#people getting really fucking comfortable she/her-ing me at work. and in my personal life. so.

[translucent-at-best]

Scatter-brained...

I can't find the post about the greatest movie deaths to reblog it, but I just want y'all to know that topping my list is Queenie the dog's death in Crooklyn. Also included is Sonny from The Godfather and Samuel L. Jackson's character in Deep Blue Sea.

Life been life-ing like a motherfucker lately. And while some of it is just happening to me through no fault of my own, there is some of it that's also just me dealing with the consequences of my actions. I'm trying to focus on the things I can control, but it's easier said than done.

Death been death-ing like crazy too. From family to friends to friends who are family... This shit don't make no sense.

I'm 33 now. I haven't had a birthday party since I was 9, but I'm planning a birthday brunch for myself next weekend and I'm excited for it. And grateful that I have people to invite and who I know will show up for me. I'm really out here with chosen family. I came out here knowing no one. I might sound like a broken record at this point, but I'll never stop thanking God for that.

Had to kick my roommate's boyfriend out of the apartment a few weeks ago. I'm still shaken up over it. She told me he's not welcome back until I say he is and I told her I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable with that again (read: I absolutely won't be). She says she understands and that that's a consequence he'll just have to live with... but I'm very aware that although she's saying that now, she may not be so understanding on a May 15th or a July 20th or... you get it. I hope I'm wrong, but if she's shown me anything thus far, it's that I can't always believe what she says.

This same boyfriend showed up unannounced at my place last Sunday night to "apologize." We talked through the call box and that was only long enough for me to say (and repeat several times) that I'm not in a place to accept an apology right now. He kept trying to convince me to talk, asking for "a minute of your time" and saying that he's really a good guy.

First off, anyone who calls themselves a "good" person, I'm wary of. I feel like that's the type of thing other people should tell me about you or that I should clearly be able to see for myself through your actions. Secondly, your solution to getting kicked out of some place is to show up to that place unannounced and try to force the person who wanted you out to accept your apology on your time and terms? Fuck all the way out of here. Thirdly, the lack of self awareness it takes to say you understand why what you did (not listening to us when we told you to leave) was wrong, but then to refuse to listen and leave AGAIN as you try to apologize is mind-boggling. Every time I think about it, I end up even more pissed.

I've been closing all my fitness circles nearly every day this month and I'm really proud of me for that. I even went and worked out on my birthday. Who is she?

The economy is a mess, the current job market is big trash, and the non-profit org I work for has fallen on hard times and informed us that there will be layoffs at the end of this school year. I'm applying and have been applying, but finding the energy to keep doing so is draining in a way I don't think I've experienced before.

And, on top of all that, my sleep schedule has been terrible. I thought it was just a side effect of my period this month, but that thing been gone for a minute and I'm still struggling.

April 13th (the day I promised myself I'd get back on a dating app) came and went. I downloaded an app. I created a profile. I consulted friends about which pictures to post and choose... but them fucking prompts? I know I'm supposed to show off my personality, sell myself, etc. I just ain't got the energy right now...

#scatter-brained #scatter

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

[guro-giri-letters]

imagine... the dabi hair dye scenario but one of the league finds/sees him and decides to help? my heart

(SO, I totally meant this to be shorter but I got a little in my feels. Plus the lowkey Dabi and Mr Compress friendship is so underrated, I adore it. Anyway, here it is, a little comfort fic.)

The Boy Can't Cry - By Guro. ♡

/Dabi gets overwhelmed dying his hair to cover up his past and Mr Compress comes to his aid. Any fics like this where it’s just the league interacting together I’m going to lovingly tag ‘League of Family’. Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; Dabi being emotionally unstable, some cursing, Mr Compress being fatherly, friendship, league of family. ♡/

“How can a man head a group of villains…” Sako murmurs aloud to himself, pulling another card from the messy pile upon the small table between his knees. Sighing, he flicks it into one of several other smaller piles he’s made around the main one, tsk-ing to himself quietly. “...but he can’t keep a pack of cards together. Really.”

Pure boredom, and an inability to get himself over to sleep, is what inspired one Mr Compress to take up and look through Shigaraki’s deck. It’s late in the night now, maybe early morning, and he’s sorting each of the cards into their respective groups by lamplight. It’s a comfortable, mindless task, the showman dressed down to his shirtsleeves and balaclava. In the rare quiet he lets his mind wander, and wonders where Shigaraki had gotten the cards from.

Had he stolen them? Or were they given to him? Gifts from his master, maybe. Either way dearly cherished, he decides, running his thumb over the faded face of an ace of hearts. He’s pondering still when the quick tip-tap of feet on metal steps reaches his ears.

“Mr Compress!”

Blinking, he lays down his hand and turns to find Toga halfway down the rickety staircase, hand cupped around her mouth dramatically as she whisper-yells. Her eyes are big and wide in the dim light, uncharacteristically appearing almost… frightened? What? Right away Sako is on edge, cards forgotten. “What is it dear?” He asks, lowering his own voice in response to her whispers. His worry only grows as Toga’s lips seem to tremble, looking over her shoulder before back to her elder.

“It’s Dabi…” She replies quietly, hugging her arms around her nightdress-clad self. “Somethings wrong with Dabi.”

Sako isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first as he nudges in the bathroom door. Toga is at his back, gripping his sleeve and peering around his side as the door falls slowly open. The old tiled room is lit by dim, yellowed light, and he can just make out Dabi’s shape hunched over the tub at the far end. “He keeps talking to himself-” She murmurs, only to jump at the sound of an open growl, Dabi’s form twisting to glare over his shoulder in their direction from the shadows.

“Get out, Toga.” The burnt man snarls, sending the girl flying away without hesitation. Sako watches her go, a little shocked at her fear in the face of her own comrade. Dabi doesn’t even seem to be looking right at the doorway, stark blue eyes wide and lost. Vacant. Thick, inky black lines run down his face and throat, dripping off of his chin. What the hell is he doing?

“What’s going on, man?” Sako demands, crossing the threshold and approaching Dabi where he kneels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re scaring Toga.”

“Fuck you.” Dabi snaps back, fingers digging into his hair. The same black sits in smudges over the back of his neck, staining his pale fingers. In the dark it almost seems like the villain has been infected, taken over by some dark, miasmic mess. Squinting up, Sako reaches and with a gloved hand, twists the hanging bulb around in it’s socket. Suddenly the room is filled with brighter light, everything coming into focus, and he looks down at Dabi.

His eyes widen a fraction.

Dabi’s coat lies discarded on the dingy floor at his side, the villain kneeling, almost unnaturally bent over the shallow bathtub. His body is shaking, chest expanding and falling rapidly as he scrapes at his own scalp. His hands are trembling, veins visibly risen up on their backs. It seems like he’s working the blackness into his hair almost desperately, hushed words falling barely audible from his lips. “-away. Get away.”

“Dabi?” Sako tries again. And this time he gets a reaction; Dabi’s head twisting to glare in a manner almost animalistic. The black has run in streams down his face and into his eyes, scleras bloodshot deep red and burning. He can’t even see right now, Sako realises, without the ability to produce tears to get rid of the chemicals. Being so close for the first time, he takes note of the sparse, white hairs appearing in his league-mates' thin brows. Oh.

“Get out, Compress. Get out-”

“Do you need help?” He ignores Dabi’s demands easily. The young man isn’t himself right now, and his voice is hoarse, even more gravelly than usual. In response to his question Dabi’s hands clench in his hair, tight, tendons bulging as his knuckles turn white. Sako can hear the strands tearing and grabs for Dabi’s quivering hands. “Good God, man. Stop it!”

“Get off of me!” Dabi practically howls, twisting out of the older man’s grip and slipping, slumping shoulder-first against the side of the tub. He seems to deflate all at once, his head hanging low. Sako can only stare at him, his heart pounding with adrenaline and hands still outstretched, Dabi’s breath comes quick and loud, his own hands coming up to cover his face. He’s an utter mess, what Sako has now deduced to be black dye staining his hands, shirt. Everything. A stretch of silence passes between them, and then Dabi makes the last noise his companion expected to hear.

For a moment he thinks Dabi is laughing, finding some kind of twisted amusement in all of this. But then it starts coming louder, his shoulders shaking, chest and throat convulsing uncontrollably. A dry, hacking cough leaves his throat before he presses his palms harder against his face, knees pulling in close to his body. A noise like barely concealed sobbing reaches Sako’s ears.

He’s crying.

Well… no, the boy can’t cry. He knows this; Dabi’s tear ducts have been damaged beyond repair for years now. But his body still betrays him, shuddering through bouts of broken weeping, dredged up from somewhere deep inside of him. It feels almost wrong, Sako thinks, to see him so vulnerable. It’s clear he’s witnessing something deeply personal. A moment of distress so jarring that Dabi holds fast onto his own arms and curls in on himself, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself.

Almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

The feeling of Sako’s arm wrapping around his shoulders makes Dabi jerk, looking up with bleary eyes as he stoops down to his level. “What are you doing?” He snaps weakly, but there’s no real conviction in it. His nose is running, his voice broken up. Whatever kind of mental breakdown Dabi is currently having, the older man simply can’t bring himself to leave him. Doesn’t want to leave him to fall apart on his own.

“Quiet.” He admonishes, crouching before Dabi and pulling him closer bodily, so that his head comes to rest on Sako’s shoulder. Still breathing raggedly, Dabi stares at a space somewhere on the wall beyond Sako’s shoulder for a while before his eyes close, a worn out sigh leaving his lungs in pieces. No attempt is made to shove him away this time. He gives in.

At one point in his life, another entertainer had told Sako that when a child hugged them, they should never be the first to let go. ‘Because you never know how badly they might need it’, they had said. Keeping his arms around Dabi and remembering that message, he tightens his grip a touch, resigning himself to remaining in a crouch and getting sore knees. Not that Dabi is willing to be held for very long. He pulls away with a sniff, hand on Sako’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Fuck- my eyes.”

He’s not wrong. His eyelids are irritated and swollen, both his regular skin and the grafts beneath. Sighing, Sako loosens his grip and lets Dabi lean back, against the side of the tub. “Put your head over.” He advises, straightening to his feet and pulling off his ruined gloves.

“Why?” Dabi rasps.

“To wash the chemicals out of your eyes, Dabi.”

Dabi considers this with a glance at the dirty tiles then nods his head once. He looks, to put it in a word, drained, straightening himself up and turning to rest his elbows on the tub's edge. Sako watches him as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, shaking his head slightly.

“Where on earth do you young people find the energy to get so worked up?” He chides, not cruelly, turning the faucet and cupping his hand beneath the sluggish flow of water. With his free hand he brings Dabi’s head over the lip of the tub with a nudge, and brings his cupped hand to the fire-user's face. Dabi hisses but doesn’t recoil as Sako rinses the remnants of dye from his face and eyes, pausing only to say; “I’ll do your hair.” and washing the remainder from his unruly mane. His skin will stain for a while, but it’ll wash away in time. He’ll be alright.

To his credit, Dabi has stopped shuddering and seems to be slowly coming down. Slumped against the lip of the tub he lets out a long, slow breath, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hold it, I’m almost done.”

With the sting in his eyes finally dulling, Dabi cracks them open halfway to watch the blue-black water flow down the drain. His throat feels suddenly raw, aching. His face hurts.

“Compress.” It hurts to talk. Jesus.

Sako shuts the water off when Dabi’s hair is running mostly clear, a brow arching beneath his balaclava. “Yes?”

“...don’t- Don’t go telling them.” He manages, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the tub. “I don’t-”

“I understand.” Offering the cleanest looking towel in the room, Sako gives Dabi a faint smile, nodding when he pulls it from his grip. “It’s not for us to know… Are you alright?”

Dabi rises slowly, using the ledge to pull himself up before rubbing at his freshly dyed hair. There’s a moment of hesitation, then; “Yeah… thanks, Compress.”

Sako smiles fully now, spreading his arms and giving a short bow. “I do what I can.”

Dabi snorts, pulls the towel down around his shoulders. “I owe you, I guess.”

“Well… how do you fancy aiding my endeavours to organize Shigaraki’s card collection?”

“No thanks.”

“Understandable.”

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #league of family #lov #league of villains #plf #paranormal liberation front #dabi fic #dabi #toya #toya todoroki #mr compress #atsuhiro sako #dabi and mr compress #comfort #comfort fic #wholesome #just dudes being dudes #oh toga also makes an appearance #himiko toga

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how to lose someone in seven steps? | xiaojun

— summary: fencing his way through life, dejun knows too much about the sport but not enough about love. his sweet tongue conquers the romanticism of this century and puts it to shame—in love with everyone and everything. though, maybe that’s one thing to take to her advantage when trying to break his heart. making him fall for her shouldn’t be that difficult.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: xiao dejun x reader — genre: fencer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: angst ; fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama — word count: 10,584 — playlist: just friends – keshi ; i’m low on gas and you need a jacket – pierce the veil ; that xx – g dragon ; wi ing wi ing – hyuk oh ; lightweight – demi lovato ; better man – 5 seconds of summer ; love u – monsta x ; lucky strike – troye sivan — note: you should read the prologue before reading this route.

One day with a headache is usual; it comes with the stress of the heat of summer, the rambling of people around oneself, and with the overall activities of a busy schedule. The second day, she really starts pondering if the medicine she is taking for her headache is even doing any good—she reads the contents of the box filled with medicine, thinking of the doses, pondering on why it has worked on other occasions but it just doesn’t work now.

The third day she wakes up with a headache, she truly thinks she’s going to snap at the world. How dare they wake her up to the thumping inside her head? Words mingling together in thoughts that she can’t even comprehend.

But the reason of her headache goes past her room—it’s not the bright colors of her rented apartment that take her off guard, neither is it the scent of vanilla that she sprays on her bathroom every night and somehow makes its way into the bedroom, it’s because someone is calling her incessantly before the alarm even goes off. The perks of being an unemployed singer, however, fall on the fact that she doesn’t really have a schedule to start with.

Pushing her tiger blanket off her body, her fingertips reach for her phone. Out of the many contacts, this one surprises her the most—Shishi is the type of woman to write a text with shortened greetings, a simplistic reply and then, she’s off to her own world of anime shows and cosplaying. Much to her delight (or to her lack of understanding, thereof), Shishi is calling at six in the motherfucking morning.

If it’s Shishi, it must be an emergency.

She flops back onto her bed, pulling the covers up her face when she replies, phone to ear, “Good morning, Shishi, what are you doing up?”

“I haven’t slept.” Shishi is quick to reply, her soft voice coming in short spurts, and by the sip she hears soon after, Shishi’s companion for this morning is coffee. “I, uh, I was playing videogames, you know, and I was just thinking about what you said about breaking my ex’s heart four days ago.”

Oh, maybe that’s why she has had a headache the past three days. Alcohol had been her form of speech at that moment, when her hand grabbed Shishi’s phone with a picture of her and her ex-boyfriend, something Xiao…all she can remember now is that he is the supposed ‘Fencer Asshole’.

“Ah, Shishi…I think it was just a joke.” The feeling of her covers softening the stress on her cheeks has her closing her eyes. Just a few more hours of sleep before she has to worry about the world outside her cheap apartment. “I was drunk, Shishi. I…I don’t want to date any of my friends’ exes, no matter how attractive they are or how much they hurt them—”

Shishi lets out a groan that comes from the depths of her frustration. “But—you don’t get it. You’ve never been heartbroken. It’s…it’s the worst thing in the world.”

Opening her eyes, she stares at the harsh yellow walls of her bedroom. “Reason as to why you shouldn’t want to cause that upon someone else. It doesn’t make you a better person—”

For a moment, silence fills the air, and she thinks the call must’ve come to an end, just when she is about to slip her phone off her ear to cut the call, Shishi speaks again. “He played games with me,” She says, voice softer than what she gets to hear when she’s playing videogames. Shishi somehow lives believing that the stories she sees in manga and anime will become her reality. They never do. “Spent three months of my life last year kissing me, making me feel unique, having me going to every single one of his events only to say we were just friends after. I can’t deal with that.”

“And I’m so sorry, Shishi, but that just happens—”

“Please, you promised!” For a second, she thinks back to the time Shishi was truly heartbroken by Xiao Dejun. Locked in her room without being able to get out, weeping so silently that no one noticed—no one but her group of friends, arriving with her favorite meals, tickets to her favorite shows, and none of them got them out. Only on her own had she been able to break through the ties that held her to Dejun. “I was miserable for months. Sometimes, when I really think about it, I still feel like I can hear his voice. Please, I just need him to get a taste of his own medicine.”

The day she dies, she wants to believe she was a good person—she helped her friends, was there for her family, and did what she thought was good. At this moment in time, she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing—heartbreak is overrated yet huge on its own, but it’s what her friend wants. Revenge tastes sweet, and she hasn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Okay, I will.” She sighs deeply, her vocal cords hurting by the words she just said. “But I need some background on this dude. All I remember is your snotty voice when you were crying for him.”

Almost like the shows she watches, Shishi squeals in delight, slurping some more of her drink before speaking up. “Xiao Dejun, born in Dongguan, a famous fencer that went to the Olympics when he was sixteen. Ah, he doesn’t really enjoy coffee, he prefers tea. Loves dogs, has one, too. Sucker for musicals, has the prettiest eyes…” When she recites him that way, she wonders how in fucking hell Shishi got her heart broken by someone who loves musicals. To be quite honest, if someone asks you to watch CATS on a first date and your heart ends up in shambles, that’s on you. “But he always flirted with one of his trainers.”

“What was her na—?”

“Chenhao.”

“Oh…right.”

“Chenhao. She’s like the anime enemy of my love story,” Somehow, she wonders if Shishi sees the world the same way she does. Either way, she closes her eyes tightly, hoping for the headache to go away. “Tall, has short hair, I think she had a rose tattoo on her shoulder but it’s rarely seen. Hot as all fuck.”

“She sounds super hot.” She replies, only to earn a scoff from Shishi. “Baby, I’m just being honest. You’re hot in your own way, too, but if you were never something official—”

“Ah, ah, don’t go there!” Shishi conquers. “I just need you to be the Chenhao in this situation. Crush his heart. Make him regret it.”

You know, with the lack of gigs coming directly to her—an artist in the rising that doesn’t get past a thousand plays on Soundcloud, this sounds like a good distraction. A fencer, perhaps, is one of the things she would’ve never imagined herself ever dating or looking for, but it is what she gets. The kind of person she has to capture to have Shishi feeling good about herself again.

“What I do for you, Shishi. What I do for you…”

“And I love you for it!”

###

The world rotates in ways we don’t understand—one day, we’re saying we won’t do one thing and some months later, we’re living exactly what we never wanted to go through. It’s the cycle of life; reason as to why fashion gets old and renews itself perfectly, or why the songs we used to listen to years ago can’t seem to get out of our hearts, doesn’t matter if we still know the lyrics or not. With that in mind, entering the local fencing tournament with a ticket in between her fingers and an unpolished denim jacket across her shoulders isn’t something she would have imagined herself doing a week ago. Alas, life works in marvelous ways.

Most of the people by the bleachers are parents, clear in the way they dress, in their cheers and pamphlets that read children’s names. Her heart warms at the whooping from some people, wondering where that side of her life had gone to. You see, life hasn’t been so innocent to her the past few months—lack of employment, songs that speak about her turmoil of thoughts, blending into the hatred she feels for her decisions. A singer on tables in local bars, but never quite making it through. Never quite making an impression.

Instead, she sits down, watching the group of children in fencing uniforms, white and perfectly polished, holding the sabre with expertise, perhaps learning from someone much more knowledgeable. Not a lot of adults are on the center of the tournament, but she catches sight of someone kneeling to fix the sleeves of a kid’s uniform, taking off his mask to showcase his messed-up brown hair and his twinkling, smiling eyes. Her throat dries in recognition, though, he looks much more different from what Shishi had described.

Xiao Dejun is a fallen star at that moment—in his eyes, a universe. His fingers quickly work on the elongated fabric of that kid’s uniform, speaking to him with certainty, grinning in a way that would make anyone comfortable. When he gets back on his feet, taut and slim body in full display under that white uniform (still, leaving something to the imagination), he takes his sabre in between his hands, speaking with certainty.

The sabre glides across the air like a dance, a samba of sorts that romanticizes such unrecognized art. Her vision is filled only with him—with the way he hits his sabre with the kid’s, pulling his mask on his face with quick motions before pushing himself forward. When the kid manages to pinch his stomach, bending the sabre in the process, he can’t help but cheer loudly—heard over the chatter of people, followed by a high five from the kid, perhaps on ten years old at most.

Oh, youth tournament. When Shishi had spoken about a tournament, she thought Dejun would be the one competing, but as he makes his way towards the bleachers, right at the bottom of it, she can’t help but hit herself mentally.

Youth.

He’s not going to participate.

He’s training children in this competition.

No one is seated by his side, so her legs slide away from her seat to move closer to him before anyone could take the space beside him. Her converses hit the bleachers with certainty, excusing herself between the masses of parents to plop herself down next to Xiao Dejun. From up close, with his mask off, she can see a thin layer of seat falling on his forehead and on the perfectly styled bridge of his nose. His thick eyebrows frown together when he is concentrated, a memory of the kind of man he is. Too given to his job, perhaps, too given to this sport.

Competitive.

Meant for winning.

But she’s going to win over him.

“I’m guessing you know a lot about this.” She starts, leaning back and placing her backpack over her legs. Dejun finally looks away from the masses of children preparing themselves for the first portion of the tournament, giving a smile that transforms into a cackle. Anyone is a sucker for humor, you see.

“Well, ah, yes, of course.” Dejun points at his uniform, before crossing his arms over his chest. “I am guessing you don’t know much.”

“There’s always time for learning.” She extends her hand then, introducing herself with certainty as he looks into his eyes. They turn into half-moons at that moment, smiling with delight as he shakes her hand in a greeting. Oddly charming.

“Xiao Dejun. I’m a trainer for the local team.” He introduces himself and, oh, of course he sounds like he has his life together. It wouldn’t surprise her if someone like him had spent the entirety of his youth simply giving himself to his sport. “If you don’t know a thing about fencing, I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“A friend told me the tournament was going to be entertaining…” Her voice trails at that moment, remembering that she shouldn’t say much about Shishi. “And I happened to have free time.”

Naturally, a blush appears across his honey skin. Strawberry meeting the dulcet honey-tea. “What do you do?”

“I’m a singer.” Though, it’s rare for her to ever say that these days. “…Or, I try to be. You see, it’s harder than you think to find someone to listen to your music when you don’t have an artist name.”

“I think your name is nice for an artist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Dejun conquers, nodding in a way that has her chuckling. Okay, so not only oddly charming—entirely so. “I would listen to your albums.”

She scoffs at his words. “Liar.”

“Ah, not a liar—” But he doesn’t deny it. Sweet-tooth meeting a dulcet mouth, embarking her in a trip for falling. It’s not a wonder that Shishi had been caught in his trap. “But if you want to learn something else apart from singing, I give classes every once in a while. You just have to sign up and all that.”

Looking at Dejun as he bends his knees and pushes the sabre forward, his face hidden behind a mask, somehow doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. If anything, it’s a way to get closer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dejun stands up at that moment, running his hands over his thighs to clean them on the white fabric. “I have to leave now, though. I hope you enjoy the tournament.”

Her eyes rake over his figure, a big beam on her features. “Oh, I’ll make sure to do just that.”

If the parents are going crazy on the bleachers, Dejun is the equilibrium—the middle ground that gives everyone strength. Each kid seems to have him as an energizer, looking for his approval even though he’s not the oldest of the trainers. Dejun’s throat must hurt from how much he is cheering for them, clapping widely, taking the sport as an art, and it’s at this moment that she does see Xiao Dejun in a different light, somewhat an angel in between the bunch of shit he did to Shishi.

Yet, unlike hers, his world doesn’t stop. In hopes of talking to him after the tournament is over, she’s surprised to see the groups of parents clouding him with cameras and phones to take pictures of him with their children.

He doesn’t have time for her.

The heat of the summer afternoon pleads for her to take off her jacket, slipping it off and hanging it from her arm as she tries to call a cab. The holes of her graphic t-shirt (all out of style, of course) don’t do much to keep her fresh as she calls the usual number for her ride, only to remain waiting. None of the parents have gotten out to the tournament just yet, leaving her in solitude in the small street, only accompanied by the people in the Chinese restaurant in front of her, who are too occupied in working with their clients.

Though, something takes her off guard—the motorcycle that had passed by just mere minutes ago has passed by again, this time slower, checking out her spot in the sidewalk. She lowers the phone to look at the man with the dark glasses and horrendous, patchy hair. Something about him feels off, but before she could further intensify her discomfort, he rushes off in his motorcycle. But, he’s not too far away, she can still hear the roaring of the engine—

The door opens at that moment, welcoming the sight of Dejun in more comfortable clothing—his brown hair more brushed at this moment, sporting a white t-shirt and dark joggers, pressing his phone up to his ear. “Excuse me, I called a cab for you.” He tells her, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back the slightest. “Ah, I saw you leave on your own…but the neighborhood has been experiencing some robberies from a man in a motorcycle and I doubt you knew. Maybe, wait inside until the cab arrives, okay?”

When Dejun closes the glassed door in front of her, making sure to lock it, she spares one glance his way. He’s much too close, though he doesn’t notice it, his chest touching her shoulder by the time she says: “T—Thank you, I had no idea.”

“Today’s learning day for you, then.” Dejun plays around, giving her one of her infamous smiles, though, his eyes are the most impressive. Somehow, she can’t look away from them. “Ah…I still have to attend the parents. Are you okay with staying here alone?”

She’d rather stay a few minutes more with him, hear that deep tone in his voice that lingers with a smile most of the time. “It’s okay. Go with your fanbase.”

“It’s not a fanbase.” Dejun defends with an eye-roll, before walking backwards. “I hope to see you in my fencing classes one day.”

She shrugs her shoulders, knowing exactly how to keep him at the edge of his seat. “I’ll have to see. Maybe, maybe not.”

Someone calls Dejun’s name at that moment and the sunshine in his eyes stops looking at her, leaving her in darkness.

###

From: Elena Wang.

I still think this is the worst idea you’ve had to date.

Or that we, as a group, have collectively decided upon.

Literally.

Her shoes patter against the sidewalk, moving over to the same place in which the tournament had taken place in two weeks ago. Out of all the texts she expected to get at four in the afternoon on a Monday, Elena talking about how bad it is that they had bet to break someone’s heart wasn’t it. Her manager, however, should be texting her about the demos she had sent out over a month ago…and yet, she receives no response about that.

The air is turning fresher this time of the year, enough to move her flannel as she walks with lack of precision, turning her gaze to the group-chat she shares with her friends.

From: Shishi.

It’s not a bad idea at all.

I was heartbroken because of Dejun.

From: Elena Wang.

And what if she falls in love with Dejun?

He’s handsome.

And she hasn’t gotten laid in well over a year.

I’m sure she could see an average guy from afar and she would be interested.

From: Yifei.

Did Elena just call you a hoe absentmindedly?

Free pussy for everyone including Dejun.

To: Group-Chat.

I won’t fall for Dejun.

Come on.

I’m fine.

From: Yifei.

How did that song go?

I hypnotize you with this pussy…

Now you feel like you can fly.

Fly.

From: Shishi.

She won’t sleep with him.

It’s off the charts.

To: Group-Chat.

Right.

Off the charts.

From: Shishi.

Is that sarcasm in the form of a text?

Opening the door to the fencing area, she hears the swoosh of air that follows when it closes. The warmth is nicely welcomed, though the groups of people gathering by the middle make her nervous. Some around their age, some definitely younger—perhaps teens, if she’s exact—and all more interested in fencing than she is. One person stands out, however, in the middle as he gives instructions out as well as smiles. Those that she can’t get over and done with.

Dejun is quite a fit for the person she would’ve imagined would break her dating drought, but Shishi would absolutely kill her if she decided to get overly intimate with him. Well, that’s what her texts indicate when she checks her phone one last time before putting her bag down on the bleachers.

From: Shishi.

Right?

You won’t sleep with him.

It’s forbidden.

Even I didn’t sleep with him.

From: Yifei.

Let her get some!

God bless the day Jhené Aiko decided to say:

That dick make my soul smile.

That dick make me so proud.

From: Shishi.

She.

Can’t.

See.

His.

Dick.

To: Group-Chat.

Girls, what kind of woman do you take me for?

I’m not that easy to sleep with.

Besides, if Shishi says it’s off the charts, it’s off the charts.

From: Yifei.

No pussy fairy, then?

To: Group-Chat.

The pussy fairy died last year. Now, I can’t even kiss someone.

Or I could, if you just let me do my own damn thing and talk to Dejun.

With that, she locks her phone and puts it inside one of the pockets of her bag.

Dejun awakens a sunset inside of her when he smiles at her, perhaps, thrown to the world and she takes it in between her fingertips as hers. Though, someone else starts talking to her, short dark hair masking enigmatic features on their wake. The rose tattoo on her shoulder is barely covered by the sleeves of her uniform, walking over to her with another fencing outfit.

“You should get changed,” The seductive tone of her voice lingers with the scent of cigarettes, and it is at this moment that she meets Shishi’s biggest enemy: Chenhao. “I don’t know if this is your size or anything, but it’s the best I could find. The class has already started and you don’t want to miss Dejun’s first class.”

Chenhao quirks one of her thin eyebrows when she doesn’t take the uniform firsthand, but after some pondering, she takes it in between her hands. Damn, she’s actually as hot as Shishi described, if not more. Is it possible that she is the one dating Dejun? “I understand.” She says, already slipping into the uniform while talking to Chenhao. “You have high regards of him.”

“I do.” Chenhao complies, nodding at her words.

“Why?”

“He’s a nice fencer.” She starts, looking down at a folder in between her hands before clicking on her pen. “What is your name again?”

After saying it, her hands come behind her back to zip herself up. “…Is he a nice guy apart from a good fencer?”

“Too much of a nice guy.” Chenhao says. “You don’t know how many women we have had to talk to because he was just too nice to them. Some think he’s just flirty, I just think he doesn’t realize that not all people are going to want to be his friend.”

“I mean, he’s an adult, he probably notices—”

“He doesn’t.” Chenhao conquers, already pushing her towards the group of people. “But I can notice that you’re also one of those women that come here to get Dejun’s attention, but I’ll just turn my blind eye on it.”

“I’m not—”

“Hey, long time no see!”

When Dejun speaks and she smiles gleefully, all her excuses fall down as pure and futile lies.

“Dejun!” It’s ridiculous how her knees seem to give in, words filled with roses as she expects his mere attention to fall on her. Those two orbs—penetrating, piercing, become one with her. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was talking to my manager.”

Looking for a sabre, he places it in between her hands, his fingers coming in contact with hers with the softest touch. They’re calloused, if anything, come to learn most athletes don’t have the softest hands. “How did that go?”

“Well, horrible, you see.” She replies, well aware of the fact that— “My manager did not actually talk, but ignore my calls altogether. Texted me saying he hasn’t gotten any news.”

Dejun hisses at that, placing one hand on top of her shoulder as he leads her to the group of people. “Mhm, fencing can always help letting the steam off.”

“You know how to sell your business really well, you know?”

“…I’ve come to learn a thing or two.” Dejun, who grabs his sabre with more of a stronger grasp, though somewhat elegant in his approach, leans one leg forward. “I need you to take positions.” And she does, for something about the way he loves fencing just shows through. The love that knows no lies, no bleeding memories of a past that awes someone not to trust—he loves the sport so carelessly that he’d die for it. Would give his life out just for one moment with the sabre. “Always take into consideration, though, that fencing is about balance, elegance—it’s not about fighting, it’s about portraying art with your body.” Putting the sabre down, he clears his throat. “I’m Xiao Dejun, your instructor for today, and I will start going over the basic things about fencing. What it is, a part of its history, and then, we can move onto the actual sport on itself.”

When she was a student, there was always this one kid that prepared a little too magnificently, and while most people rotted in envy and rolled their eyes at said person’s presentation, she always found them to be…enchanting. To love something—not someone—enough for it to drive you to limits of yourself only to deliver something greater than what you have been taught shows strength. Perseverance is attractive at that moment when Dejun takes his time to instruct everyone how to properly stand when fencing, when putting on his mask and gliding the sabre as if it was part of his body.

But, she’s not that good at it.

At first, she doesn’t notice it—how to notice it when she’s working with people equally as bad as her? But when Dejun stands in front of her, sabre in hand, ready to take over the world, her breath gets caught in her throat, hard to swallow when he comes forward and forward, practically cornering her before the sabre bends onto her stomach.

“Don’t panic,” Dejun indicates. “That’s the first step. If you panic, you don’t act—and if you don’t act, you’re going to lose.”

She takes off her mask, then, a sigh ripping from the depths of her throat when she says: “Not everyone is born with talent like you, Dejun.”

Dejun chuckles at that, taking off his mask as well when he gives an answer. “I wasn’t born with talent for fencing. I just happened to make a mistake when I tried to get in the soccer team. Ended up signing myself up for fencing classes.”

Well, that’s surprising. “No way!”

“I did.” Dejun conquers. “You can’t imagine just how confused I was when I was given a sabre instead of a ball. But I made do.”

“Things happen for a reason.”

“They do.” Though, his eyes glide over her face, looking down at her lips momentarily before sweet laughter creeps up on him. Mhm, maybe he does think that destiny put her there.

Destiny is called Shishi Hong.

And it’s Dejun’s…ex…friend…

Ex friend with benefits?

Ex…friend that he liked?

Ex something.

“What are you doing on Friday?” She asks, lips coming together to wet themselves, and Dejun chuckles.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

“Then, dinner it is.” Though, his sweetener ways come back when he quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just come here to ask me out on a date?”

If only he knew that she came here to shatter his heart. Instead to tell him just that, she smiles. “Maybe, maybe not. What’s the fun in telling you?”

Dejun puts his mask down, waving the sabre around her and making her stay on guard. “I have to get the answers out of you?”

“Not with a sabre.” She replies, a squeal on her voice when the sabre bends by her abdomen—again. Expected, honestly.

“How?”

A giggle rips from her throat then, shaking her head at his antics. “You’ll have to figure it out on our date, Dejun.”

“Damn it.” Dejun feigns anger, a pout on his lips when he adds: “Gotta give me your number after this, you know?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Though, she can feel a pair of piercing eyes on hers, different from Dejun’s—they freeze her in place when she realizes Chenhao is looking at her, somehow inspecting her situation. Perhaps, she knows her real intentions, those she has with the man that is being called over again, leaving with an apology as he helps another group of people.

Is she really doing this? Breaking someone’s heart just because of her friend?

###

Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby would be proud of her look right now.

The night has never looked better, but with a satin dress clinging to her curves—coming directly from Elena’s wardrobe—and a striped long coat over it, she feels enigmatic. Little does Dejun know when he picks her up in his car, neither too expensive not too new, that she’s laid out to be a seductress. Not to sleep with him, Shishi would have her head if that was the case, but to bathe in confidence and let him seek for more.

Jay, Bingbing’s husband, hides most of his tattoos underneath the burlesque suit he has to wear. Red, fitted to his body, with a bowtie that conceals the lines of tattoos that scatter from his chest. His curly black hair is moved away from his face thanks to a lot of gel, making the strands glisten under the harsh lights of the casino-themed restaurant. It’s a beautiful place, not to be misunderstood, with spacious tables that represent those of poker in Las Vegas, plates themed in ways that would be misunderstood by the public had not they placed food on top of them. People dress up to the nines, and Dejun, sadly, didn’t seem to get the memo.

Shit, she had forgotten to tell him to just dress elegantly.

Though, her eyes can’t help but go over to him—the simplicity of such a man with a gray sweater half-tucked inside a pair of black jeans, who takes her breath away when he pushes his brown hair away from his face with his hand and asks for a table for two. These days, men like him are hard to find. Neruda poems made person, with an ode to love.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a date today.” Jay says from his spot, tapping his finger against the screen to showcase the width of available tables. Not that many, but the one near the window calls out for her name, so she points at it.

“Well, it’s not usual for me to bring a date whatsoever.” She replies, somehow widening her eyes at Jay. She only hopes Bingbing had not told him about their little bet—

“Touché.” Jay jots something down on the notebook before clearing his throat. “Please, let me take your coats while you’re inside. You can come directly to me to grab them once you plan to leave.”

Something about Dejun makes her heart swirl. It shouldn’t, but it does. When a summer day arrives and she has her precious iced tea, the ice always stays at the bottom, and she looks for them, moves them, lets them be the circle of her life for one second or two, maybe a few minutes. It’s nothing interesting, but it’s necessary. Just like him when he lifts his lips in one of those smiles that make his eyes look even more beautiful, placing both hands on top of her shoulders.

“May I?” And really, Shishi would kill her if she read her thoughts. For one, his rosy lips look inviting, eyes asking her if she’d rather imagine him as a sinning angel or a pure devil. Off the charts, she tells herself, shaking her head in the process before recomposing herself.

“Of course,” Though, she almost forgets that she’s dressed to kill—better dressed than she has ever been on any date. Whatever. It’s not like she’s actually seducing him with a back-less dress, but when the fabric of her coat glides across her shoulders, down her arms, she spares one look at him. “I’ll be cold, though.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” He says, though he laughs loudly at his own antics, rubbing his hands against her arms. Resided deep in her heart, it hits her like a train-wreck—she loves the jittery feeling of being there with him. When her cheeks can’t stop blaring heat and her lips are constantly being moistened simply because she wants to talk to him. Is this, perhaps, her way of betraying Shishi?

Her heels click against the tiles as she walks behind Jay, Dejun right by her side, eager to maintain the conversation going. “I didn’t take you as a flirt.”

Dejun’s eyes welcome the light perfectly. Maybe, solar energy was created because of him. Inspired on him. “Some people say I am,” He drags her seat for her to take, making sure not to flash the entirety of the restaurant when sitting down. She crosses one leg over the other as she hears him speak, the man moving over to the seat across from her. “But I actually think I’m just too nice. I don’t mean to flirt.”

Her fingertips trail over the menu, looking at the prices and silently praying for them to gain a coupon or something. The things she does to go out with Dejun.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hold that thought.

It’s the things she does for Shishi, not for Dejun.

Oh, my fucking God—

“I happen to be the least flirty person I know.” She says, going back and forth on their conversation, only to hear Dejun scoff.

“You are flirty.”

If only he knew her group of friends, he wouldn’t say such thing. “I’m not!” Oh wait, he does know someone in her group of things—

Shishi.

When is the last time she replied to one of her texts?

Had she been too busy talking to Dejun to actually embark in a conversation with her friend?

“I know someone you flirt with that is very aware of your flirting.” Dejun replies, thanking the waitress that comes with a glass of water before lifting the menu up in the air. “I’m feeling lobster, what about you?”

She laughs at his antics. Dejun, though not the most well-paid person, happened to embark in a lot of expensive tastes when he was travelling around the world for fencing competitions. At the time, his sponsors would pay everything—but now, the blows go directly to his bank account. “You feel like losing all your money in just one meal?”

“My grandma used to say to eat as if it was the last time you were doing so.” Dejun instructs, the nostalgia in his voice lingering in depths that she doesn’t want to think about. “And I happen to like lobster a lot.”

“I’m having carbonara.” She says, looking over to the waitress when she gives her the menu back.

The woman places the menu against her hip, jotting it out the slightest. “Anything else?”

“I have to drive so cola for me.” Dejun initiates, pointing at her with his chin. “What do you want?”

If she’s wrecking the night, she better do it like a star. “Wine for me. Red.”

“Alright. I’ll have your meals out in a minute.” The waitress says, bowing deeply before moving over to the kitchen. She loses sight of her when she leans her weight back against the leather of the seat she has taken up on.

“So…”

“So…”

“When are you singing something for me?” Dejun asks, placing his elbows over the table and looking at her directly in the eye. Though she’s on the verge of bankruptcy, she still lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“When you give me some inspiration, Dejun.”

“Me?” He asks in between a chuckle, using his thumb to point at himself.

“Do I know other Dejun?” She asks, biting on her nail softly as she leans forward as well, capturing his lips in one of her tracing gazes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why does she want to kiss him?

That wasn’t part of the deal—

But…to break his heart…she kind of has to have something with him.

Or is she just being selfish?

“You better not.”

Dejun is a feather that happened to fall in the ocean, and she’s the sailor that came across such thing, grasped it in her hands and now can’t get the fabric away from her fingertips. It clings to her in ways that she isn’t used to, but doesn’t hate at all. His words, the way he laughs, how he embarks in conversation without ever judging her—they meet in their differences, grow in their jokes, build something from the ground up respecting each other. It feels like talking to him goes by too quickly, the food disappearing even though she’s not that hungry. It’s that feeling of fitting with someone that she had heard about but had never lived through, and she absolutely hates it.

…To hide that she actually loves it.

A movie plays inside her head—not with the picture of kids and a house, but with the feeling of needing him to hold her. Everything he says connects him like a puzzle. Xiao Dejun started fencing when he was a child by accident, then it became the light of his eyes. His favorite person is his dad. He doesn’t prefer either tea or coffee, but if he has to choose, he loves tea. He wants to face all his fears even once in his life. He’s easily breakable. Though, he keeps it hidden, a secret that remains in between the two.

She keeps drinking and lets loose a little bit as well. Her dream of being a singer that started when she was twelve years old, watching one of those R&B singers on TV and then, needing to do something of the like. She learned how to play guitar and she does it averagely well, but nothing out of the ordinary. She’s careful—she doesn’t want to live regretting the things she has done, and when he asks if she’s ever regretted anything in her life, she shakes her head.

Never.

But now, she thinks she’s going to regret something—

Breaking his heart.

When the wine meets her head with a thump, she’s already out of the casino, dangling from Dejun’s shoulder as he holds her waist closely. His hand is warm, nice enough to leave her no choice but to daydream of that same hand roaming the entirety of her body. Perhaps, she has lit herself up in fire by drinking while he didn’t, but who cares about that?

No words come up to her mouth when Dejun leans her against the car to be able to open the passenger door, but she takes this time to inspect him. His messy hair, thick eyebrows, deep eyes—those lips, two sins asking for a taste. She needs a taste. Instead, she lets her hands wander, hovering over his waist before tugging at it, bringing him closer to look directly into his eyes.

He chuckles, playing with the strands of her hair to push them away from her face. “What’s up?”

“I want to do something…” She trails her voice, biting down on her bottom lip as she lets her utmost desire speak. She’s careful, of course, love is not what she wants—but somehow, she wants to relish on the feeling of him, having him underneath her to press kisses on his neck, make his world shake in the way that would settle her as a confident woman. It’s a promise to herself: sex. “Only if you want, though.”

Dejun must have caught up on what she said, his smile falling as he widens his eyes. “Something like w—what?”

“Like doing me.” She replies, heat catching up with her face, making Dejun chuckle as he shakes his head.

“I won’t do that. You’re drunk, first.” He instructs. “And secondly, I don’t have sex with people on the first date. Sorry.”

She tries to push herself away at that moment, embarrassment making a home out of her, but her back comes in contact with the door of the car. “O—Oh, shit, sorry, forget I even said that. I’m so stupid—”

Dejun shakes his head rapidly. “N—Not that I don’t want you! I just…I have a weird view of love, I guess. And sex, altogether.” Dejun takes the spot beside her, looking up at the sign that reads the name of the restaurant. “God, you’re so hot. I…I don’t know how I am capable to deny you, but I am doing it.”

Something ignites in her heart, nodding at what he says. “It’s okay.” She whispers. “What’s that view you have of love and sex?”

“That sex has erased love. Now love is the taboo.”

She chuckles at what he says, humming along. “You’re right.”

“I’m a romanticist, I guess.” Dejun instructs. “I’ve…I’ve grown with the idea of just…just having that foundation of feeling something before I get in the sheets with someone. Not that I don’t think it’s stupid sometimes—”

“It isn’t.” She cuts him short, opening the passenger’s door in the process. “Sex is overrated.”

“It is.”

“And I’m sorry for asking.”

“No, no—!” What he doesn’t know, however, is that she shouldn’t have even thought about it. Shishi comes up to her brain right at that moment. “Maybe, uh, maybe we can talk about our expectations on the subject on the second date?”

Before she could get inside the car, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second date?”

“Only if you want to…”

With a big smile on her face, she says: “Why wouldn’t I want to? It’s you we’re talking about, Dejun.”

###

Mondays have become the designated fencing day for the past month. Not that she has gotten any better—but it’s an excuse to see Dejun.

Just as she’s walking through the neighborhood, phone in hand (and she can hear Dejun cursing at her for doing this), she reads through the group-chat. Lately, she hasn’t been checking up much with her friends. Her manager has had her auditioning for a bunch of shows in hopes of getting in, to no avail, and along with that, she has tried to balance out her romantic life to spend more time with Dejun. Since…breaking his heart…could be easier if she gets to know him better.

Or it’s just one big excuse to get to know him.

From: Bingbing.

[Picture Attached]

Jay just sent me this because he had forgotten he had taken this picture.

Here we have Xiao Dejun using his pretty eyes on our designated heartbreaker.

The picture showcases her date from nearly three weeks ago. Dejun is seated across from her, cheek held up by his palm as he looks directly at her. Her lips are parted, speaking about something with wide hand movements, and she can’t help but laugh. His eyes settle on her with a twinkle she likes.

From: Shishi.

Hold up.

Why did you dress up hot?

Were you trying to get inside his pants?

Well…uh, how does one tell one of her best friends that she tried to when drunk, but that he gently denied because he just wasn’t ready?

To: Group-Chat.

Oh my God, Shishi, no.

From: Shishi.

Why did you dress up hot, then?

To: Group-Chat.

Because it’s a date…

If you were going to be all jealous over Dejun, why did you ask me to break his heart?

From: Shishi.

He looks very fucking happy right there.

Why did you offer to break Dejun’s heart?

Did you just think he was handsome and that you wanted to fuck him?

To: Group-Chat.

Calm down, Shishi.

You’re talking to me as if I’m some whore.

From: Shishi.

You have more of a body count than I do.

To: Group-Chat.

How do you even know that?

Stop making up bullshit.

Her ears blare up with heat at that, pushing her phone into the depths of her pocket before lifting her gaze. Shishi has some fucking nerve to talk to her that way. As if it wasn’t one of her grand ideas, even though she denied, to have her meeting up with Dejun. Whatever.

The air bites at her skin, going through her white t-shirt as she nears the fencing place. Instead, she’s welcomed by the sight of two people already outside. Not one of the students, but two of the instructors instead. Chenhao is leaning against the wall, cigarette in between her fingertips as Dejun talks closely to her. Chenhao is a bit taller than Dejun, one leg crossed over the other as he smirks down at her. His eyes inspect her features, taking the cigarette from her hand before stepping on it. Chenhao doesn’t seem phased, instead crossing her arms over her chest as if challenging.

Something creeps up inside her when Dejun talks to her softly, like a flower in the middle of a garden that he wants to see grow.

“Dejun! Chenhao!” She calls out at that moment, moving over to them to see Chenhao lifting her gaze and Dejun smiling as if he had not been caught strangely close to Chenhao. The woman in question breathes out her name before grinning.

“You still come to class; I see.” Chenhao spares one look at Dejun before shrugging. “Let’s see how much this lasts.” Before she could further question her sentence, Chenhao opens the door of the salon before entering, leaving a trail of smoke behind her.

“…What the hell does that mean?” She asks in a mere whisper, watching Dejun who shakes his head.

“I have no idea.” He replies, but she can call bullshit on that.

“I think you have a good idea of what she means.” She says, looking at the cigarette that lays lifelessly on the gray concrete. “What is it? Are Chenhao and you a thing or…?”

Dejun chuckles at her words, blowing a raspberry at the end. “Oh no,” He denies quickly. “She used to train with me for the Olympics, but she has been fucking it all up with her addiction to cigarettes. I need her to get back in the game.”

For a moment, she thinks about all the times she had helped her friends—and how they had helped her, too. Maybe, that is why she is here with him on the first place. “That’s good, but it’s her life. The only person that can change her is herself.”

Dejun stares off into the street, that restaurant in front of them one that they had never visited. The city fits him just as well as nature. Something about him is just universal. “Yeah, but I’ll try to change her until she goes back to the person she used to be. I believe in her.”

Now, she realizes that her heart is beating too rapidly—both in jealousy and in happiness, somehow. “So, that’s why a bunch of women fall in love for you, huh?”

“What?”

“That dreamy look…those eyes…” She whispers, a rasp in her tone. “That’s the tactic.”

“I have flirty eyes, I guess.” He answers, running his hand over her arm before catching her fingers with hers. “But, as of now, I only use them on one person.”

“And that would be…?”

“You.”

###

Once you see someone’s apartment, it’s over. That’s either for a hook-up, you’re on the friendzone, or simply because they’re comfortable enough with you to show you the place in which they are their truest selves.

Dejun’s place is different from hers. Where do they meet? They’re both a bit disorganized. Dejun scatters uniforms across his living room, the white walls contrasting what she normally sees him in—that bone colored fencing uniform that she has managed to learn how to love. By the right, a small kitchen remains almost spotless, if she doesn’t count the random snacks she sees around. She thinks she just saw crackers next to noodles, and if he’s having them together, she may sue him.

“Don’t tell me you eat crackers with noodles.”

Dejun closes the door behind him, putting down the packages of chips they had just bought for their movie night. “Noodles with crackers, with saltines, with chips. I once had them with chocolate cookies…but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Ew, Dejun!” She complains, swatting his arm softly as she takes a seat on the couch, pushing the uniform he had draped on the arm’s rest to the side, folding it carefully in the process. “I don’t know what’s more of a disaster, this living room or your stomach.”

“My mom didn’t raise a guy who is scared of eating.” Dejun implies, already opening a bag of extra spicy chips before lending it over to her. “You know what the fun thing about this snack is?”

“What?” Her voice lingers with happiness, something that always comes when being around Dejun.

“That we don’t know which ones are spicy and which ones are, well, not spicy.” He plops himself down to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder that she can’t help but take. Why is it that the air feels far more favorable when by his side? “And I’m betting you’re going to end up biting all the spicy ones.”

“Ha!” She replies, already looking for the remote to search for a movie. Something comedy, perhaps, she’s feeling like watching something of the like of dark comedy—maybe Horrible Bosses? “I’m betting I’m not. I’ve got wits, baby.”

“And looks, too.” She hears him say, soon after pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll eat the spicy ones for you.”

“You’ll like them. That’s not fair.”

“And?”

“…Asshole.” She replies, well aware of the nickname Shishi always calls him—fencer asshole.

That couldn’t be more far from the truth.

It’s the comfort of being half on his body, laying her head on his chest and feeling his heart thump to the beat of a trap song, as if the bass is boosted and he goes from slow to quick. His lips wrap on big smiles, laughing like a maniac at the portions she loves the most, fingers raking over her hair, going through the portions that he knows she likes the most. She could fall asleep like this, with one of his hands resting on her hip, rubbing soothing circles over her jeans. This is not the type of imagery she’d show to her friends.

But who cares about her friends right at this moment?

What can she do when she says she’s cold, and Dejun drapes his jacket on top of the two of them, taking the arms to bring her closer by tightening them around his waist? The fabric tugs at the two of them uncomfortably, and she can’t stop laughing as they are face to face, looking into his precious eyes that create a rich brown mirror for her to look at herself into. It’s at this moment that she knows she wants Xiao Dejun, not only as a heartbreak, but as someone else—she wants to be able to be like this for as long as this romance is supposed to last.

She doesn’t want to break his heart.

“I thought you weren’t a flirt.” She tells him, her breath ghosting on top of his face, and his eyes trail down to look at her moving lips. It’s the kind of memory that will forever live in her brain—when she feels the most lightweight.

“I get by.” Dejun replies, leaning forward to peck her lips softly, delicately, as if he has all the time of the world, licking his lips before leaning forward again, reputing her in an adventure that she shouldn’t have taken place in, but she does. Her fingers thread through his locks, moving her body up until her legs rest in between his, chest pressed to his, body molding to his as if they were meant to be united. The sound that fills the air connects their lips in rhythmic motions, ones that she can’t get out of her head, breathing heavily against his lips.

Shishi said not to kiss him, not to let his hands roam as he touches her waist, her hips, her thighs, becomes one with the knowledge of what she likes and what she doesn’t. Shishi said not do this, to break his heart.

But at this very moment, it would be easier for Dejun to break her heart instead.

###  

Though her manager, Hao, had been clear about her mini appearance at a café, she doesn’t feel less nervous. For once, she can say that cafés are the worst thing to ever be created—vintage, nostalgic, filled with teenagers who want to have as many Americanos as possible and adults that think the beige walls and white tables are their aesthetic. Croissants, coffee and cream, someone with tea that she can’t quite recognize, and a guitar that weights heavily on her lap.

The seat she is on is uncomfortable, trying to tune her guitar before she starts singing. Her manager sits along with Bingbing and Shishi, both having brought themselves here even when it clashed with their work hours—they needed to bring support, but all they did was stare at her as her hands shook. It’s been a while since she has truly sung in front of people, full sets, and live above all.

She needs to gain some confidence, but she doesn’t. The guitar strums uncomfortably and she hears someone coughing when she leans into the microphone. She closes her eyes tightly, trying to remember the love songs she has written for the past two months. Memories of Dejun, of the sand in between her fingers, the songs they have shared together, of the smell of cigarettes that never comes from him but from Chenhao instead. Things she dreams about with him, for him, all drowning her away from the nervousness that keeps her on surface.

And she lets go.

“Welcome, I’m going to be singing for the next two hours—” She says, instructing her name into the microphone before sending a smile towards her manager. “You can ask for some songs later on, if I know it, I will sing it. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.”

She thinks she has it together—this is only part of her dream. Someday, she will get discovered, she tries to convince herself, but the moment her song starts in a major tune, E, then C, she loses it all. Her fingers continue playing, but when she parts her lips, the note comes out flat, as if her vibratos hadn’t been practiced…or if she didn’t know how to hold her tone at all.

The song goes on for another two minutes, far from what she wanted but somehow, not bad for those listening. Only when she hears the door of the café opening, she opens her eyes, welcoming the stance of the man that enters the café. Cladded in a striped shirt and light jeans, Dejun crosses his arms over his chest to wave his hand softly, smiling at her before leaning against the wall next to the entrance door.

And with all those creamy colors and the smile on his face—the smile of his eyes that she has never managed to understand, she finally gets to sing again.

It’s weird how he brings all these emotions up on her, how he has become such a comfortable feeling for her, far enough for her to concentrate only on him for the first hour, only stopping to take a drink of her tea and warm up her vocal cords. It’s at that moment that she sees two people nearing her, and she expects one of them to be Dejun, but when she feels a pair of skinny arms wrap around her, the smell of bleach coming from someone’s hair, she knows it’s Shishi.

Her beloved Shishi.

And her beloved Dejun.

What a shame she can’t have both.

Jewels shine in his eyes when she pulls away, recognition overtaking him when Shishi says: “Oh fuck, I’m so proud of you!” And the excitement of her voice is welcomed by a shy smile from her, capturing Dejun’s glance as he lifts his eyebrows, mouthing a ‘we’ll talk later’ to her.

“Shishi—”

“We have to go work right now,” Bingbing says, fixing the bag on her shoulder. “But you’re killing it, babe. For real.”

“Thanks…”

Though, she can’t say much as they slip away from the café, Dejun taking careful steps forward, as if pondering to get near her, not even cutting the situation short when he reaches her, frowning deeply when he asks: “You know Shishi? You’re friends with her?”

“Ah…” She rubs the back of her neck, taking another sip from her Styrofoam cup. She could say the truth—or a distorted version of it, but instead, she opts to look him straight in the eyes. She doesn’t want to miss any of them. Shishi once said he was egotistical, that he played with a bunch of women all at once; games that she would never understand, but she’d rather play this game than not play it at all. “I—I know Bingbing, I don’t exactly—I don’t consider myself close to Shishi.”

“We…uh, she had a crush on me for the longest time and was a bit obsessive about it.”

Now, she knows. Now, she finally sees that they were just friends…and maybe, she misunderstood everything. “I had no idea.”

“You sure?”

With the straightest face, she fixes the strap of her guitar, strumming a chord before nodding. “Of course, baby, why would I lie to you?”

But she does it straight to his face, singing all those songs that mean the truth but knowing one thing—

She has to lose one. Either Shishi or Dejun.

###

Dejun shakes her autumn does to its leaves, softly, making her fall more and more for him in the days they meet and finally, in the first night they shared. It takes Dejun almost three months for him to feel fully comfortable—for the romantic in him to clad him away from the clothing that covers him, for his breaths to mingle with hers as they become one, hands placed on top of her head, lips wanting nothing more than to connect with hers. It is as though every sound that leaves him is music for her, and maybe, they’re the inspiration for the album she will once have.

When she goes to sleep, she goes with a visual in mind—Dejun, laying on her bed, with one hand behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest, the taut muscles from his days and nights of training leaving nothing to the imagination. Her lips connect to the mole on his forehead, speaking softly against his skin about the beauty of him. She doesn’t think she will ever forget it.

But the night clashes into sleep, awakening her only when she hears the loud rustle of the sheets, accompanied by the harsh sound of someone mumbling to themselves. Cuss after cuss after cuss. When she opens her eyes, groggily at first, she realizes that half of the covers have draped away from her, leaving her bare to the world, but the man in front of her doesn’t care, holding her phone in her hand as he puts on his pair of jeans.

She doesn’t know why her heart skips a beat—she doesn’t talk to other men romantically, but somehow, she knows there are secrets on that phone that she doesn’t want Dejun to see. How in the world did he manage to figure out her password?

“What are you doing with my phone?” She asks, barely audible as she pulls the covers farther up her chest, covering herself up as Dejun finally looks at her. “Dejun, why were you looking through my phone?”

“I saw your password the first time we met, accidentally. I figured it was the same.” Though, he throws the phone on the bed, close enough for her to grab and unlock it. What he was looking at hits her like a train—he was reading through her group-chat, months and months worth of information displayed in front of her eyes. “And I wasn’t going to do it, but Shishi kept calling you this morning and I answered, yeah, sorry, I answered your fucking phone but Shishi was even more surprised to hear I was staying the night at your place.”

Fuck. Shishi must be fucking devastated. “Dejun—”

“So, Shishi said—” He puts his shirt on before sighing. “Shishi fucking said that she didn’t know we were still seeing each other, considering that you told her that you had broken things with me…and for someone who said she wasn’t that close to Shishi, that sounded awfully like friendship.”

“Dejun…” Her voice breaks, even worse than when she’s nervous and she’s about to sing. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, it wasn’t what I thought. I thought that you actually liked me, that I was finally having a good thing for once—”

“But I do like you!”

Dejun, out of anger, grabs one of the cushions they had dropped on the floor last night and tosses it to the wall behind her, thumping loudly until it falls, making her lamp almost fall for the floor had she not grabbed it. “Stop fucking lying! Shishi said that you were supposed to break my heart. She didn’t know how, and supposedly, you told her you had done it already, so I looked through your phone and much to my surprise, all I see are details about our dates, about how in love you have me—”

All an act, she thought it was. She wanted to keep both her friendship, her pride and her relationship with Dejun. It backfired, heavily, enough to take her breath away. “Dejun, baby, I’m so sorry. Just—When I started doing this, I thought you were an asshole. Shishi said you broke her heart to pieces and I wanted to do it for my friend—”

“Then, why didn’t you fucking tell me?” Dejun asks, shaking his head after, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process. “No. How fucking immature do you have to be make a bet like that? Love isn’t a fucking game.”

“W—Well, I was told it was for you.”

“I’m just nice to people, sorry. I never played with Shishi. That’s called being selective—talking to people and seeing if they’re your fit or not. I’m not obligated to shit.” His voice is venom when she looks through the masses of messages, how she aspired to make everyone believe she didn’t like him, but—

“Dejun, I’m so into you. Please, please, just believe me in this one.” Tears stream down her face at that moment, standing up with her blanket tightened across her body. “Dejun, I’m so sorry.”

“Congratulations.” Dejun whispers, opening the door to her room and having her follow closely. She almost trips a bunch of times, the blankets becoming one with her feet as she moves. “You broke someone’s heart. You were fucking right. It was that easy.”

“Dejun!”

When the entrance door closes right at her face, her fist comes in contact with the surface. In reality, she had to lose someone…

What a shame it was the person she loved.

To: Group-Chat.

I broke someone’s heart.

Mine.

#xiaojun scenarios #xiaojun #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #how to lose someone in seven steps?

[friendandphoe]

okay the formatting on this is gonna be a lil weird bUT!! have this figuring it out/something to last revamp that’s been sitting in my brain for the last few weeks @ahbonjour @museumlad @creativeskull95

There’s no way in hell she’s ever looking Professor Keelson in the eye again. “I’m sorry,” she croaks for the thousandth time, and finds a tissue being pressed into her hand.

“Quite alright, my dear,” Professor Keelson says soothingly, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his round belly. “Wipe your face, now, there you go. I’m — well.” And he rubs the bridge of his nose, just under his round wire glasses. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, unfortunately.”

She nods numbly, ice trickling down her spine.

You ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she tries again, because it’s all she can think to say, but the professor waves her off with a weathered hand and pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way to the mini fridge he keeps under the bookshelves.

“Now, now,” he says, almost scolding, and pulls out a clementine, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of water. “Don’t you start that with me, Ms. Ochoa. This is not the first time I’ve had students crying in my office, I daresay it won’t be the last.” And he sits heavily back down in his chair, setting the snacks in front of her. “Eat, drink. Now, I won’t press on what’s been troubling you, but you know, these tired old eyes of mine do still catch a few things here and there, and I have seen you — well. I don’t like to use the word struggling, but you know, perhaps it is a bit more apt than anything else I could think of.” And she knows he’s looking at her, knows those beady black eyes well, but just focuses on unwrapping the chocolate bar as quietly as she can.

What makes you think we want you around?

“You’ve had a rough time of it, this year.”

It’s not a question, but she still finds herself nodding confirmation. “I don’t know what happened.” She says hoarsely, and reaches for the water bottle.

Leave us alone.

“I’ve been wanting this for years, I worked so hard to get into this program, I just—” and she has to press her mouth shut to keep the lump in her throat from escaping.

Leave us alone!

“Some… stuff. Uh, came up, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a minute, then softly: “The human mind is a wonderful, confusing little thing.” Professor Keelson says. She dares a glance up at him, finds him — thank god — staring out his office window. “It tends to block out anything unpleasant we might not want to hear, and often that negativity will build and build and build until, one day, the weight becomes too much to bear.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his short white beard, messing the hairs out of their orderly style. “And then we must face the unfortunate truth that sometimes what we thought we wanted is, in actuality, not at all the path we should be taking."

She drops her gaze back down to her bouncing knee. “Is it stupid?” She blurts out, watching her leg blur under her rising tears. “I just — this is a good school, a good program, and I’ll have so many job opportunities when I graduate—”

A weathered hand stretches out across the desk, just reaching to where her pinky would've been. “And yet,” Professor Keelson murmurs. “It won’t make you happy.” He sits back in his chair, looking every inch the benevolent Santa Claus his students know him to be. “And given how miserable you’ve been this year, Ms. Ochoa, I daresay your ultimate happiness is worth far more than any graduating job offers.” His smile drops for a half-second. “Though I can’t say I won’t be sorry to see you go. You’re already one of my best students, you know.”

You're an embarrassment to my name and reputation.

A wet little giggle chokes out of her throat, and she wipes down her face one more time. “Don’t tempt me, I’m half-considering staying,” she admits. “Even with all of this.”

“Ah, but if you do, what sort of state will you be in once you graduate?” Professor Keelson says, raising a bushy brow. “All you young folk are the same. You’re young, you have that wonderful, limitless energy, but you must learn to take care of yourselves now, while you have the space to do so. Won’t do you any good to drive yourselves into the ground every night when you’re my age, you know!” He looks at her appraisingly, then smiles wide. “And you know, my dear, there’s great strength in being able to admit you were wrong. I’ve always admired people who are strong enough to chase their dreams instead of following the easy path. Do you have an idea where you’re going, yet?”

Don’t ever come back here, you little— 

“There’s a performing and visual arts conservatory,” she says hesitantly. “River Park, downstate. They’ve got really good photography and filmmaking programs, and, um.” She pauses, unsure how to explain how right it had all felt when she’d been reading about it online. “Well, I have an interview on Wednesday, so.”

Professor Keelson’s smile widens. “River Park! My partner studied illustration there, years ago when we were both young. You’ll do wonderfully.”

She can’t help but feel like his faith is ever-so-slightly misplaced —

I didn't want you.

— maybe it’s just the existential crisis talking, who knows —

Do you understand me?

— but she can’t quite bring herself to argue against the sparkling excitement in the professor’s eyes. She lets him press another chocolate bar and tissue combo into her hand as he shuffles her out of his office, with strict, cheerful instructions to come see him before she leaves for her interview.

You were a mistake.

Tuesday night comes in the blink of an eye; she’d barely dumped her meager wardrobe back into the suitcase she’d kept under her bed and her sticky notes are still haphazardly slapped to the wall above her desk. She’s not exactly sure where the time went — it’s not like she went to any classes. Or ate much. Or was sleeping, really. Granted she did try, but the third time in the same night she woke up sobbing because her blankets had twisted around her leg, trapping her in an all-too-familiar heat vortex—

window won't break it's too hot it hurts to breathe window won't break it's so fucking hot she can't think window won't break but it'll slide get out of this goddamn heat get out get out crunch fuck ow hurts hurts ow fuck hurts her toes shouldn't be ow fuck fuck fuck pointing that way hurts hurts fucking hurts can't feel her knee fuck fuck where's papá—

— she kind of gave up. She doesn't even bother pulling out her shitty, half-broken headphones to try and watch something on Netflix to try and pass the time, she just lays in bed and listens to Rebecca softly snoring five feet away. The ceiling is infinitely more interesting than anything else she could’ve been focusing on, anyway.

Except maybe her portfolio. Which. She hasn’t really. Looked at.

She’s so fucked.

Still, she drags herself out of bed nice and early at 7 am Wednesday morning, beating her alarm by the customary 4 minutes, and actually manages to gather the energy to sift through her remaining clothes to dig out something — well. She doesn’t really have anything “nice,” per say, but she does have an oversized sweater that’ll pass as a dress once she puts on some makeup and a belt and ties her hair up, and that’ll have to be good enough.

You show up to my door looking like that?

River Park is going to laugh her right out the door.

Everything she might need is already shoved unceremoniously into her backpack — wallet, keys, wrist brace, student ID, laptop, flash drive (in its place of honor in the tiny pocket), knee brace, fruit snacks, water bottle — but her eye catches on her DLSR just as she’s finished tying the laces on her most comfortable boot, and she hesitates. She hasn’t really looked at her portfolio much recently — she knows she’s got some old pictures from Manhattan, and maybe some from various campus events that might be good, but it’s been a little hard to go out and take nice shots when she’s been drowning in depression soup for the past four months. Four years. Whatever. Either way, she doesn’t have much to show for herself, and inspiration hasn’t really hit lately.

But River Park is — well, she has no idea, really, she hasn’t seen it in person yet, but the photos online are gorgeous, all glass-and-brick buildings framed by forests and gardens. Very much a college town, from what she can tell, the campus map isn’t really a map so much as a general directory pointing out which buildings were associated with the conservatory, but there was something that felt weirdly homey about seeing those pictures. Maybe it was the layout of the buildings, maybe it was the way they described their classes and professors, maybe it was just the simple fact that everyone in those pictures was genuinely smiling, but she’d gotten this weird, longing ache just below her collarbone that had made her close down all her other college-related tabs and email River Park’s photography and filmmaking department.

Something feels good about that campus. And maybe, if she gets there a little early, she can—

You don't get to come into my life and — and ruin everything I have here.

It’s only seven forty-two. Her interview’s not until one, and the train ride downstate should only take an hour. She’s got time.

Which is how she finds herself knocking on Professor Keelson’s office door, DLSR hanging around her neck, about two hours earlier than she’d been intending to be there, praying to who and whatever might be listening that he’s actually in and she didn’t just horribly fuck this up like she’s been fucking up, oh, who’s to say, just about everything she touches these past few months.

You’re not a part of this family. You never will be.

“Come in, come in!” She hears just beyond the door, and she cautiously peeks in to find the wizened old professor crouching over his printer, staring at it suspiciously as it slowly spits out some document. “Hello, dear. Wasn’t expecting you this early!”

I think you should leave.

“Sorry,” she manages, hovering in the doorway. “I just — change of plans.”

Professor Keelson nods, collects his papers, and creaks over to his desk. “Yes, very good.” he agrees, shuffling the papers into two piles. “Take a seat, I promise I won’t keep you very long. You look nice, by the way.”

She sits, already relaxing in the warm familiarity of Professor Keelson’s overstuffed office. Maybe this is why he’d wanted her to visit before she went, just to make sure she wouldn’t vomit on the interviewers. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. Now,” he says, stuffing one pile of papers into a folder. “These are all your important documents: transcripts, transferable credits, disability accommodations, et cetera. Pardon my overstepping, but you did seem a little, ah, frazzled, shall we say? Last you came to speak with me and I was almost positive that you wouldn’t have thought of pulling the paperwork together.”

Which is absolutely true, she hadn’t, and she can’t even bring herself to feel insulted that he’d assumed she wouldn’t. “Thank you very much,” she says, trying desperately to seem calm and cool and collected and not crush her very expensive, very precious camera in her white-knuckle grip.

A mess. You're a mess.

Professor Keelson’s face crinkles into a smile. “You’re very welcome. You’ll be happy to know that, since you’ve already completed all your core classes and general requirements, all of those credits will easily transfer between the schools. There may be a class or two you’ll have to make up, but you should be able to jump right in with your major-specific classes. Now, this,” he says, folding the other papers into an envelope. “Is your letter of recommendation. I’ll put it in the folder with everything else, but I wanted you to know that you had it.”

Oh, fuck, she might start crying again. “Professor—” she starts, but he’s already slid the folder across the desk to her.

“Ms. Ochoa, if I may.” Her mouth snaps shut, and he continues: “Our time together has been short, yes, but you have been one of my favorite students to ever come through these doors. Barring your obvious intelligence, passion, and work ethic, you’re also relentlessly kind, despite everything you’ve gone through.” His gaze fixes on her cheek for the briefest of moments, tracing over the lumps and bumps of her scars, but his eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been. “I don’t presume to know your history, but I know bits of your present, and the person I’ve seen would make a valuable asset to any school she goes to. If you approach your new classes and projects with as much determination as you did mine, I’ve no doubt your new instructors will be as proud of you as I am. I let them know as much.”

 ...

She numbly takes the folder, desperately blinking back tears. “Th-thank you, sir.” She manages, thick in the back of her throat. “I-I’ll do my best.”

Professor Keelson takes up his customary position, hands laced neatly over his belly. “You will.” He agrees, smiling. “Now, you should be heading out soon. I’d hate to make you miss your train, especially if you want to get there early.”

“Yes — yes.” And she gets up on autopilot, sliding the folder into her backpack as carefully as she can manage. “Thank you. Thank you so much, professor, I can’t — I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

She’s halfway out the door when she hears him call: “Ms. Ochoa, one more thing?”

She turns.

The professor smiles benevolently at her from his chair. “Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started.”

And with that, she’s on her way.

Get out.

So, update: maybe deciding to take her portfolio pictures on her way to her college interview was a stupid idea, but to be fair, a lot of her stupid ideas have worked out pretty decently before, so. It’s fine.

Probably.

She definitely doesn’t almost miss the train by snapping shots of the mostly-empty station, but in her defense, the morning fog hadn't quite dissipated yet, and the spooky air of possibility that the tracks had been extending and disappearing into was just begging to be captured. And she absolutely doesn’t continually hop seats throughout the hour-long ride to get different angles of the seats, the blurry towns and roads whizzing past, or even a couple of self-portraits here and there. It’s not like there are people around for her to bother, anyway, so it’s fine. (Probably.) It’s a little hard getting a satisfyingly dramatic shot of her staring out the window, but she thinks the one where they’re passing through a tunnel and she’s locked eyes with her shadowy reflection might be a winner. She won’t really know until she opens them up on her computer, which will probably end up being just before the interview, with her luck, so. Who knows, she might just be wasting her time and battery life.

It’s the most fun she’s had in a while, though.

And. Fuck, maybe it makes no sense, but she's still got that feeling in her chest. It's creeping up to her ponytail, at this point, tugging on the ends of her curls, ordering her to pay attention.

Capture this.

It's important.

Last time she felt like that, she won an award, so. Y'know. Fuck her if she's going to ignore it.

She cuts herself off when there’s ten minutes left in the journey, just to be sure she’s not scrambling to put herself together as she’s pulling up to the station, but ten minutes, it turns out, is both much longer and much shorter than she thought it’d be. Just enough time to run down the list of all the possible ways this could (and would) go wrong, but not enough to steady her racing heart before the train’s slowing down.

You're delusional. This isn't one of your little fairy tales. This is — it's not going to happen.

Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started, she remembers, taking one last breath to steel herself, and swings herself up onto her feet and out the doors.

The station is nice enough, but not terribly different from the one she’d started in besides being a little cleaner, so she shoulders her backpack and makes her way down the stairs and into the town proper.

Which.

Wow.

Maybe it’s just a seasonal thing, maybe not, but all the buildings she can see are draped with hanging lights, and even the curving street lights have extra strands hanging over the sidewalks. She almost wishes she’d scheduled her interview later in the day, just to be able to get a shot of those lights against the dark sky, but contents herself with snapping pictures of the incredibly aesthetic sidewalk and shops. She spots an art supply store with a cheerful blue door sandwiched between a movie theater and an apartment complex that frames up nicely, and there’s a coffee shop with swirling, festive winter-y designs painted on the window with pots of poinsettias framing the corners that’s a — no pun intended — picture-perfect paragon of coziness. She stops maybe a little too long to zoom in on the red leaves and flawless paint, making sure to keep the actual inside of the shop out of focus, because as cute as the beanbags and mismatched armchairs are, she doesn’t really feel like going in to ask if it’s alright for her to take pictures of the small handful of people both in front of and behind the counter.

One last shot of the poinsettias and she moves on, turning her lens to the last few, dying flowers in their garden beds, then to the display window of a bookstore that proudly announces its support of the LGBT community with various painted flags, then to the churning river that cuts through the town and the elegant bridge that arcs proudly above it.

There’s not a lot of people walking around right now, but she can definitely see kids around her age up the street, chatting and laughing amongst themselves as their breath puffs out in front of them. A cute dog bounces over to say hello before its owner tugs it away with a sheepish smile, and even without their leaves, the trees interspersed along the sidewalk stand tall, proud, and lovely.

She’s got that weird ache in her chest again — stronger this time — that indiscernible pull that draws her to stay, and she puts her camera down, puffing out a shaky breath.

What made you think we want you here?

“It doesn’t matter.” She tells herself sternly, leaning up on the sides of the bridge. “It doesn’t matter unless you get in.”

Speaking of. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, fully intending to double check the email she’d been sent with instructions on where to go, but her eye catches on the time.

Twelve forty-six.

So. Maybe not the best idea to go gallivanting around a campus she doesn’t know, especially when she has an extremely important interview to get to, but even as she’s scolding herself, she knows the pink flush in her cheeks isn’t just from the cold, and she’s got more energy now than she’s had in months, so.

Worth it.

Thank god E.A. Archer Hall is straightforward enough to find; Google Maps tells her it’s a seven minute walk in a mostly straight line from where she is on the bridge now, which she just about manages even though it’s cold and her stump is starting to ache. The building is emblazoned with the name right on the side, so it’s impossible to miss, but she needs a keycard to get in, and somehow she thinks her current school ID isn’t exactly going to fly here.

But someone, somewhere, is smiling on her, because she’s only just gotten to oh, shit before a tall woman with vitiligo and long box braids strides towards the door, pushing it open.

“Alejandra Ochoa?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says as smoothly as she can behind her chattering teeth, and the woman smiles.

“You're right on time. Come on in, let's get started."

#I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW DIFFERENT FIO/STL WOULD GO NOW SO IM REWRITING IT #i dont wanna spoil things bc i am in fact working on the next bits but here are some minor thoughts: #1: alexa starts out as an architecture major then switches schools to go into photography/filmmaking spring semester 2nd year #((not to toot my own horn but the way her major reflects her emotional arc is actually very clever of me if i do say so myself)) #2: alexa and jaimey are half siblings through their dad and there will in fact be more Jaimey/Juno development than ive ever done before #((i have a lot of thoughts about their relationship and how it would grow and develop over time so. lowkey Jaimey redemption arc)) #3: alexa obviously nails this interview and she hangs out on campus for a lil while afterwards to take pictures #((3.5: she does end up going into the coffee shop and there is in fact a Very Cute Barista and she gets Nervous)) #4: the little interjections are things that have been said to Alexa somewhat recently but not all by the same person #thats about it i think anything else would be spoiler-y #n e way i cant wait to loredump all my new thoughts on yall im so sorry in advance for all the notifications you're about to get #im workin on some AU stuff too but lately ive been wanting to write about Normal Kids doing Normal Kid Things so here we are #i hope you enjoyed #movie house #alejandra ochoa #alexa darmond #my writing #shut up phoenix

[metinthehallway]

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello! Here is a simple little 3.5k fic! I thank @goldenbluesuit for hosting this spectacular fic challenge! I love what I've read so far and I can’t wait to keep reading. Also, thank you to @lilacobscure and @arrogantstyles for beta-ing and just being...awesome. I hope you all like it. :) 

Warnings: mention of the word bloke from a non-Brit

Annie has had it. She’s holding two of her fluffiest pillows against both of her ears and has her white noise machine droning on at full volume. And she can still hear the sultry bass of Andy Williams singing his little heart out. She can hear him as clear as day, as if he were performing his very own live concert in the corner of her bedroom. Don’t even get her started on the Christmas lights. Annie had actually gone out and bought an eye mask in order to sleep, as her windows faced the neighbors front yard where Annie’s neighbor, apparently, was the sole reason their local supermarket was sold out of blow up decorations and string lights. 

Harry Styles didn’t even have a lot of real estate to work with in terms of space. But he really made every centimeter count. One morning mid-November, whilst getting her mail, Annie counted about fourteen deflated pop-up corpses staked to the frozen ground, multiple candy canes lining his driveway that were about half the size of her, and masses of tangled lights strung up across every visible square inch of his home. If that wasn’t enough, he had a carefully crafted playlist he turned on every night at eight p.m. sharp that was approximately three hours and forty-nine minutes long before it looped back to the beginning song. She thought, fleetingly, that she should invest in ear plugs.

Annie prides herself on being a patient and understanding person. The only reason why she hasn’t held a covert operation at three in the morning to mercilessly stab a hole in each blow-up, or cut every single criss-crossed wire, or even ambush her neighbor while he walks out his front door in nothing but a fuzzy pink robe and no shoes, demonstrating that universal, oh shit the ground is cold, oh shit, oh shit, jerking walk, is because he only recently moved in next door. She was not about to be the one to ask him to maybe take it easy on the city’s power source, that she also needs electricity for her home, and also how do you fall asleep with this godforsaken music?

Annie is not prideful in this moment. All it takes for her to snap is hearing, “It’s the hap-happiest season of all,” for the forty-fifth time. With a loud groan, she tears off her beautiful, beautiful down comforter and stomps into her shoes, scaring Cindy, her sleeping Persian cat, off the bed. It’s two thirty-six in the morning, she realizes in a far off thought that doesn’t seem to make it to the forefront of her brain, and makes her way over to Harry’s front door. She has the immature urge to punch a smiling Santa sat atop a sleigh filled with presents as she passes it. All the lights are off in his house and Annie doesn’t feel a bit of remorse as she raises a half-asleep arm and slams it against the sturdy oak door of Harry’s house. For a full minute, it’s silent and there appears to be no movement from behind the door. A sliver of apprehension begins to worm its way into Annie’s bones. 

There’s a better way to do this, Annie. Like, in daylight, during normal people hours. 

She starts to turn on her heel, continuing her internal chastising and also external chastising, muttering to herself like a lunatic, when she hears the tell-tale creak behind her and a porch light flickering to life. Annie stands there, her right hand over her eyes, shielding them from the harsh yellow rays. She can make out Harry’s figure, dressed in flannel pajama pants that look like they were previously crumpled on his bedroom floor, a white T-shirt on backwards and inside out, and his signature pink fuzzy robe. His hair sticks up hazardously, sort of like a halo illuminated by the bulb behind him. His eyes are puffy, brows furrowed together and indenting a line in the center of his forehead. Lips as pink as a rose purse together as nostrils flare.

“Is there something I might be able to help you with?” Harry asks, a slight lilt to his gravelly voice. It’s a polite enough question, however it holds an air of carefully restrained annoyance. For a moment, Annie thinks she would be annoyed as well if someone pounded at her front door in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. She quickly dismisses the thought, actually raising her hand in the air and waving it off as if it was a tangible thing. Harry raises one eyebrow. 

“Good evening, well- morning, my name is Annie. I live next door, I’m twenty-two Ambrose Ave,” Annie starts. She doesn’t know why she announces her house number. She watches his eyes flick to his right where an engraved twenty-four lies, and back to hers. Annie shakes her head slightly before launching into a speech she never prepared.

“I’m here because I think the way you decorate is rude. Do you think, at all, of your neighbors? How do you fall asleep? Do you even have a job?! I never see you leave your house! Not that I’m keeping tabs, I’m just genuinely worried for your electric bill,” she continues, pausing to take a breath. “I have not had a single good nights rest since you started all of this, back in November. I have never hated the sound of Andy Williams’ voice more deeply than I do this holiday season.”

“Excuse me—,”

“Ah-ah! I’m not done, sir. Some of us are employed and have to work at eight a.m., some of us have cats that wake us up in the ass-crack of dawn anyway with their screeches and need all the sleep we can get. Do you know I had to buy a sleep mask because of you? Because of,” she pauses, a red rotating light from a candy cane passing over her face ominously as she turns around and gestures wildly to the commotion around her, “all this?”

“Can I just say—,”

“And the music. Are you eighty years old? The least you could do with this god-awful playlist is add some Mariah Carey, some Buble; even Ariana Grande has some sick Christmas tunes. The ones you chose haven’t been remastered since nineteen thirty-eight,” she finishes, eyes a little too wide, hair disheveled and falling in her face. Her hands are shaking and her heart is beating entirely too fast. Confrontation has never been Annie’s strong suit, evident of the lack of response from Harry as she cuts him off throughout the duration of her mini rant. He just peers back at her, face as still as stone as an uncomfortable silence falls between them. Frosty the Snowman rears its nasty head and Annie finds herself slowly closing her eyes and clenching her fists.

The second Annie starts to open her eyes, she hears the light closing of Harry’s front door and two locks click into place. She stands there, mouth slightly open as the early December chill works its way into her bones. She stares ahead of her and a murderous look takes over her face, cheeks red with the winter wind, lips chapped and tears starting to form on her lash line from the cold.

“What a fucking prick,” Annie mutters to herself. He can’t even respond to her? How childish. She turns around slowly, walking back through the winter wonderland, feeling defeated. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after finally expressing her thoughts, but she knew defeated was not it. 

As she crosses the threshold into her home, she thinks, maybe I could’ve handled that better. Annie prides herself on her patience. She was not patient that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the month, Annie and Harry bump into each other way more than either of them would like. Once, when the mailman dropped off her mother’s monthly care package to Harry’s house, another when Annie had to begrudgingly ask to borrow his shovel when she found her car snowed in one early morning and a broken handle on her own. 

They’ve even begun to see each other in the aisles of their local supermarket. Annie enters the store, unsuspecting and looking for ingredients to make her world renowned charcuterie boards for a work fundraiser. She stops in her tracks and almost drops her jar of green olives when she sees a familiar head of frizzy brown hair. 

Harry is hyper-focused, reading the back of a spray cheese can. Annie tries to sneak by him and grab a box of herb filled crackers. Tries. She is unsuccessful, however, when her purse strap catches on a display and yanks her arm backwards, making her lose grip of the glass jar. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she watches the jar sail past Harry and hit the ground, glass exploding all over his shoes. The chattering happening around her ceases, as all of the blood in her body travels to her face. 

“Clean up in aisle four,” deadpans a nearby worker dressed in a horrid shade of neon green. He sighs heavily, murmuring under his breath that he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be picking up all of these olives. 

Annie is mortified. She is unable to tear her focus away from Harry’s soaked suede shoes.  It’s only when he clears his throat and shifts his feet that she raises her head.

“I see… that you’ve really got a vendetta against me,” Harry scoffs, eyes trained on his feet, where the olive juice has to be seeping into his socks. No one likes wet socks. 

“That was completely on accident! I swear! Why is that display sticking three feet into the aisle anyway? That has to be a a safety violation,” Annie pushes out in a rush. There doesn’t seem to be enough air for her lungs in this store. Especially not with Harry now looking intensely at her, almost like he could see right through her. She folds under his gaze.

“It’s okay. I didn’t like these shoes much, to be fair,” Harry shrugs. 

“Really?”

“No,” Harry says. 

“Oh. Well, I can buy you a new pair. How much did you pay for those?” Annie asks, pulling out her wallet.

Harry raises a single eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth turning up and a dimple appearing out of thin air. 

“Too much. Really, it’s fine. The juice is translucent enough. I’ll just use them as house slippers,” he says. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the loud squeaking of a bucket skidding across the floor. The neon green worker returns, a dingy looking mop in hand and a frown on his face. His free hand makes the shoo motion to Harry, starting to swipe at the floor, completely ignoring the glass scratching the linoleum that’s mixed in with the olives.

“Do you want any help?” Annie offers, stepping forward to at least pick up the larger shards scattered across the floor. The worker, whose name tag reads Roger, holds up a single pointer finger in her direction and shakes his head. Annie takes the hint, while Harry just shifts his gaze between Roger and the mess on the tiles, mouth somewhat agape. She nudges his shoulder with her own and gestures with her head for them to leave the aisle. 

Annie makes her way up to self-checkout, Harry following suit. They ring their items up in silence next to each other. They find themselves walking through the front door together, and it’s only when they’re outside in the sunshine that Harry lets out the deepest belly laugh Annie has ever heard. 

“Oh my god, my toes are so wet,” Harry says in between breaths. “Did you see the way that bloke’s vein was popping out of his neck? I thought he was about to commit second degree murder right in the condiment aisle.”

Annie’s heartbeat starts to pick up and she begins to laugh along with him. Tears form in both of their eyes and they sparkle in the cold afternoon sunlight. 

“I feel so bad! I don’t even like olives. They were just for my stupid charcuterie boards,” Annie says, laughter dying down. She sighs, wiping at her cheeks. She looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. He looks down at her, smile fading slowly but his face still holding traces of warmth. 

“Well, I should be heading home. See you soon,” Harry bids his goodbye. Annie nods her head in his direction and turns, palming her keys and unlocking her car across the parking lot with a chirp. She unloads her groceries into the trunk and slides into the drivers seat, thinking for a brief moment about the shape of Harry’s smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow outside is falling. And it’s falling hard. So heavy and consistent that the power lines are drooping underneath the weight and the electricity in Annie’s house is flickering in and out. It’s Christmas Eve and all she wants to do is sleep the night away, then sleep the morning away, then sleep the weekend away. She draws back a curtain and peers at Harry’s lawn, the usual eyesore dark and covered in a blanket of sparkling white snow.

A sharp crack and the sound of something large tumbling to the ground close to Annie’s house makes both her and Cindy jump, eyes alert and tail all puffed out. She goes to open her front door to investigate and sees Cindy dart between her legs a second too late, a gray blur running into the stormy night.

“CINDY!” Annie yells, voice carrying eerily across the empty street. She takes off after the small cat, wearing only her pajamas and a pair of worn slippers. Annie loses her immediately in the snowfall. While outside, she sees the huge tree limb that fell onto Harry’s front yard, covering a third of his decorations, deeming a good chunk of them broken. She wonders for a short second why he hasn’t come out to check on the noise. 

Annie’s heart starts to race as she tries to get a rein on her growing panic. Cindy is a strictly indoor cat, only having been outside for vet visits. She thinks of what would bring her cat back home, yelling her name sweetly and kissing her teeth loudly. She starts to walk towards the tree line, snapping her fingers and chattering her teeth. 

“Annie?” She hears her name being called out from behind her. She throws her head over her shoulder and locks eyes with Harry, standing there in his infamous robe. He’s got his face turned away from the harsh wind and his face is scrunched up in confusion. “What on Earth are you doing out here?! Are you mental?” 

“Cindy got out! I don’t know where she went. She ran in this direction. She never goes outside, I don’t know what to do,” Annie exclaims, feeling the urge to tear at her hair. 

“Who’s Cindy?” Harry asks.

“My cat! She was scared by the branch falling and snuck right past me when I opened the door,” she explains, arms crossing over her chest as the chill of the night bites at her skin. She shivers, turning back towards the trees. They look like they’re beginning to come alive.

Harry looks her up and down and comes up behind her, wrapping that godforsaken robe around her shaking frame. She looks up at him, grateful for the extra layer. He has a serious look on his face, determined with a mix of compassion, and also curiosity. Annie is suddenly relieved that she has someone with her to handle the situation with more calm than she ever could.

“Why don’t you go inside and grab her favorite treats? And a blanket she loves? Something that smells like you would be best,” Harry says, listing off the necessary items as if he’s done this before. She looks at him, a bit puzzled, and he reads her expression easily.

“Our cats growing up were professional escape artists. I’ve done this once or twice,” he lets out a small chuckle. She nods and heads towards her house, grabbing everything they need and changing into a pair of winter boots and shrugging on a coat, shoving Harry’s robe towards him. 

“I got everything. Here’s your robe,” Annie says, unable to meet his eyes. She already feels indebted to him, and they haven’t even found Cindy yet. “Thank you for helping me. I’m just… scared,” she confesses, tears starting to well up. She presses her fists into her eyes roughly as if she could stop them from falling. 

Harry just nods, takes the garment, and starts shaking the treat bag. His deep voice carries into the night more than hers did as he walks around, zig-zagging across the snow. Annie holds Cindy’s favorite blanket that resides on her bed and wraps it around her. She follows Harry, both chorusing, Cindy! Cindy, baby! Come back! It’s too cold for you out here!

They walk the perimeter of Annie’s house, keeping to the tree line, when Harry shushes her. He stops in his tracks and listens to the silent night. Faintly, from the direction of Harry’s house, comes a small mewl. He walks briskly over, slowing his movements as he gets closer in order not to scare the small Persian. 

“Cindy? Where are you girl? Come out for your mama,” Harry half-whispers, half-shouts. He’s still shaking the treats lightly, starting to open them. From their right they can hear a crumpling of plastic, a flash of gray shooting out from underneath the collapsed blow-up of Santa on his sleigh. Annie cries out in relief as Cindy comes running towards them at full speed, crashing right into Harry’s legs. He scoops her up swiftly with one hand and holds a treat out to her in his other. 

“You had me so worried, Cindy! I cannot believe you. You want nothing to do with the outside world but decide to run out into the coldest night we’ve had so far! You’re crazy,” Annie half-sobs, holding the cats face in two hands. Cindy shakes the snow out of her fur and licks at Annie’s nose. Harry watches the interaction, feeling something unfolding in his own chest. He gestures for Annie to take her cat, picking long hairs out of his robe.

“I see everything’s all in order here, I’ll just—oh,” Harry lets out a grunt as this peculiar woman collides into his body, cat trapped between the two of them and licking at the pink fuzz surrounding Harry as if she were grooming a kitten. His eyes go a bit wide, arms frozen around Annie while she releases a string of, thank you so much, you have no idea how much she means to me, you didn’t have to do this but you did so I owe you, I’m sorry for what I said that night, I’m sorry about the olive juice, thank you, thank you, thank you, muffled into his chest. His hands find themselves resting on her back, stroking up and down in a means to calm her.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I know what it feels like. I’m glad she was okay,” Harry soothes. Annie pulls away, and a strange longing passes through his heart. He frowns slightly and clears his throat. 

“I’m going to go to bed now, and get this little gremlin inside. Thank you so much, Harry. I really do appreciate it, more than you know,” Annie says, a bit breathless. Snowflakes lay themselves to rest upon her eyelashes, lips pink from the cold and Harry has the innate urge to tuck a piece of unruly hair behind her ear. He blinks, forcing himself out of his head.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ll be heading in as well. See you soon, Annie,” Harry declares. Annie realizes with a jolt that Harry just said her name for the first time. She’s suddenly overheating, and gives a single nod, holding Cindy tight to her body as she walks up the few steps to her front door. Harry watches her leave, only taking his eyes off her when he can’t see her anymore. He then turns around, looking at the demolition of his lawn. He inhales deep. 

“Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry does a double take when he sees Annie outside his home the next morning, attempting to break apart the large tree branch. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the remainder of the season, Harry and Annie spend an inordinate amount of time together. From binge-watching their guilty pleasure TV shows to roaming the streets downtown at midnight, sharing the same love for empty places. It seemed as though, somewhere in the universe, a story began to unravel itself.

As the last snowflake melts on the first stem emerging from the soft ground, Harry kisses Annie. He wasn’t even planning on it. It was like second degree murder. He found himself looking at her looking at the bluest sky, the sky looking back at her like it wanted to kiss her as well; so he kissed her first. 

#GBSxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #christmas fic #thank you for reading!

[mmikmmik2]

First impressions of episodes five and six under the readmore

The Astro Queue Car

LMFAOOOOOO at Min-Gi jumping from polite and rule-abiding The Nice One to being a smug asshole. I'm so proud of him. Passive-aggressive-ing his little heart out.

PASSIVE AGGRESSION IS AN EXTREME SPORT AND MIN-GI IS WINNING.

But yeah, jokes aside, obviously Min-Gi should be treating Ryan better. I'm definitely interpreting this a lot as Min-Gi acting in perceived emotional self defense but there's probably also some malicious "SEE, YOU WERE WRONG TO GO ON WITHOUT ME" revenge here.

I saw several other people speculating that Ryan might like the train, and I definitely thought that was plausible too, but Min-Gi almost seemed to like in this episode getting to just hang out with Ryan and be superior the whole time. But I also definitely think his anger that (as he saw it, or wanted to believe he saw it) Ryan wasn't learning lessons was legitimate. Feel like both of the guys both have a lot of paradoxical simultaneously contradictory emotions going on and both keep failing to reach the core of their issues with themselves and with each other - it feels believable that they keep ping-ponging back to 202.

LOVED the moment where they realized the astronauts are all dead. Very visually cool and creepy, and I loved Min-Gi's realization that standing still could be just as much of a mistake as making the wrong move.

Love the continuing theme of like... rushing ahead alone, and refusing to follow, can both be forms of abandonment

When the lobby of the party tower got weird and I recognized it as the moment in the trailer when the Steward appeared, I legitimately started saying "YESSSS. YESSSS," over and over again out loud. I fucking love the Steward. And Kez freezing? Is that because she's a denizen? Oh my god. I hate seeing denizens harmed but I love when they have vulnerabilities because they're artificial beings (like Atticus being turned into a ghom - we have no definitive proof but I can't imagine Amelia could do that to a human - it feels obvious to me that the orbs could only be used to "reprogram" beings that were created by those orbs in the first place). Listen, seasons two and three spoiled me with existential horror and weirdness, but apart from /maybe/ Lake hitting the invisible walls in The Wasteland they never had any "REALITY IS RIPPING APART AT THE SEAMS" horror moments the way season one did (the sun spasming in the corgi car as the Steward put its claws into that miniature world's guts? the sky behind the sky in the unfinished car? Atticus's transformation? the half-finished world being built within the engine? so good, so juicy) and I am so, so hopeful we're gonna see the Steward bring some of that tastiness this season.

The Party Car

THIS EPISODE WAS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD

FAVORITE OF THE SEASON SO FAR

Like it delivered on multiple levels

LOVE the development for the guys, love that Ryan tried to hide the Chicken Choice Judy shirt (looks like that logo is also one of the stickers on his guitar case? but the sticker isn't nearly as big a sign of vulnerability as keeping a shirt that's too small for him to wear just because Min-Gi made it for him) and Min-Gi tried to downplay his stylophone.

I really like that Min-Gi explicitly talked about anti-Asian bias and how he was worried they'd hit a glass ceiling (if that's the right phrase to use here?) even if they were relatively successful as musicians. I was expecting this season to make an effort to build on Ryan and Min-Gi's race as part of their characters, because I've gotten the impression the writers of InfTrain do care about doing that kind of thing right, but I assumed it would stay on the level of subtext and minor incidents like Min-Gi's manager mispronouncing his name. I'm glad the show got to go there and have a character talk about racism and how it affects him.

Loved that they repeated the part with Ryan on-stage waiting for Min-Gi, but this time Ryan didn't leave while Min-Gi stayed, they had a reassuring talk between the two of them where they came to understand each other better. I /love/ when InfTrain has moments like that, where characters redo a persistent narrative/theme in their life but change the ending.

Really though I felt so fucking bad for Ryan, I was like hearing the audio from the "You can pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half" meme when he was up on stage and realized Min-Gi wasn't coming, /again/

Really liked Kez being pigeonholed as "the funny one"/"the fuckup" in her friend group. Feels like a major theme this season is characters being afraid of being perceived as failures and trying to control what other people think of them.

Almost teared up at the final moment of Min-Gi inviting Kez to join the private party in the bathroom and him and Ryan quietly, comfortably jamming together. I'm gonna cry I love them all so much

LOOOOOOVED THE TRAIN LORE THIS EPISODE

I loved getting to see a mixed denizen friend group apparently roaming the car looking for parties, that was so juicy

THE FUCKING BOOTS ARE FOR CONTROLLING PASSENGERS? THEY'RE RESTRAINING BOLTS TO GLUE THEIR FEET TO THE FLOOR WHILE THE STEWARD IS TALKING TO THEM? THAT'S HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT!!!!

So it looks like the jumpsuits and boots DID used to be standard issue for passengers, and Amelia just got her stuff back at some point between boarding and when we saw her in the season premiere! One wtf that sucks!!!

I love that there's this creepy procedure for the Steward to like deliver messages from on high, I love how weird and disturbing it was, I love that Kez iirc said something along the lines of being used to that (i.e. her getting frozen) happening sometimes HOW OFTEN DOES THAT HAPPEN? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THAT, ONE?

So, the Steward seemed to have been traveling through the train issuing that message to all passengers? I think that was implied in One's broadcast? So interesting, I wonder how many other changes in procedure have been implemented that way. My first impression was that One was using it to broadcast from a different car, but I guess it wasn't explicitly clear if he was using the Steward like a remote speaker or if he was behind that mask the whole time and just didn't feel the need to flip it up to address the guys more directly.

There was a moment where the Steward paused and there was muffled dialogue but I couldn't hear it at all... I don't have closed captions turned on right now (if they'll even work if I do turn them on, I cannot emphasize enough what a piece of shit the HBO Max website is)... my first thought was that One backed away from the "mic" while he and Amelia were talking (it would make sense if this change in procedure were something Amelia talked him into somehow?) but maybe that was his two personalities murmuring to each other? Hm.

#infinity train spoilers

[365days365movies]

February 24, 2021: Annie Hall (1977) (Part 1)

Well...Woody Allen.

I, uh...OK, look, I could get into the whole Woody Allen thing, but INSTEAD of me doing that, I’ll just say this: look into it. Because there is a LOT on this subject, and it’s controversial as HELL. At the end of the day, I’ll recommend this upcoming series on HBO, and just recommend that you look into it.

Because, uh...yeah, it’s not great. That’s all I’m gonna say, because I need to educate myself on it more as well. Instead, let’s talk for a few seconds about divorcing the art from the artist. But ONLY for a few seconds.

I understand why some of you might be surprised I’m doing this one. Because, again...Woody Allen. But, yeah, I always try to do my best to divorce the art from the artist. Because some people suck, but they still make nice things, or at the very least, things that should be open to interpretation and appreciation.

“Superfreak” is a classic song of 1981, and everybody’s heard at least some of it, but Rick James fuckin’ kidnapped two women and kept them in his basement, WHERE HE TORTURED THEM. Edgar Degas made beautiful paintings of ballet dancers, and was also A MASSIVE ANTI-SEMITE. And before he was (RIGHTFULLY AND JUSTIFIABLY) outed as a roofie-ing piece-o-shit...I grew up with - and genuinely enjoyed - this guy’s comedy.

And you can judge me for this, but...I still think his stand-up was and is genuinely funny, and I still appreciate the cultural impact that The Cosby Show had on society’s perception of African-American families, divorced from the stereotype of the ghetto. Fact of the matter is, works themselves deserve to be separated from the artist who made them. That’s my philosophy, and I’m sticking with it Entirely fine to disagree with me, by the way, I get it.

But in that spirit, I’m watching Annie Hall, despite its creators likely transgressions. After all, this is technically his magnum opus, and it’s a good look into the man himself. And so, with that in mind: Annie Hall! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) is talking directly to us about his outlook on life, and his view on the potential future. He tells half of a joke, then an amusing anecdote, and a bit more until telling us that he’s broke up with Annie, and he’s still thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. He goes back to the beginning, which is punctuated with flashbacks.

He grew up in Brooklyn in World War II, and a young Alvy (Jonathan Munk) is with his mother (Joan Newman) at the doctor’s. He’s depressed after learning that the universe will one day end after a period of expansion, and is having his first real existential crisis. I had mine around the same age, actually, went I learned that the Earth will one day get swallowed by the sun. And THEN came the realization that I’d be dead by that point. AND THEN came the realization that I’d die one day, and that was a WHOLE NEW crisis to...anyway.

He grew up under the Coney Island rollercoaster according to him (although his analyst says that he exaggerates), and that’s what he blames for his “nervous personality. He’s also got an active imagination, often blurring fantasy and reality. His Dad ran the bumper cars on Coney Island (a place that I’ve never been, but desperately want to go).

He continues on talking about his former schoolmates, and not really that well. While in class, young Alvy kisses a...little girl...ahem. And then, when reprimanded by the teacher, current Alvy notes that he was always...like that...and he also says this to the little girl, and they talk about Freud’s latency period, and Alvy said he never...had...one...that’s uh...that’s fuckin’ SOMETHING, now isn’t it?

OK, well, shoving that forcefully aside as hard as I can, Alvy wonders aloud on where his classmates now, and one of them says this:

This also involves a little girl saying she’s “into leather,” which is...awkward as FUCK, but WE’RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON. Alvy recounts his paranoia, and was so even after he became a famous comedian (which we say after a VERY good joke about qualifying for the army as a hostage). He speaks to a friend, Rob (Tony Roberts) about potential anti-Semitism from a person in a passersby meeting, then heads to meet Annie.

Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) arrives at a movie theater, late and in a bad mood. The two are late to their intended film, argue briefly, then head to another film that they’ve already seen, The Sorrow and the Pity. In line, they’re in front of a man loudly soliloquizing on film, much to Alvy’s annoyance.

Annie and Alvy continue to argue a bit, while Alvy openly berates the casual film critic. In the middle, he talks to the audience about it, only to be followed by the crtiic himself, who also acknowledges the audience! Huh! Anyway, he’s a professor at Columbia, and starts continuing his line speech, this time on the work of Marshall McLuhan, one of the most important early media theorists ever. And then, Alvy brings out Marshall McLuhan (Marshall McLuhan) to debate him on it, only for Alvy to turn to the audience and wish aloud that life could really be like this!

I’m beginning to understand why people like this film. It’s metacontextual before metacontextuality was really a thing in film. It’s a fourth-wall breaking movie in some fantastic ways. But will it still hold its muster after breaking the fourth wall’s become so commonplace? we’ll see, I guess.

After a showing of the film, the two return home, and Alvy tries to initiate sex. But Annie’s not really into it at the moment, and Alvy complains that they used to have sex all the time, and it’s been a while since. So, I guess that retroactively awkward scene at the school was meant to foreshadow Alvy’s high libido, that will probably cause some conflict in the film. Anyway, Annie notes that Alvy once went through something similar with Allison, his first wife. Who’s Allison? Flashback!

Allison Portchnik (Carol Kane) is a graduate student in political science, working for a campaign that Alvy’s about to perform for. He’s nervous, as he’s going on after another comedian. She comforts him by saying that she thought he was cute, and he does well. But we flash-forward to a night after they’re married, shortly after the death of JFK, which Alvy’s obsessing over, entertaining various conspiracy theories.

However, Allison rightly points out that his obsession is simply a way for him to avoid having sex with her, which mirrors the present-day situation him him and Annie. Flash forward TO Alvy and Annie, and there are just lobsters...everywhere, on the floor in their kitchen. After that commotion, they talk about Annie’s past romances.

And by talk about, I mean they LITERALLY WALK THROUGH her memories. And I gotta say...I fuckin’ love this method of storytelling. One of her previous boyfriends is an actor (John Glover), and his over-dramatic prose sickens Alvy. We see a second marriage of Alvy’s to New Yorker writer Robin (Janet Margolin), who’s dragged him to a stuffy high society party of intellectuals that he has no interest in going to. Same her, Alvy. I bet the caviar’s canned.

He tries to initiate sex with her - in the middle of the party, mind you - and she turns him down. later, when they get to it in their apartment, she’s unable to, uh...reach satisfaction. From there, we flash-forward after that marriage ends to a tennis match with Rob, where he meets one of his mutual friends: Annie Hall.

And for the record, Annie’s pretty obviously got a crush on him, and she’s adorable as fuck. Also, that outfit, real talk...that outfit rules. She offers to give Alvy a list, during which he’s quite worried about her driving, but the two still get along well enough. Annie’s an amateur photographer, during a time period where photography is considered a relatively new art form. The two go to her apartment, and share familial anecdotes and personal stories about themselves. And as they talk, we also see a set of subtitles on top of each of them that betray their inner feelings and thoughts.

I do genuinely like the stylings of the movie, goddamn. This conversation leads to Alvy asking her out on a date, although they end up scheduling it after Annie auditions at a nightclub as a singer. And while it doesn’t go great, Alvy tells her she was fantastic, and they share a kiss before they head to dinner. They head to her place afterwards, and we cut to later that night, post-coitus.

And then, we get a flash-forward back to the next day, where the two are at a bookstore, and Alvy speaks on his personal philosophy of life.

I'm obsessed with uh, with death, I think. Big - big subject with me, yeah. I have a very pessimistic view of life. You should know this about me if we're gonna go out. You know, I - I feel that life is - is divided up into the horrible and the miserable. Those are the two categories, you know. The - the horrible would be like, um, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. You know, and the miserable is everyone else. That's - that's - so - so - when you go through life - you should be thankful that you're miserable because you're very lucky to be miserable.

Iiiiinteresting.

Shortly into their relationship, they admit they’re in love (or “lurve”, as Alvy says). She moves in with Alvy, which he initially isn’t the biggest fan of, having been burned in two previous marriages And already, their relationship is showing a few bumps. Alvy’s also always trying to push her to take college classes, while she uses mariuana whenever they have sex, which Alvy doesn’t agree with.

But as they have sex one night, without the marijuana at Alvy’s urging, Annie’s mind wanders - LITERALLY.

This film...this film has a VERY unique style of visual storytelling, and I am HERE for it! Seriously, I genuinely love this method of storytelling and comedy, it’s extremely engaging to me.

Soon enough, Alvy gets an interview to write for a talk show host, which he ABSOLUTELY despises. But in doing so, he decides to go into stand-up for himself, and is actually quite successful at it! But before we get to that, we’re at the halfway point! See you in Part 2!

#annie hall #woody allen #diane keaton #tony roberts #carol kane #paul simon #shelley duvall #christopher walken #romance february #romance movie #romcom #romantic comedy #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year

[evansfm]

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 –– 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 .

every  morning  evan  woke  up  to  a  london  sky  that  refused  to  let  the  sun  in  ;  summer  was  drier  than  spring  ,  but  the  clouds  seemed  to  linger  year  round  .  .  .  not  that  she  minded  .  she  had  ,  after  all  ,  grown  up  in  county  dublin  ,  where  things  were  always  a  bit  damp  .  still  ,  the  lack  of  COLOR  could  be  draining  .  .  .  so  she  searched  for  it  in  unexpected  places  ,  creating  little  pockets  of  color  for  herself  in  a  rather  grayscale  world  .  golden  lights  strung  on  her  balcony  ,  isla’s  bright  red  hair  and  matching  smile  ,  an  array  of  bright  letters  boasting  NME  lining  a  wall  ––  covers  from  past  decades  ,  a  rainbow  rubik’s  cube  next  to  her  keyboard  ,  two  framed  photographs  perched  on  her  desk  .  the  first  seemed  like  forever  ago  ,  a  beaming  eloise  with  a  twin  on  either  side  ;  beck  on  the  left  ,  evan  on  the  right  ,  both  planting  kisses  on  her  cheek  one  valentine’s  day  years  and  years  ago  .  the  second  was  more  recent  ,  backstage  at  a  show  in  galway  ;  kieran  sat  in  his  chair  with  his  fingers  intertwined  with  evan’s  as  she  draped  her  arms  over  his  shoulders  from  behind  ,  chin  resting  on  top  of  his  curls  and  a  smile  that  looked  SOFT  compared  to  the  goofy  one  ruairi  wore  ,  looming  behind  her  with  his  chin  on  her  head  .  she  felt  warmth  every  t​​ime  she  looked  at  them  ,  but  there  was  always  a  tug  in  her  stomach  .  .  .  the  undeniable  feeling  of  something  missing  .  she  found  her  little  pockets  of  color  ,  but  they  still  seemed  muted  w​​ithout  the  people  she  loved  ––  the  PERSON  she  loved  .

their  schedules  had  begun  to  clash  ––  and  evan  hated  the  way  she  was  beginning  to  get  used  to  the  dull  ache  of  his  absence  .  distance  had  been  a  part  of  their  relationship  for  months  ,  but  the  time  zones  were  killing  her  .  they  couldn’t  always  make  time  for  hours  wasted  away  on  facetime  ;  she  couldn’t  always  fall  asleep  to  the  sound  of  his  voice  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  they  were  both  where  they  were  supposed  to  be  ,  chasing  their  dreams  together  ,  separately  .  .  .  but  evan  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  the  path  she  was  on  ––  the  desk  ,  the  deadlines  ,  the  distance  ––  was  actually  what  she  WANTED  .  there  was  a  lack  of  creative  control  at  nme  ;  she  was  a  part  of  a  greater  whole  ,  confined  to  a  desk  when  she  wasn’t  out  in  the  field  .  she  felt  restless  .  .  .  bored  ,  almost  .  and  with  her  most  recent  deadline  met  and  a  job  of  her  own  ––  evan  connely  ,  sans  nme  ––  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  week  ,  she  was  distracted  .  

“  WHAT  are  you  doing  ?  ”  isla  popped  up  behind  her  ,  coming  out  of  nowhere  to  look  over  her  shoulder  .

“  jesus  ,  ”  evan  startled  ,  nearly  dropping  the  plastic  puzzle  in  her  hand  ,  “  where  t’e  fuck  did  you  come  from  ?  ”

“  charlotte’s  office  .  answer  my  question  .  ”

“  playing  wit’  a  toy  ,  ”  she  held  up  the  half  solved  rubik’s  cube  ,  then  let  out  an  audible  sigh  as  isla  looked  unimpressed  ,  then  jutted  her  chin  towards  the  computer  screen  ,  “  trying  to  put  together  a  mood  board  for  t’is  gig  i’ve  got  wit’  saint  valentine  on  friday  .  ”

perfectly  shaped  auburn  brows  raised  ,  “  we  got  saint  valentine  ?  ”

“  no  ,  ”  evan’s  lips  lifted  into  the  faintest  smirk  ,  “  i  got  saint  valentine  .  ”

“  you’re  bloody  joking  .  shut  UP  ,  ”  isla  gasped  ,  rounding  to  her  side  of  the  table  desk  ,  just  to  roll  her  chair  around  ,  “  and  you  didn’t  fucking  tell  me  ?  ”

“  no  ,  because  you  couldn’t  keep  a  secret  if  you  tried  .”

“  well  that’s  because  it  shouldn’t  be  a  fucking  secret  ,  ev  .  this  is  fantastic  ,  ”  hazel  eyes  widened  with  excitement  ,  “  so  you’re  shooting  them  for  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  t’ey  weren’t  too  explicit  about  it  .  i  know  for  certain  i’m  covering  bot’  shows  at  t’e  o2  ,  documenting  t’e  whole  thing  from  t’e  moment  they  get  there  ,  ”  evan  huffed  a  curl  away  from  her  face  ,  nodding  to  the  screen  ,  “  and  t’en  a  shoot  on  site  at  t’e  venue  .  so  i’ve  got  to  work  wit’  what  i’ve  got  .  i’ve  got  ONE  chance  here  ,  and  nicky  haven  scares  t’e  absolute  fuck  out’a  me  ,  so  i  can’t  blow  it  .  ”

“  nicky  haven  scares  EVERYONE  .  it’s  part  of  h​​is  charm  ,  ”  isla  leaned  in  ,  ma​​king  herself  perfectly  comfortable  in  evan’s  space  as  she  took  the  mouse  and  began  clicking  through  different  ideas  opened  on  photoshop  ,  “  let’s  see  what  you’ve  got  so  far  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  isla  ,  it’s  not  a  big  deal  .  really  i  shouldn’t  even  be  working  on  t’is  HERE  ,  right  now  .  it’s  not  exactly  nme  related  stuff  ,  you  kn––  ”

“  i  TOLD  you  she  was  here  today  ,  ”  a  girl  called  sophie  ,  who  manned  nme’s  front  desk  in  the  mornings  ,  materialized  on  the  other  side  of  evan’s  desk  .  a  junior  writer  ,  andrew  ,  was  hot  on  her  heels  .

“  soph  ,  now  really  probably  isn’t  the  best  time  and  it  really  isn’t  your  busi––  ”

“  someone’s  got  to  show  her  ,  ”  sophie  was  ,  admittedly  ,  obnoxious  .  and  coming  from  EVAN  ,  that  was  a  feat  .

“  show  WHAT  to  WHO  ?  ”  isla’s  voice  changed  in  tone  ,  taking  on  a  hint  of  authority  as  she  looked  at  andrew  ,  “  aren’t  you  meant  to  be  doing  some  social  media  research  right  now  ?  ”

“  i  WAS  ,  but  ––  ”

“  but  we’ve  found  something  that  evan  HAS  to  see  ,  ”  sophie  .  again  .

“  we  ?  ”

“  ME  ?  ”  evan  said  in  tandem  with  isla  ,  brows  lifting  as  she  clicked  the  final  piece  into  place  on  the  cube  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  and  felt  a  strange  twist  in  her  stomach  when  she  saw  the  redhead  had  gone  rigid  .

“  is  this  about  ––  ”

“  rebecca  stringer  ,  ”  andrew  nodded  solemnly  ,  as  though  evan  was  supposed  to  know  who  the  hell  THAT  was  .

“  better  known  as  BEX  ,  ”  sophie  added  .

it  was  evan’s  turn  to  go  rigid  .  her  back  straightened  ,  and  it  felt  like  ice  had  just  been  shot  through  her  veins  .  truth  be  told  ,  she  was  more  worried  about  conflicting  schedules  lately  .  .  .  not  the  way  bex  sing-songed  a  shortened  version  of  kieran’s  name  .  .  .  or  the  way  she  answered  his  phone  and  simply  couldn’t  remember  who  evan  was  .  .  .  or  the  way  she’d  made  sure  evan  could  hear  her  promise  to  personally  deliver  kieran  to  his  hotel  room  that  first  night  in  los  angeles  .  it  wasn’t  exactly  PLEASANT  being  reminded  of  the  instinct  that  she’d  shut  down  ,  intuition  telling  her  something  wasn’t  quite  right  there  .  her  brows  pinched  together  as  the  rubik’s  cube  slid  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  back  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  with  a  prompting  look  .

“  we’re  .  .  .  doing  a  piece  about  nepotism  babies  in  the  industry  ,  and  she’s  a  PERFECT  example  of  one  so  i  was  having  andrew  look  into  the  way  she  interacts  with  fans  and  her  socials  and  what  not  .  she’s  one  of  like  TEN  people  we’re  look​​ing  into  ,  ”  she  explained  with  an  apologetic  look  .  it  was  then  that  she  turned  a  sharp  eye  to  andrew  and  sophie  ,  “  don’t  know  what  THAT  has  to  do  with  evan  ,  though  .  ”

“  see  for  yourself  .  ”

“  SOPHIE  .  ”

“  what  ?  it  probably  isn’t  even  new  information  for  her  ,  ”  she  shrugged  ,  reaching  over  two  monitors  to  hand  evan  a  phone  .  twitter  was  opened  to  a  profile  with  bex’s  beaming  face  in  the  icon  ,  but  the  handle  wasn’t  hers  .  she  gave  the  pair  of  them  a  skeptical  look  before  glancing  over  at  isla  who  only  offered  a  half  -  hearted  shrug  .  it  didn’t  take  long  to  see  what  ,  exactly  ,  sophie  had  been  talking  about  ,  a  slew  of  tweets  and  retweets  .

bexupdates  :  bex  &  kieran  pulled  up  to  the  venue  together  .  .  .  and  then  left  at  the  same  time  .  why  are  they  lowkey  so  cute  annathefound  :  not  bex  wearing  a  baby  tee  version  of  the  found’s  merch  .  .  .  stanning  her  boyfriend  just  like  the  rest  of  us  

ruairidailyposts  :  ok  wait  are  evan  &  kieran  even  dating  anymore  bc  i  could  be  down  with  a  bex  &  kieran  moment  cheerupbailey  :  @ruairidailyposts  you  know  two  people  can  have  a  relationship  without  posting  about  it  right  ???  they’re  in  separate  countries  rn  lol

babybexxx  :  i  just  think  that  bex  &  kieran  walsh  as  a  power  couple  .

bxhq  :  no  offense  but  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  than  some  rando  from  ireland  like  what thefoundupdates  :  @bxhq  babes  they  LITERALLY  grew  up  together  ????

totallyconan  :  be  honest  do  u  guys  think  the  reason  evan  isn’t  on  tour  with  them  is  bc  they’re  not  together  anymore  like  she  literally  never  misses  shows

adamfitzupdates :  why  are  y’all  so  obsessed  with  a  relationship  that  doesn’t  concern  you  ???  chill bexlevitates  :  @adamfitzupdates  bc  it’s  weird  that  evan  knew  him  for  so  long  and  only  started  dating  him  AFTER  the  found  started  to  get  big  like  that’s  shady

bexupdates  :  find  someone  who  looks  at  u  the  way  bex  looks  at  kieran  on  stage  wtf  did  y’all  see  that

newruleshq  :  no  waaaay  this  man  has  a  gf  when  he  and  bex  look  so  good  next  to  each  other  LMAO  

thefoundupdates  :  according  to  the  girl  who  wrote  the  article  kieran  literally  WALKED  OUT  on  the  interview  ???  rockstar  behavior  but  also  hope  he’s  ok

evan  could’ve  kept  scrolling  for  hours  as  her  heart  rate  began  to  rise  and  rise  .  the  crease  between  her  brows  deepened  ,  and  she  reminded  herself  of  everything  she  knew  to  be  true  .  kieran  LOVED  her  .  twitter  was  a  BRUTAL  place  .  it  was  as  though  the  worst  parts  of  her  subconscious  had  come  to  life  in  280  characters  or  less  .  her  head  began  to  swim  as  her  heart  sank  into  her  stomach  .

“  what  does  t’is  ––  .  .  .  ”  her  voice  cracked  ,  and  she  cleared  her  throat  ,  finally  looking  up  from  the  phone  screen  ,  “  why  ,  exactly  ,  are  you  showing  me  this  ?  ”  

sophie  looked  as  though  she  was  shocked  by  evan’s  question  ,  “  because  i’ve  dated  musicians  .  .  .  and  like  HALF  of  those  are  in  bex’s  likes  .  which  are  public  ,  by  the  way  .  just  doesn’t  seem  subtle  to  me  .  ”

“  are  you  trying  to  insinuate  something  here  ,  sophie  ?  ”  her  tone  shifted  ,  irritated  as  she  handed  the  phone  back  .

“  like  i  said  ,  i’ve  dated  guys  in  bands  ,  too  ,  and  ––  ”

“  enough  ,  ”  isla  snapped  ,  “  you’re  sticking  your  nose  where  it  doesn’t  belong  .  BOTH  of  you  should  be  off  doing  your  jobs  right  now  ,  so  ,  run  along  .  ”

both  of  them  scurried  off  without  a  word  .  

evan  was  still  for  a  moment  ,  but  her  fingertips  were  itching  for  the  keyboard  .  she  was  no  stranger  to  things  like  this  ,  unkind  words  from  strangers  who  didn’t  LOVE  the  idea  of  her  ––  despite  not  knowing  her  .  the  good  outweighed  the  bad  on  the  internet  ,  but  the  voices  who  didn’t  like  her  were  always  the  loudest  .  even  BEFORE  she  and  kieran  had  gone  public  with  their  relationship  .  .  .  even  before  they  were  ever  in  a  relationship  at  all  .  over  time  ,  she’d  learned  to  tune  it  out  and  focus  on  the  kindness  that  flooded  her  comment  sections  and  mentions  .  .  .  but  every  now  and  again  something  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  .  .  and  when  they  did  ,  she  absorbed  them  like  a  blow  to  the  abdomen  .  they  settled  into  her  memory  and  cemented  themselves  there  ,  tucked  away  until  they  found  the  perfect  moment  to  make  her  self  conscious  .  like  the  fan  who  had  commented  on  the  shape  of  her  body  before  and  after  going  to  uni  .  .  .  and  another  from  galway  who  made  it  their  business  to  let  everyone  know  she’d  slept  around  while  living  there  .  .  .  and  every  time  someone  said  she  wasn’t  good  enough  for  kieran  or  any  of  them  .  that  she  had  bad  intentions  ,  leeching  onto  the  boys  for  fame  .  that  her  career  was  based  SOLELY  on  the  four  of  them  .  

if  she  caved  and  kept  scrolling  ,  she’d  commit  it  all  to  memory  .  .  .  everything  that  made  her  intuition  about  bex  STRONGER  .  

instead  ,  she  launched  forward  and  snatched  the  rubik’s  cube  back  up  ,  immediately  distorting  its  perfect  faces  and  mixing  it  up  again  .  it  was  good  to  keep  your  hands  busy  ,  she  knew  ,  when  your  mind  began  to  run  away  .  

the  worst  of  it  wasn’t  even  TRULY  comments  about  their  relationship  .  .  .  those  hurt  ,  but  they  didn’t  sting  quite  as  bad  as  real  -  time  updates  about  kieran  and  bex  showing  up  or  leaving  venues  together  .  she  dulled  the  pain  by  reminding  herself  that  THREE  other  boys  were  never  too  far  behind  .  that  kieran  would  never  .  .  .  COULD  never  .  .  .  

but  then  again  ,  there  was  the  tweet  that  weighed  heaviest  in  her  mind  .  kieran  walked  out  in  the  middle  of  an  interview  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  something  rattled  him  to  the  point  of  his  version  of  an  outburst  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  that  seemed  like  something  he  would  have  told  her  .  .  .  it  seemed  important  enough  ,  she  thought  to  herself  ,  right  ?  RIGHT  ?

her  throat  felt  tight  ,  and  she  kept  running  the  tweets  she’d  read  over  in  her  mind  .  there  was  a  deep  furrow  in  her  brow  as  she  looked  down  at  her  hands  ,  still  vehemently  mixing  up  the  toy  .  something  felt  off  kilter  .  .  .  but  she  couldn’t  pin  down  which  hurt  more  :  the  slew  of  tweets  from  people  pretending  to  know  what  went  on  in  her  relationship  .  .  .  or  the  thought  of  kieran  doing  something  as  rash  as  storming  out  of  an  interview  ––  and  then  not  telling  her  .  

“  i  didn’t  know  about  t’e  interv​​iew  bit  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  eyes  still  trained  on  the  colorful  cube  .  she  was  certain  her  face  was  the  opposite  ,  color  drained  .  

“  evan  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  it’s  fine  ,  ”  she  said  firmly  ,  “  it’s  probably  not  true  .  just  like  t’e  rest  of  it  isn’t  true  .  ”

her  voice  sounded  distant  .  .  .  and  she  wasn’t  sure  if  she  was  trying  to  convince  isla  or  HERSELF  .  clearing  her  throat  again  ,  she  set  the  toy  back  down  on  her  desk  and  scooted  towards  the  computer  .  

“  i’ve  got  work  to  do  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  getting  back  to  the  monitor  .  though  all  she  wanted  to  do  was  go  home  .  how  many  more  people  thought  that  she  wasn’t  GOOD  ENOUGH  for  kieran  ?  how  many  people  thought  someone  like  bex  was  a  better  fit  ?  how  long  would  it  take  for  the  suggestion  to  become  potent  enough  to  make  the  people  who  KNEW  them  question  it  as  well  ?  and  if  kieran  had  walked  out  of  an  interv​​iew  ,  WHY  hadn’t  he  told  her  ?  

she  glanced  down  at  her  own  phone  screen  ,  hoping  that  maybe  she’d  missed  a  text  or  a  call  .  .  .  but  all  she  got  was  nothing  .  nothing  but  the  words  she’d  seen  written  down  ,  now  cemented  in  her  mind  :  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  .  .  .  because  SHE  was  there  ,  wrapped  up  in  the  same  world  he  was  in  .  she  was  accessible  .  immediate  .  beautiful  .  

and  evan  was  stuck  in  london  with  nothing  but  time  to  wonder  .

#idk what to taaaag it

[geekygoddesss]

B.F.F (Part 3)

Summary: Journey through the life of a girl whose heart belongs to her best friend, but he doesn’t feel the same way.

Words: 5.8k

Taglist: @dreamer-loves-lyrics​  @5sosfanfix​ @calssunflower​ @madformichael​

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me into this”

Those were the words she has heard repeatedly for the past ten minutes ever since they got inside the Range Rover parked outside her door, and most likely, those were the words she would hear for the whole ride if Luke continued trying to be this annoying. Because apparently, this was his way of starting the hungover morning with a kick, being grumpy. 

If anyone asked, she definitely saw this as some sort of coping mechanism on his behalf, seems that he had chosen a very bad night for going out and getting drunk and now he was dealing with all of the consequences, he was tired, with a headache and with the most makeup he’s ever worn to cover up his decrepit face, going to work was torture for him and whining out to his best friend was turning into torture for her, but he had no other option than to suck it up and show up like this, after all, he would probably not be the only one dealing with the same thing, but it’s kind of his fault that this is even happening, he should have known better.

“It’s not that bad” (Y/n) shrugged, gripping on the steering wheel tightly and keeping her eyes on the road. Luke groaned, being already tired of her optimism, trying to see the brighter side on stuff he did not want to do. She just laughed “It’s not like you can turn your back on your job, buddy” she teased, leaning to the side and pinching his arm. Hopefully, that would wake him. 

He was starting to get more annoyed by the second and for her it was both, concerning and hilarious. As much as she loved Luke in general, she hated to see him upset, all she wanted was to bright him up a little bit before having to face any sort of camera. “Press rounds are not fun, their not even fun interviews, these people work for things my grandma would watch”  he continued whining as he leaned his head on the window, his shades weighing heavily on the bridge of his nose and covering his annoyed look. 

Poor baby, he is just so hungover. “You need promoting” she added, again, trying to see the brightest side of it all “I’m sure there will be a couple fun ones”  

She tried to give Luke at least one comforting look, but driving in the middle of the Los Angeles traffic was hard enough, the last thing she needed was an accident when they were so short on time and with Luke’s distractive whining and the fact the was surrounded by cars, it was impossible to take her eyes out the rode for at least two seconds. 

“Since when is daily news fun?” he asked, raising both of his eyebrows in question. 

She really didn’t know how to answer that because, in a way, he was right. 

This was really not his morning, he was a grumpy beast, he was supposed to be in the studio in about two hours, between the hungover and having to stick with (Y/n) for the few errands she had to do instead of taking some time to sleep, he could feel his stress growing and this was not even the most intense part of the day, it was yet to come. At least he had the relief of having her with him, making sure he wouldn’t fuck up, not today. “Please” (Y/n) said, almost begging him, suddenly not feeling like listening to his whining anymore. 

There is something inside of her telling her that maybe this was the perfect chance to grab his hand and comfort him, run her thumb over his skin and telling him he will do his best today, like always; but she couldn’t do that, she was limited to keep her hands on the wheel and try to let her words calm him down, which seemed to do not the best job. 

“Also, I can’t believe you’re driving my car” He said, directly referring to her in his thread of complaints “when I am going to drive your car?” 

This made her laugh for so many reasons.

 She was not going to lie, driving Luke’s car was kind of cool, it was bigger, fancier and it had the best speakers for music, which was always for her benefits, she had all the rights for DJ-ing in his car and vice versa, it was their deal; but that was not the reason why she decided she would drive his car today, she thought it would be better for him, she would be driving him around all day, carrying a kid and possibly a bunch of groceries, driving big distances and from one point to another around city, his car would handle it better than her second-hand trash. 

No shade for that, she loved her car, but it was starting to weigh on her the fact that it would be soon the time to turn it into actual trash and get a new one.  

“Probably when you don’t have a couple speeding tickets behind you” she said sassily looking at him for a very short second “I want my record clean” 

He laughed, almost as he couldn’t believe she just mentioned that. “you’re such a baby” he teased, showing her his tongue for a second. She leaned in to pinch his arm again, that was for teasing her. “ouch” he laughed again, moving back from her touch “You’re mean”

“Shut up” she laughed, looking over at him once she could and raising her brows.“Want to switch seats?” she offered as if she was even serious. 

Hungover Luke driver seemed like the worst idea ever, almost as bad as a DLD, Drunk Luke Driver, both of those concepts either could die or take a hike, while he was in those states, he could consider driving a banned activity for the sake of everyone’s safety, especially his own. 

Not like he didn’t know that anyways, his best friend was the one person that took charge to remind him that every time; but he still pretended to consider the option, cocking his head to the side and acting pensively. Dork. 

“Nah, I’m good” he said, leaning his head on the window and shutting his eyes closed “My head is killing me” he whined once again, letting out the biggest sigh. 

Predictable. Very predictable. 

“Of course” She chuckled, turning the wheel to drive into the highway “Are you done complaining? I don’t need this much whining to get Joe” she asked nicely, now being serious on her petition, she would like her brother to not ask questions later on. 

“No, I’m done” He assured her, making himself comfortable once and for all. “Driving my way to public torture, hurray” 

His monotone tone just set up a whole mood, again, very predictable. She couldn’t help but laugh at her dork of a friend. Oh, how she loves him. 

She was thankful that her home wasn’t actually that far from the city, if not, Luke would be acting ten times worse than he already was, sometimes he could be kind of a diva.

 Today was one of those days that were exclusively made for her to take care of her little brother, who would spend time with her at least once a week and who she loved to death, no one in the world would make her change her plans of hanging out with her brother, she loved it way too much. That was just why she has decided it might have been a good idea to pick him up earlier and steal a couple of minutes from Luke’s busy agenda to drive all the way to her home. It would make a ton of things easier later on, she might as well get over with these now. 

The whole drive there was tranquil and smooth, she took not only the fastest but the less congested road, which got them there twice as fast, it was perfect, that would make up for the time they will lose on the way to the studios to drop the star of the show. Coming here at this time was the perfect timing. 

Every time she drives into her street something warm started to grow in her chest and she loved that feeling, this was a place filled with good memories and now that she didn’t spend as much time here as before, each time here was like walking down memory lane and disconnecting, at least for a couple minutes. She loved entering that street, it was always looking the same; kids playing around the streets, gardens shining with green grass and colorful flowers, adults here and there having conversations, walking their dogs, it was a nice sight to see, every time she came here it was a moment of mental relaxation. 

Out of all houses, hers was the biggest, the most noticeable one of the bunch but also the oldest. It has been around ever since her mom moved to the states, which was already quite a while, she wasn’t even born yet, her parents didn’t know each other's existence but still, it’s always been her dad’s property, her whole life has been built around this place and somehow she was never tired of looking at it or being there.  It was the typical and perfect LA house, she loved it, she always would. 

Pulling into her garage with expertise almost seemed like a reminder of how she should come here more often, this last month has been so busy that she has had to reduce her visits to just a couple and ask her parents to drive Joe over to her place, it was in a way very weird to not be at her home as often as she’d like. It seemed like a reminder because right when those doors opened, letting her drive directly into the garage, she could see those familiar gazes looking over at the unfamiliar car and seeing her face inside, raised weirder looks, she didn’t love that, this was her home after all, it shouldn’t be this weird that she comes over. 

“There they are” She announced to herself, once she caught her father’s look with her own. She wasted no time, once the car was parked, she rolled down her window to take a look, mostly looking for the person she wanted to see in particular and feeling lucky because she saw him right away. “Hi Joey!” She waved her hand, smiling down at the seven-year-old boy, playing on the front yard. 

“Hi!” He yelled back, waving in her direction. 

The sound of Joe’s voice almost acted like an alarm clock for Luke, who sat up straight once he heard it, he must have fallen asleep, how could he not? he was being a straight-up zombie today. He leaned over to take a look at the place, to then imitate her actions and make himself noticeable. 

“Hey buddy!” He waved his hand at the kid, but unlike her, he moved on and waved his hand at the old man who was already walking towards the car. “Hi Mister P.” He said politely, trying to keep as much composure as his hungover let him. 

“Hi Dad” She said too, greeting the man standing before her, it would be rude not to greet him. 

“Hey sweetheart” He greeted back, taking the liberty to raise his hand and caress her hair like he would usually do.“You got here early, what a surprise” he chuckled, resting his weight on the car door to look inside, almost as if he was feeling especially talkative today. 

Out of all people in her family, aside from Joe, her dad was her favorite person inside of that house. She has always felt like their connection was the most special of them all; he was smart, he was calculating, he could sometimes have an attitude but there was a reason of why he had the life he had, he didn’t just get to the top acting soft with everyone, and she admired that. Her father has gone a long way and there was a lot she wanted to learn about that. 

“We got a couple of things to do, I figured Joe would like to hang out for a bit more” She answered, shrugging a little at his observation. 

She didn’t bother to mention all the rundowns she had yet to make for the day thanks to Luke, she just left it at that, further questions could end up being complicated answers and she didn't want that. 

“That’s good” He nodded, looking back at his youngest son and nodding at him once. “You got everything, pal?” he asked, Joe nodded eagerly from his place “Good, go grab your bag” he ordered. 

Just like that, Joe was getting up on his feet, picking up his toys and rushing to the door. She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely excited to come over or just underwhelmed because this was already their routine, he knew how it went. For the sake of this day turning out good, she was hoping he felt excited for what was to come, it would be heartbreaking for her if Joe ever got bored of their weekend getaways.

“Have any plans?” her dad asked, taking a look at the pair inside the car. 

She nodded. “Baseball” she simply said, because there was nothing else to mention besides that, he knew what was up. 

“Good call” he said, raising his hand up, she high five it.  “Good to see you kid” he smiled, leaned to kiss her forehead and backed up a bit. 

“I’ll come over Wednesday for the barbeque” she promised with a soft smile. She almost felt necessary to point that up, after being away for what felt like forever she didn’t want them to assume she wouldn’t make it to their family event, she had to, it was her parents anniversary after all. 

“You better, you won't believe what I have planned for dinner, it’s going to be fantastic” he bragged proudly, leaving the integration hit her. “Luke, you coming?” he asked her partner in crime, almost snapping him out of his own cloud of thoughts. 

He could get distracted way easily. 

“I think so, I need to look at my agenda but if I’ve got the time I’ll bring wine and everything” he said, being too sure of his words even though he wasn’t even sure if there was anything for him planned on the days ahead of him, he was lost on a crazy time table.

“I like that” Her father cheered, pointing at luke as he nodded in response “I’m out, I have to pick some groceries but, it was good to see you” he mentioned one more time, waving his hand at them “See you later guys, bye sweetheart” 

She smiled at him a soft smile, inside she wished to talk to him just a bit more, but it was better if they just cut on some time and let this conversation for another time. Again, they were short on timing. 

“Love you, daddy” she said to him as he walked away to his own car. 

“Love you!” he said back, waving at her one more time and blowing a kiss. She smiled, how sweet her dad was. 

Times like this made her feel nostalgic, she should really come over more often than just this. Leaning back on her seat and letting out the biggest sigh made the trick for her feelings to drain out a little bit, it was weighing a little bit on her to be the typical child who flew away from the nest, but that’s life, she guessed. Of course, Now was not the time to have a breather and think by herself, because once she turned her head he saw Luke’s stunning smile pointing straight to her and with a look that she suspected wasn’t out of complete happiness, it was creepy. 

“Don’t look at me so weird” she said, cringing at that look, it made her feel strange. 

“Sorry, it's just… cute” he chuckled, looking away “You call your Dad, Daddy” he teased in a low tone, laughing at that fact.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes; this was one of Luke’s talents, he could turn from annoying, to diva, to whiny fuck in a snap, and she didn’t know if she loved it or not, but for him, it was for sure hilarious, especially when it meant annoying her in any shape or form. 

“Shut up” she laughed, leaning in to slap his arm, but he turned away like a champ, for being so hungover, he sure felt not so slow this morning.

She could have said anything to defend herself since he seemed to be in the mood to tease her this morning, but before she could even think of something good enough to answer she heard those little steps rushing out of the house and into the patio and that distracted her completely. The sight of her little brother walking over the car made her smile, as he walked around with that big blue backpack on his side and trying to get to the car as soon as he could, that made her happy because that’s how she knew, he was happy to come over. 

“Where’s daddy?” Joe said, once he was closer to the car, the heavyweight of the bag making him walk over leaned on his side. 

“He went out, bud” She announced, pouting a little bit. She felt kind of bad though, she knew he liked to say goodbye to their father before going out. “Are you ready?” she asked, looking at him as he got closer. 

“Yes”  he nodded eagerly, letting the bag fall on the floor and grabbing the handle of  the door “Open” he insisted, jumping in place. 

Luke was the one reaching out to find the button, for some reason when it came to pressing buttons around this car, for her it was kind of weird, there were too many of them, that’s why Luke always had her back, she didn’t even need to ask, he just did it for her. They were connected. 

Joe opens the back door with ease, however, it seems to be a bit of a struggle to climb up, considering his height and the weight of his back, along with the size of the car, getting up in there wasn’t the easiest thing to do. 

He is a smart kid, that’s why she knew she didn’t really need to help him with that. Once the door was open for him the first thing he decided to do was slip his backpack inside, it took him a bit of work, but it didn’t take him long get that part done, he’s gotten some practice with this before. But then came the hard part which was getting himself up on the car seat, he was still a kid, so we had a seat pull up for him already, but still, with the height of the car, everything was easier said than done. 

He got one part of it figured out, once he learned part of his body on the front of the car, but before he could even lift his body up, someone called his name inside of the house, which called his attention and got him down onto his feet again. They heard steps coming from the garage and into the patio, steps of heels covered feet walking them with ease and fast, none of them were a stranger to those, because that was her mother. She was rushing into the garage with a smile on her face, wearing those usual heels accompanied by a colorful dress that flattered her in every way, that was her usual look, she pulled it off every time. 

Once she got close enough to Luke’s car, she was smiling to them, mostly on her direction, she hasn’t seen her daughter in what seemed like forever and it showed, the feeling was mutual.  Seeing her mother was always such a pleasure for her, it was like seeing a best friend. 

“Let me help you there” Mom spoke letting that thick accent show, as she grabbed her youngest son by the hips and eased him into the vehicle, making it a lot easier for him to get comfortable. “Hello” she said, looking at both of the young adults through the car’s window.

“Hi mom” (Y/n) said first, leaning over the frame of the car to take a look at her mother a bit better. 

“Hi Beautiful” said her mom, going over to great her with a quick on the cheek and then turning to Luke, who just stuck to stare like a creep from his seat “Hi handsome, how are you two doing?” she asked politely, caressing her daughter’s hair with the tip of her fingers. 

Sometimes she could swear Luke was such a guy, it drove her nuts. Whenever he saw Gloria, his best friend’s mother, it was like something shut down inside of him and he was just a stupid boy; he rambled, he could barely get words out and he stared -like- a lot, it was weird. She got it, she has always gotten it, her mother was fairly attractive, she didn’t need a reminder, but getting this kind of reaction from her best friend was ridiculous, sometimes she wished she had enough guts to slap him for that.

But that would be something she wouldn’t ever forgive herself.  

“Great, the day looks pretty promising” (Y/n) answered for the both of them, after Luke proceeded to just nod his head once and stare like a creep, as usual. 

“Another day in sunny California” he added, smiling a sweet smile, trying to act natural. 

“Are you guys going anywhere?” (Y/n) kept going, suddenly realizing she actually had no clue of what her parents were up to and that wasn’t right, she wanted to be informed. 

Her mother nodded in confirmation, showing a bright smile to the pair. “We have reservations for this all-day Spa, your father isn’t very excited at all but I’m sure he’ll love it, they have pools and a massage center, a theater...” she numbers, sounding very excited about it as she keeps going. 

(Y/n) almost wanted to groan at that comment, her Dad could sometimes be a little picky and collide minded about the places he goes, all based on things that might hurt his image, which was stupid. They all knew he was going there just because Gloria was excited about it, but at the end of everything, he would end enjoying himself too and that’s all that counts, her parents deserved to have the best time ever.

“That does sound like quite the place, it’s weird he doesn’t want to go” said (Y/n), acting surprised, even when it was horribly predictable. 

“Daddy says it lacks testhosterwone” Joe says, from the backseat, having a hard time vocalizing his words. 

Gloria laughed but the older sister just rolled her eyes. 

“Do you know what that means, Joe?” (Y/n) asked, looking back at her little brother with a raised eyebrow. 

She wasn’t a fan of Joe talking big words he didn’t know, it could mean possible chaos if those were used in the wrong moment. 

“like candy, I think” he shrugs, not caring about anything at all and going back to his business; moving on to pick up some toy peeking out of his backpack.

(Y/n) nodded, not having much to say about that, nor feeling like explaining things to Joe right now, it would be too complicated and he wouldn’t understand anyway, he’s seven, he wasn’t going to even care about it now. 

“Sounds like a nice place” she said, nodding at her mother. 

The woman gave her daughter a reassuring smile, not going any farther on that. “Are you going baseballing?” She asked the pair. 

(Y/n) shrugged “That’s part of the plan, we’re going to drive Luke to the studio place in Hollywood and then back to the baseball courts, then all the way to Luke’s” She shortly explained, just to make it easier to take in. 

It was not a secret that Hollywood was not the easiest place to go to from the place they were at, neither it was a secret that Joe wasn’t the biggest fan of road trips or staying still in one place for a long amount of time, so dealing with that was about to be an adventure. 

She didn’t dare though, she would deal with that later. 

“Hm, I see” Gloria said with an unsure tone, obviously not loving the idea but not saying much about it “Update me” she warned, pointing directly at her. 

  “We won’t be going to far, just far enough” she made clear, not wanting to discuss this more than it was necessary “Also, there’s a dog in Luke's house and a basketball thing, we can always go play there if anything goes differently” she shrugged, making the situation lighter.

For the sake of making some presence and instantly sensing how she couldn’t work on this alone, Luke activated instantly, turning on the kid's direction slowly and nodding no his way once. 

“I’m going to crush you this time, dude” he said in a challenging tone, pointing at her brother directly. 

“You wish” Joe scoffed, showing his tongue back to Luke, following his lead, totally feeling challenged by that. 

She laughed, it was quite cute that her little brother and her best friend had this kind of inside jokes, where they would spend time with each other and have fun leading to this, they didn’t feel awkward with the presence of each other, it felt right. Oh, how she loved that. 

“If we make it out early I’ll buy pizza, promise” She said to her brother, turning to look at him with a smile. 

Her mother gave than a comforting look, apparently feeling satisfied and convinced enough that her youngest son was for sure in safe hands, as usual. She would take care of him every weekend and they have never had a problem, not one at all, she trusted (Y/n), she always does, nothing could really go wrong if she was in charge. 

“Alright, just be careful, okay?” Gloria warned, leaning in to kiss her daughter's cheek  “Won’t take more of your time, Los quiero mucho, have fun you guys” She smiled, taking a step back and waving her hand. 

“Bye, Miss P.” Luke said, with that prince charming smile appearing on his face out of the blue. “You look radiant, by the way”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him was such a challenge. “Bye mom” She said waving her hand too, ignoring what her friend just said as she heard Joe repeating the exact same thing on the background  “Love you!” 

They didn’t make this any longer, she started the car and moved on, opening the garage and making their way out. It was late after all, it was not like they could hang in there for longer. So after their conversation was closed, she found it right to just leave her childhood home and move on to their next destination so they could finally start their day. 

It was a long ride and they knew it was going to be like this all along, but bringing along Joe into this was kind of a Russian roulette, if they were lucky he wouldn’t whine on the whole ride and they would be fine, but if they weren’t, he would probably start crying and beg to be brought back home, like it was expected of him at times, he hated long rides. 

For their luck that did not happen, not today. Their whole journey was smooth and tranquil before they even noticed, she was finally pulling into the big studio’s parking and going all the way to the front door, just to make Luke’s walk of shame a bit shorter, making things easier for her hungover friend once again. 

She would be lying if she said it was weird to be in a place like this, this was a place were usually only famous and talented people frequent, but he was the reason she has been a part of that group plenty of times, seeing the facility now was kind of regular for her at this point.  

Seeing Luke’s face when pulling in front of the door was a true poem, it was clearly noticeable how much he did not want to do this, but today was not his day. He took his time taking off his seatbelt and then grabbing his backpack from the floor, making some time for himself to process the whole journey he had along, it was almost funny. Once his time came, getting out of his car was painful and once he stepped out into the real world, he clearly couldn’t just go into the studio and end it all, instead, he placed both hands on the door of his own car and looked inside, almost checking he was not forgetting anything and making sure everything was fine, to then stare at his best friend, his eyes said a lot even when he was saying nothing, he was tired and he was not in the mood, she could see his biggest wish right now was for her to pull him back in the car and drive him away, but she was not about to drive him out from his responsibilities. 

Not now, not ever, not in his wildest dreams. 

“Thanks for the ride” he said awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of his feet back and forth, as he looked straight at her through the open window. “Can I count on you tonight?” he asked, clicking his tongue once. 

She frowned a little. It was a bit of a weird question. 

“Tonight?” She asked. He could count on her with everything, but she didn’t remember tonight being on any of the plans. 

He nodded “Writing session? It’s at mine” he made sure to clarify, almost speaking like if this was so overly obvious, she didn’t think it was. 

They never discussed this. She knew he had some kind of work session after he got out of this, but she didn’t think she would actually be included, or that it would be at his place. It was weird that he made one of those at home, for starters, so in a way, she fairly doubts that would even happen. 

“Is it? I just thought that was a lie so mom didn’t know we would actually be at the real studio” she said, lowering her voice, just in case Joe decided to eavesdrop now. He didn’t need to know they lied to her mother. 

It was not a full lie though, they were being honest, in away. It was just the friendliest way to put it so Joe could come along. 

“Nah” Luke shrugged, shaking his head “I’ll pull strings, no one actually wants to go there, it gets suffocating” he says, letting out fake shivers, acting like if it was the craziest place in the world.

It was not, he actually liked being there, he was just acting dramatic. 

She could comment on it, but she decided staying silent might as well be the best way to go. 

She turned, nodded once to her friend and said “Got ya” she stated, holding tight on the wheel with both hands “Text me” she indicated and it was a direct order. 

His eyes widened, he took a step back of the car and grabbed onto his bag tightly, like it would soon fall off his shoulders. 

“I will” he assured her with an energetic nod.

She repeated his move too, starting to move the car just a little, but just enough to keep eye contact with him without crashing.  “Call me if you puke again” she warned, pointing a finger at him, trying to be intimidated.

Now, this was where the real look came out. He rolled his eyes so hard he probably saw his brain.

Classic, Luke. She thought it was funny. 

“Yes, sweetheart” he nodded again, walking backward to the door, never taking his eyes off her “Anything else?” He asked, waiting for her to add on anything like it was usual.

She laughed. 

With nothing else to say or do, she just lowered her hand to a nonvisible point, away from the child’s vision and flipped him off. She made clear that meant a million things, and if it ever felt right to do it, now was the time, when they would see later and he would now, he deserved to be sent eat shit for at least once today, even for just doing a few fuck ups the night before. He needed a wake up call and this was it. From his best friend. 

“that’s for waking me up at midnight” she warned, taking the grip back on the wheel and looking forward. 

He thought it was hilarious. In his head it made perfect sense that she decided now was the time to tell him to fuck off, it was only fair she did that now and not later when they would forget; so he let that pass. He didn’t care, after all, he loved her too much to care about that. 

“Fair enough” he only answered, slowly turning on his back to leave for work, but not before repeating those usual words of good luck, which made him have a better day all along. “Love you!”

He always did that. It was adorable and killer.

The fact that he felt the need to let her know that each time had the most meaning. It was the little things that built all these so well, that’s why she loved this so much.

“Love you!” She called back from the car, letting him go in peace as they parted ways. It was important she knew he would think of her, and it was important for him to know, she would always think of him, no matter what.

That’s why they did this. It was just a little thing to make sure, they were fine; to make sure, it was all in order and they would keep in contact, that’s all.

Even when they would spend the day away from each other, she didn’t care, she needed space to think and have some family time, let go a little; he needed space to be creative and make his living, she wouldn’t interfere on that, he couldn't expand on stuff when people get on the way, but later on, they would see again, like always, and when they did, she would start thinking again, she would start wandering and coming to new conclusions, which were the ones she was the most afraid of, she guessed that's why she needed some time for herself, maybe with that she would come to fair and smart conclusions that wouldn't make her fuck up in the future. 

Sounds too good to be true, maybe it is, but who cares. She would manage that later. 

#luke hemmings imagines #calum hood imagines #michael clifford imagines #ashton irwin imagines #5sos imagines #5sos preferences #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos blurbs #5sos fake text #luke 5sos #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer preferences #5 seconds of summer blurbs #5sos smut #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings au #luke hemmings x reader

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Thine Enemy is Sweet (Part 1)

Harry was a few shots away from being drunk when he heard the news, and it was honestly for the better.

“What do you mean he’s getting married?” He slurred as he fought dizziness when he tried to stand upright. “He can’t.”

“Harry.” The sigh was sad, and he didn’t want that. He hated being sad and hated when others were sad—he never did figure out how to comfort people properly.

“Isn’t it time you got over him? It’s been a year. You can’t still be sad.”

“I’m not sad!” Harry tried to slam the table in emphasis but missed and toppled over on top of Ginny. “Really,” he said louder than intended when she sighed again. He would’ve moved but she was warm and comfy.

“Then what are you if you aren’t sad?”

“I’m angry.”

Not just angry, but furious. Fuck Theodore Nott and the small dick he rode in on.

“He doesn’t just get to move on with his life after what he did. That’s not fair.”

When Ginny sighed a third time, it was accompanied with fingers in his hair, which was an improvement.

“Maybe you need to move on too. Find someone else, someone nice.”

“Fuck that. Who needs the complication?”

“Don’t let Nott discourage you from finding love.”

“Love is a waste of time.”

“Not when you find the right person.”

Harry snorted, at least he tried to, sounded more like snot coming out than anything.

“You only say that because you are happily married.”

She didn’t respond, and Harry knew it was because she didn’t know what to say. There was a time when he thought he’d marry Ginny, and then there was a time when he almost married Theo.

Fuck marriage, fuck love.

“How did you find out?”

“It was in the papers. They’re both a part of the sacred 28, it was bound to be in the Prophet.”

“Let me see.”

“Harry, I don’t think—”

“Let me see.”

The more she sighed, the more he wondered if it was a personality trait. The sound of paper crinkling distracted him from the urge to down another shot.

When the paper was shoved in his face, his hands clenched on instinct seeing Theo’s face. Merlin, he hated him.

“Wait,” Harry squinted at the paper. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Who Astoria?” Ginny asked as she tried to peer at the paper too. “I didn’t know they were dating, but I never followed his life either.”

“No, forget her. The ring.”

Harry ran his fingers over the page and felt his magic tingle just enough to enlarge the image.

“That’s my ring on her too polished fingers.”

“What? Harry—”

“I bought him that ring when we were engaged. The prick didn’t have the decency to give it back to me, but he can propose to someone else with it. Bloody tacky if you ask me.”

Harry pushed away from the table harshly and watched Ginny dive to catch his teetering shot glass.

“Fuck that,” he shook his head too hard and a headache started to form. “You know what? Fuck him, fuck her, fuck their engagement, and fuck this bullshit. I’m getting the ring back.”

“Harry!” Ginny called after him when he turned away. “Wait!” She placed a hand on his shoulder and held him in place.

“What are you planning?”

“That’s my ring and I’m getting it back.”

Ginny scoffed, and he hated that it reminded him of Ron. Ron would have supported him if he wasn’t busy with date night. God, married people were sickening.

“How do you plan on doing that? Just march up to Astoria’s flat and demand it?”

“Don’t be daft,” Harry turned around too quickly, and she had to steady him. “I’m going to go to the party.”

“What—”

He pointed to the paper where Theo’s stupid fake smile was on the front page. “He’s having an engagement party next week and I’m going to crash it.”

Ginny crossed her arms as her forehead wrinkled, and he kind of wanted to smooth it out.

“How do you plan on doing that? It’s not just a typical party. Due to the type of marriage it is, only the sacred 28 will be invited.”

Harry slumped down on what he thought was a nearby chair, but it was really nothing. An ‘oof’ left him as he fell on his arse and his back hit the legs of the table. No glasses fell, but the newspaper did.  

“Wait, aren’t you a part of that?”

The harsh snort she let out wasn’t attractive, and he was going to tell her just that when his eyes landed on the paper. The pages were out of order but what caught his attention was a fluff piece written about the charity work Lucius Malfoy did after his too short Azkaban sentence—as if charity work would ever clear his name. The photo the newspaper used was a family portrait, and his eyes traced over a particular Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry mumbled as he attempted to grab the article, but his arms weren’t long enough. Perhaps he drank a bit too much.

“Malfoy?” Ginny asked as she crouched down in front of him. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

Harry liked to think he was good, great even. He helped people when he could, overworked himself if it meant others weren’t burdened, and rarely complained about his lot in life. But as he looked between the crumpled front page of the Daily Prophet and the article on the Malfoys, he was tired of being nice, tired of being good. He wanted to be petty, wanted to be spiteful.

And he knew just who could help him.

“Everything,” Harry said with a twisted smile that felt weird on his lips. “He has everything to do with it.”

No matter how much Harry hated Theodore Nott, no one hated him as much as Malfoy.

“The enemy of my enemy,” he mumbled.

Theo couldn’t handle two scorned lovers very well, could he?

-- TBC --

Thank you so much @snortinglaughter for being my beta, I love you to the moon and back. And yes, before anyone asks, this will be the f*ke d**ing lmaoo

#Drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #XxTheDarkLordxX writes #Part 1 #Part 2 will come whenever I write it #so there's that

[ninadewitt]

Colour me Curious Part 2: Monday

Just another Ben Solo High School AU! 

Warnings: Swearing 

The only thing worse than a regular Monday, was the first Monday back after the winter break. It never mattered how long the holiday was, you just never felt rested; Christmas created the perfect opportunity for drunk family members to strangle you for information and force their, unwanted, opinions down your choked throat. The holiday was made worse by the pre-celebration preparations, where your mother would go on an intense cleaning spree creating a (Y/L/N) house reformation. Everyday household items such as the straighteners were deemed too offensive to be allowed to be within two miles of a guest. Therefore, your mother took it upon herself to move them to a nondescript location, without informing you that she was doing so, just to save you the embarrassment of having to explain to your relatives why you owned such a perverse item in the first place. Over the years you had gotten used to this strange behaviour and just let her be, but this time she had forgotten where she had hidden the appliance. So, when Monday morning came around and your, normally gloriously crisp locks, were stuck in a bun looking like a tumbleweed had made a home atop your head, it made an already shitty day into one that included some equally shitty hair. Thanks Mom!

And so, you sat at the lunch table with your group; Finn, Rey and Poe, shifting your hair around hoping to keep it in order, at least until the end of the day, and at the same time, actively trying to avoid being dragged into one of Poe’s daily school football rants. Although, one of your best friends he was a bit of a hot head regarding the sport, and ever since Kylo joined the team, with around a hundred pounds more muscle and an extra 8 inches in height, challenging him for captaincy, he became even more insufferable than usual. Finn usually listened intently, his doe eyes fawning over his ‘friends’ passion but even now he seemed a bit sick of listening to Poe’s anti-Ren speech, yawning and rolling his eyes.

This continued on until Rey eventually threw her hands up in the air and smacked them dramatically on the table, gritting out “Poe, please stop, my head is going to explode if you mention Ren’s ‘bad attitude and poor tactics’ one more time”

“All I’m saying, is that if a guy disappears for years, he can’t just come in expecting to be Captain, it just doesn’t happen, right (Y/N)?” For some reason he smacked your shoulder confidently while smirking at you, expecting some support.

“Oh please, as if she’s gonna be on your side, (Y/N) is the biggest traitor here, giving the Big Emo, ‘stalker’ eyes, every time he walks past. Haven’t you guys noticed how she’s become a massive book worm recently, hanging around the library, where Kylie spends all his spare time?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” the boys looked at one another and then back at you, with curious looks on their faces.

“Rey! What the fuck, why is this about me now? I have not been giving him ‘stalker’ eyes” and in an attempt to defend yourself, you sacrificed your last chip, chucking it at her with immense force and scrunching your brow in a way that let her know that you were pissed.

And Rey being Rey, was willing to challenge that look. picking the chip up from the table, looking you dead in the eye and crunching it, signalising that she did not give a fuck. “I can’t listen to football talk anymore, and if I have to sacrifice you to make him stop, I will. Sorry (Y/N) nothing personal.”

Sometimes you really hated her.

 Watching the silent chip filled stand-off that was occurring between the two of you, Finn, wanting to avoid being covered in lunch meat before his fifth period Trig, attempted to diffuse the situation

“So, who watched the Witcher over break?”

  “I did, it was great, loved Geralt” You replied, eager to change the subject but unfortunately, it looked as though you weren’t going to get out of this mess yet.

  “Of course you did, your love of Ren has exposed your cave man kink, you love an angsty man” Poe teased, apparently, he decided he didn’t want to be on your team anymore and high-fived Rey, forgetting their past beef as she joined in, deepening her voice and widening her shoulders:

  “Hm fuck, (Y/N), I love you, be Mrs Ren”

  “I’d die for you (Y/N), I’m ignoring you to keep my heart safe”

  “you like it when I grunt, I’ll show you a grunt”

  It was at this point that you regretted munching down all your chips with such haste, and noticing the unfortunate lack of ammo you, instead of attacking the duo, proceeded to flip both of them off and dig your head into the table, with your bun whacking it dramatically in the process. However, this seemed to only give the pair more confidence:

 “I only ever hunt for my own food and I kill my prey simply by raising my left hand threateningly, I can provide for our family (Y/N).”

“By the grace of my goth training I will not be seduced by Coldplay.”

 When the bell went off, you practically skipped to biology, moving away from the trio, still holding up your middle fingers, as Rey and Poe practically crawled to class, wheezing the entire way. It was Monday lunches like those that really made you thankful that none of your friends were interested in bio, with both Rey and Poe focusing on Physics and Finn avoiding sciences as though they were the plague. Its not that you didn’t love them and their bantering, but sometimes when you were in a mood, like today, it was hard not to get a bit salty about the whole situation and just need a break.

A break to work on your Solo experiment. It was on the walk to class when you thought about whether Kylo would acknowledge you today, that you realised that maybe Rey was right about your stalker eyes. But now was no time to back down. You knew that with Kylo it was all about consistency, he was like a jittery animal; jump at him and he will almost definitely run for the bushes and avoid you for life, but if you approach him slowly, letting him gain some familiarity, maybe throwing in some “sksksk-ing” as though he were a cat, he might let you in. So, in that logic you assumed that if you popped up around him now and again, he might realise that you mean no harm. Or he would avoid you further, only time would tell.

Reaching the class room and plonking down in one of those high-up science stools you began to ponder; why did science feel the need to make its seats absurdly tall. They were those types of seats that were, normally, exclusively used at hipster ice cream parlours or smoothie bars. They always made sitting down so uncomfortable, giving you absolutely no back support and your knees would consistently knock off the metal bar of the desk leaving an unflattering gum stain on your jeans, for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s why everyone found science hard to grasp, because they spent the whole period trying to contort their bodies in a way that would make sitting comfortable.  It was during that very intelligent inner monologue that Kylo stomped in and plopped into his seat, on the other side of the class, crunching his knees under the desk. You could practically hear his six-foot frame groan at being pushed into such an awkward seat. That couldn’t be comfortable you thought, before diverting your attention from the dark prince to Mrs Barr, ready to be riveted by some spores, fungi and bacterium. Delicious.

And all was going swell up until the end of the period; your notes were tidy, you only lost interest a couple of times but you seemed to understand what she was getting at, then she started talking about the next assignment. Partner work was the first issue with the task. It wasn’t ideal but you always knew that Jess would be willing to group up, but then, issue number two, Mrs Barr pulled a fast one and said that she would be picking the pairs. Well, fuck. Finally, for issue number three, what did the woman do? She only went and paired you up with Kylo, just before sending the class away, to go figure out in their teams what they were going to do their projects on.

To some people this would have been a godsend, but when you saw his gaze latch on to you and his frown deepen, you couldn’t help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you wanted to get him to be your friend again and yes, you suppose this would help, but you wanted the reconciliation to be done on your terms. Your slow and steady pace. This caused the process to go from a crawl to a sprint and quite frankly, it was probably going to give you whiplash. And if that didn’t Kylo suddenly being right in front of your face would. Somehow despite his large stature, he could move incredibly quietly if he put his mind to it. It made you wonder if he stomped down the hallways for theatrical purposes, maybe you could ask him when he stopped staring daggers at you. But it didn’t look like he would anytime soon.

 “Oh, Hi, Kylo” you stuttered out to him, tilting your head up as far as it would go, he was much taller up close.

 “We are gonna need a study space, my house is empty, Leia’s working. So, assuming you can walk ten feet without falling we can work there.”

 Wow, maybe Poe was right about him lacking some social skills.

“Yep, that’s fine” you replied in a less friendly tone than before, sure you wanted him to be your friend, but you weren’t going to be a doormat.

 “Fine, four o’clock, don’t be late.” And with that he stomped away in a cloud of rage.

 Well, maybe you made a mistake in wanting to be his friend again. You supposed you would find out after school.

~This cool Kid wanted to be tagged and you can be too @shockwavee (But Idk if I’m doing it right)

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #modern kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #highschoolau #modern!kylo

[schrijverr]

Joe’s letter

Takes place after the events of Returning Home. Here Tom recieved a letter back from Joe about his life and answering his questions about Will. They talk about it and cuddle.

On AO3.

Ships: Blakefield

Warnings: mention of WW1

~~~~~~~~~~~

Will had been working in the bookshop for a week now and Tom was getting back into the flow of working on the fields when the letter from Joe arrived. Mrs. Blake was so happy that she baked a pie to celebrate it. There were two letters in the envelope, one for Mrs. Blake and for Tom. Tom took his letter eagerly and quickly sat down to read it.

June 11th 1917

Dear little squirt,

Why do you have to make me hungry with your talks of cherry pie? The food is becoming more horrible by the day and I wish I could eat mums pie again soon.

But it was really nice to hear from you again and I could really use your words of encouragement. Also, tell Myrtle that I miss her dearly and sneak her an extra treat from me. It’s good to know she is still the same old doofus.

London wasn’t what you dreamed it would be? Sad that your trip was cut short and that you couldn’t enjoy it, but only you could go to see the city and return with more than double the people you left with. Although you better not forget about me! (or let them touch my stuff, please, you know how I feel about that)

It’s good to hear that my old bed is still useful after all your complaining about the space it took up. I also hope you managed to find a job by the time you get this, and Will as well of course. Send him the best from me. As for your question about the state he was in, I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you, but you seem really worried about him, so I hope he doesn’t mind too much.

When he got here, he nearly collapsed from either exhaustion, lack of nutrition or both. He hadn’t eaten in nearly a day or slept for that matter, but he tried to comfort me by saying that he had been passed out for a few hours, so that technically that was sleep. This worried me greatly, because he had been passed out after a head wound, which was still bleeding by the time he arrived. He was also soaked to the bone and was breathing uneasily, we later learned he had a cracked rib, but nothing too serious. He had also lost his kit, rifle and helmet, but he wouldn’t share how he lost it, so we just gave him new ones. Hopefully helps this and Will doesn’t hate me too much now, because it sounds like he lives with us and I would hate it if my new housemate hated me.

I am thankful that he isn’t bothered too much about the article, but how horrid that he lost his arm. He didn’t deserve that after saving everyone here. I might ask him when I see him, but he probably could use some peace.

You are also correct about how the vulgar the stories are. I heard from Jameson that he Major was caught in the woods with his dick in a tree, but that’s not even the worse. Apparently the chap who found him only did because he knew the hole in the tree because he used it as well! In the end nearly five guys were using it without knowing it, it was hilarious to see them each lose colour in the face when the story was told and they realized it was their hole as well. This is indeed not something I’d tell mum, but I thought you might appreciate it.

Anyway, that’s all the time and paper I have for now. Write me back, I miss your annoying chatter (which is a terrifying thought). Don’t irritate our guest into leaving, I would like to be able to meet them and see Will again in a better setting than with the message of your death.

Love,

Your older and wiser brother,

Joe

When he was done he rolled his eyes at his brothers ending, then went up to scan the part about Will again. The head wound was from the sniper and the wetness was the river, but he couldn’t place the rest. He didn’t know how one could loose all their gear in a few hours and the cracked ribs were also a concern, mostly because the dumbass of a man, whom he loved despite the dumbass levels, had returned to the fight immediately after. Across from him, Will met his eyes and smiled, so Tom decided that his questions could wait until later. For now he was busy with making sure his mum didn’t get a hold of his letter and read about the fuck-tree, as he was calling it in his head. He tried to appease her with a small summary and when she found it didn’t differ too far from her own letter she let him be.

That night, he and Will laid side by on their bed, looking at the ceiling. Neither of them wanted to fall asleep just yet. There was a calm and comfortable blanket of contentedness lying over them. When Will didn’t drop off with the quiet air, Tom decided it was safe to open the topic of the letter. He began with retelling the fuck-tree story, getting a small snort out of the warm presence next to him, then he quietly said: “He also answered my curiosity about you.” Will swallowed, “Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

Will met his eyes and confessed: “I didn’t want to worry you.”

A surge of warmth went through Tom and he smiled at Will, eyes full of adoration. He let a hand softly trail over Wills cheek and said: “Don’t ever worry about that, okay? I will gladly worry about you, no complaint. Just, just tell me if something is wrong, you don’t have to hide. Not here and not from me. I will never think less of you.”

Will nodded and said: “I promise. I promise, but only if you promise the same.”

Tom couldn’t contain the smile lighting up his face and the sparkles in his eyes, not even if he wanted to, which he absolutely didn’t. He loved Will and Will was allowed to know that. He held up his pinky and said: “I promise.”

Will quietly laughed at the childish gesture, but he interlocked their pinkies anyway. Then he nonchalantly commented: “You know, it’s illegal to break a pinky-promise.”

Tom raised his brows and teasingly asked: “Really?”

Playing complete seriousness Will nodded and replied: “Really, if you break it I will have to punish you with death by tickles.”

Tom giggled and Will couldn’t keep up the facade, cracking and laughing too. After a while of just existing in their bubble of laughter and happiness, Tom asked: “How did you crack your ribs?”

Will glanced at him and shrugged: “There was a rock in the river, it flowed very fast, because of the waterfall further downstream. I hit the rock then went down the waterfall. I don’t know which of the two cracked my ribs or if it was the combination.”

Tom gasped and said: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Will blushed and said: “Because then I would have to tell you what convinced me to climb out and back then I didn’t want to give away how much you meant to me, afraid of loosing you.”

“Can you tell me now?” Tom asked intrigued.

Blushing more heavily Will said: “I was clinging to a branch and contemplating if I should just let the river take me away. I thought you were dead and the it was already dawn, I was convinced I was too late and I wanted to give up. Then I saw petal floating in the water,” he elaborated, “cherry blossom petals. I though of you and your drive to finish the mission and save your brother. I remembered the promise I made to you.” he took a deep breath and confessed: “My love for you convinced me to go on.”

Tom could feel the swelling of his heart start to translate into tears, so he just grabbed Wills shoulders and dragged him into the tightest hug he could manage as he chocked out: “You are the most perfect person ever and I love you so so so much.”

Will buried his head closer into the crook of Toms neck and clung close to the other man. And that is how they fell asleep, clinging tight to each other and glad both of them had made it. Glad that Will climbed out the river, glad that Tom had shouted for help, glad that neither of them gave up, so that they were able to cling to each other now.

Later Tom would learn how Will lost his gear piece by piece as he gave more parts of himself to complete the mission. How his helmet became useless, how food became more useful to someone else, how his rifle was lost in a fight to the death and how his kit weighted him down in the turmoiling river. But that was later.

Because they had a later, they had the rest of their lives to ask all the questions and get to know each other. They could afford a quiet now, they had the time.

#RR writing #tom blake #Tom x Will #will schofield #Joe Blake #mrs. Blake #mama Blake #cute and fluffy #joseph blake #Tom Blake mom #blake x schofield #blakefield #1917 #1917 movie #tw: war mention