August rather incessantly during the following months. But then as the school year ended and summer rolled on painfully slowly (and Lily-less), an owl arrived. And her handwriting crawled across the page like a message written in the clouds.

***

Lily swings the woven basket back and forth in her pursuit of the best raspberries. There’s already an impressive bounty growing in her basket, far more than he’s managed to collect- too busy watching her kneel down and pluck berries off their delicate branches to pick any of his own.

He turns to a leafy bush, green and lively and swaying slightly in the warm breeze, and quickly pinches off a handful of berries in an attempt to catch up with her. When she spins around, he’s thankful for the distraction. A minute earlier and she would have caught him staring. Again.

She smiles pleasantly and brushes her fringe off her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist. James’ heart leaps into his throat.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, but not accusingly.

“No I haven’t,” he responds, voice gravelly from underuse. “Just been busy picking raspberries.”

She glances at his measly basket, then back to his face with arching brows and an amused smirk.

He can’t help his own guilty grin. “Alright, Evans, I’m sorry we can’t all be unreasonably talented at everything we do.”

“It’s berry picking, Potter,” she laughs, “not advanced Arithmancy.”

In retaliation, he plucks a raspberry off of the nearest branch and playfully throws it at her. She somehow has the gall to lean her head back and catch the goddamn berry between her teeth. His brain short circuits. He’s quite certain his jaw is on the ground. She acts as though this is no big deal, swallowing the fruit with a satisfied smile, her tongue brushing her lower lip before tossing another into her mouth.

“Oh, these are delicious!”

He can’t form a response even if he wants to. Even if it was a matter of life or death, which it sure as hell feels like. He can only stare at her mouth, at her lips stained raspberry-pink, and lose himself in the knowledge that he knows how they feel against his own- even just briefly.

***

The platform teemed with students stretching their legs after the long journey home from school, saying their goodbyes to friends as their families greeted them for the summer.

A pit sat in James’ stomach- heavy and demoralizing- the entire train ride back to London. He knew she’d be gone soon. Back with her parents in Cokeworth for two excruciating months before their seventh year began. He’d taken their close proximity for granted during the school year, and as he faced a summer without the promise of her warmth, he wondered if it was even possible living in the dark.

He laughed loudly at a joke Peter told, overcompensating for the fact he’d missed the punchline while his thoughts were spiraling over her. Sirius shot him a look that suggested he wasn’t doing a great job of masking his emotions. Had it been so obvious the entire way home? Could she have noticed the despondency in his eyes, heard the heavy thumping of his heart? He rolled his eyes at Sirius and mustered up the most unbothered smirk he could manage.

But then, without warning, she was in front of him.

“Alright, Potter, don’t let your head overinflate while I’m not around to keep you grounded.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Evans,” he laughed, thankful his voice sounded steadier than he felt. “Just so long as you promise to consider switching your loyalties to Puddlemere. There’s no way the Harpies even make it to the semi-finals this season, and I can’t bear seeing you heartbroken again.”

“Oh, piss off, Potter,” she replied, but the way she threw her arms around his neck seemed to argue she didn’t mean what she said. Instinctually, he hugged her back, and thank Merlin he had her to hold onto as the wind was knocked out of his lungs at her touch. An overwhelming warmth sparkled across every surface their bodies met, and it took every ounce of control he had to restrain the truly pathetic sigh that threatened to escape his throat.

“And I haven’t forgotten,” she spoke into his shoulder, breath hot thorough his t-shirt, “you promised me berry picking this August.”

It would be impossible to miss the rapid beating of his heart through his chest pressed up against hers. “I’m already counting down the days.”

When she pulled back, hands resting on his shoulders for a beat longer than expected, his body moved faster than his brain could keep up with. He leaned forward, aiming for her cheek, but miraculously landing against her mouth- connecting for the briefest of moments before parting again, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them. If it weren’t for the ghost of her lips still burning against his own, he might have thought he’d dreamt it.

“Lily, I’m not waiting any longer, we’re leaving, now,” came the unpleasant voice of her sister from across the platform.

Lily’s disoriented smile faltered slightly before she composed herself again, meeting his eye. “I’ll see you in August?”

“Yeah, August,” he somehow said with his mouth still tingling, forever changed by what they now knew.

***

The memory of her lips, how they feel pressed between his smile, is harder to ignore when they’re in front of him. He can remember the warmth where they touched him over a month ago and absentmindedly he brings a raspberry to his mouth so he can imagine how she must taste.

His emotions were hard enough to control before he knew what he was missing, but now they are impossible to reign in. He forgets how to breathe, and as a result, his head spins maddeningly. Unsure of how much longer he can stand up straight without making a fool out of himself, he walks forward and lays a hand on Lily’s back- partially to lead her forward, partially because the desire to be connected to her in any way is driving him mad.

She lets him guide her through the rows of bushes, under an ancient wooden archway, and across a courtyard of blossoming poppies and forget-me-nots enclosed by walls of hedges. Yellow and purple petals reflect brilliantly in her green eyes, creating their own fields of wildflowers within her irises. He walks her towards a wide, circular fountain in the middle of the grass where bubbling water spills over onto stone tiers and pours into the basin below, its floor littered with glinting coins, dancing under the water’s rippling surface.

He sits down and she follows suit on the stone ledge surrounding the water, partially shaded by an impressive plum tree. Cool droplets spray off the fountain, refreshing like summer rain singing I love you, I love you, I love you. Lily glances his way and he wonders if she can hear his thoughts.

“Are we finished picking berries?” she asks, eyes squinting and nose crinkling in the sun.

“I figured you had enough to feed a village.” He reaches over and grabs a raspberry from her basket and she gasps in faux outrage.

“Are you really stealing my raspberries, Potter?”

He adores his name on her tongue. “My apologies,” he says, pulling a silver Sickle out of his pocket and sliding it over to where she sits. She looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “For your troubles. Go on then, make a wish.”

“Oh!” Her eyes light up and she takes hold of the coin, lifting it to her heart as she closes her eyes in search of a wish.

He thinks he could look at her forever. Happy, sunkissed, an unconscious smile playing across her lips. With her eyes shut, he uses a minute to take a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart and compose his dopey grin. They’re sitting close together, knees almost touching with the basket of berries between them. As she tosses the Sickle behind her shoulder, he smells the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo.

She noticeably tries to hide her smile when her eyelids flutter back open.

“What did you wish for?” he asks, unable to stop himself.

She freezes with her eyes locked on his. A pink blush spreads across her cheeks, growing darker the longer he stares back at her. “I can’t tell you,” she says, words sounding choked, “or else it won't come true.”

Her flushed face awakens something in his chest, a confidence that blooms magnificently, turns his nervous, pattering heartbeat into a steady, powerful drum.

His voice drops to a hoarse whisper when he asks, “Can I guess?”

Her breath hitches. “I think you might already know, James.” Her words, the sound of his name, melts him down to a puddle. By some miracle, she continues speaking. “Look, I know I’ve kissed you before-”

“But I didn’t do it right,” he says frantically, his hands finding her face and brushing through her hair. He starts to understand why people advise against looking directly at the sun because being this close to her fills him with such astounding emotion he thinks he might explode. She stares up at him, blush deepening, lips parting, and he takes a ragged breath. “Can I try again?”

This time, when she smiles, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans in slowly, letting their breath mix together, their noses bump lightly before he closes the space between their lips. She’s soft and warm and beautiful and radiant and he’s never felt a happiness quite like this one, never experienced a kiss this perfect. His fingers travel over her scorching skin and brush her neck as he deepens the kiss, tasting the raspberries on her tongue, his heart soaring as she responds blissfully until they’re both left breathless.

“And again?” she asks, pulling him back with a smile against his lips.

“And again,” he smiles back, marveling, once again, at the kindness of fate.

[xo-alie-xo]

PORTWELL LONG GAME OR RINA SLOWBURN.

You can only choose one poison.🍷

Listen up my Wildcats.🐱

We all ship each character with happiness. No matter how much you love to hate them, a majority of us simply adores the characters and want the best for them. Then comes relationships and it's okay to ship our favorites.⛴

I'm a diehard Rina shipper and I know in my heart that they are series endgame. The set up, the natural chemistry, their mutual understanding, the surprises and angst literally put me on chokehold. So I'm 100% a Rina shipper till the end. I'm here for the slowburn and their development rather than one shots. They are worth the pain. 😭❤

Let me start with Ricky Bowen now.

Ricky shouldn't to be with Gina because he's hurting her mentality. He's not insensitive on purpose. Like when he tried to stop Big Red from telling her his message to Nina because he KNOWS it'll hurt her.

If you think, that Ricky didn't understand clearly when Gina confessed, think again. He shushed her. Kept their thing a secret from everyone. He knows he feels some type of way and she feels something too. But this boy is so used to safeguarding his childhood norms and has very little adaptability. Hence, he pretended to ignore everything between them because his home stability was falling apart and he clinged on to Nina, his constant childhood love.

He's a traumatised 16-17 year old boy that needs to heal and grow. This episode was heartbreaking because he had to accept that he had to let Nina go because their once upon a time fairytale had become toxic.

People change. I'm not the same person I was when I was 16 lmao. Being together as childhood lovers means growing together and accepting each other's growth. Which Ricky couldn't. He clutched to the idea of Nini. Even his love confession. It was sooo sweet but all he did was focus on their history.

This boy needs time to heal and maybe seek professional therapy. It would be so DAMN HISTORIC if Disney decides to take psychological issues seriously and show how he's dealing with his anxiety, pills and psychotherapy. He needs to breathe before he can be with any girl for that matter. He's hurting and isn't trying to hurt anyone on purpose. Including Gina.

Him asking her for advice on Nini was a dumb, insensitive move. But he's trying to find a way to build some supportive friendship that they shared in early season one.

As for now, this boy needs to get his own grip on life and heal.

As for our Queen Gina

In Gina's confession, she focuses on their future. She basically said, "I wouldn't quit on a possible future of us being together despite obstacles. Because I never quit. But moving away isn't in my control." Ricky deep down knows this, encouraged her to say it, teary eyed, despite right after getting back together with Nini. Gina is his future. She went to his new house. And I also have this feeling that when she was given a chance to stay, she stayed partly because of Ricky. She left a chance to be with her mom because she prioritised their relationship. Because she never quits. 💪🏼

But she came back and found out Ricky has gotten back together with Nini.😭 What she doesn't know is Ricky got together with Nina before her confession, and after Gina kept dodging his messages. She's hurt and questions why she returned because she isn't particularly close to anyone. Hence, she was so silent at the after party. She thinks it'll be fine, "she'll live", and finds other reasons to find permanence. Her arc this season has been settling down in East High, despite the pain of losing and being 'betrayed' by Ricky, she finds other reasons to stay. 🏡

This kind of contrasts her with Nina. Nina left her dream school and came to Salt Lake because she missed her established home, and not just because of Ricky. Nina returned and was loved and embraced by Ricky Bowen.💕 Gina came back to a semi new place called Salt Lake because of her promise of a future to Ricky. But she got stabbed and she bled. 💔🗡

Think about her situation. She feels confused, alone, heartbroken, out of place and seperated from her mom. She's broken and hurting too. And she doesn't need more from Ricky's accidental or intentional 'sick burns'. That's the one line where he was such a jerk and I can't defend him here. 😠

Here comes the Caswells.

Her second family. A place of healthy stability. A home that accepted her. Ashlyn, her roomie and her confidante. EJ, the misunderstood boy who saw her value and bought her plane ticket.

Let's get to EJ.

At first, I wasn't too keen on seeing Portwell's development. But then that video chat where they talk about the possibility of her staying and him convincing her. Had me sold for a solid brother-sister relationship. Few episodes later, when Gina's pain seemed to be oblivious to everyone, he was the only one who asked her how she was, and saw her glow. The comfort she must've felt.

Not that she needs a man's validation, but she must be feeling like a second choice and feeling a little insecure because of Ricky. But EJ lifts her up and I genuinely saw her smile. This boy has her back whenever. The man she can lean on and truly sees how special she is. She no longer feels alone now that she has his entire fam and other friends. She genuinely feels a place of belonging and happiness when she's the apple of his eye. Notice how happy she is? How happy this boy is? She's going through her own issues and she has found ground with EJ.

I was very doubtful when they started hinting at a romantic direction. Because EJ would be used as plot device again for a girl to get to Ricky.😤 This man doesn't deserve to be second best to anyone, just like Gina.😑 That's why I'm still hesitant on shipping them at least temporarily. EJ needs to be something even more special to Gina. They need to show each other how special and treasured they are to each other despite feeling like rejects. They are each other's source of comfort.

I'm sure they can keep EJ at East High for the next season. Whether it's the drama club, or the AV club or going to a local college. So he will be there for Gina. I don't know how they can work out a relationship with much distance as Rini's fell out when she moved away. So, if EJ leaves again, it'll again shake up Gina. Her being worried whether he'll date college girls, second thoughts, etc. I don't want them to go through that. And if they do move on to romantic Portwell, make sure it's not plot device for Rina. So you can either have Portwell endgame or Rina Endgame.

Basically I want Gina to be treated so right that she understands she doesn't need Ricky. And when he does ask her out, and he makes her feel like a second choice or a rebound, she says NO. Because EJ has helped regain her self assurance. Eventually I want Gina to confide in EJ about her and Ricky. EJ is jealous but also angry about how Ricky has been hurting her. And becomes damn protective of his 'babe'. Ricky gets jealous of their relationship, restarting Ricky and EJ's old rivalry. But this time, it's not because Gina is his girlfriend, but because she's EJ's best friend who he has a crush on and wants what's best for her.

If it's meant to be Rina endgame

EJ- RICKY, YOU IDIOT! You have no clue how to treat her right. You don't put her first. You mislead her. Get the hell away from her! She's too powerful and beautiful, she doesn't deserve your scraps. I know how she feels for you. I wish I were you. I would treat her like a queen. I don't mind even waiting years till she's ready. She deserves that. You're so lucky you have even a small chance that I may never have. So get your act together, prove you're worth it to win her over. All I want is for her to be happy. Even if it's with someone else. And maybe then I'll stop threatening you to stay away from her.😠

Ricky- .....I don't know what I'm more scared of. Change, or losing the girl I fell for or YOU. Okay, losing her but you're a close second.😬

If it's Portwell endgame.

Ricky- I messed up. Make sure you don't mess up with her. You'll regret it forever.

EJ- I'd rather get hit by thousand basketballs than ever hurt her. I'll be her plus one and her best friend until she's ready to be with me. I know she's ready now too. But I want her to know I'm willing to wait till she graduates before we make it official. I'm in it for the long game.

As for their age gap. I'm 100% sure Portwell won't kiss this season. If they do, it'll be next when Sofia turns 18. They are professional actors who are cast because they are the perfect fit for the role and are expected to carry out the storyline. But I suppose fearing some outbursts, they might delay Sofia kissing anyone till next season. It's so weird because Olivia was maybe 17 when Matt was 21-22 when they kissed in season one. But no one had a problem with that. But for this, they do. Remember, they are professional actors. They are acting! Sometimes, actors are over 10 years apart (but above 18) and act as romantic partners.

As for their characters, they are only two years apart. That's hardly any difference once you're over the age of 18. Age of consent is 16. But adults above 18 are only allowed to have sex with adults above 18. So, age isn't a problem here because EJ is a gentleman and is genuinely interested in her and isn't trying to get in her pants. So age isn't the issue when it comes to dating. It's the maturity. Gina is very mature and gives very sound advice. But I can see EJ being patient enough till she turns 18 just to kiss her because he loves her. 😚

As for the Ashlyn remark, "You look like a kid to me rn". He was JOKING.😂 Don't take things out of context. I tell my cousin sister that all the time. But she's three years younger than me and a grown adult. I don't see her as a kid but it's just a cousin teasing her younger cousin that's she's a little immature. I'm Matt's age and I'm very mature for my age and since I was a teenager, I always matched up with boys a little older than me. Now that I'm in my early 20s, I've dated boys even close to 30. So age is just a number.

EJ dating Gina and giving her quick kisses is fine. But to have a strong sexual element in their relationship (including making out), he'll have to wait till she's 18+. And I'm sure for that he'll wait till she's ready even past her early 20s. Age is really just a number and we can't help who we fall in love with. Trust me, I've been there.😂 So I can see EJ feeling conflicted about his feelings that are clear at this point.

They might not be a perfect fit, but they make each other sooo happy. They deserve a lot more than a short lived fling.😟 They are either endgame or Rina is. You can't have both as a Rina unless you're an EJ hater who wants him to exist as plot device. Nope! He's sooo much more precious than that.

But Jack on the other hand....I'm okay if he's the one to make Ricky or EJ jealous. Because he's just been introduced and it's okay if a character is used, but only once, for someone else to realize their feelings. 💁🏽‍♀️

In short.

Ricky needs help and needs to be on his own. No girlfriends allowed.🙅🏽‍♀️🚫

Needs to give both Gina and Nina space for them to grow on their own too.🌳

Ricky needs to understand the core of his problems and become more adaptable via therapy. Maybe the psychologist will point out his unresolved feelings for Gina, or he will conclude it himself. And in comes Ricky-pining-for-Gina season three.

Ricky needs to fully get over Nina before he moves on to anyone. Same for Gina if Portwell were to happen. No one deserves to be second choice.

Gina isn't Ricky's cushion. She's a living person with strong feelings for him and shouldn't be subjected to share his pain. She already struggles with her own issues.

Ricky needs to stay single till he wins back Gina and prove he's worth it. He needs to show even if another girl wants him, he'll never quit on Gina ever again. Even if he has to watch her be with someone else. *cough parallels*.

It's either romantic Rina then Portwell endgame OR Portwell flirty besties but Rina endgame. You and I can choose only one because my boy EJ shouldn't be used as plot device for a girl to leave for Ricky ever again.

Portwell's age difference can be practically solved and isn't much of an issue unless they get hot and heavy before Gina turns 18 which is impossible considering this is Disney. 🤣🤣

Jack and Gina will be plot device material and purely so sentimental to us OG Andi Mack fans. More than any ship, this is what I'm looking for. Sort of an Andi Mack crack ship for season 3a. It's gonna be soooo funny. 😍😂

I respect everyone's ship. I see what you're seeing. And I'm not going to invalidate your ship. But unless it's done right, I won't jump from the Rina ship. I liked Rini. I like Portwell. I like AU Juffy crackship haha.😂 But as for me, I'm still holding on to Rina slowburn.

Preparing myself for the pain. 😭🔥

(But if I had to pair two characters without Disney getting in the way, it would be Gini. The power duo. Undeniable chemistry. They can be written so well because of their layered relationship and contrasting personalities.🤩 The classic rivals to friends to lovers. But that's a talk for another day lmao.)

Thanks for reading my opinion, Wildcat!🐱❤

[aquaticstyles]

unchained

A while ago I was asked for a “Have You Ever Been In Love” sequel, and while this is probably not the direction you guys were expecting, this is what I came up with. Also, this one’s (loosely) inspired by the song “Scott Street” by the lovely Phoebe Bridgers (highly recommend listening to the spotify sessions version while listening). Fun fact, for forever I misheard the lyrics, thinking she was saying “unchained” instead of “ashamed.” After noticing that I have, in fact, been wrong this entire time, I realized I kinda liked my version better (sorry Phoebe). And, me being me, I ran with it and it spun into this quick, 1.4k part two. Reblogs + feedback help so much! Enjoy!! xx, Jane 

“Have you ever been in love?”

Harry’s heart stops.

The question catches him off guard, and not just because he’s not used to interviewers asking such personal ones (he guesses this is what he signed up for when he agreed to be the first male flying solo on the cover of Vogue). It makes his heart stop because of his answer, because of the woman that had once asked him the same exact question.

Harry has never been one to linger in his sadness; he finds it unproductive, and quite honestly, completely depressing. After a break up, one can find the caramel-colored curls belonging to the world’s latest phenomenon sweating out his sorrow, or frustration, at the gym, pounding the boxing bag again and again and again. “Nothing another set can’t fix,” his trainer, Mike, would often tease the man in denial, knowing good and well by his posture upon entering the ring, slumped shoulders and an ever-present crease between his eyebrows, that another one had bit the dust the night prior. Mike had learned fairly quickly to never ask questions, to simply let Harry work out his emotions as he pleases, even if that means letting him walk out with wrapped fists masking throbbing, crimson knuckles.

Harry has never been one to talk about his sadness either; he finds it prolongs the pain rather than diminishing it, an annoying gnat swarming around an abnormally large bite from a crisp apple, halting his progression in enjoying his afternoon snack because he just can’t catch the bloody thing. His sister has tried to break him from his stubborn ways, even resulting to getting the lanky man drunk off tequila in hopes of him finally opening up about his incessant missed targets; however, that only ever ends up with Gemma’s arms holding up the giggling teddy bear and folding his bulky body into a taxi, mimicking cramming a cotton ball into a straw. Therapy was suggested and waved off with an inked palm, because if he doesn’t want to talk to his sister about it, how on earth is he supposed to talk to a stranger?

Never-ending claims of “I’m fine,” and “It just didn’t work out,” and “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” and “It wasn’t even that serious.” Sure, each breakup took a little something out of the man that insisted he was “fine,” but eventually, a couple dozen inked journal pages later, Harry would be back to his normal, happy-go-lucky, perfectly-kind self.

All of these rang true for most of Harry’s young adulthood.

All of these were common occurrences, that is, until Harry met you.

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. Selfless, but not in an over-bearing, walk-all-over-me kind of way. Funny, but not in an underlying-hatred, fake-laugh kind of way. Genuine, but not in a look-at-me, fake kind of way. Honest, in a I-want-to-know-everything-that-makes-you-you, ask-you-questions-until-the-sun-rises kind of way. Drop-dead-gorgeous in the most unbelievable, glowing, ethereal, kind of way that he constantly reminded you of. You were the perfect balance, the missing diamond to even out the coal on the other end of the scale.

Loving you felt like the ocean.

In the morning when there’s a hazy screen covering your lenses, clouding the soft sunlight in a muted, white-washed filter. It’s more gray, yet still golden as the shining mass of fire lazily rises from its slumber. It’s calm, clouds stretched apart like cobwebs in the faded blue sky above, waves leisurely, almost too relaxed, crashing along the bleached shore then disappearing back into the horizon. Still sleepy, still new, an entire day ahead of you.

In the afternoon when the sun is at its highest and hottest, radiating down ultraviolet rays that burn your skin, causing alarmingly red shoulders in need of aloe that soon progressively heal and turn into a bronzed exterior. Speckles of light dancing upon excited waves, similar to a neighborhood of children dressed in pink polka dots and orange overalls running towards the ice cream truck filled to the brim with dreams of sugary stomachaches. It’s saturated, every color its brightest and loudest, pops of cerulean and coral. It’s a blanket of comfort, a suffocating scarf. It’s sweet. It’s sour. A cool glass of lemonade sinking into a bed of quicksand. Annoying and astonishing.

In the night, when the yellowing presence is long gone in the awakening of the moon, the deepest indigo swirling in between pockets of stars dotted and flecked into the atmosphere like freckles. It’s black and blue. You don’t know where the earth stopss and the water begins, familiarity lost as the waves erase each new footprint in the sand. The tide is an abuser, sweet as it sings you in, terrifying as it pulls you under. Skinny dipping, vulnerable, exciting, adrenaline, heart thumping, diving, sinking, drowning.

The morning, the afternoon, the night. The happening, the honeymoon, the heartbreak.

Ever since it ended, everything Harry had ever known was cast aside, thrown out like a Gucci jumper from last season. For the first time in his twenty-six years of living, fourteen of those juggling the obstacles that relationships can and will bring, Harry was irreversibly numb, a pair of frozen, gloveless fingertips blue from the icy wind. Not only did he linger in the gut-wrenching grief, he was absorbed by it. Instead of waking up each morning tucked into the bare side of your body diffusing innocent warmth, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee received by hands much smaller than his own, he woke up with a stranger laying on his chest, cold, with a pounding headache the bottle of whiskey had gladly supplied from the night before. The days felt as if they lasted an eternity, time stuck in slow-motion, tick, tick, ticking, one second, one and a half, one and three quarters, two. He watched the seasons pass, the grass dying and regenerating into its natural emerald shade from his bedroom, dust pocketing in the corners of a picture frame containing two pairs of sparkling eyes and genuine, toothy grins sitting on the windowsill. Nights consisted of him lying sleepless on his back, eyes wide awake, thumbs twiddling as the echoes of helicopters overhead drone in and out. Dozens of missed calls remained unanswered: Mum, Gem, Mitch, Mike, Adam, Sarah, Mum, Mum, Gem, Mum, Mike, Mitch, Gem, Mitch, Mum…

He was stuck, a pancake glued to an ungreased pan, charred. It was when this melancholy had prolonged for nearly its sixth month, and all at home remedies (which included drinking, writing, drinking because he was writing, and writing because he was drinking) failed to provide any peace that he decided to give in to the recommendations from almost every single one of his friends: therapy. After the first session, he was ready to book it and sprint off to a deserted island with nothing but a coconut filled with rum to accompany his solitude. Turns out that one session was the mento to his coca cola of bottled-up emotions, exploding months’ worth of buried feelings and memories in an hour. It took the will of God (and Gemma purposefully lying and telling him they were going to get lunch) to get Harry back in the baby-pink-painted interior of his therapist’s office. After months of talking, sorting, compartmentalizing, yelling, crying, healing, unpacking, and reflecting, Harry tackled down the closure he had been chasing. A year and an album later, when he heard your name, he no longer felt trapped, heart beating rapidly, trying desperately to break apart his ribcage, he felt unchained—a prisoner uncaged, pounds and pounds of metal unlocked from his wrists, free.

Before, your name was paired with a colorless photo album, snapshots of vibrancy draining into black and white, frozen, lifeless, still.

Now, your name resembled a film reel of the best moments, your sweater hanging in his closet, your arm thrown around his mother’s shoulder in a polaroid candid, your laugh echoing in the acoustics of his shower after you nearly slipped on the lavender bubbles coating sudsy toes, your hands massaging his scalp, twisting curls into detailed plaits, your foamy lips smushing against a stubbled cheek, leaving remnants of peppermint mocha in the winter air, your satin skirt contrasting from his purple flares in his backyard, playing thumb war and whispering confessions in the moonlight. The good memories built a brick wall to block out the bad, dimming the light of your downfall.

“Have you ever been in love?” The question echoes again in Harry’s ears, causing a grin and a dimple to pop into his cheek. The fuzzies. Once, twice, three times. Click, shake, tape.

“Yeah, I have.”

[mindibindi]

Beyond disappointed in Ted Lasso. What were they thinking?!

The writing is a complete betrayal and insult to Rebecca’s character and Hannah’s skills as they’re being seriously underused. It’s also insulting Sam’s character.

Hoping someone pulls Rebecca’s head out of her ass tbh. Sam shouldn’t be getting caught in the crossfire of her looking for romance. I know he showed up at her doorstep but she still should’ve turned him away, and not even messaged him in the first place.

Hey, I'm with you, Anon, though we do seem to be in the minority. Sam is definitely not blameless here, he is also in the wrong. But if one of them is more in the wrong, it is Rebecca. I can't speak to whether her head has left her arse as yet because I have quit watching (at least for now). I hear she called it off with Sam in the most recent ep, though not because of any major crisis of conscience or because anyone in her inner circle expressed any reasonable reservations in response to her bad behaviour. And to be honest, I'm not sure we should need to hope and pray that Rebecca's precocious god-daughter, her slimy ex-husband, or the brutal British press will act as a moral compass on this ill-advised relationship. Both Rupert and the press have been set up to some extent as the villains of the piece. And a 14 year old should never have to school her elders on what is and isn't acceptable. Nora's needs have already been neglected by Rebecca for far too long.

If a moral position is to be taken on this, it needs to be taken by the show (because stance matters) and/or by its characters. But the show has for the most part depicted this relationship as ill-advised but ultimately hot, sweet, funny and romantic. As for the characters themselves, Sam has shown at least once that he has some moral backbone but seems to be adorably clueless when it comes to fucking his boss who keeps trying to set boundaries with him. Meanwhile, Rebecca's whole arc in s1 was about learning not to misuse her power for her own selfish ends. In season one, she misused her power within the club in order to exact revenge. In season 2, we have seen her misuse her sexual power, though I still cannot see to what end. I'm a bit at a loss as to what exactly she gets out of this 'relationship' but then I'm a grown woman so I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with a Harry Potter enthusiast barely out of his teens. I couldn't think of anything less sexy and more ick. I was certainly hoping for better character development for her this season.

As to what the writers were thinking, obviously I was not in the writer's room, but I would guess that they were thinking that any drama is good drama, people are stupid and fan devotion will trump any meaningful critique. In other words, they were thinking exactly how every other television writer thinks, despite the fact that this show posited itself as 'not like other TV shows'. This, to me, is where the blame really lies. Not with the characters or with the actors who are doing their best to sell this ludicrous turn of events. It must be noted, however, that both actors were completely blindsided by this relationship that had supposedly been so cleverly foreshadowed. Newsflash: if the people actually living these stories did not see this coming then you haven't foreshadowed shit. Sure, there were a handful of people that paired Rebecca with Sam but this does not constitute proof either. Fans have free-range to imagine and re-imagine characters. In some cases this may extend to imagining relationships between characters who have barely, if ever, interacted. There may be little to no evidence that these characters have even clocked each other's existence and some fans will still ship it. The existence of a handful of shippers does not legitimise such a problematic and divisive plotline making it onscreen.

But wait!, you might argue, this may not be a case of a popular show seeing just how far they can stretch fan devotion. This may not be a case of fan service to a handful of shippers. After all, the creators mapped out the entire three-season arc of Ted Lasso before they even pitched it to Apple. This was their brilliant plan all along! To which I would say: then maybe they should've rethought their second act based on people's strong reactions to their first. Ted Lasso was touted as the show we all needed in 2020. The writers and creators have all marveled at the chord it struck considering it was conceived prior to the pandemic and all the chaos it wrought. And while there is something to be said for having/sticking to a creative vision, there is also something to be said for being flexible and responsive to your audience and the cultural zeitgeist with which you're engaged. Season 1 of Ted Lasso told its story so gently, without creating distrust, division or unnecessary anxiety. It did not treat its audience like a gaggle of stupid lemmings to be led over a succession of narrative cliffs. THIS is what I mean when I say the show has broken with its brand. And look, this whole dark forest thing would be okay if the narrative arc was as well-crafted as s1. Season 1 gave us meaning, cohesion, comfort, sense in a senseless time. It was an almost perfectly crafted season of television. And I kept the faith for 6 episodes, despite the first half of s2 being pretty damn wobbly. But the follow-up to this stellar debut has been less than extraordinary so yeah, perhaps they should've thought a little harder about what made s1 so special before throwing it all out the window.

But wait!, I hear the faithful say, you don't know how things will pan out yet! Wait until the season is over and everything will make sense! But -- wearily and once again, I say -- we should not need to wait until the end of the season to understand what the hell is happening. By this point (over halfway through the season and show) we should have a v clear idea of the show's themes and the characters' arcs. And tbf, from what I can tell there are some fab things happening in other aspects of the show that I wish I could watch and enjoy. But my biggest fear at this point is that they are going to use Sam to solve Rebecca's childlessness. That, like Rupert (because the parallel cannot be avoided), she will become pregnant with a young fling and the show's attitude to this relationship will ultimately be: oh well, it was a bad idea and didn't work out for them but it was all for the best in the end cos who can be mad about a cute lil baaaayyybbbeeee??!! If they do go down this path then I will definitely be abstaining from the rest of the show. I will simply recall my repeated viewings of s1 with fondness tinged with regret at just how badly they fucked up a good thing.

Ultimately, Anon, I think this may be a case of there simply not being a diverse enough perspective in the writer's room. I am not saying that every single woman or every single person of colour will necessarily object to this relationship. I am simply saying that women and people of colour will be more sensitive to the issues of gender and race that are relevant here but that have not been fully or sensitively acknowledged in the writing of this plotline. Neither am I saying that Rebecca is the first woman to sleep with a man much (much, much, MUCH) younger than herself or indulge in an ill-advised relationship. But the comparison with Rupert both works here and doesn't because Rebecca is not being written like a white woman, she is being written like a white man. Realistically, only a white man can engage in this kind of hugely imbalanced relationship seemingly without any major moral qualms or societal ramifications. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this kind of relationship is reserved for all the Bills and Joes and Brendans and Jasons out there -- not for the Rebeccas and definitely not for the Sams. We are way beyond the point in feminism where we believe that liberation is simply the right for a white woman to behave as badly as a white man. The truth is that whatever wealth, power and privilege Rebecca has, the rules are different for men and women. She will not be treated the same as Rupert if and when this affair is uncovered. She will be treated far more savagely than Rupert ever was and Sam will be treated far more savagely than Bex was. This is not an argument for the equal treatment of these two relationships. It is an argument against how the relationship between Rebecca and Sam has been envisaged, i.e. through the wrong perspective. In writing from a 'neutral' white male pov, the show has invisiblised all the many issues activated by this storyline and revealed a blindspot that was always there.

As much as I loved and still love season 1 of this show, it has definite blindspots when it comes to representations of race and gender. There are at least two moments in s1 that stand out for me as being so obviously written by a man. Not necessarily because of what they do but because of what they don't do: what is missed, absent, unacknowledged. I was willing to overlook such minor failings in a debut season for many reasons. But s2 seems to have exacerbated these minor flaws rather than correcting them. And here I can't help thinking of Tina Fey speaking of the diversification of the writer's room at SNL during her tenure as co-headwriter. This notoriously male-dominated environment only began to shift and produce better work when a greater diversity of minds, voices and persepectives was allowed in the room. In this richer environment, she notes, different jokes played differently. Different sketches made it to air. Different perspectives were represented and different performers were celebrated. I can't help wondering if this plotline would have made it to air if there had been a female writer, a writer of colour or both further up the chain of command to challenge the ideas of the straight white dudes in charge.

One of the reasons I didn't think Ted Lasso was for me was that it centred a straight, white, cis-het, able-bodied man who rose to a position he didn't earn. That is just not a pov I would normally choose for myself, especially now that there is such a rich array of alternative perspectives through which to view the world. But I think the show won a lot of females fans with its first season largely due to its portrayal of Rebecca. She is the first person we meet. She is arguably the protagonist of s1. And while she would have been figured as a villain in previous pieces, the show never took that stance with her (because again, stance matters). Other elements like the depiction of female friendships, all centred around Rebecca, made this show female-friendly viewing. But imo, the major reason this show won over female fans (this one, at least) is because, in this post-MeToo, post-TimesUp era, it stood up and said: domestic violence is not okay, we stand with women and all victims of abuse, we will defend you, we know words can hurt, we know it can happen to anyone, we know all about toxic masculinity, we do not take this lightly and we will support you in your healing. Needless to say, this is how women hope men will act when they speak of their most difficult experiences but it is not how they always do.

The shift away from Rebecca this season has however meant that the white male experience is more centred than it was in s1. Rebecca's journey to recovery, health and happiness has been trivialised and sidelined, reduced to a highly questionable sexcapade. Meanwhile, we get overwrought manpain at every turn. We get Beard wandering around London (no, I haven't seen it and no, I don't need to. We've all been raised on white dudes thinking they're genuises when they have a figurative wank all over our screens). We get NO queer represention at all. And the only other female characters on screen are in care/service roles to men. The father/son, mentoring and toxic masculinity themes are all still there but they're no longer balanced out by ANY other competing perspective. One of the reasons I was okay with Ted failing upwards in s1 was that he used his power and privilege to lift up others. He was the one in service. He used his enormous privilege for good, as anyone with such privilege must. (Admittedly, it could be argued that this is just another version of a white savior narrative).

My point here is that I'm not sure that peeking behind the mask at the sad clown is as revolutionary as some might believe. We love it because it's familiar. But this is a narrative with a long and problematic history. Do I believe in tearing down toxic masculinity in all its forms? You bet. Do I believe that patriarchy traumatises men as well as women and every other minority in existence? I mean...nowhere near as much, but absolutely. Do I believe in men expressing their feelings and going to therapy? Wholeheartedly. But I am also aware that 100 or so years ago, we were in a very similar place with our narratives. Everyone is looking for a recapitulation of modernism and frankly, this might be an indicator of just that. Whenever women and people of colour have demanded rights and recognition, there has always been a resurgence of tales about just how frickin' hard it is to be a white man. Minority genders and non-white people have never in western history been as visible or vocal as they are now. So forgive me (or don't, I don't care) if I critique a show not only for centering fathers, sons, boys and men but for blindly and boldly writing one of its only female characters and one of its only black characters as if their gender and race just do not exist. There are many other power differentials at play in this relationship, including age, experience, wealth and position, but race and gender are the two that patriarchy is most invested in invisiblising. So I don't care how brilliant they think they are, I will not trust the writing of a bunch of white dudes trying to tell me that race and gender are irrelevant.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

but it is sunlight

Fandom: Kamen Rider Agito, Kamen Rider Kabuto, Kamen Rider Gaim, Kamen Rider Ghost Characters: Tsugami Shouichi, Hikawa Makoto, Tendou Souji, Kagami Arata, Kazuraba Kouta, Kureshima Takatora, Tenkuuji Takeru, Fukami Makoto, Alain Song: "Sunlight," Hozier (playlist here) Warning: Mildly NSFW--not especially explicit, but people do have sex in this story

a buried and a burning flame – i

A shared day off is rare, but it does happen sometimes, and today the weather is so warm and perfect that Makoto is content to sit on the step drinking a lemonade and watching Shouichi garden.

Their garden space here isn’t as big as the one Shouichi got used to at Professor Misugi’s house, but it’s been expanded upwards with poles and frames and other contraptions that Makoto isn’t quite clear on. Really, they’re lucky to have a plot at all—the restaurant has its own rooftop space, so it’s not like Shouichi’s hurting for plant contact, but he needs it for himself as well. Makoto’s not sure he’ll ever understand the way Shouichi craves the presence of growing things. But then, he’s just happy to see Shouichi enjoying himself.

He glances around the garden briefly as Shouichi’s murmuring over a cucumber plant and frowns. “Aren’t sunflowers always supposed to face the sun?”

“Generally, sure.” Shouichi smiles but doesn’t look up from his work. “Why?”

“Well, if they don’t then doesn’t that mean they might be sick? The sun’s south of us right now, but your flowers are facing west.”

“Our.”

“Mm?”

“It’s your garden too.”

“Well, sure, but I mean it’s really—”

“Anyway, don’t worry, if they were sick I’d know. They’re probably just a little slow today.”

Makoto’s dubious, but he nods, and Shouichi beams at him for a moment and then goes back to fussing with the cucumbers. Once he finishes with them, he does something with a tomato plant nearby, and then hurries over to a small patch of green onions on the other side of the garden.

The faces of the sunflowers move to follow him as he walks. Makoto almost misses it, catches their motion out of the corner of his eye as he, too, is turning, and then freezes as they continue to shift. “Do—did you just see that?”

Shouichi frowns. “See what?”

“Ah…no, never mind.” Makoto settles forward, elbows on his knees, watching in soft fascination as Shouichi continues to work. “It’s not that important, I probably imagined it.”

---

the icarus to your certainty – i

Tendou doesn’t make demands most of the time, but he doesn’t make suggestions either. He makes statements and then continues on in the calm assumption that they’re true.

When he gets back from his trip abroad, for example, the first conversation Arata has with him ends with, “We’ll see you for dinner at six.” It’s not an invitation, or a request, or a question. It’s just a statement of fact, its truth etched into the fabric of the universe, and so Arata gets to the house at six precisely.

There are other statements that follow, of course. Like, “I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” and, “Other people address me by surname, not you,” and, “It’s late, you’ll stay the night.” The thing is, Arata wants to bristle at this casual certainty, but he can’t manage it, because so far Tendou—Souji—hasn’t said anything incorrect. When he makes these statements, Arata wants them to be true, and so they becometrue by default. He shows up at the same time the next day. He says, “Souji,” instead of, “Tendou,” and is shaken by the faint, surprised smile he gets in response. He stays the night.

Tonight Souji’s making some kind of crab risotto thing, and Arata is helping, which is to say making a salad. This is already strange, since it used to be that he was barely even allowed in the kitchen. Hiyori, visiting for the evening, is sitting on the couch with Juka while Juka talks about one of her classes at Jounan University. It’s very domestic.

He finishes slicing cucumbers and is reaching for the lettuce when Souji turns to him holding a small spoon and says, “Taste this.”

On automatic, and because his hands are busy, Arata just leans forward and eats the spoonful of risotto, letting it spread out creamily over his tongue. “Mm.”

Souji is looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I think—wait, you’re actually asking me for my opinion?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“You just…don’t usually ask for opinions.”

“Not from other people, no, but other people aren’t you.”

Arata laughs in warm surprise. “Really? What makes me so different?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, but Souji looks at him for a long moment and then says, “If all of humanity were alchemically distilled into one specimen exhibiting only its finest qualities, that specimen would be you.”

Arata stares at him. “I. You. Are…is this a quotation, are you quoting something?”

Another one of the faint, surprised smiles he’s gotten to like seeing. “No. But perhaps someday, someone else will quote me, and rest assured, the recipient of the quotation will not deserve it nearly as much as you.” And, before Arata can really process that, “I would appreciate your opinion on the risotto now.”

“I…it’s really delicious, but. Maybe it could use a pinch more salt?”

Souji nods firmly. “I’d suspected as much. Thank you.”

He returns to his cooking, reaching for one of the little pots of salt next to the stove, and leaves Arata to cut up lettuce and try to figure out what just happened.

---

i had been lost to you – i

Kouta’s visits are infrequent, inconsistent, and never announced. The most warning Takatora ever gets is a sudden, powerful waft of flowers and fruit, moments before a zipper opens in the air in front of him. He’s gotten used to it, as much as one can get used to something like that.

(Kouta always comes to him. His house has more privacy than most other spots Kouta knows in Zawame, and anyway, according to him, “You’re always easy for me to find.”

Sometimes those visits are for “work,” as Kouta calls it, and he stays only for a brief moment before rushing off to whatever world-ending crisis has caught his attention. More often, though, the reason is nothing more than, “Things are aligned correctly right now, and I missed Zawame.”

He’s sitting in the park now, on a bench under a camellia tree. A casual observer wouldn’t look at him and see a god, just a smiling young man in a plaid shirt and dark jeans, shoes kicked off so that he can curl his bare toes in the grass. Maybe he’s waiting to meet a girlfriend, or a boyfriend; maybe he’s just enjoying the good weather. As Takatora watches, though, a squirrel runs down the trunk of the camellia tree and leaps onto Kouta’s shoulder, and he turns and beams at it, apparently listening intently to its chattering. A jay is perched on his knee. Two stray cats are sprawled on the grass flanking him like indolent sentries, and a dog with a collar, probably lost, is curled up against his hip on the bench.

He lifts a hand, cupped, and Takatora knows without being able to see it that his palm is filling with seeds, manifesting as if from his skin. He’s done it before. The squirrel runs downs his arm and begins to stuff itself, the jay hopping from his knee to his fingertips to do the same. With his other hand he reaches up absently to catch a gleaming red apple that drops down from the camellia tree and begins to eat. Only the plants nearby lean away from him, which seems strange until Takatora realizes that they’re not really leaning, they’re growing, extending outward from his presence like an aura, the grass increasingly tall around his ankles.

How strange to see him at peace. And what an astonishing thing, that he should turn his face even for a moment from the new world he guides and his cosmically-designated beloved to walk once more in the city that treated him so poorly.

(She doesn’t visit. She can’t set foot outside of her hallowed forest now. But Takatora did get to speak to her, once, and he knelt and begged her forgiveness for all that he allowed to happen and received in return a kiss so gentle and yet searing in its benediction that even now he can feel it on his skin, and sometimes has to look in the mirror to see if she left a mark on his forehead.)

“Hey!” Kouta is waving to him with the hand holding the apple core. “Takatora! Are you done with your meeting thing? Come on over, I want to hear everything that’s happened since the last time I was here.”

Takatora blinks and nods, shocked out of his reverie, and heads over to the camellia tree. The stray cats scatter as he approaches, but none of the other animals move, so after barely a moment’s hesitation he sits down in the grass at Kouta’s feet, unmindful of his suit, and says, “Well, reconstruction work is nearly finished, we’ve only got two or three more buildings left to repair. Did I tell you about the dance classes at the new community center?”

“The ones that Zack and Peko are running? I think you mentioned them a little last time, did those finally start?”

Camellias bloom out of season over their heads. “Yes, only a few weeks ago. There may be a few other Beat Riders assisting as well, possibly by running additional courses, apparently enrollment was well past what anyone had anticipated.” Takatora leans against Kouta’s shin as the grass slowly creeps up past his knees, comforted by his radiant warmth. “And Mitsuzane’s continuing to enjoy university, he’s going to be working for one of his professors next semester as a teaching assistant…”

---

love and its decisive pain – i

Being around Takeru is a strange experience now, because by simply existing he exerts a spiritual pressure unlike anything else Alain’s ever encountered. The pressure isn’t negative, but it is constant, the weight of a higher reality radiating from his skin. Or, not a higherreality—Alain isn’t sure what it is, but Takeru’s certainly of the human world.

Alain isn’t sure if people who aren’t from the Ganma World even notice it. Certainly he’s seen Javert twitch minutely when handing Takeru something, he’s seen how Igor goes tense around him, even Alia’s been known to flinch away from the intensity of his proximity. Are they unusually sensitive, or are the people of the human world just numb to it?

Perhaps it’s nothing new, and he’s just always been like that and that’s why people don’t notice. Makoto would know—he’s of the Ganma World now, even if he came to it late. “Has Takeru always had such…presence?”

Makoto glances at him, and then over at Takeru, who’s crouching to offer a rice ball to a child sniffling on the temple steps. The child takes it, hand brushing Takeru’s, and relaxes in the same way that Igor might tense at the same contact, perceptibly basking in that unseen but powerfully felt aura.

“No,” Makoto says. “No, this is new. He wasn’t like this before. Or at least he wasn’t like this when we were young.”

Somehow this answer isn’t reassuring at all. “I see. That’s…it’s a lot.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

That’s the point at which Takeru hears them and looks up, face transformed by delight at the sight of them. “Makoto! Alain! When did you get here?” Behind him, Narita comes forward to walk the sniffling child over to a quieter corner, asking her as they go whether she knows either of her parents’ phone numbers. Takeru waves goodbye to her, beaming, and then hurries across the room to crash into Makoto’s arms, and Alain can see Makoto being overtaken by that benevolent pressure. “You didn’t tell me you were coming! Nothing’s going on, right? Everything’s ok? Who’s taking care of things in the Ganma World?”

“Everything’s fine,” Makoto says into Takeru’s hair. “Alia’s got everything under control.”

“This is a social call,” Alain adds, and is favored with an embrace of his own, knees almost buckling under the warmth of Takeru’s presence. “We just missed you.”

“I missed you both too. I hope you’ll be here for a couple of days, at least?” The weight of his joyful expectation is so much that Alain can only nod. “Wonderful! Here, come on, you’re both probably hungry, let’s go get takoyaki.”

He’s human, Alain realizes as Takeru’s fingers wrap around his and he feels that shiver run through him again. That’s all it is, and also everything that it is. More than anyone else in this realm, he is human.

What an extraordinary thing.

“I’d like that,” Alain says out loud, and Takeru is already grabbing Makoto’s hand as well. “It’s been a while since we shared a meal.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Let’s go, you two can tell me all the news while we’re eating.”

---

a buried and a burning flame – ii

For the most part Shouichi doesn’t initiate. It’s not that he’s not enthusiastic about sex, he’s just an awful tease. Little gestures, bumps and brushes, obvious double entendre that he then winkingly denies; he’d rather drive Makoto to distraction and pretend innocence until Makoto finally loses patience and backs him up against the nearest wall. He even admitted to it once, in an unguarded moment of drowsiness. “I like when you do that, it’s fun. And it’s not like I can just ask you to.”

“You could, though,” Makoto had said, but Shouichi had already drifted off.

They’ve been together all day, but Makoto can barely remember any of it clearly except Shouichi. Everything else fades into the background when faced with the vividness of his smile.

Makoto’s shirt is somewhere back in the living room, he thinks maybe on the couch. They’ve been trying to get Shouichi’s shirt off, but that’s been a tougher prospect, because it’s a pullover. Finally, though, it comes off over his head and lands on the floor, and Makoto presses him to the wall again. And now, even more vivid than his smile is the feeling of his skin, burn-hot against Makoto’s lips and hands and chest, his fingers like a brand curling around the back of Makoto’s neck as Makoto kisses his throat.

They barely make it to the bedroom.

The heat of him is extraordinary, feverish, it would be frightening if Makoto wasn’t used to it. He is, though, they’ve been together for years now, so instead his own thoughts can melt away in the face of Shouichi and his pleasure, the taste of him, the sound of his breathless cries, Shouichi arching up against him. Sure, he gets off somewhere in there too, but the important thing is Shouichi, climaxing underneath him with a gasp of, “Makoto,” and a kiss that Makoto would be willing to end the world for.

Afterwards, they lie wrapped around each other in a state of abstracted bliss until Shouichi mumbles something about being thirsty, at which point Makoto extricates himself despite the attendant sleepy protests and heads to the kitchen with a blanket around his waist to get drinks. Passing the bathroom on the way back, he pauses, frowning, at the sliver of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It hadn’t been sunny enough today to get a real sunburn, but there’s a sunburn on the back of his neck nevertheless, bright red although not painful. He sets down one of the glasses, reaches up and covers it almost perfectly.

When he realizes what it is—although Shouichi’s palm is slightly broader than his, Shouichi’s fingers slightly shorter—he blushes and picks up the glass again, heading for the bedroom, hoping that his hair is long enough that no one at work asks about the handprint burned into his skin.

---

the icarus to your certainty – ii

It’s not always so precipitous.

Normally they have to be quiet, because normally there’s at least one other person in the house. And in any case, Souji dislikes rush—he’ll approach anything and everything with a plan in mind, sex included.

Tonight, though, after dinner finished, Juka distributed a round of cheek kisses and then gathered up her bag and headed out, to meet up with a university friend she’s doing a project with. Hiyori left shortly after that. (She rarely stays the night anyway, she doesn’t like to leave her parakeet alone.) They’re alone in the house unless the Zecters are around somewhere, and they mostly keep to themselves, they’re hardly company in the same way.

But.

Precipitous.

They do dishes together, in comfortable silence, and once that’s done and his washing gloves are off Souji turns to make one of those true statements. Except that Arata decides he doesn’t feel like hearing one right now, so before Souji’s even gotten through one word Arata takes a step forward and kisses him, bracketing him against the edge of the counter with both arms. Souji makes one of those little surprised noises and drapes his arms over Arata’s shoulders and pulls him closer, and a couple of minutes later Arata’s hands shift down to lift and Souji’s legs wrap around his waist, and.

It’s good that they have the house to themselves.

They can’t stay at the kitchen counter, because it’s a bad height and also that’s not sanitary, and the dinner table won’t support their weight, which is a lesson they learned the hard way. The couch is an option, though, and it’s not easy to get over there with another person wrapped around him, but it is doable. He sits, or more lands, with a thump, Souji in his lap, Souji’s hands on the sides of his face tilting his chin up, and for some while lets himself be overwhelmed by having all of Souji’s considerable attention focused on him.

A pause for breath, for the removal of at least some clothing (and if Souji fumbles Arata’s shirt buttons, Arata’s going to save the memory for himself and certainly never mention it), for—“Are you all right?”

For Souji looking down at him, dizzy-eyed, and saying, slowly, “Your depths are such that I think I could drown in you.”

Arata reaches up, takes hold of his wrists, thumbs rubbing gently across the pulse points. “I mean, I can’t get poetic about it like you can,” more quietly than warranted given that they’re alone, “but you’re so much that sometimes I feel I could burn up, so that seems like a fair trade.”

He’s expecting that surprised look, but it doesn’t come, because what he gets instead is a kiss that would definitely have him on his ass in seconds if he wasn’t already sitting down. “More than fair.”

---

i had been lost to you – ii

Even before his apotheosis Kouta was a man built for pleasure. It must have been a glorious accident of his birth, Takatora thinks, that on his mouth smiles are so natural, that his body responds to any rhythm with grace, that he laughs so easily. Takatora has lived his entire life on the far other end of that spectrum—at best, he might call himself austere—but he can’t bring himself to be jealous of such an infectious and in-born joy. He can only hope to increase it, in whatever way he can.

So he kneels.

It isn’t worship, because Kouta will not accept his worship. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, he may be a god but he refuses to be treated like one. But love, as a great man once said, is a sacrament best taken kneeling, and while there are many points Kouta will argue, Takatora’s esteem and affection for him are not one of them.

Really, though, Kouta isn’t saying anything especially coherent right now.

His unnecessary but habitual breathing is coming short, and his hair flickers from deep brown to unearthly gold as his concentration disintegrates. If his eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they, too, would be flickering. His fingers, curled on the edge of the bed, have flowers blooming between them. And Takatora, the indirect cause of this riotous growth and rendered speechless for more immediately physical reasons, continues until his lips are numb and Kouta is pulling him up and flattening him to the bed with a kiss.

“You don’t have to stop me, you know I wouldn’t mind if you—”

“No,” and a kiss, “no, we don’t know if it could—” and another kiss, “so no, even though you know I, you know—Takatora, I—” and the dissolution of coherence once again, now for both of them, as Takatora dizzily allows himself to be subsumed by Kouta’s passion and enthusiasm.

The first few times he was able to visit, afterglow involved actual glowing on Kouta’s part, which was the cause of some mutual hysteria—Takatora doesn’t want to call it giggling, but that’s really the accurate term. The glow’s under control now, and Kouta lies against him, asleep, and does not look more divine than any other beautiful man in repose.

There are still flowers blooming on the edge of the bed, red and orange against the plain bedspread. They’ll be scolded away later, but for the moment they are bright and strong and vivid. Takatora, drowsy himself, drifts off gazing at them, Kouta’s arms tight around his waist.

---

love and its decisive pain – ii

They are devoted partners, and thus Takeru’s anger is their anger, Takeru’s sorrow is their sorrow, Takeru’s joy is their joy, and, most crucially in this moment, with the dawn not arrived and the day yet to start and make them all busy, Takeru’s pleasure is their pleasure. And because he is who he is, because he feels everything with such strength and fervency that it radiates from him like sunlight, it is such pleasure. On his back, hands above his head, eyes bound, he has given himself over to their loving mercy and yet the weight of his existence is still enough to envelope them both.

Alain leans down to kiss the smiling mouth below the blindfold and say, softly, “Is there something you want?”

“Isn’t the point of this that you two are making the decisions?” Takeru sounds like he might laugh.

Alain glances over Takeru’s chest at Makoto, who is already looking over at him, and who raises an eyebrow before saying, “Is that a serious question or are you just being difficult?”

It’s definitely suppressed laughter. “A little of both, really. I want you to do what you want. I trust you.”

So they do what they want, which, gloriously weighed down by Takeru’s unconditional trust, is what he wants too. And what they want is to kiss, to touch, to take their pleasure in ways that render him arch-backed and breathless and crying out as they take their turns on him. They take their pleasure until he’s coming in an unexpected avalanche of laughter which, like all avalanches, overtakes them as well.

Dawn is breaking, light spilling in through the open window for Takeru to flinch against as they uncover his eyes. He buries his face against Makoto’s chest as soon as his arms are free and he can move, mumbling, “It’s too bright, I’m going back to sleep, you both have to keep me company since you’re the ones who wore me out.”

“Right,” Makoto says drily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Alain is draping himself over Takeru’s back, “humans need sleep, I forget that sometimes.”

He can feel Takeru’s smile like a separate presence in the room, even though he can’t see it. “Oh, like you’re so inhuman.”

Alain presses his face to the back of Takeru’s neck and finds that, at least for the moment, the pressure of his reality is not so much a weight as it is an embrace, enfolding the three of them as they lie together drowsing. “It’s not that we are less, perhaps.” A yawn against Takeru’s warm skin, occasioning a ticklish wriggle. “It’s just that you’re so much.”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - I Know That You’re Scared (Part 2/3)

Continuation of ‘Because Hearts Get Broken’ - see my masterlist for it :)

Synopsis: She’s trying to move on. He’s still hoping for a chance

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angsty, bruh, but with a sprinkle of fluff and a hopeful (??) ending

Warnings: swearing, emotionally distant mindset... can’t think of anything else, really. 

Word count: 3656

Heartbreak isn’t loud. Y/N doesn’t even know if it had a sound what it would be like. Like glass shattering against the ground? Or maybe like a book being ripped and shredded apart, memories of time spent together ruined. Or maybe it'd like the crackle of a fire, as it slowly but surely crept up and turned everything into charred remains before it became nothing but ash and was carried away by the winds.

        No one in her family talked about feelings. If they did all they received back was ‘suck it up. That’s life’. After that, it was time to move on. So, when she got together with probably the most open-hearted person in the world, it was almost laughable.

        Y/N had always been the friend others went for advice, relationship or not, but she herself never asked for one, simply because she didn’t wanna bother anyone. Not that she thought the others were bothers. It’s just having grown up in a household where emotions were basically suppressed, opening up was quite impossible. 

       Then came Harry. Perfect, impossible, loving, sweet, kind, ridiculously open Harry. God, she just wanted to punch him because no one should be that nice. 

        January 2nd, 2020 he’d called her up, having gotten Y/N’s number from Sarah (after ages of pleading, because as much as Sarah sometimes couldn’t handle drunk Y/N, she’d defend and protect her until the very last breath), and they set up a coffee date.

        Slowly but surely, they spent more and more time together and seeing as her job had her based in LA for a while, visiting Harry was no problem. Then the pandemic hit, and on March 18th the whole stay-at-home order was issued in California. 

        Y/N was in a panic. She was meant to leave LA in ten days, and the hotel her company was paying for had been paid until the 28th. With all flights getting rapidly cancelled, she was scrambling to get one, but even her firm was unable to get her a seat. That’s when Harry had called up, his tone a worried, urgent mess as to if Y/N was alright and what her plans were.

        Of course, him being him, he immediately offered her a place to stay.

        “We don’t even need to stay in the same room, there’s like five other guest rooms you can take up,” he tried to joke, and ease her tension.

        “Fuck, Harry, just rub it in how rich you are.” Y/N cackled, and when she heard him laugh in the background, her heart did that stupid fluttery thing she’d grown so used to. 

        It took a little persuasion from Harry’s side, and reassurance at least seven more times, that Y/N wouldn’t be intruding on his space, and he was more than happy to spend the quarantine with someone else, instead of being alone, and that in no way her taking over a room or two would limit him and his own artistic endeavours. So, apprehensively Y/N packed her suitcases, grabbed an uber, wearing a mask the whole time, and drove to Harry’s place.  

When Y/N saw the gated community and the palace he was living in, the inside of her cheek was practically bitten in half. They’d barely been together for three months, and now she was basically moving in with him, but given how it was either live with Harry in a fucking mansion or walk across the country to New York, she took the first option. 

        As much as Harry loved on her, pretty much shagging her brains out every possible second, and loving on her until her cheeks hurt from smiling, the anxiety about the whole situation never left.

Harry was worried about his mom and sister, Y/N was scared of what was happening in New York. So, when the state boarders opened, immediately, although reluctantly, she flew back to her apartment and her dying plants, but never forgetting to FaceTime with Harry. But they couldn't stay away long from one another.

        Which is why they decided, given how she was able to work from home now, and Harry could do so as well, they’d fly over to one another every two weeks, quarantine together for the next two weeks, and then fly to the other place. Her boss actually loved the idea that Y/N was so willing to go back and forth between the two cities, so all her flights were written off as business expenses, not to mention when she said she wouldn’t need a hotel, he was more than thrilled to let her be in LA whenever she wanted, as long as her work got done.

        It seemed funny to her now, that before Y/N couldn’t wait to get back to the sunny state of Cali. Now when she had to fly over (which was just a couple of times since the breakup), going through JFK security made her sweat, and landing was a vomit-inducing action. And the last time she’d gotten back to the home-base state, she’d actually thrown up, Harry’s last words ringing in her ears.

        It’d been three weeks since Sarah’s New Year party, and three weeks since she’d spoken to him although he still kept calling. Every morning she’d wake up to a couple of notifications of missed calls, and each time she’d listen to the messages; it was all the same – I miss your voice. And every time she’d listen to it, her thoughts were exactly the same. You could say it was almost pathetic as to how many times she’d listened to his albums, just to hear him sing. Almost like he used to do right before she fell asleep.

        But Y/N had no one else but herself to blame for it. She’d been the one to call it quits, she’d been the one who walked out of his apartment, and the one who decided she wouldn’t fight. 

        Now, she was sat by her small magazine table, documents spread out in front of her as if a tornado had rolled through, while an apple and cinnamon candle spread its delicious scent through the air. 

        Y/N would only admit it once because, well, the proof was all over the apartment, but she was very lazy when it came to taking away the Christmas décor. It made her feel warm and comfy. And it reminded her of Harry. How when she’d woken up after their first date, already in the new year, he still had colourful fairy lights strung across the curtain rods, giving everything a soft, cosy glow. 

        He’d also been the one who convinced her that a real Christmas tree was so much better than a plastic one. 

        “Yes, it’s a hassle,” he’d said through slurred words as they’d slinked away from the partying crowd after the countdown was done, and each of them had taken three shots of vodka. “But it’s so worth it. Smells like a fucking forest in your room. Like proper Christmas!”

        And although she’d spent this holiday season alone, Harry had been right. Just like he’d been right about Y/N.

        She tapped her pen against the glass surface and readjusted her position on the floor.

        “This is the periodic table, noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively,” Y/N hummed as she highlighted the incorrect parts of the paper in front of her. “Each period will see new outer shells, while electrons are added moving to the right.”

        Just as she was about to start off the second verse, her doorbell rang, and her stomach gurgled in response.

        “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. “Pasta come to fuckin’ mama.”

        But when she opened the door, she wasn’t greeted by the Uber Eats delivery man.

        “Harry.”

        Y/N was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to visit her, especially not so soon and especially to fly out to New York (as much as he was most likely there to do other stuff as well, her gut told her he was there for her). 

Sure, she hoped that one day they could be friends, if not acquaintances, he was too important of a person for her to lose completely from her life, but that was looking like five years into the future.

        “I bring gifts.” He raised his hand where her boxes of food hung in a paper bag. “Can I?”

        “Uh, yeah, of course!” She shook her head to clear it from the shock and allowed Harry to enter into the warmth of her apartment and escape from the cold January air.

        “I was on my way up when the delivery man came in, and I recognised by the boxes it was yours.” The smirk on Harry’s face was something Y/N loved to see, but usually, she liked to also wipe it away. Preferably with her own lips. 

        She let out a small scoff, not waiting to see if he followed inside, as she scurried to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed two plates, while he opened up the white cardboard containers and allowed the delicious smell of spaghetti Bolognese as well as a carbonara waft into the air. Y/N had wanted to eat the latter at some point during the night when the munchies hit, but she supposed Harry was probably hungry as well. “Maybe there’s someone else here, who likes Italian.”

        “Probably, but only you would order from the shittiest Italian restaurant just because they have pesto and parmesan bread.”

        “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “They’re not shit. They provide me with everything I need – calories, carbs and bread.”

        “What more does a person need?”

        “Exactly!”

        Both of them let out small chuckles and then settled down on her couch to dig into the meal. They ate in silence, and despite Y/N’s initial shock, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, they were sitting pretty much shoulder to shoulder, as she watched Harry re-read the spread-out articles on the table and use her marker to tick some stuff that could use re-wording. He had a knack for words, after all.

        “I uh…” He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided by the diner before clasping his fingers together and looking at the woman sitting next to him, as she slowly set her empty plate on the small cupboard beside the sofa. “I was hoping we could talk.”

        Y/N hung her head. She should’ve known he wasn’t here to just check-in and have some dinner. “We already did. Twice might I add. What makes you think this time the ending will be different?”

        “Third times the charm?” Harry let out a little laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t wanna leave everything the way I did. I – I said some pretty shit things.”

        Y/N fiddled with her thumb. ‘I had,’ Harry’s words echoed in her head. ‘Only she didn’t trust that I loved her the same.’ “Nothing that was untrue though.”

        “See, that’s where I think both of us are wrong.”

        That was not what Y/N thought this conversation would be whatsoever.

        “I – “ He cleared his throat. “I know I said I didn’t think you trusted me that I loved you enough. I think you know I did – do.”

        If Y/N still had any food in her mouth she would’ve choked on it, as she bit back the rising lump in her throat, but instead of interrupting him, she let Harry continue. “And honestly, it’s not your fault that it fell apart, ‘s my fault too. I pushed you to do something, you didn’t want to, weren’t comfortable with, when you told me not to… just because I wanted to feel important, ‘nd because I wanted to get a role in your life you weren’t ready for yet. And I’m sorry for doing that. I should’ve never forced you.”

        “Harry…” Y/N was at a complete loss. “I – I don’t really know what to say.”

        He took her left hand in his and clasped it, finally able to properly say what'd been eating away at him. “During the New Year party, I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just – I was just still so hurt, and I wanted you to hurt the same because… it didn’t seem like you cared at all, which I know you did… I know you loved me, and…” He took in a deep breath. “I hope that you still do. At least enough to give us another chance. We can take it at your pace,” he instantly added, knowing how she’d react, expecting the sigh and the almost tired and resigned ‘Harry’ that escaped her lips. But he’d say everything on his mind. “You can take how long you need to feel like you can trust me with what’s bothering you.”

        “Harry,” she repeated, but it didn’t seem like he was about to stop.

        “But I think we can do it, and we can do it right this time. We know where we stand, we won't make the same mistakes.”

        Y/N’s hand came to rest against his cheek, and he practically melted, engulfing her palm with his as to not let her touch leave his skin for even a second. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

        “Look, I know, you’re scared, and the thing is, so am I. I don’t want it to end like that or end. Period. But I do want to try again.”

        And if nothing but to humour him Y/N asked, “And if it does end the same way?”

        “It won’t.” He was so sure of it, she had to laugh.

        “Harry, the big difference between us is – you like to talk about your feelings. You like to go through them and stuff. I don’t. I feel… icky when I even think about talking to someone of what I feel. We’re just too opposite.”

        “Opposites attract.”

        “No,” she pointed a finger at him, stifling her laughter, though Harry seemed not to be hiding his smile. “Do not use science against me.”

        He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not, I’m just supporting my point with facts. Scientific facts, that you can’t argue against.”

        “I mean…” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno… Maybe it was a good thing we ended it when we did. It was ten months – almost ten – amazing months, but… can you imagine if we’d gone so far as to think about moving in together, and then it fell apart? That would’ve been a whole different kind of a mess.”

        “Do you love me?”

        Y/N sighed, resting her cheek against the couch while she smoothed away his brown locks from his face. “Of course, I do. Don’t think there will be a time in my life I don’t.”

        “Then that’s all I need.”

         “Is that really enough for you?”

        “Yes.”

        And there was no lie in that single word. Did he want for Y/N to feel comfortable enough with him that she talked about whatever concerned her, however small? Of course. But he also wanted her to be comfortable enough to be herself. If that meant her keeping things to herself, and trusting Harry to support her decisions, it’d be enough.

        Her Y/E/C eyes hadn’t left his green ones, and they only widened as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to hers.

        “Haz…”

        Fuck, how he’d missed her calling him that. It wasn’t an exclusive nickname by any means, but when it came from Y/N’s mouth, it was the sweetest sound in the universe.

        He was her Haz when he broke a plate, he was her Haz when she threw her head back as pleasure exploded through her body, he was her Haz when he took her hand in his to quell her anxiety, and he was her Haz when he gave her tissues as they watched a movie, and she couldn’t help but cry each time a dog or cat died (or a dragon, but he was a sobbing mess as well because ‘Dragonheart’ messed with them both).

        His lips were so close, and just as they skimmed over her own, Y/N’s phone rang making her physically spring back, eyes like saucers.

        “S – Sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to find the annoying device between the cushions. It was Sarah’s name that lit up her screen.

        “Hey, what’s up?” Y/N started, voice trembling and shaky. God, when had she suddenly gone so out of breath? And why was her head so dizzy, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster?

        “Yeah, he’s here,” she replied, eyeing Harry. “Yeah, just a sec,” and Y/N handed him her phone with a quiet ‘why’s your phone always dead?’

        ‘Didn’t know it died’, he said, but that was untrue. He’d turned it off so this sort of a situation wouldn’t happen; so a call or text wouldn’t interrupt him at the most critical moment. He had to give the universe a proper talk once he was done.

        “ ‘Ello?” 

        Seconds of silence passed, and Y/N didn’t like how weird it was, so she took the empty plates and put them in the sink to soak.

        “Now?”

        She could see the frustration rise in Harry as his forehead creased, and he let a hand rake through his hair. “Fuck’s sake… yeah, I’ll be there in ten. ‘S alright,” he sighed. “Not your fault Sarah. Tell Jeff not to worry, and that I’m not dead.”

        With that, he pressed the red button and ended the call, drumming his fingers against the screen. God, he really didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not after he’d been so close.

        “Uh, work?” Y/N asked, arms crossed in front of her as if she was protecting herself from the answer. 

        “Yeah, sorry. I uh a meeting from tomorrow got rescheduled for tonight, like right now because there was some sort of an emergency from the label’s side."

        “ ‘S alright, I get it. Showbiz never stops.” Y/N motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

        There were a couple of times in his life Harry wanted to give himself a beating. Once when he was six and Gemma had told on him after he’d broken a favourite vase of their mothers, he decided to get revenge and destroy her favourite plushie. He’d never forget the tears Gem had cried, and how absolutely heartbroken she’d sounded. He vowed although he was the little brother, to never ever let anyone hurt her like that, and if someone did, they’d meet their maker sooner rather than later.

        The second time was when he was still a teenager, One Direction on the rise, and it had gotten to his head just a little bit more than it should’ve. He’d gotten really messed up at a party (which Harry shouldn’t have even been at). The disappointment on his mother’s face as she scolded him through FaceTime was gut-wrenching enough to make him promise to always know the limit.

        And Harry guessed this was the third time.

        He could’ve said no to the meeting. Jeff was there and so was Sarah and Mitch. The three of them could handle it for him. It’s not like he would mind much whatever they came up with if it had given him the time to settle things with Y/N. 

        “It was great to see you, Harry.” She brought him out from the thoughts as she unlocked the door and opened it for him, bringing her jumper sleeves over her palms to hide from the cold outside air. “Really. I – I missed you, and honestly, I’m glad we got to talk. I uh well, take care. And say hi to Sarah from me please.”

        “I – “ he took hold of Y/N’s wrist before she could turn away. “I’m holding a small concert in a week. Here in uh in New York. It’s for charity… I want you to come.”

        “I umm… I’ll have to check if I’m free, but yeah. I will. Thank you.”

        “ ‘S no problem… Sarah missed you like crazy now that you’re not in LA as often… ‘n yeah. Anyway. I’ll put your name on the guest list, so just bring some ID, and they’ll let you backstage.”

        “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll really try to come.”

        “Yeah.”

        And he was going to go without doing anything else. Harry truly was. But as he released her wrist, going to the stairs, he gave Y/N one last glance back, and it was like his feet had a mind of their own, as they carried him back to where she stood by the still open door, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips to hers. 

        He expected Y/N to push him away, but to his very huge delight, she didn’t. Instead, her fingers wove through his hair and her legs almost on instinct rose so he could take her by the thighs, wrap them around his middle and press her against the doorway. 

        The groan that Harry swallowed from Y/N only ignited the fire that’d been burning ever since he met her, but it wasn’t the destructive kind, like the ones that leave nothing but charcoal behind. It was warm. Safe. Like the light of a fairy light. Like the embrace of home.

        “Come to the show,” he muttered against Y/N’s lips, as they broke apart, and he set her down on the ground, not letting go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “I’ll wait for you.”

        With that, he left because if he didn’t, he’d make sure Y/N would be unable to walk for a week.

        And Y/N watched him retreat while her brain fought with her heart.

        What was it he’d sung in ‘Golden’, as he’d twirled her in the sea of bodies and glitter a little bit more than a year ago? ‘Loving is the antidote?’ 

        Maybe love was the antidote to her fear.

        She closed the door.

        And smiled.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘Fine Line’, ‘The Periodic Table Song’, ‘Welcome to the Christmas Parade’ (Welcome to the Black Parade mix with All I Want For Christmas) and ‘Rasputin’ Boney M remix exclusively... I feel like a complete crackhead... :D

Decided to tag also those who wanted a part 2 but didn’t necessarily ask to be tagged :)

P.S. I guess there will be a part 3???

P.S.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list drop me a message :)

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N  Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap.  I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion.  It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue.  In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes.  Well, not a stranger.  Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic.  Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived.  The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless.  Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey.  For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness.  Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door.  Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots.  A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.  

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well.  I wouldna squander yer food.  I have all we need right here.”  Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood.  I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist.  An experiment.”  

Two saucepans were set on the stove.  Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed.  To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken.  After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates.  Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model.  “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure.  Variability,” my teacher argued.  “See here?  If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key.  An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic.  It was otherwise quite bland, though.  When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good.  Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know.  Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken.  If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing.  Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one.  “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp.  Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?”  I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour.  Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result.  It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones.  From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist.  Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch.  Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour.  Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking.  When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour.  We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route.  “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside.  Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door.  He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November.  Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics.  I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them.  There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided.  Honey-crisp apples.  Peppery radishes.  Herb-infused venison sausage.  

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours.  Still, I complied immediately.  A rubbery moisture tickled my lips.  “Open,” he said simply.  I opened.  “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy.  Thick.  Salty.  Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises.  His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction.  The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough.  Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser.  My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile.  Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one.  Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium.  Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure.  Closing my eyes as I ate,  every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold.   Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks.  It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door.  Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway.  No-one was there.  Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch.  As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam.  Homemade cock-a-leekie soup.  I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever.  Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest.  I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted.  I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself.  As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm?  Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry.  Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.”  He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What!  Jamie, what are you doing here?  You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles.  An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist.  Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep.  Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth.  Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon.   We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith.  Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him.  We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity.  I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather.  They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there.  I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station.  He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces.  Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks.  I chopped.  Mary baked.  Angus filleted.  Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall.    Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs. 

Music played in the background.  Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings.  Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor.  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside.  The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved.  One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done.  Claire, ye were a godsend.  Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing.  Glancing down, I felt my face fall.   I’d completely forgotten about Frank.  Now he was texting, asking me where I was.  I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes.  It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse.  As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger.  “Congratulations.”  

He said the word as though every syllable pained him.  I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

[sytco]

common blessings [joochan]

pairing: childhood friend!hong joochan x reader

word count: 3.5k (!)

requested: "toothrotting fluff ft. joochan"

dedicated to @sahiflowers.

a/n: im SO SO sorry this took so long and i hope u like it even a little and that it makes u smile thank u for being so patient ily!! ily!!! reminder im always here for u!!

In which you find that time is meaningless when Joochan is not by your side.

~

wonderboy.

-

Sometimes, you speculate whether Joochan has some kind of genius for finding you as soon as the school bell rings, signalling the end of another day.

Today, he surprises you behind the auditorium where you lean against a maple tree, hugging your bag to your chest, because you’ve skipped your last period (Introduction to Psychology) in favor of lying on the grass so you can watch the clouds in peace. And Joochan smiles a fond, fond smile because you have that look on your face again that you only get when you’re lost in thought.

“Missed me?”

You tense from shock before relaxing at the sight of your boyfriend who widens his arms so you can walk right into them.

“How’d you find me?” Your voice is muffled in the fabric of his vest and Joochan reaches up so he can play with the back of your collar.

“Just had a little hunch you might be here.” And this is the answer he always gives, accompanied with the same smug smile each time.

You pout even if Joochan can’t see it. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“Well now,” he says in an affected voice that sounds like the narrator from that National Geographic documentary on penguins the two of you watched last week, “I can’t afford to have you getting your hands on all my secrets, can I? I’ve got to keep some things to myself so that in ten year's time, you’ll still think I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe.”

It’s ridiculous, you think, how it’s nearly winter but the way you can feel the laughter that starts in his chest and electrifies you to your fingertips is more than capable of keeping you warm and making you feel like you’re really alive.

“Doesn’t matter if I find out all your secrets or not,” you mumble, “you’ll always be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe to me.”

From the courtyard around the corner, you can hear Jaehyun shouting a loud “Oi Joochan!”.

Joochan ignores him and instead casually pecks your cheek with a kiss that feels like a blessing. “Always?”

You tilt your head as though unsure. "Well… for at least fifty years, probably.”

“Fifty?!” Joochan echoes in mock outrage, and you playfully poke his side to which he flinches slightly.

“I was lying. I meant for all of time ever.”

And despite him doing his best to hide it, your boyfriend melts instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck where he’s probably smiling his brilliant smile that feels like the sun against your skin.

Jaehyun’s voice interrupts the peace and quiet once again with a noticeably louder and more panicked tone.

“Hong Joochan! We’re going to be late for soccer practice!”

Joochan groans exaggeratedly and you can’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “Wish I didn’t have to go to stupid practice,” he grumbles.

“You know, I’ll wait for you in the library until you’re done,” you offer and Joochan perks up - if only slightly because your arms still feel like heaven after years of loving you, and two hours of kicking a ball around (while Donghyun and Jibeom brainstorm inventive ways to trip each other up, much to Coach Lee’s chagrin) just can’t compete. He tells you as much in the way his arms tighten around you.

“You’re the best,” Joochan declares suddenly, “I might be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe, but you’re the best.”

You snort. “Go to practice already before Jaehyun starts going spare, wonderboy.”

Joochan kisses your forehead one last time before he detaches himself from you with a dejected sigh and picks up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder despite your protests. “Walk with me to the oval?”

You slip your hand into his hand only to find it a perfect fit and wonder briefly if there is anywhere in this world you would not walk to with Hong Joochan, the boy who has a smile like sunlight and a personality like a billion shooting stars.

“Of course.”

*

fm.

-

There is the occasional moment in which you wish that your boyfriend wasn’t so exceedingly talented in nearly every field he tries his hand at, because the various extracurriculars that Joochan (being the naturally energetic and enthusiastic person he is) involves himself with have an awful way of making tremendous demands on his time towards the end of the semester.

Right now is one of those moments when Joochan trudges into your room and dives face first onto your bed without even bothering to shake his coat off. “So what was it today?” you ask in a voice that betrays your concern and Joochan can’t help but smile at it.

“Theatre rehearsal,” he yawns, “then string quartet practice. Also an hour of soccer drills with some of the boys. Even though it’s a Saturday.”

You get up from your chair at the desk so you can sit on the bed where Joochan immediately moves his head onto your lap, lifting your hand and resting it on his hair. You absentmindedly start stroking it, staring out the window at a soft grey sky.

“Did you eat?”

Joochan shakes his head. “No time. My dumb E string broke again so I barely managed to have half an apple before we went straight into a new Mozart piece today. Think we might perform it at the next concert. You’d come, right?” And he asks that in a self-assured tone, because he already knows what your answer is going to be.

You give it to him anyway because there’s no point in hiding your blatant admiration for all that he does. “No matter what.”

“And just to see me, right?”

You fake a pause that has Joochan peering up at you suspiciously.

“You do know I have friends who aren’t you that are participating in the concert, right? Like Jangjun and Sungyoon?”

Joochan scowls. “But none of those hooligans are your boyfriend, who - in case you forgot but I do know you’d never - is me.”

“That’s quite true,” you concede before leaning down to kiss his cheek with a smile that makes Joochan’s stomach fill with butterflies which are probably colored pink and green and blue. It never gets old, he thinks: your talent for turning his world upside down in a look or a word or an action. And you don’t even know you’re doing it most of the time.

“Mean,” he accuses but in a half-hearted manner and your smile only widens because you know that Joochan is supremely happy despite his exhaustion, if the way his brow has smoothed completely and he has started drawing little stars on your knee is anything to go by.

There’s a gentle lull in the conversation while you continue to run your fingers through Joochan’s hair, and especially his fringe. It’s almost as though time has passed you by, leaving you together in your own little reality where things like hazy futures and big concerts and broken violin strings do not dare draw near.

“Wanna order something later on for dinner?” you ask quietly.

“Maybe,” he grins through closed eyes, “but nap first.”

Your radio continues to run, and you drift in and out of listening to the DJ duo while watching the rain finally fall outside.

“It’s been pretty cold recently, hasn’t it?” one of the DJs opens the conversation after a small stream of ads.

“Sure has, pal. And speaking of the cold, apparently our first snow of the season is scheduled for next week Friday!”

“So do you have any plans lined up with a special someone?”

“Just had to remind me of how single I am, didn’t you”- rambunctious peals of laughter crackle from the speakers - “but maybe some of our lovely listeners will send in their plans for next Friday.”

“I sure did - and wow, they’re already pouring in! Do you wanna read one out?”

“Let’s see… Listener ha_miii_ran says: ‘I’m planning on confessing to my crush of two years. I’m pretty nervous about this so I’m hoping the two of you will wish me luck!’ All the best of luck to you, Ha Miran-nim, from the both of us. I don’t know how you’re planning on it, but hopefully the first snow will act as a good luck charm for you!”

“Yeah, good luck Ha Miran-nim!” the other DJ chimes in. “Be sure to update us on how it goes!”

“Well, we’ll be back with some more stories after this excerpt from a famous piano concerto - maybe some of our more classically-inclined audience will recognise its globally renowned composer.”

A beautiful melody begins to play and you’re on the cusp of losing yourself in the music when you are most abruptly interrupted by a sleepy, but decisive, “Gershwin.”

You blink down at Joochan. “What?”

“It’s Gershwin. The composer. Don't you think your boyfriend's clever for knowing that?"

“I thought my boyfriend was asleep, actually,” and you narrow your eyes.

“I was,” Joochan protests, “I only woke up when they were talking about the snow or something. And then they talked about that person who’s confessing to their crush of two years - got me thinking about how I can relate because I vividly remember having a crush on you for at least three before I could muster up the courage to confess. Which ended up working out for the best, you know,” he adds in a thoughtful tone, “but sometimes I’d get so nervous just thinking about it that I couldn’t sleep at all. Anyways, I’m really hungry now, so can we order something soon please?”

Maybe it’s the way he so nonchalantly wears his heart for you on his sleeve, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you as though you have strung the Milky Way itself together and made a gift of it to him. Maybe it’s the way you simply realize that you might not be able to live with yourself if you were to lose your boyfriend, ever. But for whatever reason it is, a thousand smiles bloom in your heart and you lean down to give Joochan a kiss that hopefully tastes like everything you cannot possibly put into words.

“Anything you want,” you whisper, and Joochan draws a heart on your knee in response.

*

enchanted.

-

You’re outside the auditorium again but in front of it, this time, and not behind. The post-concert hubbub has died down, mostly owing to the fact that much of the audience has left already whether it’s to a late congratulatory supper or down to the boardwalk where fireworks are scheduled to go off at midnight. The bouquet of lily of the valleys in your hand trembles slightly as you use your other hand to fumble around for your ringing phone.

“Hello?”

“You’re waiting outside, right?” Joochan asks.

“Yeah, I am.”

“See, Donghyun, I told you I was right about - wait. Wait! Don't move!”

And then you have less than two seconds to process exactly what is happening before your boyfriend catches you up in a running embrace that sends the world spinning in a flurry of snow and stars and kisses that Joochan plants all over your cheeks. He remains blissfully unaware that somewhere in the vicinity, Donghyun has started making gagging sounds at your very public display of affection, punctuated by Jaehyun’s giggling. (You pay them no mind.)

“Did you enjoy the concert?” he asks, fond expectation twinkling in his eyes.

You nod too much. “You were incredible,” you tell him honestly, and Joochan beams.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he says in a satisfied voice as he pulls you closer. “Guess all those hours of practice paid off.”

“It’s almost like that’s the whole point of practicing,” you tease.

“It’s lucky you’re cute and I’m hopelessly in love with you,” Joochan crinkles his nose in contrived distaste for your little jab before hugging you again so he can hear you whisper just how proud you are of him, right into his ear.

And the two of you stay like that for a little before you remember the gift you brought with you.

“For me?” And the look in his eyes reminds you of how he looked at you when you first told him that you loved him too - or maybe of every time you’ve told him that you love him too.

“Who else?”

He snaps up the bouquet, pressing it against his nose and inhaling deeply with a smile. "This is a nice surprise."

"They mean 'return to happiness'," you say, gently touching a little white bloom that looks like a star against the backdrop of Joochan's black school blazer. "Thought it was cute. And the florist was sold out of roses anyway."

Joochan laughs with the warmth of a thousand sunbeams and puts your hand in his so he can start gently tugging you away.

“But your violin”- you begin protesting.

“But nothing,” he shushes you as the school gets smaller and smaller behind you in the distance. “I don’t even want to see that thing for a week. Hey, and guess what - I found a secret place for just you and me so we can watch the fireworks without being pressed up against everyone else like sardines in a tin can.”

“You and I are going to watch the fireworks?” you echo, surprise colouring your voice.

Joochan’s exhale turns into a giggle. “Who else?” And you dig an elbow into his side, hiding a smile at his antics.

The two of you stroll down quiet streets and you lean into your boyfriend’s comforting warmth. Most shops are closed with the exception of some fast food chains and convenience stores, but you notice almost none of them now as Joochan picks up the pace, his excitement bleeding into the quiet song he sings that floats up in the air and is lost somewhere in the stars above.

“Here we are,” says Joochan proudly and he helps you up into the little gazebo at the top of the hill you hadn’t realized you were climbing. “Take this,” he adds as he tosses you a torch that brightly illuminates the space you’re in as soon as you switch it on. You turn to the rustling sounds on your left, finally seeing the wooden bench that Joochan is busy spreading a rug over.

“You planned this beforehand?” And there’s a note of wonder in your voice - the same kind that only Joochan ever seems to be able to evoke. “I thought we were going straight home.”

He gestures for you to sit next to him with a charming smile and you do so immediately. “Told you I can’t give up all the secrecy. Not yet.” Or, he thinks privately to himself, not when you look at him like that.

The golden light from the torch casts long shadows over the grass and gives Joochan’s face a nearly ethereal glow that reminds you of summer sunsets despite the cold. You slip into a soft and easy silence - one that comes from memories built upon memories, resulting in a code made up of gazes and touch that only the two of you will ever understand. And so when he squeezes your hand gently, you instantly open your arms for him to sink right into.

There’s only a few minutes left until midnight when you finally speak.

“Joochan,” you murmur.

“Mm?”

“You ever think about where we’ll be this time next year?”

Joochan shifts his posture slightly. “Often, actually. Especially when I go to sleep at night and think about tomorrow - then I’ll wonder if it’ll even remotely go the way I want it to.”

“And how do you usually want it to go?” you ask.

“Someone has a lot of questions today,” Joochan remarks with a droll look on his face that makes you laugh briefly before his expression sobers. “But usually I want it to go safely. You know? Everything in its proper place and things like that. And more importantly, I want to know all the time that I’ll be able to see you.”

You’re silent for a moment, looking out over the view of the city. If you squint, you can just make out the boardwalk by the beach and the crowds of people who have gathered there, young and old alike. “I’m scared sometimes.”

Joochan frowns. “Scared of what? I’ll fight it off for you,” and he waves a threatening fist at nothing in particular.

“The future, I guess. It sounds silly but… sometimes I don’t know if we’ll always be okay. Like this, the way things are right now. Whether it’s tomorrow or next year or even after that.” Your voice fades in volume until it’s nearly lost against the threads of your scarf, and Joochan’s heart breaks a little when he hears it: the genuine uncertainty and timid fear that seeps past the smile you give him in an effort to hide it.

“Why do you think we might not be okay?”

You look down at your feet, almost embarrassed by your own honesty. “Well, people… change, Joo. They move places, and have goals to achieve and dreams to chase down. And we’re not immune to that either.”

It’s Joochan’s turn to be silent for a bit as he mulls over your words before he straightens in your hold, turning his face towards you so he can affectionately bump his nose against yours. “You’re right,” he says in a voice that mirrors your sadness, “and it would be a lie to say I don’t think about the same things you do. But”- and he leans in to give you a quick kiss that’s shaped like a smile - “it’d also be a lie to say that every dream doesn’t feature you in it. Because every dream of mine that I’ve ever had places you centre stage.”

He kisses you again, a little longer - a little more wistfully.

“You see, the real problem here is that you have me perpetually thinking that I can’t do any of this without you,” he says simply. “Whether it’s late night phone calls or early morning messages; or maybe we’ll find ourselves having to book flights for each other, holding bags full of gifts that remind us of us. And maybe it’ll be hard and maybe I’ll wake up some days, knowing I won’t be able to see you. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be okay.”

You swallow and Joochan watches you carefully, the urgency in his eyes prompting him to lift your chin so you can see it too.

“Even if we change,” he continues in a whisper, hoping you will understand the heart in his words. “And we should. And we will, and we’ll still be okay. You believe me, don’t you? Seeing as I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe?”

Somewhere, midnight comes and goes and the fireworks start, dousing you and Joochan in bursts of coloured light.

“Of course I do,” you smile with eyes that glitter with tears of relief and he pulls you into a tight hug, so tight you can feel every movement of his rib cage as he breathes in and out.

For once, you do not feel that fear deep down that threatens to taint your time with the only boy you think you cannot live without. And so you unreservedly hold him in return, fingers running through his hair as he tells you that he loves you, over and over again.

*

up, up and away.

-

There had been a time during your childhood when your one greatest wish had been to go see the stars.

So your friend Joochan, in all his clumsy sincerity, had done his best to make you a rocket out of a box he’d found at home. He’d then brought it to your house after he’d finished it, blue marker staining his fingertips and glitter shaped like stars lost in his thick fringe.

The two of you had sat in it together and looked up at the moon, holding hands from childish innocence and recounting thrilling tales of adventures you’d never had. And before having to go home to bed that day, he’d made you a promise that present-day Joochan complains about not being able to fulfill.

“I know I said I’d take you to the stars,” Joochan sighs in displeasure from where he lies on your bed, right next to you, “but while your boyfriend is exceptionally talented, you do know I’m no astronaut, right?”

You hold his hand in response and look into his eyes that sparkle with mirth and deeper in, shine with a love that always gives you peace.

It may be that Joochan will never be able to keep his promise of taking you to space in a real, functioning rocket. But, as you drop a kiss on his mouth that soon widens into a brilliant smile, you can’t find it in yourself to really care.

After all, it’s hard to miss the stars when for you, they all start with Joochan and end with him.

-

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