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embracethemadmess · 2 years

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Dreaming with the Witch- #1- s'okay, we're okay

Story summary: Steven is refusing to sleep at night again, but this time he also doesn’t want to front during the day, so Marc has to cover for him at work, running on little to no sleep every day, straining his voice on -quite bad- British soft accent. If that wasn’t enough, there’s this third alter still actively moon knighting without the other two knowing. All this leaves the body completely exhausted and, well, on the edge of falling apart. One time the system meets a witch willing to help heal both the body and the disturbed minds in it.

Chapter summary: Steven has another panic attack. Marc's there to help.

word count: 4586

masterpost

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Chapter notes: It may be a bit chaotic in the beginning, but hey, art imitates life, I guess. Enjoy!

Disclaimers: I do not have D.I.D., therefore my story should not be treated as a trustful source of knowledge on the topic. I strongly encourage you all to learn about it from actual systems or other resources. Mirrors and all that reflections theme are used as a way to connect the story to the TV show. If you notice any mistakes on my side, please let me know so I can fix them.I meant nothing less than my highest respect for the usage of Jewish Prayer in this chapter. But, if it's not appropriate for me, as a Christian-turned-atheist, to use the elements of religion in this story, I'm willing to do better and maybe not involve these symbols/rituals in the story. I just wanted my characters to be accurate in relation to the comics, moreover, I didn't want to erase their faith.

"In the name of Adonai the God of Israel"

Marc initiates the Prayer for Protection and pauses only for a second before Steven joins him.

May the angel Michael be at my right,

"and the angel Gabriel be at my left;"

The American continues, tilting their head slightly to the left, furrowing bushy brows and letting a small lion wrinkle appear right above the middle of their closed eyes. He doesn't want to show his concern for the tiniest bit of desperation hiding in Steven's quiet voice as they're reciting the blessing together, therefore he does his absolute best to keep the tone of his own calm and focused.

and in front of me the angel Uriel,

"and behind me the angel Raphael...", but he worries. He has been worried sick, actually, for about two months now. Ever since they escaped death and fought as avatars amongst the gods, Steven has been different, more guarded. For Marc, it became noticeable when Grant started losing his British accent. Not like he began speaking American English like Marc, no. It was more like he started copying Marc's mannerisms when talking; his voice dropping to a lower register day after day, lacking this elegant, though a bit grotesque, twang. Words that Steven was using also were kind of becoming a replica of Marc's Chicago slang, and honestly, it was a bit too much to handle, leaving him with a strong desire to punch London back into his alter's mouth.

and above my head the Sh'khinah.

They repeat the prayer two more times, then Marc finally opens their eyes and claims the body for the next half an hour or so. Steven doesn't protest, he never does these days and Marc can't say he doesn't miss their fighting over who should front.

On his way to the bathroom, he's deeply immersed in thought to the sweet melody of Steven going through bedtime Shema once more on his own. He's been praying a lot more often lately, it does not go unnoticed by Marc. After what happened in the Duat, they kind of fell back into their old routine of praying at least three times a day if not more. When he was busy or too tired to anticipate, Spector would hear a reposeful voice echoing in his mind during the day, no matter if he was fronting or not at the moment. Sometimes he wonders whether it was caused by Steven's need to be heard or perhaps the lack of willpower to block the other alter from his activities. Whatever the answer is, Marc doesn't mind keeping him company. Quite the opposite, he actually appreciates that Steven allows him to be close during that time. At the end of the day, that's what was there for, that's the whole point of him- to protect the Sun and make sure it rises every morning to bless his day. He gave him his heart, after all, didn't he?

He throws his plans for a long shower away as soon as he recognizes he's only wasting money on hot water that doesn't seem to relax his tense muscles as he needed it to. Instead, long red stripes cover his whole body and leave the skin too sensitive to rub dry with a soft towel. A prolonged sigh escapes his lips, he turns the faucet off and steps out of the shower, exiting the bathroom just like that, dripping, hot and naked. Wet locks of yet black hair are sticking to his forehead, and he forgot to brush his teeth, but he decides it doesn't matter that much, that they won't fall out of his mouth after one missed flossing. Having poured himself a glass of warm tap water, Marc slowly drags his feet through the mess that they called their kitchen, to the place in their bedroom where a simple ladder enabled them to climb up to an entresol just above their bed. He leans on a wooden pole for support and keeps his languishing look at their bed as he chugs tasteless liquid like it's the last glass in the middle of the desert, and only he knows the reason for it is a fear of spilling his drink with a shaky hand.

Please, don't.

Like clockwork, Steven mutters from somewhere in the front of their head the minute Marc puts on the comfiest pair of pyjama bottoms he can in their closet, feeling almost pulled to the warmth of the ivory bed sheet. Sadness clouds their shared features and the one being in control grimaces at the thought of what's coming next. Same time of the day, same horrible light falling through the window on their olive skin, same talk- the only changing aspects of this weird routine being the rising exhaustion of a body, and Marc's misery.

"Steven, we're tired, we need sleep. Be kind and spare me this whining of yours today, I can't deal with it right now", he tries, he really tries keeping his cool, but their muscles are psychically aching in need of sleep, and he feels like throwing up if he doesn't jump into bed in the next fifteen seconds.

I don't wanna go to sleep, Marc, I won't do it.

There it is. It feels like the British man has skipped a few steps, though. Or maybe it's just their pulsing in agony temples that make the world spin uncontrollably, and time pass by faster- Marc can't really decide.

"Steven...", Marc demands, balling his fists, partly in a desperate attempt to hold on to the body, partly because of his sudden need to have an emotional outlet. "Not today. Please, not today."

You can't make me!

This scream is the last thing Marc acknowledges. Steven's voice is raw, taut; his words piercing as he shouts them through gritted teeth. The body seems to know exactly who's in control of it because as soon as Steven takes the front, the whole posture drops immediately, eyes widen, the bladder loosens, and he's gulping down heavy breaths while looking for clothes. After he throws a black zip-up hoodie on his naked, still a bit damp shoulders, and puts on a pair of used sneakers, he doesn't take another second to rethink his actions; too blinded by his own demons he ignores the tears collecting in eyelashes and making it even more difficult to see, and he sprints outside the building. It's all rapid and lacks any sense, Steven knows it. He shouldn't be doing it, he knows that, too.

Yet, he's out on the pavement, it's dark around him, it's freezing, but he doesn't feel it, no. All he feels is pain, fear, and panic washing over him like a wave, again and again, wanting to drown him. Marc isn't there, he's alone, he doesn't know what to do. Coming back to the safety of their house would be a rational thing to do, certainly.

Instead, he races into the darkness of the night. Only to, he can at least hope, be found by Marc again later, and once again, with a bent spine and a weakened voice, to plea for his understanding, for forgiveness. Which he surely will get, that he's confident about because it's Marc. His Marc. But it doesn't make it easier.

Another panic attack toys with the scarred body in the mere light of the moon. Another few tears are being lost in the concrete of a city jungle. And with them, a man.

A lonely man without his love.

He doesn't know when he drops unconscious, it happens so suddenly. One second Steven almost runs into a dog on a leash, the next one it's pitch black around him and just like that, he's gone. And the dog is staring with something close to curiosity as its owner pulls it to themselves, pure shock painted all around their face. The body shoots up, with one hand softly leaning on the dog's back while its legs are being thrown above beige hairs in a quick flip in order not to do any harm to an animal it was about to crush with. A head turns to the unlucky passer-by, revealing blinding white light in its eyes. The whole posture somehow appears stronger and wider, and he raises a hand to his shoulder to flippantly clean a speck of nonexistent dust off of it.

"Gilipollas", he says shaking his head, and calmly walks away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Steven regains consciousness later that night, he's laying next to a random bench in a place he can't recall. His feet are elevated, leaning on the said bench, the back of his head heavy on entwined palms of his hands. An unwanted feeling of confusion washes over his whole body which causes him physically shiver, even though he's not cold. Why he's not cold, he asks himself and before he can even process this sudden thought, he lowers his head just a tad bit and blinks away the tears shining in his eyes, revealing a piece of a muddy-brown jacket collar, the fabric of which is delicately brushing deathly-pale skin of his cheek.

His brows draw together when it comes to him that not only his torso is covered with a new piece of clothing, but also his head. A hand shoots up from under the occiput and under his fingertips, he feels the harsh cotton of what he later on discovers is a black beanie. As he's checking his whole body experimentally, a yellow sticky note catches in between his fingers, and on it is a little doodle of a human stick figure dressed in a hat, a square-shaped jacket, with a long scarf tied loosely around its neck. Above the doodle, Steven reads a 13 number with a little circle and a letter C next to it, all finished up by a series of exclamation marks.

"Someone's being a proper dramasshole, I see", Steven mumbled to himself, only for his whole expression to harden when the realization hit him.

"Marc..?", he lets out hesitantly, hiding his mouth's movements behind a fisted hand scratching his nose with a single knuckle. "Marc, you there?"

Dead silence meets his words, and within a second, his heart starts pounding heavily in his chest again. He jerks up from where he was previously laying down and even if he regrets it right after, suddenly feeling way too dizzy for his liking, he pushes that thought down to where fear was settling in his lower abdomen.

"You better not be throwing a wobbly right no-oh-ow, mate." These words he almost spits angrily, and after that, he lets out a dry chuckle while terror overtakes his face in drastic contrast to how he's trying to come across. "I know you're there, so stop being bloody daft and speak to me, Spec'or."

He sobs, although there's something rough in that sentence. Strong desire taints his brittle voice, a desire to be heard, to be reassured. He's shaking uncontrollably as he tries to find his bearings, staring but not seeing a single thing at the moment. His shoulders are achingly tight, he makes a notice of the fact, and he's pretty sure his pulse is very much visible on his neck since he feels his heart hammering even in that lone vein that's always present on his forehead, especially when his blood pressure rises.

"Love, please, come back to me, I-i don't want to be alone, I don't-"

Hey, hey, Steve, calm down, a gentle voice, a polar opposite to the one that the outer world around them can hear, rings in their head as Marc makes himself present again, happy thoughts, buddy, c'mon.

"Happy thoughts my arse, I'm dying over here, you prick," Steven grumbles, "where were you?"

Well, I would've been right next to you all that time if somebody hadn't blocked me out, now wouldn't I? Marc rubs his alter's nose in it, his voice light to indicate he's simply messing with him. We do need to talk about that, by the way, he adds slightly more sternly, not cool, making me black out completely and wake up wherever without my ID and stuff.

"Come again?" The other wastes no time and jeers, almost hissing at him.

If they were separated at that moment, he would see the corners of Marc's lips drop from a friendly smile to a flat, thin line, silently awaiting his inevitable comeback.

"Walked a mile in my shoes and decided they're not comfy, now that YOU disliked it?" Steven huffs theatrically before he adds, "Tell me about it."

Steven has this one weird hallmark that Marc can't make up his mind about. It's the way he involuntarily uses sarcasm to cope with stress-inducing or appalling situations. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, one snarky comment after another would slip through his mouth in an attempt to make himself appear bigger than his opponent, whether it be a person or the overall atmosphere created around him. And for the most part, Marc liked it and encouraged this behaviour even, seeing how it helped his alter stand his ground and gain the confidence he needed to get himself back a sense of comfort. It was some type of self-defence, a verbal equivalent of wrapping arms around himself.

But at moments like this one, Marc truly hated this cheeky tone. They are out somewhere in - he hoped - the outskirts of London in the middle of the night, Steven is visibly shaken to his core, panic keeping him hostage to their body so he can't hide from the physical pain the sudden distress is causing him, and Marc can't do anything due to being quite literally imprisoned in their collective mind. It's a lose-lose situation since even though Steven tries to stand up for his own good, therefore making a room for calming down, their corporeal form can still be very much responsive to the effects anxiety has on it, which includes but is not limited to clenched jaw, dizziness related to oxygen debt that short sharp breaths cannot pay, as well as trembling and cold sweats. Marc has memorised the full catalogue of symptoms a long time ago, down to the least severe one, however, it didn't really matter because when Steven was the one experiencing them, the American was helpless. He could only try to talk him down to a point where the British lad cooperates and gives up the control. And that's exactly what he does now. In his own way.

Watch your tongue, dude, before I wave your salty attitude goodbye and leave you be.

"No!" Steven yells at gut level, pushing his arms in front of him defensively and bending his knees a little as if wanting to stay close to the ground, pushing the air before him. It makes Marc wonder how that must look for a random passer-by. "Please, stay, it wasn't intentional," he adds shily, "Feel like I'm about to suffocate, it bloody hurts."

Fearing his words aren't enough, Steven puts one hand on his billowing chest while a grimace of utter agony is making its way to his face and watery eyes.

I know, I know. Marc hushes him with a gentle voice. I need you to calm down just enough for you to allow the switch, baby, can you do it for me? he asks and without thinking, Steven nods his head furiously before closing his eyes in order to initiate their 'panic attack' routine. Marc wishes he could see his alter in any type of reflection; preferably a mirror, but right at this moment even the tiniest puddle would do just fine.

Like that, breathe in and breathe out.

"Will you count with me?"

Of course, Spector vows without skipping a beat. One...

Steven does what he's told, and breathes as slowly as he can, counting on his own from five to one on each in-breath, inhaling with his nose and exhaling with his mouth.

Two...

He audibly acknowledges the panic and repeats to himself that it will soon pass and cause no physical harm to him, or Marc.

It always catches the other alter off guard, the fact that even during the scariest attack he still thinks of him, cares for him and puts his wellbeing first as an incentive to get better. It truly warms the former mercenary's heart; gives him the strength to fight both of their fights every single day, because it's worth it- all the pain, and all the struggle is worth the everlasting affection the other guy seems to feel toward him.

Five...

Steven's fingertips brush over the soft fabric of a hoodie, up to the small cleavage on his chest where his butterscotch skin stings a little underneath Magen David necklace, and not even a second after finding it, he closes the little star in his fist, with his thumb still caressing golden chain. He focuses on how it feels, the tiniest metal rings entwined; so fragile, so beautiful, so solid and perfect as individuals, yet only whole when combined together.

Seven...

As he's slowly re-attaching to reality, he takes another step toward inner peace, tensing up the muscle in his calf, holding the tension for a few seconds, and relaxing it right after. The whole body feels sore but it doesn't stop Steven from stretching it even more. He needs this kind of pain as proof of the fact that he's real, he's there. Ironically, this is the moment Marc chooses as the weak spot to slip through to the front. He doesn't mind, tho. Usually a strange sensation of being put in the backseat, this time it only brings relief to his squirmish mind.

Marc blinks his eyes open and clenches both of his fists experimentally. When he's certain Steven gave him full control, he immediately acts on it, looking around him, trying to recognise the place in the darkness, searching for anything and anyone that could give him at least a fracture of a clue of his whereabouts.

'M sorrey I legged it, Marc.

"It's okay, you got scared away," he reassures with the gentlest voice he could maintain at the moment, "happens to all of us. You did great calming yourself, buddy."

He squints his eyes and there's a faint sight of a male figure far before him. Without any sign of hesitation, he takes a step forward in the man's direction while still actively listening to Steven babbling in his head.

It doesn't happen to you, though, yeah? Grant inquires, to which Marc hums nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly to the left at the same time as he lifts his left arm in a shrug as if Steven could see him be the embodiment of not being convinced by the words. You don't get scared away. You're always deliberate.

Marc presses the tips of his fingers up against the tip of his tongue and curls his tongue back to whistle the stranger up. When he finally approaches him, they have a quick chat during which he's told his exact coordinates, and then quickly thanks the elder Englishman, already calculating the fastest route back to their apartment. Turns out Steven has gifted them an hour-long walk home.

"After your first homicide, nothing really scares you off anymore, I guess." He points that out a bit early, he reckons when he sees the poor Mister's eyes widen at his words and hears the taps of his cane speed up as he rapidly walks away from him. The brunet doesn't pay much attention to that, giving only a lazy headshake in response to that. Then he turns the opposite way and starts walking with his hands shoved down the front pockets of their pyjama pants.

Nah, that's not it, Steven chimes in afresh, I killed, yet I'm not even close to what you have going on in your wicked heart.

At that, Marc raises an eyebrow in sudden interest, with a light-hearted smile forming on his lips.

"Now hang on, baby, who'd you kill?" he asks as he's guiding his hand to his head so he can thread his fingers through his hair, only to be met with a hat band partly placed on his forehead instead of soft locks.

These lost souls in the Duat? An obvious answer comes right after and Steven pauses dramatically before he tops his statements off with some details. The ones trying to claim yours, remember them?

"Hm," Spector nods slowly, scratching his nose with the knuckle of his index finger, "is it really a true homicide when they're already quite, you know, dead?" He remarks, clearly winding Steven up. Steven swallows it easily.

Remind me to never save your barmy arse ever again. Happy drowning in the eternal sands next time or whatever.

It makes Marc snort with laughter while crossing the street. He's grateful it seemed to be too late for other citizens to go on some nightly adventures, leaving the two of them able to enjoy their company without having to worry someone might see them laughing to themselves and think they're freaks.

"We're not done putting your anxiety back on a leash yet, buddy. You know the drill."

Suppress the madness, embrace the trifles?

"The spotlight's yours."

Steven groans dramatically inside his head, but obeys nonetheless, sighing in exasperation before he starts listing things they've done that day that he appreciated and was grateful for. The other alter only hums quietly, or nods, or makes some silly little sounds which the point of was to imply he was listening carefully to every word Steven got to say.

Darkness is well settled around them the whole time, deepening shadows making it a city of ghosts with them being nothing more than intruders as Marc carries the body back to their apartment. The moon is abnormally large that night, though almost fully hidden behind thick storm-grey clouds, as if craving to bathe the earth with its luminous glow but failing miserably. It's a pretty standard night, yet Marc feels like something's off. The air is dense on his tongue when he slips it out to lick his dry lips, it's unsettlingly gloomy, and he swears he can hear faint whispers overlapping one another.

...Surrender...

He pulls the beanie harder on his head, additionally covering it with the hood of his zip-up, then he puts his clenched fists in the pockets of a never-seen-before jacket, and subconsciously increases his speed when he feels trembling breaths too close to his ears, almost inside of his head.

There are two times when he trips over his own two feet, maybe three. Whatever it was making him feel uneasy, he wasn't threatened by it, that he knew for sure. It's just a strong sensation of something creeping its way into his mind, crawling on the smooth skin of his neck like a predator awaiting its prey.

Needless to say, he makes it back home in thirty-eight minutes instead of sixty, cautiously glancing over his shoulder while pressing the key to their apartment to a small sensor above the entryphone to the building they live in. His defence instincts are kicking in but he does everything within his power not to make it obvious to Steven as it goes without saying that the brit has already had enough of anxiety for one day. For example, he locks the door with only four locks out of seven that they own, a perfect amount for a calm man with nothing to be worried about. The fifth one would be the alarming one.

"Oy, Steven, how are we feelin' about tomorrow's shift?" As Marc asks that out loud, he also checks the time on the clock above the extractor hood in the kitchen. "Uh, more like today's shift...", he adds, a muscle in his jaw twitching upon the realization that the night was almost over, the 7 o'clock alarm dangerously nearing the time set for their morning call. He exhales lingeringly before his glare falls on the illuminated fish tank, where he meets Gus #1, Gus #2 and a pinched-faced reflection of his alter, chewing on the inside of his cheek and staring back at him sorrowfully. Marc already knows what he'll hear in a minute, and it takes straining a few muscles for him not to physically lower his head. Instead, he nods collectedly, though he feels his heart sink deep in his gut.

I can tr-

"I'll go."

They smile at each other softly, their eyes drooping in a contrast to this little gesture. Marc moves his arm up to the glass for the sake of comforting Steven, and gently brushes his knuckles over the other one's cheek. They both know Steven can't really experience this touch, but they won't admit it, rather preferring to live in the sweet sweet bubble of denial.

"Hey, Steve," the alter controlling the body purrs softly, his voice just a tad louder than a whisper, only wanting to catch the other's attention. He doesn't need to repeat himself, Steven's already boring him with his curious gaze. "s'okay, you know," he says, "we're okay."

The right corner of Marc's lips shifts slightly upwards when he notices Grant close his eyes right after he nodded at the sound of his reassuring words. He's not the type to talk openly about his feelings and stuff like that, but he was grateful Steven was so responsive to him, so expressive with every emotion that he caused him. After Marc and Layla officially parted ways, Steven was the only person to be there for him and be the one he could be there for. The brit allowing him to take care of him, and caring for him was the epitome of domesticity he desired so badly. Steven was his home. And even if that home was broken and fractured at the time, so what? It's still beautiful.

"Wanna play Tic-Tac-Toe?" He offers casually and immediately goes to find some loose piece of paper shoved somewhere between the pages of one of the books swaying at the edge of a desk, along with a pen.

Steven doesn't surprise him with his response, always eager to play games.

Would be lovely, yeah.

Not even a minute later Marc settles their shared body in a chair at the desk in front of a window. He draws a simple 3 squares by 3 squares grid and lets Steven go first as they swap control of their hand so each of them can make a move when their turn comes. It's peaceful, and it's cosy with their little chuckles cutting the silence between them from time to time and Arabic trap music playing in the background.

Neither of them really notices when they fall asleep. Steven drifts away first, prepping Marc with his voice gradually losing volume until he can't be heard anymore, leaving the control in the palm of Marc's hand. Marc smiles under his nose upon the feeling of Steven's calmness, and he doesn't even get to put the pen away before he's gone into the arms of sweet unconsciousness, too, still sitting in a chair, sleeping with his head and one of his hands on the table, while the other one shifts on its own in a few trying moves. Surrender bleeds with scarlet ink staining the white paper as the pen writes the word in calligraphy style.

...Mom! Mom! M-...

Quiet boyish cries asking for help ring in his ears prior to the reality around him cutting to black.

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It's not canon, I know, but I kinda liked the idea of the whole universe hearing Wanda's boys, so I decided to put it out there. A little warning from the Darkhold that the Scarlet Witch has awakened as the queen that she's meant to be? Anyways, let me know what you think of the story so far :).

NEXT CHAPTER -->

#dreaming with the witch #moon knight fic #Moon Knight #the scarlet witch fic #scarlet witch fic #marc spector #Steven Grant #wanda maximoff #marc spector x wanda maximoff #marcsteven

29 notes · View notes

mosstliest · 3 years

Text

mcyt movie night headcanons!

(cc!) Dream , George , Sapnap , Technoblade , Wilbur , Eret , Fundy , Nihachu , Quackity , Karl

requested? yes / no

pronouns used : they / them

cw! light nsfw (Dream) , mentions of jumpscares (horror films)

Dream

he is a big fan of a good old netflix and chill session

something about the warm, dark living room only illuminated by the moving images on the screen, your silhouette barely visible under a blanket and whatever snack you’d found on his cupboard on your hands gets this man in a raunchy mood

he’ll pull you to his lap or slide next to you and start pecking at your neck

“But it’s just getting to the good part”

you stretch your neck to give him more room anyways

“Oh we’re about to get to the good part”

you chuckle and bite your lip to stifle a sigh as his lips begin to trace your jaw

the movie gets paused is what I’m saying

he refuses to buy any snacks from the candy shop whenever you do go to the cinema

“It is unnecessarily expensive!”

“You have twenty million fucking subscribers!”

“BUT FOUR DOLLARS?!”

he has the most creative ways of smuggling sweets

it started with a classic tote bag

it’s become sort of a game

once, he bought the most ridiculously bulgy jacket and wore it in scorching florida weather solely for the purpose of hiding crisps

he laughs easily at movies and his wheeze has made you get kicked out of a movie theatre at least once

will talk about his favourite parts of the movie for hours after it’s finished

will laugh whenever he thinks about the funniest parts for days

George

(sort of George with a film buff s/o)

he doesn’t talk during movies and actively dislikes people who do

will complain if he doesn’t like the film but only in quiet whispers and not if he suspects you are particularly enjoying it

you made him watch a Tarkovsky film one time

he swears he didn’t fall asleep

he did

but he tried his best <3

can’t choose the movie for the life of him so you always end up having to pick

every time you try and analyze color symbolism he’ll chime in

“I’m colorblind”

before you can finish

you bait him honestly

he likes listening to you talk about your favorite movies and all the films you want to show him

he’ll look up facts about your favourite directors and will make fun of your least favourite ones with you

makes a great snobby-tarantino-fan “you’ve not known real cinema until you’ve watched pulp fiction” impression that never fails to make you cackle

he is not a fan of horror films

you tried to make him watch one once

“I don’t really like horror movies but you said this one was good so- WHAT IS THAT?!”

turned it off immediately and you ended up watching the hobbit

Harry potter marathons are a must

he can imitate maggie smith’s accent to perfection

Sapnap

you watch anime together

I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it

he doesn’t either

he’ll make you watch it

he has good taste though, so you end up enjoying it

cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap

movie playing on the tv, your head in his chest and his hand in your waist, blankets wrapped around you and the AC running just a little bit too cold = his absolute definition of happiness

you binge watch shows in one sitting and then get sad when they’re over

he always burns the goddamn popcorn

daily movie nights!

you order in and eat a late night dinner in bed

Your pick monday, wednesday, friday

his pick tuesday, thursday, saturday

a full on debate on sundays trying to figure out a good middle ground

Whenever the movie runs late and you end up falling asleep, he’ll turn the tv off and quietly pull the blankets over your body before kissing your forehead in the sweetest way imaginable

he yells at the screen

he loves watching horror movies but gets jumpscared easily

“Awww are you scared baby?”

“Shut up y/n I’m only holding you so you don’t get scared”

“I won’t :)”

“...I’m not letting go if that’s what you’re fucking thinking”

Technoblade

(take a shot every time popcorn is mentioned and pass out)

one of your first dates was actually a movie date

he turned and whispered in your ear whenever a clever wip popped in his head and his commentary was so funny you had to bury your face in your hands so your laughter didn’t disturb the other people in the theatre

he talks during movies, he can’t help it

"heh?!"

he doesn’t like cinema popcorn and will exclusively buy chocolate

you didn’t get it until the day he made you try his trademark-techno-popcorn and wow

“holy shit this is great!”

“I know”

he’s completely ruined popcorn for you

“please don’t ever leave me, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat normal popcorn after this”

“wasn’t planning on it”

he is secretly into romcoms

you watch movies in bed, laptop propped in his legs and an obligatory bowl of popcorn in your arms

he plays with your hair for the whole time

you hate-watch bad movies all the time and your chests hurt from laughing by the end

he can easily memorize entire scenes and will repeat them to you in a totally monotone voice

It’s great

has never cried during a movie, is dreadfully proud of himself for it

sometimes he’ll get distracted and just stare at you, movie reduced to white noise in the background

“you’re so pretty”

Wilbur

makes dinner for you whenever you have a movie night

his snack game is kind of weak though, as much as I hate to say it

water and dark chocolate only

if you think he doesn’t insist on rewatching hamilton at least once every two months you are wrong

he is a goddamn hamilton kinnie and he likes the fucking songs okay?

constant change of cuddling positions

you made him sit through the entirety of the twilight saga “as a hate watch”

he now quotes it on a daily basis (never on stream, chat would eat him alive)

“Whaddaya mean team jacob? He’s a glorified furry!”

you watch a lot of documentaries

the way he concentrates on taking in every single bit of information is almost more entertaining than the actual film

he’ll tell you random facts he learnt watching the documentary and you’ll have to remind him that you watched it with him

you act out iconic romance scenes and he gets so into it

he can be anything from Jack Dawson to mr. Darcy and William Thacker and it gives you butterflies every time

you’ll stand up whenever characters are slow dancing and dance along with them

You’ve tried to watch shows together but you always end up forgetting or one of you will binge an entire season and

he’s insufferable when he doesn’t like a film but will refuse to change it

he criticizes the smallest details in a way that would make Anthony Lane look like an absolute sweetheart

you dance to the end credits theme

Fundy

(long distance!)

Netflix parties ALL THE TIME

+ discord calls / facetime

you coordinate snacks

sometimes you’ll switch whatever you’re watching to dutch for a second so he can make fun of the god awful translation

most times,you fall asleep together after the movie ends even if your time zones are far apart

you watch entire shows together, the longer the better

four or five episodes at a time

You both get super invested and will have heated discussions about whether rory should have ended up with logan or jess

whenever you talk about meeting up, watching a movie and actually cuddling comes up

he used to be kind of quiet during movies

he won’t shut up now, it’s fun, having his voice in your ears with whatever film you’re watching in the background makes it seem like he's in bed next to you

his voice would be easy to fall asleep to if he didn’t yell so often

he can guess the precise plot of every single horror movie

like word for word, scene for scene

he gets scared anyways

he sent you one of his hoodies once, after you begged for weeks

you wrap it around a plushie or pillow and cuddle it whenever you watch something together

“can’t believe a fucking sweater gets more action than me”

“oh shut up you big baby”

Eret

lots and lots of movie dates

he has excellent taste in films and shows so you let them choose most times

stacking up on cinema sweets and a huge bucket of popcorn when you go to a theatre

buying tons of crisps and candybars when you hang out at home

not the biggest cuddler in this specific setting

would much rather have her arm around your shoulder and your legs up on their lap

you watch award shows solely for the purpose of roasting the outfits

bed/couch absolutely crammed with plushies and pillows

you always make milkshakes together

not smoothies

not frappes

milkshakes

with syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top

the night isn’t complete without them

you watch a lot of period films

“you’d look great in that”

“who are you pointing to again?”

“doesn’t matter, you’d look great in everything”

(you’ll get them to wear a corset if it’s the last thing you do)

he turns to kiss your cheek every fifteen minutes

Nihachu

you bake cookies before movie nights and decorate them specifically for the theme of the film

you did a horror marathon once

(it may have been a sneaky way to get her to hide in the crook of your neck but we don’t talk about that)

the plate of cookies flew out of her hands in minutes

she got so worried

“but you worked so hard on the decorations :(“

“it’s fine babe, we’ll just eat the plain ones”

she wrapped her arms around you and kissed your cheek so it was totally worth it

the decorations were kinda shit anyways

you watch a ton of coming of age movies and will listen to the soundtrack for days after

she’s so funny during movies

sometimes a character will do something stupid and her remark will be so absolutely stingy both your hands will fly to your mouths and you’ll stare at each other, eyes wide, before falling into a fit of giggles

simping over powerful women with Niki

you have a huge watchlist of gay films and high five everytime you cross one off

cuddling under a huge pile of blankets

switching sweaters

Zuko climbing unto the laptop and pausing the movie at the most inconvenient times

Quackity

he eats dry cereal during movies because he’s just chaotic like that

you sit on the floor with your backs to the couch and eat takeout and drugstore snacks

the amount of times you’ve watched the fucking bee movie

you like watching things in spanish

everything from crappy soap operas to almodovar films

he likes to translate things and can do it super quick so you never really need subtitles

you watch a lot of superhero movies and he has made you watch Adam Sandler’s entire filmography

the floor always ends up messy and cleaning up afterwards is almost as funny as the film itself

sitcoms!

lots and lots of sitcoms

Karl

pillow fort is obligatory

monster energy drinks and a huge variety of candy

microwave popcorn with too much butter

hot cocoa with too many marshmallows

you mostly watch cartoons and 2010’s nickelodeon shows

scream singing the iCarly theme song and hating on tori from victorious

getting really into the adventure time lore

tickle fights when the film gets boring

he takes recommendations from “indie film” tiktoks and you mock him for it endlessly

he has weirdly obscure knowledge on every show you watch

he has a big colección of dvds/videotapes so you get to watch some oldies

he falls asleep with his head in your lap or your shoulder

he gives you a sweater or hoodie to wear and lends you plaid pyjama pants

you quote movies on stream and have ton of private jokes

can you tell I got lazy at the end?

likes and reblogs are always appreciated and have a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/evening/night <3

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thatblondeperson · 2 years

Note

What are some of your more... rated R TimSteph headcanons?

Answering this one because I don't have to fig fof issue numbers for this. (Except oops I did cuz I'm not fucking around today I guess.)

I don't have like...a ton of headcanons here, but I do have some.

For starters, while I'm very ace, I don't believe either Tim or Steph are ace. I could make a case for Steph being demi!ace, but eh. It's not a priority headcanon for me.

But hey hey, that's not what we came here for.

I feel like, and I could ramble about this forever, that their first time would be something very special. While others have written fics where Tim isn't a virgin when this occurs, imma keep him as such to put them on equal ground. (I am aware that Steph is not a virgin, but I refuse to believe Dean was a smooth ride. She deserves better. )

Tim did have that one instance where Ari wanted to cross that threshold with him, (and they were 14!!! Yeesh!!!) and Tim turned her down. Nor because he didn't want to, just not yet. It's suggested that Tim at this point is a wait till marriage guy, and throughout Robin he's consistently not pushy or really focused on that kind of physical connection. He likes smoochies, but he's tame otherwise. Fast forwarding to RR, his hormones have caught up with him a bit, but while he's thinking about things more, he's not acting on them.

Tim is not a one night stand guy imo. Tim wants emotional connection, he wants trust, and this is mirrored by Steph who has a whole different experience with this matter.

Stephanie has suffered several counts of sexual assault. As a child there was Jim Murray who was a threat to her, who fully intended to violate her when she was eleven. (Robin #111)

There was Dean who was definitely not a teenager who she was with way too young, and he only came back around after she'd given up her kid to what? Keep fooling around? Gross. (Robin #80)

And then there's the heavy HEAVY implication that Black Mask sexually assaulted her as a part of her torture in War Games. (Robin #130)

Super disturbing comments to make towards a 16yo.

WHOA! WE'RE GETTING DARK!!

Yes we are, but it's crucial to the convo about sex.

Stephanie also desperately needs trust. She needs care and gentleness she needs patience and understanding. Tim already being slow to the finish line himself, I think he's a perfect match in this scenario, and her natural empathy is also a good match for him.

Are we getting into vulnerability again? Fuck yeah we are.

Shedding masks and layers is a symbol of their growth as a couple. Whether literal or metaphorical, these two took their sweet time opening up 100% to one another. That last layer shed would be an emotional explosion for them. There's not a single barrier after that, that's about as intimately as they can know each other. I think in a way, even by RR, Tim is already kinda there. If they stuck around each other a bit more, worked up a better repertoire, if something had started between them and Steph suggested it? I don't think there would be much pushback from him. But Steph needs more reassurance. She's down for trust, but it's more than that. She wants reliability, stability, she wants love. I think when that shoe drops, it'll be an easy decision for her.

There's the idea that Tim being the boy virgin would be bumpy and uncoordinated, but let me plant a dif idea in your head. Tim is an overachiever, he's a planner, he's meticulous and hyper focused, he's diligent. Watch him try to work overtime to get it right. Even if he finished fast due to emotional overstimulation of experiencing the that kind of uninhibited love and affection and giving all of yourself to one person, I want someone to tell me that he wouldn't still try to make it better for Steph. He's a good guy, he cares for the people he loves, let him show it. Let him also ask WAY too many times if what he's doing is okay. He has to be sure.

And for sure, Timmy's a giver. 😏😏😏

I do think, as do many, that they're pretty vanilla. I don't think they're hopping onto any crazy kinks. Look me dead in the eye and tell me either of them likes being tied up after looking at the panel of Steph above, and the fact that in RR issue #24, Tim was also tied up and nearly r*ped.

(And I haven't even talked about Tim being sexually assaulted by Rose Wilson but I'm sure that puts a damper on certain types of kinky shit)

I know there's a heavy fandom focus on pegging for TimSteph, and while I'm not going to discredit it, I think a lot of fans use it to hyperfeminize Tim or use it as an excuse to push the hypersexual Steph headcanon that I despise. I don't think either of them is truly trying to dominate the other. I think they are taking turns taking care of each other. They switch it up.

As far as how kinky it gets, I'm firm on Tim being a biter. I think there's the occasional bout of "can't keep hands off each other" neediness, but not so much that it would happen in public. (ie: they're not ducking into a bathroom at a restaurant any time soon, or parking the Redbird somewhere to have a go. Well...maybe. I do think they're not as frequent as a TV drama, but there's a sort of unspoken cue that they have where they just know what they need. Maybe it's not a full go, maybe it's just a bit of intimates touches and lip/bite marks in extra places, but it's just a re-centering for them. Shower sex? Sure. Wash away troubles and engage in a bit of dopamine heavy fun times. This also works for bubble baths.

I think for them sex isn't so much a "I need this feeling" it's an "I need to feel you" type of dealio.

Sex is connection. It's a warmth that melts them together. And yes, Tim has absolutely cried during it a handful of times, as well as blurting out some very awkward sweet nothings in the moment because he's a bit overwhelmed and he becomes unfiltered. Dirty talk? Nah. Mildly incoherent comments about how incredible Steph is and how he wants to be with her forever? Yah.

Just let them get lost in the physical love that neither of them have received or experienced before. LET THEM.

THANK YOU ANON!!!!!!!!!!!

I loved this one, I hope you weren't looking for something dirtier cuz instead we went into angst territory! Pro tip: it will always be angst territory with me. 💜❤

#timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #red robin #batgirl #dc comics #personal #ask tbp

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

Text

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it.

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale.

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on.

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch

two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes.

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them.

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.”

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love.

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on.

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with.

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married.

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic.

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites.

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience.

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride.

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together.

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while.

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!!

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

Routine, by snoqualmie (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly.

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso.

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read.

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit.

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it.

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful.

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong.

my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.

Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love.

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried.

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together.

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot.

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa.

Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it.

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet.

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay.

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.

we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it.

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother.

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru.

how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa tooru

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chunhua-s · 3 years

Note

Tendou in an enemies to lovers situation 🥺

wew chile, eye— this was longer than i originally planned and that’s due in part to me switching from writing on mobile and my bad word vomit tendencies said ✨start the cameras✨ i originally had a bit of trouble coming up with the solid plot itself while i was losing myself on concepts (nothing new :D just my regular clown shit y’know?) and my sweet goddess @bootylikepeachy was there to tickle my braincells with this “got paired together with your enemy for a class assignment” idea!! bb thank you for brainrotting with me on this, honestly 🥺💖 i dunno if i could have made a final decision if it weren’t for you and your sexy ass brain. i decided leave the ending a bit open?? one to prevent myself from going over 5k words (cause wow, i really hit the slow burn on this one) and two because i kinda like the ambiguity of their relationship after the reader comes to her turning point. since it’s an enemies to lovers type of scenario, i figured it would be better to let things kind of trickle off instead of having it all happen on the same day?? or so it doesn’t feel too rushed or force and i really hope i was successful in doing it justice. i hope you guys will have as much fun reading this as i did writing it!! let me know your thoughts, okay? and as always, thank you for reading!!

SUNSET AND MIDNIGNT ➽ SATORI TENDOU x READER

genre: fluff, slowburn

au: enemies to lovers

warnings: uhhh slowburn? word vomit, ramblings..... that’s about it

tendou is the fall from an ocean cliff. he’s the feeling of the wind sweeping past your body, of your breath disappearing from your lungs and vanishing on the whisps of a blue sky. he’s the dread that wraps around your heart like a vine, the heavy rock that drags you closer and closer to a dive you can’t remember taking. and you, with your heart racing against your ribs so hard that it scars itself with blue and purple bruises, you’re terrified. you’re terrified of heights, of blue waters that run to the deepest parts of the earth and what they don’t show to you. you’re afraid of the heat that comes from a blazing fire and the embers that fly from it on red hazes. it’s the fear of that unpredictability that keeps you away, the fear of being burned and left for dead that leaves you feeling as if you’re walking on egg shells around him.

to you, he’s a variable that you can’t ever be prepared for. a step added to a dance you’d already learned by heart, he messes up your rhythm and throws off your tempo until the melody becomes something you can’t recognize anymore. he leaves you guessing about what comes next — it’s like a game of roulette that he’d dragged you into by a thin chord, wrapped so tightly around your throat that it makes it hard for you to breathe. you hate the feeling of it, hate the way he so easily turned your world on its head and cast the familiarity of monochrome into a scenery of blinding colour.

you’re pouting, a frown etched across your lips as you methodically stir over your pot, head cocked to the side and one hand resting akimbo on your hip. it’d been well over 30 minutes since you’d started boiling the ingredients over a low flame, and you were beginning to tire from stirring constantly; your arm ached and your shoulders were beginning to feel stiff as you tried rolling them to relieve some of the tension. frustration makes a loud groan slip from your lips as you throw your head back. normally, you’d consider yourself a patient person, yet that very same patience was beginning to run as thin as the liquid that should have been thickening by now. you couldn’t understand why it was taking so long, however. you’d done everything by the book! mixed each ingredient in the order that it’d said to, set the flame on the right level, measured everything correctly, so what was wrong?

you hear a snort come from somewhere behind you, but you don’t turn yourself to look at the red-headed male who sits comfortably atop the other side of your counter, well intent to ignoring him. you had neither the time nor the energy to entertain him right now, but your companion didn’t seem to understand that from the cold shoulder you’d been giving him ever since you two began working on your project together.

“you know you don’t have to keep stirring it, right?” tendou hums between bites of chocolate that slightly muffle his words. you don’t see the way his eyes close and his smile widens on delight for the sweet flavour that melts on his tongue. “you can leave it for about a minute before you have to check up on it again.”

you stubbornly roll your eyes, a huff coming from under your breath that disturbs the strand of hair dangling in front of your face. “that’s not what the book says.” your voice comes out evenly, though there’s nothing you do to cut the edge from your tone as you sigh immediately after. the frown on your lips only deepens with the next few seconds that pass you by.

“and that book was released in 2015.”

it’s invasive in its arrival, the question of why that spits on bitterness and undiluted anger. why were you so unlucky to have been paired up with the one person you couldn’t bear to be around? he was everything that dug under your skin, the symbol of chaos in a place where you’d rather solace and routine. he stands on the opposite end of the colour spectrum; where your life molds with deep purples and blues of a dark midnight, he’s the flaming oranges and reds of a burning sunset. your worlds meet on a collision, a burst of light that would consume entire dimensions and leave nothing but bones and ashes in its wake.

there’s a pettiness in your hatred for him, a one-sided scorn that bears its fangs on dark poisons that trip like ink. it tells its tale of irrationality in your law of reason, and, you consider, perhaps that was why you hated tendou. perhaps it was the way his voice could so easily insight the burning taste of anger and annoyance on the back of your tongue, where it forms on a large ball that stops inside your throat and makes it hard to breathe without feeling as if you would implode. it’s something you can’t understand, but you despise the feeling it leaves you with when your eyes meet his.

hot, as if you’d been cast into the open arms of hell.

“well,” you force behind gritted teeth, hearing the noise of them grinding in the back of your head. “i’m gonna stick to what the book says until it gets revised.”

there’s absolutely no reason for you to be so insistent on something that’s clearly not working, you know that. you’re sure tendou is thinking the same, if the long, drawn out sigh he lets out is anything to go by. it isn’t difficult to imagine his expression, lips pursed together, brows furrowed as his narrowed eyes burn holes into your skin. you’re not sure what exactly is pushing you to be so stubborn, but you blindly let it control your thoughts; you run on impulse and immature decisions that have no place in your life.

a silence blends with the sounds of your bubbling pot when he doesn’t respond, insighting an urge to glance around and see why he’d suddenly stopped talking that you force away from your mind. the quiet would give you some semblance of peace, you consider decisively: if he’s decided he would no longer disturb you with pointless musings, then what reason would you have to complain?

there’s a touch on your shoulder that causes your heart to latch inside your throat and rushes on uneven beats of a two-second fright that has you freezing on yourself. on instinct, your body turns to meet red eyes and a bemused grin as tendou’s fingers wrap around your wrist, catching the hand that held the mixing spatula you’d been using in your pot. “relax, will you?” he murmurs, a chuckle on his breath — the taste of his mint breath clouds your mind like a ghostly fragrance — as he pries the instrument from between your clenched fist. with narrowed eyes and your guard put up on a weak barrier, you watch closely as he gently sets the spatula against the counter before he finally releases your arm; it falls lifelessly to your side while the feeling of being burned slowly spreads across your skin. “just trust me on this.”

there’s a hidden promise on his voice, a teasing grin that pulls at his lips and leaves your curiosity ignited on hesitance and uncertainty. you glance at your still bubbling pot, though your gaze isn’t allowed to linger for long as tendou shoves his face into your line of sight with a light chime of “ah-ah-ah.” it was as if he was scolding a child, the thought quickly comes and goes before you can dwell on it — there’s not much chance for you to think about it when tendou’s steering you to your island counter by your shoulders. “sit down for a sec, alright?”

a scowl forms on your lips as he shoves you down into a seat, and you open your mouth to protest when you’re suddenly pacified by the sweet taste on your tongue. slowly, you begin chewing, letting the confusion you feel be washed away by the quickly melting chocolate that fills you with a sense of appreciation.

“better?”

it’s reluctant, but you give the red haired boy a nod and a small smile, all which he returns with his familiar grin. “i set a timer for one minute,” he informs you, lifting his phone screen to show the seconds counting down from 50. his actions are carefree and relaxed, with his arm resting on the edge of the chair and one of his legs folded beneath him, red hair tousled and flopping over his forehead just like he wears it on campus. he’s attractive, you won’t deny, though you wouldn’t let yourself ever say it out loud. helplessly, you sigh, your shoulders dropping to release the tension from standing for so long and you lift a hand to sheepishly run over your neck as you avoid his gaze.

“fine…”

tendou’s smile widens as soon as you relent, a pleased hum leaves him as he further leans back into the chair. “so,” he begins on a cheerful tone, and your eyes curiously watch him as he opens conversation. “what’re your plans after you finish the course?”

a short moment passes you by where you glance away from him, eyes drifting to the pot on your worry. was it really okay to leave it alone? “uh,” you mutter out on your distracted tone before you center yourself. you take a deep breath and let it out on a soft puff that has your cheeks pushing out slightly before you give your answer. “i wanna open up a coffeeshop.”

“oh?” when you meet tendou’s gaze, there’s a spark of interest in them, a sheen of gold that lights vermillion red on the afternoon sun. it causes you to become self-conscious suddenly, your hands tangle together in your lap as you avert your eyes almost as quickly as they’d met his.

“yeah,” you affirm softly. “i’ve always thought that it’d be nice, you know? and i’d be able to relax in a place like that.”

another hum comes from the man next to you, a low sound that dwells on pondering as he takes in your response. “you do seem like the kind of person who would work in a coffeeshop.” he muses, and his word leaves your mind on pause as the alarm goes off, the soft ringing of a song you don’t know disrupting your thoughts and prompting you to stand up. however, there’s a hand on your shoulder that hurriedly pushes you down before you’re at your full height. “no,no—” tendou urges you, “i’ll do it, you just sit there and rest.”

you’re not given the chance to argue as he breezily saunters over to your stove, reaching for the spatula while humming that same song from his alarm. it’s not one you’ve heard before, and it’s another thing that leaves you curious as you watch him stir over the bubbling liquid. you notice the way he holds his hand at a weird angle that leaves his elbow jutting out, the way his tall frame has to hunch as if to see the contents better. doesn’t he wear glasses? you’re lost on the thought as you try and recall whether or not you’d seen him wear a pair before. when he turns back to you, his smile is wide and triumphant, a show of all teeth as he moves himself to the side and just barely tilts the pot with his free hand. “would’ja look at that?” he sings, a telling smugness to his tone as he looks at you. you have to lean over the island counter to see the white liquid has thickened considerably more than when you’d been stirring it. “told you to just let it sit for a while and it’d do it’s own thing!”

unable to help the smile that spreads across your lips, you huff and wave a hand across your face in dismissal, harmlessly rolling your eyes at him. “alright, no need to rub it in now,” you chide as he replaces the pot and skips over to your side, large steps that have him swinging his arms back and forth like an excited child. there’s no hiding the glee in his expression when he sits down again and immediately turns to face you, as if he was waiting for you to admit something. and maybe that’s what he was waiting for, but you’re still stubborn when it comes to him, so you only turn your eyes away from him and cross your arms with a false pout. “just set the timer again, will you?” you grumble, and you’re rewarded with laughter that rang as pure and innocent as the sound of trickling water. it leaves you stunned for a moment, echoes in your mind and finds a home inside your chest so that it plays back for you to hear. it’s a beautiful sound, you think; there’s a part of you that wants to hear more. it horrifies you.

“what about you?” you shake your head as you lean your elbows on top of the counter top, eyes focused on your fingers wrapping around one another rather than to meet vermillion red. the cool feeling of the marble does very little to ease the warmth coursing beneath your skin. “what’re your plans after finishing the course?”

tendou’s laughter dies down like the wind comes to a pause, where the leaves stop rustling on an easy rest as he sighs long and full, his chest rising with the action as he leans backward ever so slightly. “i was thinking of making chocolate,” he tells, tilting his head and lending his gaze to the scenery outside your window. it gives you the courage to look back at him, at the sight of his figure bathed in sunlight where the gold bounces off his skin like a gem. with his expression set on pensive and his eyes bearing a wandering glint, he looks nearly ethereal inside your kitchen, a picture of immortality that you’ve never bothered to look at before now. he glows under a melting light, the picture of him robs you of air and leaves you gasping, desperate for your blood to start flowing the way it had before.

it’s when his eyes find yours that you relearn how to breathe.

his gaze is half-lidded, touched by a visual of content that makes him look at peace, nearly drowsy as his hand supports the weight of his head. the smile on his lips is slight, the kind that quirks the corners of your lips and tells you a story of effortless charm.

“is there any particular reason?” you hate that your voice comes out weak, that it breaks on it’s departure and tumbles out of your lips like white feathers flutter from the sky. the onslaught of emotion leaves you reeling, your center of gravity cast from your body and you struggle to find your footing over uneven ground, all while he watches you, red eyes picking you apart and leaving bear to him the parts of yourself you’ve never seen. a boyish smile settles over his lips as he turns his head to fully face you, leaning forward ever so slightly, but it’s enough so that you’re once again able to taste peppermint on his breath. it washes over your skin like an autumn wind, leaves a chill that reminds you of the first signs of snow on the throws of a mid-summer’s heat.

“not really,” he confesses with a shrug, carefree and unbothered while he leaves you as the perfect image of flustered. his voice is low, like a whisper. it’s hushed, and you’re able to hear something of a sigh on his words that leaves you to wonder about the way the sunlight reflects off of pools of red, how the golden hue makes them appear like the butterscotch candies you’d snack on between classes. “i just… like sweet things.”

“oh.”

you’re reminded of the taste of caramel when you think of tendou. it comes as a surprise when you take the first bite into a chocolate bar, an unexpected drop of golden sweetness that makes you pause for, if only, just a second to properly let its flavour spread across your tongue. he’s the warmth of sunset that embraces your body, the feeling of the waves that brush against your toes, the sand that fills with water and wraps around your feet. you’re left on the shoreline to watch in awe as flames of orange and red dance on the ocean’s surface, where the blazes and embers of a passion unimaginable to your midnight moon leave traces of ethereal gold in its wake.

there’s a sudden thought that invades your mind, slow like molasses and just as bittersweet; you want to sink beneath those burning waters, to let them cover you from head to toe and consume all that you are. until your heart learns his melody and your body falls to his tune.

there’s a part of you that yearns after satori tendou, and the realization if it scares you.

you’re the first to look away when the timer sounds once more, your face burns and you purse your lips together while your hands tangle together on your lap. beside you, tendou arises wordlessly to saunter over to the pot, humming once more to the tune that continues to play from his phone. it doesn’t sound like a typical alarm, and it leaves you intrigued by it’s upbeat melody. “what song is that?” you curse the way your voice breaks, clearing your throat and hoping that he didn’t pick up on it. why were you suddenly becoming such a mess?

tendou answers you a bit distractedly while he tilts the pot from side to side, his head cocked in contemplation and his expression pensive. “it’s called circus,” he glances at you from over his shoulder and uses his free hand to gesture you forward before reaching for the pair of yellow, sunflower-themed muffins you left to sit close-by. “bring the chocolate for me, would’ja?” you meet him just as he’s moving your pot to sit on your counter, the plate of chopped up chocolate bits in your hand while he moves to the side to let you dump them into the mixture. “i found it on this playlist from youtube and i kinda got obsessed with it.”

you take in his words over the light-hearted melody that plays from his phone, enjoying the sound of it before it cuts off and sets to snooze since tendou hadn’t turned it off. it leaves you wanting to hear more, and you wish it would have played on for a little bit longer as you set the plate to the side. “can i look it up?” you ask; the thought that it was silly to ask for his permission rings in your head before you can stop it, and you feel your face heating up when he looks up from mixing the chocolate to you, his eyes alight with amusement and his smile teasing.

“go ahead,” he chuckles, giving his attention back to the pot after casually waving a hand in the air. “mind bringing me the setting tray?”

it doesn’t take you too long to open up the youtube app, your fingers typing in the name of the song before you pause and glance over to your partner. “is it the one by showmore?”

“yup!”

soon, the familiar intro bleeds into your kitchen space, filling up the absence of conversation between you and tendou as he bobs his head along to its sound. you’re left to lean against the counter, your hands folded beneath you while he pours out your chocolate mixture into the little cube shapes in the tray. what you feel is a comfort, a type of quiet happiness that calms your breath on the sound of drums and the piano that blends with the singer’s voice. “it sounds nice,” you mutter quietly, unable to help the way your head nods in time to the melody.

tendou shoots you an excited smile. “it does, right?? i’ve been listening to it nonstop ever since i found it.” his enthusiasm draws a laugh from you, a grin stretches across your face as you watch him sway side to side. it’s an adorable picture of him dancing and smiling so brightly, and when he looks up at you with excitement in his eyes, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“wanna dance?”

“huh?”

the question catches you off guard, leaves you to stare wide-eyed at his back as he pops the tray into the freezer before turning back to face you. his grin widens and becomes almost teasing when he sees your stunned expression. “c’mere!” he urges you with an eagerness, his hand waving you over.

“tendou, i—” you avert your gaze, feeling your skin warm up once more as you murmur your answer. “i can’t dance…”

he makes his way over to you in a sequence of movements you can’t hope to describe — it’s almost like a prance, where his steps are exaggerated and his shoulders lift up in a kind of rocking motion while he’s snapping his fingers to the beat. “that’s fine!” he grins at you just as he reaches out for your hand, pulls you to your feet and coaxes you from behind your island counter. “i can’t either!”

for a moment, you’re caught between amused and hopelessly confused while the man before you lifts your arms like wet spaghetti, letting him swing them between your bodies as if you were a puppet, and he the puppeteer. he’s beaming at you so widely that it’s almost ridiculous, but he seems so vivid and joyous while he maneuvers your limbs, and it causes broad laughter to bubble up from your chest as your body doubles over. it’s a pure, weightless type of laughter that leaves you, like the chiming of bells on the summer wind. it echoes over the music, and when tendou joins in with you, there arises between you both a new kind of song, whose story is found at the evening time when the world holds her breath. it’s a harmony that’s carefree, like the fall from an ocean cliff, like the breath that vanishes from your lungs and cries on laughter beneath the blue sky. it’s the feeling of your fears melting, and when your body finally plunges between those fireset waves, you’re wondering why you were scared in the first place.

“that’s it!!” the excitement in tendou’s voice is infectious, his smile as bright as the sun itself when your fingers intertwine with his and your body finally moves on its own. here begins a dance between you two where he pulls you in closer, and when you pull away, your hands remain intertwined. an irresistible force that you can’t help being drawn to, that spins you around his fingers and wraps you in his arms, all while eyes of the sweetest sunset promise you gold on your midnight sky. the feeling inside your chest is warm, sets through your body like a quiet buzz and it leaves you wanting more, so that the yearning you feel would only ever be satisfied by him.

your hand in his feels like a slow burning flame, and as the both of you are laughing with a song you create with each other, you realize that you’re no longer afraid of its heat.

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue @waitforitillwritemywayout @mixxfi @shnnn

send an ask to be added or removed!! (also pls lemme know if i’m forgetting anyone? i think i got you all but just in case)

#tendou satori x reader #tendou x reader #tendou x reader fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! spoilers #haikyuu!! au event 💫

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steve0discusses · 3 years

Text

Yugioh Season Zero: The Yo-yo Crimes of Jounouchi Pt 2

OK, last we left off, we were in a different Youtube video. This one I grabbed off of 2 different videos (you’ll see their watermark in the corner change) and it makes me appreciate the quality that our other episodes have been, honestly. A little bit of compression going on in these, just to give you even more of that nostalgic feel of watching a bootleg anime from the 90′s your brother got from his weird high school friend’s Napster account.

Because this is done with subtitles on, it takes more caps to cover it. Part of why I rewrite the dialogue in these recaps is to help abridge stuff, and so consider yourself warned...there’s a lot of caps in this one. For most of you, that’s probably not much of a problem. But I’m just letting you know because...I sure wasn’t expecting it to be over 40 caps for half an episode, and I’ll probably just type less to make up for that. (Tumblr keeps Erasing All My Words anyway, so this is for the best, but that’s a tech issue I already went into in another post.)

(read more under the cut)

So, to start off, Yugioh and co. walk up to a bar like a really weird version of a bar joke and are like “do you know where we can find the yo-yo gang?” And, much like a video game npc, the bartender was like “I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about, and I heard every part of their intimate conversation. Let me give you all the details, children.”

Hey, PS, there’s an entire Wikipedia entry about the bar joke. And that is wild. Apparently the first bar joke was from Ancient Sumeria, and Wikipedia was like “Here is the Sumerian joke, but we Do Not Get it. Please don’t try to get it.”

The joke being: "A dog walked into a tavern and said, 'I can't see a thing. I'll open this one'."

Damn. I can’t believe the Sumerians were onto meme humor before we ever invented memes. They were in the Galaxy brain over there in the land before time, holy crap. Depositing their memes knowing that 7,000 years later mankind would look at the world’s first joke and be like “I don’t get it!” while all the millennials and zoomers with our MB of nonsense memes on our phones are like “No. I get it.” Good on you Sumerians, that is freakin the best joke ever made. 7000 years to get to the punch line of confusing the hell out of all us. Bless.

They promptly tell Miho that everything was resolved and that she should go to bed and she was like “Cool!” and exited stage left. Bye, I guess. Anzu also went home, but she didn’t have to be tricked into doing it, she just went the hell to bed.

(PS, I just realized that if I want to write less...I should probably not look up Wikipedia articles about the world’s first ever bar joke. But y’all, habits die so freakin hard, and I just feel like it’s very pertinent to this Yugioh recap, although I know it’s really not.)

Yuugi and Honda decide to visit the warehouse and harass Jounouchi. In the context of the show, they’re going out of their way to pull their best friend out of society’s systemic downward pull of a life of crime and most likely turning into exactly like his Father. But, the way that it’s storyboarded makes it look a lot like these kids just show up out of the corner and this gang was like “Damn it, again? OMG small children, please leave us alone!”

Honda hands over the symbolism sash, to which Jounouchi symbolically says “Nyeh.”

And Honda didn’t take it very well.

After tending to his kidneys for a little while, Honda decided to go back at it again at the Krispy Cream and do some sort of insane parkour over this completely ordinary fence.

Ah, the very first instance of real duel law where you duel over a relationship. In later seasons duel law is invoked for things like Mai’s marriage and the right to date Tea (and then just kind of forgetting you ever won the right to date Tea twice). But to think the very first time was Honda dueling for the right of Jounouchi to be part of nerd gang because Jounouchi had fallen to the dark side yo-yo gang across the street run by some 40 year old man with blue hair.

How many times is Honda gonna fight with a broom? Like are they just magnetized to his location? where are they even coming from?

Freakin janitor powers over here, put him in a Final Fantasy style RPG. I want to see what his limit break would be.

Not like it matters, because Hirotani very quickly explains why these yo-yo’s are at all a threat.

Which honestly shouldn’t be...so lethal? Seems like the weight is all you need, not really the spikes. But it’s at least stronger than Honda’s janitor stuff.

Unfortunate for Honda that he just destroyed an antique.

So with lightning reflexes, Yuugi does what he does most:

The death yo-yo ricochets back and does this little itty bitty scrape to this guy’s face and he’s real bothered by it. Although it’s like...well dude, you’re a 50 year old high schooler, I don’t think people will notice the scrape compared to everything else falling apart in your life.

And so then the Yugioh Season Zero team was like “oh shoot is it time to torture Yuugi???” and they got hella excited.

Like I thought it was just Yuugi’s class that were a bunch of disturbing criminal disasters, but I guess it’s the whole city. Like...was Yuugi’s class the good school?

I mean, it can’t be, there’s no way...

but like...is there a good school in this universe? How does anyone survive till graduation? If you so much as disgrace a yo-yo, you will get the torture treatment that I sure did expect in Yakuza games, but not so much in Yugioh, tbh.

Just a reminder: This is the third time we’ve beat up Yuugi this episode. Within the first meeting of Yuugi and Hirotani, he beat the tar out of Yuugi within eye shot of Jounouchi. So like...Jounouchi was reallllllllllllllllly lax on that deal, right? Like...he took his toot sweet time to realize “yeah this just ain’t ever gonna happen.”

And then the yo-yo wars begin.

Just like Solid Snake crawling through the radiation chamber.

Hirotani throws his Fyper-yoyo, Jounouchi intercepts with his Eireboy, and Hirotani’s completely terrible yo-yo just flies off the string again because Hirotani should have just sticked to using his fists. No wonder they wanted to recruit Jounouchi so badly, their yo-yo game is so off.

We never get a door to darkness in this episode, dipping our enemies into mind horrors. Instead, we get home-alone style traps. But, this makes sense. Not only do the show makers have to make Yuugi avoid solving problems with magic in front of Jounouchi, they also have to make it Jounouchi’s choice to leave Hirotani behind. If Yuugi did it for him in like...some sort of duel law situation...then that sort of leaves out Jounouchi’s choice in the equation.

Not like this ever really comes up in later seasons, since who even follows through with duel law and marries Mai? But like, it does feel like Season Zero calls out the later Seasons a bit in this regard. Honda got beat up because he tried to win Jounouchi back by force (or game, I guess.) That was just another form of coercion on the heels of Hirotani’s. What Jounouchi actually needed was to make his own decision to leave.

...most other anime I’d be like “I’m sure that’s just a translation error” but not this one.

So Yuugi runs to the roof where Jounouchi will never see this.

My audible sigh reading this line about fight club roof.

These stupid gang members went into Yuugi’s native territory, not just a fight club roof, but on a warehouse? They were dead before they arrived.

This was like maybe 3 frames of animation in just rapid succession, it was pretty silly and good.

Reminder that like 4 minutes ago, Yuugi was about to get like executed on a meat hook.

Speaking of getting executed on a meathook:

Hope you like the idea of glass in your eyes, because this anime’s got it.

They chase Yuugi around, in a sequence that was done mostly to conserve frames, so you rarely saw the ground until this shot:

Lots of falling down this episode, but unlike Tea, who fell from a warehouse ceiling once and just kind of rubbed her ass after and was like “ah damn it.” these guys won’t come out of it virtually unscathed.

Also, Honda is here now:

Jumping off of his symbolic sash trapeze, he decides to do in Hirotani for good.

Hey so like...walk the dog is a fairly gentle walk that a yo-yo does slowly on the ground right?

Just pointing out how sensitive Hirotani’s fingies are.

And he...didn’t appear to be dead, so I don’t have to add to the bodycount...but it’s gonna be a real long road for recovery.

And now, with the gang back together Jounouchi is back at school knee deep in make up assignments he’ll probably completely ignore since we know that in a years time, these fools are going to be trapped on Pegasus’ island, and at that point school will be just that place you talk about when you try to remember why you’re friends with Bakura.

---hey aren’t those chairs attached to the desks?

Because...holy crap, Anzu.

Honestly this is what you see before you die, but I guess Jounouchi died off screen after the episode ended, so I don’t have to add him to the deathcount (again). RIP.

Alright! That took like...8 tries to get Tumblr to save this one, but it managed! (well...I guess “managed” isn’t the word you’d use for a typing program that takes 8 tries to save)

Next time, we’ll be back to S5, for an arc I’ve heard is kind of boring. We’ll see. If it truly is, I can condense episodes into fewer posts. Or maybe it’s a secret gem? I guess we shall see.

And if you just got here this is a link to read all the Season Zero recaps from the start:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yuugi-muto/chrono

(there’s also a link to read all the Yugioh posts we wrote from the start in chrono order but straight up, this file won’t freakin save, and I just can’t even will myself to look up that link again. It’s on the home page of this blog on the right.)

#YGO #yugioh #yu gi oh #Yuugi Muto #Jounouchi #Honda #Anzu #Miho #yo yo gang #Hirotani #Yuugi and the gang do serious property damage

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Gavin’s Same Path Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Gavin’s Qixi Collection: Date / Call 1 ♡ / Call 2 / Records / Event / Special Call

Legend has it that the Qilin is a lucky beast. If you can obtain a Qilin, all bad luck will be eliminated.

MC: Does the Qilin really exist...

Before me is a towering mountain. I’ve walked for four days and four nights in order to get here.

The elder of the temple had pointed to this mountain on a map and told me that if I crossed this path, I’d be able to see a Qilin.

MC: May the gods bless me, that I may find the Qilin soon. Otherwise...

I take a deep breath, entering this legendary mystical mountain.

The mountain is incredibly quiet and deep, and it looks as though no one has ever visited.

After exerting much strength, I only manage to climb halfway. I lean against a tree and gasp for breath, patting my grumbling stomach.

MC: So hungry... and I’ve finished the food I brought...

When I raise my head, I see something gleaming not too far away. Curious, I walk over.

MC: It’s a pond!

Schools of red carp swim unhurriedly in the clear water.

MC: Great! I wouldn’t have to worry about being hungry now!

I carefully bunch up my skirt, stepping barefoot into the stream.

There used to be a small stream in the village where I would often fish. My skills can finally come in handy.

Sunlight wisps down the shadows of trees. In the cool water, I hold my breath and bend down, stealthily approaching a fish which is swimming slowly.

Plong--

A small stone flies through the air and pelts into the water. The fish disappears in an instant.

MC: !

MC: Where did that stone come from?

I scan my surroundings, but fail to find anything out of the ordinary.

Not giving much thought to it, I once again focus on my grand undertaking of catching a fish.

Another red carp swims over to my feet lazily. Perhaps due to the sparse number of visitors, these fish aren’t very wary of humans.

MC: Since you bumped into me yourself, you can’t blame me.

I stretch out my hands joyfully, the tip of my nose almost smelling the scent of grilled fish.

Plong--

With another soft sound, a stone accurately plops near my feet, channelling a wave of ripples.

The red carp immediately swims away.

MC: Who is it?!

I turn around angrily, certain that someone is causing trouble for me.

The trees in the mountain are lush, and everything is so calm and quiet that even the sound of a falling leaf can be heard clearly.

MC: You better show yourself obediently. When I catch you, you’re doomed!

I roll up my sleeves fiercely, preparing to return to the shore. However, I end up stepping into mud.

MC: !

My body lurches forward. In the middle of my panic, I see a white figure flashing across the green mountains and forests.

The bamboo forest sways, and a soft robe brushes across my cheek. My waist is held firmly by a pair of arms.

At this moment, my five senses are amplified. Water flows underneath my feet, and I smell a clear and cold breath. I blink, shifting the sleeves away from my face.

And I meet a pair of amber eyes.

The wind coursing through the South Mountain, the leaves falling into the pond, and thousands of sceneries all pause before him, becoming accompaniments to his wilful eyes.

MC: ...who are you?

??: The person you were looking for just now.

He places me on the shore before looking me up and down.After verifying that I’m harmless, he turns around to leave.

MC: Hey, young gentleman.

[Trivia] MC calls him 公子 (“gong zi”), which typically refers to a pampered son of a wealthy family.

I stop him.

MC: Thank you for just now!

??: It was no trouble. There’s no need for thanks.

MC: Are you looking for the Qilin too?

??: No.

His response is short, but he suddenly pauses in his steps after brushing past me.

??: You're injured.

MC: Hm?

Following his line of sight, I discover that the sole of my foot had been cut by something at some point, and is currently bleeding.

MC: It hurts!

??: ...you didn’t seem to feel it just now.

MC: It suddenly started hurting once you mentioned it.

??: ...

He squats down, signalling that I should show him my calf.

MC: Young gentleman, you-

While checking my wound, he interrupts me.

??: My name is Gavin.

He applies some medicinal herbs. When he lifts his head to look at me, the gold coloured ornament used to tie his hair glints with a brilliant light.

Gavin: I’m not called “young gentleman”.

Once my wound has been wrapped, Gavin stands and casts me a glance.

Gavin: The water here has poison in it. If you aren’t careful, the poison will spread even further. Even though your wound isn’t serious, it’s better to rest for a while before moving again.

MC: All right... um... Gavin.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: Why didn’t you let me catch the fish here?

Gavin: All the living creatures on this mountain have a certain spirituality. It’s best not to disturb them.

MC: But...

I can’t help but swallow my saliva, rubbing my stomach which has been starving since this morning. I raise my head and toss Gavin a pitiful glance.

MC: You can’t bear to see these spiritual fish get eaten, but you can bear to see an innocent young lady starve to death on this deep mountain?

Gavin: ...

Gavin: You can choose to leave this place.

Rays of light break free from the dense leaves, illuminating Gavin’s face.

Gavin: There’s a village not far from the bottom of the mountain. Head down the mountain now, and you should make it in time for dinner.

Gavin’s indifferent expression tells me that I wouldn’t get to eat grilled fish today.

MC: Sigh, I guess there’s no other choice then.

I scan my surroundings, then bend down to pluck a dandelion. I eat the dandelion puff, and a faint sweet scent of greenery diffuses in the air.

Gavin’s eyebrows arch upwards involuntarily, and shock flashes in his eyes.

Gavin: Human... [coughs], why do you eat everything?

MC: It’s nothing to fuss about. You don’t allow me to catch fish, so I have no choice but to pluck these dandelions to eat. This much is allowed, right?

There are many dandelions in the area behind Gavin. Perhaps this mountain is truly filled with aura. They are much bigger than normal dandelions.

MC: It’s not convenient for me to move with my leg in this state. Could you help me pluck a few? They’re just behind you.

I lean over to point, but Gavin suddenly turns his head, finally looking at me seriously for the first time.

Gavin: Are you sure you want to stay here?

MC: Of course. I already said that I'm here to look for the Qilin. I won’t leave until I find it.

Gavin lowers his eyes slightly and looks at me, a few strands of hair falling on the side of his face.

Gavin: These are not the only edible things on the mountain. Once your leg recovers, I’ll take you to find other kinds of food. By then, if you still want to search for the Qilin, I’ll bring you there.

MC: Are the fruits on this tree green plums?

Looking at the tree filled with green plums, I turn around excitedly and ask.

[Trivia] Plums symbolise perseverance, hope, and beauty thriving in adversity. As plum trees blossom between two seasons, it is also seen as a symbol of spring - bringing warmth, transition, and the promise of fruitfulness.

Slight hesitation flashes across Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: They should be.

He reaches out, plucks a few, and hands them to me.

Gavin: Try it.

Not putting much thought into it, I take the fruit from his hand. After wiping it on my sleeve, I take a bite.

MC: Oo!

Gavin: How is it?

MC: It’s so sour!

I cover my face to hide my expression, which I’ve lost control of due to the sourness of the fruit. I splutter, making “pooh, pooh” sounds.

MC: This fruit is obviously not ripe yet!

A smile flashes in Gavin’s eyes, but he conceals it with a cough.

Gavin: Is it very sour?

He holds up a fruit and gives it a bite. Then, he nods.

Gavin: It is pretty sour.

MC: ...

My eyes trail from the silver coloured patterns on his clothes to the expensive-looking jade ring on his waist. I sigh knowingly.

MC: So you’re truly a son from a noble family. Just from a glance, I can already tell you haven’t gone through many troubles in life.

I mutter softly, and Gavin casts a glance at me.

Gavin: What did you say?

MC: Ah, nothing much.

He looks exquisite - probably a noble son from a family near the mountain, which explains why he doesn’t have experience differentiating sweet and sour fruits.

I raise the green fruit in front of Gavin, and speak in a serious tone.

MC: These types of green, hard fruits are not ripe. You can’t eat them. Next time, don’t eat them by mistake. They’re really sour.

With an exaggerated expression, I spend a long time explaining this to Gavin.

Gavin watches me. Sunlight pours down on us, illuminating his smiling side profile.

Gavin: Mm, I got it.

His eyes seem to contain the entire amber of summer. Even if he simply looks at me with a glance as light as the wind and clouds, it’s enough for me to get lost in them.

MC: Gavin, why did you agree to look for the Qilin?

Gavin: You’re very persistent.

Gavin: I’ve never met someone who would put so much effort into a legend, so... persistent.

For some reason, Gavin’s face turns a faint red when he says this.

MC: Your face seems to have turned red?

Gavin: You misperceived.

He coughs, then turns his head slightly.

Gavin: I remember that in the legend, only people who have crossed the Southern Border at the top of the mountain can find the Qilin.

MC: Mm, that’s right. But this legend is only found in the ancient books of the temple. How did you know about this?

Gavin doesn’t respond, walking in front of me.

Gavin: I’m the only one who is familiar with this terrain. Let’s go, I’ll take you to the top of the mountain.

MC: We should be reaching soon, right? We've been walking for so long.

Gavin: It will be in front after we cross this mountain stream.

With the tips of his toes, Gavin flies across the river surface, leaving me stunned at the other side of the river.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: ...have you ever considered that not everybody has your skills. For example, me.

Separated by the swift current and steep rocks, Gavin and I look at each other.

Finally, Gavin reaches out his hand to me.

Gavin: I’ll catch you from here. You just have to take the first step.

MC: Y-you said it. You definitely have to catch me.

Trembling, I take the first step. My toes touch a stone in the water.

Gavin stands on the other side of the river, maintaining his posture of reaching out to me. Separated by the water, his gaze gives me an incomparable peace of mind.

At this moment, the stone underneath my foot starts to loosen.

MC: Ah-

I frantically attempt to stabilise myself, but lose my balance and am about to fall into the water.

Gavin: [in the gentlest of gentle voices] Don’t panic.

Along with his voice, he stands on the stone in the middle of the river, wrapping me entirely in his arms.

MC: Phew... that scared me.

Gavin: Are you very frightened?

I look up from his arms, and see an almost-smirk on his face.

MC: Such a deep river - it’d be strange if I wasn’t frightened.

Gavin: I see.

MC: Huh?

Gavin: You have been pulling on my clothes. And you haven’t loosened your grip even till now.

Only now do I realise that both my hands are gripping onto Gavin’s clothes tightly. Because of the amount of force exerted, his clothes have gotten ruffled, revealing his nice chest.

I hurriedly avert my eyes, my face turning red.

MC: [coughs] That is... I’m sorry.

I hurriedly retract my hands, following Gavin as we step onto the final path.

Gavin: We’re here. This is the other side of the mountain.

Gavin turns around. The look in his eyes carry a certain peace and quiet, as though he has known the answer from the start.

Gavin: Looking at this, are you disappointed?

At the other side of the mountain, there isn’t a Qilin beast. There isn’t even a pathway.

What’s in front of me is a cliff of ten thousand feet. An ancient wind brushes past my dress, as though mocking humans for overestimating their strength.

MC: So, a legend is just a legend...

While I speak, a sudden wave of dizziness overcomes me. My vision becomes blurry, and even Gavin turns into several shadows.

I try to stabilise myself, but countless images of dandelions appear in front of my eyes. I suddenly recall the dandelion I ate in the afternoon.

MC: Gavin... I think the dandelions here are poisonous...

Before I can finish speaking, I feel like a bow snapped into two. Suddenly, I fall off the side of the cliff.

The howling wind sweeps past my ears. My arms hit the sharp rocks, drawing long streaks of blood.

The sky grows increasingly distant, and there’s a burgeoning fear in my heart.

Gavin: Hold onto me tightly!

Suddenly, a white figure steps off the cliff, catching me while I’m in the abyss.

MC: Gavin...

Under the Baizhang Cliff, the hand Gavin holds mine with is searing and powerful.

But my eyes involuntarily fall onto the horns that have appeared on his forehead.

They are golden coloured, and have an ornamentation I have never seen before.

I clearly remember what was written in the ancient books of the temple--

In the South Mountain, the Qilin appears from the cliffs. The Qilin has horns on its forehead. It circles the clouds, and the world is peaceful.

It turns out I had already found the Qilin from the very start.

Gavin: It’s okay now. I’ll bring you up.

Gavin carries me up into the clouds. I feel the poison spreading in my body, and I'm unable to make a sound. I lean into Gavin’s arms and lose consciousness.

By the time I wake up, the moon is already at its peak. I open my eyes, and what I see is clothing with silver patterns.

MC: !!!

I’m sleeping in Gavin’s arms!

Gavin is leaning against a rock, his large clothes wrapping me in his arms.

I turn my head slightly. His hand is supporting the back of my head, and he looks to be in a light sleep.

My movements cause him to stir. A pair of brilliant eyes, which opened suddenly, look into mine.

Gavin: Don’t move. Your poison has just been detoxified.

His voice sounds a little weak.

I touch his hand, and it’s extremely cold.

MC: Gavin, were you the one who detoxified the poison?

Gavin: It happened too suddenly. I gave you my blood to drink.

His right hand is hidden under his large sleeve, and I can only see some traces of blood.

His face is as pale as snow, and I feel worried.

MC: How... much blood did you let me drink? Why is your face so pale?

Gavin looks at me, revealing a slightly resigned smile in his eyes.

Gavin: Not much. I have a unique physical state, so my wounds don’t heal easily. It’s difficult to stop the bleeding.

So what’s written in the ancient books is true. While the Qilin is a harbinger of auspiciousness, it also bears the consequence - the slightest wound would lead to unstoppable bleeding.

Even though he already knew this would happen, he still helped me detoxify the poison, even though we simply met by chance.

Noise resounds from beneath the mountain, and several flaming torches gather on the mountain path.

??: There was a sudden golden light on this mountain today. The Qilin must have appeared! This time, we must definitely find it. Only then can we save our village!

Hearing this, I’m shocked.

The people from the temple arrived so quickly...

As the lights linger, Gavin straightens up, his eyes cold.

Looking at his pale complexion and the traces of blood on his sleeve, I block his path.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: I know that you’re the Qilin.

I stare straight at Gavin.

Gavin: So?

Several images flash across my mind--

The moment he flew down and carried me in his arms. The seriousness on his face when he squatted down and tended to my wound. The cold wind under the steep cliff...

MC: So, let me help you.

Gavin lowers his eyes slightly and looks at me, a complex emotion in his eyes.

Gavin: I don’t need your help. Those mortals at the foot of the mountain were sent by the temple. They have always been searching for the Qilin. The scent on your body is the same as theirs. You’re from the temple too, aren’t you.

The trees are silent. The cold moon makes no sound. The god I’ve been searching for is standing before me, robes stained with the heavy night.

Right now, I have so many things to say. But under Gavin’s penetrating gaze, I only convey one thought.

MC: When you rescued me, I decided to stop looking for the Qilin. I... I never wanted to hurt you.

There’s a subtle movement in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

Something occurs to me then, and I can’t help but ask softly.

MC: So from the moment I stepped into this mountain, you already knew who I was... Then why did you still help me find the Qilin? And why did you rescue me? And reveal your real identity in front of me... Weren’t you afraid that I’d be conspiring with them...

Gavin: I wasn’t afraid.

He stares at me. His pale face doesn’t hide his sarcasm.

Gavin: For thousands of years, you weren’t the only one to climb the mountain in search of the Qilin. But no one ever found it. Why do you think this is so?

His eyes cut through the night and pause on my face. His tone is calm.

Gavin: Taking you to look for the Qilin was merely to let you lose hope early and return home. Revealing my true identity in front of you later on... that was something I didn’t expect.

In that moment, I understand everything.

As long as he doesn’t take the initiative to get close to humans, even if thousands and ten thousands of years pass, no one will be able to find the Qilin.

A god who could have chosen to hide away had rescued me multiple times. He saved me - someone who was looking for him as well.

The thoughts in my heart become increasingly resolute. I meet Gavin’s eyes and say firmly.

MC: Since that’s the case, let me help make the Qilin remain a legend forever.

Gavin is slightly shocked, but he quickly turns his head, rejecting me.

Gavin: No. If you help me, the people from the temple will make things difficult for you.

MC: That wouldn’t happen. I’m the temple elder’s only direct disciple. I have a pretty high position, so no one will make things difficult for me. As long as I say that I couldn’t find the Qilin, they will leave.

I pat my shoulder, pretending that it would be an easy feat.

With my slightly anxious expression, Gavin finally agrees.

Gavin: All right. I trust you. But you have to guarantee your own safety.

I nod vigorously.

He takes off the jade ring on his waist and places the warm and clean jade ornament into my hand.

Gavin: No matter what, this time, you’re the one saving me. If there are any wishes you want fulfilled, just shatter it, and I will appear.

Gavin’s eyes are searing, and his tone is serious.

Gavin: Trials and hardships are inevitable.

I keep the jade ornament. As the noises draw closer, I take a few steps forward, but can’t help tossing a final glance at Gavin.

He looks at me from afar under the moonlight. The bamboo leaves are flying, softening his outline.

[Trivia] In ancient China, jade was worth more than gold. It’s more a symbol of virtue than a mere accessory. Jade is believed to bring people good luck, and protect its owner.

I walk out of the forested area and see the people from the temple.

People from the temple: MC! How was it? Have you been to the top of the mountain? Did you see the Qilin?

Hidden under my sleeve, I grip the jade ring tightly. I pretend to look extremely disappointed.

MC: I didn’t... there’s only a cliff at the top of the mountain, and nothing else.

People from the temple: A cliff! The records in the ancient books were actually wrong?

I never tell lies, so they accept this information easily. However, the person standing at the forefront suddenly turns to me, his tone serious.

Person: MC, the elder already said that if we can’t find the Qilin, you will have to be the Guardian of the temple. You will have to bless the village day and night in the temple. Do you remember that?

I nod slowly.

MC: I remember.

When we leave, I turn back towards the mountain.

MC: In the future, in this lifetime, we will probably not have the chance to meet again. Take care, Gavin.

Once we return, I’m locked in the temple.

A long time passed after that, and I got used to being accompanied by ancient books from the temple every day.

Outside the window, the moonlight is slightly cool. I retrieve the jade ornament, looking at it closely under the moonlight.

MC: I wonder how Gavin is doing now...

There is a sudden gust of wind. I hurry to close the window, and the jade ornament I left at the side gets blown to the ground, shattering into two halves.

MC: Why is it broken!

I hastily reach out to pick up the jade ring, but the wind has become so strong that I can no longer move.

The wind grows increasingly louder, causing leaves to rustle. Before my eyes, a gigantic golden mark suddenly appears.

It appears one stroke at a time, and looks very ostentatious.

The wind chimes under the eaves make a final sound, bringing with it the faraway echo from the distant valley.

Gavin: It’s finally broken.

I lift my head in shock.

The crescent moon hangs in the sky. The wide leaves on the ancient trees sway with a cold shadow.

A youth dressed in white leans against the eaves, a wine flask casually placed on his curved leg. His head tilts as he looks at me.

His other hand holds onto the shattered jade ring.

Gavin: Have you thought of a wish?

Stunned, my head looks towards the man underneath the moon.

MC: Gavin...

With a soft laugh, Gavin tilts his head upwards and finishes the wine in his hand. Then, he flies down in front of me.

Gavin: Mm, it’s me.

He looks me up and down, then furrows his brows slightly.

Gavin: You’ve been locked in?

MC: Mm... not really. There was a flood disaster. I failed to bring the Qilin back to eliminate bad luck, so I have to be in the temple to use my power and pray for the village.

Gavin: Back then, on the mountain, you didn’t tell me that you’d be confined once you came back.

MC: That’s because I was worried you wouldn’t let me help if I mentioned it...

Gavin watches me silently. Moonlight, like a light summer breeze, falls on the corners of his eyes and brows.

Gavin: Why would you help me when you would be locked up? Simply because I rescued you?

MC: Isn’t such a reason enough?

Gavin: It’s not enough. You sacrificed your freedom. It’s too heavy a price to pay.

Gavin’s eyes are incomparably clear and bright. The gaze of his lowered eyes appear as though he’s looking at me for the very first time.

Gavin: Why would you do it?

Gavin’s face is illuminated by the candlelight. His gaze brings with it persistence, and also warmth.

The wind flips through pages of a book on the table. A little panicked, I hold up the book to cover my face, wanting to conceal the inexplicable emotions in my heart.

MC: T-there’s no reason. I just didn’t want you to be discovered by them.

With his line of sight blocked by the book, Gavin doesn’t speak. After a long time, his voice sounds in the quietness.

Gavin: “A handful of firewood is tied together, and the stars in the sky are shining. What kind of night is tonight? Can I see my beloved?”

[Trivia] I provided a very loose translation of what Gavin says, which is: 绸缪束薪, 三星在天, 今夕何夕, 见此良人.

It’s part of a poem from 诗经 (”shi jing” - “the book of songs”)

There are split views on what this poem means, but many scholars believe this poem celebrates a wedding, where both parties are teasing each other in the bridal chamber.

MC: !

I hurriedly set down the book, and realise Gavin is slowly reciting the poem on the page I accidentally flipped open.

MC: ...if you know the meaning of it, then read it to somebody else.

Gavin leans against the window, his eyes shifting from the book to me.

The night is beautiful, and the galaxy seems to be within reach.

Gavin: Of course I do. But you moved too quickly, and I didn’t get to see the next line. What is the next line?

He has a serious expression on his face, as though he genuinely wants to know what the next line is, and nothing more.

It was just a random poetry collection I had read when I was bored. To think the wind would blow the pages to this particular one...

This is a poem written for a lover. And I’ve never read it to anyone before.

A corner of my heart feels a slight tug. I don’t dare to look at Gavin’s face. With my eyes lowered, I recite softly--

MC: "I want to ask you - how does one kiss this beloved person?”

[Trivia] This is very loose translation of what MC says, which is: 子兮子兮，如此良人何?

As mentioned earlier, this poem is meant to convey the warm, sweet love between newlyweds.

I feel a sudden, gentle touch on my forehead. Widening my eyes, I lift my head and watch as Gavin takes the book and looks at me with a bright smile.

Gavin: Your wish - I have heard it clearly. Wait for me.

It has been several days since Gavin left.

I heard that an oracle spoke to the elder of the temple one night, and he released me.

As such, I am no longer locked up in the temple, and only have to make blessings at the temple from time to time.

But one thing has been out of the ordinary.

MC: No way, I just wanted to plant some flowers. Why did I dig out gold?

Weakly, I pick up the gold piece. This has happened numerous times.

Ever since Gavin and I parted, I tend to meet with “good luck”.

While I’m looking at the gold piece in distress, I hear a commotion from afar.

??: The flood has subsided! The flood has subsided!

The elderly woman from next door is walking back from the field, her face filled with unparalleled joy.

MC: Granny Tian, what happened?

Granny Tian: MC, the flood has subsided!

MC: What?!

Granny Tian: It must be the protection from the gods. Last night, a gigantic rock suddenly fell from the South Mountain, forcing the river to change course. Because of this, the flood is gone!

MC: South Mountain... the river changing course... could it be Gavin?

Granny Tian: What? Who’s Gavin?

I immediately find an excuse as a cover.

Not long after, the village hosted a grand festival to commemorate the resolution of the flood.

I walk into the crowd wearing a white curtain hat, and I can see joyful faces and blooming fresh flowers.

The weather is fine, and dandelion flowers are floating in the wind.

On the altar of the temple, the elders have completed the sacrificial ceremony. A few young women wearing curtain hats are rushing to the altar. After placing all kinds of personal items on it, they pray devoutly.

This is a very ancient custom. It is said that on this day of the festival, the gods will hear the voices from mortals.

Which is why females like praying to the gods on this day in hopes of obtaining their beloved.

Young lady: With blessings from the gods, may I meet the husband I am longing for...

After observing for a while on a lower platform, I’m just about to turn around and leave when a young lady calls out to me from the altar.

Young lady: Sister MC! You’re from the temple, so your prayers will definitely be effective. This is a rare festival - why not give it a try as well?

MC: I...

Although I initially want to refuse, the encouragement from the women nearby leaves me no choice but to step up to the altar in resignation.

I place the shattered jade ring on the altar, close my eyes, and make a pious prayer.

MC: May my homeland experience good weather from now onwards, and may my loved ones be together. May... my beloved person live a safe and smooth, worry-free life.

Suddenly, a faraway wind courses past, stirring my heart.

The wind pauses before me, then envelops me, lifting me up gently.

A huge, golden coloured mark appears in the air. This time, I can see the pattern clearly.

It’s a Qilin, surrounded by auspicious clouds.

At some point in time, Gavin has appeared in the air, his white clothes making a rustling sound, like a god descending from the heavens.

The young women standing near the altar look towards Gavin, utterly flabbergasted. Then, they hastily kneel on the ground, trembling while asking with excitement.

Young lady: Great god, have you graced our mortal realm after hearing our calls?

Gavin’s eyebrows arch upwards, and his lips curl into a smile.

Gavin: I am not a god. And I didn’t come because I heard a call.

His clothes drift in the air, his hair ornament reflecting a brilliant light.

Gavin: I hurried across the mountains and rivers over a thousand miles, just for one person.

Flowers fall out of my basket, scattering all around.

I fall into Gavin’s embrace. He holds onto me firmly, and I am encased by his clean and cool breath, which brings with it an ancient wind from the mountains.

My curtain hat is blown up by the wind. I frantically reach out for it. When I turn my head, I see Gavin’s smile.

Gavin: The flood has been resolved. Your mission is completed.

I nod my head nervously. Gavin sees this and lets out a laugh.

Gavin: Do you still remember the wish you made that night?

I look into Gavin’s charming eyes, my heart beating like a drum.

MC: I remember. I want to see the views you see, and experience the world you experience. I want... to be by your side.

I once thought my life’s desire was to find the Qilin.

But when I was about to give up, he suddenly fell into my life, carrying the light-filled sky.

At that moment, I was certain that he was a legend belonging only to me.

Gavin stares at me. He suddenly laughs, tapping my forehead gently.

In that instant, golden light weaves around. The auspicious clouds gather, and all the flowers bloom.

Dandelion petals dance in the air. The auspicious clouds accumulate under our feet, and the sound of wind chimes drift from somewhere.

Gavin’s voice dissipates in the air, drifting towards the people on the ground.

Gavin: I helped your village resolve the flood. In return, I will take the most beautiful lady on the altar.

The wind surrounding us causes flower petals to swirl in the air. When the flowers fall and the wind has scattered, two people have vanished from the sky.

A very long time later, a beautiful legend arose in this land.

Legend says that on this big altar, a young lady’s devout prayer drew a god who rode the wind.

The god took the young lady away. In exchange, the land received many years of peace.

Nobody knows what happened to the god and the young lady after that.

But dandelions bloomed and filled the entire mountain.

- End -

...did the dandelions end up outside a certain grandmother’s house in Gavin’s Old Haunt Date? 👀

Phone call: First // Second

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin

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lsobelevans · 3 years

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Horror tropes? In my Roswell, New mexico? It’s more likely than you think!

In this essay I will...

...be mentioning a few horror/thriller movies and while nothing explicitly gory or scary will be shown in this post, those movies definitely contain scenes and themes that can be disturbing/scary/triggering, do your researches if you’ve got doubts!

...be focusing on the Maria and Alex road-trip, from the moment the car breaks down to the last scene with Travis’ twin. I’m probably going to be led to briefly mention the other scenes that are intertwined with this arc (the echo date and the Planet 7 Kyle and Isobel scene, as well as the marlex car drive when I feel like it is relevant).

...be approaching specific themes that are used in the scenes that compose this little arc and also more general ones like sound, editing, cinematography and color.

... be reaching a lot. I do not think everything I will be mentioning is 100% thought-out and voluntary (although you never know). But I’m a firm believer that in filmmaking, yes even inside a CW show, the symbolism comes through subconsciously. So like, maybe they didn’t mean to use corn field as a mark for transition, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that this symbolism works with the story they’re telling and for the journey the characters are in that moment. Additionally, lighting, decor and costumes are always a choice, just like the camera doesn’t position itself randomly, someone’s behind and thinking of the composition of shots that, even if it’s in a basic way, has meaning.

... be starting chronologically but I’ll also make jumps backward and forward, grasping on themes when they come up. Ok, then, let’s dive in!

This episode references and uses a lot of the iconic mechanisms of the horror movie genre. Alex and Maria’s comfortable road trip atmosphere, open hearted conversation in the car, breaks at the same time as the car itself breaks. The camera, steady so far, the shots following a well known pattern of shot/counter-shot, becomes more unpredictable and shakier and suddenly we’re out of the car, and bam, large shot.

From the moment they’re out of the car, you won’t be able to see the horizon. Maria and Alex are stuck in a corn field, and they’re stuck in the frame.

Then poof, Travis appears out of nowhere, accompanied with a pang of music, frightening us and them. Well, more exactly, it cuts on a shot that we’ve seen before without Travis, now with Travis, which gives us the appearing out of nowhere effect.

Alex says it best.

Well now they’re stuck with a strange guy with an axe, and in a corn field 😬

Hey, have you seen he’s got an axe??? or do you need a close-up???

Okay, this scene ends there. So, let’s take a break and talk about cornfields. There’s many examples of horror movies making use of a field of corn as a location, famously Children of the Corn (1984), Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1995) Signs (2002), that last one also involving, you guessed it, aliens.

Screenshots from the Signs trailer.

Corn fields are strongly associated with rurality, especially rural America. More largely, they can represent renewal, fertility or abundance. In the contrary, they can be seen as a very ominous location due to their immensity, a labyrinth in which you can’t see very far away and from which you’ll have trouble coming out.

Although I’m pretty sure Maria’s chase in the cornfield is more of a reference to The Shining (1980) it reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies Tom à la ferme (2013), in which Tom is basically held hostage in rural Canada. The corn field chase is a turning point, the last of Tom's attempts to escape.

Cornfields apparently also often imply scarecrows, which are inherently scary in my opinion but we’ll talk about it more later.

The next scene takes place inside of Travis' cabin.

The lighting here is pretty low, the light coming from a few small sources, creating a lot of shadows. The main color is a greenish/yellow which can be associated with nature and earth, rurality, dirty, suffocating. If we look at it, the color scheme of the entire road trip is very much following this pattern of browns/yellows/greens because of the cornfield and the color of the characters costumes (the exception being Maria’s truck which is a bright red). In opposition, the scenes that are intertwined are either blue and orange for Max and Liz or a lot of pink/blues/purples for Isobel and Kyle in planet 7 (bi bi bi).

The cabin is messy, supposedly reflecting the state of the owner’s mind. We get a nice close-up on meat + a knife and all of the creepy skins on the walls. Also, it’s noticeable that from this moment on, the camera is shakier, we experience different angles too.

We are given many visual clues that something is wrong.

I’m gonna pass on the sound of the sound of the cow parodying a werewolf + the vampire diaries inside joke.

Btw, if the fact that Travis names his cows -- that he skins for a living -- like human women isn’t enough for you to think mmmm. we are in danger. Well, don’t worry. The cw spells it out for you!!

We know Alex! We got contextual clues!

Right after this, Alex and Maria make another direct reference to being in a horror movie situation.

ALEX: This is why I don’t like horror films. The gay guy always dies first.

MARIA: ????

ALEX: Or... second. Okay, that’s fair. That look, that’s fair.

I think this bit is interesting, because not only does it denounce an horror movie cliché (the black person of the cast dies first, the queer person is second) but also in this situation I believe it can be see as kind of a callout on the fandom’s behavior that i’m not gonna spell out for you but yeah. Fellow queer people, don’t forget you’re not the only one who is sometimes badly/unfairly represented.

Moving on. In the next scene, Alex is searching the cabin for clues, and we are also given some about Travis.

Either he has a twin brother or he’s got a framed picture of himself on his wall. Oh, and he’s military.

Then Travis startles Alex and plays a little bit of banjo, which is a good excuse to stop and talk about music. The show uses a lot of diegetic music aka music that is present in the universe of the story, that the characters can also hear. It justify the use of said music and it ties the audio with the picture.

The banjo already is heard at the very beginning of the arc during a cut from the planet 7 scene to the road trip scene. We get a few notes that indicate a change of scenery and that helps smooth up the transition, and I’m pretty sure it was also supposed to be diegetic music coming from Maria’s radio. The banjo, like the corn field, is super linked with rurality and rural America (again!)

Another reference of the banjo in horror/thriller would be Deliverance (1972).

youtube

I can’t not think of this movie when I hear banjo unfortunately.

The way Travis plays, aggressively bad, and while singing I Think We’re Alone Now, is supposed to make you think about that scene in The Umbrella Academy be quite unsettling, another point for isolation horror.

So sweet of Travis to attack Alex with a guitar, and then a smol knife, and not with the axe <3.

Then we’ve got a traveling zoom-in (or equivalent I’m not sure it isn’t a steady-cam here but the effect is the same) on Maria. This kind of effect can feel a little bit over-the-top and dramatic, in a old genre movie kind of way. It is usually used to bring the audience in, make it feel like you’re evolving in the same universe as the characters (here you’re walking toward Maria). In a scene where you should feel scared, it can be a mean to make you feel more engaged, as well as underlining Maria’s expression, her fear. In my opinion, this is also a way to tell you that from now on, Maria is the main character of this arc, the one that you will be following after the commercial break (that occurs right after) and making it more suspenseful.

The scene after the break is the start of the corn-field chase. Travis steps out of the cabin, the cuts are faster, many close-shots, some even out of focus, that accelerate the rhythm, and a long fade-in of a new song: a modern, electronic song (Kim Petra’s Close You Eyes) completely in opposition with the acoustic banjo and with the atmosphere of the scene, which makes it strange and makes you think oh, what a weird choice! (at least it did for me lol). The lyrics, however, go very well with the scene.

I feel it coming on You've got nowhere to run There's no way you'll make it out alive

Yep.

We find out right after that the music is in fact diegetic but for Isobel and Kyle, it’s another use of music to ease a transition between 2 scenes that are different in every possible way.

Now, the corn-field chase. As I mentioned before, I believe it’s a direct reference to The Shining’s ending chase scene where Jack Torrance chases his son Danny through a vegetal labyrinth with an axe.

From the shots to the lighting (from behind or on the side, making the characters look like silhouettes) both scenes are very similar. Also, Travis is styled like Jack Nicholson ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh look, Michael’s here to save the day!

Oh well, guess not.

Yeah, in this scene, and like we’ve been shown before, Maria is going to be the one that saves everyone. The racist cliché of the black character dying first in a horror movie is reversed, Maria is the last one standing. The scarecrow (that looked conveniently a lot like Maria) is supposed to play in favor of the bad guy, it’s a scary element, creating confusion and unease, but here the character decides to basically take it into her own hands and bend the rules. This character says i’m not that archetype, and she’s going to be using the horror movie tools against itself.

Lastly, the final horror movie recurring theme that I’m going to talk about is the twin/the double.

Yes, twins is a spooky tool used in horror movie because their similarities make them unsettling, uncanny.

There’s also the idea that if one were to replace the other, you wouldn’t be able to tell. The impostor is a very scary concept that Roswell has also dealt with before.

I can’t be the only one that has been traumatized by that halloween special of the Simpsons where Bart has an evil twin...

It’s the last twist of the arc, there is a bad!Travis and a good!Travis. The bad one kept the other locked-up somewhere and had taken his place.

It’s particularly interesting for Roswell that has a history with twins/doppelgänger, and that since the original show. It is a clear instance of in-world foreshadowing here! (howdy)

My conclusion about all this is that the people who worked on 2x06 had a great time building the episode and it shows, while also making it enjoyable to watch and yeah, we love to see it!

#roswellmarchformeta2021 #rnmmarchformeta2021 #meta #or whatever this is ahah #tw violence #i'm so sorry i'm late for this ;___;#mine*

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ex-vengeancedemon · 3 years

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A Night at the Opera

Main Pairing: Cordelia Chase x Winifred Burkle

Characters: Cordelia Chase, Winifred (Fred) Burkle, Charles Gunn, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

Summary: Set after Fred is rescued from Pylea and Angel is gone to grieve Buffy's death. Someone needs to help Fred come out of her shell - her shell being her room. Cordelia was making great progress... until she was hit with another head-splitting vision.

I guess there's a total of like 10 fanfictions on ao3 with this pairing (a shame) so I had to write it myself. Chapter 1 below cut. Read here or on ao3.

Chapter Index (out of 3):

Check Back for Updates

Chapter 1

"So," Gunn said, tapping his fingers on the front desk and looking over his shoulder. "Has she come out at all yet?"

Cordelia looked up from the case file she had been perusing and gave a wane smile. "I think she's making progress. She peaks her head out of her room sometimes now."

"Ah, yes," Wesley said. "Progress indeed."

The truth was that the hotel's new guest had been almost completely confined to her room since Angel had left. It was understandable. Winifred Burkle had been a captive of the dimension, Pylea, for the past 5 years, during which she spent her time living in a cave and writing on the walls. In a way, her room was her new cave... and she had yet to break the whole 'writing on walls' habit. Angel had been her savior, the one she trusted most. And he had left to take some time to... well, to mourn Buffy.

Cordy, Wes, and Gunn had been taking turns delivering food outside her door, primarily tacos. They would knock. She wouldn't answer. And they would leave the food on the floor outside. When they returned to check, the food would be gone. Cordelia had spotted her a few times from down the hall. Just glimpses here and there. Fred was still skittish, even of them.

"She can't stay up there forever," Gunn said, shaking his head. He stopped abruptly, as if reconsidering his prior statement. "She can't. Can she?"

Wesley sighed. "She spent five years in a cave with no plumbing. What's a month in a hotel room?"

Cordelia smiled and raised her pen. "With room service."

Gunn rolled his eyes, his eyes again wandering to the once grand staircase as if Fred might come walking down. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem like isolation is the way to help her reintegrate, you know?"

Wes nodded, but he seemed more focused on searching for a tome on the bookshelf than the conversation at hand. "Agreed."

"Well then," Cordelia said, turning to Gunn. "Why don't you go help reintegrate her then?"

Gunn shook his head. "Can't. Told Rondell I'd help him clean out a vamp nest setting up roots in the neighborhood. Gotta head out in an hour."

"Alright Wes, guess you're up to bat then," Cordelia amended.

"Hmm?" Wesley asked, looking up from a thick text coated in odd runic symbols. "What was that?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes and groaned. "Never mind!"

If you want something done... Guess she would have to be vision girl, office manager, detective, and guide to the newbie. That was fine. She could multitask.

Cordelia stood up from her desk, straightened her case files, and walked up the stairs like she knew exactly what she was going to do when she reached Fred's door.

She didn't.

When she reached Fred's door, she took a deep breath and knocked. Then she waited. And waited. There was no answer. She couldn't even hear any movement on the other side.

"Fred?" Cordy called out through the door. "It's me, Cordelia. Are you in there?"

After a long moment, a quiet voice replied, "Yeah. I'm fine, just fine! Thanks for checking. Bye!"

"Good! That's good!" Cordelia said, registering the jumpiness in her voice. "Can I come in? Maybe we could talk for a bit?"

"Talk? Yes, I've been thinking about the acoustics of the hotel and how the sound wave frequencies often seem to match the resonance of the ventilation system creating the disturbing creaks that seem to be everywhere at once and-" Fred's voice cut off. "Oh... well I suppose that probably wasn't what you wanted to talk about."

Cordelia nodded her head slowly. "Uh...huh... Well, I think the sound waves might travel better if you opened the door."

"Oh, right." Fred chuckled nervously and Cordelia could hear multiple bolts being unlocked.

Fred slowly opened the door a crack and gave a small smile. She pursed her lips and finally opened the door all the way.

Motioning an awkward invitation with her arm, Fred said, "Come in."

Cordelia walked into the dim room with the lights all off and the curtains drawn. She would almost think this was Angel's room given the seeming aversion to the light. However the darkness wasn't the most interesting thing about the room. Neither were the food wrappers that were scattered around on the floor. No, the most interesting thing in the room was the wall. Or rather, the walls. They were covered in hasty scrawl, most of which was impossible to make heads or tails of. Cordelia had no idea what it meant, only that it covered an extensive amount of wall space from the floor to the ceiling.

"Sorry for the mess," Fred said, kicking away a few stray wrappers with a measure of embarrassment. "Wasn't expectin' company."

"No!" Cordy replied, trying her best to sound reassuring. "Really, it's fine. I just came barging in!" She glanced around at the walls. "I love what you've done with the place! Very artsy. Custom wallpaper is all the rage these days."

Fred smiled and looked down at the floor. She seemed like she was trying to make herself smaller, to hide even in plain sight. For someone who was already petite to begin with, she looked downright tiny now.

"I just...," Fred began, "I just have to write it down. Don't wanna forget. To lose it. You know, things get lost. You think it and then it's gone. The electrochemical responses of the brain just don't leave a long enough impression for you to capture it indefinitely and the memory is so fallible and-"

"Fred, Fred," Cordelia cut her off with an empathetic look. "It's okay. You don't have to explain yourself to me. If you want to write on the walls, you write on the walls." Cordelia put up her hands and grinned. "And you know what? If you run out of wall, we can paint the walls and you can start over again."

Finally, Fred laughed. It was a quiet, nervous laugh, but Cordelia could tell it was genuine. She thought it was the first genuine laugh she'd heard Fred make since they met. It was sweet.

"You know I could get you some notebooks though," Cordelia continued. "You know, if you'd like."

"Gee I almost forgot about notebooks," Fred replied, "and pencils. In Pylea, I just used a sharp rock and some cypril powder."

"What's-"

"It's the excrement of-"

Cordelia held up a hand. "Never mind! I'm good."

Fred nodded, unfazed by Cordelia's reaction.

"Do you know when Angel will be back?" Fred asked suddenly. "He's been gone for a long time. You don't think- Well, he is coming back, right? He didn't just leave forever...right?"

Cordelia was taken aback by the anxiety and fear in Fred's voice. She knew they had bonded in Pylea. She may have underestimated just how much.

Cordelia shook her head vigorously. "No, no. Of course, he's coming back! He just needed some time to process and grieve."

"Over Buffy?"

"Yeah." Cordelia frowned, the news of Buffy's death had hit Angel hard. She hoped the meditation was helping him... but she kind of doubted it. "Buffy was his first love. And then she died. And he wasn't there."

Fred bit her cheek. "His first love. Right. That...that makes sense."

Cordelia moved to put a hand on Fred's shoulder, but Fred flinched and pulled away. Cordelia hastily pulled her hand back.

"Don't worry, he'll be back," Cordelia said, trying to reassure with her eyes instead. "I'm sure he's-"

A blinding flash of searing, white hot pain shot its way through Cordelia's head and all the way down her spine. She screamed out and collapsed to the floor, no longer able to see. Her body felt like it was on fire. It was as if she were having a migraine, heart attack, and stroke all at once while simultaneously being hit by a bus, soaked in gasoline, and set on fire. No, it was worse than that.

She could faintly hear Fred somewhere in the distance, but she couldn't make out what she was saying. Then her hearing was overtaken by screams that weren't her own. Flashes of a scene played out before her unseeing eyes. A girl. Brunette, dressed in an unmistakable designer Tommy Hilfiger dress.

Cordelia relayed the specifics through the pain to whoever might be listening. The girl was being chased by a vampire dressed in a suit. In some kind of theatre? Cordelia snapped out of the vision and the pain subsided slightly. It left her exhausted and aching all over.

She blinked a few times as her sight returned. Wesley and Gunn where hovering over her looking concerned. She felt the pillow beneath her head shift and she realized suddenly that her head was resting in Fred's lap. Fred leaned over so Cordelia could see her and brushed some stray hair out of her face.

"Did you guys get all that?" Cordelia asked, closing her eyes as she fought back a wave of nausea.

"Yeah," Gunn replied. "You got anymore information on this theatre?"

Cordelia thought back to the vision, trying to get a feel for it. "Um, definitely upscale. I think it's downtown. It was during a performance. Um, an opera. Aida."

Wesley nodded. "Okay, I'll go see what I can find about a showing of Aida at the downtown theatres. Gunn, I think you have a prior engagement you should be getting to." He then turned back to Cordelia. "We'll be back soon. You should get some rest."

Cordelia nodded and Gunn and Wesley left the room.

"How are you feelin'?" Fred looked down at her with concern, her long brown hair dangling over Cordelia's face. "You really gave me a fright."

Cordelia sighed and closed her eyes again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "The visions can be pretty... well, ugly. But it's over now. I'll be fine."

Fred bit her cheek again. Cordelia didn't think she had quite fooled the surprisingly perceptive physicist. Fred continued to run her fingers over Cordelia's hair in a calming gesture and Cordelia drifted off. She could sleep here... just for a minute.

#ats #angel the series #ats fanfiction #angel the series fanfiction #cordelia chase #winifred burkle #cordelia chase x winifred burkle #winifred burkle x cordelia chase #rare pair #a night at the opera #chapter 1 #masterlist #femslash

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birthdaysentiment · 4 years

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The music in wtFOCK season 3 - Song #28

Vrijdag 21.21 // "Wandering Romance" - Lie Ning (Part One)

There are songs that just leaves an impact on you, songs you'll never forget, songs you'll always remember, and there can be various reasons for that. Maybe the song awoke something inside of you, for example, emotions you didn't know you had, or maybe you felt such a strong connection to the song, because it reminded you of a specific situation in your life. This song is definitely one we'll never forget, because it was used in one of the most memorable clips in season 3. This choice of song couldn't have been more perfect, because it seems like everything - the song, the lyrics and the whole situation - connected on a higher level.

After everything that happened, Robbe and Sander wasn't seeing or talking to each other, they only meet once by accident. However, they had been sending messages to each other here and there, but that only seemed to make the situation more confused and complicated. But earlier that day Robbe made a choice, because he needed to know if it was real between them, if Sander really wanted him. So, he sent Sander an ultimatum, Robbe made him choose, because it was either going to be him, or their relationship would be over for Robbe.

Sander hasn't responded to Robbe's text, and the look on Robbe's face says it all. He's scared and afraid that he might not feel the same way as he does, that Sander doesn't want to be with him despite everything that has happened between them. As Robbe enters the hallway, Sander shows up, and Robbe seems almost paralyzed by his presence. He just looks at him as he walks further towards him, slowly closing the distance between them, but it's not only Robbe's body that's paralyzed, he's also lost for words and he doesn't know what to say. Because Sander showing up could mean that he's there to tell Robbe that he chooses him, or that Sander is there to tell Robbe that it's never going to be the two of them, and that though scares Robbe more than anything.

Sander is now standing in front of Robbe, and the only sound that surrounds them is the silence, a silence that seems almost overwhelming, along with the tension between them, that was so intense. I remember, being afraid to breath, even move, since I didn't want to ruin the moment between them, because at some level, it felt like I was disturbing a very intimate and meaningful moment between Robbe and Sander, especially since the camera was so close to them, making you see and feel every emotion from both of them.

They're just looking at each other, not moving, not talking, just starring into each other's eyes, and it must have felt so intense for both of them, because they hadn't been standing this close for a long time, along with so many unspoken words between them. But Sander came to Robbe for a reason, because as soon as he saw Robbe's message, he knew what he had to do, he knew what he needed to say, because he'd always known that it was going to be Robbe. But as he stands in front of him, Sander is lost for words, so to show Robbe how he feels, he leans in, so slowly and so gentle, in order for their lips to meet in a soft and quite kiss.

As soon as Sander leans in the music starts in the background, filling up the silence around them. And from that moment, you just knew that this clip was going to be special, that the music was going to make this moment memorable. In the beginning, the melody is in some ways very quiet, where the steady and deep beat almost creates a sadness, a melancholic vibe, that seems to increase the tension and intimacy between them.

As the instrumental part of the song comes to an end, Robbe gives Sander a small push and their lips part, because even though he has longed for Sander's touch, longed to be near him, he still needs to hear the words from him. He needs to know that Sander wants him, that this isn't the end for them, because that kiss could mean so many things; is it a kiss that symbolizes the start of their relationship, or is it a goodbye kiss, a finally touch for Robbe to remember Sander by? As Robbe breaks the kiss, Sander looks down, unable to look him in the eyes, because he's afraid of what he might see, he's scared that he spilled the chance for them being together.

Sander has also longed for Robbe's touch, to be near him and feel his skin against his, so he rests his forehead against Robbe's, while the melody continues to play in the background. The combination of Robbe and Sander leaning against each other, with the music surrounding them, creates an intensity and intimacy that almost feels consuming, because you can feel the passion, they have for each other everywhere. At that point my heart had stopped beating, my eyes had stopped blinking, because I was so afraid that I would miss anything. And I will never forget the emotions that went through my body, because it was overwhelming, but in a good way, because I didn't thought that this scene would leave such a huge impact on me, that Willem Herbots and Willem De Schryver would have such a magical chemistry, which made Robbe and Sander the ultimate power-couple.

As they're standing close to each other, foreheads touching, you can hear the lyrics below in the background, filling out the silence between them. And for once, I don't think the lyrics only speaks for Robbe but also for Sander, because even though he managed to say the iconic words to Robbe, that made him believe that it was going to be the two of them forever, there was still so much Sander wanted to say to him, and I think the lyrics is a sign of that. The camera focus on the two of them, so we can see all of their emotions and the lyrics go:

No one knows the pain

No one sees what I see in you

No one feels the same

Love is something so special, and the love you feel for one person, is never the same as you feel for someone else. The love between Robbe and Sander is unique, it's so special, magical, intense, passionate and I could keep on going, because the love they share is everything and more. Sander knows that what he feels for Robbe, is something he'd never felt before, because when he saw Robbe in the moonlight, something changed, he finally knew what real love was supposed to feel like. He sees Robbe for who he is, the beautiful, kind, loving and caring person that he is, and he wished everybody could see the same, could see how amazing Robbe is. But love can also feel consuming, overwhelming and sometimes painful, but even thought Robbe and Sander had their troubles, they always found their way back to each other, because their love is so powerful.

The lyrics fade away and the instrumental part of the song is once again, filling the silence between them. Sander now knows that a kiss isn't enough, that he can't just show his love to Robbe by joining their lips together, Robbe needs more, so Sander knows that he needs to put words to his love. He raises his eyes, looking deeply into Robbe's, and you can almost sense a sadness and vulnerability in Sander's eyes, because he knows how meaningful this moment is, it's now or never. They look at each other as Sander declares his love:

Jij en ik

Honderd procent, voor altijd

In elk universum

As Sander's words hang in the tense air between them, he waits for Robbe's respond, almost holding his breath, hoping, that what he said was enough to convince Robbe, that he's the one, that it's always going to be the two of them in every universe. Because even though Sander wanted to say more, wished that he had said more, he just hoped that his words would be enough to make Robbe believe him, and it did, it made Robbe believe him.

Now it's Robbe's turn to show Sander, that he feels the same way, that his thought about the two of them are the same, and then he decides to close the distance between them, letting their lips touch, before they begin one of the many passionate kisses, they're going to share that night. And you can almost see the relief in Sander, how his whole body seems to relax when he finally receives the touch from Robbe, because that kiss symbolizes so much more than just them finding their way back together, it also shows that they want and need each other, that it's always was going to be the two of them forever in every universe.

It amazes me how a scene, that takes under a minute, can leave such a huge impact on you, how many feelings, emotions and thoughts that can be attached to a scene like that. It's one of the most beautiful moments in season 3, because Robbe and Sander are so vulnerable with each other, but also so sweet, gentle, loving and caring. Because even though there's hardly any dialogue, they still manage to speak so many words to each other, just with their body language, their facial expressions, the touches they share and all the unspoken words that files the space between them. And I guess that's shows how perfect they are for each other; how powerful they are.

wtFOCK's choice of music for this scene couldn't have been more perfect. The melody encircles every emotion, every feeling between Robbe and Sander and increases them, so they end up meaning much more. The softness, the closeness, the passion, intensity and intimacy between them is almost overwhelming, but not in a bad way, because you truly feel everything they're feeling in that moment. Because even though the music has a melancholic vibe to it, the song still screams of romance, and the love there is between Robbe and Sander. The song is an open declaration of love and affection, something Robbe and Sander showed each other that night, where they made a promise to each other, which none of them intends to ever break; that it's going to be the two of them forever in every universe.

#wtfock #wtfam #music in wtfock #wtfocksoundtrack #long post #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen

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misssunflowersandsangria · 3 years

Text

Clover

Happy @yamanaka-week ! I love everyone’s submissions so far! I kind of combined two different prompts but I’m still late. Forgive me! This one explores Inoichi and his wife’s relationship which I took a ton of creative liberties with because I can and there’s very little information about them. Hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: Flowers and Legacy

Flower Inspiration: The flower symbol of this clan is the bush clover which symbolizes a "positive love".

Summary: Inoichi wasn’t expecting to meet her during his shift at the flower store. She was beautiful, sweet, and fascinating. It wasn’t easy for him to express himself but he found that flowers were always the answer.

Clover

Inoichi sighed, staring at the people that passed by the window. He’d rather be out there enjoying the sunshine or on a mission. Caring for the store was part of his responsibilities though.

He’d already helped a few people that morning including Shikaku. He was buying a bouquet for some unnamed troublesome woman. To which he’d teased his teammate relentlessly.

Despite how he might complain about working at the store there were some perks and he provided an important service to the Leaf. He couldn’t count the number of confused and flustered men that he helped that came in. Who were looking to either impress or to appease someone. The comfort he offered when arranging flowers for memorials was immeasurable. Or the hope he shared when people stopped by before their visit to the hospital. Whatever the occasion or reason, flowers were always the answer and he was happy to provide them.

Still, days like this were long and boring.

The bell rang jarring him from a quick nap. He looked up, seeing a beautiful, unfamiliar face. She had chestnut brown hair styled perfectly at the top of her head. Her clothes were clearly expensive from the intricate embroidery to the gold buttons. Her eyes though were soft, warm, and brown. Glittering in excitement at seeing the various arrangements.

He felt a bit self-conscious in his store apron but put on his best grin.

“May I help you?”

She shot up surprised at his voice. “Oh, yes. I need to order an arrangement to be picked up in a few days.”

“Sure, I can help with that. Anything in particular?”

She looked around avoiding his gaze. “It’s for my um future in-laws.”

He was a little disappointed by the revelation but continued to collect a few stems. “You don’t seem too excited.”

“No, that’s not it. They’re a wonderful family. My fiancé just isn’t who I thought I’d end up with. But I guess arranged marriages are like that.” She sighed gently touching a rosebud.

“Have you met him before?”

“A few times, he’s a family friend but there’s no attraction there. We’re better as friends. He knows it too but family responsibility wins out .” She knew that it was wrong to complain. She could have been forced to marry some horrible, unknown man but it still wasn’t what she wanted from marriage. Her family was part of high society and wealthy. This was just how things were done in their world. A simple life with a man she loved was all she really wanted though.

Inoichi hated the disappointment clear on her face. As an attempt to distract her he broke off the flower from a stem to place it casually behind her ear. Her skin flushed at the soft touch.

“Help me pick out a few flowers. I’ve found that being around them helps clear the mind.”

They spent the afternoon together as he asked more about her past and future plans. He taught her about the different flowers and their meanings. She was sweet and attentive. He was charming and knowledgeable.

Inoichi found her to be fascinating and beautiful. Her company was welcomed and wanted. As the afternoon shifted towards evening he hated the idea of saying goodbye.

“What’s this?” She asked, seeing the small flower he held out to her.

“It’s my clan’s flower. A purple bush clover. They stand for optimistic love.”

He placed the small blossom in her hand but held onto her fingers. “Stay positive perhaps you’ll find that love you’re looking for.” She blushed brightly at the gentle gesture, taking the delicate flower in her hand.

“Perhaps I will. Will you be here tomorrow? My family will be here for a few days. It would be nice to have someone show me around.” Even she was surprised by the request. She would have to make up a story to her mother but it was worth it to see the handsome man again.

“I’d like that.”

—

“Are you sure you want to do this? Her parents and the clan will probably kill you.” Choza was surprised by the late-night, last-minute request from his friend and teammate. He and Shikaku were sure that Inoichi lost his mind.

Inoichi just nodded as he packed his things. “Never been more sure of anything.”

Choza couldn’t argue with that logic. “Alright then, InoShikaCho live and die together. Let’s go get your bride.”

They made their way to the rendezvous point. There they found Shikaku standing there, on guard and ready. Inoichi needed his team there. Not only to be witnesses for the wedding but also because he needed people he could trust to back him up. He was relieved to see that Shikaku had been able to sneak his fiance out of her room without anyone noticing.

Inoichi smiled brightly seeing the dazzling eyes of his future bride turn to him. Excitement and relief on her face. She ran towards him and he happily scooped her up.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” She muttered against his chest. Her heart was beating wildly and she never felt more alive. The small purple bush clover that he’d given her was tucked carefully into her skirt.

Marrying someone that you just met was incredibly crazy and reckless. Still, he knew that they were meant for each other. Playing it safe was never his style anyway.

“Get ready, you’re about to do one more. Still want to marry me?” When his striking eyes met hers she knew her decision was the right one. She kissed him sure and steady. Knowing in her heart that this is what she wanted.

“More than anything.”

—

“Was grandma and grandpa mad?” Ino asked with wide eyes. She’d asked her father about how he and her mother met. She wasn’t expecting this but it was terribly romantic. Like the fairy tales, he would read to her.

“Furious. Thankfully though the man that your mama was going to marry had run off to be with the person he loved. So in the end it worked out and we were lucky enough to have you.”

Her eyes began to flutter close as she fell asleep in her father’s arms. “Think I’ll ever fall in love one day?”

“I guarantee it my little blossom. He’ll make the flowers bloom for you.”

Ino sighed wistfully thinking about her parents' love story. It was part of the reason that she kept working at the store. Convinced that one day the love of her life might come in and sweep her off her feet.

“Sai?” She looked up confused hearing the welcoming bell ring.

He greeted her warmly with what she hoped was a genuine smile on his face.

“Hello Ino, I have an odd request if you don’t mind.” She was intrigued by what it could possibly be.

“Sure, of course.”

“Would you mind if I painted in here ever so often? I’ll find a corner and keep to myself so I don’t disturb you or your customers.” She considered the request carefully. Sai was unlike anyone else in the village. He was quiet, blunt, and reserved. But handsome, talented, and when he wanted to be charming. When he called her Beautiful it always left her a flustered mess. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in him.

“I'd enjoy that actually. It would be nice to have some company. It can get boring here.”

“Thank you Beautiful. I’ll start tomorrow if you don’t mind?”

She hated the grin that crossed her face at her nickname. “I look forward to it.”

“You’re supposed to be painting.” Ino teased the pale man who just returned it with a handsome grin.

“And you’re supposed to be watching the store.” He reminded her before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Ino grinned and kissed him one last time before hopping off the counter and settled into his arms.

After daily visits and numerous conversations about flowers, life, and everything in between Sai had become a fixture of her day. Her worst days were usually when he was off on missions and she had to be there alone. She’d stare wistfully at his paintings that she’d hung around the shop just to make it feel like he was there.

Ino found herself falling in love with him while the flowers bloomed around them. It really wasn’t her fault. Yamanakas fell hard and fast.

“I really do love this store,” Sai mumbled into her hair.

“I do too. A lot of pretty magical things have happened here.”

—

Inojin sighed annoyed. His parents were still annoyingly in love and it didn’t matter that they were all at the flower shop. In public, at their place of business. If his father wanted a kiss from his wife he did just that.

“Ahem, am I the only one done with counting the inventory I was in charge of.” The couple laughed at being scolded by their son.

Ino just smiled and embarrassingly kissed her son on the cheek. “Sorry Jin, great work kid. You’re free to go.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your father and I will take your shift for the afternoon. Go hang out with your friends.” He didn’t need any more of an explanation and bolted out the door.

Ino grinned feeling Sai’s arms wrap around her. “Want to go make out in the back like we used to?” She could feel his smirk against her skin. He lightly kissed the outline of the purple bush clover tattoo hidden under her shirt.

Ino giggled as she turned the store’s sign to close. “Why do you think I sent him away?”

Perhaps the Yamanaka store wasn’t the legacy her father left her to protect. Rather it was the stories, hope, and love that flowered and blossomed in those four walls.

Flowering (Yamanaka Week 2021 Collection)

So I know Ino’s mom doesn’t come up almost at all but from what I gathered looking at her and the episode she was in it was easy to see her being in some elite family. Especially one where arranged marriages are common. And so this story was born. It’s kind of nice when there’s no canon material because you can write anything you want and no one can tell you it didn’t happen that way. Also if you look up whats the actual meaning of the Japanese bush clover it actually stands for melancholy or unrequited love. So I kind of like the spin Papa Yamanaka had for it. Anyways forgive me for being late. Have you ever had too many ideas that you kind of just sit there and not do anything? Well, that. Thanks my lovely blossoms. I love you all!

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onenerdtwonagas · 4 years

Text

Cultural Exchange

It had been nearly a month since the demigod moved in to Uriah’s apartment, and yet it didn’t feel nearly as odd as the young man had expected. Lessons on human etiquette were going surprisingly well, and it only took a week for Orpheus to stop growling or flinching every time an appliance beeped, or a car horn sounded from the streets below. Learning to use said appliances, however, would still take time, but Uriah was at least confident that Orpheus knew not to try operating any of them on his own just yet. He wasn’t stupid, by any means, just very new to the advances of human technology. It was like teaching a toddler to read or spell for the first time.

That being said, feeding and caring for a naga demigod was not always so simple. Uriah could and absolutely did his best to make sure Orpheus got enough to eat, though it was making a bit of a dent in his grocery bill. Finding clothes for him for the first time was a trial, too; he couldn’t very well take Orpheus with him, so finding clothes meant buying various styles and brands and having to traverse the stores multiple times to return whatever wasn’t going to work. And it certainly tried his poor nerves having to watch Orpheus in so many snug shirts and pants. A man can only take so much.

All the extra food and shopping expenses meant more work was needed, and until Orpheus was versed enough in human culture to have a job of any sort, that meant overtime for Uriah. He felt terrible, not being able to spend more time with Orpheus, but bills didn’t stop coming just because he wished they would. When he came home, Orpheus was always waiting for him, smiling and boasting whatever he’d managed to accomplish on his ‘homework’ assigned by Uriah. The first day he’d managed to memorize the alphabet, he’d been practically giddy.

Uriah recalled that evening as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, smiling to himself. The eagerness in Orpheus’ eyes when he’d asked to be shown how to spell Uriah’s name... The last ‘assignment’ he’d been working on was handwriting. Uriah could only imagine how excited Orpheus would be to show off his improvements.

“Babe, I’m home!”

He re-locked the door and shrugged off his jacket, cracking his neck to the left, then the right. The lights in the kitchen were on low, but it was quiet. His brow perked.

“Orpheus?”

Silence answered him. Odd. Normally he’d be halfway smothered in coils at that point, doing his best to fend off an almost-too-affectionate naga. Uriah set his small work bag on the counter and smoothed out his t-shirt, glancing into the living room space as he rounded the corner to the hallway. The only other light on came from the partially-open bedroom door, which Uriah cautiously eased in to.

“...Orpheus?”

The naga didn’t respond. He was reclined on the bed, tail sprawled partially on the mattress before spilling out on to the floor, and surrounding him were about half a dozen sheets of paper and a discarded pen. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, sound asleep, practically dead to the waking world.

Uriah snuck past the lazily wound tail on the floor and peeked over at the papers. Glancing up to make sure he hadn’t disturbed his lover, he leaned over and pulled the pages one by one, and turned them over. They were absolutely littered with Orpheus’ rough, but mildly improved handwriting, with hundreds of attempts at spelling Uriah’s name. Uriah muffled a sheepish groan with the pages pressed to his face as he caught sight of several flocks of hearts scribbled around what he assumed were Orpheus’ favorite attempts.

Good God, he’s so...

Uriah slid the papers down and peeked at Orpheus, still dozing. Usually, Orpheus made it a point to be the last to fall asleep, either by convenient hypnosis or Uriah’s own exhaustion. He liked to, as he put it, watch how peaceful he looked. It was a sweet sentiment, if not terribly embarrassing. But for the first time, Uriah got a good look at his sweetheart in the vulnerable state of sleep, all of his features softened and at ease. He’d never taken in Orpheus’ features like that before. The gentle, natural curve of his mouth, the length of his eyelashes, the way his silver hair fell across his face...

Uriah carefully eased up on to the bed, setting the papers aside and sitting close to Orpheus. It struck him how absolutely, completely, infinitely fortunate he was, that a demigod would love him so much. That someone, anyone, mortal or otherwise, would leave their home to be with him, to take the time to learn his culture, to understand an entirely new society’s way of doing things. Orpheus, heir to an immortal title of Night God, loved him, a mere human, so much that he spent hours practicing how to write his name, and littering the spaces between with fond scribbles of affection.

He smiled, watched Orpheus for a few moments more, and then reached out to brush his hair behind his ear. The naga stirred, his breath catching for a moment before his eyelids lazily fluttered open. It was almost a shame to wake him.

“Hmm...? Uriah?”

“Hi.”

“You’re home,” he said thickly, blinking. “What time...?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Orpheus shifted, looking up at Uriah. Something came to him.

“Oh. Oh, I uh—“ He stifled a yawn, barely hiding his fangs. “—practiced your name today. I wanted to show you.”

“I saw,” Uriah chuckled. He held up the papers briefly. “You must’ve been at it for a while.”

“Guess I was. Fell asleep doing it.”

He cocked his head slightly when he noticed Uriah’s eyes hadn’t left his face.

“What is it?”

“You,” Uriah said simply.

“Me? Do I have ink on me somewhere, or something?”

“No. It’s just... I realized how lucky I am, with you.”

Uriah stroked the line of Orpheus’ cheekbone with his thumb.

“How lucky I am to have met you, and that you love me, and how unbelievable it is that you’re mine. And you’re doing so much to learn how to live with me.”

Orpheus turned his face in to Uriah’s palm and nuzzled affectionately.

“I’d do anything for you, love.”

He shifted to sit up, but Uriah placed his hand on his chest.

“No, stay there. I want to enjoy this,” Uriah whispered, leaning over him. “Having a demigod all to myself...”

Orpheus smirked up at him, resettling into the pillows as Uriah hovered over him. He purred as Uriah closed the space between them, lips meeting for a blissfully long, tender moment. Uriah’s fingers combed through his hair, taking his time drawing sighs out of the naga beneath him.

“Mm...Not that I’m not thoroughly savoring this, but aren’t you tired? You worked all day,” Orpheus murmured. He traced a finger along Uriah’s jaw.

“No. I’ve got time for you. Especially after how hard you studied today. Ive gotta ask, though, but what possessed you to add all those goofy hearts?”

“You call those little things hearts?”

“What did you think they were?”

“Well, I assumed they meant ‘love’, at least, but I didn’t know what they were called, exactly,” Orpheus admitted. His cheeks tinted a mildly purple hue as he blushed. “They...they do mean ‘love’, don’t they?”

Uriah forced himself not to laugh.

“Yes, that’s what they mean.”

He paused, only mildly aware Orpheus was still touching his face.

“Do your kind have a symbol like that?”

“A love symbol? Of course, but it’s nothing like the one you humans use,” Orpheus answered. His hand dropped from Uriah’s cheek to stroke a knuckle along his collarbone. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I...just figure it’s only fair I learn about your culture, if you’re learning about mine.”

Orpheus’ smile grew a little wider.

“Let me see... Naga culture is fairly diverse, mind you, but there are a few universal words and symbols within our language.”

“Nagas have dialects?”

“Oh, dozens, hundreds. A naga from the desert will be infinitely different from one born in the mountains, or a river basin. And some will have accents within that.”

Uriah nodded.

“But the symbol for love tends to be rather similar, with just a little variation for some,” he continued. Orpheus’ hand dropped from Uriah’s collarbone to the center of his chest, a single claw tracing out the simple but twisting shape. He stared into Uriah’s eyes after, his gaze soft.

“That’s ‘love’. The two bound together, and space in the center containing all that is between them.”

Uriah felt warmth tingling across his face, and radiating beneath Orpheus’ finger where it remained on his chest.

“So...like this?”

He gently traced the same winding shape on Orpheus’ chest, looking into his face afterwards. Uriah wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the naga so smitten with him before.

“Just like that,” he praised.

“A-And, um...do you have a name for it, too?”

“We do.”

Orpheus bent up, his cheek brushing seductively against Uriah’s, and whispered into his ear in a language he couldn’t name. It was soft, lilting almost, with a silken hiss. He wouldn’t have been able to replicate it even if he tried, he was certain; no one could make it sound as sweet as it did coming off of Orpheus’ tongue. Uriah closed his eyes and repeated the gesture of the symbol on the naga’s chest.

“Say it again?” he asked shyly. Orpheus obliged and retraced the shape himself before kissing Uriah’s cheek, warm and affectionate.

“I-I wish I could pronounce that,” he confessed, a feather-light laugh escaping him.

“Maybe I can teach you,” Orpheus purred, beckoning Uriah back down with him. His strong arms wrapped around him, hands tracing over the man’s spine, coaxing his head onto his chest.

“It sounds beautiful. I’ve never heard you use that language before.”

“That’s the ancient tongue. It’s simplified quite a bit over the years, and in some areas I know we’ve mingled with human languages. Latin, for one, which sounds divine when you use it, by the way.”

“Oh, stop. I only know it for science jargon.”

“Divine jargon.”

They both shared a laugh, brief but sincere, before Uriah settled more comfortably against Orpheus. He loved laying with him like that, with his head over his heart, listening to his strong and steady pulse. Orpheus’ claws glided effortlessly through his curls, just barely ghosting against his scalp. Uriah loosely twirled a strand of his lover’s hair around his finger and let himself melt.

“I’m going to love learning with you. Every little thing.”

“I’d love nothing more.”

#onenerdtwonagas #not an ask #uriah #freckle muffin #orpheus #starry scales #freckles and stars #lit #lit post

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snakeboistan · 4 years

Text

Pumpkins, Pumpkins

Pairing: There’s like one line of Karmagisa, kinda but it’s a 3-E bonding fic

“Hey guys,” Kimura said, “does anyone know where Koro-Sensei and Sugaya are?”

Nagisa hummed from his crouched position as he continued to treat a pretty nasty graze under Okajima’s knee. The blunette continued to gently dab the wound when he piped up, “I heard that the two of them are planning a surprise for us - hold still please, Okajima, I’m going to put a plaster on now.”

“‘A surprise?’” Okano repeated, tilting her head in confusion, “wonder what it is.”

“Well knowing Sugaya it’s got to be something artsy,” Mimura suggested, “maybe we’re all going to be painting a mural?”

“I hope not,” Kayano sighed, “I’m afraid that the most artistic thing I can do is a hand turkey.”

Fortunately, their suspense was short lived because the very subject appeared before them, carrying a small pumpkin in his hands, accompanied by their teacher. It was clear that the two of them had just arrived from a trip that was travelled at Mach-20, if the artist’s windswept hair was anything to go by, but the question of where was plaguing everyone’s mind.

“So, Sugaya,” Mimura said, “where did the two of you go.”

“Yeah,” Okajima nodded, “we heard that there was a surprise.”

“Well,” Sugaya said, ducking his head sheepishly, “you heard right.”

“OOHH,” Kurahashi squealed, jumping up and down, “WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS IT?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” he replied, laughing at the girl’s never-ending enthusiasm. He held up the pumpkin in his hands, “it’s got something to do with this.”

“Are we gonna bake pumpkin pie,” Hara asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“No, pumpkin ramen,” Muramatsu countered.

“Hey, I’d be down for some pumpkin curry buns,” Yoshida said.

“What, no,” Sugaya shook his head before the class broke out into a fight, “We’re not gonna eat them, guys. We’re gonna carve them.”

“EHHH?” From nowhere a gust of wind gushed around them, sweeping up their clothes and hair in a miniature whirlwind. Quicker than they could blink, the class found themselves surrounded by propped up wooden tables, each having their own personal pumpkin decorating station complete with carving equipment, poster paints and stencils.

“Wow, that was fast, Sir,” Sugaya smiled at his tentacled teacher.

“Oh this is nothing,” Koro-Sensei beamed, “what good is having a top speed of Mach 20 if I can’t use it to help my students get their creative juices flowing?

“Really?” Terasaka crossed his arms and grumbled, “We’re gonna be decorating vegetables now?”

“Oh stop acting all tough, Terasaka,” Fuwa scoffed, “I know for a fact that you’ve cried during Kimi No Na Wa.”

The class burst into full-blown chortles, choked laughter and muffled giggles as Terasaka turned red and spluttered, “What the hell, Fuwa?!”

Fuwa smirked and held up a peace sign, “call it an otaku’s instinct.”

Karma smirked as he rubbed his hands together with glee, “ooh, this will be fun.”

“Uhh,” Kimura sweat-dropped at Karma’s devilish aura. The rest of the class' wary eyes widened at the swinging tail and sharp horns that seemed to protrude out of him, “is it really a good idea to have so many sharp objects around when Karma’s here?”

“Don’t worry,” Nagisa reassured everyone, apparently being the only person unbothered by the redhead’s questionable behaviour, “I’ll make sure that no one gets hurt.”

“Well, children,” Koro-Sensei said, “what are you waiting for? Go and have fun.”

And with that they all ran towards the tables, absolutely buzzing to get started.

…

Nagisa placed his small pumpkin on the tabletop next to Sugino. The black haired boy in question, who had obtained the most spherical-looking pumpkin he could find, was currently covering its entire surface with white paint.

“Hey, Nagisa,” Sugino smiled, “what are you going to do?”

Nagisa hummed, “Well, I’m not the best with a knife but I’m going to try carving a face. If all else fails, I can just paint on some superhero symbols and call it a day. You?”

“I’m turning this thing into a giant baseball.”

The blunette smiled, “yeah, that sounds about right.”

After an hour and a half, one miniature war between a certain group of students who were flinging pumpkin pulp at others (mainly Karma aiming at Terasaka, to be honest), and one dramatic rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart courtesy of Okajima and Maehara, the class had completed their pumpkin carving activity and were all admiring each other’s handiwork. The girls had gathered around Kurahashi and Yada’s pumpkin and were fawning over it’s adorableness. The two girls had used their knife skills to carve a window and door to create a quaint little home for the tiniest little pumpkin they could find, that Kurahashi had drawn a smiley face on with a black marker.

“His name is ‘Kabo-chan’ and he is our son,” Kurahashi was telling everyone proudly with Yada nodding next to her (it’s a play on words - according to google translate ‘kabocha’ is japanese for pumpkin).

Meanwhile, others were having their own kind of fun.

“Wow, Terasaka, I’ve got to say that your pumpkin looks positively gruesome - oh wait nevermind,” Karma smiled ‘innocently’ as he corrected his apparent ‘mistake’, “that’s just your face.”

“What the hell, Akabane,” Terasaka growled as he took a step forward, “why don’t you just go and f*** off. Or better yet, grow a pair and actually tell Nagisa how you feel instead of-”

Due to the fact that Kanzaki’s praise of his baseball pumpkin had rendered Sugino speechless and the tan skinned boy looked like he was going to pass out, Nagisa was preoccupied and therefore unable to prevent the fight that had broken out after Karma dunked a bucket of pumpkin guts over Terasaka’s head.

Kayano giggled, “I’m surprised you didn’t paint sushi rolls onto yours, Nagisa.”

“I did consider it,” the blue-haired boy replied, shrugging sheepishly. He had scrapped his original idea of carving and just ended up sharing Sugino’s white paint which he used to cover his own pumpkin as well, before using black paint to paint on two spots connected by a line to resemble Baymax’s face. It wasn’t as creative as his classmates’, like Nakamura’s puking pumpkin guts idea, or Kimura’s and Okano’s pumpkin that had the words ‘BEING NAMED JUSTICE’ and ‘SCHOOL’ carved on respectively, or the many other scary faces that were displayed but he wasn’t really the artistic type anyways.

“Holy hell, Sugaya,” Yoshida’s voice exclaimed, “that’s a frickin masterpiece.”

Growing curious at the source of the motorcycle lover’s awe, Nagisa and Sugino made their way towards the cluster of students who had gathered around Sugaya’s workstation, only to be faced with something that made their breaths catch: meticulously carved onto the husk of his large orange vegetable was an outline of the E-class building. Sugaya’s skillful hands had used the tools provided to create an image that was so carefully drawn, it looked almost lifelike, with thick bold lines that made the picture look three-dimensional. He had even found a way to somehow only shave off the outer epidermis of the skin to use the light yellow under it to give the illusion of light and shadow. It was times like this when Nagisa wondered how E-Class was seen as harbouring the lowest of the low when it was filled with people who were brimming with so much talent that it would put adults to shame.

“Oh my god,” Nakamura breathed as she snapped a picture on her phone.

“Now that’s a pumpkin,” Mimura stated with pure admiration.

“Wow Sugaya, it’s amazing,” Kayano said, “I have no idea how you were able to do it in like an hour. I was only able to get a smiley face done.”

“It is really nice,” Nagisa commented.

“Oh thanks, Nagisa. By the way, I’ve got another pumpkin I think you might like.”

Ignoring Okajima’s disbelieving cry of “YOU MADE ANOTHER ONE?!”, Sugaya bent down and handed Nagisa the miniature pumpkin he was holding earlier. Groaning slightly at the increased weight that was placed in his arms, Nagisa turned the pumpkin around to find that it had a snake carved onto its skin. He huffed out a laugh, “That’s amazing. I love it.”

“Oh my god,” Nakamura laughed, “snake boy gets a snake pumpkin.”

The class burst into laughter as Nagisa blushed.

“WHO WANTS TO SEE MY PUMPKIN?” Koro-Sensei’s gleeful voice broke through the crowd. The class turned towards him and immediately paused at the sight that greeted them. Sitting on the floor at one meter was the largest pumpkin they had ever seen and carved onto it was a recreation of Michaelangelo’s famous painting of ‘The Creation Of Adam’ only the bodies of God and Adam were replaced by Koro-Senseis, who were wearing billowing robes and heads of flowing hair, very intimately touching tentacle-tips. Surrounding them were tiny Koro-Sensei’s in cherubic attire, complete with harps and angel wings. The artist himself started tearing up, “ISN’T IT BREATH-TAKING?”

A beat passed...

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

“That has got to be the weirdest thing I’ve seen all day,” Kimura deadpanned.

Okajima looked disturbed, “It’s so strange that I can’t help but look at it.”

Sugino nodded, “It’s going to be in my nightmares for days.”

“Talk about over-kill,” Maehara commented.

Koro-Sensei burst into tears at their criticism, “WHY MUST YOU CHILDREN BE SO CRUEL?!”

Rolling his eyes at his teacher’s melodramatic wails, Sugaya addressed the class, with a nervous smile, “so, did you guys have fun?”

“Yep.”

“Totally.”

“It was awesome.”

“Yeah, I guess it was alright.”

“I definitely enjoyed myself.”

“It was a great idea, Sugaya.”

“Yeah dude, we should definitely do this again sometime.”

The silver haired boy blushed at all of the positive reinforcement he was getting, “Thanks guys. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to do this for a while but I couldn’t imagine doing it without you guys.”

“Aww, Sugaya,” Kurahashi hugged him, “that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah,” Okano chimed, “class activities are always fun.”

“It’s never a boring day in our weirdly dysfunctional family,” Nakamura smirked.

“I’m keeping these knives.”

“Karma, no.”

21 notes · View notes

inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash @jamies-kpop-reactions

Chapter 14: A Fool

By the time Taemin’s lips parted from mine, the fireworks overhead had almost entirely ceased, and most cars had vacated the parking lot below.

Breathless, I was almost hesitant to meet the glittering galaxies gathered in Taemin’s eyes, all too aware of the likelihood that I would spend the rest of the evening or the rest of my life aimlessly wandering through them. However, as you know by now, I could never resist the allure of Taemin’s other-worldly beauty.

His eyes smiled at me as his hands moved to cup my cheeks. “Do you want to do it again?” His laughter dissolved all tension in the air.

Before pecking at his grin, I hummed, “Maybe later!”

Narrowly escaping Taemin’s effort to catch me in another thousand-year kiss, I grabbed my mask from its corner and frowned at the high heels that were entirely responsible for the dull ache in my ankle.

“You don’t have to put them back on,” Taemin said, following my gaze. “I’ll carry you to my car and drive you home.” When I hesitated to climb onto his back because I had been too tall for piggyback rides for as long as I could remember, he pouted, begging, “Let me give you one drama-worthy moment, jagi. Please?”

There was no way to deny him whatever he wanted when he looked at me like that— like I alone held the key to his happiness in the palm of my hand. Setting aside my discomfort, abandoning my fear of heights (or, more accurately, my fear of falling from a height), I secured my hold around him. Releasing a deep breath, I laid my head on his shoulder.

Quietly, as if he thought that I had fallen asleep in the span of just a few seconds and he didn’t wish to wake me, Taemin asked, “Are you sleepy?”

“No,” I whispered, although my blinking eyelids had gone heavy with fatigue in the aftermath of the party’s highs and lows. “You’re just really warm, so you’re a good cuddle buddy.”

The smile on his face was audible as he repeated, “Cuddle buddy?” I wish I had opened my eyes to admire his smile, to watch if it grew when I dropped a feather-light kiss on the crook of his neck.

Delighted by the subtle shiver that ran down his spine at the sweet contact, I hoped that my voice carried my smile to him when he couldn’t quite see me. “What’s gonna happen to the blanket and the lights and—” I gasped.

Taemin’s body stiffened. He glanced back at my widened eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Your rose—” tears gathered in my eyes with the sudden sharp blow of winter wind— “I left it behind. I must have dropped it when you kissed me. I must have been too happy to hold on, and now—”

As soon as he set me on my feet beside his car, Taemin kissed each of my cheeks. Before any tear could fall, he promised, “I’ll go get it.” He held his keys out to me. “I’ll be right back, okay? Please don’t cry. It’s our happy night.”

I parrotted the phrase, “Our happy night.” A smile broke across my face while I cursed myself for my embarrassing attachment to symbols like the rose. But then, it was easy to forget embarrassment when Taemin smiled at me.

Looking back, I think that he must have planned all along to return to our rooftop place to retrieve the blanket and the lights and his mask. In that moment, though, I was so giddy with the thought that Taemin had retraced our path just for the sake of the rose that I greeted his return with a broad grin that he hopefully appreciated in the two seconds before I caught his lips with mine.

“You kissed me,” Taemin gasped as if it were the first time. Holding the rose out to me, he asked, “Will you do it again in exchange for a flower?”

I don’t know what came over me. In all of my life, I had never been an excessively smiley, giggly sort of person, but my cheeks ached from smiling that night. My laughter seemed to have lost all meaning, but I kept laughing anyway. All I can say, I guess, is that Taemin’s kiss made me happy. Too happy. Happier than I had ever been.

Had there been a rational thought in my head that wasn’t centered around the boy in the diver’s seat, the boy determined to lace his fingers through mine as he drove down busy streets, the boy I trusted to lead me to new heights at any corner of the universe, I might have called myself cringeworthy.

At every point in my life, I had been prematurely fixated on the moment of goodbye. Maybe that was some sort of well-intentioned coping mechanism. I’m not sure. All I can tell you in hindsight is that I must have had no intention of parting ways with Taemin. Maybe in some corner of my mind— or in the entirety of my heart— I decided that the rest of the night would be spent in his company.

When he parked in the driveway of my house, I realized from the sheer number of cars that there was no way I would catch an hour of sleep. More importantly, there was no way I would have been able to lead Taemin into my room undetected. Within seconds, I pieced together that Super Junior had occupied my home to a.) celebrate the new year, b.) celebrate their years of friendship with Mom, and c.) to celebrate the union of Momhae.

When I relayed that information to Taemin, explaining what it meant for our sleeping arrangements, he suggested, “We can sleep together in my room at the SuperM house.”

From his smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes coupled with the dropping of his jaw when I eagerly nodded my head, I figured that Taemin hadn’t been entirely serious. No, Taemin was always serious about falling asleep together. He must have expected me to place some boundary against falling asleep together in his bed.

Sinking at the thought that I hadn’t explained how much I loved sleeping at his side, I dropped the rose onto my lap so I could trace stars on his knuckles. “I’m sorry if this sounds too clingy or dependent, Taemin, but I— I want to spend every night with you. Even when we go back to living separate daily lives after the tour is over, I want to spend the nights with you. That time when I get to remove my mask and lay my head on your chest and just exist—”

Taemin squeezed my hand and raised it to meet his kiss. I had to smile at that sweet gesture as my heart swelled and overflowed with affection. The fond wrinkles that formed around his eyes encouraged me to continue to confess, “That time holds me together. I— to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I would do if that time were to end.”

Taemin said, “It won’t,” so assuredly that the lump growing in my throat dissolved. Shallow lines etched into his forehead as he asked, “Why did you tell me all of those beautiful things, jagi?”

I shrugged, startled by my total lack of embarrassment as I met his twinkling eyes. “I just thought that it would be kind of tragic if you never knew what time with you means to me. Earlier, you asked me to tell you what I feel, and I— I’m going to try, but you should know that I feel a lot, and— if you could, I would like for you to kiss me when I ramble, please—”

Immediately, Taemin took the hint. He kissed me like he planned to feel my lips without the invitation.

. . .

“I like it when you’re like this,” Taemin said on our way up the stairs to his bedroom.

From my place on his back, I bit back my giggles for fear of waking the SuperM members who, judging by the almost eerie silence and empty driveway, weren’t even there. “Like what, Taem?” I kissed his temple, careful not to drop the champagne bottle he looted from the party onto the hardwood floor. “All over you?”

“Well, yeah.” He smirked as he kicked open the door to his pure white room. From first glance, it seemed to be a place beyond earth. “But I actually meant that I like it when you’re honest with me. I love it when you trust me with everything locked away in here.” His index finger tapped on an inch of skin exposed beneath my bangs when he set me down on the small sofa by the window.

The cushions were as light and fluffy as clouds. Maybe with Taemin, every day, in one way or another, I enacted my dream of being something that belongs in the sky.

“You’ve always been easy to trust,” I told him as he filled the space next to me. “I just— it’s hard to unlearn the habit of holding back. Just know that I’m going to trust you with everything in time.”

Taemin took the bottle of champagne, beaming. “I know. Thank you for trying for me.”

I rose onto my knees, sinking ever-so-slightly into the clouds, to peel back the silky curtains and raise the blinds. Shining brilliantly over our garden amid a shower of golden fireworks, the moon stared back at me and stole my breath away.

“You can see our garden well from here,” I observed as I sat back, careful not to disturb my aching ankle. “If I had a view like this from my room, then I probably never would have snuck out of my house.”

Taemin said, “Flowers aren’t meant to be admired through a window.”

And when I glanced over at him, I found that he was watching the moon just as intently as I always had. A part of me wanted to ask if he also dreamed of a day when he could reach out and feel the moon’s kiss on his fingertips. The answer was obvious the next time he looked into my eyes, though, so the question died on the tip of my tongue.

“I like it when you’re like this,” I said, unable to lift my voice above a whisper.

“Like what, Lei?” After setting the champagne bottle on the floor with a gentle thud, Taemin leaned across the couch to lay his head on my chest, flush against my heartbeat. Hooking his hands around my waist, he fanned his breath over my collar bone. “All over you?”

My heart raced for him, but it didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t embarrassed knowing that he could feel it too.

“Well, yeah.” I smiled as I carded my fingers through his hair. “But I actually meant that I like it when you talk like a poet. I love it when you trust me with everything in here.” My index finger traced his heart over his collared shirt.

Taemin wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pressed my palm flat against his chest so I could feel it— the ever so subtle quickening of his pulse as he lifted his head to breathe against my parted lips.

I guess the night couldn’t have remained an almost perfect dream come true because I didn’t live in a fairytale. Sometime later, Taemin pressed his back against the arm of the couch opposite me. After taking a small taste of champagne, he asked, “Do you want to play truth or dare like we did the last time we drank together?”

Because I am a fool for anything with sentimental value, I nodded my head so passionately that Baekhyun’s flower crown fell off of my head. It landed on the space between Taemin and me. Before I could return the crown to its place atop my head, he swiped it and laid over his hair. Although the flowers weren’t his, they looked prettier on him. They transformed him into a vision of an angel.

Knowing the answer, Taemin asked, “Am I pretty?” while tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and winking as I tasted champagne.

I giggled at the bubbling sensation on my tongue. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Taemin.” He rejoiced at the compliment, and I asked, “Who gets to go first in this little game?”

He decided with the question, “Truth or dare, jagi?”

Obeying Taemin’s gesture to take another sip of the drink, I decided to be bold. “Dare.”

Taemin hummed as he caught his pretty pink bottom lip between his teeth. I do not doubt that he was deliberately employing the very on-stage tactics that elicit screams from full stadiums around the world. Tugging his phone out of his pocket and flashing the timer on its screen, he dared, “Kiss me for a whole minute.”

Although I was no longer a stranger to kissing Taemin, my cheeks burned at his instruction. “A minute?” I frowned. I can’t tell you if I was disappointed because a minute was closer to never or forever.

“A minute!” Taemin smiled before puckering his lips.

I trembled with anxiety during that first dared kiss, I think, because I was too aware of the passage of time. I wasted that first dared kiss by holding my breath, whittling away the seconds until the alarm permitted me to crawl back to my side of the couch.

If Taemin was disappointed by the minute he wasted with his lips pressed to mine in the most lackluster kiss of all time— if he was disappointed that I was still as shy in the field of physical affection as I was in verbal affection— I couldn’t tell. His lips curled into a smile that I could see through the champagne bottle.

In my embarrassment, I nearly forgot to ask, “Truth or dare, Taeminnie?”

He squealed as he almost always did when I called him by anything resembling a nickname. “Truth.” His voice was a gentle hum.

My eyes broke from his just long enough to glance out at our garden before returning to the pleasure of staring at him until every detail of his perfect face was a permanent memory that I could sketch out on paper given a chance. I asked, “What were you doing out there by the rose bush that night before I sat with you?”

“Waiting for you,” he answered without a moment of hesitation, without a moment of surrendering to shame. “I noticed you out there once or twice when I should have been sleeping. I knew that you were lonely because you didn’t know that we were looking up at the same moon at the same time.” While I traced the ribbon around his wrist, he said, “It was my dream to show you— to make you feel that you’re not alone.”

Even if I achieved my goal of learning every language in the world, would I have ever learned the words with which to respond to something so beautiful? I don’t think so. I believe there are some moments when the only response can be silence.

I almost wanted to ask how he knew that I would be out there on that particular night. I almost wanted to know how the flower he held had broken. I came close to asking if he held it together in his warm, soft hands long after it was unsalvageable because he hoped as much as I did that the universe had gifted him with the supernatural ability to mend gaping wounds with his touch.

I bit my tongue, though, because the concept of fate enchanted me as a mysterious force that should not have to suffer through questioning. It was romantic enough to hear from Taemin’s mouth that we were brought together by the moon that I turned the page on those questions without regret.

Taking my next drink of champagne, I again chose dare, hoping for another chance to kiss my Taemin’s lips after he made my heart flutter with his talk about the moon.

Perhaps reading my mind or maybe wanting to feel my breath as much as I needed to feel his to thank the universe for the gift of the time together, Taemin said, “Kiss me for two minutes, please.”

That time, when Taemin started his timer, I hoped that by some miracle or happy accident, the alarm would never send me back to my appropriate side of the couch. I wanted to melt into him, to lose myself in him. It didn’t matter if I should ever distinguish myself from him again. Here— with him— is where I am happiest.

That time, when Taemin whispered, “My Lei,” against my skin, I didn’t cringe at the thought that I— all of me, every thought locked away in my mind, every fear hidden in the darkest corners of my heart— belonged to him.

Maybe that’s not the best way to phrase it. Maybe I mean to say that I didn’t cringe at the thought that all of me, even the parts that I considered fruitless or dangerous or flawed, belonged with Taemin. I don’t know.

Setting aside the semantics that certainly didn’t matter to me at the time, my heart stirred at Taemin’s whisper. I took both of his hands in mine and laced our fingers together as if that would forever tether me to the moment.

Time ran out as it always does and always will. After Taemin silenced the alarm, I stalled in peeling myself away from him. As cliche as this sounds, I swear that it’s true: it was almost painful to be separated.

Taemin noticed, or maybe he felt a pull toward me too. Swallowing champagne, he chose dare. He probably expected me to dare him to kiss me for as long as he wanted because I was tired of the alarm jolting us apart.

I don’t know how to describe my excitement when he leaned forward onto his knees and laid beside me on my side of the couch. It was a burning sensation that crawled up from the tips of my toes, pooled in my stomach, spread from my chest to the fingertips that reached out to trace his smile, and heated every inch of my face.

I don’t know how long we kissed that time, but I know that there was no coherent thought in my head by the time Taemin left me with tingling swollen lips. Maybe he deprived me of too much oxygen. Maybe the alcohol caught up with me all at once as my pulse quickened with each of his lingering touches.

Taemin swears that I was drunk on New Year’s Eve, but I can’t tell you for certain because I never felt like that— hot, honest, uninhibited, stuck in slow-motion— since that one night spent in his room. Because these memories embarrass me still, I have sworn off alcohol just to safely avoid circumstances that yield reckless choices.

Almost laughing at my dazed open-mouth expression, Taemin wondered aloud, “What are you thinking about?” while running his thumb over my crescent moon earring that matched his.

If he expected me to say anything profound, he must have been disappointed when I asked through bubbling giggles, “Do you think it’s physically possible for me to drown in your kiss?”

No disappointment was visible on his laughing face. If he wasn’t affected by the alcohol, I don’t know what his excuse was for muttering, “Let’s find out,” before fitting his lips with mine for the millionth time.

I am bashful about relating these acts of affection to you. I am not in any way ashamed about having kissed Taemin. It’s just— you know that I don’t regularly engage in this sort of behavior. I never really considered that I would ever breathe in sync or move in sync with anybody before Taemin found me in that hour of loneliness in the garden.

It didn’t come to me naturally at first— succumbing to that eternal pull toward him, the one who set me alight with his tender touch— but once the habit developed, I would never break it. Maybe I couldn’t even if I wake up one day and decide to try.

Anyway, there is something inherently nerve-rattling about carrying what happens in the dark in the company of the stars into daylight. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by telling you everything that happened after the rising of the moon, but I— I guess I want nothing more than to share my happiness with you. I guess I want you to know that happiness is him: Taemin, my star.

After all the nights of narrowly missing Taemin’s lips, I suppose that the damn burst all at once with the bursting of fireworks. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand him, but I don’t have to understand Taemin to know that I am in love with him. That’s why I’m trying to stop seeing the world in the logical way I have tried to add and subtract everything else in my life. I accept that some things— some emotions— some people are not meant to be put into words.

It’s beautiful that Taemin is one such person.

Undoubtedly drowning in Taemin’s scent of roses, I broke from the kiss to ask, grinning from ear to ear like an absolute fool, “Do you think I could get drunk from this kiss?”

And— I squirm at this memory— he said, “I think I already am.”

The very words that almost make me cringe in hindsight washed over me like a stories-high wave that swept me to the shore where Taemin’s lips molded with mine again, still not tired, still not bored, still so sweet and gentle but not at all timid. He convinced me that I was made for this— I was made for him— and I think I still believe that now that I am sober and the sun has risen and, for a blink in the universe, he is not reading over my shoulder.

I ruined what very well could have been a perfect knee-weakening memory by sitting up to suggest, “Let’s play strip poker!”

Taemin laughed out loud. He gripped his sides because they were splitting until he realized that I wasn’t joking. Likely rattled by my serious expression that contradicted the last several minutes spent giggling between kisses, he gasped. “Are you being serious?”

I must have been intoxicated. Had I been sober, that suggestion would have been a joke or, at the very least, I would have had the wit to pass off a genuine (humiliating) desire as an absent-minded attempt at flirting. Instead, I nodded, reaching out to card my fingers through his hair. “I’m always serious, sweet Taemin.”

“Sweet Taemin?” The broad smile that brightened his face now brightens my memories. Forcing his lips into an exaggerated pout, he said, “I don’t have cards, jagi, so we can’t play strip poker. I’m sorry.”

“Darn.” I frowned, brow furrowing as I traced my fingers over Taemin’s lips that pervaded my every blurry thought. “Oh well. I don’t know how to play poker anyway.” And then, when I should have dropped the subject before any harm was done, I asked, “Can we play strip rock-paper-scissors instead, Taeminnie?”

Taemin snorted. “Well,” he spoke in a soft hum that almost definitely meant no.

Being more shameless in that moment than I had been in my entire life, I felt my eyes widen pleadingly. “Please, sweet Taeminnie?” My bottom lip poked out from my frown, and my hands pressed together as if to pray.

He sighed, “Well, alright,” and then winked as if he planned to give me my way all along.

I squealed and clapped my hands as I sat upright on my arm of the couch. After I gulped another unneeded mouthful of champagne, Taemin took the bottle and set it behind his side of the couch so I couldn’t reach it without straining.

I wasn’t disappointed for long. Holding his fist out, Taemin wiggled his eyebrows. “Ready, jagi?”

Giggling, I nodded my head until I was dizzy and the game commenced.

It was fun at first because Taemin lost the first two rounds. I think he liked that I rolled my eyes and shouted, “Booooooooriiiiiing,” when he started by removing his black socks. Then, he laughed as air passed through my rounded lips— a poor imitation of a whistle— when he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

Lowering back onto the couch, Taemin was careful to sit straight so that I could see each of his muscles. “Like what you see?” He smirked as if the answer wasn’t evident from my unadulterated stare and agape mouth. Like it tickled, he laughed when I reached to poke one of the muscles protruding in his abdomen because (even then) I needed proof that he wasn’t just a dream.

My winning streak didn’t last long. I was all too easy to beat, too compromised by alcohol and the mind-numbing sight of my boyfriend to even notice that I lost until he giggled.

After I shrugged out of Taemin’s jacket, dropping and forgetting it on the floor, I lost again. Without shoes or socks to shed, I stood and almost gnawed through my cheek as I reached for the cold zipper at the base of my neck. For the better part of five minutes, Taemin just watched me struggle with the zipper.

Maybe he thought I was stalling to remain clothed for as long as possible, but the truth— that’s too embarrassing to admit. Suffice it to say that, having suggested the game in the first place, I was not stalling.

When the sparkling midnight blue fabric fell at my bare feet, we both screamed.

Standing before him in only a nude bra and a pair of skin-toned Spanx, too stunned by my own action to look away from his widened eyes, I stuttered, “I— I can’t do this. Or can I?” Glancing down at myself, blushing just slightly, I realized, “I guess I already did, so—”

“No,” Taemin said as he stood. Although his eyes were closed, he walked to me without stumbling and draped his discarded shirt over my shoulders. Once I fit my arms through the silky sleeves that hung past my fingertips, Taemin opened his eyes to button the shirt most of the way up. He avoided my bewildered gaze, saying, “I’m sorry. I was just playing around. I didn’t think that you would actually do that. I’m so sorry, Lei.”

Because I couldn’t understand why he was apologizing when we had only played the game by its rules, I asked, “What’s wrong? Did I mess something up again?”

I must have cried. I can still feel Taemin’s thumbs brushing my cheeks just under my eyes. I hate that. I hate that I lost all inhibitions. I hate that I cried in front of Taemin just because his solemn expression terrified me to the core. I hate that I had no choice in whether or how to express the emotions I would have preferred to hide.

“No,” he whispered before enveloping me in a hug that was probably supposed to prove that nothing was wrong. He pulled my bangs out of my face and brushed his lips across my forehead. “You didn’t mess anything up. It just— if we keep going, I think you’ll regret it in the morning. I never want you to regret anything you do with me.”

“I wouldn’t regret it.” Suddenly too flustered, too ashamed to meet his eyes, I looped my arms around his waist and leaned forward to put my ear to his heartbeat. What once had been slow, confident, unaffected by my proximity was now rapid, anxious, all because of me.

“Please,” Taemin begged, “don’t say things like that when I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Before I could continue to childishly argue that there was no reason to pace ourselves or resist each other if we wanted the same things, Taemin tightened his grip around my waist and pulled me flush against his warm body. He held me there in the silence for what felt like eternities before swinging me, as if I was as light as a feather, toward his bed.

He sang, “Let’s go to sleep,” and smiled his smile that grew more familiar with each passing second. A beauty of my memories and my present confined no longer to photographs and my wildest dreams.

He pulled back the plush white blanket to expose white sheets, and he tugged me along toward the head of the bed, where he collapsed against soft cloud pillows.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed,” I whined, refusing to lay with him. “I’m not tired!”

Taemin laughed when I reached for the champagne bottle. His hand wrapped around my waist, tickling me through his shirt, and pulled me to the center of the bed so that my back pressed against his side. “Let’s cuddle, then. Come here and talk to me.”

I mumbled, “That’s my favorite thing to do,” and rolled onto my side so I could see him.

As I started to trace my name onto his chest with my index finger, Taemin chuckled. “What’s your favorite thing? Cuddling or talking to me?”

“Both,” I answered without hesitation. My eyes flickered up to his face. He was so beautiful that I had to tell him. “Do you know why?”

“No.” Taemin shook his head, which he propped on the arm resting atop his pillow. “Why, jagi?”

“You’re my favorite person,” I told him plainly, “because you’re beautiful.”

“I’m beautiful?” Taemin gasped like he never before received the compliment.

“Didn’t you know?” I removed my hand from his chest to cup his cheek, which bulged under the weight of his sparkling toothy grin. “You’re so pretty, Taemin. You’re the prettiest person in the whole world. You’re prettier than the sun and the moon and all of the stars. You’re brighter than all of them, too, and I love you more than them and—”

True to his earlier promise to silence me with a kiss whenever I ramble, Taemin used both hands to pull me atop him and, resting one hand at the nape of my neck, he brought my lips to his.

“This is my other favorite thing to do,” I confessed, looking down at him with a smile I hope rivaled the radiance of the sun. “I never want to stop kissing you.”

Taemin breathed, “Then don’t,” so sweetly that I kissed him over and over again until the sun rose or my eyes fluttered closed in a deep sleep— whichever came first.

My stomach didn’t knot at any of the night’s events until the morning sun broke through the window, unobstructed by blinds or curtains, and pried my eyes open with a dull headache. When my bare legs brushed against the fabric of Taemin’s dress pants, I flinched away from him, sat upright, and choked on a gasp.

I glanced at his sleeping form, barely getting to admire the half of his face that wasn’t buried in the cloud white pillow before my eyes zeroed in on the fact that his back— his entire upper body— was bare.

He was shirtless and right next to me. I was pants-less (except for my shapewear) and right next to him.

And in those few seconds before the previous night’s events came back to crush me under the weight of utter humiliation, I think my instinct was to run before Taemin could notice. I hate admitting that after I swore in champagne-induced honesty that I would regret nothing.

A confession: I was not trying to run away from regret. I was trying to run from a terrifyingly unfamiliar sense of desire that I— well, just use your imagination or something.

I swept Taemin’s jacket off of the floor and pulled my phone out of the pocket, only to be greeted with a wall of missed calls from Lucas. Because it wasn’t even nine o’clock and we had no set schedule, to say that I was worried that Lucas was awake— let alone blowing my phone up— was an understatement.

I wasted no time in calling him back on my tiptoed sprint into Taemin’s bathroom.

Lucas answered as I set to removing last night’s smudged eyeliner with a cloth I found in a cabinet. “Where are you?” he asked in place of ‘hello.’

While I had been cognizant enough pre-champagne to text Mom that I was crashing at the SuperM house— careful to exclude the part about sleeping in Taemin’s bed— I hadn’t thought to check in with Lucas.

“The SuperM house,” I replied, sinking at the thought that he might have been worried about me. “Specifically, I’m hiding in my—” I was going to say ‘my boyfriend,’ but my mouth couldn’t quite form the word— “Taemin’s bathroom.”

“Your Taemin’s bathroom?” From the wave-like inflection in Lucas’s voice, I could envision his wiggling eyebrows. I imagined that his bright, teasing smile faded into a frown before he asked, “Wait, hiding? What are you hiding from?”

I was hiding from the fact that I had woken up half-naked in bed with a half-naked Taemin. I was hiding from the truth that had he not drawn a line in the sand, had he not been the first to close the door, I would have given him everything. All it took was a little bit of champagne for me to lose all sense of dignity, and I— why couldn’t I regret anything?

There was no way in hell I was going to say any of that to Lucas, though. Instead, I said, “I don’t want to wake Taemin while talking to you.” I was picking among truths.

Lucas’s silence carried his belief that I was hiding something, but I clung to my secrets. “Why did you call me a million times?”

“Oh yeah. That.” Lucas chuckled. “Heechul and Donghae—”

At their names, the two men felt compelled to bicker within Lucas’s earshot.

Lucas sighed, “Well, you’ll just have to come home to get a clear read on this situation.”

Eager for an excuse to race home before Taemin could see my scarlet cheeks and tempt me into lovesick decisions, I asked, “Do you need me to come home now?”

Lucas’s response was delayed. He probably knew that I was trying to run, so he took his time in carefully structuring his response. “I think Heechul and Donghae will still be here long after you spend time with Taemin.”

As if stirred awake by the most recent utterance of his name, Taemin knocked on the door. “Lei, jagi, are you in here?” His voice was raspy with fatigue.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” Lucas said before hanging up, leaving me to confront the tension that set butterflies ablaze in my gut.

Setting my phone down on the counter, I told Taemin, “It’s unlocked.”

When he walked through the doorway, I couldn’t look at him for long. He was still shirtless and much prettier now that he was awake and smiling at me. I couldn’t breathe.

While my gaze averted toward the white marble counter, he filled the space behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed a soft kiss to my temple. He stood so close that the warmth of his bare skin radiated through the back of my (his) shirt.

“I thought you left,” he whispered, tightening his embrace, “before I could tell you again that I love you.”

The intimacy of this entire scene— being this close to Taemin after sleeping in his bed, wearing only his shirt over my undergarments, having spent and continuing to spend time in this place that was neither a hotel nor my bedroom but his space— burned me alive.

I said, “I love you too,” because I did even when I trembled like a leaf tempted to flutter away from the life-giving branch.

Taemin must have sensed my anxiety. His touch softened as his hand reached my chin, urging me to meet our reflection. “Look at us,” he breathed, and my eyes opened.

Our faces were swollen from sleep, and Taemin’s eyes were smudged by faint traces of makeup that he hadn’t wiped away the night before— the first night that he hadn’t prioritized his skincare routine— and my eyes were wide with some emotion that I can only describe as fear— but Taemin said, “We’re beautiful.”

Then, I saw the gentle, angelic smile that curved his lips— the lips I kissed a million times to claim as mine— and I saw the spark in his eyes, and I felt the way his chest rose and fell against my back. I saw that the blush burning my face was a pretty rosy pink that matched the color spread across every visible inch of his skin down to the fingertips, and I saw that the same spark in his eyes was alight in mine, and I felt that trembling at Taemin’s presence was okay. Trembling in Taemin’s embrace was the appropriate, proper, natural response.

He was right: we are beautiful.

“I’m happy,” I told him in case it wasn’t apparent from my sigh as I melted into him. “You should be the first person I see every morning.”

Taemin smiled before releasing me and walking to his cabinet. He returned to my side, offered me a toothbrush, and winked before brushing his teeth. “I usually am these days, aren’t I?”

His wink made my stomach do somersaults.

Tingling as I fit the toothbrush into my mouth, I shrugged. I thought long and hard before spitting into the sink and filling the morning air with the declaration, “I’m talking about forever, Taemin.”

Taemin blinked at me so many times that I thought the suds from his facewash had fallen into his eyes through his thick lashes. When he continued blinking after his face was rinsed and dried, I clarified, bold in my convictions despite his silence, “You should be the first person I see for the rest of forever. Or at least that’s what I think. At least that’s what I want.”

“I—” Taemin wheezed.

That’s when I started to panic: when Taemin fell into uncharacteristic silence. Leaning against the cold counter, I closed my eyes, rubbed my temples, and replayed all of our conversations. I knew that I hadn’t been the first to mention forever. Taemin was. Just last night at the party, just before he kissed me, he said that he would love me forever.

Had that been a sweet nothing with which to fill the silence? I knew that a lot of people say forever without meaning it, but I— I never have. I thought Taemin was like me: someone who feels the weight of forever. I didn’t think that he would say something like that just to say it, just to hear it said back, just to make me fall in love with a fairytale illusion.

I think I know enough of broken hearts to tell you that mine was shattered before Taemin wrapped his arms around me. His touch filled every void, healed every wound, and I knew how happy that rose was to have been held by him that night in our garden.

“You made me so happy just then,” he whispered in my ear, “that I forgot how to speak.”

Just like that, he mended and melted my heart. Just like that, he opened my eyes to his sincere smile, and I had to tell him, “You hold all of my heart in the palm of your hand, Taemin.”

He told me, still in a whisper pressed to my ear, “You hold all of mine too, Lei. Forever.”

Staring forever in the face didn’t seem so scary anymore.

Before I could even try to comb through the bird’s nest on my head, Taemin tightened his grip around my waist and lifted me off of the cold tiled floor, not quite high enough to trigger my fear of falling.

“Come on, jagi.” Once we stood in his bedroom, he motioned for me to climb onto his back. “ Let's make breakfast downstairs!”

Knowing well that— combined— Taemin and I had a total of about fifteen minutes’ worth of experience in the kitchen, I decided that it would be fun to visit unexplored territory with him. It would be like playing house, a game that hadn’t interested me since early childhood years in Grandma’s kitchen in Atlanta.

My ankle healed almost entirely overnight, so I didn’t need Taemin to carry me. I think I never needed him to carry me in the first place, but maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I liked having romantic k-drama moments with him when nobody could see and laugh and point out that I looked out of place in such a scene.

Because Taemin giggled loudly every time I dropped a kiss on his cheek, neck, or shoulders while descending the stairs, I didn’t hear any signs that Ten stood in the kitchen. Given that I was a guest in the SuperM house, I guess I should have been prepared to see another member at some point, but I would never have expected to see an outsider— a girl!

Before I hid my burning face in the crook of Taemin’s neck, I watched the girl trail her fingers down Ten’s arms, bare under his ruffled pink apron. I watched her long black hair fall over his shoulders as she tried to distract him from the sizzling stovetop with open-mouth kisses pressed to Ten’s jawline. All at once, I realized that both of them were almost completely naked.

All I could think was that the girl, even though I couldn’t see her face, was stunning in the way that she carried herself without any degree of shame.

Why couldn’t I be like that? Is shamelessness an inherent trait, or can one learn it and call it confidence?

I stifled my surprised gasp against the skin of Taemin’s shoulder, but Ten must have heard anyway. He somehow must have turned his eyes away from the girl long enough to find me clinging to Taemin at the foot of the stairs.

He said, “Hey, Lei!” in a bright tone that didn’t imply the embarrassment that would have seized me should anyone catch me in an intimate act with Taemin. “Have fun ringing in the new year?”

Although I couldn’t bring myself to meet Ten’s teasing gaze, I knew that he believed that a scene similar to the one playing out in the kitchen had played out in Taemin’s bedroom. Too embarrassed to speak even to try to correct him, I kept my eyes fixed on Taemin’s back as I straightened my legs, relieved by his willingness to let me go.

I hoped that Taemin was the only person who watched my dash through the front door, clad in only his shirt that— thankfully— reached my mid-thigh.

“Goodbye,” Taemin called after me through laughter. I was glad that he wasn’t offended that I left without breakfast. “I’ll call you later!”

To my further humiliation, Ten laughed too.

. . .

Had I been thinking clearly, I would have entered the house through my bedroom window instead of running around to the front door, shivering in the cold. It’s a miracle that I was greeted only by Lucas, who was too busy scribbling on a piece of paper on the coffee table to notice me until I closed the door with a soft click. It’s a miracle that Mom, Donghae, and Heechul were too involved in their discussion in the kitchen to notice that I stood in the living room, cheeks painted red by the winter wind and the vulnerability of existing only in Taemin’s shirt.

Rubbing at my temples, where a headache formed at Heechul’s sudden increase in volume, I groaned, “And here I thought we were finally at the happy ending.”

Lucas’s brow furrowed. He chewed on his chapped bottom lip as if he hadn’t heard me.

My frown was instinctual, a natural response to the absence of my best friend’s smile that accompanied every hello and brightened every day. “Are you okay?” My voice was gentle as I tiptoed to sit by his side. Reaching for the paper, the focus of his glare, I asked, “What are you drawing?”

No matter how intently I stared at the list of names and lines and hearts penned in rainbows of crayon colors, I couldn’t make out any picture until Lucas replied, voice raspy from a lack of sleep— maybe he tried and failed to fall asleep during the Super Junior New Years Afterparty— “Our family tree.”

At the top of the page was Mom written in pink, sandwiched between orange Donghae and red Heechul. Lines connected my name, a pretty shade of blue that reminded me of a daytime sky, and Lucas’s, a deep purple, to Mom’s to mark us as her children. Then, a line accented with hearts linked my name to Taemin’s, and almost illegible yellow, to define us as soulmates.

Below my name and Taemin’s was an unfamiliar title: “Lucas Tue,” written in green.

Cocking my head, I pointed to that foreign name. “Who’s that?”

The relief that overwhelmed me when Lucas broke his concentrated scowl to grin from ear to ear was shortlived. I choked on my breath when he explained, “That’s yours and Taemin’s baby! See how I wrote his name in green? That’s because he’s the perfect blend of you— blue— and Taemin— yellow!”

It was kind of cute that Lucas spent just as much time as I did (if not more) imagining a future with Taemin.

Rather than reminding Lucas that there was no baby or insisting him that there wouldn’t be one for quite some time, I asked, “Is this supposed to be an alternate spelling of, like, Lucas 2? As in, you expect me and Taemin to name our child after you?”

Lucas nodded eagerly. “I think it’s pretty clever. To make it less confusing, I propose we call the little ray of sunshine ‘Tue.’”

I blinked at Lucas, nearly on the verge of laughter. “If it’s really important to you, I’ll talk this over with Taemin, but my vote on this name suggestion is a resounding no.”

The wide-eyed offended expression that dashed across Lucas’s face easily gave way to a goofy grin as he swung his arm over my shoulder and ruffled a hand through my knotted hair. He laughed in my ear. “Aw! You want a baby with Taemin!” He cheered so loudly that Mom, Donghae, and Heechul should have heard.

I guess they didn’t, thank God, because none of them came barreling out of the kitchen.

“Cut it out!” I blushed as I wiggled out of Lucas’s embrace, inciting more teasing laughter. I flipped over the family tree so it couldn’t fluster me further. “Why are you drawing family trees anyway?”

“I’m trying to make sense of the world around me.” Lucas shrugged, staring blankly at the SpongeBob episode playing on the television. “Donghae is Mom’s boyfriend, but Heechul is the one who’s almost always here for dinner and dramas. Now that they’re both competing for roles in Mom’s life, I’m wondering which one is our dad.”

I gawked at Lucas. I was amazed by his genuine sense of confusion.

“Neither is our dad,” I said, thinking that should have been obvious. Instead of reminding Lucas that Mom was my Mom like I probably did at the dawn of our friendship, I told him, “Family units don’t need strict clear cut roles, you know. All that matters is that we’re happiest when we’re together. Donghae and Heechul should realize that they don’t have to compete for a place in Mom’s life and ours by extension.”

Lucas folded our family tree into a paper airplane as he considered my perspective. Pursing his lips, he conceded, “You’re probably right.”

I tugged my knees toward my chest. Crossing my arms and laying my head against the bend of my elbow, I breathed in the scent of roses on Taemin’s shirt. My shirt. The shirt I would keep (probably) forever.

“I’m almost always right,” I boasted, sending Lucas an uncharacteristic wink. I don’t know what was wrong with me. Happiness makes me weird.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lucas rolled his eyes even as he grinned. His eyebrows pinched together as he gathered the fabric of my sleeve between his fingers. “Hey, where’d you get this shirt?”

The resurfacing memories — the memories that I admit never once sunk below the surface, if I’m entirely honest— of Taemin from that morning and last night and every night passed that he had stolen my heart piece by piece struck me speechless. I couldn’t explain that the shirt once belonged to him while my heart swelled in my chest, knotting my throat and stomach and everything in its path.

While I struggled to breathe, Lucas’s eyes trailed down to my legs. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and I almost wanted to laugh at his expression, but I was suddenly far too embarrassed to do anything but hide my face in my cloud-soft sleeve.

“Lei!” Lucas shrieked in a whisper because he didn’t want to attract attention from our parental figures. “What happened to your pants?”

All I said was, “Shut up, Lucas,” too mortified to meet his gaze.

Rather than staying to endure his interrogation, which I knew even in the darkest depths of embarrassment was genuine well-intentioned curiosity, I stood, pulled the bottom hem of Taemin’s shirt as far down my thighs as it would go, and ran upstairs to my bedroom. Somehow, I went undetected by Mom, Donghae, and Heechul.

Believe me: I appreciated that freedom while it lasted.

Until I was alone behind the closed door, stepping into white pajama pants that were a little too big because they once belonged to Lucas, it didn’t occur to me that my silence might have been damaging to my reputation. Yes, I thought of my reputation even with Lucas. No, I really hadn’t changed from the paranoid principled person I had been at the start of this tale. I’m sorry.

My silence implied that there was a scandalous reason why my dress laid on Taemin’s floor. Whatever scene Lucas imagined when I ran up the stairs was probably similar to whatever Ten imagined when he found me at the foot of the stars.

I can’t tell you why I squirmed at that thought. I should have been comforted by the reality that a.) nothing that scandalous happened beyond eternal kisses and an embarrassing game of rock-paper-scissors and b.) I wouldn’t have taken it back for anybody if something that scandalous had happened beyond eternal kisses and an embarrassing game of rock-paper-scissors.

But I wasn’t comforted. My stomach coiled with the realization that people thought I threw away every rule and reservation for Taemin.

It was true. With ease, Taemin walked through every door, even the ones I swore I locked. He made me want to fall face-first into the sky, but you probably couldn’t tell from my forced grip around the safety rail, ever submissive to the fear of falling alone, still scared that he couldn’t catch me even if he fulfilled his promise to try.

No longer consumed by the tension between Mom and Donghae because I could hear their laughter interrupting Heechul’s rant about who-knows-what, no longer distracted by the demands of the tour, my only thought was Taemin. And it wasn’t because we finally shared our first million kisses or because he was unashamed to lay shirtless by my side or because he set me on fire with his touch.

Taemin pervaded every idle daydream because of those moments when he made me feel safe. Maybe all I ever wanted was security, and I found it in his steady heartbeat. Maybe I found it in the way his shirt hugged me and made my skin smell like roses. Maybe I could never let go.

Maybe I hated that Ten could pervert pure love with his playful smirk. Maybe I never bothered to correct him by explaining that bond formed in the garden— which exceded the limits of all words anyway— for fear of misunderstanding or seeming as vulnerable as I had always been behind my mask.

Maybe I was shy, and maybe I always would be, but there was— is— there is a part of me that wants to shout from every rooftop that I will be forever in love with Taemin because every moment is like that first in the garden. A part of me wants to tell everyone that everything else, every hand held and kiss shared and love-stained word whispered in the dark has been an act of gratitude because he saw me.

Taemin saw me. Taemin loved me.

And sometimes, I realize that I still don’t know how to thank him or God or fate or the universe or whoever I’m supposed to thank for miracles.

I was contemplating this, my blooming garden of miracles, when Taemin’s voice filled my quiet room. “I have something for you, jagi.”

My scream would have brought Heechul and Donghae racing up the stairs (likely bickering about who gets to obliterate the demon serial burglar who dared to burst through my window in broad daylight) had Taemin not silenced it with a long kiss as he climbed onto my bed, where I had been laying with my eyes closed.

“Here you go.” He dropped a rose— the fragmented one from the party, which I must have forgotten somewhere again— onto my pillow. It landed by the crook of my neck and tickled my skin with its petals.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

Before Taemin could secure me in the embrace I never wanted to wake from, I walked over to my vanity. Catching my cheerful blush in the mirror, only briefly meeting Taemin’s gaze through the glass, I fit the rose into the vase with all of the others. “What about Baekhyun’s flower crown, my dress, and my heels?”

“They’re in my room.” Taemin kicked his shoes off onto the floor and rolled onto his back to lay his head on one of my pillows. “I can only carry so much when I scale up the side of your house.”

Something in his childish tone made me laugh as I crossed the distance back to him. “Noted, Taem. If climbing is such a struggle for you, why don’t you just come in through the front door?”

It was impossible, unrealistic, the dream that we could ever love out in the open, but I think I wanted it. I wanted to live in the world where we didn’t have to watch our shadows, look around every corner, lock every closed door. I just didn’t know how to get there, and I couldn’t ask Taemin to lead me to a place that didn’t exist.

Taemin winked. “Isn’t it more fun this way? Sneaking around like we have something to hide—” he sat up to whisper in my ear, unable to see the goosebumps that formed down my arms concealed by his shirt— “isn’t it exciting?”

My face burned, but I didn’t shrink away from Taemin’s voice or the kiss he placed on my cheek as my gaze fell onto my hands pressed flat in my lap. Breathless because of his proximity, I was almost too bashful to admit in my faintest whisper, “Everything is exciting with you, my Taemin.”

“Look at me.” His command was more of a desperate plea.

When I couldn’t obey, not even to see his brilliant smile, because all of me was on fire, Taemin dropped to his knees before me as he had in one of our American hotel rooms once upon a time.

It couldn’t have happened just a few months ago. A few months is too short to contain an infinity. And yet, my love for Taemin existed outside of time, perhaps owing to the years of admiring him as an idol from afar, or the decades of secretly dreaming that somebody like him existed and was bound to come my way on some unforeseen river rapid, or maybe—

Maybe owing to the soul bond signified by the blue ribbon on his wrist.

“Lei,” Taemin said my name so beautifully, “there’s no reason to be embarrassed. You can look into my eyes and call me yours because it’s true.” His hands cupped my cheeks like he expected me to burst into tears.

I didn’t want to cry, though. I only wanted to smile. So I did.

“Really?” I probably looked like a baby staring down at him with eyes blown wide with wonder, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind being vulnerable with him. “You don’t think I’m moving too quickly or being too clingy, or—”

Taemin’s peel of laughter made me laugh too. He said, “Honestly, I think you should move as quickly as you want. You can be clingier. I told you, I like it when you’re like this. Do it more, please?”

It was almost impossible to deny him when he looked at me like that, like I was his favorite part of the world. I crumbled. I fell a little deeper. I wanted to be anything he wanted, knowing that all he wanted was me unrestrained.

I told him, “It’s hard to hold back from you.”

Returning to my side to hold me even though the sun was casting its rays across our faces, he urged, “Then don’t.”

But I— I had to hold some parts for myself, right? I had to keep some things locked in that internal box so they would be intact should a storm blow through and destroy everything or— worse— should he gather his things, including the pieces of me, to continue on his separate way. I— I had to at least be able to tell my future self that I tried to prepare for the worst.

“Please,” I begged, reaching for the television remote on my nightstand to downplay my reference, “don’t say things like that when I’m trying to do the right thing.”

I tried to ignore the ensuing silence and distract myself from Taemin’s stare by flicking through a thousand boring channels.

Taemin didn’t react well to losing my attention. He moved to sit before me, deliberately blocking the television so that there was no choice but to meet his eyes despite the resurgence of butterflies.

“So,” he laughed bashfully when I raised my eyebrows. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “You remember— um— that?”

I nodded, blushing mainly because he blushed first. I picked at a button on my shirt. “I remember well enough to quote it.”

All he said was, “Oh,” before he crawled back to my side and pressed his back to the headboard.

I didn’t know what to say or what to make of his “Oh,” which was over too quickly to carry any tone with which to gauge his thoughts. Turning my gaze, which followed Taemin everywhere, to the television, I hoped (as always) that the tension would disappear— or at least stop growing— if I didn’t acknowledge it.

It was like I hadn’t learned anything from my journey of self-discovery. And why? Because I was blushing? Was my hard-won strength really so fragile?

No.

Having outgrown foolish, childish coping mechanisms, I rolled my eyes at myself and admitted that it was unfair to leave all silences for Taemin to break just because I was afraid to accidentally shatter something that never should have been mine. I read once that progress isn’t always linear, so I kept that in mind when meeting Taemin’s eyes.

He had gotten there first. He was watching me. Waiting for me. Quietly. Patiently. Maybe he knew that it was my turn to speak first.

“I don’t regret anything that happened last night,” I admitted in one breath. “Maybe I should because I have never kissed anybody like that before, and I’ve definitely never taken my dress off in front of anyone before. I don’t know how much I should blame the champagne, but I know I acted like a fool. The problem— if you can really call it a problem, and I know you wouldn’t— is that I don’t mind being a fool for you.”

If Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross could sing that in “Endless Love,” then I could say it to Taemin. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

Taemin beamed at my honesty as he always did. Sensing that it was safe to do so, he draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. Normally, nobody lies to feel small, but I was comfortable sinking into his embrace.

He said, “I don’t regret last night either,” apparently forgetting his apologetic efforts to get our night back on track after we screamed. “I never regret any moment shared with you. I kinda thought you were adorable, to be honest.”

“Adorable?” I scoffed through my grin. “You define things weirdly.”

“Nuh-uh,” Taemin argued with the shake of his head. “It’s cute when you cling to me and tell me that you love me more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Adorable!”

Blushing at the restatement of my ramblings, I said, “I’m not arguing with you. Things like cuteness and beauty are subjective, so—”

I was going to say that he just had weird taste by my standards, but Taemin interrupted. “Not this time! Objectively, my composed, dignified Lei is graceful— my emotionally expressive Lei looking up at the moon is beautiful— and my carefree, affectionate, drunk-on-kisses-and-champagne Lei—”

Composed and dignified once more, if even for a fleeting second, I interjected, “I was not drunk.”

But Taemin didn’t so much as dignify that with a pointed argumentative look. “You were precious last night. I was happy to see you without a worry in the world even if it was a once in a lifetime event I play over and over again like our first kiss or meeting in the garden or receiving your ribbon.”

Oh, I smiled, so he revisits our memories too.

Because I had been dying to know for as long as he wore my ribbon and I couldn’t remember if I was ever brave enough to ask, I seized the chance to wonder out loud, “Why do you love me, Taemin?”

I didn’t doubt him. At that point, I would have believed any beautiful lie he wanted to tell. I just— maybe this is vain, but I loved to hear what he thought of me spoken into the world.

Taemin glanced away from his ribbon, which I traced with my free hand, or at our interlaced fingers— whichever he was studying— to fix all of his attention on my curious stare. His eyes didn’t widen in surprise; they crinkled joyfully like I had finally stumbled upon the question he longed to receive because he held the perfect answer.

“Come close,” he said, feeling as I did that sitting hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, was not nearly enough, “and I’ll tell you.”

At his command, I leaned closer like I wanted to all along.

A shiver ran down my spine when he whispered in my ear, “Beauty aside, you’re the gentlest spirit in the whole world. You always walk on your toes, and you look both ways before crossing the street, and you’re sensitive to every change in the wind, and you burn brighter than the sun, but you never try to mark anybody with your flame.”

I hummed, perplexed that anybody could equate me, the girl who found her reflection on the moon, with something like the bold and beautiful sun. I didn’t argue with Taemin, though. I was too lost in his voice to find mine. I thought that his worldview was more beautiful than mine, and I imagined that by holding him and hearing him I could live in his world.

Deep down, I think I always wanted to live by the sun. Maybe Taemin didn’t see me how I was— he definitely didn’t see me as I saw myself— but he saw me as I wanted to be.

He continued, “You think you’re as mysterious as the moon and stars. Sometimes, I want to let you believe that because they’re your idols and I know why. It’s because they taught you how to shine in the dark. I understand, but— even if you’re a mystery to yourself and the people who haven’t been lucky enough to hold the sun— you’re not a mystery to me.”

“Taemin,” I wanted to say, but I couldn’t speak.

“I see you clearly,” Taemin boasted, wearing this smile that was childlike in its beauty like seeing me in this figurative sense gave him an advantage over every other person in the world. “I always have. How could I not love you with all of my heart?”

“Taemin,” I finally breathed raggedly because his name was the only thing to say.

Still, he wasn’t finished speaking. He could have talked forever, and I would have listened forever. He pointed out the window. Because he drew the curtains on his way in, I had to squint through the blinding light to find our garden off in the distance.

“Notice how I told you all of that in the sunlight?” He tugged me closer and sat me between his legs, clad in black sweatpants, so that my back was pressed to his chest. Holding tight around my waist, almost squeezing the air out of my diaphragm because it wasn’t enough to steal my breath with his words, he laid his head on my shoulder and hummed, “We’re not a dream. We don’t melt or fade in the sunlight, so you don’t have to be afraid for the night to end anymore. I mean it when I say forever, and I don’t mind saying it again and again until that word doesn’t scare you.”

“Taemin,” I breathed again. I was tempted to lie that I wasn’t afraid— which really wasn’t much of a lie when he held me. I almost wanted to tell him that I wasn’t afraid of a forever with him; I was afraid of anything less.

Because there was no room in the air for my fears, I said neither of those things. Cutting my eyes at him, holding absolutely no malice or genuine desire for him to stop, I said, “You’re making my chest hurt. I can’t breathe when you talk like this.”

“Last night,” he reminded me with a smile and the subtle raising of his eyebrows, “you said that you love when I talk to you like this.”

I did. I do.

He would never forget anything that I said on New Year's Eve, and I wouldn’t either. I’ve read that major life events result in a new perspective on life. There is life before the incident, and then there is life after. The incident shines a new light on everything that happened prior, and the incident is woven intricately into the understanding of the present.

Giving Taemin my ribbon was one such incident. Crying with him in the garden was another. New Year's Eve, with all of its kisses and clumsy attempts at intimacy, carried the latest collection of incidents.

True to who he had been since he started wearing the ribbon, Taemin didn’t stop pouring his heart out on me in overflowing portions just so I could catch my breath. He laid us down, holding me flush against his body so I couldn't shiver because of the winter wind blowing in through the open window; I couldn’t hide should the compulsion strike again; I couldn't mistake his sincerity; I couldn’t think to the future beyond his palms pressed to mine and his heart pounding with mine and his lips dancing with mine.

I never thought that anything could better express the soul than words, poetry, a diary addressed to a most beloved friend, a metaphor, music, the piano, the violin, a voice in a foreign tongue that carries your darkest fears into the light that recolors them dreams, a lifelong glance at a sky of moon and stars, watching the sea run and return to the shore at the moon’s command, but Taemin’s kiss. Taemin’s kiss.

It’s strange to say that I found more of myself there than anywhere else. Is that what it means to be soulmates? I don’t know, but I’m going to believe that the answer is yes even if that makes me a fool. Don’t tell me if I’m wrong or delusional or walking in a dream.

e.e. cummings was right: ‘kisses are a better fate than wisdom.’

My thoughts were tangled and blurred, but I remember thinking that I couldn’t breathe, but it would have been harder to breathe if he should ever go away. I remember sighing, relieved that we laid on my bed (that wasn’t nearly as cloud soft as his) because my legs were jelly and I almost certainly couldn’t stand. I remember thinking that this— being with Taemin— was what it felt like to fly.

And I didn’t know how to stop— I didn’t want to stop— so I flew with him until the sun descended and the stars and moon, my old friends, ascended in its place.

And that’s how Mom found us: impossibly close and still, still too far apart.

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