#couple years and i had it cut in layers too but the before version is from before that time lol
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Is it weird for me to be worried about my latest hyperfixation/plot bunny?
Below the cut is an explaination.
Tl/dr: added a bunch of like pagan themes and my version of “western fantasy” and found family tropes and species bending to a Xianxia/Wuxia setting (MXTX triple fusion) and I’m worried people will find it problematic if I post it. All pagan stuff is also “weird” bc it’s my flavor of it and I add more bits when I write it for stories of any kind. Main guy mostly just acts as a dad and is always running around trying to avoid people who he doesn’t want to find him unless he needs to trade for certain things like fabric because everyone is suspicious of him and it gets worse when they learn he’s an “alternate type of cultivator” and actually foreign and stuff. Like, it’s HIM being assimilated and not the other way around even if he’s sharing like a couple crafts, what he grew up speaking and writing, some recipes and stuff you’d learn if you lived in the wilds and had an arborist-holistic doctor-type for a mom figure.
Edits: added more clarification, main concern is white savior and I’m doing as much as I can to avoid that bullshit but I’m still worried as fuck bc I don’t want to seem like an asshole or something.
Like, I tend to have phases for fandoms, sure, but I also have them for tropes/concepts I like to write.
So I’m in a MXTX/Danmei phase fandom wise, and I’m in a general “fix it before the shit can go south” phase, and now I’m layering on my paganism-in-everything phase once again and writing a “what if all MXTX novels are in the same world… and a very powerful druid-witch dude happens to stumble onto our favorite red-and-black boys and a (good number of) handful(s) of other fucked over kids… which activates his horrible, horrible dad instincts and he adopts every last one of them” thing.
It’s 3 chapters deep, has a bunch of random shit ranging from discussion of languages and their quirks, basic Irish lessons (bc teaching myself off and on for YEARS), pagan/wiccan shit (obviously), handicrafts, hunting, practical foraging and ultra-sustainable farming practices, how major religions stamp out smaller or “bad” ones…
It’s basically just what I write for my Og stuff but I’m not holding back at ALL and it’s MXTX. Main plot is MDZS but Binghe and Hua Cheng are the frustratingly ridiculous older brothers of the family that the dad-character is just sick and tired of listening to them pine and suspicious as hell about who they’re going after despite not wanting to even THINK about his boys being in romantic relationships with ANYONE.
Just… goofy happy but dramatic family shit and cute kids and teens bringing a shitload of foreign mythology and pagan culture and a hefty dash of my personal style of fantasy into the Xianxia/Wuxia world.
I just worry I might get flack for like destroying the culture and setting with… what I write about for the most part outside of like the vast majority of my fics.
Am I going nuts, or is this okay?
Edit for a clarification: I’m worried, as someone mentioned, of a white savior trope problem. I’m mainly trying to get out of that corner I seem to have driven myself in, but generally how it’s going so far is:
- cultivators are suspicious of foreign guy who’s apparently not just some weird merchant, this causes issues
- OC is more just trying to keep the kids he ends up running around with from doing stupid shit like pulling stupid stunts to be with people they declare their soul mates after like one brief interaction (and he fails a lot and gets all “I’m not mad I’m just disappointed. Now eat your dinner and go take a bath, you stink and are too thin again.”)
- major difference for whole setting is just some one off things here and there being introduced and made more common in a warped timeline (mostly just like fiber arts and some recipes and minor things that aren’t as obvious right off the bat like how ginkgo trees are in the same family as poison Ivy and stuff like that)
Generally the entire fic is just very done dad yelling at stupid teenagers for being stupid teenagers and having to dodge people who don’t like the weird wild man and judging him for not being able to read Chinese well and stuff.
Yet I’m still worried about white savior issues… because they’re an issue.
#ao3 writer#fanfic#au fanfiction#crossover#crack fic#mxtx fandom#mxtx svsss#mxtx tgcf#mxtx mdzs#mxtx fanfic#mxtx triple crossover#hualian#bingqui#wangxian#fanfic problems#tumblr polls#my polls#poll time#polls#i like to add pagan bullshit to anime and stuff ngl#paganism#wicca
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Are you a professional pumpkin artist? I just saw the Miles one and holy shit. How did you do that?
Nope, just an amateur who really enjoys this art form and has been practicing it for years. 🤣 Thank you--that's very flattering!
The short(ish) version of how:
Plan out your design in advance, paying attention to how each shape that isn't fully cut out will be supported--it's a very specific art form. Tracing is good for getting a recognizable silhouette, and expect to spend a lot of time tweaking until you get it to both look good and be carvable. (Or use a proven design from someone else.)
Big pumpkins let you do more intricate designs without the pieces getting too fragile. (But they also take longer to scrape/carve.)
Scrape the pumpkin shell out pretty thin, especially if you have any peeled sections that need to shine through. I like to see the glow of the light source through the entire pumpkin shell, and it makes carving easier due to less material to saw through.
Have one full-size copy of the pattern to transfer onto the pumpkin (it will be destroyed) and another copy to look at. To transfer your pattern, tape the paper onto the pumpkin at a couple of places (e.g., top and bottom or left and right) and make cuts in the paper and overlap/tape the pieces down until the pattern conforms to the curvature of the pumpkin. Check that the design still looks right and supports are intact. Then use something like a thumbtack to punch through the paper and into the pumpkin rind along the cut lines to mark them as a series of little punctures.
Use the right carving tools--you want something like a pumpkin saw you get in pumpkin carving kits, not just a kitchen knife. Something like small wood carving chisels work for removing sections of rind.
Leave yourself plenty of time--scraping and carving always take longer than I think it will (multi-hour process at minimum), and you don't want to accidentally cut the wrong thing piece (or yourself!) because you were rushing.
More elaboration below the cut, because you activated special-interest mode I love this art form and hope more people will have fun with it!
Patterns:
The key constraints are that you only get 2 or 3 colors (depending if you're going to peel sections of the rind) and any shape that's not a full cutout has to be supported (not just connected, but connected by pieces study enough to hold it). That makes the the art form both tricky and really satisfying when you figure it out.
Nowadays I usually draft mine on the computer in black for intact peel, orange (for parts where I'm going to peel just the rind off), and yellow for cutouts, to make it easy to envision what the final product will look like. Then I flip the colors to something that won't use up all my printer toner to print it out (black to white, orange to light gray, yellow to medium gray). (E.g., my Sandman design)
Don't hesitate to trace stuff to get recognizable silhouettes! Miles was traced directly from an official image (I think a promotional image?). So were Dream from The Sandman design and Andy from The Old Guard (below). If you're using a computer program that supports image layers, keeping stuff on different layers is really useful for tweaking relative sizes and positions to get the silhouettes to work. For Miles, I had his traced image and the spiderweb on different layers and adjusted them independently to make sure his silhouette was clearly recognizable (e.g., his elbows/heels/etc. are visible against cutouts so that you can easily recognize how his body is positioned).
In terms of supports, a good example is my The Old Guard design (below). I tweaked the axe position and the overall sizing of the silhouette vs. the circle a lot before getting here. The axe just connects to the edge of the circle at the handle and one tip of the blade, and the other side of the blade touches her shoulder. That means the axe, which has the narrowest/most fragile pieces of pumpkin, is very well supported even though it reads as a distinct, separate shape. (Having it diagonal instead of horizontal also made the image more dynamic, which is a bonus. 😉)
Pumpkin prep:
Put something down to protect your work surface and catch the pumpkin scraps (multiple layers of big sheets of paper/newspaper work well--the moisture from pumpkin innards will soak through a single layer). I wash the outside of my pumpkin before cutting, both because I use some of the pumpkin for cooking and in hopes of delaying my hard work rotting away.
I prefer to cut the opening (with a kitchen knife) at the bottom of the pumpkin and display on a plate instead of cutting a "lid" around the stem. This means 1) no need to worry about the lid getting damaged or not sitting right, 2) you can somewhat adjust the angle at which your pumpkin sits based on how you cut it, and 3) your candle/light can sit on a flat surface and be lit before you set the pumpkin down on top instead of it sitting on uneven pumpkin interior and having to reach down from the top to place/light it.
Once you get most of the stringy "pumpkin guts" and seeds out, you can scrape down the pumpkin flesh to thin out the shell. My favorite tool for this is the edge of a round cookie/biscuit cutter about the size of my palm--I hold it on one side from the dull/folded-over edge and scrape with the cutting edge. The scraped pumpkin flesh comes off as sort of "fluffy" scrapings, which I use as-is in pumpkin bread (it also freezes well for later use--I usually get multiple pounds from scraping a large jack-o-lantern pumpkin).
Carving:
When you transfer your pattern onto the pumpkin with a thumbtack, the lines appear as a series of small punctures in the rind. For areas with intricate details, corners/sharp curves, or lines running close together, keep the spacing small; for long gentle curves or straight lines, you can space them farther apart. Keep an intact copy of the pattern close by to reference when interpreting the punctures later, and if you're having trouble seeing the marks, you can rub a little bit of flour over the surface to highlight the holes.
My pumpkin-carving saws are just from one of these kits, like the two saws on the right with the straight handles. They're held like a pencil and go straight in-and-out like a sewing-machine needle. The saws are really the only thing I use from the kits--IMO big metal spoons and my cookie cutter work much better than the plastic scoops and I prefer a thumbtack to the "poker" (I have no idea what the crayon is intended for).
When starting to carve, you'll be pushing/pulling on the area you're cutting, and everything you cut out weakens the shell of the pumpkin in that area, so be strategic--you don't want to be carving a section that's already tenuously supported. I generally start with peeled sections (which only remove the outer layer of rind and don't significantly weaken it) and small, finicky cutouts, and then I typically move from the center of the design outward. So for Miles, his (peeled) chest design and eyes probably came first, then the tiny spiderweb sections framing his body and the area between his legs, then the larger spiderweb sections working outward.
To peel, I use what I think were originally wood-carving tools. I use a sharp tool to slice just through the outer rind along the marked edges of the area, and then work a small chisel under the rind to peel it up in small chunks. (Thin lines are peeled with a little trough-shaped blade.) For cutouts, I generally try to saw either straight in (perpendicular to the surface) or angle the blade slightly away from the piece to be removed to the cutout piece will easily push into the interior of the pumpkin and there will be fewer interior edges impinging into the cut out area. In thin sections, err on the side of leaving them well-supported in the initial cut and adjust afterwards.
Finally, if you are using a candle, do cut some kind of vents at the top of the pumpkin to let the heat/smoke escape. I usually cut some small triangles on the back side of the pumpkin top. For the Spiderverse pumpkin, I think the spider cutout to project on the wall served as my vent.
Timing:
As I mentioned, jack-o-lanterns always take longer to complete than I expect. However, once you carve and expose all those little pumpkin pieces, the clock starts ticking down to your jack-o-lantern drying out (making pieces start to shrivel and distort) and/or starting to rot/getting attacked by bugs. 🤷 This is an inherently transitory and perishable art form.
I prefer to carve the day-of so it looks its best, but since Halloween is not a work holiday, schedules do not always support that! Prepping/scraping the pumpkin the day before and then carving the next is one option for squeezing in a freshly carved design.
In my experience, my jack-o-lanterns usually look good for more than one day, so carving in advance can work, but it will depend on pattern/weather conditions/etc. Small pieces that stick out unsupported (e.g., the two unsupported pieces of the axe head above) are the most vulnerable to dryout/shriveling; designs like the Spider-Man one are less vulnerable because most of the pieces are anchored at both ends and thus can't collapse in a way that significantly alters the silhouette. A design that uses only peeling or has cutouts but no thin/delicate pieces of pumpkin (e.g., the classic simple jack-o-lantern face) will hold up best.
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I really like the infidelity AU you made up for Slimeriana >:D any more thoughts about it? I was thinking about it, and had the idea of Charlie wearing the promise ring from a chain around his neck. Maybe when they are exchanging heavy breaths, his necklace comes out from below his shirt. Mariana blinks at it, and Slime's face flushes, turning away. He gets a small tap on the shoulder- and in the Mexican man's hand is a matching chain, with a very familiar promise ring.
Maybe it was secretly some arranged marriage thing and Foolish was oblivious? Maybe he was cheating on Mariana with Vegetta? Who fucking knows!
But yeah I'd like to hear ur opinions on my silly ideas for this au and any more ideas you hav efor this au :D
Ohh! That’s a cool idea! :D just having their promise rings in chains jdsjjs
I would feel like if we’re going down the toxic couple route, Mariana being engaged would be genuine but once Charlie returned, his feelings for him came rushing back and it’s a moral dilemma of him cheating on his fiancé and having secret affairs with his previous lover.
But a secret arranged marriage is also a good idea, it adds a layer of their secret affair being no one else’s fault too. Because Charlie was threatened to cut ties and Mariana was promised to another man.
Either way, both ideas are promising :D
From my version, Mariana has anger and resentment at Charlie for cutting ties with him, so even if Mariana said he could wait forever, he doesn’t know how true it was whenever another year kept getting added with no contact with Charlie. So, when he met Foolish, he took the chance because he lost hope that Charlie would return.
But then he does, and it complicates a lot of things. Progress is lost of Mariana claiming he has moved on and feelings return much stronger than before. So, you can imagine how much he struggled to keep Charlie at an arm’s length. Especially when Charlie was being flirty and touchy and affectionate with him.
Mariana can only take so much until his patience snaps and he allows for things to happen. Allows getting undressed, allows unfamiliar but familiar hands on his body, and allows himself to drown in guilt and regret as soon as he woke up with Charlie asleep next to him.
Yet, he keeps coming back.
They play this off for months. Charlie thought he was making progress with Mariana, he convinced himself that things will be back to how things were.
But then again, Mariana still proudly introduces Foolish as his fiancé, they’re the couple that could hold hands and kiss in front of their friends and family. And Charlie is just a dirty little secret, kept in the dark with whispered confessions and promises of love.
Charlie thought he’d be content having this arrangement. He thought he’d be satisfied having Mariana on the weekends, in the backseat of his car, in a dirty nightclub bathroom, on his bedsheets.
In the end, Charlie wants all of him. And Mariana can’t give it to him, so the fighting starts.
They never fought. At least never this intensely. They didn’t think they were capable of exchanging poisonous insults and punching walls and yelling until concerned neighbors had to intervene.
Their relationship becomes so messy like this. They don’t even know where love and hate ends and begins. The lines are so blurry between bruising kisses and nail scratches on skins and punishing push and pulls. It’s like, they’re incapable of separating no matter how much they claim that they hate each other.
Eventually, Foolish finds out. And Mariana is on a crossroads to make a decision.
From this point, it could go either way. I’m giving the blue or red pill option :))) Does Mariana choose Foolish because he realizes that Charlie is his past and he should let go? Or does he choose Charlie because he doesn’t want to move on either and they could take the leap on a second chance?
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Week 4
For this week there was a focus on image creation for the possibility of involvement in the type specimen booklet. In class I tried experimenting with techniques using some of the images supplied as resources, as I didn't really have any of my own images that could relate to parts of my pepeha.
I quickly whipped this image up using 2 of those supplied images, making use of the multiply blend mode in particular for the editing, something that I had surprisingly not really used much any time I was editing photos back at school and in my free time.
After this first image I then tried applying this blend mode to an image I had taken in Design Practice, thinking more purposefully about how it could possibly being appliable as a subtle background in my specimen book.
Even though It doesn't have much relation to aspects of my pepeha, I could make use of it somewhere else in my eventual booklet if I feel that images would work as an element for backgrounds.
Later in the week at home for SDL I designed a poster that thought about the involvement of an image from a part of my pepeha, along with type taking a strong presence in it. I used Rangitoto as my subject, since out of all the other important locations in my pepeha like Lake Pupuke, it’s the one that I have the most connection with having directly experienced it by climbing it twice with my family.
I based the colour palette around what was present in this particular image, which was the orange from the sunset and the blue-lavender from the surrounding water. I thought these colours could be an option to go ahead with in my type booklet too since they pair really nicely together, and could work well with both black and maybe an off white. To make the poster itself I worked in Photoshop, and started by duplicating the image and cutting out the rocks at the bottom, so I could put them as the top layer in order to slightly mask the text I put in later. For the main image I added a bit of texture into the water by putting in another image I took last year of a part of the Auckland Museum’s lobby. I then compressed the image, adjusted its brightness and set the blend mode to multiply, before erasing the parts of it that stuck out from the water on a layer mask. I then added the text in the typeface I’m going to use in my specimen booklet, putting it in between the image layers so that it appears behind the rocks. I also added the volcano's full name as a secondary piece of text above the main title. I also chose to align those blocks of text to the right, where Rangitoto's main shape and height is. After getting this main initial idea done, I trialed a couple more versions looking at the layout and addition of more text.
I then experimented with adding some paragraphs of currently filler text about Rangitoto, along with some larger text for a quick statistic about the volcano. I also rearranged the title text, moving it to the left while making the subheading text italic for some variation amongst the rest of it. While the secondary text worked quite well, especially with the opaque rectangle behind it, I felt its positioning wasn't quite as good as what it could be. I then changed this up again for the final version of this quick poster.
I relocated the body text to the left, so that it didn't obscure the shape of Rangitoto, while also getting rid of the extra text in between it, since I think it detracted from the title text too much. Because of this I moved the titles back to the right side, while keeping the subheading in italic since I found it worked well in making it command a bit more attention, particularly against the body text. Throughout this whole process, I also tried using a different typeface, Segoe UI, for this body text, since I wanted to see how it would fare alongside the Condor titles and also against this main typeface as body text. I wasn't quite sure personally if Condor worked as body text yet, and I wanted to try and have a backup sans serif typeface in case I decided against using my main type in this situation.
I also continued a bit of research for the booklet, while continuing to think about whether or not I felt I could stretch Condor across into every application in it. I started out working on the specimen booklet too, although I didn't really get much more done beyond a very basic concept for my title page.
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BnHA Chapter 299: No Chains Left
Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “and then AFO broke out all of the inmates from six other prisons and took a nap. well anyways, here’s the hospital angst.” Kacchan woke up two days later and was all, “WAIT BUT HOW ARE DEKU AND TODOROKI AND ALL OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS EXCEPT IIDA DOING” and then we cut to Shouto’s room where the other U.A. kids were sitting around being Mutually Traumatized and giving each other moral support and such. Everyone was alll, “...”, and then the rest of the Todofam showed up, INCLUDING POSSIBLY REI?! which, omg. The chapter ended with Kacchan STOMPING THROUGH THE HALLS all “WHADDYA MEAN DEKU HASN’T WOKEN UP YET”, dragging along Satou and Mineta behind him, fueled by the power of ALL OF THE FUCKS HE NOW GIVES. He gives so many fucks now you guys. This boy cares so much he can probably deduct it on his taxes.
Today on BnHA: SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO GIVE A LOT OF FUCKS, the story cuts abruptly to Hawks, freshly recovering from his near-death experience, and pondering the threads that have weaved the tapestry of his life and led him to this moment. Basically he grew up in poverty with his Jerk Dad and Jerk Mom until his dad got arrested one day and his mom sent him off to go Find Money Or Something, and so he rescued a busload of people and found himself a new career. Back in the present day, Hawks and Jeanist ride around town in Jeanist’s Jamborghini having awkward encounters with civilians in a country on the brink of social collapse, and visiting Hawks’s mother’s home. Hawks is all “I know from an outsider’s perspective it must look like my life currently sucks, but now that the HPSC is gone, my public image is shot, and my parents are finally out of my life, I’m actually feeling SURPRISINGLY GOOD.” Anyway so he’s gonna go meet up with Endeavor now, and p.s. this chapter was fucking fantastic though, damn.
oh my god?? is this Hawks narration?? something about him growing up watching the heroes on TV and thinking of them as fictional characters
okay I scrolled down a little bit more to see the rest of that “Keigo” panel, and wow
this is basically a shed. poor boy definitely grew up rough. let me tell you guys, I came in here ready for some BakuDeku shenanigans; I was not prepared for Hawks Flashback Angst. I AM HERE FOR IT, but also wow I gotta brace myself now lol
HELLO MISTER HAWKS’S JERK DAD, SIR
BnHA sure does have an array of Jerk Dads, doesn’t it. makes me appreciate characters like Masaru and JirouDad all the more for bucking the trend
anyway. so Horikoshi, you really thought that one itty bitty chapter of hospital catharsis would be enough to calm us all before you went right back to showing us child abuse huh. my god man can we rest
BABY HAWKS
swear to god this kid can’t be more than five or six, and yet he has this completely blank look on his face even with his dad looming over him being all threatening and shit. like he’s shut down his emotions to protect himself. imagine what has to happen to a child for him to have learned this at such a young age. fuck
AND MEANWHILE THIS GUY
don’t mingle with humans?? not “other” humans, just humans?? what is this implying here?? and also holy shit Hawks definitely didn’t inherit his looks from his dad orz
then again he doesn’t really bear much of a resemblance to his strung-out mom here either
omg omg omg. and this child is basically trapped here in this environment with these two people. this explains a SHITLOAD about Hawks’s personality though you guys. his ability to completely separate his real thoughts from the face he presents to the outside world. his pragmatic approach to analyzing and solving problems. his layers of emotional walls. turns out almost none of that came from the HPSC training -- that was all learned hands-on in his own personal do-or-die survival nightmare childhood!! oh, boy
and small wonder then that he latched on to Endeavor so strongly if he really is the one who brought down his dad and inadvertently saved him from this. also, just putting this out there, I know people are always talking about him and Dabi being foils, and I think it’s very interesting how Touya grew up in a household where he saw firsthand the dark side of hero society, and so ended up becoming a villain in order to bring it down. whereas young Keigo had almost the exact opposite experience, growing up experiencing the dark side of villain society and becoming a hero in order to bring about a world where no one else has to experience that. just. both of them are so determined not to become their fathers. some interesting parallels there
so Hawks was sort of an accident after his parents had “thanks for helping me not get caught after I killed that guy” sex, and now this little boy is growing up in squalor and being beaten by his father for things like Sitting In The Wrong Out-Of-The-Way Corner Trying Not To Be A Bother To Anybody. holy fuck. this is so rough to read through you guys
wait so does Jerk Dad have a an eyeball manipulation quirk?? because he doesn’t have the wings like his son, but wth are these things??
this presumably also means that Keigo has never been to school or anything either. he basically doesn’t exist. he thinks heroes are fictional characters, he doesn’t realize that they’re real people. these are people who could help him if he could escape and find them, but he doesn’t know, and they don’t know about him
OH MY GOD HE’S JUST SITTING IN HIS CORNER HUGGLING HIS ENDEAVOR PLUSH OH MY GOD
how could this child possibly have an anti-fandom when he’s done NOTHING WRONG HIS ENTIRE LIFE. huh. just explain that to me. lol I mean I’m not looking to pick a fight with anyone, but also, MAYBE I AM, idk?? this kid has gotten me all riled up lmao
anyways, Protect Keigo 2021, and thank you Horikoshi for these three very terrible pages. I am pleased to inform you that you’ve effectively gotten your point across and you may now commence saving this kid already
YAY
oh no, Keigo’s dumbass jerk dad tried to steal a car and the popo nabbed his ass and now his mom can’t just sit around neglecting her VERY YOUNG SON all day long, oh horrors. sorry lady my tiny violin is on backorder. just imagine that I’m playing a very sarcastic song on it for you
anyway so what are you gonna do now, abandon him? I can hardly imagine he’d be worse off, if anything it might be a near-instant improvement
LMAO HE’S ALL “WAIT WHAT ENDEAVOR’S A REAL FUCKING DUDE?!”
AND THEY SAY THAT A HERO CAN SAVE US~~~~ I’M NOT GONNA STAND HERE AND WAAAAAIT~~~~~ I’LL HOLD ONTO THE WINGS OF THE EAGLES, WATCH AS WE ALL FLY AWAAAAAAY~~~~
lol what a randomly pivotal moment in his young life. TIME TO GO MAKE THESE MEMES INTO DREAMS YOUNG ONE
anyway so his mom freaked out and grabbed him and they wound up at a train station with her TELLING HIM TO GO GET HER SOME MONEY, oh my god. SURE MOM LEMME JUST WALTZ RIGHT ON DOWN TO THE “JOBS FOR FIVE-YEAR-OLDS” STORE AND TELL THEM I NEED SOME CASH. ffff manifesting someone to come help him in 3... 2...
...
SIGH, JUST GO RESCUE THE PEOPLE FROM THE BUS, KEIGO. is this the outfit he was wearing when that happened?? it must be, right?? I can’t imagine them surviving more than a couple days out here unless this starts getting REALLY dark in a way I know that even Horikoshi won’t explore, so yeah. cut to the HPSC now please. never thought we’d be glad to see them. I mean sure, it may be an “out of the frying pan...” case, but good god
THANK YOU!!
and I guess it was his mom’s eyeball quirk then. anyway, whatever, see you again never, hopefully. lol oh man. thaaaat, was upsetting. need to center myself here for a sec. NAMASTE
OH YAY THE PRESENT
so we cut from Baby Hawks Angst straight to Present Day Hawks Angst, huh. not that this exhausted and traumatized lil lad isn’t still a baby to me too, I’ll have you know
BEST JEANIST, ALWAYS WITH THE JOKES
“WHEW, THOUGHT YOU DIED ON ME FOR A SEC THERE KID.” lmao. Caleb will no doubt ruin this by making his word choice all stiffly formal as usual, so I’m just going to treasure this “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT, I’M FRESH OUT OF FUCKS” version of Jeanist while I can
look at him, driving his Jeanistmobile
again, is it any wonder Kacchan was bitching about Endeavor’s dinky little car when he was used to riding around town in style like this. anyone else staring at this panel trying to figure out how this car is somehow secretly made of jeans
NOOOOO
FUCK YOU DABI LMAO. PUTTING THESE VOICE ACTORS OUT OF A JOB ONE BY ONE
anyway so Jeanist is all “GOOD THING IT’S THE FUTURE AND WE’RE SO GOOD AT MEDICAL SCIENCE” to handwave how Hawks went from one step shy of being a very handsome corpse, to sitting around texting Jeanist in a car all of two days later
OH MY GOD, AND FINALLY AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS
wait a minute. I’m so confused lmfao. soooo, was Hawks all “anyway, here’s Jeanist’s dead body, you can examine it but please don’t look at him too closely and also I’m gonna need that back unharmed.” how tf did you pull that off lmao
(ETA: also isn’t this technically confirmation of the ol’ Noumu Jeanist theory lol. I’m gonna go ahead and say it is.)
NO BUT PLEASE, CONTINUE. I unironically love reading Horikoshi’s overly convoluted “SEE IT’S NOT A PLOT HOLE” explanations
lkldslfk so wait, you’re telling me Hawks convinced Dabi and the League to put Jeanist’s body in storage, and basically just hoped they wouldn’t use him for any experiments until he could put his plan into action and have the HPSC’s people break in and find and revive him?? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG. A FOOLPROOF PLAN IF I’VE EVER HEARD ONE
fff this man really asked Jeanist to risk it all to prop up his little cover story, and Jeanist was all “sure why not” omfg. anyways, thanks for recapping all of this out loud for no particular reason in your car conversation you two
LMAO NOW WHAT
TROUBLE YOU SAY? GOOD THING THE NEW NUMBER ONE HERO IS ON THE JOB THEN
okay no it’s just some random thugs strolling around terrorizing the downtown. fuck ‘em. so Jeanist is making short work of them now
uh oh
won’t come? not can’t, but won’t?? what???
WOW
well I guess that makes the local heroes A BUNCH OF SHITHEADS now doesn’t it?? jesus
and okay, serious question, if the cops are spread too thin and the heroes have literally walked out on the job, what exactly is stopping everyone from deciding to use their quirks to defend themselves, legal or not? nothing, as far as I can tell. society just got a hell of a lot more chaotic
anyway so this is an interesting panel here
man, Dabi really did pull it off, didn’t he. well anyway so here’s that better world all of the villains were wanting, you guys! isn’t it so great?? everyone’s terrified and angry and losing hope and society is inches away from collapsing into total anarchy! but hey, at least we exposed the number one hero as a hypocrite
anyway so what are these guys up to
fucking hell, he’s visiting his mom. I really wasn’t prepared to commit this much emotional energy towards reading this chapter today. BUT VERY WELL, WE PRESS ON
?? wait she’s not there?
is this supposed to explain how Dabi knew who Hawks really was? except that there’s the little matter of how he even know where to find his mother in the first place. feels like we’re still missing something there, but oh well
OH MY GOD
RHA I TAKE BACK EVERY WORD I EVER SPOKE AGAINST YOU. YOU ARE A SCANLATION GROUP FILLED WITH ANGELS LMAO. I WILL TAKE THIS PANEL IN MY HANDS, AND TREASURE IT AND KEEP IT SAFE
ANYWAY, BECAUSE MY TIRED BIRD SON’S LIFE SUCKED SO MUCH ALREADY, IT TURNS OUT HE’S ACTUALLY PLEASED WITH THIS NEW TURN OF EVENTS LOL HOW ABOUT THAT
GOOD FOR YOU BBY. YOU GO OUT THERE AND BE YOUR OWN PERSON
and in all seriousness, I love that identity he chooses -- chooses, because it actually is him making a choice now, possibly for the very first time in his life -- is “guy who helps people”, though. it really is nothing short of miraculous that he held on to that kind of optimism and desire to do good even with everything he’s been through. there were so many times he could have chosen to turn his back on the world in retaliation for the way it treated him. but he didn’t!! and here he is now, finally free, and what he wants to do with the rest of his life now is simply to help others. anyway please excuse me for a moment, I need to go find some sort of basket or a big vase to put all of my fresh new Hawks Feels in, pardonne-moi
YEAH BOIIIIII
“FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS, MISTER JEANIST, WHERE DID YOU FIND YOUSELF THAT SWEETASS CAR.” hey, all I’m saying is if this boy’s wings really aren’t growing back, he’s gonna need to find himself a new means of transportation y’know?
oh my god you guys it’s a flashback to his mom buying him the Endeavor plushie when he was like two because, and I quote, ALL MIGHT WAS TOO EXPENSIVE
oh my god oh my god. my boy out here with a new lease on life finding hope in the darkest of times
wasn’t your throat supposed to be all fucked up lmao. Horikoshi was suddenly all “oh shit the VAs are gonna be pissed at me if I keep this up huh”
“that’s why Bubaigawara was such a great guy” motherfucker IT IS A TERRIBLE DAY FOR RAIN. FORECAST SAID NOTHING ABOUT THIS
:’)
yes ma’am. yes indeed. confirmed, I really will straight up fight some motherfuckers for this child. well not really, but YOU KEEP YOUR DISCOURSE OFF MY LAWN AND OUT OF MY BLOG YOU HEAR. THIS IS A HAWKS-FRIENDLY SPACE. WE RESPECT TAKAMI KEIGO IN THESE STREETS
and he’s saying (or is he thinking?? what a weirdly shaped speech bubble this is) that even if what Dabi said about the Todoroki household is true, “I’m not sure it’s the same now.” which happens to be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT. man this whole chapter really is all about saying “fuck the past” and moving forward and I am living for it
SON!!!!
“the first step is at my beginning” fklkjlk. what an iconic fucking line??
AND HIS WINGS!!!! THEY ACTUALLY ARE GROWING BACK AHHHHHHH. “PUT A RAINCHECK ON THAT CAR, JEANIST-SAN.” THE HAWKSMOBILE CAN WAIT, RIGHT NOW HE HAS TO GO INSERT HIMSELF BACK INTO THE TODODRAMA WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT
you guys. I came here ready for some BAKUDEKU HOSPITAL ANGST, and I got DIDDLY SHIT of that, and none of my other kids were even in this chapter, but!!! ASK ME IF I CARE LMAO omg. because bird son is hanging with his new best friend, and he’s out here Finding Himself and picking up the pieces and putting them back together stronger than ever because RESILIENCE HAS A NAME, AND IT’S SPELLED H-A-W-K-S, and you guys. profound, my love for this child. holy shit. hey google, play Silence by Marshmello
#bnha 299#takami keigo#hawks (bnha)#best jeanist#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha#I found peace in your violence#can't tell me there's no point in trying#I'm at one#and I've been quiet for too long
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Therapy helps rhett realize that all of those "I'm dead" UFC moves were actually just a way to fulfill his need for physical intimacy at a time in his life where he didn't feel it was acceptable to ask for it, especially from another man. Now that they're both adults and completely different people than they were in college, rhett decides it's time to explain it all to link and let him know that he actually misses that physical contact with him.
It took me a really long while, but I finally finished this one! I really loved that prompt, so thank you so much for giving it to me, lovely Anon. I was initially going to write it as a platonic/romantic friendship kinda story, but it seems I'm determined to write a hundred different first kiss + feelings realisation scenarios, I simply enjoy those way too much.
*** 2,5K ***
Let me hold you
He’s done it again.
Not so long ago, Rhett promised himself not to bring it up in front of cameras or a microphone unless he talks it out with Link, privately.
Especially not as a joke.
And he’s failed already, he scolds himself short after the Ear Biscuits episode is recorded and they’re both out of the room, heading back towards their office.
He thinks he could have just omitted it, shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It simply wasn’t necessary to mull over it again, even with the topic of the episode revolving around their college experience. It wasn’t a big deal, he said it himself, countless times. Every time they talked about it on the show.
So, every time.
There’s never been a conversation in private about that incident or anything that preluded it, never in the absence of people to entertain, never not around at least one recording device. Because why would there be? It wasn’t a big deal. A funny story, s’all.
He’s also never been able to just let things go, though, and thanks to that inability, the lore of wrestling and the “I’m dead” move had to live on. It was an innocent story, a funny albeit embarrassing one – their unofficial brand after all, an easy misunderstanding and a fun little anecdote, not his carefully curated version of what happened, nor a watered-down one, not just a part of the entire story devoid of any feelings associated with it, not a big deal-! And most of all, not… true. Not true.
Rhett isn’t sure if Link has been consciously going along with that wordlessly agreed upon version of what their UFC phase looked like, repressing the truth behind it, or… simply never realised what it meant for Rhett and genuinely thought of it as a humorous yet insignificant part of their friendship in the past.
Most likely the third option, he has to assume. After all, why would Link attach any meaning to it? It’s not like anything actually ever happened, not outside of Rhett’s mind at least. Frankly, he himself went decades without understanding his own motivations, more than once confused by why the memories of wrestling with his friend and laying on top of him felt both shameful and deeply comforting. Why even long after they grew up, stopped being kids, and as a result retired all their UFC moves, the only way he could describe what he felt thinking about that time was longing.
Until therapy happened.
Just like with many different things in his life:
There was something in the darkness, and then therapy shone a light on it.
It was like there were countless situations he navigated solely on instinct, without paying much thought to the reasons behind why he acted a certain way, and once therapy equipped him with the ability to do so, he unearthed an entire deep layer of feelings and emotions that were always there. Just hidden, even from himself.
The wrestling being one of those things.
So, he thinks Link doesn’t know.
And he’s finally determined to change that.
Why now, when he’s had so many chances to talk to Link over the years ever since he started being more in touch with himself? He doesn’t really have an answer; it’s just that after talking about it with such levity again, after repeatedly making a joke out of it, it feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confess to Link what it was really like. And most of all, it feels like the yearning has become stronger lately, and the conversation yet again playing it all off as them being young and silly only ignited it, made the flame inside of Rhett burn brighter, threatening to make his heart combust.
“I need to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.” Rhett says easily once they’re in the office. It’s not an unsure statement or a nervous plea with words tumbling out of his mouth before he can lose his cool and change his mind. It would have been all that and more a couple of years ago, sure.
But he’s a different man now. He’s not afraid to tell the person who’s been with him for almost the entirety of his life what he feels.
Link, however. He does look unsure, a bit alarmed even, when he looks at Rhett and responds.
“Sure-? What is it? Do you wanna talk now?”
It’s just like him to worry. Run a hundred different scenarios in his head, most of them negative, trying to prepare himself for every possible outcome of a serious conversation before it even began. It’s an anxious survival instinct that makes Link resilient to even the worst that life has to offer and able to face it all head on. But right now, it’s nothing scary. Rhett doesn’t want his friend to be worried, so he quickly says as much.
“Don’t worry, s’not bad. Just something we talked about on the podcast today.” The blonde sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, hoping he appears to be as calm as he truly feels inside and that it might dissolve some of Link’s concern, still written all over his face.
The other man takes his place on the sofa and looks at him expectingly.
“Right. So-“ Rhett’s calmness doesn’t completely evaporate once Link gives him his full attention, but it’s suddenly laced with some nerves. “About the wrestling. You know, in college. And before that. And- Especially about my ‘I’m dead’ move. I’ve been thinking about it, and-“
“Rhett, I swear, if you made me sit down for a talk only to tell me you’d like to make it a part of our conflict resolution again, then ha-ha. Very funny. I’d like to go get myself some coffee now.” Link cuts him off with an unamused look in his eyes and almost makes a move to stand up.
Rhett is quicker though and grabs the brunette’s arm before he can really move, effectively making him stay in place.
“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. Like, at all. I-“ He realises he’s still holding onto Link’s arm and instinctively wants to retract his hand, but that same feeling that led him to initiating this conversation in the first place makes him reconsider. “I’ve been thinking about what it all meant and why I did that, especially when we fought or you were angry with me, and-“
“Because we were young.” Link quickly answers what wasn’t even a question. “We had too much energy and neither of us really wanted to hurt the other by punching him or- or fighting in earnest. What else would it mean.”
“Link can you let me talk? I’m trying to say something important.” Rhett squeezes Link’s forearm. “So, as I was saying. I mostly did it when you were angry or I was feeling unsure, and I didn’t realise it back then, but- But I know now, that I just… needed reassurance. You know, physical contact.” He explains, looking straight into Link’s eyes and trying to interpret his reaction before it comes.
When nothing happens, and the brunette just stares back at him with a furrowed brow, he feels compelled to continue and elaborate.
“Like when people… hug after an argument-?” His brain almost challenges him to make a different comparison, presenting a parallel between laying half-naked on top of your best friend and another activity people often partake in to make up after a fight. But that’s not- It’s not what he’s trying to say. It’s not like that.
The face in front of him frowns in confusion, blue eyes squinting and mouth opening and closing again, only letting out a puff of air and no sound at first.
When Link finally responds, his voice is unsure, like he suspects that he’s not understanding something right. “Are you trying to tell me you wanted to hug me when we bickered, so you pushed me to the floor and laid on me till I was even angrier, instead…?”
That’s not fully what Rhett meant, but it’s close enough, so he nods.
“What the crap, Rhett-? You're not making any sense.”
“Okay, listen…” He decides to go for a different approach. “We still don’t hug after arguments. We never hug hello. I think I could count on my fingers how many times we’ve actually hugged each other as adults, outside of the show!”
“Yeah! That’s just not what we do! We’ve never done those things, it’s just not a part of our relationship- I still don’t know what you wanna tell me here Rhett.” Link throws his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.
“I want it to be a thing we do, okay?! I always did, but I was afraid to ask for it so I just took what you could give me without talking about it. Can’t have actual intimacy? Make up a UFC thing so I can be close to you! Can’t hold you when I’ve made you mad? Better lay on top of you till you give up and have no choice but stop!” Rhett pauses to finally take a breath.
“That time that guy saw us- I’m sure you remember I stormed off right after-? I panicked, it was like him seeing us and thinking there was something else happening almost made feel like it was something else, and since I started it, it also felt like I wanted it to be something else. I got so angry at myself for even trying and I never did it again. I’m sure you remember that, too!” Words flow out of Rhett in a hurried and increasingly loud cascade, while Link’s eyes grow bigger and comprehension dawns on his face.
“I know how stupid it sounds. But you know how I was. We were well into our thirties when I still refused to get close to you. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, it was the opposite – I wanted it a lot, man.”
„But I thought...?” Link seems to be turning a thought over in his head. “I thought you just never liked it. That the wrestling thing was about you… asserting dominance. That’s what it felt like at least. Like you trying to act like an older brother or somethin’.”
“No- It was me wanting to be close to you and not knowing how to ask for it. My very convoluted way of expressing love, you could call it. And I’m sorry it took me-“
“What changed-? I mean, what made you wanna talk about it?” There’s urgency in Link’s voice when he cuts Rhett off.
“I… I realised I miss it. I told you, we still don’t really hug or get intimate, however that sounds, and I’m not gonna just topple you and pin you to the ground again. We’re too old for that. For once, I don’t think either my back or your shoulders would survive if we started wrestling every time I wanted to be affectionate. But also- We’re over forty, Link. What does it say about me if I can’t just ask a person I love and have loved for almost four decades to hold me when I need it and would resort to, well, aggression-? That’s not how it should work.”
Link ponders Rhett’s words for a few beats before opening his mouth again, only to let three breathy words escape. “You love me-?”
It seems like the wrong thing to focus on, Rhett just opened up to say he not only craves physical intimacy now, but also struggled with that same need when they were younger so badly, he had to invent an entire intricate system allowing him to be closer, and Link questions the one thing he knows already. Because of course he knows, Rhett’s said as much dozens of times, of course he loves him. But it appears he has to say it anyway, judging from the weird look in Link’s eyes.
“I do, of course I lo-“ The blonde begins, yet he doesn’t get a chance to finish and ask whether Link heard the other part of his confession at all, because at once, his mouth isn’t free to keep talking and there’s no air left in his lungs as the man who was just sitting right next to him plunges forward and collides with him, lips first.
Oh. Rhett manages to form one more coherent thought despite being startled and entirely taken aback. Link misunderstood. That’s why he got hung up on the love confession. That’s not what Rhett meant, that’s not what he was trying to say, it’s not like that-
He feels like he should clear things up as quickly as possible. Logically, he should be panicking, racking his brain for a way to straighten things up, to explain to Link that it wasn’t what he was trying to say without making things worse, without ruining everything and making his best friend feel miserable and embarrassed, until…
Until Rhett realises his body went rogue and started responding without his conscious decision, his lips are moving against the other man’s, one of his hands is cupping Link’s face, while the other strayed away and is caressing his back. And it feels like his heart is trying to break out of the ribcage with how hard it’s pounding in his chest, along with his stomach doing wild summersaults. And he’s not panicking, not at all. And it’s not a misunderstanding, how could it, when he loves Link with his entire soul, with his whole being- And exactly like that, it hits him. Starting this conversation, he thought he already understood everything, but he didn’t– there was still that last puzzle piece missing.
They come up for air, panting from the intensity of that first kiss, foreheads flush with each other. Rhett finishes the sentence he began before Link’s move changed everything. “Of course I love you.” He means it now, he means it exactly like Link took it and can’t comprehend how he didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfectly obvious now.
So he hugs Link. He encircles the man’s body with his long arms, squeezes, and holds him, feels his friend snuggle into him, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, holding Rhett's larger body in return.
All he needed was ask for the closeness.
He asked, and he got it.
He got all he wanted and so much more.
So, so much.
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Androgynous Swimsuits, late 1920s
This is a swimsuit from the late 1920s, which was fashionable into the early 1930s. The style recreated here was worn by men before a similar style was adopted by women a couple of years later. Swimsuits like these were sometimes used in caricatures suggesting that “modern women” had grown too masculine, so they were quite daring when first worn. By the early 1930s this was the standard style of female swimsuit. This is probably the last style of swimsuit with a covered chest worn by men. After this swimsuit fell out of fashion, men began to wear highwaisted swim trunks and swim bottoms. I also made a version for children, as they aren’t really covered well for this period either.
This one takes some inspiration from the swimsuit worn by Robert Redford in the 1974 film version of The Great Gatsby. (The pool murder scene) Since the novel just entered the public domain this year, I thought it might be fun to celebrate that with a 1920s swimsuit since no one has really made one yet.
The screenshot above is with reshade, but unedited CAS screenshots are below the cut. I just installed reshade this week and have been experimenting with it.
Also for kids!
NOTE: For this swimsuit, I didn’t really make LODs from the base mesh, as the tiny amount of definition would probably go away once I decimated the mesh (and have some holes added). So I just used the nude base meshes, which are very close. You probably won’t notice unless your graphics are on low settings.
I think swimsuits were still being made of wool during this period, but I could be wrong. Other materials were being used more frequently into the 1930s and beyond, such as layered cottons with closures. Despite its smell when wet, wool had been popular since the Victorian era for swimsuits as it has a stretchiness rare in non-synthetic fabrics and remains opaque when wet. Just a fun (or not so fun?) historical fashion fact about the days before the invention of spandex.
The male swimsuit has seven swatches, four stripes and three solids.
The female swimsuit has eleven swatches, four stripes, and a few others in various prints. I had a lot of fun with these. 😊
The child swimsuit has seven swatches, four stripes and three solids.
There’s a white/light grey swatch which should be usable for recolors, but if you need the psd just message me.
Download: SFS (folder) | Dropbox (merged file only)
@maxismatchccworld
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Koutaro Bokuto x Fem Reader: Eligible Bachelor
Summary: Some of the MSBY team are scheduled at a charity event and are auctioned off for dates, you being the manager go with them. The team is well aware of your crush on Bokuto and put a plan in motion. What’s the worst that can happen.
Words: 5.1K
Warnings: Angst if squint, happy ending, MSBY 4 being sold as dates for Charity.
Authors Note: Hello! This is my first time posting a fic so go easy on me, I hope you all enjoy it and get a good laugh out of it like I did! This is part of a collab with @ambershaydeoffical! Please support all the talented writes who participated.
Update: I made a route for Sakusa! Find that here
Update: I made a route for Atsumu! Finda that here
Story
“Alrighty boys are you ready to go on in?” You said staring at the four well dressed men behind you.
“No, and I want to go home.” Sakusa adjusted his black facemask. He wasn’t keen on coming to this event whatsoever.
“Sakusa I know, but I really need you! Besides what would you be doing anyway? It's Valentine's day and you're as single as single gets. Live a little. Maybe you will find your Mrs.Clean tonight! Ya never know!” You said as he rolled his eyes and scoffed.
“Omi-Omi don't be that way. Our lovely manager here worked hard to get us this opportunity, and it's benefiting a charity you scrooge.” Atsumu smacked Sakusa’s back.”I think your just upset because you know all the ladies are going to bid on me.” The blond setter smirked at the very pissed Sakusa who just glared at him.
“NOoO It's going to be me who gets all the bids. I still have my tan from Brazil and I’m alot cooler than all of you.” Hinata piped up, proudly adjusting his tie that had little volleyballs on it.
“Well if we don’t get our asses in that building, aint none of y’all getting any bids, besides I’m freezing to death,” You said rubbing your arms. The dress you wore done little to protect you from the cold night.
“Take this please, I don’t want to freeze to death. I like you warm and alive.” Bokuto, who's been oddly quiet, spoke up wrapping his grey tux jacket around your shoulders leaving him in his blue button up. You could smell his cologne on the jacket, you could drown in this and wouldn't complain. Your cheeks ran hot and you managed to let out a “thank you” through chattering teeth.
“Okay let’s get going.” You said wrapping the jacket tighter around you as the boys followed you like baby ducks. Bokuto walked up beside you while the two boys bickered over who would have the most bids in the back, Sakusa wanted no part in it and stayed to himself. You look at Bokuto who seemed nervous. You decided to hype him up a bit before he went into emo mode. “Bokuto you are going to have some gorgeous high profile women coming after you tonight, I’m jealous of them.” You didn't lie, you had the biggest crush on Bo, ever since you took the job as the MSBY manager. You never have a frown on your face next to him- until now. You knew he’d have a woman, that's not you, by his side tonight. You’d bid on him until your bank went in the negative but you don’t get paid like the women at this event do.
“You wait and see, I’ll have the most beautiful one by time the night is out.” Bokuto said, smiling at you. You felt a pang of sadness creep on you, if he only knew.
The warm air of the ballroom felt nice against your cool body. You gave Bokuto his jacket back, you secretly wished you could keep it forever. You took in your surroundings, the ball room was filled with women in designer dresses and you could see the small stage in the middle of the room.
“Guys I have to find the event coordinator and see what time you guys need to get on stage. Please be on your best behavior, there are cameras everywhere. Atsumu keep the drinking to a minimum, Shoyo for the love of God go to the bathroom now, Omi keep these fools in line and you better be nice to people and last but never the least Bokuto, If you dance please be careful, I don’t want to take you to the ER again because you hit the Cha cha slide too hard. And with that I’m out. I’m counting on you guys.” You said giving them a thumbs up as you got lost into the sea of people to hunt the event coordinator.
~
“Thank you so much Y/N! Everyone is looking forward to the auction. We have some models and a couple pop stars who will be in the line up as well as a few volunteers . I want your boys to go at the end, as they say ‘always save the best for last’.” The coordinator spoke over the bustling crowd. She went over the rules and where they needed to go and what time to line up. You soaked in all the information the bubbly coordinator was giving you. “I have to go let the rest of the people know the game plan. Please have your guys here and lined up in half an hour. Thank you again!” And with that she disappeared into the crowd. Now here came the hard part.
You scanned the large ballroom to find your heathens. Sakusa would be the easiest to find because he is most likely on one of the four corners in the building. Hinata was most likely with Bokuto, and Atsumu was a wild card, he could be at the bar, maybe even on the dance floor trying to impress girls with his dance moves(That suck by the way). You recall the time you found him passed out in a bush drunk off ass at a gala last year. You make up a game plan, you would get Bo and Hinata first, then find a hopefully sober Tsumu and lastly get Sakusa (you figured it best not to drag him around the ballroom) You spot Bokuto’s tall figure next to a snack bar, and as you figured Hinata was with him. They were both stuffing their mouths with meat kebabs and other foods like wild animals, they sure love to eat you thought.
“Bokuto,Hinata, they are getting ready to line everyone up, wait for me over there.” You said pointing towards an area that was not too terribly crowded.
“HEY HEY HEY Y/N try one of these things, they are so freakin good.” He shoved a cake pop in front of your face. You took it from the gray haired boy.
“Thank you Bo, but we really need to go.” You took a bite from the cake pop. “Wow that is really good.” You said finishing it in one bite. You heard some snickers from a group of girls, they made a smug comment about you eating it all at once. You normally would throw hands but you had an image to uphold. You shouldn't let it bother you but it did.
“Hey don’t let that bother you, besides I like a girl that can eat.” Bokuto said, patting your head. He is literally the human version of sunshine.
“Thanks Bo. But really we need to get the move on, I still have to hunt Tsumu down. Can you and Hinata wait for me over there.” You said pointing to the area again.
“Roger that.” They said unison.
“I’ll be right back.” You said going back into the crowd. You checked the dancefloor first and he wasn't there(You were relieved he was not.). You made your way to the bar and found him surrounded by women who were mesmerized by his thick accent. You waved him down and he nodded and turned his attention back to the group he had attracted.
“It looks like It's time fer’ me to go, make sure you all bid for me. I’ll be a waitin’” He said getting up and following you. The women he had been entertaining giggled as he walked away.
“Look at you being a player. I didn’t expect that from a man who yells at girls when they cheer for him.” You leaned into him so he could hear you over the crowd.
“I’m just tryin’ to raise some money, it's strictly business. My heart belongs to volleyball for the most part.”He said winking at you. He truly is just a fool in love with the sport.
You led Atsumu to the group and went to retrieve poor Sakusa. You looked around for a few minutes and felt a tug at the back of your shirt. You turn around and see Sakusa towering over you.
“This is new, I’m used to finding you sulking in a corner.” You said staring into his black eyes.
“I watched you gather everyone up, I figured I would come on over to make it easier for you.” He began to walk towards the rest of the group.
“I guess being 6’4 has its perks huh Omi? You're like a watchtower.” You said looking up at the tall spiker.
“Yeah, guess so.”He said playing with one of his dark curls.
~~
“Okay we have everyone, so you guys are going last, I’ll leave who goes first to you guys. Now let's go get lined up.” You lead them to the stage and let them line up. Atsumu insisted on going first, Hinata would go after him, then Sakusa and lastly Bokuto.
“You owe me some umeboshi after this.” Sakusa said, taking his mask off and putting it in the pocket of his tux.
“Sure thing. I'll even throw in a thing of nice smelling hand sanitizer for the trouble.” You crossed your arms and smirked at him.
“I’ll hold you to that.” He said, filing behind Hinata.
You looked at Bokuto who appeared to be a nervous wreck. He had a small layer of sweat on his forehead and his hands were shaking slightly. “Hey it's going to be okay, I’ll be right here.” You said pulling out your handkerchief and dabbing the sweat off his forehead. “You're amazing and dare I say you're the best looking one.” You said making him blush.
“Ummm HEY.” Atsumu said glaring at you, obviously butt hurt from your comment. Sakusa was unamused and took it upon himself to kick Atsumu. That gave you the opportunity to turn your attention back to the nervous male beside you. Before you could comfort him the loud speaker cut you off.
“Ladies and gentleman, would you please give your attention to the center stage, the date auction will begin momentarily.” The coordinator announced causing everyone to tense up a bit.
“Come on guys loosen up a bit, I’m going to be in the front taking pictures for our instagram page. So show off a little! Show them you are proud to be a part of such an awesome volleyball team!” You hyped them up one last team. “With that being said I want a group picture so bring it in guys.” You said pulling the camera and ushering the athletes into the frame. “Say cheese.” Atsumu wrapped his arm around Sakusa who didn’t have the chance to push him off, Bokuto gave Hinata bunny ears. It was a chaotic photo, but It caught their true essence.
“I want a picture with you before you go Y/N. Pleaseee.” Bokuto gave you puppy dogs eyes and you couldn't deny him.
“Sure Bo. Atsumu here.” You handed him the camera and got beside Bokuto. He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you close to him. You could feel his muscles through the tux that fit just a little too good.
“Aww you look like a cute couple.” Atsumu teased as he brought the camera up to snap a picture. You couldn't make a comeback as embarrassment washed over you. You looked up at Bokuto who had a blush adorning his handsome face.
“Y/N I’m going to do something, don’t get mad.” Bokuto said, picking you up bridal style before you could even protest.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Atsumu said, snapping more pictures.
“Bokuto put me down, I'm heavy!” You shriked gripping onto his tux.
“No you're not. I could carry you around all night like this if you wanted me to!” He smiled down at you! You felt your face light up like a Christmas tree. No matter how big or small you were, Bokuto always made you feel like a princess.
“As much as I’d love you to, we gotta get this ball rolling.” You said as he gently placed you back on your feet. “I’ll be taking that.” You said snatching the camera from Atsumu who was smirking. He seemed to be hiding something from the way he was acting. He is definitely sus you thought. You waved the boys goodbye and made you way to the front of the crowd. You got the camera ready as the spotlight of the stage flickered on.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight! We hope you are ready to see the heartthrobs we have lined up for you!!” The announcer said setting the tone. “Valentine's day is all about love and being with one another. So if your single, ladies, pull those yen out and let’s get to business!” The crowd cheered and applauded as the auction began.
You didn’t pay much attention to the men coming on stage, your only worry was the last 4. You scrolled through the camera to see the pictures Atsumu took of you and Bokuto. Bokuto had such a wide smile on his face in the pictures, your smile was just as big, even though your face was full of panic in the one where he effortlessly picked you up. You’re pulled from your day dream when you heard the announcer’s voice.
“We have some special guests tonight from the MSBY volleyball team! We’ll start first with Miya Atsumu!” The announcer said as Atsumu walked on the stage like he owned it. He flipped his hair and looked at the group of women he serenaded earlier and blew them a kiss. You got lucky and snapped a picture of it, he may be annoying as hell but he knows how to get women. He had about ten women fighting over him, his bids kept going up and up. After a cutthroat battle he was sold for roughly 200,000 yen. He smirked and walked off the stage. You couldn’t help but chuckled to yourself, he’d be one of a kind if he didn’t have a twin.
“Up next we have Hinata Shoyo!” She said as the tangerine headed boy shly walked on stage. He looked confident for the most part and he thankfully went to the bathroom before this. He had on one of his classic charming but cute smiles. You could hear girls behind you talk about how cute he was. His skin was glowing under the spotlight thanks to the Brazilian sun. His bids went up high, he ended up being sold for 120,000 yen. He waved at the audience and bounced off the stage.
“Let’s welcome our next bachelor who just so happens to be the tallest one tonight, Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You watched on edge as Sakusa walked out, he didn’t seem nervous but he wasn’t all that interested either, he stood in the middle of the stage like a statue. To make matters worse he wasn’t smiling. You grabbed his attention for a moment and smiled as wide as you could and pointed at your face, you felt like one of the psychotic moms from toddlers and tiaras but you had to do something or he wasn't going to get any bids. You mouthed the words “Smile please” at him and he finally took the hint. He had an awkward but cute smile on his face finally. You relaxed a little and resumed taking pictures. His bids began to go up and quick. Sakusa looked at the exit of the stage and smirked at someone and turned his attention back to the crowd. You could only guess he was looking at Atsumu who was probably pissed at how high Sakusa’s bids were. Sakusa was sold for a whopping 500,000 yen. You know Tsumu’s ego was damaged beyond repair right now. Sakusa bowed and left the stage.
“Now let’s end this night right! We have one more contest so let’s welcome Bokuto Koutarou to the stage!” You felt your heart drop and the announcer said his name. You had to watch someone you loved dearly be bid off to some rich girl who would probably steal him away. You tried to knock away negative thoughts but you couldn’t help it. He looked sinfully good when he walked on stage. What nervousness he felt was gone and now it’s nothing but his overwhelming confidence. He carefully watched one specific area of the crowd. You snapped pictures of him (a lot of them being for your personal collection) as he walked around the stage flexing and showing off. His eyes met yours a lot and he seemed to be smirking at you. But his attention always went back to the one area of the crowd. You heard his bids go up, one particular girl was bidding for him like her life depended on having him. Her voice came from the direction he kept starting at. He looked nervous when anyone but her called out a bid. You began to get ate up with pure jealousy, you wish you could take him off the stage and run away with him right then and there. The bids kept going up and up and the girl that kept bidding on him got him for 150,000 yen. He looked ecstatic. He looked at you and smiled before he went off stage. Your heart dropped and you wanted to leave, but you still have work to do.
“That concludes the auction tonight! If you won you can meet up with your bachelor over here on the left.” The announcer pointed towards the group of men. You made your way to find the guys so you can take more pictures and let them know where you’ll be when they get done.
“You guys did awesome!” You said running up to them. They gave you a soft smile. You notice Bokuto was MIA. “Umm guys, where is Bo?” They hesitated for a second but your conversation was cut short as the boys dates for the evening came up.
“Sakusa was it?” A well dressed man walked up to the tall volleyball player. You noticed a small girl clutching his dress shirt. She couldn’t be any older than 8. “This is my daughter, she wanted someone to dance with her but in all honesty I’m trying to make some business deals while I’m here, keep her company for me.” The man patted his shoulder and slipped some extra money in Sakusa’s shirt pocket, leaving him slacked jawed.
“All the umeboshi your heart desires, a big box of the nice face masks you like, and whatever else you want, just please be nice to this poor girl. She looks sad.” You whispered into Omi’s ear trying to persuade him a little more.
“I didn’t come here to babysit, but I guess I can.” He said low enough that the girl couldn’t hear. Omi peered down at the small girl, she actually had moles on her face kinda like he does but on the opposite side.
“Umm hi.” She said looking up at the tall man. She seemed nervous. You nugged Omi in the side to get him to say anything.
“When was the last time you washed your hands?” He asked the girl and you could have choked him. The girl giggled at his statement.
“I wash my hands all the time! Look my mom even bought me this!” She pulled out a small key chain with a rabbit on it, attached was a small bottle of hand sanitizer. “Would you like some?” She said opening the cap. Sakusa held his hand as the small girl poured some into his hands and she gave herself some as well.
“Good.” Sakusa said, pulling his mask from his pocket to put it back on. The little girl grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. You knew this was way out of his comfort zone, but he was still doing it.
“Omg your hair is so cute! Can I touch it?” You whipped your head around to see a young bubbly girl talking to Hinata.
“Umm s—s sure.” He said nervously as the girl ran and hand through his hair. You couldn’t help but laugh a little. The poor baby seemed so embarrassed. The dance floor was filled with couples and the girl dragged Hinata to the dance floor before he could even get her name. You turned to Atsumu who looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Young man I’m getting my money's worth tonight so let's go dance.” An old lady who you thought resemble Baba Yaga from spirited away stood in front of poor Atsumu.
“Yes ma’am.” He said, forcing a smile. He looked at you pleasing eyes that screamed “please save me Y/N”. You shook your head at him.
“Pay attention to me boy, I paid good money for you.” The old lady said whacking Atsumu with the cane she carried.
“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.” He said walking with the old woman to the dance floor. You had to turn your head and laugh, between Sakusa getting stuck babysitting a kid and Atsumu being stuck with a senior citizen after talking all that smack, it was priceless. You guess them ladies Atsumu talked to must not have liked him that much.
You searched around for Bokuto to make sure he got his date for the night, you were also curious who she was and how pretty she was. You felt that jealousy creep back on you. This was going to be a long night. You finally spot Bokuto talking to a drop dead beautiful girl, she looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place her. She and Bokuto seemed to be having a good time, she was laughing at something he had said. Your heart shattered. You look back up to see Bo making eye contact with you. All you could do was smile and get lost in the crowd before he could see the stray tear falling down your cheek. You needed to get outside for a bit, you felt like you were suffocating. You fought the crowd and finally made your way to the exit. You pushed the metal door open. The cold night felt good against your hot skin. You walked down a path in front of the building and tried to collect yourself.
“Another year alone and single.” You blurted out to yourself. You find a small bench and decide to sit down for a bit. The night sky brought a sort of comfort to you. The stars twinkled and the moon casted a peaceful light. The cold was getting to you but you were afraid to go back in. You mentally couldn’t handle it.
“PARKOUR.” You felt your soul leave your body as you saw a shadow jump over the bench you were sitting on. You flinched back ready to fight off the attacker only to be met with Bokuto standing in front.
“BO you scared me to death!” You said inhaling a deep breath and clutching your chest.
“I’m sorry my parkour was so awesome it scared you.” He said, taking his jacket off and draping it yet again around your cold body. Your nose flooded again with the scent of his cologne. It’s calmed you down in a bittersweet way. “But angel what are you doing out here, you’ll get sick if you're not careful.” He kneeled down a bit and pulled the jacket around your cold body more.
“I could ask you the same things Mr. Parkour, you have a beautiful woman in there waiting on you, so stop wasting your time on me.” You said trying to hold it together.
“Well I’m more concerned with the real beautiful one sitting right in front of me.” He said grabbing your shaking hands. Your eyes went wide with what he said.
“Bo I’m confused?” You said looking into his golden eyes.
“Well that woman you saw me with is not really my date, yes she did bid on me, but she was never my real date. She is actually the guy who owns our gym's daughter! She agreed to bid on me, but in return she wanted a date with Atsumu’s brother and he agreed to do it! The team helped me do this so I could be with you tonight, but I guess it didn’t go as smoothly as I planned. I’m sorry I made you sad.” Bokuto sat beside you on the bench,
“Bokuto are you low key confessing to me?” You looked over at him and he smiled and shook his head.
“Yes and let me do this properly.” He cleared his throat and held his hand out for you to grab, which you gladly accepted. “Y/N please let me be your date tonight and from here on out please!”
“So like boyfriend and girlfriend Bo?” You said wanting to make sure you got the message right.
“Yes Y/N, please be my girlfriend. All that flexin on the stage was for you baby!” He stood up and flexed again making you laugh. “But in all seriousness, I freakin love you. So what do you say Y/N?”
“Yes. I would love nothing mo-“ Bokuto cut you off by lifting your body into his strong arms. You giggled as he swung you both in circles. He slowed down and seen you finally smile again
“Now that’s a pretty sight, you're not going to be sad on my watch anymore. Now we better get back inside before we freeze to death!” Bokuto wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you two began to walk back. “Wait I have something for you!” He dug through his pockets and pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to you. You opened it and there was a necklace with a small owl charm and a “B” charm next to it.
“Bo this is so cute! Can you help me put it on!” You said handing him the necklace. He struggled to get it on but finally got it. The silver was cold on your skin, but you didn’t mind at all.
“Omi actually helped me pick it out, believe it or not. He said if I would have went alone I would have got something stupid.” Bokuto said, sliding the jewelry box back into his coat pocket. You hate to admit it but Sakusa going was probably a good thing.
“Bo I really love it, thank you.” You said leaving up and kissing his cheek. “Now let’s go back, I’ve got to check in on everyone.” You walked into the ballroom with your arm hooked around Bokuto’s bicep.
You scanned the room to see if you could find any of the guys and the only one you could see was Hinata laughing with his date. They seemed to be hitting it off pretty good. “Bokuto let’s go get something to drink.” You both walked towards the bar, you see that girl who bid on Bokuto sitting next to Osamu. They both seemed to be having a good time.
“Thank you again! The planned worked Y/N is my girlfriend now!” Bokuto walked up to them and showed you off.
“I’m so glad!” The girl said, clasping her hands together. “You are a cute couple.”
“Speaking of a cute couple.” Osamu chimed in and pointed towards his brother Atsumu who was being dragged around by that old lady. “I may have given her some free Onigiri vouchers and a few hundred yen to bid on him.” The twin laughed at his brother's despair.
“Your evil, but I like it.” The girl said as they clinked their drinks together.
“You guys enjoy it, we still have to hunt for Omi.” You bowed and clung back on to Bokuto.
After circulating the ballroom a few times you finally find Sakusa and the little girl sitting at a table. Sakusa looked dead tired and the little girl was stuffing her face with cake
“Omi you look like a tired dad.” Bokuto said bursting out laughing at his teammate.
“I see your plan worked.” Sakusa said, looking at the necklace through tired eyes.
“Yes it did now this cutie is all mine.” Bokuto said peppering your cheek with kisses.
“How disgusting, when you grow up don’t date idiots like him.” Sakusa looked at the child who just nodded her head. It was hilarious to see Omi so out of his element. “That was directed at you Bokuto not Y/N.”
“Omi, he is a idiot but he is my idiot.” You patted Bokuto's back.
“Omi-Omi let’s go dance some more. I like this song.” The little girl tugged on his jacket.
“Fine.” Omi sighed and followed her dance floor.
“Now that we know everyone (for the most part) is okay let’s dance!” You said leading Bokuto to the dance floor.
You danced to every single song and Bo didn’t break anything when the cha cha slide came on. He swung you around all night without a care in the world.
“Let’s end the night with something nice and slow.” The Dj said putting on (Insert your favorite slow song)
“May I have this dance pretty girl?” Bokuto asked, holding his hand out to pull you closer to him.
“The Macarena may have wore me out, but I guess I have enough wind in me for one last song.” You teased wrapping your arms around his neck. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and began to slowly dance you around the room.
You see that little girl struggling to keep up with Omi’s big steps as he attempted to dance with her, he was at least trying you thought. Hinata was slow dancing with his date of the night, they both seemed comfortable and content with each other. Atsumu was still with that granny but he seemed to have accepted defeat as he danced around with her. Osamu danced with the gym owner's daughter and made it a mission to kick his brother when they got close enough, he even messed him up enough to cause the old to hit him with the cane again. You felt Bokuto's grip tighten and he dipped you down enough to finally kiss you on the lips. He pulled away and brought you back up to continue dancing.
“ I love you Y/N.” Bokuto spoke softly in your ear.
“I love you too.” You said as the song faded out.
“And one more thing Y/N” Bokuto said, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “I told you I would have the most beautiful girl here.”
Fin
#Bokuto X Reader#MSBY X Reader#Haikyuu Fluff#Bokuto Fluff#Bokuto Angst#Haikyuu Angst#kotaro bokuto x reader#Koutarou X Reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x female reader#bokuto x y/n
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The Dismemberment Song | BOP Victor Zsasz x Reader | 18+
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Words: 3,791
Summary: Zsasz takes a liking to one of the burlesque dancers at Roman’s club.
PART ONE | PART TWO |
WARNINGS: graphic blood/gore/violence, reader may or may not torture and murder a guy, alcohol, all that good Gotham stuff, reader is kinda fucked up
Seriously, don’t read this if you don’t like blood
Based on The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid!
This is written as a kinda vague fem!reader, but if there’s interest I can always write alternate versions for different genders, more specific body/personality types, or whatever else might tickle your fancy! Just hit up my ask box!
Requests are open!! Pls, I really wanna write more Zsasz or Zsaszmask x reader, gimme ideas!
The Black Mask was a club that boasted only the best of the best. Top shelf booze, luxurious furnishings, and entertainers that Gotham’s other club owners wished they could get their hands on all came together to form the East End’s trendiest spot. You were lucky enough to be one of those very entertainers, and you had been performing onstage at Roman’s club ever since one of his goons saw you dancing at another spot across town. Roman Sionis had bought you easily, promising a good nightly wage and all the free drinks you could stomach, and a few years later, you were still enjoying the nice gig at the Black Mask.
Most nights were the same; you showed up around seven, hung around in the dressing room with the others while you all got ready, and enjoyed a drink or two before your first number. You were always in the chorus, not that you really minded--Roman paid you more than enough to keep you happy, even though you knew the stars got more. Girls who did solo numbers, especially if they could sing, those were Mr. Sionis’s favorites. You never really expected to achieve that kind of status, not when people like Dinah Lance were around and holding his attention, so when Roman pulled you aside one night to tell you that he wanted to give you the chance to do your own routine, you nearly dropped your drink.
“Full creative control,” he said, a hand resting at the small of your back as you gaped at him.
“I--what?” you managed to choke out. “I-I mean, thank you, Mr. Sionis, really--”
“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Roman.”
“Thank you, Roman,” you smiled, swallowing down your fear. “I won’t disappoint you, I swear.”
“I know you won’t, doll.” he motioned for someone to bring him a drink. “Full creative control, like I said. I want to see what’s swirling around in that pretty mind of yours. Put some heart into it for me, k doll?”
You nodded. “You got it, boss.”
He grinned, hugging you to his side and pressing a kiss against your temple like he did with all the girls he liked. “Looking forward to it, beautiful.”
He let you go, turning to leave, and Zsasz slunk after him, but not before casting you an almost annoyed look.
“Don’t disappoint,” he teased, whistling low before he followed his boss.
You gulped. You were sure he wouldn’t mind peeling your face off, but you rather preferred staying alive.
“I won’t!” you called after him bravely.
He glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes practically boring into you as if were sizing you up. He thought you were just some prissy little girl, didn’t he? Just like Roman, just like everybody else. But you would show them. They wanted to see what kind of shit really ate at your brain? Oh, you’d give them a nice little glimpse.
And so, only a couple shorts weeks later, here you were, getting ready in the dressing room like usual, only you were far more nervous than you had been for any other shift. You had busted your ass getting everything ready, even taking a few nights off to work twice as hard on what you hoped would be a good debut. You had given the band their sheet music, you had learned your lyrics inside and out (because you were absolutely determined to go that extra mile for Roman Sionis and show him that not only could you prance around onstage, but you could sing, too), and you had spent hours upon hours hand-decorating an old corset and lingerie set you had sitting around. Roman wanted this to come from the heart, he wanted a passion project, and you were gonna give it to him.
You just had to pray that he was in the right mood to enjoy it.
“Think you’re good to go, my love,” the house mom said as she finished with your hair.
You stared at yourself in the mirror. So far, so good...your hair was in big barrel curls, still warm to the touch as your house mom gave it a couple more passes with the hairspray for good measure.
“You sure I don’t need--”
“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” she interrupted, retreating to her usual chair.
You kept staring at your reflection. “Do you think it’s too much? I mean...”
She laughed loudly. “Hon, this is Gotham. There’s no such thing as too much.”
Glancing down at your outfit, you weren’t so sure. “But...”
“But nothing. Now go on, go show Roman why he stays in business.”
You stood on shaky legs, nodding to her as you made your way towards the door. “R-right.”
“Break a leg,” she called after you.
All you could do was nod. You knew what you were doing. You had practiced for hours every day to get ready for this. With a deep breath, you made your way down the hall leading to stage, shaking your hands out as you stood in the wings. You could do this. You were ready.
As soon as your stage name was announced, you stepped out, ruby encrusted heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. The lights were harsh, the crowd quiet as you came out to face them. The stage was set for you, a few props already waiting for you as you stood there, ready for the music to start.
Then, the band began playing, and you sprang into action.
“Hold still, my sweet. I’m tryin to measure the space between your molar and your jaw...” You sang, lunging forward to grab the medical-grade calipers sitting in a metal bucket for you. You trailed them down over your victim’s jaw, smiling as you did so. “...This caliper, no cause for fear. No it...it doesn’t hurt, it only helps me measure how much skin you have...”
Across the club, Zsasz looked up. He was standing near Roman, his boss sitting in a booth while he chatted with some business associates. He was far more interested in you than their conversation, his dark eyes tracking you as you moved across the stage. He was absolutely enthralled by your outfit, your tightly-laced corset covered in blood red rhinestones that glimmered under the stage lights, your matching bra and thong shining just as brightly. You looked like you were covered in blood, the gems catching his eye in a way he hadn’t expected.
“--and the topmost layer of fat, but I won’t make an incision till you’re nice and numb...” There was an operating table on the stage, where one of Roman’s lowest-ranking goons was tied down. If Zsasz remembered correctly, this guy had fucked up pretty monumentally recently, so seeing him strapped down and struggling brought a grin to his face.
You ran over to the man, the crowd laughing as you leaned across him. “...Oh, and laughing gas can be so much fun, please don’t doubt my decision...”
The scene you had set was both comedic and sexual. In all honesty, Zsasz hadn’t expected you to do anything like this; you were a chorus girl, someone he had thought would go for something overdone and classic. Maybe some old school stupid, annoying, Singin In The Rain type shit, yet there you were, dressed in an outfit that was obviously meant to emulate dripping blood while you flitted around a man on a gurney.
Zsasz couldn’t look away.
“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee!” you squealed, teasingly pressing your sawblade to the goon’s torso. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”
You grabbed the goon as he struggled against his restraints, holding him down. Zsasz was sure the man was in on your little number, and he thought it was cute; you were pretending to be some sort of killer, maybe trying to appeal to Roman’s face peely urges. Maybe you were trying to make the boss happy by scaring his lackey like this.
“So don’t you squirm, don't you fret, I'm not gonna hurt you...yet.” You grinned, leaning down before you shoved the man’s face to the side, letting him go as you ran back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of blood lettin’, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading...”
You pranced back to the gurney, moving with that little extra theatrical oomph that made everyone think you were just playing. You smiled as they clapped and laughed loudly. They would figure it out soon enough.
“Cutting you up will be so refreshing for me...” you cooed, discarding the calipers in favor of a scalpel. You traced it down the goon’s bare chest, a little line of blood following the blade as it pierced his flesh.
He let out a scream, just as you hoped he would, and you gave his little table a shove, sending it wheeling a short distance away.
“Now don’t you cry,” You sang, “And don’t call Miriam, she’s my alibi...oh let me check your toes out!” You picked up a set of pliers, taking hold of his big toe. “Aren’t your toenails cute?” you grabbed one and pulled, the goon screaming as you removed the nail, leaving a bloody pulp behind. “...and red is such a lovely color on you!” you leaned down in his face, grabbing the opposite foot’s big toenail and yanking. “...But you won’t be needing those!”
Roman began clapping, giving a loud “Whoo!” as he watched you. He had no idea that when you had asked him for the name of his least favorite henchman, this would be the reason. Now, watching the man suffer onstage in front of everyone while you were dancing around him in six inch heels and a scandalously skimpy outfit, Sionis was more than entertained. He was impressed, absolutely astounding by the cruelty his little burlesque dancer held inside of her. He couldn’t have hoped for more.
“When you’ve got no knees!” you sang, dropping your weapons in favorite of a crowbar. “...Or shins, or pinky fingers, or arteries....”
You brought your weapon down on each of the man’s legs, somehow still managing to poise yourself perfectly as you did so. You gave him a few good whacks, then dropped the bar, leaning down to pick a knife up out of the bucket and run it over his hands teasingly.
“...so hold still while I remove them!” you trilled.
The man tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints, but you shoved him back down with a sweet smile.
“...Oh, and don’t fight back,” you sang, hopping up to sit next to him. “I think you’ll find you’re missing the point, with that.”
Meanwhile, Victor Zsasz was grinning, showing off his gold teeth while he watched you. He kept a close eye on your hips as they swayed, his trained eyes following your ass as it moved across the stage. Were you really carving a man up right then and there? He wanted it to be true. He wanted to smell the overwhelming tang of blood as you plunged a knife into your victim. But he was too far away, and so he had to settle for watching instead.
Your victim tried to scream, and you shoved his head to the side playfully.
“That’s enough outta you!” you sang, holding his jaw tightly.
As you repeated your chorus, your knife returned to the man’s flesh and he grunted in pain, pleading to an audience that didn’t care about him. The Black Mask was a fucked up place for fucked up people, no matter how trendy it was, and nobody in the audience was going to protest when someone was torn apart onstage. Besides, Roman Sionis was far too powerful for the GCPD to go after, and as you heard him laughing loudly in the audience, you had a pretty good feeling that he wasn’t going to send anyone after you for carving somebody up in a way that only you could.
You kept going, peeling your underbust corset off with the same grace and dexterity that Zsasz peeled faces with. As you stood in only your bra, thong, garters and stockings, you felt exhilarated, powerful, as if you had been born to cur people up in front of an audience.
It’s not like this was your first time chopping a body up, anyways; there was a reason you had to move to Gotham and get a new gig, after all.
Zsasz watched you. In fact, his eyes were glued to you, even when Roman walked away to chat with a few mob bosses in a nearby booth. Were you seriously killing this man right in front of everyone? Victor didn’t necessarily care for all the theatrics, but he could appreciate how seriously you took you took your craft, and he had to admit, he was surprised that this was what you had come up with when Roman told you to give him something good.
“‘Cause I’m all out of hurt, you’ve used up all I’ve got,” you taunted, sneering down at your victim as you brought your saw down on his leg. “So I’m chopping you up and still coming up squat! If I want it to bleed, I’ll just roll up my sleeve and saw and saw and saw...”
The blade cut back and forth, and Zsasz’s eyes followed it. Blood was spurting up, drenching your arms as if you were wearing red opera gloves.
“And saw, and saw, and saw, and saw....”
“Zsasz, can you believe this?” Roman asked, leaning towards him.
“No, boss,” Zsasz said with a little grin, shaking his head.
“She’s good. We may have to give her a new job...”
You paused, giving your victim a break as you tossed the saw back into the bucket, drops of blood spattering across the stage as you pulled out a large butcher knife. Before it could touch Roman’s henchman, you used it to flick open the clasp on your bra, tossing the thin little piece of lingerie out into the crowd. You didn’t really care where it went; you were too busy enjoying yourself.
“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee,” you purred, trailing the blade down the side of the man’s face. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”
“So don’t you squirm, don’t you fret, I’m not gonna hurt you, oh no, no, no, not...yet.” you plunged your blade into his chest, between two of his ribs, not close enough to knick his heart but definitely deep enough to cause him immense pain despite all the adrenaline that was sure to be running through his system now.
You pulled the knife back out, blood dripping off the metal blade as you held it tightly and pranced back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of bloodletting, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading but there’s one thing you’re forgetting...”
Turning back to him, you brought the blade to his throat, and in the crowd, Zsasz’s eyes lit up. He was delighted. He was enthralled. His pants were getting a little tight, but whatever. The rest of the audience was gazing up at you with wonder, disgust, amusement...but Zsasz was absolutely admiring the way you so confidently played with your victim. The theatrics were starting to grow on him, he decided, and he wanted nothing more than to go right up there and lick all that blood off your face.
“There’s nothing like the thrill of a shredding,” you sang, almost snarling, “but this is no orthodox beheading...”
You destroyed the man on the gurney, carving through him, drenching yourself in blood in an almost comical way.
“Cutting you up,” you sang as you made an absolute mess. “Cutting you up...”
“Cutting you up is gonna be....” you finally stepped back, catching your breath as the song slowed. “...so refreshing for me.”
As your routine finished, you took a little bow, still holding the knife as you crossed your ankles and bent at the waist in a delightfully fancy gesture. The man on the gurney was very much dead, blood dripping down onto the stage, and the audience was still eating up every second of it. You could hear Roman cheering, and as you spotted him standing there amidst the crowd with Zsasz at his side, you blew them both a little kiss.
“How about that?” you heard Roman’s voice boom above the clapping as you strode offstage. “I would call for an encore, but unfortunately, I think we’d need a new victim....”
Your head was still abuzz with the rush of killing, and you walked back to the dressing room in a daze. You were vaguely aware of Dinah Lance wrinkling her nose as you passed her, but you didn’t pay her any mind. Absolutely nothing could kill your good mood now.
“Well?” the house mom asked as you made your way to your mirror. “Sounds like it went well, judging by those cheers...”
You smiled and hummed to yourself, nodding as you reached for something to clean your face with. You were going to need an entire shower to get all this blood off yourself.
“Told you.” the house mom snorted a laugh.
“He loved it,” you grinned.
She shook her head in amusement. “You are one fucked up girl, I’ll tell you that much.”
“That’s showbiz, baby,” you joked, raising a towel to start working at wiping your face.
“Oh, pussycat?” a singsong voice made you freeze.
You could see Zsasz in the mirror.
He was leaning in the doorway, smirking as he watched you. “Boss wants to talk.”
You paled. Had you fucked up after all? Did Roman get his shits and giggles and now planned on having Zsasz peel your face off? Sionis was infamous for his fickle moods. You’d watched him have plenty of people dragged off into back rooms just for speaking at the wrong time, and you had just done way worse than interrupt him.
You gawked at Zsasz, still staring at his reflection. What were you supposed to do? Run? He was blocking the only door, and there was no way you’d be able to get past him. You had no choice but to follow him to Roman.
“O-Okay,” you managed to stammer out, finally turning towards him. “Lead the way.”
“Might want this.” he held up the bra you had tossed, twirling the strap around his finger while he gave you a smile that showed off his gold teeth.
“Give me that!” you snapped, rushing towards him.
“Ah.” he held it above his head, leering down at you. “Think I like this view more...”
“Zsasz!” you protested, scrambling against his chest and practically trying to claw your way up him to get your lingerie.
He froze. He finally smelled the metallic tang of all that blood covering you, and coupled with the feeling of your tits against his chest...oh, he was so fucked.
When he dropped the bra, you grabbed it from him, tossing it back to your mirror and moving to pick up a silky red robe off a nearby hook. You shrugged it on, tying it shut while Zsasz cleared his throat and offered you his arm.
“Such a gentleman,” you sneered, taking it anyways.
“When I want to be.” his voice was low and rough, as if his vocal chords were scraping against each other with every syllable.
You looked up at him, a bit dumbfounded, as he led you out into the club once more. The band was playing as a few people cleaned up the carnage you had left behind, the bar’s patrons all chatting and drinking again. It was as if nothing had even happened and they hadn’t just watched a man be torn apart onstage a few minutes prior.
Zsasz took you to Roman, the crowd parting before the two of you easily. Sionis was sitting in his favorite booth, sipping his drink and laughing, still seeming to be in a very good mood.
“Ah, there she is!” He said when he saw you, standing up and spreading his arms.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” You asked nervously as Zsasz let you go.
“Yes, yes, I had Mr. Zsasz grab you so that I could congratulate you on a thrilling performance.”
You stared at him. “You liked it?”
“Liked it? I loved it, darling! A bit messy for my tastes, but a lovely show, truly, though I suspect our dear Mr. Zsasz here wishes he could have been the one to take care of your victim. Isn’t that right, Zsasz?”
You glanced up at Zsasz. He grunted, not necessarily in agreement. He didn’t hate watching your performance by any means, and as much as he enjoyed helping little birds fly away from the world, he rather enjoyed watching you do it, too.
“I’m glad, Mr. Sionis,” you said.
“I told you, call me Roman.” he took a sip of his drink. “You know, normally, I don’t enjoy it when someone kills the people that belong to me, but I must admit, you certainly have a way with a knife.”
“I would have asked your permission, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” you gulped.
“And what a lovely surprise it was!” Roman laughed loudly. “You’re very talented...in fact, how’d you like a promotion? Yes? Perfect, perfect! No, no, don’t shake my hand, you’re...well, you’re covered in blood. Quite frankly, it’s disgusting.” He snapped his fingers. “Mr. Zsasz, take her up to the penthouse so she can clean up, I don’t want all this blood getting on the new carpeting in here.”
“Oh, Mr. Sio--Roman,” you cleared your throat, “I can use the shower in the dressing room, really, it’s no trouble--”
“Nonsense, nonsense.” he waved you away. “You’re part of the team now, aren’t you? Besides, a job well done deserves some sort of reward. Zsasz will show you upstairs. Don’t worry, he’s completely harmless.”
As Zsasz put a hand on your lower back, you had your doubts. Harmless wasn’t really a word you would choose to describe Roman’s right hand man.
“Come on, princess.” Zsasz purred, guiding you through the crowd before you had much of a chance to protest.
He took you to the elevator in the corner, the bouncer standing guard in front of it stepping aside with a nod. The man hit the up button, and soon, you were pressed up against Zsasz in the small space, on your way up to Roman’s spacious penthouse.
#victor zsasz x reader#zsasz x reader#victor zsasz#bop zsasz#birds of prey zsasz#birds of prey imagine#birds of prey x reader#birds of prey#dceu#dceu imagine#dc imagines#dc imagine#dc x reader#gotham#chris messina imagine
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5.26 and 6.1 - Time’s Arrow
Oh my god. Y’all. It’s a new Fashion It So post. In the year of our Picard 2020. Yes.
For literal years, Charlie and I have been like UGH WE NEED TO DO TIME’S ARROW PARTS 1 AND 2 BUT IT’S JUST SUCH A MONSTER.
Well, I’m doing a complete rewatch of the series with my partner and we just got to these two, so IT IS TIME.
We open in a cave in San Francisco, where Data and Picard are checking something out:
Rent for the cave is $6,000 per month
Showing them around is this guy in a Science Outfit:
He’s ready to go night biking
We’ve seen this look before in both Silicon Avatar and Devil’s Due, and it’s functional, yet cute. Basically a windbreaker in jumpsuit form.
They find a couple of items in the cave, including a pocket watch from 1889 and also:
I left my head in San Francisco
IT’S DATA’S HEAD!!! And it’s been there for FIVE HUNDRED YEARS. What could have caused this? And why is Data’s head so absolutely terrifying?
Is that fondant
This head is, in a word, haunting. The 2020 of heads.
Data and Geordi chat in Ten-Forward about what the presence of Data’s head in the cave means. Data says it means he’s mortal; that someday he will die, and that’s comforting. Spoiler alert: that’s not what it means. But it’s a nice conversation.
Also, Guinan is here!!!
Merlot My God!!
Or maybe: Burgundy-lightful!! Or perhaps: De-Crimson-alize Sex Work!! Okay that last one was a stretch but I really think I missed my calling as a nail polish shade namer.
Anyway, she’s here in her classic look of a pizza-sized hat and a flowing gown/coat/top/robe. The collar here is a little too close to a mock turtleneck for my liking and honestly - this is a little staid for our friend Guinan. I want a TEXTURE or a SWEEP or some WIDE RIBBING or some PLEATS. Don’t worry, though...she will get plenty more later.
Then there’s some plot which frankly we DO NOT HAVE TIME to get into but let’s just say: the away team goes to a planet, there’s a temporal disturbance, and Data ends up here:
Huge mood
Where are we? Or should I say WHEN are we??
Well that old-timey font is a good clue...also the horse
Are we in the Old West land of an off-brand Disneyworld? Are we going to ride something called Large Lightning Mesa Train Tracks? What colorful characters will we meet here?
Winner of 1893’s Mustache Medal
This type of ‘stache is called a Fu Manchu, after the character Dr. Fu Manchu. It’s not...a great look? But it is memorable, which is sometimes enough. He’s also wearing a simple black cap, probably made of silk. He’s keeping it cazh.
So where are we?
SAN FRANCISCO, OPEN YOUR GOLDEN GATE / YOU’LL LET NOBODY WAIT / OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR
Yes, it’s San Francisco. And it’s *eyes popping out of head like a cartoon wolf seeing a busty babe* 1893!!!! That temporal disturbance was...disturbing.
So who else do we have hanging out?
Please check out our Vaudeville act, Knit Cap ‘n’ Bowly
These dudes understand those famous Bay Area MICROCLIMATES, amirite? We’ve got a Henley. We’ve got a buttondown. We’ve got a vest. We’ve got a coat. No matter which way the thermometer decides to go, THEY ARE READY. Also loving the pop of forest green on Knit Cap’s knit cap.
We also have a 49er:
No, it’s not Steve Young. I googled “famous 49ers” to complete this joke so if there is a more famous 49er please let me know
It’s a literal 49er. Since it’s 1893, this guy’s been hanging around in town for a while, and he’s also familiar with the layering techniques one must master if one is to conquer the Bay Area’s climate. He also has a kicky Colonel Sanders-type tie. He asks Data for money and gives him a few panhandling tips. He’s chill. We like him. But don’t get too attached if you know what I mean!!!!
Data decides he needs somewhere to stay, so he finds a hotel:
Brian.
Why is this so funny to me. Brian. Why would you name your hotel Brian. Brian!!!! I know it’s a last name but like...Brian. HOTEL BRIAN.
This bellhop’s name is not Brian:
Where’s your hat, bro
He’s giving us a classic bellhop look, complete with too many buttons. He gives Data the very important information that there’s a poker game happening in the back of the hotel, which means: Data is about to be RICH rich.
The poker game includes a few good looks:
Louie Anderson IS Wolverine IN a Lands’ End barn coat
Two plaids? Sir...I salute you
Colonel Sanders Goes to Carnaval
Data, of course, wipes the floor with them so hard that he wins their clothes:
Didn’t get that barn coat tho
Yes, that’s the actual vest and the actual hat of those guys from the previous scene. Oh, I love it. I love Data in a vest over his uniform and I love Data with a feather in his cap. Let’s call it macaroni.
Meanwhile, out on the street, the plot is happening:
Beige: inescapable
This is our first taste of the decadent 1890’s sleeves that appear in this episode, and these aren’t even the best sleeves!! These are an amuse-bouche of sleeves. An armuse-bouche, if you will.
Anyway, these two are aliens disguised as humans who are here to steal the 49er’s life energy.
Pew pew pew
I told you not to get attached!!!
Back on the Enterprise, Guinan is doing mixology:
She would never call it something as stupid as mixology though
She tells Picard that he needs to go check out the temporal disturbance, too, even though captains don’t normally go on away missions, and then she gives him this look:
It’s that serious
When Guinan looks at you like this, you do what she says.
Now this outfit is much better than the earlier one. We have some pleated sleeves, which I didn’t even think was a thing you could DO. We have some sort of functional(?) strap(??) across the front. We even have matching fingerless gloves which always make a look A LOOK. And if Picard wasn’t sure whether he needed to go on this away mission, she then gives him THIS look:
Okay now it’s REALLY serious
Back in 1893, Data is making something:
It’s actually just a really complicated and large music box that plays “I Left My Head in San Francisco”
He’s gotten his hands on some more period-appropriate clothing, including a bow tie and a vest. Since he’s not wearing arm garters and his sleeves appear to be the correct length for his arms, we can conclude that the shirt was custom-made, not ready-made, because Data is now a baller due to his poker earnings.
Then, Data sees this in the paper:
I know her!! From work!!!!
Yes, it’s Guinan. In 1893. In a hat!!!!
We cut to the literary reception, which is honestly not as well-attended as I thought it would be, considering it got a GIANT photo of Guinan on page THREE of the paper, but okay. And who should we spy there but:
You’ll love my secret blend of 11 herbs and spices
No, it’s not Colonel Sanders. (Sorry, I really have Colonel Sanders on the brain because of that Lifetime movie.) It’s Samuel Clements, AKA Mark Twain. I had an English teacher in high school who explained the origin of his pseudonym (it indicates a mark of two fathoms, aka twelve feet, on a steamboat) and for some reason she shouted MAAAARK TWAAAAAIN when she told us that story so now her delivery of that line is in my head until I die I guess.
Anyway, it’s Mark Twain.
He’s wearing his iconic white linen suit with a black bow tie, and he’s also wearing a lot of prosthetics, because the actor playing him (Jerry Hardin, AKA Deep Throat from The X-Files AKA Melora Hardin AKA Jan Levinson-Gould’s dad) (was that too many AKAs) (you get it, right?) didn’t look enough like Mark Twain, I guess? In conclusion: what if eyebrow wigs were a thing?
Twain is having a chit chat with “Madame Guinan,” who is wearing what can only be called a sumptuous gown:
It’s 11:30 and the gown is sumptin’ sumptin’
There are so many ELEMENTS to this look! First of all: the color. Royal purple. Fit for a queen. Appropriate.
Then: those sleeves! These sleeves are known as “leg of mutton sleeves” because they KIND OF look like a leg of mutton. Have you ever seen a leg of mutton? I haven’t. I’ve only seen these sleeves. Plus they have a stripe?? No, I don’t know why, but I LOVE IT.
The cuffs and the cravat bring this from “dress” to “lewk.” Top it all off with this hat and you have a true 1893 mood.
What bird is that feather even from
We get a few good extra looks in this scene as well:
Pink Lady is NOT wearing a corset
Look, sometimes you don’t have enough period-appropriate undergarments for all the background people and that’s fine. But I WILL notice.
Is that Loretta Lynn
I am loving all of this! That purple dress is fantastic, those stripes? I die. Military man has some fun flair on his shoulder, and there is a dude in a beautiful turban back there. Plus, another Black lady in addition to Guinan and That One Ensign Who Is On The Bridge Sometimes.
Data rolls in to the literary event in a different suit with a CRAVAT:
Craving a cravat
Data is like “we serve together on the same starship in the 24th century” and Guinan is like “huh” but then she’s like “okay” which...I’m not sure if I would believe that? But let’s just say it’s fine.
Over in the 24th century, the literal entire bridge crew is checking out the temporal disturbance and I DON’T LIKE THIS AT ALL:
Blue Man Group...on ACID
These beings are like ghosts but also like Dr. Manhattan but also like pure energy.
Then everyone goes through the temporal disturbance AND THE SEASON ENDS.
Fortunately for you, this post will continue...right now.
Okay, so we’re back in San Francisco in 1893. You can tell by the horses:
Also the fruit carts
Samuel Clemens is strolling around with a reporter, telling him that he has a great story for him that involves time travelers and, like, protecting the nation.
Here’s the thing about this episode’s version of Mark Twain: he’s kind of a dick. Was the real Mark Twain kind of a dick? I just feel like Mark Twain should be JAZZED about meeting time travelers and not acting like a fuckin’ time cop* and trying to put the Enterprise crew on blast.
Anyway I love his double-breasted vest.
See my vest
The reporter’s hat is technically period-accurate, but that style is SO associated with the 1930s-1950s that I would have gone with something else. He looks cute though.
Meanwhile, Data is wearing a three-piece suit:
My positronic olfactory synapses are interpreting something as...a fart
I hate brown, but this is fine.
Additionally, the beige baddies from before are back and this time, they’ve got a SNAKE CANE:
Love the snake cane, hate how they suck the life out of people
But we are not here for them, we are here to see our faves in period clothing. Our first look is at Riker, who is dressed as an actual cop, not a time cop like Mark Twain:
The past just had...so many buttons
I guess if you’re a time-traveling white man there are worse disguises than a cop. But WHERE DID HE GET THIS UNIFORM? I choose to believe that he found a cop with a similar large handsome body to his own and beat the shit out of him and stole his clothes. Now we can all enjoy imagining a cop being beat up.
The badge that Riker is wearing is a great historical detail; the SFPD started wearing them in 1886 and are reportedly the first law enforcement agency to have worn the seven-pointed star, which is now a common shape among sheriff’s departments across the United States.
But let’s move on to a better look: Dr. Beverly Crusher:
Curlz MT
Okay, now I have more questions. Beverly obviously wouldn’t beat someone up for their clothes, so where did SHE get HER outfit? And who did her hair? Did she do her OWN hair? Where did she get a curling iron? Does she know how to use a curling iron? Was it one of those ones that’s actually made of iron that you have to heat up in a fireplace?
We will get answers to zero (0) of these questions.
We actually get a much better look at her dress later, so let’s focus on that cloak!!! I love it and I also love her hat. Okay, I guess I had less to say about those than I thought.
Bev and Will, along with the rest of the officers, have somehow procured a room/apartment in some lady’s lodging house. It’s cute!
They gave it 5 stars on AirBnB
This also raises questions. How did they get this room? How many bedrooms does it have? Are they sharing one large bed? If so, who has to sleep crossways at the foot of the bed and why is it Geordi? We will get zero answers to these questions as well, so let’s move on to arguably the hottest costume in this two-parter:
I’ll be in Holodeck 4
Whewwwwwww. He’s giving us a rolled sleeve. He’s giving us a casual tweed vest. The pants? They’re perfect. And he KNOWS how that slouch is working. It’s working VERY well. But the Irish landlady? She’s having NONE OF IT.
Absolutely NO nonsense
She needs the rent, but Picard charms her and she leaves. So I guess that’s how they got the room. Her look is knitwear-forward:
Eileen Fisher does sound like an Irish name
She’s got a shawl AND a cardigan! The cozy factor is OFF THE CHARTS. She also has a brooch, because a touch of fancy is always welcome. I will say that her hair is a little more fashion-forward than I’d expect for a woman of her age and station. This is straight up 1890s hair, and she would probably still be rocking an 1860s look, which isn’t as sweepy and would likely involve more braids. Still, she looks lovely.
Geordi is also here looking dapper:
Make the collar as high as you can. I want to be sliced open by my own collar
You CAN go wrong with a three-piece suit, but it’s difficult to. He can’t wear his visor, so he has some kicky shades which we’ll get a better look at in a sec.
Back at the Hotel Brian (lol), the bellboy (who we learn in this scene is Jack London, inspired to be a writer by Mark Twain [citation needed]) lets Mark Twain into Data’s room and allows him to look around unsupervised. This is very bad hotel management.
Great Scott
Then Data and Guinan show back up, and Mark Twain hides in an armoire.
One short day in the emerald brocade
I think one reason I love Guinan’s looks so much, both in the 24th and the 19th century, is that our color palette is very similar. We’re both winters. Bold jewel tones are the vibe. This one is in a beautiful deep green fabric with what looks like a velvet flocking pattern on it. The collar is also velvet, and I love that sleeve with a flounce on top like there wasn’t already enough fucking fabric on the sleeve so they just added a random piece to be like “yes, bitch. I’m a sleeve.”
Naturally, the hat is also jaunty af:
San Francisco’s hottest milliner is: Madame Guinan
This hat has everything: feathers, netting, a brim, an angle that makes you think it’s going to fall off but it doesn’t. We stan.
Meanwhile, Picard is setting up a sensor in a hospital while wearing a hat:
I’m bowled over
We haven’t even asked where Picard got these clothes, but I would like to point out that he’s dressed as a lower-class guy, while Riker is a cop, and Geordi looks like a gentleman. Was there even a discussion they all had about how they would disguise themselves? Was Picard like “I just really want to wear a beat-up bowler hat” and since he’s the captain, they extrapolated from there? This episode is NOT CONCERNED about any of this. They all have clothes, end of story.
Bev even has TWO outfits!!
Hello nurse!!!!
I love this look. She still has her unlikely hairstyle happening, which means her nurse’s cap is sitting atop her voluminous hairstyle. (Not very practical, but realistic!) She’s sporting a simple striped dress and a button-on apron. (Look closely and you can see the two buttons holding the apron to the dress.) The fabric underneath might be cotton seersucker, but it’s likely a lightweight cotton or linen twill. You can see how closely her look matches these nurses from a similar time period:
Hello nurses!!!!
Deanna is also in this scene and this episode, but you wouldn’t know it from what she’s given to do. HUGE SHOCKER: TROI NOT GIVEN ENOUGH TO DO IN AN EPISODE. 🙃
She still looks beautiful:
Why aren’t capelets more popular
We never get a really GREAT look at her whole outfit, but I can tell you that it has a capelet, it’s in the red family, and the hat has a lot of business going on. For those reasons: approved. It has a flounce in the back too:
More fabric = more wealth
Sometimes I think about just how much fabric it took to make these old-timey dresses and I’m like...how did anyone get anything done?? It takes me like 4 weeks to finish a pair of leggings and those have like 5 seams and I own a serger. These historical bitches were sewing whole ass dresses in no time at all.
Okay, so Bev is in this hospital and here come some more energy-stealing aliens, disguised as healthcare professionals this time:
I cannot take a medical professional wearing a LIGHT BROWN TOP HAT seriously, sorry
Bev AND this energy-stealing alien have BOTH managed to get their hands on the SAME nurse’s uniform?? I guess in the case of the alien, she is a shape-shifter, so she got her clothes from...that. And her hair.
I hate this light brown top hat. If you’re going to wear a top hat, don’t DISRESPECT IT by making it BROWN, but if you’re going to make it brown, make it a good brown, like chocolate. Stupid energy-stealing aliens.
There’s a skirmish, the energy-stealing aliens disappear, and the real cops show up:
MOUSTACHE
Of course, the cops showing up is bad, because when has a cop showing up ever made a bad situation better? Never. Defund the police, but don’t defund handlebar mustaches. Those can stay.
Fortunately, Data has gotten a ping on that machine he was building before and shows up on a motherfucking HORSE:
Brent just wanted to show off
He’s back in his brown striped suit and red tie. Okay.
Everyone returns to the boarding house to suss out the situation, and we get a look at what Riker is rocking underneath his cop jacket:
Suspend me daddy
You can see very clearly here how the collar is not actually attached to the shirt. This was a thing people in the olden days did so they could wear their shirt for multiple days in a row and just switch out the collar and cuffs so they looked clean. As someone who is wearing the same sweatshirt for the third day in a row, I support this method. (If you’re interested on more info about collars, here is a very enjoyable article about them.)
We are also blessed with a better look at Deanna’s sleeves and bodice:
Black lace cuffs? Decadent!!!
You can also see Geordi’s shades, which suit him really nicely. One thing I’ve been enjoying on this rewatch is just how well LeVar Burton can act without having his eyes visible. He’s great. Let’s just all think about how great LeVar Burton is for a second
And also Bev’s dress:
I legitimately want this dress
I don’t think those buttons are functional. Can you imagine how annoying THAT would be? But I am absolutely in love with this dress. Two paisleys, Beverly???? A goddess. I’m also dying for that brooch with the chain. A+ look all around, great work.
Finally, FINALLY, Guinan meets the rest of the crew:
When you meet someone you won’t actually know for 500 years
She is wearing a hat that looks like a toilet paper cozy. Did your grandma have one of these? They’re so stupid and I love them so much.
Picard and Guinan meet for what is the first time for her, but not the first time for him, and honestly it is...sensual?????
If I got a m’lady from P. Stew I wouldn’t even mind
Patrick and Whoopi truly do some nice work in this ep. But we are here to yell about clothes, so: LOOK AT THIS DRESS ON AN EXTRA:
Gimme dat dress
I just want that dress to wear around my house. I legitimately bought an 18th century costume dress to do just that, so don’t think I won’t literally do this.
OKAY, WE ARE ALMOST TO THE END.
The crew, plus Guinan, go back to the cave where this all started:
Cave Club, the only club that meets in a cave
We get a nice look at the bodice of Guinan’s dress here and guess what: MORE BUTTONS. Buttons on the lapels, and also buttons on the front panel with the pointy top. I wonder if she has multiple front panels for that dress in different colors, like a Swatch watch.
Unbeknownst to them, Mark Twain followed them!! Then there’s a scuffle with the energy-stealing aliens during which a few things happen:
Data’s head flies off
Mark Twain gets sucked into the temporal disturbance
Guinan gets hurt
Picard stays behind to make sure Guinan is okay
So we end up with Mark Twain on the Enterprise, where he sees Worf, and he’s like:
Buh-WHAT
Worf is also confused:
This is...extremely perplexing
We have a few more looks back on the Enterprise, including Regular Guinan:
ShoulderSpreads™: The Bed Spread for Your Shoulders
I love love LOVE this outfit. The color is perfect, the shoulderspreads are perfect, the front draping is perfect. It looks like a velvet housedress from the 1960s except FANCY which is kind of my ideal aesthetic. And it’s red (my fave).
We get a quick glimpse at the barber uniform:
Bitch let me pass, idc if you wrote Huck Finn
This barber does. not. give. a. fuck!!!!
Geordi reattaches Data’s head, the one they already had, which means this whole thing was a ding dang closed loop. The reattachment also kind of diminishes the whole conversation they had earlier about how Data’s head in the cave meant that Data could die someday, because...he didn’t. He still might, but his head is back and he’s fine now.
Meanwhile, Picard is still back in 1893 and they have to go get him, but only one person can come back through the temporal disturbance, so Mark Twain is like “duh I’ll go get him.”
And finally Guinan and Picard can talk about how their friendship spans 500 years!!!!
Hey girl
Hey
YOU’RE WELCOME
*abolish the police
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The Matchmaker
by: mldrgrl
Rating: PG
Summary: Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.
Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her. The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.
“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.
“Really, Mulder? Once upon a time?”
He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide. “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”
“Mmhm.”
Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation. She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.
“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old. This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”
“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”
“No, nothing like that.” Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.
“Well?” she asks.
“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees? Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”
“Folklore.”
“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”
“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”
He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen. “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by. There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court. In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair. And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”
“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”
“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”
Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color. The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black. Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.
“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.
“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”
Scully snorts softly. “And why is that?” she asks.
“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”
“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”
“Of course there is.” She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.
“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”
“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”
“Glad you asked!” Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman. The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.
“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”
“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible. There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”
“Unrequited?”
Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment. There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe. There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles. The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.
“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”
“True love’s touch,” she repeats.
“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest. “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”
She tries not to sigh in response.
*****
The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon. Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.
“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car. “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”
“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”
“Not really.”
“You’re not even a little curious?”
“About what?”
“The tree.”
“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”
He chuckles. “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”
“Yes, lucky me.”
*****
The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful. The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn. Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges. To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.
The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy. A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space. There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door. Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.
A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus. She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.
“Take your pick,” she says.
Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter. She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform. “The counter is fine,” she says. “Janet.”
“Sure.” Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back. Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.
“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.
“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket. “But, the special today is meatloaf. And the soup is tomato bisque.”
“I’ll do the burger. Medium well. Is that pie under that dome back there?”
“Pecan.”
“More of a sweet potato guy.”
“Yeah, me too. Well, sweet potato girl.” Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.
Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps. “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet. “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”
“Sure.”
Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her. Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”
“The witness?”
Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows. “Did you even read the file?”
“I gave it a glance.”
“Janet is one of the unrequited.”
“Too bad for Janet.”
Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does. No, that’s not true. She does know why she’s feeling catty. The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows. And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking. They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.
“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.
“Flirting?”
“Forget it.”
“Flirting?”
“Nevermind.”
Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter. Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down. She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment. Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.
“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.
“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.
“Sure do.”
“Two lemons, please.”
“And for the lady?”
“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.
Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices. Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.
“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID. “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”
“Me?”
“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”
The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown. She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.
“What do you know about it?” she asks.
“Not much, which is why we’re here. We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”
Janet nods slowly. “That’s not...a crime, is it?”
“No, no. We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though. It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”
Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter. Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them. She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued. The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark. Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.
“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.
Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head. “Go ahead,” she answers.
“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.
Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck. It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all. Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.
“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says. “It appears to be a localized eczema. Have you seen a dermatologist?”
“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around. “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards. No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”
“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”
“Oh, I know it does. I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”
“I see.”
“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.
“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation. We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”
Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.
“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.
“Oh yeah,” Janet answers. “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid. And everyone wants to brag about it, you know? You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”
“You and Anthony?” Scully asks. “You never married?”
“Well, how could we? He wasn’t the one.”
“According to the tree.”
“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”
“You really believe that?”
Janet points to her neck. “I didn’t until this happened.”
“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.
“Not really. Who would believe that a tree could do this?”
“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.
“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.
“Mmhm.” He nods once and turns the page of his paper. “That cursed tree is part of her legacy. Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”
“You got it, Wallace.” Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.
“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.
“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.” Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter. “Thank you, Janet.”
“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.
“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.
Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm. “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie. Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker. And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”
“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”
“No.” Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.
“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.
*****
Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be. While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal. Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.
The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry. She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet. Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips. Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth. She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.
“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says. “And here you folks are.”
“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.
“Sure am. Who’s asking?”
“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.” He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.
“That supposed to impress me or something?”
“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket. “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”
“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”
“Forgive me for my tardiness.”
Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.
“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”
“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.
“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”
Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him. She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished. The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space. Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors. Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair. There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.
Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest. She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.
“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.
“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married. After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back. That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”
“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says. “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”
Hattie laughs again. “I was born in 1885.”
“You’re 114 years old?”
“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?” She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows. Even Scully has to smile in amusement.
“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.
“Hattie, please. Never liked formalities. So stuffy.”
“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”
“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.
“A curse? Bah. Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”
“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.
“Name is Wallace Byrd. He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”
Mulder and Scully give each other a glance. “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.
“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man. He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”
“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”
“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”
“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”
“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”
There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.
“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says. “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often. Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay. Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”
Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully. His enjoyment of the tale is palpable. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.
“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues. “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task. He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage. Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took. A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”
“Overnight?” Mulder asks. “Incredible.”
“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.
“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says. “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events. Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery. He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy. When he went home, his village was in chaos. They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”
“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.
“So they say. Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified. He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper. When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help. The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”
“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.
“That’s about right. Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”
“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.
Hattie shrugs. “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree. The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”
“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks. “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind? You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed. Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”
“Ailments? No. Broken heart is more like it. Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed. He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love. A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident. He never got over it. Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone. I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale. It’s just a tale, after all.”
“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.
“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?” Hattie laughs. “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”
It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly. He stands, and Scully does as well.
“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.
“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”
“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west. The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”
*****
It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it. The photos didn’t do it justice. The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames. The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall. The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle. She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.
“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.
“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist. Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in. I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”
“Leaves of three, let them be.” Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”
“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”
“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”
Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on. Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.
“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers. He’s right.
“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag. “We’ll need soil samples as well. Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”
“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”
“Perhaps.”
“Mmhm.” Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up. “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”
“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence. Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”
“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”
“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”
“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.
“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.
He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree. Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk. She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly. She jumps back, heart racing. A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers. Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold. Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.
“Mulder?” She turns, but no one is there. She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.
Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part. She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches. Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it. She crouches down to collect some dirt as well. As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles. Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk. She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.
“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree. She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand. There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding. She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.
“Scully!” Mulder calls.
“Yeah,” she answers, warily.
“Where are you?”
“In here.” She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches. She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.
“You have…” Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.
“Thanks.”
“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.
A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns. She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.
“Find anything interesting?” he asks.
“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”
“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”
“I did.”
“What was the answer?”
“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”
Mulder chuckles. “There is some poison oak in the woods up there. You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”
“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”
She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket. It’s beginning to itch.
“I guess we should probably head out then?”
“No argument from me.”
*****
They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends. Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home. They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.
A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching. It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home. She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.
They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa. She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field. She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day. When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire. She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.
By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist. It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls. She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm. There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before. She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again. When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin. She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile. After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration. She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.
“I need to show you something,” she says.
Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her. He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”
Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up. Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her. He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.
“What am I looking at?” he asks.
“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”
“The Matchmaker?”
“Yes. It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t...I don’t know. I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”
Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm. Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.
“It feels like...I’m not sure...” Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm. Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm. It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.
They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf. Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded. “Mulder…how did…?”
“I don’t know.”
“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”
“Well, there is one explanation.”
“Don’t say it.”
“You touched the tree.”
“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.” She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge. “I need scissors.”
“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I am a doctor!” She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag. Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.
“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Come on.”
“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”
“I can see that, come out here.”
Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit. She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.
“Let me see,” he says.
Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger. He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all. When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria. She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.
“Scully?” The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.
“Oh, I feel…”
“Sit down.” He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.
“No, I…” She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful. It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen. It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.
“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.
“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically. Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy. “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”
Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows. “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.
Her heart hammers in her chest. She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers. She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.
“I heard you, you know,” he says.
“Heard me?”
“When I was exposed to the artifact.” He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead. “I heard you. I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”
She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now. She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again. By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in. Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers. The kiss is soft and unhurried. It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.
“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.
“What part of it?”
“All of it.”
“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped. He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.
“It’s just not possible.”
“All of it?” He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.
“Maybe not all of it.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.
“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.
“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”
“Is that all?”
“Autumn in New England? I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”
“So, you never intended for…”
“For you to start becoming part tree? Not at all.”
“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s…” She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.
Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand. “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it. Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”
“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face. “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”
“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”
“What?”
“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”
The End
#i wrote this#xf fanfic#definitely non canon#but set somewhere after The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati#msr
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Ep 27 of Word of Honor, and that was … Well. That was definitely the unicorn chaser to spending so much time and hugging with Awful Yifu in the last episode.
(Spoilers, as ever, so scroll away and come back later, if you’re still planning to watch unspoiled.)
I mean, what is there to say?
Ha, no, really, I can find plenty to say. Buckle up, I guess.
Clearly, I’m going to talk about The Scene, and there’s a lot going on here, besides the obvious cake frosting of everyone coming to everyone else’s rescue and the fighting and the crying and the declarations, and then once it’s all over, when everybody’s still hopped up on adrenaline, before the crash hits, the shouting and the laughing. At the end of it, we’re not even 20 minutes into the ep, and I feel like that should have been the climax (har), but they probably knew nobody would be able to concentrate on anything else that came before it. I’ve seen a couple of interviews now where Zhang Zhehan said he wanted to play Wen Kexing, and given the chance, he would probably still pick that role, and then everyone involved in the interview rambles on about the complexity of the Wen Kexing character, and it makes me worry that Zhang Zhehan isn’t giving himself or Zhou Zishu enough credit for the depth and range that he pulled out of the character. There’s a lot of various people yelling at various other people in many different places in this show, but there’s not been a scene yet that I felt it like I did when ZZS shouts at WKX after Ye Baiyi finally goes away, wanting to know what the fuck he was thinking. That felt real, and it felt layered – like, there’s a bone-deep fear that’s giving that anger extra strength, fear about the fact that WKX could be so self-destructive. Which also may force ZZS to confront for the first time the idea that WKX could die and leave him alone, just like all his other shidi died and left him alone. I’d have to go back and rummage around in previous eps, but I feel like this could be the first time ZZS really has to confront the idea that could happen, and he’s probably not at all prepared for it, because he’s understandably expecting to be the first to go. But this idea that WKX could just disappear, and get himself killed (because let’s face it, Ye Baiyi tossed them both around like toys), and ZZS would never see him again – that he would abandon ZZS like that, just to hide his secrets – I think that might be part of the anger, here. (You don’t fail me … and Zhou Zishou’s expectations for what constitutes not being failed are a pretty low bar, consisting mainly of not getting yourself killed like a fucking dumbass, and even that bar suddenly seems to be too high for Wen Kexing to clear.)
There’s also a clear parallel here, need I say, to the scene in a previous ep when Gu Xiang (WKX) begs Shen Shen (Ye Baiyi) that even after Shen Shen (Ye Baiyi) kills her (him), could he just for god’s sake not tell her (his) boyfriend who she (he) really was. Wen Kexing’s supposedly thought-out plan was basically just going to be what A-Xiang came up with on the fly, and stupid babies need the most love, I remind myself grimly, particularly when all this is about something Zhou Zishu already knew anyway, because he’s a brilliant former merciless assassin, not a good-hearted self-deprecating cinnamon roll who thinks he’s the least talented person in his sect like Cao Weining. We’ve also got some tasty philosophical stuff in this whole confrontation, including competing responsibilities – loyalty vs. justice vs. integrity – along with ideas of retributive vs. restorative justice. This is another good Zhang Zhehan acting moment, because that whole bit about how, actually, Grandpa, his shifu would have been about guiding his shidi toward kindness and making up for the mistakes he made – I actually believe he’s wholly thinking about Wen Kexing when he pulls out this philosophical rapier, and not at all about how restorative justice benefits ZZS, himself, considering how much blood he has on his own hands and that earlier conversation about frying in oil for 80 vs. 100 years. Good job, my friend. The one thing that makes me sad about this scene is that I’ve seen That Extra, and I hate we were robbed of not only Zhou Zishu actually laying his head on Wen Kexing’s shoulder but of Gong Jun’s single crystalline tear spilling down his cheek. Zhang Zehan’s right, that was a better take.
Anyway, Ye Baiyi proceeds to put WKX under house arrest, which, just. So he has to live with ZZS for the rest of his life? Please don’t throw him into the briar patch, right?
Also, yes, WKX. He’d die for you, dumbass. God.
Just to drive home the point of how the Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining relationships are the same relationship, we then go to a scene … well, we then go directly to a scene where Cao Weining is just sitting there, chin in hand, gazing adoringly at Gu Xiang, much the way Wen Kexing has been gazing adoringly at Zhou Zishu since about Ep 3 2 1 … but that also leads into a scene where Cao Weining is interrogated about Gu Xiang by his shixiong in a milder, miniature version of the grilling ZZS just took from his elder. “Do you know who she is?” Whoever she is, he’s going to continue to respect her boundaries. “I promised her, so I won’t betray or distrust her.” “We’ve been through so much together.” (“We’re in the same boat anyway, we might as well stay together.”) I won’t fail you. Nobody in this scene has actually made the Ghost Valley connection, yet, and Cao Weining is not as canny as Zhou Zishu, so we’re not yet going to get any kind of resolution on the issue in this relationship - but given the way these relationships are running on parallel tracks, I have positive feelings about how Cao Weining is going to meet this challenge (not that I didn’t, anyway) once the info finally does come out.
What else, what else? We do go back to Xie Wang and Awful Yifu in this ep, and oh boy.
Xie’er: Ghost Valley Master’s faithful minion Heartless Amethyst Fiend has been sent by her master to sneakily follow Cao Weining and infiltrate the Gentle Wind Sword Sect where the Glazed Armor is being held.
A-Xiang, chillin’ outside the gated community in a rustic cabin with her fiancé, doing some mending and waiting for her wedding day: Never speak of my former master again, I have utterly left that life behind me. Also, what should we have for dinner?
I can see how you would come to the conclusion you did, Xie’er, but wow, the only time you’ve been more wrong in your life is about your Awful Yifu. Speaking of which, it appears the cat Awful Yifu is out of the bag. Xie Wang is still all, “Since you saved me, you can take my life back if you want,” and here we are in Zhou Zishu-Prince Jin territory again, shades of ZZS in Ep 1 not even blinking as he offers himself to Prince Jin and takes the gamble that he won’t just get his head cut off for his troubles. ALSO, I distinctly remember telling you, Xie’er, that you were empathizing (although not sympathizing) a bit much with the women of the Department of the Unfaithful, and here we do in fact get an explicit comparison, looking back to the conversation with Beauty Ghost about her loser boyfriend, when you refer to yourself as “also a gambler” as you take your leave of Zhao JIng. You need some Water of Lethe, buddy. Or do you think – to return to that conversation and the parallels with Beauty Ghost – that if you remember all this, you’ll stop making the same mistakes?
A last few random things:
lol, let’s all take a minute to giggle over the fact that ZZS has, in Ye Baiyi’s words, associated with this dude. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Sorry, but I had to pause the show at that point to snicker like a 12-year-old.
Chengling: “How dare those ruffians beat my two dads! Let’s burn down their house.” Wow. OK. Xiang-jie has been … some kind of influence on her didi.
Last scene of ZZS and WKX, oh my god:
ZZS: You’re feeling bad for keeping a secret from a kid? What about me? How are you going to make it up to me?
WKX: Oh, my goodness, look at the time. I’m feeling so … sleepy. Yes, that’s it. I must go to bed. You also must be so … sleepy. You should. You know. Go to bed. Too. Also. To cure your … sleepiness. As you do, in a bed. Where I will also be.
Me, to the screen: He’s going to make it up to you on his back.
Also me: :facepalm: You are a pair of merciless killers. How are you this adorable?
#zhang zhehan#zhou zishu#wen kexing#ye baiyi#gu xiang#cao weining#xie wang#zhao jing#zhang chengling#word of honor#word of honor episode reax
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19 or 20 from the kisses list for sm or dh??🥰
20. top of head kisses
Double Happiness At Your Door
Extra 16: 天河 (Heavenly River) | master post on sidebar
[directly follows #07]
“Wait, wait, Lan Zhan, where are we going?” Wei Wuxian cries, clutching onto the front of Lan Wangji’s robes as he takes off into the air, leaving the fairy maidens staring, wide-eyed, after them. “Lan Zhan, put me down at once!”
But his protestations are thoroughly ignored. Not only are they ignored, Lan Wangji holds him even closer, if that was even possible, his attention focused on…wherever they were going. He looks down. They’re so high up in the air he can’t even see the palace grounds anymore, only the layers upon layers of fluffy white clouds like soft carpet beneath their feet. Even if he were to forcibly break free of Lan Wangji’s arms and leap down and away, he wouldn’t have the faintest clue where they were right now, let alone how to get home. So he grumbles and resigns himself to being lugged around at Lan Wangji’s whim.
How does Lan Wangji even know where to go when everything around them looks the same?
They fly for a good part of a shichen before they arrive at their destination, which is saying a lot considering they—as High Immortals—are able to cover thousands of li worth of distance in an instant. Wei Wuxian has long since dozed off against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, lulled by the cool breeze in his hair and the steady heartbeat beneath his ear, and only stirs when Lan Wangji sets him down carefully on the floor.
“Hmm?” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “We’re here?”
“Yes, we are.” A large hand comes down on the top of his head. “You can sleep a little longer if you wish.”
That spurs Wei Wuxian to wake, shaking himself off—and the hand on his head with it—and stretching his tired limbs with a yawn. He’s not going to sleep instead of finding out where Lan Wangji has decided to kidnap him! Knowing Lan Wangji, it’s either somewhere incredibly fun and hard to get to—like Fan Yin Valley—or somewhere incredibly boring, like the library.
“If you’ve taken me to the library, I’m disowning you,” he warns, brushing past Lan Wangji to get a good look at their surroundings. “I was meant to have lunch with Nie-xiong—”
The words die on his lips as he takes in the sight before them.
They’re standing in the shade of a huge tree, its wide-reaching branches stretching over their heads and thick with foliage despite the darkness. Although, dark isn’t quite the word he would use to describe the environment around them—no, there is definitely light, so much of it, from the millions of tiny pinpricks dotting the sky, swirling around their feet, flowing in an endless river as far as the eye can see.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispers, his heart in his throat. “It’s—”
“The Heavenly River,” Lan Wangji says. His voice is low and close to his ear. Wei Wuxian inhales sharply.
“The Heavenly—we’re not—isn’t this restricted territory?” he asks, worried. “We’re not going to get in trouble by being here are we?”
Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve never known that to stop you before,” he says. “Come on.”
Without waiting for a response, he takes Wei Wuxian’s hand and leads him towards the river in three long strides, coming to a stop at the very edge where the river laps gently at the bank. Wei Wuxian is too stunned to protest, even when Lan Wangji turns to face him and holds up the small paper lotus with an expectant look on his face.
“Well?” he asks, when Wei Wuxian just stands there gaping at him. “Are you not going to place it in the river and see if it floats all the way to the end?”
“What?” Wei Wuxian stares at the river, following its path across the sky. “I don’t think it counts if you do it here…”
“Why not?” Lan Wangji also turns to the river, undeterred. “The type of river was not specified. A river is a river, regardless of what runs through it.”
Well, okay, he has a point. This is the Heavenly River, if this doesn’t count as a river, then what would?
And it really is a beautiful place, one of the most sacred places in all the realms—not to mention the most romantic. There isn’t a couple out there that wouldn’t want to see the Heavenly River with their own eyes, and make a wish at the very meeting place of the Cowherd and Weaver for a blessed, happy union. The only problem is that he and Lan Wangji aren’t a real couple, no matter what they’ve led everyone else to believe.
He looks at the little lotus blossom resting in the centre of Lan Wangji’s palm and an idea strikes him. The practice didn’t specify the type of river—or that the wisher had to already be in a relationship with the person whose name is written at the heart of the flower. Cheered by this thought, he crouches down by the river’s edge.
“Alright then, let’s do it,” he says, reaching up and gesturing for Lan Wangji to join him without looking over his shoulder. “Come on, Lan Zhan.”
There’s a rustle of robes as Lan Wangji crouches down beside him, their shoulders bumping and their sides pressed together. The now-familiar heat rises in the back of his neck and up to his ears at their proximity; he avoids his gaze as he takes the flower from him, cupping it carefully in both hands to avoid crushing it. He lowers it gently into the river, feeling a tingle of energy dancing up his arms when his hands dip below the surface, before he clasps his hands in front of his chest and closes his eyes.
I wish for Lan Zhan to find happiness with the person he loves, he says silently. He tries not to think too hard about the implication if it does come true.
That done, he opens his eyes and breaks out into a satisfied smile.
“That was fun!” he says brightly, turning to look at Lan Wangji. “Did you make a—”
The rest of his words are cut off with a strangled squeak as an arm comes around his shoulders and a large hand rests on the back of his head, applying a gentle pressure until he pitches forward right into Lan Wangji’s waiting arms. And then, before he can even recover from that—both physically and mentally—he feels warm lips press against the top of his head. It’s a brief touch, lasting no more than the span of a breath, but it’s enough for his brain to grind to a complete halt, and his heart to stutter and trip over itself trying to keep beating.
And then it’s gone, and he’s staring at Lan Wangji’s broad chest, dazed and unseeing. He’s vaguely aware of Lan Wangji murmuring something to him, but he can’t seem to make out the words. Instead, he launches himself backwards and away from Lan Wangji with a squawk, falling over onto his behind in a jumble of limbs and robes, red-faced and panting. His heart is beating so fast he’s half-afraid it will explode inside his chest.
What just happened? What was that? Did Lan Zhan just—?
Lan Wangji, still crouching where he was before—because of course Wei Wuxian using him as a springboard to propel himself backward did nothing to affect his structure—watches him quietly, calmly, as if he hadn’t just—!
“Wha-what was that for?” he asks, stammering and stuttering as he struggles to get his heartbeat back under control.
All his efforts are ruined, of course, when Lan Wangji smiles in that way that makes his eyes seem to glow with warmth and fondness all at once.
“For luck,” he says.
--
Notes:
The Heavenly River (天河) refers to the Milky Way, and is the river that separates 牛郎 (Cowherd) and 织女 (Weaver Girl) who are only allowed to meet once a year. The Chinese Qixi/Double Seventh Festival (7th day of the 7th lunisolar month - 25 August 2020) celebrates their annual meeting on a bridge of magpies, and is considered the Chinese version of Valentine’s Day.
--
buy me a kofi @ ko-fi.com/besanii
#hey nonny nonny#asks#mdzs#wangxian#double happiness fic#雙喜臨門#my writing#lan wangji#wei wuxian#dragon!lwj#fox prince!wwx#fake dating au#humour#kiss prompts#double happiness verse
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pieces - chapter five
Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn't expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.
rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse)
ao3 link
*
As the rest of the day ticked by, Beca kept replaying the events at Sarah’s coffee shop over and over, unable to pinpoint what she could have said to make Chloe bolt like that. She managed to focus on her tasks at hand over the afternoon and headed home around 6, groaning as soon as she stepped inside when she remembered she had promised Sarah to cook her dinner.
She pondered on canceling for half a minute because all she felt like doing was taking a long shower and eating pizza in bed, but she already felt guilty about a lot of things these past couple of days.
So she took a quick shower instead and put on some comfy jeans and a plaid shirt, tossing her blow-dried hair in a messy bun atop her head. With one of her favorite blues records playing throughout her home, Beca set to work to make creamy salmon pasta with spinach, nursing a much-needed glass of wine as she cooked.
“Babe?”
“In the kitchen,” Beca called out over the music, lowering the heat on the boiling water and dropping a handful of spaghetti in. She smiled as Sarah brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey.”
“Hello you,” Sarah murmured, squeezing her hip as she walked past her to set a bottle of wine on the counter. “Smells delicious.”
“Hopefully it tastes good, too.” Not that Beca was worried; she had been making this dish for a few years. “Wine?”
Sarah hopped onto the counter next, humming. “Yes, please.”
Beca opened the fridge and took the bottle out, reaching on the tip of her toes (shhh) for a glass in the cabinet over her head. She poured some wine in and handed it to Sarah. “Sorry I disappeared earlier.”
After Chloe had left, Beca wasn’t in the mood to eat or finish her coffee, leaving a $20 on the table on her way out.
“Was that the friend you told me about yesterday?”
Beca puffed out a sigh. “Yeah. She’s…” It’s complicated, Beca was about to say, but she figured she owed Sarah some details after what happened at her workplace. “She’s in a bad place. And I wanna help her, but she doesn’t seem to want any help. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Sarah covered Beca’s hand with her own, the pad of her thumb stroking her skin back and forth. “Has it been a long time since you last saw each other?”
“Over six years. We fell out of touch about five years ago. Well, she cut us all out of her life nearly overnight.”
Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Us?”
“The Bellas, from college. Chloe and I were co-captains.” Beca swallowed around the lump forming in her throat as a wave of nostalgia hit her with full force. “She just… she was my best friend.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe give her some time and she’ll come around?”
Beca doubted that, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, maybe.” She shook her head, squeezing Sarah’s hand as she mustered a smile. “Enough about me. How was your day?”
As the next week ticked by, Beca started to lose hope. In true Beca Mitchell fashion, she threw herself into work to avoid dealing with her emotions, staying at the office until midnight most days.
A knock on her open-door one night made her jolt. She had lost herself in the view and her own thoughts, unaware someone was still at the office.
Beca spun her chair around to face the door, finding Luke in the doorway. “Why are you here so late?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Luke pointed out, inviting himself in. He set a sheet of paper in front of Beca, then plopped down in the seat on the other side of her desk. “This is incredible. You’ve got to record it.”
Beca glanced down at her own handwriting, heavily regretting showing Luke that song she wrote a few days ago. “I don’t know, man.”
“What?” Luke asked, incredulous. “Becky, you haven’t been able to write a lyric for the past three years and now that you’ve got a platinum record worthy song, you don’t want to use it?”
Beca nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It feels too personal, I’m not sure I feel like sharing it with the world.” She glared at him next. “And stop calling me Becky, this is getting old.”
“I’m serious, this might be your best work yet,” Luke insisted. “Think about it?”
“I will. Now get out of my office,” Beca muttered.
“You got it, Becky,” Luke teased, easily catching the stress ball Beca tossed at his head, chuckling at her poor attempt. “You should go home and get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Night.”
“Goodnight.”
*
It turned out Sarah had been right.
When Beca wasn’t expecting it anymore, Chloe called. And she sounded like Chloe. Hope flared within her once more, but she tried not to let it engulf her whole being. While Chloe reaching out was an enormous step, Beca threaded carefully, knowing a lot could happen in five days.
She wished she had been wrong, but as it pushed 1 pm that Thursday afternoon, it was pretty clear Chloe wouldn’t show. Beca didn’t have her phone number or any other way to contact her. Her heart felt heavy as she headed back to BMLJ for her meeting with Jesse regarding his movie score, and her head was too full of thoughts to completely focus on work.
“Earth to Beca.”
Beca hummed, snapping out of her daze. Jesse was staring at her in a mix of concern and curiosity. “Sorry.”
“Do you wanna do this another time?”
“No, no,” Beca insisted, straightening up. “I’m okay.” She hated how well Jesse knew her, and heaved a sigh when he gave her that look. “It’s Chloe.”
“Chloe Beale?” Jesse asked. “She’s in New York?”
“Yeah. I found her a couple of weeks ago. She’s a stripper at some hyped club in Times Square.”
“Holy shit, seriously?”
Beca proceeded to tell him everything over the next ten minutes, Jesse hanging onto every word. “Am I stupid? Trying so hard to help someone who clearly doesn’t want to be helped?”
“No, you’re not stupid. You’re a softie under that tough exterior and you care deeply about the people you love. Especially Chloe. I was in the front row, remember?”
Beca grimaced, some of that decade-old guilt surfacing. “Dude…”
“It’s fine. I’m definitely over all of that, but we both know Chloe is too important for you to just give up. And from how you described her, and that phone call? It sounds like she still cares, but she lost herself along the way and is now in so deep she has trouble coming back on her own. Maybe she just needs to hear that asking for help isn’t giving up, but rather refusing to give up.”
Those words echoed deep within Beca, and she found herself nodding, filled with newfound energy to fight for this. “I need to go by the club. Tonight. Her boss might kick me out if I show up inside, but maybe I can wait by the back door?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to, man. It might be hours before we see her.”
“That guy sounds creepy, you shouldn’t go on your own.”
Beca sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll pick you up around ten.”
*
Beca felt like they were on a stake-out as they waited in her car hours later, parked across the back alley of the club. Winter had definitely settled in in NYC and waiting in the cold for hours in freezing temperatures didn’t seem like a great plan.
She texted back and forth with Aubrey, who once more offered to come down, but Beca was concerned Chloe might think they were ambushing her.
It was pushing midnight by the time a familiar figure stepped out of the building through the side door. Chloe was on her own.
Beca slapped Jesse’s arm to wake him up. “She’s here.”
They both stepped out of the car and crossed the street when it was clear, Beca telling Jesse to wait by the corner as she tentatively approached Chloe, slipping her gloved hands inside the pockets of her dark grey wool trench coat.
She was smoking a cigarette, clad in her glitter dress under an open fleece jacket. Her gaze flickered to Beca when she spotted her, her posture turning rigid. “What are you doing here?”
There was no bite to her tone but soft curiosity, which reassured Beca further.
“Can we talk?”
Chloe glanced over her shoulder towards the door as she nibbled on her lower lip. “Five minutes, then I have to go back inside.”
She met Beca on the other side of the alley, the orange glow of the lamp post over their heads allowing Beca to trace her features. “You didn’t show earlier.”
Chloe dragged on her cigarette. “I changed my mind.”
“Is that the truth or did someone tell you not to?” She wasn’t dumb; after meeting Chloe’s boss and knowing she was his favorite, she had an inkling the two were somehow involved. And that guy just gave off a crazy possessive vibe. Chloe’s silence was her answer. “Chlo…”
“It’s more complicated than you think,” Chloe murmured, licking her lips.
“Then explain it to me,” she demanded, a desperate edge to her tone.
“Why are you doing this?” Chloe croaked out. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Her question took Beca by surprise, and her mouth moved wordlessly for a few beats. “Because I care about you. And you’re not okay, Chlo. I want to help.”
“Beca…”
She thought back on Jesse’s words. “Asking for help is not giving up, Chloe. It’s refusing to give up. And I’m here. You just have to say the word, I’ve got you.”
Chloe shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m not--” Her eyes were filled with so much sadness when they found Beca’s that Beca had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not worth it.”
Those four words felt like a knife lodging itself inside Beca’s heart. They stole all the air from her lungs and brought tears to her eyes. “What?” She whispered, her voice nowhere within reach as a huge lump formed in her throat. “That’s not true,” she said, with more forcefulness this time around. “It’s not, you hear me?”
Chloe kept shaking her head. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t know this version of you, but I know Chloe Beale is still in there, somewhere. I heard her on the phone the other day, remember? And I can see her now, under all those layers of sadness and lack of self-worth triggered by outside factors. I know her soul hasn’t changed, deep down. It couldn’t have, because you are the purest, kindest human being there is, and that has to still be somewhere in there.”
“I’m broken, Bec,” Chloe cried, her eyes filled to the rim with tears threatening to spill over. “I’m a crack addict. I don’t--” A sob spilled from her throat. “I spend all my money on coke and all I know how to do anymore is show my breasts for money.”
A tear rolled down Beca’s cheek as she reached for Chloe’s hand. “Then I’ll help put you back together. Piece by piece, for however long it takes. Whatever it takes, Chlo. I promise.”
“Chloe?”
Both their heads snapped towards the open door, where Marco stood. His features hardened when he saw Beca there, and Beca released Chloe’s hand, looking over her shoulder towards Jesse, who made his way over.
“What is she doing here?” He spat out as he climbed down the set of steps.
Chloe visibly swallowed, her fear radiating off her. “She’s just leaving.”
“No, I’m not,” Beca stated, loud and clear as her eyes shone fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere without Chloe.”
“You fucking homewrecker,” he muttered, crossing the alley in quick strides. Chloe stepped in front of Beca, as though to shield her with her own body. The anger swirling in his eyes shot a chill down Beca’s spine. “Move, Chloe.”
Chloe shook her head. “You should go back inside, Marco. Please don’t make a scene, it’s not worth it.”
Beca had never understood the expression ‘to see red’ until now; until she witnessed Marco backhanding Chloe with so much force she staggered back with a cry.
Unparalleled rage filled her, the kind of rage she couldn’t control. She stepped forward and raised her fist, clocking him in the face with a mean right hook. She wasn’t sure if the cracking sound came from her knuckle or his nose breaking, the pain in her hand muffled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Marco stumbled a few steps backward with a grunt, his eyes screwed shut as he covered his nose with his hand. But Beca wasn’t done, taking advantage of his dizzy state and stepping forward to knee him in the balls as hard as she could so he couldn’t walk until they were all safely inside the car.
“You guys get into the car,” Jesse ushered them, keeping an eye on Marco as he doubled over in pain.
“Chloe, come on,” Beca coaxed urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling. To her surprise, Chloe didn’t fight her. She seemed absolutely shell-shocked, even once they reached the car, as though her legs were carrying her on their own accord and her brain was miles behind. “Get inside, Chlo.”
Jesse jogged over a few seconds later and slid behind the wheel without Beca having to ask him, and she climbed in the backseat beside Chloe, relief washing over as the doors locked behind them and the car pulled onto the road towards safety.
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could you write maybe something about beca and chloe at a farmer's market at their first christmas together as a couple starting up new traditions? like getting hot chocolate, picking ornaments and a tree, stuff like that
Naturally I couldn’t write just normal Christmas fluff, I had to add a bit of angsty hurt/comfort in there. So, trigger warning: alcoholism is mentioned.
Read on AO3
Saturday mornings were Beca’s favourite time of the week for two reasons.
One, she got to sleep through them, catching up on all the sleep she’d lost through the week.
Two, she got to sleep through them with Chloe.
Chloe, the perpetual early bird, the seizer of every moment, had finally relented and given Beca this one lazy morning.
(Beca had tried to get Sunday morning too, but Chloe said she was pushing it.)
So on Saturdays they lay warm and comfortable, wrapped in each others arms, under layers of blankets because they couldn’t keep the heating 24 hours a day, and New York winters were cold.
They’d sleep late, waking up every few hours to exchange lazy kisses, before falling asleep again, eventually waking up to eat a late breakfast (read: lunch).
Except this Saturday was different.
Chloe was tugging the blankets away from Beca, or trying to at least, and telling her to get up and shower or they’d be late.
“Late for what?” Beca mumbled, her grip on the blankets surprisingly strong for 8 am.
“The Christmas market!”
“It is November 28th,” Beca said, incredulously, finally giving up and allowing Chloe to whip the blankets away.
“Exactly! So we need to go buy our decorations if we’re gonna stick to our plan!”
Beca sat up, brows furrowed, hair sticking up at every possible angle.
“I knew that plan would come back to bite me.”
“Come on, up! Up! Up!” Chloe said, each up punctuated by a clap of her hands.
Begrudgingly Beca climbed out of the safety and warmth of bed and made the quick cold dash to the shower. She felt herself relax as the hot water came sputtering out of the shower head and chased away the cold of their bathroom.
Their plan - or Beca and Chloe’s awesome best Christmas ever, as Chloe had dubbed it - had been finalised only a few days before.
It was their first real Christmas living together as a couple that would be spent just the two of them.
Chloe’s mom had video called her and said that as all her kids were grown up now, her and Chloe’s dad would be going on vacation for Christmas from now on.
Chloe had pouted and pleaded but her mom’s mind was made up. She said they had to start making new traditions now that they were getting older, and Chloe should do the same.
Chloe was still miserable when Beca had gotten home from work late that night.
“You know, we could start making our own traditions,” Beca said, trying to coax Chloe out of her bad mood. “That’s the fun part about growing up, right? When you’re a kid you just do what you’ve always done, but when you grow up and you start your new family, you get to try new things. Mix things up a bit. Create new traditions that you get to pass on.”
“I guess,” Chloe mumbled, allowing Beca to put an arm around her and squeeze her into a side hug.
“Come on,” Beca said, squeezing again, “let’s think of some things we can do.”
And so they spent the next hour making their plan.
“The Christmas decorations go up the first weekend in December,” Chloe said, writing the first part of their plan. “So we should buy decorations soon.”
“Okay,” Beca said. “But no lights that make noise or dancing Santas or anything.”
“Agreed,” Chloe said. “How do you feel about flashing lights?” Beca pulled a face. “Me too.”
“Christmas Eve we get take-out,” Beca said, realising this was her only Christmas tradition she wanted to carry over. “Chinese.”
“Sure,” Chloe said. “But you’re skipping ahead. We have a lot of December to fill. Christmas movies every weekend until Christmas Day.”
“Christmas movie,” Beca said. “You get one per weekend.”
“Two,” Chloe said, grinning, knowing she would win any negotiation.
“Fine. One on Saturday, one on Sunday,” Beca said.
“Deal,” Chloe said. “Naturally Christmas music while we decorate.”
“Naturally,” Beca said. “But no Glee cover versions.”
“But-”
“No.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“Christmas sweaters?”
“Sure.”
“Matching?”
“Absolutely not.”
It carried on like that until they had their December planned out. And Beca wouldn’t admit it, but she was actually kind of excited about their first solo Christmas. They had spent last year with Chloe’s family, and the year before they hadn’t been dating so while Chloe had gone home, Beca had hung around in New York with anyone she could find who was still in town.
She’d had no desire to go back to her home town for Christmas for a long time now.
So she was excited to have Christmas plans that she could look forward to.
That was until Chloe had woken her up at 8 am on a Saturday so she could drag her around a Christmas market in New York.
“Is it gonna be crowded?” Beca asked, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee from Chloe as she left their bedroom, now fully dressed.
“Maybe,” Chloe said. “If we get there early enough it shouldn’t be too bad. Plus it’s not even December yet. I think it’ll get busier the longer we leave it.”
“Maybe next year we should do our Christmas shopping in June,” Beca said.
“I know you’re kidding but I promise you my Aunt Cheryl was fully wrapped by August,” Chloe said. “Anyway, don’t worry about the crowds. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”
“Okay, take it easy, you’re like an inch taller than me,” Beca said, rolling her eyes.
“If you say so,” Chloe said. “Okay, it opens soon, are you ready to go?”
They left their apartment, made the short but freezing walk to the subway, and about half an hour later they reached their stop.
“Hot chocolate?” Chloe asked, taking holding of Beca’s hand and pulling her towards where the market was set up.
“Good idea,” Beca said, shivering, her breath coming out in white clouds.
Beca looked around while Chloe ordered their drinks. It wasn’t too busy yet, she was glad to see, but she knew it was only likely to stay that way for another few hours. She hoped she’d be back in their apartment by lunch, but Chloe likely had other ideas.
“Here you go,” Chloe said, handing over a cup. “So, where first?”
“Lead the way,” Beca said, gesturing towards the many stalls laid out in front of them.
They spent the next few hours weaving through the crowds as they looked at every stall. Chloe bought them almost matching Christmas sweaters - one for Chloe reading ‘I’m on the nice list’ and one for Beca which said ‘I’m on the naughty list’ - to which Beca had tried to protest.
“Are you telling me you’ve been a good girl this year, Beca? After the noises you made last night?” Chloe asked with a wink, causing Beca to blush furiously and stop complaining.
“I’m not wearing it in public,” Beca muttered.
“Duh, they’re for Christmas Day,” Chloe had replied, pulling her towards another stall that sold Christmas tree ornaments.
Chloe picked up some generic baubles, as well as some that seemed more personal to her. She grabbed a dog, a treble clef, and a teacup.
“Spotted any that speak to you?” Chloe asked.
Beca shrugged, but her eyes were fixed on what looked like a little ornament of a carton of Chinese takeout.
“This one?” Chloe asked.
Beca cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she said, trying to avoid Chloe’s eyes as she picked it up.
“What about the red panda?”
“Oh I didn’t even see him!” Beca said, almost squealing.
“Get the guitar too,” Chloe said, laughing at Beca’s reaction. “Then we have three each.”
“Okay,” Beca said. “I’ll get these, you bought the sweaters. Do you wanna get a star?”
“My Mom is gonna send our old one with some other bits, if that’s okay?”
“Fine with me,” Beca said before she paid and they carried on walking, Chloe’s hand never leaving hers the entire time.
Chloe bought them some lunch once they reached what seemed to be the end of the first half of the market. They still had to walk down the other side so Beca was predicting they’d be here another hour at least.
“Doing okay?” Chloe asked, knowing how much Beca hated crowds.
Beca nodded, loosening the scarf around her neck as they sat at one of the picnic tables set out by the food stalls.”How much longer?”
“We can stop whenever you want, Becs, you know that right?” Chloe asked, looking at her with concern filled eyes.
“I know,” Beca said, smiling, waiting for her Mac and Cheese to cool. “I was just wondering.”
Chloe pulled up the list on her phone and started ticking things off.
“It looks like we’ve got everything we came for. We can head back now if you want?”
“You wanna see the rest though, right?” Beca asked.
“Well, yeah, but I can come back another time.” Chloe said.
Beca shook her head. “I’m good. We can see the rest. Just promise I won’t have to move out of bed until at least noon tomorrow.”
“And that’s different from how you normally spend your Sunday?”
“Sorry, I should have clarified, you’ll need to stay in bed with me.”
“I guess I can agree to that,” Chloe said.
-
It was a week later and Chloe was dragging their newly purchased tree into their living room, close to the window so it could be seen from outside.
She was wearing a Santa hat, had tinsel wrapped around her neck like a scarf, and was singing along to their Christmas playlist.
Beca was sitting on the arm of the sofa, getting seemingly more and more frustrated as she tried to untangle the lights.
“These are brand-new lights,” Beca muttered. “How are they already tangled?”
“Give them here,” Chloe said. “You just don’t have the magic touch.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“Very funny,” Chloe said, holding out her hands for the lights.
Beca handed them over but before she could say anything else, she was cut off by her phone buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and sighed, lowering the volume on the music.
“It’s my Mom,” she said, pressing the green button and moving out of the living room and towards the bedroom. “Hey mom.”
Chloe frowned and bit her lip, wondering if she should continue.
This was something they should be doing together, but she also knew Beca usually ended up in a crappy mood after she spoke to her Mom.
Their relationship had been strained for as long as Chloe had known Beca, but she never really found out much about it. Beca didn’t speak about her much, and always clammed up whenever Chloe would ask, even now.
Chloe focused on detangling the lights, but decided she wouldn’t do any of the actual decorating until Beca came back.
It was almost an hour later when Beca came out of their bedroom and dropped onto the sofa beside Chloe.
“You okay?” Chloe asked, looking up from her phone.
Beca gave a non-committal grunt and turned to look at the tree. “You didn’t make much progress. Couldn’t untangle the lights?”
“Please, I did that in like 5 minutes. I wanted to wait for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Beca said, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t mean to take that long but…” Beca shook her head as she trailed off. “It doesn’t matter.” She pulled out her phone and restarted their playlist which had ended while Beca had been talking to her Mom. “Ready to carry on?”
Chloe smiled and nodded, and the two returned to their tree.
When it was decorated with a combination of the new stuff they had bought together, and the old stuff Chloe’s Mom had sent they both stood for a minute, smiling at their handiwork. Chloe’s arms came to wrap around Beca’s waist, her chin resting on Beca’s shoulder.
“I love it,” Chloe said, giving Beca a squeeze and kissing the side of her neck.
“Me too,” Beca said.
The soft white lights wrapped around the tree glowed with warmth against the now dark sky, the streetlights below barely reaching the window of their apartment.
It filled Beca with a feeling of cosiness and contentment that she didn’t usually associate with this time of year. Or any time of year for that matter.
“You know, if you wanted to talk about stuff with your Mom you can?” Chloe said, cautiously, feeling Beca tense beneath her arms.
“I’m good,” Beca said. “What movie are we watching?”
“Elf,” Chloe said, squeezing Beca even tighter.
-
Two weeks later, Chloe woke up in the middle of the night freezing cold and instinctively reached out for Beca. When her hand met cold sheets instead of Beca’s warm body, she opened her eyes, frowning.
It was then she realised she could hear Beca’s voice coming from the next room. She checked her phone and saw it was almost 2 am.
Frowning, she stepped out of bed and into the living room, pulling on her robe as she went.
“Mom, I can’t have this conversation with you again,” Beca said, pinching the bridge of her nose as she paced the living room. “I’m not in Barden anymore, Mom, I can’t just come over. We’ve been through this, I’m in New York.”
Chloe watched as Beca traced one of the ornaments on their now dark tree with her finger.
“Look, I’m gonna go, okay? It’s late. Yeah. Yeah I know.”
Chloe heard Beca suck in a breath the way she always did when she was trying not to cry.
“I love you too,” Beca said, her voice breaking. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay steady. “I’m gonna call Grandma tomorrow, okay? She can check on you.”
When she ended the call she jumped as she felt Chloe’s arms wrap around her, but she soon relaxed into her. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” Chloe said. She tugged Beca’s hand and pulled her towards the window. “Look, it’s snowing.”
They sat on the floor, the Chloe’s back against the wall, Beca’s back against Chloe’s front, and they looked looked out the window, watching the snow drift down, turning yellow as it fell under the light of the streetlights.
They were quiet for a while until Beca finally spoke.
“She’s drinking again,” Beca said, tapping her phone against her leg. “She’s been calling more and more. Wanting me to go over. She… She’s always had trouble with her short term memory, and it only gets worse when she drinks. She thinks I’m still in Georgia.”
“I’m sorry Becs,” Chloe said. “It must be hard being away from her at times like this.”
Beca sniffed and rested a hand on Chloe’s leg, her thumb brushing against the soft fabric of her pyjamas. “Does it make me a shitty person if I say I’m glad I’m not in Georgia right now?”
“No,” Chloe said. “Of course not.”
“I don’t… I don’t like seeing her like this. It just… It reminds me of being a kid, a while after after they got divorced but before my Mom lost custody. She drank a lot then. Sometimes it was kinda fun. She’d let me skip school and we’d go on these adventures together or we’d stay up late eating pizza and playing video games. And then… It was like flipping a switch. She’d just… change. She used to scare me.”
Chloe’s grip tightened around Beca’s waist, and she pressed her lips into the back of her head.
“She knows I’ll only visit when she’s sober. And maybe that makes me selfish. I know I should be there when she needs me. She’s my Mom. I love her,” Beca said, cutting herself off as her voice broke again.
“I know,” Chloe said, softly, pulling her closer. “You’re allowed to put yourself first. You shouldn’t go back to an environment that’s bad for you. And you’re the least selfish person I know. I love you, so so much.”
“I love you too,” Beca said, wiping her eyes as they continued to watch the snow which had only gotten heavier. “It wasn’t all bad,” Beca said, after a while. “Before she started really drinking, we had some good times together, just the two of us. For years. Christmas Eve was always my favourite day of the year.”
“Chinese takeout?”
“Yeah,” Beca said with a small laugh. “She’d order my favourite and we’d have like a slumber party in the living room, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate. She said if I could stay awake until midnight, I’d be allowed to open one present. I never made it,” Beca said, smiling at the memory. “Even when things were really bad, when her drinking was at its worst, that was the one day that would always be good. Christmas wasn’t really the same when I had to move in with my Dad and Sheila. He tried but I guess I was just too angry and closed off by then.” Beca turned to face Chloe now. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a proper Christmas. For giving me new traditions and letting me reconnect with old ones. For being you.” She leaned forward to kiss her, and Chloe knelt up to meet her halfway.
-
“Chlo’ if I’m out of scotch tape can I use masking tape?” Beca called from the bedroom, two days before Christmas.
“No,” Chloe called back from the living room. Beca’s last present for Chloe had finally arrived, so she had spent the last few hours locked in their bedroom wrapping presents.
“I have more clear tape,” Chloe said, rummaging in a kitchen drawer until she found some.
“Don’t come in!” Beca said, in a panicked voice. She opened the door and quickly closed it behind her.
“Here,” Chloe said. “Are you gonna be much longer? I’m bored.”
“Almost done,” Beca said, returning to their bedroom and shutting the door.
-
“Here you go,” Chloe said, handing Beca her container of take-out Chinese and a pair of chopsticks.
“Thank you,” Beca said, grinning as she dug in. Chloe set two mugs of hot chocolate down on the coffee table, and pressed play on Netflix.
“Thank you for tolerating all my movies this month,” Chloe said, smiling as the opening music for Home Alone played.
“This one gets a free pass. It’s a classic.”
“I agree.”
“So,” Beca said, swallowing a mouthful of orange chicken. “If I stay up until midnight do I get to open a present early?”
“Sure,” Chloe said, grinning. “But you’ve been yawning since 6:30, I don’t think you’re gonna make it.”
To her credit, Beca lasted until 10:30 pm, falling asleep with 20 minutes to go in Home Alone 2.
When Chloe switched the movie off, the only light in the room was coming from the tree and the string of fairy lights around their window. She thought that Beca looked beautiful in the soft glow of the lights, her face relaxed and free of the stress she had been carrying around the last few weeks.
Still, she was a little disappointed she hadn’t made it until midnight, there was one gift she had wanted to give her tonight.
-
The next morning, Chloe tried to coax Beca out of bed at 7 am, with promises of coffee and pancakes for breakfast, but Beca would not budge.
“But it’s Christmas morning,” Chloe pouted.
“It’ll still be Christmas morning in an hour,” Beca mumbled, tugging Chloe back to bed, and curling around her to stop her moving again. “You don’t need to be up so early, you’re not 6.”
“And you don’t need to sleep all morning, you’re not 15.”
“Touche,” Beca mumbled. “Merry Christmas by the way.”
“Merry Christmas,” Chloe said, grinning.
After another 40 minutes of dosing in bed, Beca finally let Chloe drag her up.
They ate breakfast in their Christmas pyjamas, and then, at Chloe’s request, they got dressed in their almost-matching sweaters and took a selfie in front of their tree.
As they exchanged gifts, they both got increasingly more nervous. Something neither of them realised as they were too preoccupied with their own nerves to be focused on the other person.
“I, um, actually have one more for you,” Beca said, standing. “Two seconds.” She moved into the bedroom.
“Yeah, I do too,” Chloe said, reaching towards the back of the tree where the final present was hidden.
After a few minutes of silence, Beca spoke up from the bedroom.
“Chlo’, can you come in here for a minute?”
Chloe suddenly got a weird feeling in her stomach, and the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.
“Actually Beca, I kinda need you in here,” Chloe said.
There was a small silence.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“It can’t wait?”
“No.”
Another small silence.
“Meet halfway?” Beca asked.
“Okay,” Chloe said. She stood from where she was in the living room and moved so she was in front of the window.
Beca left the bedroom, something held behind her back, and she walked until she was standing in front of Chloe.
Without a word, they both dropped to one knee.
“Chloe Beale.”
“Rebeca Mitchell.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Will you marry me?”
“Duh.”
They both laughed and kissed until they had to stop, happy tears streaming down both of their faces.
“I know we haven’t been officially together that long,” Beca said, wiping her eyes as she slid the ring onto Chloe’s finger. “But you’re my soulmate. I don’t ever want to be with anybody else.”
“I love you so much, Beca. I feel like I waited my whole life for you,” Chloe said, sliding the ring onto Beca’s finger. “I want spend the rest of it with you.”
“Best Christmas ever,” Beca said, still laughing and crying.
“Almost as good as the year we got a Wii,” Chloe said, earning a smack on the arm from Beca.
“I love you.”
“Love you more.”
#bechloe#bechloe drabble#bechloe fluff#bechloe hurt/comfort#bechloe christmas#established bechloe#bechloe fanfiction#bechloe fanfic#no matter the timeline#christmas fluff#beca mitchell#chloe beale#beca#chloe#drabble#Pitch Perfect#pitch perfect fanfic#pitch perfect fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#tw: alcoholism mention#trigger warning alcoholism mention#alcoholism mention
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if we meet again
[part one of the again series]
pairing | bryce x mc
word count | 10k
warnings | mentions of sex, innuendos, drinking.
tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @dakotawinchester, @writinghereandthere, @pixelsandkink, @masquerade-reimagined, @choicesarehard, @nerdferatum, @bobbymckenzie, @agentdumortain, @bryceslahela, @lahellacute, @violinet, @zigsnose, @adamdusmortain, @drsobemoji, @choeries, @houserosario, @plasticdodecagon, @noimarocketman (tagged sideblogs instead of main blogs!)
author’s note | so i recently finished the before trilogy of films, and i really wanted to write something based off of it but in a way that would better encapsulate bryce and my mc spencer! part one consists of years 1 - 4, taking place through their undergrad years at university. this is gonna be a bit of a journey so buckle up!
read on ao3! [disclaimer: ao3 version has smut included, not separate.]
•─────────────────•
year one
The ride from the airport to her parents’ home was long and grueling, the slushy ice pelting the windshield barely passing for snow.
It was practically sub-zero outside, a stark difference between the mid seventies weather she’d just left.
Boarding a plane wearing a tank top and layering as she stepped off was a weird experience to say the least. It was like stepping into another world.
The cookie cutter suburbs were nauseatingly bland. Was this really what her parents wanted?
Sure, they were the typical awestruck immigrant family who were obsessed with the American experience, but to be wholly consumed by it? God she never wanted a roundtrip date to come so fast in her life.
They’d closed on the house faster than she could complain about it, but she couldn’t have done much anyways. They’d packed the house up right before she left for her freshman year of college, so the decision didn’t affect her too much.
The slush came down harder, sounding nearly like hail on the roof of her taxi.
She glanced down at her dirty tennis shoes and grimaced – she dreaded having to lug her suitcase from the taxi to her front door.
When it screeched to a stop, she handed the driver a couple bills (leaving a hefty tip, because hey, it was the holidays) and retrieved her things from the trunk.
Backpack slung over one shoulder, suitcase gripped in her right hand, she braced the freezing wet rain.
The walk from the mailbox to the front door was way longer than she remembered. About halfway up the short stairs, she made a crucial mistake. The ball of her foot caught a patch of ice and she tumbled to the ground.
“Ah, fuck,” she grumbled, twisting her body so she was sitting on the stairs. The rain seeped through her jeans, freezing her ass and thighs.
“Hey, miss, you okay?” A voice called from across the lawn.
Her loose hoodie obstructed her vision, so she couldn’t see the man, but she heard his shoes squelch across the grass as he jogged towards her.
“Here, lemme take that,” he said, grabbing her backpack and suitcase before helping her up with his free hand.
She tossed her hood back to catch a glimpse of the kind stranger, and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the handsome boy in front of her.
A single dimple appeared on one of his flushed cheeks as he flashed a grin at her, his hair damp from the falling rain. “You good?” He asked again, brown eyes searching hers.
“Uh, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for coming to help me up,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I’ll help you to the front door. This is your house, right? I’m not aiding and abetting a burglar?” He teased, turning to walk towards her door.
“No, no. My parents live here,” she said, pointing at the house.
“And you don’t?”
“Technically yeah, in between semesters,” she said, shrugging. “Just took my last final this morning.”
“Oh, cool, me too. I made it in a couple hours ago,” he said, gesturing to the house to the left of theirs.
“So, our parents are neighbors?”
He grinned. “You sound disappointed.”
She shook her head, shoving her hands in her pockets. “No, it’s nice to know someone my age around here. They moved into this house right as I was moving into my dorm, so I didn’t get a chance to get to know anyone.”
“I guarantee my parents were the one to sell you this house,” he said, handing her the backpack and rolling her the suitcase.
“Your parents are realtors? That’s cool,” she said, nodding. “They must be great at their jobs if they convinced them to buy the house so fast.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, his irresistible dimple popping up again. “I don’t know shit about the housing market, stranger.”
She couldn’t hold her giggle back. His laugh was infectious. “I’m the stranger? You ran up to me first.”
“Yeah, but I landed first, so I deem you the stranger,” he said, gently poking her arm. “So, stranger, do you have a name?”
“Spencer Matsuzaki,” she said, holding a hand out, half of her palm covered with the damp wrist of her hoodie.
“Bryce Lahela. Nice to meet you, stranger.”
––––
The first night home wasn’t terrible. She was practically interrogated, though.
She zoned out, slipping into the same routine she always did when she was bombarded with questions about school.
She had to stay neutral and cordial while explaining aspects of her life in grave detail on top of leaving out tons of information for her parents' health. Her parents would go into cardiac arrest if they knew how much she’d drank that semester.
After dinner, she retreated into her room for the night, grimacing at the catalogue-esque decor. Her parents really leaned into the middle class american aesthetic, and she wasn’t fond of it.
She missed living in the city. Their apartment overlooked her favorite movie theater, favorite coffee shop, and the playground of her old elementary school a couple streets over.
She missed being within walking distance of places that harbored her favorite memories. And from her new window, her view was nothing more than the house across the street and a few scattered bare trees.
The only thing she enjoyed about her new house was the balcony in front of her window, just large enough for her to sit comfortably with another person. Not like that was happening anytime soon, though.
She tugged the blanket around her shoulders, trying to fight off the biting cold. She tightened the drawstrings of her hoodie, shielding her headphones from the wind so she could hear her music clearly.
Her thoughts wandered to the boy next door.
Bryce Lahela. Beautiful face, beautiful name.
She couldn’t really put a finger on it, but something about him was so familiar. Like she’d known him for lifetimes already.
God, she admired people with that quality – being able to make someone so comfortable the minute you meet them that they just slip into whatever void you’d needed filling.
Potentially a dangerous quality, but Spencer didn’t let herself think about that possibility.
The snow had let up, the freezing temperature preserving what’d already fallen. She allowed herself a glance over at the Lahela residence, half hoping she’d find him outside.
Thankfully enough, he was exiting the front door with a wide shovel in hand, bundled up properly, unlike when they’d met a couple hours before.
She watched him as he easily shoveled the muddy sludge off of the walkways. It was just quiet enough that she could hear his soft grunts with effort at the initial plunge of the shovel into the snow.
She didn’t mean to stare. But what else was there to watch? The road was quiet, bare, like a car passing by too loudly would break the suburbian immersion.
After he’d shoveled the first pathway leading up to the house, he moved to the driveway – not before he ripped the beanie off of his head, shaking out his golden strands.
She watched unabashedly, trying to figure out how the hell a gorgeous surfer bro straight out of a Hollister ad was living next door.
He squinted in her general direction, throwing up a gloved hand to cover his eyes. A grin spread quickly, and he tossed the shovel to the ground with the other hand, using it to wave.
“Hey, stranger!” He called.
She ducked down, trying to hide her blushing cheeks as his laugh rang out, disrupting the silence.
–––
Ten pages from the end of her crime novel, right before they revealed the killer, a heavy handed knock caused Spencer to jolt nearly a foot into the air from her sitting position on the couch.
She picked up the book that morning, trying to do something productive that’d double as an excuse to get out of conversing with her parents. Eight hours later, give or take, and they’d barely bugged her for meals, let alone awkward small talk.
Shuffling to the door in her pajama pants, she yawned as she yanked the door open, expecting to see a mailman or something of that nature.
Bryce stood there instead, flirty smile and all, dimple pronounced like the cherry on top of his overwhelming attractiveness.
“Am I boring you already? Sheesh,” he teased, shoving his hands in his pockets.
She cut her yawn off, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry, I –” She cut herself off with yet another yawn, shaking her head. “Uh, sorry. I know that was probably super ugly.”
He shrugged. “I thought it was cute.”
She tugged her arms around herself, the tank top doing virtually nothing to shield her from the cold. “So… What’s up?”
He grinned, digging in his pocket. “I’m glad you asked.”
He whipped out two tickets, handing them to her. “Light show. You and me. Now.”
“Now?” She asked, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.
“Yeah, now. What about it?”
She gestured to her outfit. “I’m not dressed.”
“So? Get dressed,” he shrugged again.
She rolled her eyes. “You really think my parents will let me out this late? I came back to a curfew, you know.”
“Oh. We can work around that.”
“How?” She was genuinely baffled by this guy’s confidence.
“Sneak out.”
“Did you… Did you just skip over the part where I hinted at how strict my parents are?”
He shrugged, again. “Worst case scenario, they ground you for the rest of the break. Then you go back to college in a couple weeks, and they can’t boss you around there, so what are you really risking?”
She chewed her lip, contemplating. “I mean, I can’t argue with you on that one.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Yeah. You’re lucky my parents aren’t home right now,” she said, jabbing an accusatory finger at him.
“Like they could resist this face.”
––––
Downtown – or what she presumed was downtown – was overtaken by lights, the edges of the area blocked off, vendors lined up in parking spaces, nets of overhead lights illuminating the huge displays below.
They’d been walking in silence for a while, just soaking it in and basking in the holiday spirit.
Despite her disdain for the town, Spencer loved the way they celebrated the holidays.
“Hey, I’ll be right back,” Bryce said a bit suddenly, running off before she had a chance to respond.
“Oh… kay,” Spencer murmured, watching him disappear into the crowd. She tugged at her beanie, raking shaky fingers through her hair.
Bryce was… unwavering. He had such a strong personality and a knack for flirting without meaning to.
To put it in its simplest terms, he made her nervous. Really nervous.
It was like the minute he left her immersion was broken and she realized just how hot he was and that she should be nervous.
Her eyes wandered, trying to alleviate some of her apprehension. She hadn’t been to a community-unifying event like that one before, so watching the families and children prance through the snow was enough to fulfill the soft spot in her heart only classic Christmas movies could fill.
“Here,” Bryce huffed from behind her, breaking her concentration.
She turned at the sound of his voice, flinching when she realized how close he was to her, disposable coffee cup in hand, steam slithering out of the small hole in the lid.
“What’s that?”
“Hot chocolate. I figured you’d want something to warm you up,” he smiled, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug.
“Oh, this is perfect,” she said graciously, taking the cup from his hands, warming both by the way their fingers brushed each others’ and the heat from the drink. “Thank you.”
“Ah, no need to thank me. It’s the least I could do after dragging you out here,” he said a bit sheepishly, kicking the toe of his boot into the snow.
“You didn’t drag me out anywhere. You were convincing,” she laughed, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate, revelling in the way it warmed her from the inside out. “Maybe a bit too convincing.”
“I don’t need to know how powerful I am or I’ll let it go to my head,” he winked. “How is it?”
“Delicious.”
He nodded. “Perfect.”
She sipped on her drink in silence for a while, racking her brain to come up with conversation topics.
They’d really only spoken in passing, so what the fuck were they supposed to talk about?
“So… you want to ride the train?” He asked, pointing at the train riding through the town square.
Within minutes they were seated on the train in the caboose – the very last seat. Families were spread out through the first couple cars, then onto couples.
They probably didn’t want toddlers watching high school aged kids swapping spit, so they sent them to the back.
That notion made Spencer nervous. Was she on a date? He hadn’t really specified – hell, he was barely giving her details about where they were going before dragging her out of her house.
The train began to move, slowly riding through the square, the families in the front chatting and the children giggling and waving at the passing patrons.
She chatted with Bryce about nothing in particular, just kind of getting to know each other. She found out he loved baseball, hated night classes, and was a huge fan of pineapple – he could smell it in her shampoo.
She’d just begun to relax before noticing the young couple in front of her lean in for a kiss that turned a bit heated. Her hands were clasped in her lap to keep them from trembling, her breath just as shaky.
A warm arm grazed her shoulders, his arm resting on the top of the seat. There wasn’t any pressure for her to do anything with him. But she kind of wanted to.
She mustered up the courage to flick her gaze in his direction, settling on his soft, pleasant smile, seemingly permanent on Bryce’s features.
“Is this a date?” She blurted, cursing herself immediately.
He didn’t seem phased.
“If you want it to be.”
She definitely did.
––––
The walk to her front door was long, even longer than when she was on her own lugging her belongings through the icy slush.
“I had a really nice time, Bryce,” she said, ambling up the last couple steps.
“Me, too. I’m glad I bought an extra ticket yesterday,” he grinned.
She raised a brow at him, prompting him to continue.
“After I helped you inside I immediately left to go get tickets,” he said bashfully. His cheeks were flushed – from the cold or the admission, she had no idea.
“So you’d had this date planned for a whole day?” She asked, a bit taken aback. He’d definitely painted it out to be a spur of the moment thing, no premeditation in sight.
“So it was a date,” he teased, dimple even more prominent as he spoke.
She scrunched her lips to the side to hide her own smile. “Yeah, I think it was.”
“Can I kiss you?”
She made the grave mistake of breaking eye contact, her gaze darting from his mouth back to his eyes. He closed the gap between them in one step.
“I can’t kiss you in front of my house. My parents could see,” she whispered as his gloved hand flicked her messy strands away from her cheeks.
“You wanna save this for another time?” Her heart couldn’t help but race at his playful tone.
She nodded.
“How long are you gonna be here for break?” He asked. “I wanna see you again.”
“I’ll be here through the week.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled her into a hug, warm and enveloping despite the cold. “Goodnight, Spencer. Sweet dreams.”
She was so comfortable, so safe in his grip that when she felt him loosen it, she squeezed him tighter without really meaning to.
It was scary how quickly she’d grown attached to a complete stranger.
“‘Night,” she waved, eyes still trained on him as she closed the door.
––––
It took her way too long to fall asleep that night.
His last question and her agreeance to the terms ran through her head on loop.
She was anticipating what he was going to do next. Excited to see how the rest of her break would look like.
After a restless night, she awoke pretty early, lounging around in bed for way too long, aimlessly scrolling through social media.
A day ago, she’d have been jealous of her friends vacationing at the beach, but… she wasn’t as upset at the idea of being home for break.
She stood up, stretching and popping her limbs, grabbing a hoodie from her luggage to throw on.
As she did, something caught her attention, just at the edge of her peripheral – a folded slip of paper in her window sill.
She grabbed it, unravelling the damp paper, trying to decipher the bleeding ink.
“Had to leave earlier than I thought. Sorry. Not sure when I’ll see you again, so here’s my number.”
The paper had been covered in water for a long while, so long that the number at the bottom was smudged, the hardest to read out of the whole message. She could barely make out the area code, let alone the rest of it.
She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, deciding she could just head over and ask his parents for his number instead if he’d left for school.
After trudging across the lawn through the snow, she noticed something was a bit off, but decided to push the feeling down and ring the doorbell.
She peered through the glass of their front door, realizing that the lights were off, clothes and boxes and bags strewn across the foyer.
No one was home.
––––
year two
The moment the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her house, her eyes searched the front lawn of the house next door.
The familiar sensation of disappointment lingered, despite her constant chastising to not get her hopes up.
She sat on her balcony for a couple hours a day, the space heater on full blast at her feet, trying not to look desperate as her eyes flickered to and from Bryce’s house.
But no one entered or exited the house all break.
––––
year three
He stared down the bottom of the glass, eyes trained on the milky film the eggnog left behind, the spiced rum shots he’d taken warming his limbs.
The trial had been grueling.
No one could’ve prepared him for the way the legal system chewed him up and spat him out each time he entered the courtroom and sat on the opposite side of the room, avoiding his parents’ cold glares.
He shouldn’t have had to testify against them in the first place, but who else were they going to call to the stand? Keiki? She could barely write her own name, let alone understand her rights.
And she shouldn’t have to see her parents – hell, her whole family – being scrutinized and ripped apart, televised for anyone within a thousand mile radius.
He didn’t know that this town was their escape.
If someone would’ve told him two years ago that his first Christmas in college would’ve left him in shambles, his entire world upturned, he wouldn’t have believed them.
Thank god it was one of the only properties they owned that was untouched by their blood money.
Word had spread to his university students, causing him to have to go into hiding. Did all his work from home, got special permission from the chancellor to move his courses online.
He was forced to stay in Hawaii, juggling court and school on top of the press and the general stress of life – he’d been on autopilot since his parents woke him up in the middle of the night to fly back home.
The moment he finished his finals that semester, he boarded the plane without a second thought.
He needed an escape.
Despite the whirlwind, she was on the back of his mind through it all.
Anytime his life got a little too difficult, his mind roamed to the last time he felt normal – the last 48 hours before everything went to shit.
When he’d touched down he’d entered the empty, dusty house, throwing his things down and trudging next door.
The heavy raps of his knuckles against the wooden door were the only display of confidence he could muster.
Is Spencer here? He asked.
She’s in Europe for break.
Europe.
Of all the places she had to be during the holidays, it had to be across the world.
So he found himself at the bar, a newly 21 year old downing holiday drinks as fast as the bartender could make them.
She’d probably forgotten about him. It’s best he moved on anyways.
––––
year four
Graduation was so close she could taste it.
Yeah, she was drowning in med school applications and coming down from her post MCAT high, but her degree was peeking over the horizon, just within her reach.
She could only afford to visit home for a couple days before she had to roadtrip to a couple med schools to tour and interview.
She’d grown into herself the past three years, gaining confidence she didn’t know she had in her. Countless haircuts, style changes, shifts in interest – anytime she was uncomfortable she reinvented herself. It was freeing as hell.
So… going home was weird. Like she was regressing. She knew she wasn’t, but it didn’t stop the itching feeling that she didn’t belong there.
Her parents convinced her to visit for the holidays since it was her last year before she was truly on her own. The car ride was anxiety inducing – she tried to shove the thoughts to the back of her brain.
It’d been three years. She couldn’t dwell on it anymore. It was just a fun weekend, a spontaneous date, a gorgeous guy. Nothing more than that.
She’d moved on for sure – lots of dates, sloppy bar makeouts, and one night stands – but she couldn’t completely forget about the stranger.
It wasn’t like anything super memorable happened – it was a classic crush because of how confident he was.
Now that she’d started to emulate that same confidence herself, the allure was mostly gone, but she just couldn’t let him go no matter how hard she tried.
This time her eyes flickered to the house next door, gaze lingering a bit longer than she wanted to allow herself to look.
At least on paper she was growing.
–––––
Her first dinner at home was the same as always. She spent most of the time dodging intrusive questions and diplomatically answering as well as she could.
Maybe she should’ve thanked her parents for pressuring her to come home – it was perfect interview preparation and she didn’t have to lift a finger.
Her room was untouched as usual, the decor nauseatingly basic – if she hated it before, she hated it more now.
The suburban life was even farther away from what she’d wanted three years ago. Fast paced city life and a job in a world renowned hospital were her only two goals as far as she was concerned. Anything else could wait.
As she unpacked her toiletries, she found herself glancing at the door to her balcony.
She shook it off, choosing to settle in bed with a warm blanket with her laptop and planner, trying to focus on her diploma application.
––––
She jolted awake, scrubbing the sleeve of her jacket across her cheek, grimacing when she saw streaks of drool on the fabric.
She shuddered a bit, realizing she fell asleep on top of the covers, the room’s temperature absolutely freezing.
The space heater was close by, luckily, so she didn’t have to shuffle far to plug it in, crouching down next to it to rub her hands in front of it.
The window to her balcony was cracked just slightly – it’d probably blown open bc of the wind or something. She pushed herself to her feet again, closing and locking the door, but not before catching a glimpse of a light. It wasn’t a streetlight. It was a porch light.
She flung the door open and stepped onto the balcony, ignoring the snow seeping through her fuzzy socks, numbing her toes.
Bryce’s lights were on, and fresh tire tracks trailed up the driveway to the garage.
––––
She tossed and turned that night, a little glad that she’d gotten at least some sleep in the form of a nap.
She gave up after a while, brewing coffee and sitting in the kitchen with her laptop for a couple of hours before her parents awoke.
When they finally woke up, she practically jumped at the chance to ask them about him.
“No one’s lived next door for years. Someone comes and checks up on it once or twice a year, but other than that, it’s vacant,” her mother said, elbows deep in a sink full of dirty plates.
She was thankful her mom was preoccupied so she wouldn’t see her deflate.
––––
Spencer allowed herself approximately thirty minutes of sulking before she made a to-do list of everything she needed to get done before noon.
She’d been home for less than a day and she was already itching to get out.
The drive from her parents’ house to the tiny coffee shop was short, the handful of tables inside bare. She guessed it was because most people were at home enjoying spending time with family – she was the odd one out for having her planner and laptop splayed across the table.
She was neck deep in a chem textbook when she saw him.
He was more chiseled. Taller, too.
The beanie was tugged tight around his head, cheeks flushed. The quarter zip up fit him like a glove, hugging every single muscle.
He slipped his gloves off, tucking them into his pocket, squinting – probably trying to decipher the inane pun names for each drink.
“Can I get a, uh, latte with a couple espresso shots?” She heard him ask, peeking over the top of her textbook, trying to get a good look at him.
He chuckled pretty suddenly, pointing at the clear display of pastries. “Add one of those little things onto it.”
“You mean the ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’ cake pop or the ‘Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, sir?” The teen said.
His grin stretched even wider, hunching over to read the labels. “Can you tell me the rest of the flavors?”
“Well, we’ve got the full setup of reindeers. It gets pretty confusing at times – ’Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, ‘Prancer & Vixen Vanilla’, ‘Comet & Cupid Cheesecake’, ‘Donner & Blitzen Berry’, and ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’,” the teen listed off, pointing at the nearly identical cake pops.
He laughed, booming throughout the small room, ringing out even over the blenders.
Yeah, that was Bryce. No doubt about it.
“Give me one of each,” he said, handing the teen a couple bills. While they counted the change, Bryce tossed a $20 bill onto the counter. “This is compensation for having to read those god awful names.”
They mirrored his expression, pocketing the bill.
Spencer was nearly frozen with fear – she didn’t think she was going to run into him. She looked frumpy and felt exhausted, and was a little frustrated at how little she understood from the passages she’d tried deciphering.
She stood up, then sat down immediately. She stood up again, conflicted.
But before she could decide what to do, he turned, coffee in hand, bag of cake pops in the other – one cake pop tucked deep into his cheek.
She saw him.
He saw her.
Time slowed.
She was grateful that he was the first to move towards her, eyes bright, gaze soft like he’d seen an old friend – God, that reaction alone was enough to make Spencer float above the clouds.
He chewed his cake pop on the way over, setting down his bag and coffee near the edge of the table out of the way of her mess.
“Hey,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, chewing vigorously.
“Bryce, oh my god, I – I thought I’d never see you again – you just disappeared and –”
He held up a hand, swallowing. “What’d you say?”
“Oh, I said that I thought I’d never see you again –”
“Wait, wait,” he flipped the side of his beanie up, revealing wireless headphones, which he tugged out and immediately pocketed.
Christ. Embarrassing. Her cheeks burned, inwardly cringing. This is going so swimmingly, Spencer.
He shook his head incredulously, mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but no words came.
“I… didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, eyes slowly raking over her features.
“Oh my god, I didn’t think I’d see you, Bryce,” she said, nervously adjusting her glasses. Good thing he didn’t notice her recycling sentiments.
“So… how have you been?” He smiled, taking a sip of his latte.
He was playing this way cooler than she was. How was he not freaking the fuck out?
“I’ve been good. Uh, good and kinda busy I guess. I’m waiting to hear back from a couple of med schools and I’m graduating this spring, so I’m excited about that,” she said, trying and failing to figure out how to condense three years worth of personal growth into a couple sentences without boring him to tears. “What about you?”
He nodded, tipping back the steaming latte again. “I’ve been pretty good. Got into my dream med school and it’s, like, across the country from where I am now, so that’ll be good for me. Fresh start, you know?”
She gave him a slight smile, closing her textbook and stacking her planner on top of it.
“Oh, I was just picking this stuff up, so I can let you get back to studying,” he said, unsure, jabbing his thumb towards the door.
“No, no, I was closing it so I can give you my full attention,” she explained, shaking her head. “Just getting some random stuff done. I’m fine.”
He relaxed a bit more at that, settling into his seat like he was at home. “So… what are you working on?”
“I’m getting some last stuff done before I leave this weekend. Just some basic housekeeping. Ironing out details, you know,” she nodded, fiddling with the frayed hole on the hem of her hoodie.
He was trying to jump back in like everything was… normal. This wasn’t normal.
“Oh you’re leaving?” He seemed disappointed, a wrinkle forming between his brows where he pushed them together.
“Yeah, I’m using part of my break to fit in some last minute tours and interviews.”
“Oh… Well if you’re leaving soon, do you wanna do dinner at my place tonight?” He asked. “I feel like we’d be more comfortable catching up there.”
A… date? After all these years? And he still knows literally nothing about me?
––––
She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile.
His pulse raced, wondering if she’d reject him. He should’ve thought it through before blurting out a question like that. He’d spoken to her for all of five minutes and he was already asking her to go back to his place.
“So… is this a date?”
The mischievous look on her face was contagious – just a hint of flirtatious teasing like the first time they met.
“Yeah, but only if you want it to be,” he answered, tossing the drink back again, the liquid warming his insides (his morning run was long, and the wind was biting).
“And if I don’t?” She adjusted her glasses again, the only sign of tension amidst her otherwise calm demeanor.
And if he hadn’t ran through the memories of that night over and over, fixating on every little detail he managed to retain, he might’ve not caught it.
Her nervousness was a comfort – It meant she still liked him enough to be on edge around him.
“Then we’re just two neighbors catching up while eating food,” he shrugged, popping another cake pop in his mouth.
He held the bag out to her. “Want one?”
She peered over into the bag, lashes gently brushing her under eyes. “Will you get mad if I take Rudolph?”
God, she was so fucking pretty. He couldn’t get over it. All these years and she only managed to get hotter.
“Why would that bother me?” He mumbled through his mouth full of cake.
“He’s supposed to be special, right? I just thought you’d want him,” she said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning in more.
He sat up, leaning an elbow on the table, tipping forward to close the gap between them – he plucked the cake pop from the bag by its stick, waving it in front of her face.
She didn’t retreat. The only reaction was the color rising to her cheeks, a hint of rouge beneath the spatter of light freckles on her face – the ones that no one could see unless they were this close.
“You’re special, too, y’know,” he said, pushing the limits even more, bringing it to her lips. “Take it.”
He was egging her on, testing whatever change she’d clearly been through – underneath the confidence lurked something sultry that he desperately wanted to bring out of her.
She leaned forward and lowered her mouth around the pop, sinking her teeth into the stick, her lips grazing the tips of Bryce’s fingers.
She pulled back, chewing through a smile. “Yum.”
His stomach flipped, but he kept his poker face even.
It was odd, having this girl in front of him that he’d thought about for years when he’d convinced himself it was a fluke or a dream or a little bit of both.
They both chewed in silence, eyes still firmly locked on each other.
There was so much he needed to say but it just wasn’t the right time.
“What time should I come over?” She asked after swallowing.
“When do you usually eat dinner?”
She rolled her eyes at him, still trying to hold back a smile even though she clearly found him mildly entertaining if not infuriating as hell (which was an attitude he thrived off of).
“I don’t care, Spence. Whenever you want.”
––––
Bryce tapped his foot, adjusting the napkins and cutlery for the hundredth time before pacing towards the monitor that showed him the front door’s security cam.
He should not have told her to come over whenever. The delivery guy was stuck in traffic, so his whole plan of pretending like he cooked was thwarted by the icy roads.
He checked the delivery app for the millionth time, the time remaining still stuck on “14 minutes”.
Was a button up with slacks too much for dinner? Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been nervous before a date.
He wasn’t sure if it ever had happened before, because it didn’t happen.
He wasn’t afraid of shooting his shot with anyone. That cute guy at the gym? No hesitation. His bio lab partner sophomore year? Of course. The ex-girlfriend of the one fraternity brother he didn’t like? Yup. That one fraternity brother he really liked? Hell yeah.
There wasn’t a time that he he actually had to try to get someone to like him – his conquests weren’t really conquests. They’d always just kind of… fallen into his lap, for lack of a better phrase.
But he also couldn’t name a single person he’d “pined” for, whatever that meant. Spencer was the first girl that had slipped through his fingers – maybe this date would be closure. If she was down to fuck, maybe they’d get the weird three-year-long outstanding “what if?” question answered.
He filled the bucket with ice, neatly digging the champagne bottle’s base into it, even grabbing a rag to wipe the perspiration off the metal to buy some time.
A few more minutes passed. When he checked the app again, it’d changed to “13 minutes”, and Spencer was walking down his driveway.
Even on the grainy screen he could tell that whatever she had on was gonna drive him wild.
He strode towards the door, flinging it open to greet her.
“Hey, Spencer,” he grinned, opening his arms wide for a hug.
She matched his expression with a sweet smile of her own, slipping into his grip and molding herself against his body like she belonged there.
Fuck, she smelled delicious. Her hair, her lip gloss, her perfume – everything about her was delectable and made holding back all the more harder.
“Hey, Bryce,” she murmured, squeezing him. “It’s cold. Can we move inside?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry about that,” he apologized, pulling back but keeping his palm on her lower back, shutting and locking the door behind him.
She walked into the main corridor, just kind of… observing. Taking everything in.
“Huh.”
“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” He asked, glancing down at her discreetly.
“It’s… nice. I can tell it’s your parents’ house.”
He chuckled, surprised. “Yeah, but what is that supposed to mean?”
“None of your personality is in this house. I figured it’d be brighter. Less marble, too,” she said, gesturing towards the decorations straight from a catalogue sprinkled throughout the house.
He couldn’t help that his parents insisted on flying out their personal interior designer to every house they owned. But it didn’t make it any less cringe worthy.
“No, you’re right,” he nodded, shrugging. “Can’t argue with that.”
He gently steered them towards the kitchen, his eyes flitting towards her as she scanned the house, a pleasant enough look on her face.
“What would you change about this house?” She asked, sliding onto one of the never-been-used barstools.
“Well, for one, I wouldn’t even have it in the first place,” he said, opening the cabinet next to the fridge, retrieving the champagne glasses.
“Really?”
“Really. If I had it my way, we would’ve never left Maui.”
She nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
Setting the glasses down in front of her, he stood on the other side of the counter, grabbing the bottle by its neck, unravelling the wrapping on the outside. “Hope this is alright. I just picked a bottle that looked expensive.”
“Expensive doesn’t mean better,” she said, eyes trained on the bottle, probably trying to read the label.
“You’re right, again. Two for two,” he joked, sliding the cork from the opening with a loud “pop”, the sound ricocheting off the walls and flooring.
After pouring it, he cocked his head her way, encouraging her to take the first sip.
She tipped the glass back, her nose scrunching after taking a deep swallow. “Mmmm. I would’ve settled for the shitty boxed wine I drank in college over this.”
He took a sip and shook his head, sticking his tongue out with a grimace. “Yeah, this tastes like ass.”
She snorted, covering her mouth as she laughed, making a breathy choking sound that he found oddly endearing.
“To answer your question, I’d probably paint the walls yellow. Hang up my grandpa’s old surfboard my dad passed down to me, if I can even find it. Maybe some movie posters,” he continued, gesturing towards the deadspace on the walls in the kitchen.
“Yeah, that’s kinda what I pictured, too,” she hummed, shivering after downing the rest of the glass.
“You don’t have to drink anymore. We agreed it tastes like shit,” he walked over to the cabinet, browsing the bottles, nearly empty. “I only have… a little bit of tequila and some rum.”
“I’ll take a rum and coke then,” she smiled gratefully, pushing the empty glass to the side.
While making the drinks, he checked his phone, hoping that the driver was close by. No luck – the time hadn’t shifted.
“So… when’s the delivery guy getting here?”
He could sense her behind him. When he turned to offer her a glass, he realized just how close she was.
She accepted the glass, craning her neck around him to look at his phone’s screen. “I knew it.”
“What? What’d you know?” He asked, unable to look anywhere but her plush lips, curved upwards into a grin.
She was life-ruiningly pretty. It was like God himself scanned Bryce’s brain and 3D copied his fantasies into the form of Spencer Matsuzaki, who was quite literally the girl of his dreams.
“I knew you weren’t a cooking type. I figured you were gonna get takeout, and I was right,” she pointed at his screen, the delivery app still open.
“Yeah, I was gonna try to impress you and pretend that I’d cooked everything but clearly that didn’t pan out,” he chuckled, peering down at her.
“That’s the oldest trick in the book, Bryce. I would’ve easily clocked that,” she shook her head, taking a quick sip of her drink, still standing close enough to him that he could feel her breath on him each time she laughed.
Before he dropped everything and propositioned her right there to take it to the living room, she turned on her heel and walked back towards her stool.
They sipped their drinks in silence, an air of awkwardness settling into the atmosphere – for the first time in, well, years they were completely and utterly alone.
She chewed her lip, swiping her thumb across the perspiration on the cup. “So…”
“So?”
“I feel like we have a lot of ground to cover.”
He nodded. “I guess the question now is ‘where do we start?’”
“We could just ask each other stuff and see how that goes.”
“I’ll go first – are you still single?”
A laugh ripped from her chest, bounding off the walls and floor, filling up the space with sound (one that was quickly becoming his favorite).
“That’s the first thing you ask me? After all these years?” She asked incredulously, shaking her head in awe.
He grinned. “Sounds like you’re avoiding the question.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Avoiding the question? Or you’re single?” He teased.
“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, no.”
“Oh, at the moment. Seems like I’ve got some competition.”
Laughing, she tipped her head back to take a deep gulp. He watched as she did, a bit envious of the glass wrapped between her fingers and the rim caught between her lips.
She was a bit more timid when she drank the hot chocolate he offered her years before, cupping it with both hands and taking soft sips, smiling shyly, like being offered a drink on a date was something she should be grateful for.
The way she held herself was different. Before, it was like she was apologetic for taking up too much space, but this version of Spencer took the world by storm – like when she walked into the room, she claimed the space as her own before anyone else could tell her differently.
Whatever miniscule reservations he had about sleeping with her were out the window before she set her glass back down.
“I’m assuming you don’t have anyone at home waiting for you if you asked me that first,” she said, bluntly, chewing on a piece of ice.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well you’re obviously gauging whether or not you want to fuck me tonight so I might as well be as upfront as you,” she shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“Is that so?” He quirked a brow at her. “Would you count frequent hookups?”
“Nope. I’ve got those, too, but I don’t count ‘em.”
“So you turned out to be pretty wild, huh?”
She laughed. “I hope you realize how weird you sound. I’m not who I was at 18. Shit, and you barely even knew me then!”
He held his hands up in protest. “My bad.”
She tapped her nails on the counter, looking a bit conflicted. “No, it’s okay. Just a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.”
“Parents, huh?”
“Yep. Don’t quite approve of who I am, even though I’m literally going to be studying to be a doctor,” she rolled her eyes. “I did get pretty wild, though. I mean, I had to get it out of my system before med school, you know?”
He shrugged. “Totally understandable.”
“Speaking of, why aren’t yours here? I figured I was going to accidentally run into them or something,” she mused, crunching on another ice cube.
He tried hiding his reaction, but he couldn’t help the way he tensed up at the mere mention of them. The thought of her bringing them up crossed his mind before, so thankfully he was able to keep it moving.
“Oh, they moved back to Hawaii a while ago. Been waiting to put this house on the market but it just didn’t seem like the right time.”
“So why aren’t you with them for the holidays?”
He stiffened, racking his brain for a believable lie. There was no fucking way he was baring his soul to the girl that just stepped back into his life.
She was the last good memory he had before everything went to shit, so he couldn’t break the illusion. Spencer was too good for this – maybe too good for him.
Court baggage was a heavy load to bear. Criminal baggage was even heavier. Lying to save face was the only way he could protect them both.
“Oh, it was just cheaper for me to stay here than fly back to Hawaii.”
She nodded, seemingly in agreeance, swirling the last bit of ice around her glass before tipping it back again. “S’good you get a little peace and quiet between semesters.”
“You have no idea,” he breathed, practically sighing in relief, thankful the crisis was averted.
“I do have a question, though,” she said, setting the glass down and pushing it away from her. “Why did you leave your number on my window sill?”
He leaned over the counter, bracing his arms against it. “So you did see it.”
“You’re lucky I found it! You could not have chosen a worse place to put it.”
“Well, you used to always walk out on your balcony so I thought it’d be safe.”
She pursed her lips, seemingly holding back a smile. “You remember that?”
“Yeah, of course. Why didn’t you, you know, use the number, though?” He asked, teasing.
Her mouth popped open, looking almost offended by his words. “Oh my god, you think if I had your number we still wouldn’t have talked for three years?”
“When you put it that way, I guess it doesn’t make sense,” he laughed, taking a swig of his drink.
“No, but I can’t get over that – you thought this entire time that I just didn’t try to contact you? Bryce, you offered to kiss me before literally disappearing into the night – you thought I wouldn’t have at least, you know, tried following up on that?” Spencer was giggling in between her words, barely able to get it out of her system.
“Yeah, well, you think I didn’t want to follow up on the kiss either? I’m the one who offered!”
They were cutting up, both leaning over the counter, folded over in laughter. They’d shifted closer as they got more comfortable with each other, their arms nearly grazing each others’ over the cold granite.
God, she was so beautiful. Everything he felt when he met her three years ago was pretty much amplified. He had it bad for her.
When she noticed how close they were, her eyes flitted to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own.
“You wanna cash in on that now? I heard that ‘Bryce Lahela Kiss Coupons’ never expire,” he said, voice low, reaching out to swipe the pad of his thumb over her chin.
“Bryce…” she said, closing her eyes, before leaning back to put some distance between them. “We have to lay some ground rules first.”
He sighed, standing up at his full height. “Okay, shoot.”
“I’m not trying to go all analytical on you, but we have to get this out of the way first. Tell me where your top three med schools are.”
A snort escaped him before he could stop himself. “What, do you only fuck guys that go to –”
“– And girls –”
“And girls – that go to John Hopkins?” He asked, teasing. “Me, too, by the way.”
She shook her head, ignoring his joke. “Nope. Just tell me.”
“Well, I’m looking at California, New York, and Chicago. What about you?”
“Ohio, Virginia, and Washington.”
The pieces fell into place for him. “Damn, you were playing chess and I was playing checkers, huh?”
She laughed. “No, no, I was just curious. I didn’t think we’d get as far as relationship talk, but I figured after everything we’d been through, we might as well discuss it, you know?”
“So that means this is a one-and-done type deal.”
“I guess so,” she said, scratching at her neck. “I’ve made out with plenty of people before and forgotten it, so if you want to just see how we feel, I’m down.”
“Oh, I think you’ll remember this for a while,” he said, stretching across the counter to gently cup her face in both hands, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.
Their first kiss was unlike no other. What’d started out as an offhanded joke to relieve three years worth of tension quickly morphed into desperate grabbing of clothes, heavy pants, and even heavier tension crackling like a fire between them.
She fisted his collar, dragging him to her over the counter, kneeling on her bar stool and pushing herself closer and closer to him.
Bryce had his share of sloppy bar makeouts, passionate kisses amidst sex – even sweet domestic kisses during mundane tasks. But this kiss? Somehow it was a bit of everything rolled into one.
They parted pretty abruptly when he elbowed her empty champagne glass and it clattered against the counter.
“Shit,” he cursed, pulling back just a hair to check the damage.
When he turned back, she was still holding him, staring at him, a look on her face that he hadn’t seen before.
“That was…” her lids fluttered, tongue darting out to lick her lips – like she was savoring his taste.
“Really good.”
She nodded. “Insanely good.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Is it what you were dreaming of?” He teased, but there was a hint of sincerity to it.
She nodded again, her grip tightening on his collar. “I’m a little scared at how much I enjoyed it.”
“Scared? Why?” He murmured, stroking his thumb against her cheek in comfort.
“Well… this can’t happen,” she gestured between them.
“It doesn’t have to happen. We can pretend like the kiss never did, just like you said. I don’t mind,” he shrugged.
“But… what if I want it to?”
He couldn’t conceal the smirk tugging at his lips. “You wanna take this upstairs?”
She tried holding back a smile. “Maybe.”
“Well, you can think about it over dinner, whenever that gets here.”
The driver took about twenty minutes, and eating took them twenty more. Small talk was managed, jokes were cracked, but there was an unmistakable feeling in the air that both of them could sense.
Bryce was no stranger to sexual tension. Hell, he thrived on it.
Making a cute girl blush? Exhilarating. Getting a guy at the bar fund his hangover? Incredible. Those few minutes between knowing you’re going to fuck someone and actually fucking them? Couldn’t get enough.
The minute their plates were cleared, she took his hand and led him upstairs, throwing glances back at him like if she let go for a second he’d disappear.
As much as he just wanted to fool around, he couldn’t help but pocket the small details for later, just in case he decided it was alright to get emotionally invested. Despite feeling like he had a hold on the situation, he definitely didn’t.
He was a bit delusional in thinking he wasn’t already falling for her the way she was for him.
––––
[part 1.5 coming soon]
____
They’d been curled up in bed for nearly an hour and a half, just talking, every once in a while pulling the other in for another kiss that led to roaming hands.
In another life, if they’d both lived in that town and grew up there, there was no doubt they’d be best friends. High school sweethearts, even.
But she knew that whatever daydreams she’d conjured up could never be reality.
This was a one-time thing. They both knew that.
After a lull in conversation she slipped out of bed, gathering her clothes and tossing them onto the bed.
“You leaving?” He asked, sitting up.
“Uh, yeah. I think I need to get going. I’ve still got a curfew,” she shrugged, making a hand motion like she was pulling the trigger.
“Still have one? Damn, that sucks. Am I gonna get to see you tomorrow?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
He remembered her curfew?
She snapped her bra back in place, avoiding his eye as she slid on her straps. “I, um, have to leave.”
“I thought you were staying through the weekend?” He sounded taken aback, like he thought he had more time.
She slipped her underwear and pants on fast. “I have a long drive ahead of me and I kinda wanted a night to breathe before I tour and interview, you know?”
He was silent. She threw her sweater on before daring a glance at him. His eyes were trained on the mattress, refusing to look at her.
“Bryce,” she called, but he shook his head.
She sat on the mattress, tipping his chin up with her finger. “What’s wrong?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, sighing. “It’s stupid.”
“C’mon, it’s not stupid. Tell me.”
“I’m kinda regretting this being a one-time thing.”
She raked his hair back, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I am, too.”
He met her eyes again, brows furrowed. “You are?”
She nodded. “I like you. A lot.”
“So what’s stopping us? We can make it work if we try –”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, looking at the ground. “I don’t know if we can.”
“Why not?”
“The distance, first of all. And we’re going to be in different programs in different states, so there’s no way we can fully commit to school and our future if we’re trying to start a relationship and maintain it –”
“Spencer, you think I’m gonna give up that easily after all this time? I just got you back,” he said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.
“This isn’t giving up, Bryce… this is… practical. Rational,” she added, leaning into his touch. “The right thing to do.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“I know, but… I think it’s easier to move on now rather than later when we’re in too deep,” she gulped, trying to soothe the lump forming in her throat.
She knew this wasn’t gonna be easy, but she figured it’d be easier than falling for him over phone calls and video chats and sweet good morning texts and the inevitable breakup that came after.
“You sure we’re not already in it?” He asked, underneath his breath, gaze flitting to her lips.
She rolled her lips, shaking her head, trying to mask her wobbling chin.
“If you don’t want to get hurt, I get it, but I need you to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you,” he said, cupping her cheeks with both hands. “And – and I never thought I’d see you again, so I don’t want to let you go without at least, you know, trying to fight for you.”
He brought her in for a deep kiss, seemingly trying to plead his case with his touch.
“Maybe we should just go our separate ways and pretend tonight didn’t happen. It might be less difficult,” she murmured after he pulled away.
“None of this will be easy for us, Spence,” he pressed their foreheads together, both of them closing their eyes.
“Honestly, I want nothing more than to be with you. I want you so badly, but I’ve got so many commitments and my career and I can’t just throw my responsibilities out the window, because I know I would – that’s what scares me,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“You’re right. I hate that you’re right.”
––––
When she slipped back into her room after saying a quick goodnight to her parents, she curled up in her bed and cried.
She didn’t want to cry – it was like her body wouldn’t let her hold it in any longer. The sobs wracked her body as if personified guilt had grabbed her by the shoulders, dug its fingers into her skin, and shook her the tears from her.
Hours later, she woke up in the middle of the night, face still puffy and irritated. As she stood up to go throw cool water on her face, she noticed something taped to her window.
His number and socials were listed in a neat bulleted list, and below it, he’d scrawled a simple note:
“If we meet again.”
––––
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