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onlyfreds · 3 years

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Hugs and Kisses | F.W.

Title: Hugs and Kisses

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Y/N is not a big fan of physical contact and Fred finds out why.

Warning/s: mentions of abuse, violence, mentions of physical abuse in the past, mention of a gun, bruises

Flashbacks are in italics.

Like everyone else, I have a pet peeve.

Mine was physical contact. Not that I didn’t like touching others, I was fine if someone rested their elbow on my shoulder, but hugging, holding hands, putting an arm around someone’s shoulder/waist. No thanks.

I was walking out of the library with Angelina when I suddenly felt an elbow rest on my right shoulder.

I breathed in the familiar scent of cinnamon and firework powder.

“Hey Freddie.” I said, turning to ginger by my side.

“Hey Princess.” He said, keeping his elbow on my shoulder as George appeared next to Angelina and the four of us started to head towards the common room.

Butterflies flew around in my stomach at the nickname, hopefully the blush on my cheeks wasn’t that visible.

“You guys remember the first time Fred attempted to put an arm around Y/N?” George asked, out of the blue, causing Angelina, Fred and I to laugh.

“Oh yeah.” Angelina said, “That was so hilarious.”

Snow lightly dropped down from the heavens. Painting the ground white and letting out a small chill into the air.

The twins and I were building a snowman outside, very innocent and calm from the usual chaos and havoc we caused, but who doesn’t enjoy building a snowman?

But that peaceful atmosphere was soon destroyed when George threw a snowball at Fred. Thus, the peaceful activity of building a snowman soon transitioned into a huge chaotic snowball fight.

“Oi!” I scolded as a poorly aimed snowball from Fred hit my shoulder.

I scooped up some snow, it was time to join the fun.

“Okay! Okay! I give up!” George said, both hands up in mock surrender as he came out from behind the tree he was hiding.

A smirk grew on Fred’s lips, “See? You can’t beat the dream team.” He teased as he put an arm around my shoulder.

Out of instinct, I immediately pulled away, looking up to see Fred and George both taken aback.

“Sorry.” Fred immediately apologized, “Did I make you uncomfortable or anything?”

I shook my head, “No. You could never make me uncomfortable. It’s just, I’m not a huge fan of physical contact.”

The twins looked at each other, probably using their twin telepathy to communicate.

“Any type of physical contact?” George asked.

I shrugged, “Not all. I suppose that there are exceptions.”

Fred then stepped forward, cautiously resting his elbow on my shoulder, “Is this okay?”

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.”

“Fred’s face was absolutely priceless.” George said, aiming a teasing smile at his twin, “He looked he’d been given an electric shock.”

“Maybe he couldn’t believe that the prettiest girl he ever laid eyes on would react like that.” Angelina added.

I rolled my eyes at the both of them, “Piss off you two before I smother you two with the nearest deadly object I find.”

Angelina scoffed, “What? Don’t tell me you don’t agree.”

I tried to stop the blush that was rising up to my cheeks, “Oh for Merlin’s sake, give me a break Angie.”

I sat on the couch by the common room fire, the clock had struck one a few minutes ago but I can’t seem to put down the book I was holding.

The quiet rustling of the page being turned mixed in perfectly with the soft cackling of the fireplace.

Just as the climax was put in motion, the tension between the two lovers was growing with each passing moment, and just as if Merlin had a grudge against me, the book was suddenly snatched out of my hands.

“Hey!” I complained, looking up at the culprit to see the grinning face of a certain Weasley.

“Fred!” I whined, crossing my arms over my chest, “Why?”

He chuckled, taking a seat next to me as he took the bookmark from my hands and placed it on the page I was reading before closing the book and placing on the table next to the couch, “It’s already one in the morning and you’re still reading.”

“So?” I huffed, “Just because you have never read a book in a day of your life doesn’t mean I can’t.”

He laughed, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping instead of waiting for the two lovers to just suck it up and kiss at the ungodly hours of the morning?”

I smiled, “That’s because I need answers. Besides, I could ask you the same thing, shouldn’t you be sleeping instead of bothering me?”

Fred laughed, playing with my hair, “When did I bother you?”

I shrugged teasingly, “I don’t know. Perhaps now.”

The two of us laughed before falling into comfortable silence, his hands still playing with my hair.

“Darling, can I ask you a question?” Fred suddenly said, breaking through the silence.

I looked up at him, “Sure.”

He combed his hand through his hair, “This might be kinda sensitive. But why aren’t you a big fan of physical contact?”

I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze, contemplating whether I should tell Fred the truth or not.

The smashing of glass that came from the kitchen could be heard even from the closed door of my bedroom.

The yelling from another one of my parents’ argument echoed through the walls of the house.

Then there was a thud, causing me to wince. He must’ve hit her again; it’s being going on for years. He made her promise not tell, he swore that if she did, he would kill me.

So, she never told anyone. She covered every single evidence up with makeup and kept a smile on her lips at every family gathering we attended. No matter how many times she told me that it was okay, I knew that she wasn’t.

I took in a shaky breath as I heard nothing but silence. I slowly opened the door of my bedroom, the creak probably being the loudest sound in the house.

I was about to head to the kitchen when I was that the door to my parents’ bedroom was opened ajar, I took a peek to see my mum stuffing her clothes into a gym bag.

Her shirt was riding up a bit, exposing the almost-black bruises that was littered across her back and, as far as I knew, the rest of her body.

“Mummy?” I said, the fear inside me growing with every passing minute.

She turned to face me, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Hey sweetie.” She said, her voice a little hoarse as she stooped down to my height, “I want you to pack every important belonging you have. Okay honey? Just like we practiced.”

I nodded, running back to my room as I took the small gym bag I hid under my bed and stuffed every essential thing I could.

My mum held my hand tightly as we tiptoed through the living room, our freedom from this nightmare was just around the corner.

I looked around the living room, it looked like a storm had just passed by. Shards of glass was shattered everywhere, random things that have been thrown laid on the floor. Picture frames that once hang on the walls rested on the cement floor, shattered, broken, just like their promise of forever.

What once was a place of comfort and safety, a home, turned into a place of fear and pain, turned into hell.

Mum was just about to reach for the door handle, the only thing separating us from freedom.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” A cold, furious voice asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mum asked, turning to face my father as she clutched my hand tighter, “We’re leaving.”

My father gave a humorless chuckle, “Acting all tough now huh? What if I don’t let you.”

Mum stepped in front of me protectively, shielding me from my father, “I don’t give a damn on what you think anymore! I had enough and we’re leaving whether you like it or not!”

Before mum could reach the handle, my father pulled her away by the back of her shirt then smacked her across the face. The force had been enough to knock her over to the coffee table.

I stood there, frozen in fear, thinking for a moment that the force was enough to kill her. Once I realized that she was alright, I immediately ran to her side.

I shot my father a death glare, and did what I thought was pretty brave (or stupid) for a toddler, I ran towards him and tried to push him away. Which, obviously, had no effect.

He looked down at me with burning rage, pulling me by the hair as tears started to stream down my cheeks. Next thing I knew, a gun was pointed to my temple.

“I dare you. Walk out that door.” He threatened, tightening his grip on me, “I promise you that your daughter won’t ever be able to see another light of day.”

“Darling?” Fred’s voice pulled me out of my flashback, “Are you okay?”

I looked back at him, not realizing the tears that were dripping down my cheeks.

Without a word, he was about to put his arm around me when he stopped in his tracks. He looked at me for a moment, silently asking me for permission.

I nodded, scooting closer to him as I rested my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

I hated physical contact. But Fred was an exemption to that rule, or at least for now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

I sniffed, wiping away the remaining tears from my eyes, “My dad used to physically abuse my mum. Whenever she made a mistake or talked back to him, he would hit her brutally. He made her swore not to tell anyone or else he’ll kill me. One day, my mum had enough so the two of us were supposed to escape but he caught us. He hit my mum then pointed a gun at my head. I really thought that I was going to die. Luckily for us, our neighbor suspected that something was wrong and called the police. They arrested him then my mum and I lived at my grandma’s house. Since that day, I knew that I hated physical contact.”

Fred rubbed my back comfortingly, stunned with my confession, “I’m your best friend and I didn’t know that you went through all that.”

I sniffed, “No one did.”

“But,” Fred continued, “Not every physical contact would hurt you. If you want, I can show you.”

I gave him a hesitant smile, “I don’t know Freddie.”

“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But, if you want, let’s try it for a week. If it still makes you uneasy, then just say the word and we’ll stop.” He offered.

I licked my lips, “Okay. Let’s try it.”

It was a Saturday morning, Angelina, Alicia and I were eating breakfast while discussing Alicia’s recent date with Ravenclaw keeper, Roger Davies.

“He is just absolutely amazing.” Alicia said, obviously swooning over the guy.

“I call dibs on the maid of honor!” Angelina suddenly said.

“Hey!” I complained, taking a sip of pumpkin juice, “You already called dibs on maid of honor for my wedding you can’t call dibs on Alicia’s wedding too!”

I then pointed a finger at Alicia, “I call dibs on maid of honor.”

“What’s all this talk about weddings?” George asked with a teasing grin as he sat down next to Angelina.

“Oh nothing.” I said as the older twin took a seat next to me, “We were just planning Alicia’s future wedding.”

“Wedding huh?” Fred teased, putting an arm around my shoulder, causing me to tense up at first before relaxing into his touch, “Didn’t think of you three as wedding planners.”

No answer or retort came as George, Angelina and Alicia stared at Fred’s arm that was around my shoulder, their mouths slightly agape.

“Fred.” George tried to say, thinking his twin had done it accidentally.

“Don’t you remember?” Angelina and Alicia said at the same time.

He gave them a small, reassuring smile, “Don’t worry guys. Y/N and I talked last night and she willing to give this whole thing a try.”

I nodded, “I told him the reason why I wasn’t a big fan of physical contact and he offered to show how good it is.”

“So, what’s the reason?” Alicia asked.

Fred and I exchanged a look, then he said, “I think that would be a secret between Y/N and I for now.”

His answer was met with the overlapping chatter of the group.

“What?”

“That’s no fair.”

“Why does Fred get to know but we don’t?”

Fred put both his hands up, palms facing outwards, commanding silence, “Look, I’m sure that she’ll tell you the whole story once she’s ready. But for now, we should respect her decision.”

The group nodded in agreement.

Fred clapped his hands together with a small smile, “Great! Now going back to Alicia’s wedding planning, who’s the groom?”

Fred and I were hanging out by the courtyard, watching the sunset, his arm resting across my waist.

For the rest of the day since breakfast, Fred would frequently put an arm around my shoulder or waist.

At first, it felt a bit weird to feel his arm around me but by the afternoon I was used to it.

I had to admit, it felt nice.

“You okay?” He asked.

I nodded, giving him a small smile, “Yeah.”

“Are you sure your fine with this arrangement? Because if your uncomfortable we can stop.” He said.

I giggled, “Honestly Freddie, I’m fine. It actually feels better than I expected.”

He grinned, “Oh darling, just wait until I spoil you with hugs.”

His tone then turned serious, “Thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

I smiled up at him, “I’d trust you with my life Freddie.”

Over the next few weeks, Fred every physical contact as possible.

He was right, not every touch would hurt me.

I enjoyed every single one of his hugs, whenever he would place his arm around my shoulders or waist. He always seemed to find an excuse just to hold me close to him. I had to admit, there was something comforting about being so close to him, that I regretted not trying this out sooner.

“Penny for your thoughts darling?” Fred asked, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I turned around to face him, “Nothing much.”

“So, how does you feel about physical contact now?” He asked with a sly smile.

“I’m loving it.” I said returning the smile, “Thank you so much for showing me how good it is.”

He laughed, “Well I think that there is another form of physical contact you might like.”

I raised a brow at him, “Oh yeah? What is it?”

He slowly leaned forward and connected our lips together in a hungry and desperate kiss, all those years of pent-up feelings being poured into that kiss.

His hands rested on my waist as I cupped his cheeks in my hands.

Even if it was happening right in the moment, I still couldn’t believe that my best friend, my crush ever since first year was kissing me.

We pulled away for a minute before he reconnected our lips together again, this time it was slow and sloppy but full with passion.

Once we pulled away, Fred rested his forehand against mine, both of us breathless and cheeks painted a deep shade of red.

“I liked you for such a long time.” He whispered, “I have never met anyone so cute, so stunning, so intelligent, so funny and so damn hot and sexy. I have never been so in love and wanted anyone more than you. So, will you be my girlfriend?”

I smiled, “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming.”

He chuckled, tracing a finger over my arm, watching the goosebumps erupt from it, “I’m positive that you’re not dreaming.”

I giggled, “Then I would absolutely love to be yours. I would love to be able to hug you, hold your hand and kiss you. Thank you for showing me how it feels to be loved by someone so perfect.”

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hello-everyfandom · 4 years

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"I promise to fix your ties in the morning and kiss you when you come home."

Warnings: Death, violence and blood.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Words: 2k

Summary: Newlyweds meet tragedy and disaster.

(Wow, okay so this made me so super emotional. Quick note: Italics refers to the past. Sorry in advance :( )

You could hear the destruction of your home. The falling stone walls and the dust that sputtered out from under it. For years, you have stared at the paintings and wandered Hogwarts to admire the absolute beauty it omitted. It was your home, the place you grew up, the place you learned how to become something only dreams could portray, the place you fell in love with Fred Weasley. But now, you could smell the metallic scent of blood and could hear the electricity that spits out after venomous spells were casted. You could feel drips of blood run down your chin from the nasty cut you had gotten after you had fallen. You could feel the blisters and the soreness of your muscles from holding up your wand. Your voice was hoarse and, if you could, you’d drop to the floor in exhaustion. But you stood defiantly, wand in front of you. A man in a mask faced you as you breathed heavily, your mind sharp.

“Reducto!” You yelled, blasting the wall behind him into pieces, trying to frighten him. He dodged it, snapping his wand at you.

“Crucio!” He spit back. It narrowly missed as you continued to duel bravely. “Stupefy!” You countered, hitting him square in the chest; knocking him backward into the crumbling wall. He laid on the floor as you caught your breath before turning and flicking your wand to avoid another spell that was thrown at you.

Destruction. You could see the bodies of men, women, and children strewn on the floor. You bit back a sob as you continued to fight for Good, against evil, against the Death Eaters who saw nothing but blood. Fred. Fred. Fred. All you could focus on was staying alive so you could get back to Fred. Fred. The man you so desperately loved. The man you married last night before the war had approached on your doorstep.

Outside the shell cottage, you wore a simple white dress that Fleur had graciously lent you. She braided your hair and placed a kind hand on your shoulder.

“You look zo bo-tiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Fleur,”

The bedroom door pushed open, as Molly peeked in. She gasped and held her hand to her mouth in silent tears. You smiled and reached out to hug her, rubbing her back.

“I’m so happy,” Molly cried, holding you closer, “You, I.” She sobbed, wiping her face.

“Molly,” you asked, “Will you and Arthur walk me down the aisle?” Your question seemed to make her cry even harder as she nodded her head as quickly as she could. Your parents had passed earlier this year, captured by Death Eaters and killed for information on the whereabouts of Harry Potter. But, Molly was just as much your mother and you wanted nothing more than for her to give you a way to her son. Arthur peeked his head in, seeing his crying wife and smiled, wrinkles indented near his eyes.

“Arthur, Dear. Y/N would like us to walk her down the aisle.”

Arthur smiled even harder, and agreed whilst giving Molly a handkerchief, “It would be my honor.” Before Molly could let out another cry, she dabbed her eyes.

“Not to interrupt,” Bill said from outside the door, “But we’re ready for you.”

Only a few chairs were outside on the beach, Molly held your hand as you walked down the cliff and down to the water. There was no music, there didn’t need to be for this to be the most perfect wedding. Ginny and Charlie sat, looking back at you with grins on their faces. Tonks and Remus also managed to make it, Tonks hair was a simple colour of blue. Bill and Fleur quickly took their seats to watch you, arm in arm, walking down with Arthur and Molly. Just across from you, stood the love of your life. He had worn simple slacks and a dress shirt with a colourful bow tie. His brother, who stood with his hands behind his back whispered how lucky a man Fred was. He knew. He watched you with happy tears in his eyes. You sent him a wink which made him chuckle and shake his head. Your feet hit soft, cool sand and you continued until you were in front of your soon to be husband. Arthur and Molly kissed your cheek and sat. Molly immediately gripped her husband’s arm, crying into her already moist handkerchief.

You joined hands with Fred.“You look dashing,” you whispered.

“As do you, sweetheart,” Fred said honestly, barely believing you were there in his arms, ready to become fully his.

“Are you ready to get married?”

“I was born ready.” You two turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt who officiated your wedding.

You could barely hear what he was saying over the constant pounding of your heart. But, you could hear him announce the vows.

Fred turned, exhaling in blissful happiness.“Y/N, I promise to be the husband you deserve. I promise my heart and myself to you. I promise, together, we will make a living and continue to love each other even when we argue about silly things such as how to properly pronounce ‘bludger.’ And, most importantly, I promise to love you for as long as you’ll let me.” You laughed through the tears you seemed to have forgotten were there and cleared your throat.

“Fred. I promise to be your partner, I promise to always love you with open arms. I promise my present and my future with you. I promise to fix your ties in the morning and kiss you when you come home. I promise not to get too angry when you accidentally set our living room on fire. I promise to make you a cup of tea when you’re stressed or a cup of whiskey if you’re really stressed. I promise to wake up next to you and fall asleep next to you every day. I promise I will be yours.”

Fred smiled and turned to George who passed him the rings. Fred held your hand delicately and placed the ring on your finger as you did the same to him. Shacklebolt waved his wand over your joined hands and again over your heads, raining stars, and sparks around you. You leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss on your husband’s lips. You could hear the hollers and applause from your new family as you turned and smiled ear to ear at them. George pointed his wand to the sky and set off fireworks that sprinkled on the small crowd.

“I love you, Mrs. Weasley,” Fred said, holding you in his arms.

“And I love you, Mr. Weasley.”

You could feel the ring on your finger as you continued to aim spells at people, dodging and jumping as you made your way through Hogwarts. Violence, fighting, dueling and killing continued until Voldemort had made his devastating announcement calling Harry Potter to him, calling Harry to sacrifice himself in order to save his classmates. Then, the halls became silent. You cursed yourself for being so far away and sprinted towards the Great Hall where most of the injured laid. Before you could reach there, you saw a young boy on the ground, spitting and coughing to prevent the dust and debris from going into his lungs. You searched him over for injuries, he must have not been older than thirteen as he still wore his Ravenclaw tie. You threw his arm over your shoulder and limped fastly. Your legs carried you and the boy, ignoring the exhausting soreness of the war until you reached the Great Hall. You found Madame Pomfrey who took him in her arms and began to tend to him. You sucked in a deep breath as you called out, “Fred?” No one answered. You looked at the crumbling walls of the Great Hall and the torn House banners until you spotted a family of redheads. You grinned and ran towards them.

“Fred!” You called, reaching your arm out. But before you could reach them, you felt an arm slip around your waist, tugging you backward.

“Y/N, stop.” You heard Bill, Fred’s older brother, say in your ear, “You don’t want to see this.” Immediately confusion gripped your throat as you peered closer. The Weasley family was huddled around something, someone. Someone lying on a stretcher, you could barely make out his shoes. No. You could see a hand that drooped lifelessly on the floor. A wedding ring. A ring you had just slipped onto him yesterday. You fought Bill’s grip, leading you towards the man who was lying there. A man. A man. Fred. Fred Weasley was lying there. You could see his hair that you had tousled this morning. You could see his lips that were slightly parted and cracked.

“No.” You gasped, breaking away from Bill’s grasp and rushing over to the Weasley’s. You had just noticed they were crying, all of them. You pushed between them, making sparse eye contact with your husband’s twin. His face was twisted in pain. You shifted your gaze from him down to Fred. Bill had approached you from behind and attempted to hold you still. You let out a cry, no. A scream. You screamed. Maybe it was silent, or maybe it was glass shattering. You couldn’t hear anything. You howled in agony as you gripped Bill’s arm, falling slowly to the ground, your knees hitting the floor. All your sadness, your anguish and your suffering let out in long screams.

Denial. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. You had just had tea with him this morning, you had just kissed his lips before you two separated to fight. You inhaled salty tears that stung your lungs as you cried out again in utter pain. The Weasley family watched you in pity and in sadness as you reached and gripped Fred’s hand and held his cheek. The sounds of your screams made them flinch, but you could barely control yourself. Your husband laid there, a vacant look in his eyes.

“No.” you sobbed, holding his hand tightly to your chest, your rings touching together. “No!” You pressed your head to his chest, wishing to hear a heartbeat. Nothing. You reached up and brushed the rubble and dust out of Fred’s hair, whispering and crying to yourself.

Harry Potter watched you from afar. Watched a grieving wife cry over her husband because of him. You always hand in hand with Fred, giving Harry advice or witty comments. Harry had never seen a couple more utterly in love and felt a wave of realization hit him. He couldn’t let more people die. He couldn’t bear to see more people die because of him, more people grieve because of him. George kneeled next to you, pulling your lifeless body in his arms as you hugged tightly. He blocked out the screams you let out in his ear and held you tighter.

Somehow, you lifted yourself from Fred’s body. Feeling nothing but the need for vengeance and justice. As the war continued and Harry fought Voldemort, you lifted your wand and cast spells with anger in your heart. You dueled death eater after death eater, tired to the bones until you couldn’t fight anymore. A blast knocked you into a pillar, rendering you close to death. You felt strong arms lift you up, your eyes drifted to a similar red hair, similar face. It must’ve been Fred. In your last moments, you felt yourself slip away, looking up at your love’s face. Fred’s face. You felt safe, ready to leave with your husband, the love of your life after the battle had taken both of you. Your eyes drew closed as you wheezed and cuddled closer to the arms that held you. George, who had actually picked you up, placed you gently next to his twin. There you laid, newlyweds, hands touching with glistening rings.

#fred wealsey imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #fred weasley x reader #damn ok this made me sad

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alwerakoo · 3 years

Text

“It’s all there”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwerakoo/works

------

Tommy is afraid of many things.

Like spiders, for example. And not the little ones, the big and hairy ones that always managed to somehow find their way into his sleeping bag in Pogtopia.

And fireworks. Loud and colorful, even if there were no crossbows around.

He's scared that at last, the one person from whom he was trying so desperately to hide will eventually catch him in his newly found home, grab him by the neck and pull back to Logstedshire.

He's afraid of the consequences of his own actions.

But now, he's even more scared of being punished for something he didn't do.

''Did you do it?'' Techno whispers in his ear

Although he can't see him, he feels his presence behind his back; a hand brushes past his shoulder.

''No.''

The inside of what's left of the Community House is blurred by walls of water. Dark silhouettes of his former friends and Dream.

He can still taste smoke in the air.

''If you're not affiliated with Tommy then give me that stupid disc.''

No.

Dream's voice echos through the water, ringing in his ears. He tasted something bitter in his mouth as he gasps.

Someone puts down an ender chest.

''No!''

The pearl he throws takes him to the other side, through the streams of water. His stomach twists when he lands.

Tubbo turns to face him, but his eyes are unfocused, searching.

For several long seconds, Tommy lets his hands materialize before his eyes. The burning feeling of potion still lingers on the back of his tongue.

Tubbo's face grows paler with each passing moment.

''This is what I was talking about! Why is he here?!''

Dream stands tall, his voice firm and strong, and he looks even bigger than usual.

In Tommy's eyes, he's hardly the most terrifying person standing among the flooded ruins.

''Tommy?''

The rays of setting sun illuminate Tubbo's back. Its horns cast a long shadow over the stone remains, reaching the tips of Tommy's boots, climbing up higher and higher.

''No, I... Please. Don't give him that disc. Tubbo, listen to me-''

Tubbo's gaze shifts downwards, to the netherite ax he's still desperately griping in his hand.

''You really shouldn't be here.''

''I know. I know, I know, but ... This? It's not... It wasn't me! Does this look like something I would do Tubbo?''

At fist, he doesn't notice when Techno appears right behind him. Someone in the crowd gasps.

Tubbo's expression changes suddenly. It's that unreadable mask, the same one Tommy saw at Wilbur's funeral.

He stares at him. With the same eyes that stared at the decorated inscription on the gravestone.

„Wilbur. Beloved friend, father and brother.”

The chest opens with a soft noise.

Mellohi still shimmers in the sun.

Tommy's breath gets caught in his throat.

''Everything,'' Tubbo stands up ''everything I ever did was for our country, Tommy! Everything!''

He holds his hand out.

Dream's face remains hidden under the mask, but in his hands the disc seems so important. So dangerous. He drags his nails over its delicate, black surface.

Tommy can taste blood.

''I'm sorry. But you can only blame yourself.''

Tommy looks at him.

And realizes how pathetic Tubbo looks.

In his oversized uniform, with a crooked tie. He tries to sound confident, but his voice is shaky.

His shirt is missing a button.

He looks at his best friend and sees, for the very first time, a sad parody of everything Wilbur once was.

Of everything Schlatt was.

Tommy laughs, but it comes out more like a sigh.

''Your country ... Is more important to you than your family?''

Techno puts his hand on his back.

Tubbo grimaces.

''I don't see my family here.''

When Tommy was running away from the first festival, someone shot an arrow right in his back. He fell, but got up as soon as his hands touched the wooden path. The adrenaline in his veins eased the pain.

And only later, in the tunnel leading to Pogtopia, when he saw Tubbo alive and well again, the metal arrowhead reminded him of its existence, the sudden ache making him collapse in Tubbo's arms.

Now Tubbo stood in front of him, aiming his bow straight at him.

The intangible arrow buries itself deep into his chest. A promise of future pain.

Techno's hand drops to his side.

''... Oh. Well, then.''

He turns to his brother.

And in that split second when their eyes meet, Tommy gives him permission.

To do what he previously called the worst possible option, something that still terrified him

He gives him permission to do something, for what he previously called him a traitor.

''I see you around, Mr. President.''

He puts all the venom that gathers in his throat into those last two words.

The inside of his cheek is bleeding.

He pulls his arm back, ender pearl in hand. Then freezes mid-movement.

''Oh. And I'll tell Phil you say hello.''

Tubbo looks at him for the last time, as he disappears behind the water.

***

Nights in the snow biome can be brutal.

Snow blizzards, when Techno takes Carl inside, letting him hide from the cold. Little ice crystals forming on the tips of his eyelashes. Phil putting hot bricks under his sheets to keep his feet warm.

But now, the layer of snow beneath their boots shimmers in the soft light of full moon. Trees letting a thin layer of white fluff cover their branches.

They follow a familiar path towards their house, leaving shallow footprints behind.

It doesn't matter. Nobody is looking for them.

''... I'm sorry,” Tommy says, finally breaking the silence.

Techno looks at him, raising one eyebrow.

''Sorry for what, exactly?”

''For when... for when I... fuck,” he stutters.

Can't find the right words.

He sighs resignedly. Techno hums softly.

He takes off his fluffy hood, tilting his head back. A few snowflakes land on his reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry I called you a traitor," he admits ''You were right. You're always right.''

His heart beats around the tip of his intangible arrow.

His eyes sting.

Techno laughs breathlessly.

''Yeah. To be fair, I was the only one that was honest with you the entire time. If you would only... Oh, Tommy.

He realizes he's crying.

He stops, pressing his hands against his eyes.

''Fuck. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm...'' he puts his palms on his wet, cold face.

Techno stands in front of him, hesitantly reaching out his hands, then freezes, looking a bit conflicted.

Finally, he sighs as he spreads his arms.

''Come here.''

Tommy feels much smaller in his arms, but it doesn't really matter. He presses his face against Techno's chest, letting herself have this moment. A little moment of weakness.

His coat is soft and warm.

Perfect to wipe away his tears.

***

By the time they get home, the moon is already high on the sky. Tommy reaches out, tracing its shape with his fingers.

They're laughing on the porch, but their voices quiet down when Techno opens the front door.

From the room upstairs, Tommy can hear soft snoring.

''Phil's sleeping.''

Tommy steps in, feeling the pleasant warmth from the fireplace.

Some snowflakes fall through the gap, dissolving on the floor. But Techno doesn't close the door.

''We could,'' he says, and for the first time lets some uncertainties creep into his voice ''start preparing. Now. If you're not tired?''

Tommy gives him a weak smile and opens his mouth. His gaze suddenly falls on the coat hanger standing next to the door frame.

''Go. I'll join you. I just want to warm up a bit.''

Tommy isn't sure how Techno will interpret this lie, but it doesn't matter.

''Okay.''

Techno gives him one last look and silently closes the door behind him.

Phil's old coat is a bit rough to the touch. Tommy turns it over in his hands carefully as if it's about to fall apart in his hands (and looking at how old it is, it definitely wasn't impossible).

He reaches into one of the inside pockets with his hand, almost immediately finding what he's looking for.

He spreads the small piece of paper with fingers.

He still remembers drawing it.

When the hours his five-year-old self spent with Phil, mindlessly rewriting the same lopsided letters and shapes, finally paid off.

He remembers how hard it was for him to find the right pink for Techno's hair. The shapeless stain next to Wilbur, that was supposed to be a guitar.

He remembers when Tubbo asked him to draw a bee next to him.

He remembers how genuinely proud Phil looked, pinning the drawing to their kitchen wall and then later on putting it in one of his coat pockets.

''So that I always have my family with me," he said with a soft smile.

The drawing is shaking in his hands. There's an old, big water stain in it's left corner.

He looks at the family of his former self.

His fingers are trembling.

He rips off the left side of his drawing in one, smooth movement.

It only hurts for a moment. Like ripping off an old bandana. Only for a moment, his heart aches, as the smiling figure with the words "TubO" underneath it, falls to the floor.

Tommy looks at the rest of the paper. The rest of his former world, all gathered under the lopsided: "My Fami".

And it's all there.

No one is missing.

#dream smp #mcyt #tommyinnit #Technoblade #tubbo #philza minecraft #wilbur soot #sleepy boys inc #sbi fanfic #fanfiction #au #clingy duo angst

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 3 years

Note

So take Erica and Billy being friends and then add Nancy to the mix. These three being friends might just fuel me

i’ll count this as a part three to the other ones i guess. mainly because it’s all i can think to open this with and nancy helping save steve is something i find wonderful. thanks <3

===

Billy sat in the passenger seat, wrapping the handle of the axe with duct tape. Robin took a turn that made Dustin and Erica perk up.

“Why are we going to the Wheeler house?” Dustin asked.

Erica folded her arms and looked judgmentally towards the house, “We better not be here for Mike. That boy gets on my nerves faster than my brother. And that’s saying something.” Dustin scooted a little closer to his door. Billy slid down in his seat a little when the door to the house opened.

Nancy stepped out though. Thin frame in jeans and a plain T-shirt. A small satchel around her shoulder that looked as though it could have belonged to Jonathan Byers. She opened Erica’s door and Erica only raised a brow before moving into the middle seat. Once Nancy was settled and Robin was driving again, they started developing some kind of plan.

“What exactly did Steve mean by tunnels?”

Dustin was the only one that seemed to be able to answer, “Last year we burned a nest. They’re tunnels the monsters used to travel around. Steve would be leading Neil down there so he can burn it up. Either way the monster should be able to be removed. Only downside,” Dustin sighed hesitantly, “Is Billy’s dad will most likely die.” Billy bit his tongue.

Nancy was blunt, “Well it’s either him or countless others. And I choose him.” She dug around in her bag, “I have a few good calibers, but the rest are just shells. Does Steve still keep that extra shotgun in the trunk.” Robin looked at Billy expectantly.

He shook himself a little, “That’s what that’s for?” he looked back a little at her in question.

She smiled to him tentatively, “We can never be too careful. Hopper gave him one just in case but,” she shrugged, “Steve’s not much of a shooter. He prefers his bat and lighter far better.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “We couldn’t tell,” she muttered sarcastically. Nancy laughed along with Billy while Robin and Dustin listened to them all uncertainly.

“We shouldn’t be playing around,” Nancy steadied herself by grasping her knees.

Billy’s smile deflated, “Yeah. Got any plans on how we help Steve without ruining his entire plan? I really don’t wanna lose the dude today. Have some beef with him.”

Nancy scoffed, “Is that really all you can think about right now?” Billy glared at her.

Erica snickered, “No, he means when Steve kissed and ran.”

Nancy stared at her, eyes wide, “Steve kissed Billy? Billy Hargrove? Right there?” she pointed to the man.

Erica nodded, lips pursed, “Got something to say about it?”

Nancy nodded and rose her eyebrows, “Yeah, I do.” Everyone listened in silently, hackles raised. “Why on Earth would he choose Billy Hargrove of all guys. I mean, he’s probably better than Tommy Hagan, but still!” Dustin cackled along with Erica just as Robin smiled slowly at the road.

Billy rose his arms, “Oh! I see! Easy for you to say, Wheeler! I’ll have you know that I’m an absolute romantic.” He nodded to her and crossed his arms.

Nancy laughed mannerly, “Of course you are. Full of surprises are you?”

Robin giggled, “He’s a man of wonders!” she mused mockingly.

“Damn right,” he agreed. She smiled in pleasant amusement along with him. But they all grew serious as Robin pulled up to the junkyard. They stepped out and lined up horizontally to take in the scene. Erica stood between Nancy and Billy and pulled their sleeves for their attention.

“Do I get a weapon?” she eyed Nancy’s bag. Billy made eye contact with the other and then looked back at Erica.

He placed an hand on her shoulder, “Just stick by us, we’ll keep you safe.” She nodded, although a little defeatedly for the lack of action allowed to her.

Nancy placed her own hand on Erica’s other shoulder, “We’re a team, just stay around us and keep an eye out for our backs. That’ll be very helpful.” She reached over to Dustin too, “You too, you and Erica are a team. Keep an eye out and stay in the safe zones.”

Erica hummed around a grin, “Okay.”

Billy looked back out while Dustin asked skeptically, “And what are the safe zones?”

Robin ruffed his hair as she scouted behind a bus in the distance with her eyes, “We don’t know.”

“There!” Nancy pointed to figures off to the right running towards them.

Billy brought his axe up to his shoulder, “Harrington really has some stamina, eh?” Nancy cocked her gun and Robin dug around in her own bag for the fireworks and lighter.

Steve came into sight, face flushed and shining with sweat, chest moving up and down fast. He was in sight one moment and then he was down and gone the next. Billy then noticed the gaping hole in the dirt. He squinted at it and then stepped forward a few paces when Neil straight up dropped down in after him. Robin’s breathing was staggered as she pulled out a mostly empty bottle of alcohol and a towel.

Nancy started walking forward, “Billy get to the hole and be ready to pull Steve back up. Robin get your stuff ready. Dustin and Erica, you take the fireworks and be ready.” Billy ran to listen to Nancy’s organized orders, auto pilot initiated. Robin was immediately at his side with the bottle in the crook of her arm and a lighter and small towel at the ready to burn. Nancy was opposite them with her gun aimed down at the hole.

There were footsteps and then Steve was there looking up at them. Billy instantly grabbed Steve’s arms and lifted him up.

Steve coughed raggedly, “What are you all doing here?” Erica lit up a firework just as Dustin did, each throwing one down as more footsteps were heard.

“Saving your ass,” she said and hurried over to him. Steve laid in the dirt, still coughing. Nancy huddled Dustin and Robin out of the way of the fireworks exploding below them. Erica pushed Steve up, “Don’t lay on your back, idiot,” she scolded quietly. She set him against Billy, side against side. She nodded at them just as Robin threw down her homemade fire starter. And then Dustin threw another. It smelt like burning meat, a BBQ of sorts. It was revolting.

Billy sighed and started standing up with Steve’s arm over his shoulders, “There goes my last parent.” Steve grunted and then started coughing again. They all started their way back to the car. Nancy rushed over to help with distributing Steve’s weight, Erica by her side. Robin took the axe and went to reload the car and start it up.

Erica worked on putting the lighter she had had back into Nancy’s bag, “Where’s your bat, Steve?”

They got a sigh and then, “I had to drop it to run faster.” He was still breathing hard. It was concerning.

Nancy helped Billy get him in the passenger seat, “You did good, Steve,” Billy praised and caressed his cheek for a moment before he ducked out. Steve was left smiling and breathing opened mouthed as he slowly closed his eyes. Nancy and Erica both had their arms folded as they watched him.

He scowled and shouldered past them as they laughed together softly, “Not a word.”

“Steve and Billy sittin’ in a tree,” Nancy sang behind him.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Erica laughed with her as they crawled and squished into the backseat with Dustin. Erica sat across Nancy and Billy’s laps with a big, happy smile on her face.

Billy sighed and rolled his eyes, “First comes love.”

Nancy smirked and her eyes brightened in pure delight, “Then comes marriage.”

Billy groaned and shook his head as Erica finished with, “Then comes a baby and a baby carriage!”

Steve moved around a little and looked back at them, “We should have three.”

Billy shook his head fondly, “Go back to sleep, Steve.”

#billy hargrove #erica sinclair #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #steve harrington #harringrove #stranger things

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alexmink · 3 years

Text

Part 3: Tag You're It

I look around to find archers preparing to shoot at us “I’ll take the archers you take the guards!” I saw an arrow being shot in the direction of Destrier, Caspian’s horse I shot my arrow and watched as it broke the other one in half. I shot some more in hope to injure a few archers so we could make our escape. As we rode off to the village we heard fireworks; which could only mean one thing. A new Heir to the throne had been born. As we were almost out of the village we heard a man shout “A son! A son! Lady Prunaprismia has this night given Lord Miraz a son!” I heard horses which could only mean that the guards were intending to finish the job and kill Caspian. I looked at Caspian to see that he had realized what was going on his eyes were filled with hurt and shock but we had to keep going; he needed to survive. “Cas! We need to go now!” he nodded and we raced through the meadow where the guards were not as far away as we would have wished for them to be. We entered the forest where our chances of survival would be increased. When we had crossed the river our clothes stuck to us which made it easier for us to be nicked or shot at for the archers; I looked back to find that we were only a rivers distance away from them, we went back into the woods drying us as much as possible I ducked as I saw a branch would soon be coming into level with my face. But apparently, someone wasn’t paying attention to the forest, I heard a grunt behind me I stopped and waited till Destrier came closer to me, as much as seeing the boy being dragged by his foot amused me I had to stop Destrier before Caspain go even more hurt “shh its okay doux-doux its alright calm down” “doux-doux?” “sweet one, I read it in a book somewhere; you okay?” I say dismounting my horse Elpis to help him up “yeah I’m alright” just then we heard a creaking we shifted our gaze towards the noise to find two dwarfs, I readied my bow in case of threat “they’ve seen us” the blonde dwarf got closer to Caspian and he quickly backed away. The blonde dwarf’s eyes ent from Caspian to the horn and back to him. We hear horses the blond dwarf heads towards the guards but not before he says “take care of them!” his choice of words could really mean anything so as the dark-haired dwarf made his way towards Caspian I shot my arrow next to his head missing his nose by nearly a centimeter “that was a warning shot. Hurt him and the next one won’t be” “don’t worry I won’t hurt your little boyfriend if that’s what you want” I roll my eyes already used to people thinking that I and Caspian are together the dwarf comes closer to him I draw another arrow and aim it at the black-haired dwarf as he came closer to Caspian. Caspian reached for the horn and as he blew the horn the dwarf yelled “NO!” for a few seconds the sound rang through the forest before he took the horn away from Caspian he huffed angrily before saying “come on you two, inside” our horses hid in the shadow of the tree and I grabbed Caspian's hand helping him up. He stumbled into the house as I had to make sure to catch him if he fell. As we entered we were greeted by a badger named Trufflehunter who led us to a bed so I could treat Caspian's wounds “here” Trufflehunter says handing me some bandage, honey, and a wooden spoon “I would do it but I fear…” “Caspian” “Caspian is too alarmed to do so” “thank you, this might hurt a bit Cas” “nothing hurts when you’re around” I hear him mumble “how hard did you hit your head?” I say as a slight blush covers my cheeks chuckling I dip the wooden spoon once and close the jar and spread the honey on Caspian’s wound as honey has anti-oxidant, anti-bacterial, and anti-inflammatory properties. I then wrapped the bandage 2-3 times gently to not cut off his blood circulation “don't fall asleep, I suspect you might have a concussion” “thank you; for taking care of me” he says as he squeezed my hand looking into my eyes “you don’t need to thank me”

#prince caspian #prince caspian fanfiction #caspian fic #caspian x reader #caspian x y/n #caspian the tenth #y/n #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #chronicles of narnia #caspian #caspian fanfic #caspian x #oc: caspian #caspian imagine #king caspian

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

A/N look if you didnt even tear up. All I'm saying is I didnt do my job right.

Part 1 ××× Part 2 ×× Part 3

Bakugou sits at the long table in the dining room in his usual spot, Mei and Haru nod his way as others begin to file in.

The children look a tad older than usual as they sit a bit straighter this year, Uncle Sozen seems to have aged over night as he sits to Bakugou's left. He offers a wide smile to which Bakugou returns.

"DADDY!! DADDY!" A shrill voice rings out, little feet slapping harshly against the hard wood as a little girl slams down into his lap. Ash blonde hair dutifully braided but coming loose from all of the horse play skillfully climbs onto his legs.

She looks up at him with wide eyes that mirror your eye color. His heart melts as he smooths down some of her hair.

"Where's your brother?" He asks softly before a young boy comes rushing in. Feet falling hard enough to shake the dishes at the table. Your hair and his burning ember eyes greet him with a shit eating grin.

Neither could be older than six or seven.

"Told you I'd find you!" He brings up a bright palm to slap his older sister only for his wrist to be grabbed by you. Leveling him with a glare the child shrinks away. Trying to hide behind both his sister and father. Bakugou looks up at you, your fierce gaze, your glowing features and swollen belly. His heart melts, pooling in his stomach and threatening to dip lower still. He swallows thickly adding his own sharp voice to the mix.

"Sit and behave." The children cling to Uncle Sozen or Aunt Mai. Climbing into their laps eager to be spoiled once more. Summer crickets echo into the dining hall before they are drowned out by both the thunder of the approaching summer storm and the roar of the dining table.

Dinner goes on without a hitch. Happy conversation as Sobo takes it all in. She sits stick straight, her once silver hair long since turned moon white and adorned in her normal plain kimono. When dinner is over, everyone begins to clear the table, excited for tomorrow's birthday and celebration that is bound to take place. Bakugou goes to what has become his normal duty, standing by Sobo to help her up and back to her study. He knows she wants to see the moon flowers bloom.

He is gentle with her now fragile stature, never able to forget how easily she wielded an old weapon on his first dinner at this estate. The thought makes him smile as they enter her study. He settles her onto her cushion, about to leave to finish clearing the table. But she doesn't let go so Bakugou sinks into the cushion beside her, the summer storm faded as quickly as it came and as the clouds clear the closed tight buds slowly begin to unravel, mirrored moonlight nestled on delicate petals. Silence envelops the two as they stare at the beautiful metaphor that is the moon flower. Her grip tightens on his strong bicep.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman." Sobo breaks the silence causing scarlet eyes to slide to his elder.

Except she no longer looks old, instead she looks young. As she did in the picture with All Might. Hair as dark as night and adorned in her crane kimono. Bakugou swallows thickly.

"I'm glad you've made up your mind, mago."She smiles, squeezing tighter and somehow this feels more like a good bye than anything else.

He doesn't like the feeling, he goes to open his mouth to ask what she means but lightning suddenly strikes outside.

The thunder comes as the sound of the sliding door to your room. Bakugou lifts a palm glowing hot as an ember aimed at the figure who dared to enter in the early hours of the morning.

Mei stands in the doorway disheveled as you slowly rise, you hold eye contact with Mei's watery eyes and just…know.

You jump to your feet, throwing off the blanket as you rummage in your bag for any sort of clothing. Mismatched as you shove your body in the fabric as you head for the door. Sprinting down the hall as if called on a mission. Bakugou rises, noticing Mei's tear stained cheeks, questions are plastered all over his tired features.

"Its...Sobo…" A hiccup leaves Mei's frame reminding Bakugou just how small and young she was, "She's...she's."

"I'm glad you made up your mind, mago."

It clicks as her voice echoes in his head from the dream, soles of his feet burning as he runs aimlessly through the estate until he finally finds where people are gathered.

There was not a single dry eye as he huffs.

"Where's…" He asks but Aunt Mai just points, clinging to Uncle Sozen who seems to be frozen in time. Bakugou slowly walks towards you as you sit with wide eyes. Clasping onto Sobo's cool hands.

When he sinks down next to you is when he realizes that you're shaking.

He fights his gut, to reach out for you, to pull him to you so you can cry to your heart's content but instead you look to great Oba.

"I'll help sort her things. Please allow me a shower first." You say monotone, eyes glazed over and Bakugou isn't sure which would be worse. You unfeeling and cold or you crying until you were sick.

Either way his heart was sure to split in two. Your eyes come back to Sobo. You lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to her fast cooling cheek.

"I'm sorry we lied. Bakugou is barely my roommate Sobo." You whisper so lowly that even Katuski strains to hear you.

You rise, trying to walk calmly out of the room. Telling yourself over and over that this was just a mission or worse yet just a nightmare and to allow yourself to feel an ounce of fear or grief would be your downfall.

"Its all Uncle Shoji's fault! If he hadn't come and riled Sobo up or hadn't made that damned drug Sozen would have felt her vitals weaken." Haru yells, tears falling in fat droplets as he slides a forearm over his face. You snap then, yelling as you reach for the first thing you can grab, a book that you hurl at your cousin as you scream.

"SHE HAD AN ARRYTHMIA! WE CAN'T BLAME SHOJI FOR ALL OF OUR FAMILY'S FUCK UPS."

The book hits Haku square in his face, a letter flutters from the yellowed pages before it slams onto the ground.

All eyes watch the letter that's addressed in big bold letters.

To my family.

Eagerly you swoop for the letter, snatching onto the parchment and last tangible thing from your grandmother. You rise to your feet, eyes frantic as you look around the room.

Bakugou knows that face, you're about to make a bad decision and before he can stop you you've set a harsh pace to follow.

He rises and gives chase as does half of the younger generation. But none of them can keep up.

No one but Bakugou, which you had expected.

It would be more than easy enough to lose him in this house.

Or maybe it wouldn't be so easy. With each turn he comes closer but you can't be caught yet.

Whatever it is your grandmother has to say you know you have to read it first, but most importantly, alone.

You want the chance to say goodbye and to grieve in private.

You plan to lose him in the secret room in your grandmother's study rushing into it with just enough time to disappear.

But suddenly you cannot, too overwhelmed by the sight of her favorite little room, decorated with all of her accomplishments but more importantly her family. Memories over lapping one another as you stand frozen. Bakugou bursts into the room, skin popping with heated explosions as he grabs for you. Grip gentle on your wrist.

"We should go back." His voice is feather soft, as if he's scared you'll break and it makes you angry.

It makes you sad.

Because he's right, you will break. Now there was no one to look forward to seeing in your favorite season, no one to celebrate summer with.

No one to lose horribly at Go to, no one to teach you the art of a deal and no one to explain the beauty in the world no matter how small and insignificant it seemed.

Fat tears fall down your face as you cry like you never have before. Like you hadn't since you were a child. A small whine comes from your throat that has Bakugou's heart imploding, his brows furrowed as he reaches for your other wrist. Trying so hard to support you without making you feel weak. You push yourself into him, clutching at his shirt as his burning sugar and firework smell tingles your nose, summer incarnate. He wraps his arms around you tightly, pushing you closer to him in an attempt to hold you together as best he can as you fall apart in his arms.

"What are we gon..gonna do Katsuki?" You sob, shoving your face deeper into his chest, "H..How are we gon..gonna live without Sobo?"

Bakugou's eyes sting from your defeat, staring out into the background as he thinks of anything he can say or do to help you, all he draws is a blank. He was the worst at shit like this!

Movement catches his eye, a crane flies across the sky, his eyes fall to that damn plant noticing one final bloom persisting through the harsh morning sun.

"We aren't." He says, thinking of his dream, "She's always with us."

His words bring you comfort, resolve forcing your back stick straight as you look him in the face. That odd magnetism between the two of you returns. Licking your lips you do the unthinkable, following your gut as you stand on your tippy toes to softly press your lips to his.

"Thank you." A whisper, before stepping past him to face your family head on.

The ash blonde stands in the study for a moment, reliving the feeling of your lips against his. Of the electricity that surged through his body harder than any shot Denki had ever taken at him before.

The tips of his fingers brush over his lips, the bloom finally closing and he feels as if he sees a smile.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He returns just in time to see the family all gathered around, you having finally settled the bunch. Breaking the wax seal of the letter. Eyes rimmed red, the ink blurring beneath your gaze but you needed to be okay, you needed to be strong. Someone was meant to read the letter outloud and today that someone was you.

“To my loving family, if you’ve found this letter then I know what you all are going through. But I do not want you to shed tears over this little old woman. I have lived a long and wonderful life. Blessed with each of my children, and their children’s children. I want you all to celebrate my life and more importantly celebrate our family. As this is all we have and should treasure above all else. Life is hard enough as it is on our own so we must not forget where we come from and who truly supports our love and our dreams. Surely there is no pain worse than hunger and loneliness, so eat with each other often to ease your troubles. One day Shoji will come back into our lives and I may not be around when that happens but when he does please welcome him back with open arms as we all can lose our way from time to time. Let him join you all at the dinner table and help him to remember what family, what our family, is all about. Make sure that he eats as I am sure he will be hungry and I know he will be lonely. Help him ease his pains, help guide him back onto the right path in life. I end this letter to remind you all how much I care and love for each and every one of you. Good things will come as does the crane that flies over the bloomed lotus.

With all of my love, forever and for always I give to you,

Sobo.”

Silence settles over the large estate with nothing more than sniffles and sobs echoing down the hall. Bakugou places his hand on your back, surprisingly having a hard time keeping his own eyes from watering.

In such a short time he had made a friend, he made family.

His skin burns through your shirt as tears fall from your cheeks, like a movie star. Eyes clouded, nose a bit red but eyes set hard.

"Sobo was right. Family is all we have and we can all become misguided. I…." You look to the blonde, squaring your shoulders, "I lied. Bakugou is not my fiance. He isn't even my boyfriend. I lied for Sobo, thinking that this would make her happy. But now…now we must make things right."

You pull an outdated iPhone from your pocket.

"I found it after Shoji left. Maybe we can contact him and when he comes back…" Your voice is hard and yet threatening to crack all at once. Eyes roaming over your large family.

"We will eat." Great Oba says, "Ladies, if you would prepare the food for celebration. I will retire to her study and call friends and family. We will lay Sobo to rest when the sun sleeps and the moon rises."

Everyone nods, wiping tears and comforting their children as they move to their duty. You give Bakugou a sympathetic look before rushing off to call uncle Shoji.

Bakugou suddenly finds himself a bit aimless once again before the sharp bite of a matriarch's voice rings out.

"Bakugou, you will come with me." Great Oba turns while Katsuki follows without question.

A certain item weight extra heavy in his pants pocket.

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

"Fuck!" Shoji growls for the thousandth time, unable to pack his things and leave the near by hotel. Finally he rises forcing himself to gather various items that he has half a mind to leave.

Fresh tears pricking his eyes as he wishes that old bag would just….would just fucking love him. He knows he's the black sheep, the unwanted baby but still.

He still is trying to live up to the image Sobo had of him. His phone rings and he answers it with a snobbish attitude, crying long gone from his voice.

"What do you know, Princess figured out my random passcode. I knew you were smart but why are you so damn persistent I'm not coming bac… "

"Just shut the fuck up." You cut him off, sounding like Sobo with your harsh tone but you with your cussing. He runs his hands through his hair.

"Sobi is gone Shoji. You need to come back. You need to say goodbye."

"She...she what?! That old hag is immortal."

"Watch your tongue." A startled chilll runs down his spine before you add your own flair to Sobo's best threat, "Or I will have to watch it for you by taking it for myself."

"And before you start your bullshit pity party we want you here. We need you here. You're family. You need to eat with us. Laugh with us…" Your voice threatens to crack, "Cry with us Shoji. Find your way back home….please."

Nothingness stretches on between the two of you before you sigh. Hoping he will prove you and everyone else wrong. That he is not a lost cause.

"We lie her to rest tonight. Under the watch of the full moon near the lake."

You hang up the phone, crushing it in your hand by accident as salt water streams down your face.

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

The hot head has never found himself in so many uncomfortable and vulnerable spots during this trip than he has in his entire lifetime.

He sits across from Great Oba-san who really only wanted him around to keep any eye on him. A war rages in himself, over the game of Go, over his dream and more so over these new blossoming feelings he has for you.

Was this going to be worth a few bowls of spicy ramen?

He fucking thought not. Sobo's voice echoes in his head as the small object burns a hole in his pocket.

Better to return it now before they think him a thief.

He withdrawals the stunning single set diamond ring that is surrounded by a ring of off tiny circular onyx. The diamond the moon suspended in the dark night of the onyx.

A breathtaking piece truly, he sets it atop the paper work Great Oba is sorting. Her facial expression seems to change in slow motion as it adjusts to her rapidly changing emotions.

"How did you…?"

"I couldnt sleep and she called me in to hustle me over a game of Go. She said she knew that she...that we lied." Bakugou continues to tell her about the game and dream. All the while Oba stares with wide eyes, fixated on the ring waiting for him to finish. Her face sets hard, her eyes a mixture of emotion.

"Bakugou, you know what you must do." As if it's a mission, a task. He thinks he must leave immediately. He goes to stand.

"No. Sit." Controlled rage, pushing the ring back towards the young man, "You must propose now. No one has had Sobo's full blessing like this before."

He stares at her hard, shocked even before he growls out.

"We aren't even dating!"

"In my time, in Sobo's time we didn't know our husbands name until we were wed." She continues to sort, filing things away avoiding taking the ring. He sucks his teeth, dumbfounded.

"We dont even like each other!" His forearms pop with his mouth and temper. Great Oba rolls her eyed.

"That's debatable. I've never seen someone so quick to break down her walls before. Besides only a man would have stayed during this family crises. A boy would have left on the first night." Bakugou mulls it over, the dream, was it just that or had he really pictured himself here. In this house.

In this estate year after year as it ebbs and flows of faces with your family.

Here with you?

His heart races and slows all at once, his palms sweat as his feet tingle to move. He inhales deeply trying to collect his thoughts and calm his thoughts.

"What if she says no?" His main worry, his only worry now being rejection. Still unsure if this is his future but it was true if given the opportunity to lay down his life to ensure yours he would do it.

No hesitation, no doubt to keep you smiling. To ensure you become your own matriarch to protect this house and Sobo's spirit.

"She wont say no. That ring isn't just any ring. That ring was passed down from our mother and from her mother." She swallows thickly, the thought of most her family having now passed pangs her heart but Oba must go on with big shoes to fill.

Her elder sister a force of nature.

Suddenly Bakugou stands, rage mixed in his scarlet eyes.

"Then it ain't fucking right for me to have this! I can't have this!"

"But. You. Will." Her tongue a knife. Ripping him to ribbons and all he can see is another version of you. Another strong willed woman, another force to be reckoned with.

"Besides, I know she will not. Once she sees that ring she will know. Sobo was a great judge of character despite being quirkless. I heard my son Sozen tell the story but only partially. My sister's husband was a great man who sadly was inflicted with a disease, Alzheimer's hit him hard in his old age. And an in home nurse took advantage of that. She looked much like s younger version it my sister, taking him to casinos and pretending to be his wife. She spent the family fortune, she thought a child would secure her wealth but she had tapped the well dry. When she realized that, she left Shoji on the front step, dirty and naked as if he were garbage."

Bakugou slumps back onto the amethyst cushion from the weight of the story, still worry is written all along his face. Great Oba sighs.

"At the end of the day, it is my niece's choice and if she says no at least you can say you tried. You honored Sobo's wish with an attempt and she'd be more than happy with that." Great Oba smiles and he can see a ghost of Sobo's wide, wild smile in her.

He swallows thickly, gently grabbing the ring. He turns it over and over in his hands.

This was crazy.

This was stupid.

This was crazy fucking stupid.

But maybe his fate in love was meant to be crazy fucking stupid.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #summerwars au #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha au #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugou x you

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mynanapost · 3 years

Text

Who am I? Who I am was a question I kept asking myself all my life. I figured lately that I am a transported tree, plant, land, and home that is always gravitized to Palestine. I am a citizen of the world and my passport is a threat to all the bordered states I visit or stay in. I am recognized for many things that I am not; and, I am labeled for many things that I disapprove and do not recognize. I am a star that is always censored and tracked by foreign militaries and intelligences. I am a unique reminder of the failure of the zionist progress towards the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians.

In this article, I am aiming to take you on a speed tour consisting of no more than 1200 words about the resistance mechanisms of a second generation displaced person living in Gaza and is originally from Yafa.

Fighting like a Palestinian is as tough to us as you might see on your headline news. Substantially different though, I promise. Hello, I am Wasim, I am Palestinian (I fight) and I want to make this world a better place. And I fight. The fear of being hated and judged as a Palestinian is as bad as your fear of missing out (FOMO). Our FOMO is usually one of three things, first, the fear of missing out on a strike of bombs in your neighborhood. We usually fear not being there to calm and assure our family that we are home and that they could at least not worry about us. Second, the fear of missing out a chance to buy groceries on a ceasefire. Third, not being awake or home to use the four to eight hours of electricity we get per day. This includes cooking, charging phones and laptops, using WiFi, heating water, and doing laundry.

We as Palestinians do not resist or fight through machinery. In fact, our machinery compared to others in the region might be the least effective. Hence, we use our words, education, knowledge to fight and resist. I will be resisting and fighting in this article as you tour with me.

My grandfather was forced out of his home by Zionists. And I resist. I resist and fight through presenting a negated history. Yafa, a beautiful place and also an occupied city in Palestine, is where my grandfather lived. He assured us to have hope. We fight, resist, and FIGHT trying to explain that we have the right to return home. He adds that one day he will take us all back home, may his soul rest in peace. My home in Yafa might now be a dancing club or even better a dating bar. Who knows but it is there in Yafa. He, my grandfather, would always say that if I would bring him a granddaughter, I shall name her Yafa. He would always say that she will be beautiful just like the city.

Visualizing my beloved Gaza is easy. North and East, we have IDF blockage isolating us from the rest of Palestine. West, we only have three miles of the lovely Mediterranean Sea where fishermen struggle for their livelihood and pray to get back home safe every day. And south, we have Egypt’s borders. Gaza is a piece of land that is guarded by the most powerful powers in the region. Well, it is not really guarded for our precious souls, but from them.

I survived three brutal aggressions on Gaza before celebrating my 17th birthday. We fought and resisted during and after each of these aggressions. We learnt how to fight by picking up the rubble and turning it into something to build with. We had nothing but rubble and a 4 digit number stating the number of deaths. We have constructed the roads of our seaport in Gaza with the rubble of destroyed buildings. We have also managed to turn the ash of coal and wood into building bricks that are used in construction buildings now with great demand. We as Palestinians fight our way through every aspect of our day through education, art, history, theatre, innovation and many more. We resist our ethnic cleansing by surviving, and then, by reproducing. We fight, everyday, endlessly.

To make it easier for everyone to visualize, I will use recently used concepts on world news to explain a long living experience. Curfew, as a concept, has been a huge highlight of our lives for as far as I can remember. Similar rules are imposed in the curfews set like the ones we all had during the pandemic. You can only leave when having an extreme reason to do so, however, you are assured that you will not be safe if you decide to leave, even if leaving means saving your life or the life of a loved one by going to the hospital.

The curfews were always there to remind us that we are occupied. Our usually failed ceasefires were similar to the end of pandemic related lockdowns. We try to secure food, for God knows when the next time we might have the option of leaving the house. However, unlike social distancing post-lockdowns, we hug and kiss our beloved ones knowing that it might be the last time we do so. The next digit number by one of us.

We live with post-traumatic stress disorders (PTSDs) as if they were our closest friend. These PTSDs are censored to the sound of planes, the sound of screaming, the sound of explosion and anything similar. They also adapt as part of our human nature as they develop to assure us, when being abroad, that the planes flying above us are not the same ones that were once attacking us. The PTSD is also quite conscious during New Years and other big celebrations when we do not realize that the fireworks are noises of happiness. It is exactly how we used to lie to assure our younger siblings that they will be safe. (+18) Their shock realizing the sorrow might be as bad as when children of western side of the world discover that Santa Clause is not real. (+18)

I believe most people living abroad during the Pandemic have gone through a slightly similar experience of the Palestinian’s daily struggle. Not being able to go back and feeling unwelcome in their home because there might not be space. And not being able to go anywhere else because you will always be a suspect holder. Yes, we are always suspects; accused of having a terroristic mentality. Unfortunately, we could never disprove their false accusations with a certified document saying that we are negative to their biased misconceptions. I would wait for a week and pay the 90$ for this certification. When you are a Palestinian holding dual citizenships, life changes; as I hear from my brother and witness my friends not having to stress a lot before entering any check point. Being respected and accounted for human rights are things they encounter after traveling with their other citizenship.

You could always be concise and go straight to the point. Why don't we stop fighting or why don't we just accept the peace talks. Well, lately we have been accepting of almost anything, but people would still see us as terrorists. Nonetheless, there is nothing concise about this struggle besides the daily headline news mentioning the number of dead and injured due to a “conflict”. I would have to explain all the intersections and the cross-borders and their history to be able to go through the complexity of my beloved Palestine.

In remembrance of Murid Barghouti, “Palestinians have a unique story that's similar to none of the stories of others, but one at the same time because what is shared is huge: the sense of loss, exile, being displaced, being oppressed, being voiceless, being of a negated history and geography”. - may his soul rest in peace.

#palestine #freedom for palestine #gazaunderattack #savesheikhjarrah #freedom #human rights #life #palestinian lives matter #انقذوا حي الشيخ جراح

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ms-rampage · 3 years

Text

New Dawn: New Horizons Chapter 4 - The Twins

Warnings: Language, some violence

Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: The 5 Winchester kids meet The Twins after they invade their home.

Guest OCs: Just the usuals

Guest Characters: Mickey and Lou. Archangel Raphael [Supernatural: Male vessel], John Seed [mentioned]

Note: Far Cry: New Dawn and Supernatural crossover. Sorry for the gaps in-betwern chapters 😖😅

Written by @athenalillystar and myself. Hope y'all enjoy!! 😁❤

Taglist: @wargames94 @vicki-the-sinner @rabbitsoldier @mrsladydiana

_________

Flashback 16 years earlier

Paige and Kate had given birth to kids. Paige had triplets, 2 boys and 1 girl, having to get a C-section with the help of her friend Cody who happens to be a doctor, and performed the surgery, and was living with them underground in the bunker.

Kate having a vaginal birth a few weeks later, and giving birth to a little girl. Thought she would’ve been a single mother but around the time the bombs dropped, some angels had been cast out of Heaven, and one of them seeked shelter with the Winchesters, their friends, and family. Archangel Gabriel aka Trickster aka Loki aka several other names, appeared in their bunker hours after the bombs had dropped.

He had lost about 70% of his powers, and was basically also human. Him, and Kate grew closer, and eventually developed a relationship.

After Kate gave birth to her daughter Daenerys, Gabriel grew to love the infant, and became her father.

He protected her, he loved her in many ways possible as she got older, even though he was technically her adoptive father, her real father being John Seed.

She always saw him as her birth father, and nothing else. Not knowing that he was an Archangel, and her adoptive father.

________

A few days have passed.

One morning everyone at Prosperity wakes up to the sound of an explosion outside the safehouse.

Kim Rye alerts the Winchester-Smith compound for back up, and they immediately rush to their aid.

Paige, Kate, Kenny, Mandy, Barbara, Nate, Mark, Cody, Marty and Adrian had taken off to help out against the attacking Highwaymen.

The kids, Cristina, Bianca, Jeffrey, Thomas and Daenerys stayed back with some of the other adults.

In case the Highwaymen attacked there, and that’s what happened.

The Highwaymen attacked, throwing bombs and shooting at the front gates of the compound.

“Come on they’re here!!!” Cristina yells, going to their families gun case.

All the kids each grabbed a rifle, ammo, explosives, and took their positions.

They were all trained for something like this. Their parents trained them since they were younger than 7 years old. They all knew what to do when they were attacked.

After wiping out all of the Highwaymen. Getting shot at, and coming out uninjured. A gruesome battle of exchanging bullets.

"How many did you kill?" Jeffrey asks his younger triplet brother.

"16" Thomas answers, "You?".

"19" he responds, with a cocky tone. A smug smirk on his face

He scoffs, "Whatever showoff".

The 5 Winchester kids meet face to face with the Twins Mickey and Lou. Lighting off fireworks outside the gate, getting the siblings' attention.

“Oh shit!” Cristina exclaims, "Oh no" when they see they have children hostages.

They run towards them, aiming their guns at them, and their followers.

“Better put those down. You don’t want to scare the kids” Lou tells them.

“Cristina” one of the 3 kids, whimpers out of fear.

“Everything is gonna be fine kids" she reassures them, "You all better leave now!".

Lou, one of the twins, laughs at her comment and threat, Mickey back slaps her in the face which only pisses off the elder Winchester sibling.

“You piece of shit!” she angrily mutters, as her younger brothers hold her back from bashing in her face.

“I’m sorry I just don’t like to watch people lie to little kids” Mickey tells her, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Why are you doing this?!?” Bianca asks.

The eldest Twin breaks it down to the 5 siblings.

“Because of your hero parents” Mickey starts off, “Until they started to grow your little family Army, everything was running smoothly. But you. You all have become a fucking problem. Taking from us. Throwing everything out of balance”.

“I think we should just kill ‘em” Lou says, while holding a grenade.

Sending off the youngest of the 5 with a threat of her own.

“Do that, and you’ll be dead before you get the chance to pull off the clip bitch” Daenerys threatens them, while aiming her slingshot with a throwing knife at Lou. Bianca lowers her weapon as the Highwaymen aim at them. The older Twin tries to calm the situation.

“No. Hold on. We don’t want any martyrs here” Mickey intervenes, “What we want is to make sure everyone understands your help. Your whole family is a curse. Every person you help, every child you inspire, every settlement you build, we will take from you”.

The 5 of them stare angrily at the two sisters. Wanting to kill them right there, they see the chance and it’s slipping.

“You’re gonna have a hard fucking time doing that!” Cristina informs her, while being held back by her younger brother.

“And when you’ve got nothing, we’ll come for you” Mickey continues, getting into Cristina’s face.

“Bring it bitch!” Daenerys yells out, while Bianca and Jeff hold her back.

“Calm down Dae, calm down” Bianca whispers, trying to calm down her cousin.

Even if they’re completely outnumbered by The Twins and their followers. Cristina knows they'll have a chance at killing them, if only the small children weren't there.

“Don’t drop it” Lou tells one of the kids, putting a grenade in his hand without the clip.

“The only currency in this world is power” Mickey yells, “You. You made us look weak. That ends now!”. The older twin getting into Cristina’s face once again, "We are going to take everything that you hold dear. Starting with your home” she continues.

“And if we can’t take it, we’ll break it” Lou says.

“You ain’t taking fucking shit from us!!!” Cristina growls. Glaring up at the two.

“Don’t be here when we come back” Mickey says, pointing at the elder sibling.

She throws the grenade clip at Jeffrey, and he catches it.

They get into their trucks, and drive down the dirt road. Leaving behind a trail of dust.

“Oh god. Oh my god” Bianca mutters, as one of the kids holds an active grenade.

“C’mere, c’mere kids” Cristina says, to the two of the kids.

Jeff puts the clip back onto the grenade. Disarming it, and taking it from him.

“Come on kids. Lets go. Lets go inside” Bianca tells the group of children, as they guide the kids back inside the compound.

****

Meanwhile, Lucifer and Gabriel follow the sound of a high pitched static ringing, which most likely means there is an angel nearby.

“Over there!” Lucifer says, walking towards what was once Peaches Taxidermy.

They see the silhouette of a figure, and when they get closer they see.

Their brother Raphael, pacing back, and forth. Looking lost.

He stops pacing, and looks in their direction.

“Who’s there?!?” he calls out.

“Don't you recognize your own brothers?!?!” Lucifer says, in a joking manner.

“Lucifer? Gabriel?’ he says, in shock, “You both fell too?”.

“I’ve fallen a long time ago” Lucifer tells him, sarcastically.

“I’m one of them that fell” Gabriel tells him, “What happened?!?”.

“I don’t know” Raphael answers. “But there are more angels out there”.

“Who else?!?” Lucifer asks.

“Michael, Samandriel, Castiel, Uriel, Gadreel and probably more” he tells them, looking around the radiated wasteland.

“Do you know where?!” Gabe asks.

“I heard a frequency going that way” he points, towards the direction of the Drubman Marina.

“Alright let’s go” Lucifer says, already walking towards the direction.

They walk in the direction of the Drubman Marina, walking through the toxic radiation that they can’t smell, nor does it have any effect on them.

“Do you have your powers Gabriel?” he asks.

“Very little” he answers, “I lost like 70% of my powers. What about you?”

He sighs, “About the same. I’m surprised I can survive in this radiation”.

“Have you tried to contact dad?!” Gabe asks. Looking at his older brother.

“Yes. but he doesn't answer” he replies. Looking at his younger brother.

Lucifer jumps into the conversation, “Yeah, I know. Same thing with me”

They’re halfways to the Marina, and Lucifer picks up the frequency of another angel. Looking around, trying to spot another celestial through the thick fog.

“Where have you been Gabriel?” Raphael asks.

Before he could answer, “He was living with the Winchesters and he’s a father!!” Lucifer tells him.

Raphael looks at his little brother, “You brought in a Nephilim?!?!”.

Gabriel groans, and stammers over his words, “No, no. I didn’t bring in a Nephilim. Kate Winchester was pregnant already, and when I fell I teleported to them in their bunker because they were the only humans I knew that would’ve taken me in”.

The eldest Archangel gives his younger brother a piece of his mind.

“Plus Mandy Winchester said you told her about Joseph Seed” Lucifer says to Raphael.

A look of disappointment on his face, “Yes, I did several years ago. I told her about him, and that he needed to be protected. Why? Because our Father spoke to him. I didn’t know he meant for all of this to happen” he responds with his arms out.

“Dad spoke with him for all those years. To recruit people for his “Cult” and look at what happened” Lucifer says with his arms out.

“I didn’t know!!. I didn’t know he was going to do this!, if Joseph wasn’t protected” he defends himself.

They continue walking towards the Marina, and the pitch ringing comes back.

“Over there!” Raphael exclaims, he can somewhat hear the angelic frequency.

A silhouette standing still with their head lowered, muttering something to themselves.

They get closer, and they see Uriel.

“Uriel?!” Raphael calls out.

He lifts his head up slowly, and sees his older brothers

“Raphael?, Gabriel?, Lucifer?” he questions, relieved, “Are there more of you?!?”.

“Most likely. According to Lucifer” Gabriel tells him.

*****

The 5 siblings sit at the front steps of the main house of the compound, waiting for their parents to come home.

“We could’ve killed them right then and there” Cristina mutters.

“If we did, we could’ve killed those kids too” Thomas tells her.

“We just have to wait until they come back, and maybe they can figure something out” Jeffrey says.

They sit at the steps until their parents come back. After what felt like hours, they finally come back. They see the mess that the Highwaymen, and the Twins had caused.

“What happened?!?” Paige asks, approaching them.

“The Twins” Bianca answers.

“Fuck!” Paige whispers in frustration, “Are you guys alright?!”.

“Yeah. We’re fine” Thomas answers.

“What did the Twins say, or do?!?” Kate asks them.

“They said that we better not be here when they come back, and that they’re gonna take our home” Cristina answers.

“Like Hell they are. I’m gonna put a fucking bullet between those little cunts eyes” Kate mutters, angrily.

“Okay, calm down, we’ll get them. We need to prepare for it. They hit us, we’re gonna hit them back harder” Paige tells them.

“What do we do?!?” Cristina asks.

“We’re gonna need more supplies. The 5 of you can go out, and scout for more supplies. Anything you can find, and while you’re out get some intel on those little shitheads. I want to hurt them” Paige instructs them.

They get up from the steps, and go to the garage. Taking one of the cars, and drive towards Roughneck’s Crag. Since that’s where all the best supplies are. There and that abandoned gas station near the Meatfort.

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btxtreads · 4 years

Text

📼 d r a m a 📼

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW

↳ Pairing: Choi Soobin x Reader

↳ word count: 1.7k words

↳ rating: PG

↳ genre: fluff, this is so cheesy and cliche hhhhhh but its meant to be like that, once again i want beomgyu and taehyun to be my friends

a/n: anon from a few hours ago was right but also askjdsajkshajsa this is so cheesy??????????? :((((((((((((((((( im so adsjnjadsjhsadhjsad

Beomgyu’s knuckles pounded on the door, screaming.

Beside him stood Taehyun, his hands in his pockets and eyes incredulously boring onto his best friend with confusion.

Beomgyu continued screaming, his hand still rapping on the door.

“Beomgyu, shut up!”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re still alive,” Beomgyu replied, stopping his screaming. “Y/N, come out and eat lunch with us!”

Behind Taehyun and Beomgyu was one of the boys’ maids, dusting the photo frames in hallway.

Taehyun shot an apologetic look at the older woman, who only smiled.

If the woman was weirded out, it wasn’t apparent as she continued on her way.

Taehyun looked back at Beomgyu who started screaming again, knocking on the door.

His phone pinged with a text.

Choi Soobin: hi taehyun, im on my way. can you keep beomgyu occupied for a while?

Taehyun cleared his throat.

“Hey, gyuu?”

Beomgyu stopped, turning back to him.

“What’s up?”

“Maybe she’ll come out if we make her favorite food ourselves?” Taehyun suggested, wincing when she remembered how useless both of them were at cooking.

That’s why the only home-cooked food they ate was Y/N’s and made by Beomgyu’s on-call chef.

Despite this, Beomgyu gasped.

“Yes, let’s make Y/N’s favorite food!” Beomgyu nodded enthusiastically, knocking on the door once more. “Taehyun and I will make Carbonara for you!”

Taehyun winced as he was dragged to the kitchens, pulling his phone out to send a quick text.

Taehyun: beomgyu and i are going to be in the kitchens. i told the guards you were coming.

Choi Soobin: thank you. im here.

Y/N laid face-down on the bed, snapping up when she hear Beomgyu scream something concerning.

“Taehyun and I will make Carbonara for you!”

This was followed by a loud pitter-patter of footsteps fading away.

“Wait, no!”

Y/N gasped, falling off the bed.

Beomgyu and Taehyun can’t cook to save their lives.

“Guys, you’ll burn the house down!” Y/N squeaked from her position on the ground.

As soon as she sat up, she heard loud tapping on her window.

She turned to see pebbles hitting her window, which faced the garden.

“Who the hell—“ Y/N muttered under her breath, nearing the window to see a figure downstairs.

“Soobin?”

The said boy poked his tongue out as he picked up pebbles from the ground, cradling it in his arms and aiming to shoot it towards the window.

Y/N glared as she opened her window, making the boy gasp and smile.

“Y/N!”

“What the fuck are you doing to this window, you delinquent?”

Despite her harsh tone and words, Soobin shot her a bright smile.

“I found you.”

Y/N froze, his words sounding familiar.

Her grip tightened on the window sill, training her eyes up to the sky.

Soobin’s eyes softened as he gazed at the girl, who still looked perfect in his eyes.

She was decked in a loose white sweater that he recognized as Beomgyu’s, her hair was down in waves and her face bare of any make-up.

The girl ran a hand through her hair, clearing her throat as she looked back at the boy.

“What are you doing here?” She asked. “How did you find me?”

Soobin only shrugged, smiling.

“Does Beomgyu even know you’re here?”

He shook his head no.

“Please don’t tell him,”

Y/N pursed her lips, looking down.

“Soobin, you should go,”

Once again, he shook his head no and looked around.

“Ah, there’s no tree,” Soobin sighed, looking back up at the girl. “Can you come down?”

Y/N frowned, looking at the boy with a sigh.

“Y/N,” he called, looking at the girl with pleading eyes. “Please. Come down.”

The girl bit her lip and closed her window sill.

“Y/N?” Beomgyu gasped as Y/N passed by the kitchen on her way to the living room.

She shot him a quick look, opening the door to exit the house.

Taehyun grasped Beomgyu’s arm as he made a move to follow her, shaking his head and dragging him up the second floor.

Y/N slowly made her way to the garden, to see Soobin.

He stood there, perfect and proper—not a single strand of hair out of place.

He smiled, stretching a bouquet of white roses towards her.

“I remembered how you told me that you found white roses prettier than red ones,” Soobin explained as Y/N gingerly took the bouquet.

“Soobin, look,” Y/N sighed. “I understand, I got the message,”

“Huh?” Soobin frowned.

Y/N looked back up at him.

“You don’t have to apologize, or let me down properly. I understood very well,” Y/N smiled sadly and turned to leave. “Thank you for trying to apologize, anyway.”

Soobin sighed, looking up at the sky and pocketing his hands.

He cleared his throat.

“Can you imagine? What would happen if we could have any dream?”

Y/N stopped in her tracks.

Soobin’s soft voice continued.

“I wish this moment was ours to own it, and that it would never leave,”

Y/N slowly turned, looking back at the boy.

He smiled softly at her, fidgeting in his place.

“Then I would thank that star that made our wish come true,”

Y/N stayed still as Soobin made his way closer, his hand reaching out to take hers.

She was dead silent, making Soobin sigh in nervousness before continuing.

“Cause he knows that where you are is where I should be, too,”

Y/N looked at his eyes, her eyebrows furrowed as she observed him.

Suddenly, the sprinklers and the spotlights opened.

The speakers Beomgyu installed in the gardens, which Y/N always scolded him for because it was unnecessary, found its purpose as it blasted music that Soobin sang along to.

“Right Here, Right Now,”

Soobin’s hand found Y/N’s chin, lifting it up as water rained down on them.

He smiled delicately as tears filled Y/N’s eyes.

“I’m looking at you, and my heart loves the view.

Cause you mean everything.”

Y/N softly laughed in embarrassment, wiping tears and the raining water off her face.

“This is so cheesy,” She commented as Soobin smiled and continued.

“Right here, I promise you somehow,”

Soobin leaned his forehead on hers and intertwined their hands, closing his eyes.

“That tomorrow can wait for some other day to be,

But right now, there’s you and me,”

He opened his eyes, and smiled at Y/N as the music continued.

“I’m not gonna sing,” Y/N said. “I’m still mad at you,”

“I know,” Soobin said, moving his hands to her waist. “and I’m sorry,”

Y/N lowered her eyes.

“Chaewon, she’s—“

“Sure, I love her, but not like you think,” Soobin said, kissing her wet hair as the sprinklers continued to soak them. “Y/N, it’s you. I’m in love with you,”

Y/N slowly pulled away and looked back up at Soobin.

“Huh?”

He smiled delicately, looking down at the girl of his dreams.

“I told her that,” Soobin said, tucking a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “that I’m in love with you. That I’m so in love with you that losing you means losing my mind,”

Y/N blinked in surprise.

“Y/N, you were the best thing has ever happened to me,” Soobin explained. “And if you don’t believe me, I’d gladly show you everything me and Chaewon talked about. I would do anything you want to make it up to you, just—please,”

Y/N bit her lip as Soobin tightened his grip on her.

“Please, just don’t leave me alone,” Soobin whispered.

“Soobin,” Y/N started as Soobin looked down at her, loving eyes soft and anxious.

It was almost like he was gearing up for rejection.

Y/N reached her hands up to run through his hair and cup his face.

“The time I spent away from you made me lose my shit and realize that I was way worse without you than I was without her,” Soobin confessed. “I can’t forgive myself if I didn’t try, Y/N. You were something I can’t give up,”

Y/N chuckled through the newly formed tears in her eyes.

“You’re so corny,” Y/N commented before pulling him down to meet his lips with hers.

It was almost like the sprinklers rained water harder on them as they kissed.

It was smooth, passionate—no fireworks, not even sparks.

Just Soobin.

She couldn’t feel anything but him as she clutched tighter on Soobin, his hands pulling her closer to him—afraid to let go as if she was going to fade away.

Y/N pulled away and brushed the wet hair sticking to his forehead.

“I love you,”

Soobin laughed, picking her up and twirling her around.

Y/N shrieked in surprise, holding onto his shoulders.

“Soobin, Soobin, what the fuck!” She shrieked as Soobin laughed loudly.

“Fuck,” Soobin muttered as he set her down. “I’m so happy,”

Y/N smiled as he leaned back down to plant another kiss on her lips.

She giggled through the kiss as she reciprocated, Soobin picking her up again to twirl her with their lips connected.

Y/N smiled as he pulled away, forehead still connected to his.

“By the way, how did you pull this off?”

Soobin looked up at the second floor, smiling as he spotted two figures by the window sill.

“Over there,” He pointed.

Y/N turned and gasped.

With narrowed eyes, Beomgyu stood by the window with the sprinklers’ remote in his hands.

Taehyun bounced in his place as he waved a phone—the bright red album cover of High School Musical visibly playing.

Beomgyu mimed gagging, his loud fake vomit sounds audible as Taehyun screamed “You guys are disgusting,” from their spot.

Beomgyu cranked the sprinkler levels higher as Y/N laughed, leaning her head on Soobin’s chest.

Soobin only laughed, clutching her tight to him.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Y/N pulled away and looked back up at him, her hand brushing his wet hair.

“I thought you’d never ask,”

Soobin smiled, leaning back down and crashing his lips on hers once again—the music still steadily playing at the background alone with Taehyun and Beomgyu’s noises.

Tomorrow can wait,

for some other day to be.

But right now there’s you and me

SAJHDJSDAJKKDHJSKJASDKJSADKJASJKKJASDJHJSAHDHSAJJHADS

207 notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: 【掌中流光】 Xia Yan’s Light in Palms Date Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist

Video: https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1nX4y1u7XA/

Because the timing of this date story is New Year’s Eve, I aimed to have it finished and posted for today (i.e. our New Year’s Eve). Happy New Year, everyone! Hoping that 2021 will be much better!

PART 1

Xia Yan’s House

Today was the last day on the calendar.

As the first New Year’s Eve after my reunion with Xia Yan, we had originally made a chock-full travel plan - but before we were about to set out, Xia Yan suddenly received a command to return to the capital, and didn’t return until last night. Because I didn’t want Xia Yan to be travel-worn again, I decided on staying at home for a leisurely New Year’s Eve – a day spent playing games! A night spent feasting! Going at zero-o’clock to see the New Year’s Eve fireworks show!

Although, when we put this “Leisurely New Year’s Eve Plan” into action, it wasn’t very leisurely…

Xia Yan: Right side! The enemy went over there!

MC: Where where?! I can’t see it!

In a panic, I manipulated the video game controller to adjust my viewing angle, but I didn’t see anything at all.

Bang bang bang— A barrage of gunshot sounds suddenly started. My blood meter started losing blood crazily, just like a water pipe that had exploded.

MC: Ahhh! My blood meter’s in the red!

Xia Yan: Give it to me!

I immediately stuffed the controller into Xia Yan’s hands, but he hadn’t even received it firmly when my view went grey. My character had fallen in battle.

MC: …

MC: This is too much…

Xia Yan and I attempted to refresh our save points from eight years ago. We were clearly able to co-op smoothly before, with flashing lights announcing our clears, yet we were actually on a losing streak today! Discouraged, I threw aside the controller, then reclined backwards into the beanbag chair.

Xia Yan: Don’t be discouraged – we haven’t played this for several years. It’s natural to be out of practice.

Xia Yan: How about we go through our save points for the casual games?

MC: That’s fine… I need to play some easy, refreshing casual games to restore my spirit.

Xia Yan: Then you can go ahead and pick a game. I’ll go wash some apples – after eating them, we’ll play!

MC: Mhmm!

While Xia Yan washed the apples, I flipped through his box of game hard drives.

MC: Xia Yan – why are there only a little over ten games in your box? What about the others?

Xia Yan: There in the other box, on the shelf on the right side of the computer – feel free to look there.

I searched in the spot that Xia Yan had mentioned. Sure enough, I noticed several boxes - the box in the corner of the lowest shelf looked particularly exquisite. Looking at the dust that had accumulated on the wood box, it had been placed there for at least several months.

MC: This box is so pretty… and it’s fairly heavy!

I carefully took the box and opened the lid – there was a bottle of sealed foreign liquor inside. The transparent glass in a rectangular column shape was filled with an amber liquid and the yellowing wine label on the bottle had English and numbers handwritten on it.

MC: Why is the wine label handwritten? “Whisky”… it’s whiskey, right?

There was also a note beside the wine bottle. The paper had a firm texture, with a tall-stemmed wineglass and a curlicue letter “L” stamped at the top. There was neat, beautiful handwriting on the memo – looking at the writing, it was written by the same writer of the wine label. “Before reaching the end, the possibility of unexpected opportunities will always exist. – Bar L”

MC: (Is there some implication of this specific phrase being written?)

I had sunken into thought while looking at the memo. By then, Xia Yan had already returned, carrying the plate of washed apples. He saw the whiskey in the wooden box and froze somewhat.

MC: Xia Yan, why did you keep a bottle of whiskey? Do you like drinking whiskey?

MC: Is “Bar L” the name of a bar? They even gave you a note in here – are you a frequent customer there?

Xia Yan: To understand a city, the easiest way is to take a seat in the bars of the city.

Xia Yan: Plus, bars are the gathering places of all sorts of information. Of course I’ll go to bars often, to collect some information.

MC: So this bar is the one you go to most often?

Xia Yan: It’s one of them.

Xia Yan looked towards that bottle of whiskey.

Xia Yan: At the beginning of the year, I helped out at Bar L as a bartender because of a commission.

Xia Yan: The bar owner’s a great person and took great care of me. This bottle of whiskey that he brewed himself is a gift he sent me.

MC: So that’s how it is. But why didn’t you bring up before about how you even know how to bartend?

After Xia Yan returned, he’d already told me told me a lot of matters that didn’t involve “secrets”, but I’ve never heard him bring up this bartending matter back then.

Xia Yan: Hm? There’s nothing special about bartending – it’s not worth bringing up.

MC: ???

MC: What about it isn’t special? What about it isn’t worth bringing up?!

I was absolutely speechless. I really wanted to know what Xia Yan was like when he was a bartender and what kind of situations he encountered in the bar, but as far as I could see, Xia Yan still had a confused look all over his face – so I decided to find another way.

MC: Xia Yan, could you take me to hang out at Bar L?

Xia Yan: Ah?

MC: I heard that on the night of New Year’s Eve, there will be really interesting events in bars. I want to go see.

MC: Plus, it’s almost the New Year.

MC: Since the owner of this bar took care of you before, we should also say hi to him and send our respects.

Xia Yan: That’s true. The owner has also recently called me to come hang out when I had time.

Xia Yan: Then let’s go.

Commerce Street

With the hues of evening all around, the commerce street, hung full of holiday lanterns, was neon with multiple colors. On the corner of the street, a heavy oak door was hidden under the shade of a tree. A relief sculpture of a wineglass pattern and a curlicue letter “L” were on the door.

Xia Yan: Here it is – we’ve arrived.

MC: It has a major “hidden in the city” feel to it.

I looked at the oak door in front of me, feeling more and more expectant.

MC: (It’s said that bars are the gathering place of stories…)

MC: (I’ll definitely be able to hear about lots of stories about when Xia Yan was a bartender.)

I wanted to know those people Xia Yan had known and hear them talk about Xia Yan-related things. After all, those people there just might know a lot about those little matters that Xia Yan considered not worth bringing up.

But nothing is not worth bringing up.

I wanted to make up for all the stories about Xia Yan in those lost eight years.

PART 2

Bar L

When Xia Yan and I entered Bar L, they had just started operating for the night – there weren’t any guests. Under the gentle lights, the tables and chairs made from logs seemed to exude the gentleness of a past era. Xia Yan closed the entrance’s oak door, cutting off the moment of hustle and bustle from the street.

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen, I’ve come to bother you.

Uncle Chen: It’s Little Xia! Welcome, welcome.

A bartender standing inside the bar counter nodded and smiled at us. He looked like he was around 40 years old, with a face and voice that were equally gentle. After Xia Yan and I arrived at and sat down in front of the counter, Xia Yan did a simple introduction for us.

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen is the owner and bartender of Bar L. His bartending techniques and wine brewing techniques are incredibly amazing.

Xia Yan: My bottle of whiskey was brewed by Uncle Chen himself.

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen, can we pass the New Year’s Eve at your place here?

Uncle Chen: Haha, of course.

Uncle Chen: The guests for tonight will definitely be very happy to be able to see the “Bartender Detective” again.

MC: “Bartender Detective”?

Xia Yan: It’s what the guests jokingly call me, because in addition to my bartending, sometimes I’ll do some simple detective work for guests.

Looking at my responseless look, Uncle Chen helplessly laughed and shook his head.

Uncle Chen: This explanation isn’t exact enough.

Uncle Chen: Providing detective services simultaneously with his bartending isn’t the only reason why Little Xia is known as the “Bartender Detective”.

Uncle Chen: At the very beginning, it was because Little Xia once solved a guest’s problem within the time he spent creating a drink.

Uncle Chen: After, even if they didn’t need a detective, guests still loved to find Little Xia to talk to, having him guess their profession, where they just came from, stuff like that.

Uncle Chen: Slowly, this nickname spread.

MC: So Xia Yan even had this kind of story when he was a bartender!

This “Bartender Detective” matter must have been omitted by Xia Yan as something “not worth bringing up”. Sure enough, I was right to come straight here!

Uncle Chen: I’ve only been focusing on talking and didn’t ask what the young lady would like to drink. My hospitality really is insufficient.

Uncle Chen: Does the young lady want to have a hot drink like last time? Or do you want to try something else?

MC: Last time?

I only knew about this bar from seeing Xia Yan’s whiskey today…

Seeing that I was somewhat at a loss, Uncle Chen smiled.

Uncle Chen: Though today is the first time that Little Yan has brought a friend over, it’s not the first time I’ve seen the young lady.

Uncle Chen: On a rainy day at the beginning of the year, the young lady came in here and ordered a glass of hot drink from me.

All of a sudden, I remembered. At that time, a client made an appointment to see me near this place, but he suddenly had some unexpected matters to deal with before we met and would come a little late. Because it was raining, the nearby shops had already filled up with people, so I walked into this bar to avoid the rain and pass the time.

MC: Your memory is so good, being able to remember so clearly about something that had happened so long ago.

MC: Plus, there were particularly many guests that time because of the rain.

Uncle Chen: About this…

Without waiting for Uncle Chen to speak, Xia Yan immediately took over talking.

Xia Yan: “A qualified bartender does not only need to understand alcohol – they need to understand people even more. They should do all within their ability to remember the habits of each guest and let them feel at home.”

Xia Yan: This is the phrase that Uncle Chen speaks most often, so of course he would remember you.

MC: So that’s how it is. This must be the so-called “craftsman’s mindset”.

MC: (Wait, since I came to this bar at the beginning of the year…)

A doubt suddenly flashed in my head.

MC: Xia Yan, weren’t you also helping here at Uncle Chen’s place at the beginning of the year? Why didn’t I see you when I came that day?

That day, it seemed like Uncle Chen was the only bartender in the bar.

Xia Yan: …!

Xia Yan’s expression got suspiciously panicked.

Xia Yan: I… I must have taken a day off on that day.

Xia Yan: During that time, I had a particularly large amount of detective commissions, so I was a little busy.

Xia Yan quickly placed the drink menu in front of me.

Xia Yan: Right, didn’t Uncle Chen just ask you what you wanted to drink?

Xia Yan: Fruit punch, the Cinderella, and the midsummer fruit drink are all non-alcoholic cocktails, and they taste pretty good. Want to try?

MC: (This forced change in topic – he’s definitely lying.)

MC: (Xia Yan, you’ve even learned to hide from me…)

But for now, I decided to not take apart Xia Yan’s lies in front of Uncle Chen.

I pressed down on my thoughts, lowered my head, and swept a glance over the drink menu.

MC: Today’s a holiday. I want to order something with alcohol.

Looking at Xia Yan and I, Uncle Chen laughed.

Uncle Chen: If the young lady doesn’t have any special preferences, then I would like to recommend my self-brewed whiskey.

As he spoke, Uncle Chen took a bottle of whiskey from the wine shelf. The bottle was identical to the one in Xia Yan’s house.

MC: This bottle of alcohol… it seems like it’s the same as the bottle that you sent to Xia Yan before.

Uncle Chen: That’s right, they’re the same kind of alcohol. I feel like it very much suits Little Xia.

MC: It very much suits Xia Yan? Why?

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen—

Without waiting for Uncle Chen to speak, Xia Yan opened his mouth again. It was very obvious that he wanted to take over in talking…

>Prevent him >Let him

MC: (You thought I’d let you take control of the situation? Too naïve, Xia Yan!)

I quickly grabbed a piece of chocolate from the snack plate and peeled it open.

MC: Xia Yan, you must be hungry from talking so much—

Xia Yan: *mouth full noises*!

I stuffed the chocolate into Xia Yan’s mouth and covered it tightly. Xia Yan’s lips struggled futilely under my hand, and I faced back towards Uncle Chen.

MC: Uncle Chen, is there a story about Xia Yan and this bottle of whiskey?

Uncle Chen looked at me and Xia Yan, who had no way to resist, the smile on his face deep.

>Prevent him >Let him

MC: (Let me see what you’re going to say this time…)

Thus, I put on a gentle smiling expression, looking intently and quietly at Xia Yan. Under my “friendly” gaze, Xia Yan closed his just-opened mouth up again.

Xia Yan: …

For a while, we were both silent. Uncle Chen looked at Xia Yan and I, the smile on his face deep.

Uncle Chen: Has the young lady heard of a phrase like this – “All the stories in a bar are in the wine”?

Uncle Chen: Would you like to try this whiskey?

MC: Yes! I’ll have to request you for it.

Uncle Chen took a glass cup, placed three ice cubes inside, and then used the bartending spoon to stir it quickly. A few minutes later, he filtered out the melted water, poured it into the whiskey, and mixed it again. The spoon slid unceasingly between the ice cubes and the cups, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of noise.

Uncle Chen: Does the young lady know how whiskey is brewed?

MC: I’m not too clear on it… is it similar to wine?

Uncle Chen: For whiskey to become pulp from grain, it needs to undergo germination, saccharification, fermentation, aging, and six procedures of mixing.

Uncle Chen: For it to mature, it will take at least several years, going up to over 10 years.

Uncle Chen: Within this long period of time, no matter how expectant or how anxious the brewer is, or how much they’ve put their entire physical and mental effort into this, they still have no way of absolutely guaranteeing the taste at the end.

MC: Is that so?

MC: (Although, what does this have to do with Xia Yan?)

While I mulled this over, Uncle Chen had already finished adjusting the whiskey. He gently pushed it over.

Uncle Chen: The whiskey – please try it.

I held up the whiskey and took a sip gingerly. The alcohol that had ice added slid smoothly into my mouth, but the aroma didn’t weaken in the slightest bit. The oaky fragrance mixed with the grain’s sweetness.

MC: It tastes great! Uncle Chen, the liquor you’ve brewed really is too amazing!

Uncle Chen: I’m very glad you like it.

Uncle Chen: In fact, when this batch of whiskey was first completely brewed, it didn’t have this taste.

Uncle Chen: It tasted very spicy, its aroma was average – it could be considered a major failure.

Uncle Chen: But after leaving it for a month, it became the taste it has now.

MC: So it was actually like this? Why?

Uncle Chen: Because of light, the surrounding air, and temperature. Sometimes, these things that one must consider when preserving whiskey can instead end up bringing good changes.

Uncle Chen: A failure at one point does not represent one’s life.

Uncle Chen: Before reaching the end, the possibility of unexpected opportunities will always exist.

“Before reaching the end, the possibility of unexpected opportunities will always exist.” This was the same as the sentence written on that note from earlier.

MC: It sounds like you’re talking about wine, yet it also seems like it’s a philosophy that can describe one’s life.

Uncle Chen: The stories in wine naturally also have life to them.

Uncle Chen looked at me, his smile very gentle. I felt that he was implying something in his words - did Xia Yan encounter some sort of issue back then? But why didn’t he come see and talk to me? Instead, he hid from me…

I looked towards the whiskey beside Uncle Chen’s hand. On the glass bottle filled with amber liquor, Xia Yan’s expression was reflected, looking quietly at me. I met his gaze for a moment, and Xia Yan choked, coughing once.

Xia Yan: Ahem…!

Xia Yan: I just wanted to say, drink it slower…

MC: (Xia Yan…)

I was just pondering what to do next, when suddenly, the bar door was opened again. Uncle Chen looked at the person who’d arrived, then stood up very quickly to walk to the bar counter.

Uncle Chen: Excuse me – I must leave for a bit.

After Uncle Chen left, I looked towards Xia Yan again.

MC: Xia Yan, you said before that you came to Uncle Chen’s place to help because of a commission.

MC: Which means, it’s not related to work that needs to be kept secret, right?

Xia Yan: Uh… that’s right.

MC: (Since it’s not related, then it should be fine if I ask a bit.)

MC: Xia Yan, at the beginning of the year, did you encounter some kind of situation? So you…

Xia Yan: Nah, I just happened to not be there that day.

Xia Yan: Alright, we’ve already reunited now, so don’t worry about the thing from that day.

MC: …

This guy’s trying to change the topic again.

>Frontal attack >Guide patiently and systematically >Joke around

MC: (Xia Yan, you’ve forced me to use extraordinary methods.)

I deliberately put on my intimidating court trial expression.

MC: Don’t you know that you’re really bad at lying? Plus, you kept changing the topic in front of Uncle Chen!

MC: You’re not just lying with this – you’re even openly mocking my IQ!

MC: If this can be tolerated, what can’t be?

Xia Yan: I…

MC: Severity to those who confess. Even more severity to those who resist! Hurry and own up!

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Great Lawyer, I’m scared of you…

>Frontal attack >Guide patiently and systematically >Joke around

I shifted towards Xia Yan’s side.

MC: Xia Yan…

Xia Yan: What, what are you doing…

MC: Did you really take a day off that day?

MC: You’re not allowed to lie to me. Look straight at my eyes and talk.

Xia Yan: …

MC: Why did you hide from me? If you met with me at that time, we could have reunited earlier by a few months.

MC: Could – you – tell – me…

Tugging on Xia Yan’s arm, I gently rocked it back and forth with a face full of sincerity.

Xia Yan: You’re using this trick again…

>Frontal attack >Guide patiently and systematically >Joke around

I pushed the whiskey that Uncle Chen had prepared towards Xia Yan’s hand. Then, I leaned over, lifted the wisps of hair beside my ear, feigning an elegant air, and gave him a smile.

MC: Handsome brother, I’ve got wine – do you have a story?

I deliberately used a classic line.

Xia Yan: …

MC: Don’t stay silent – from one glance, you’re clearly someone with a story.

MC: How about we chat?

Xia Yan: Where did you learn this from…

I was just about to continue when Xia Yan suddenly angled his head towards the bar door.

Xia Yan: Ah, Uncle Chen’s returning!

I followed Xia Yan’s gaze. The guest from earlier had already left, and Uncle Chen was walking back, holding a document. Suddenly, a bell sound came from his body. Uncle Chen picked up the phone, and a few seconds later, he started to resentfully reproach the caller.

Uncle Chen: Do not call again!

Right after he said this, Uncle Chen hung up with indignation all over his face.

Xia Yan: …

MC: …

In astonishment, Xia Yan and I looked at each other.

PART 3

Bar L

After Uncle Chen hung up, he returned very quickly to the bar counter. He smiled at Xia Yan and I very apologetically.

Uncle Chen: Harasser calls – don’t worry about it.

MC: …

Did Uncle Chen run into some trouble? But would it be discourteous for me, someone who has just met him, to question him closely… I was just hesitating when Xia Yan asked him extremely directly.

Xia Yan: A harasser call won’t make you lose your composure like this. Did you run into some trouble?

Uncle Chen: Just a little issue.

Xia Yan: The document in your hands looks like a detective’s tracking progress for a report on work-related investigations.

Xia Yan: In the past few days, you didn’t just call me simply to have me come hang out – you had something that you wanted to discuss with me, right?

MC: (In the past few days, Xia Yan returned to the capital because of a command…)

MC: (Did Uncle Chen look for other detectives to help because of this?)

Xia Yan: “No matter what troubles a bartender has, when he’s behind the bar counter, he must have a professional expression. He can’t bring troubles to the guests.”

Xia Yan: I know this is your pride and persistence.

Xia Yan: It’s just that, as a detective, I want to investigate secrets when I notice them.

Xia Yan: So, I’d like to request the owner to take special care of the detective guest that likes to look for trouble that I am!

Xia Yan turned around and gently held up that bottle of whiskey on the table.

Xia Yan: Plus, I haven’t given a return gift for the unusually valuable gift you sent me before.

The past between Xia Yan, Uncle Chen, and this bar must run very deep. Though I still didn’t understand what had happened, I took over from Xia Yan’s words.

MC: As the saying goes, “three ignorant cobblers combined can surpass a genius”. If you need the help of a detective, Xia Yan’s the best of them!

MC: If it’s not a secret that’s hard to talk about, please talk about it with us. We might be able to help.

Uncle Chen looked at us, sinking into silence for a moment, then sighed.

Uncle Chen: It’s actually not something major – just a little upsetting.

Uncle Chen: Before, someone who I was familiar with borrowed some money from me, and signed the promissory note according to stipulated formats.

Uncle Chen: But last month, when I went to find him, he said that he has never borrowed any money from me.

MC: He denied it? But there’s proof.

Uncle Chen: So I sued him, and applied for a handwriting appraisal, but the appraisal results showed that the handwriting on the promissory note wasn’t his.

Xia Yan: Could it have been signed by someone else?

Uncle Chen: At that time, only he and I were in the shop.

Uncle Chen: Although… when it was time to sign, he told me that he wasn’t feeling well and had me help him by pouring a glass of hot water.

Uncle Chen: Now that I think about it, that was just an excuse. He took advantage of the opportunity to sign it with his left hand.

MC: With his left hand?

Uncle Chen: He was left-handed when he was little, and only changed after many years of rectification.

MC: Then did you do a handwriting appraisal with his left hand?

Uncle Chen: I also applied to do a left-hand handwriting appraisal, but the result was the same.

Xia Yan: Do you have the right and left hand handwriting appraisal documents here?

Uncle Chen: It’s here.

Uncle Chen found the right and left hand handwriting appraisal documents. Xia Yan and I carefully compared all the writing marks on it.

Xia Yan: Looking at the handwriting records of the appraisal documents, his left handwriting is, in fact, that of a novice’s.

Xia Yan: His pen marks are inaccurate, the places where he lifts the pen lacks strength, and the marks are crooked and shaky… all signs of lack of practice and inconsistent use of a hand to write.

Xia Yan: I’m afraid that he deliberately wrote this kind of font to trick the appraisal.

MC: He must be very skilled at using his left hand to be able to use it to write faked handwriting.

Xia Yan: That’s right.

Xia Yan: Since he’s thought up of tricks and plans to prove that he is no longer left-handed, then we’ll use his plan, that he used against others, against him.

Xia Yan: We just need to prove that he still can skillfully use his left hand for this appraisal to collapse on itself.

Uncle Chen: But there’s not enough time.

Time? I immediately reacted.

MC: After losing a trial, if one wants to change the verdict results, one must appeal within set time limits.

Uncle Chen: Yes, today is the last day of the time limit.

Uncle Chen: Before, I had other detectives follow him and investigate, but none of them noticed anything.

MC: (Uncle Chen felt that there was already no way out by now, so when we came in earlier, he didn’t bring up a single word about this…)

Uncle Chen: Good thing that the amount he borrowed wasn’t very large – it was within my bearable range.

Uncle Chen: Plus, suffering financial loss to avoid calamities might be a blessing in disguise.

Uncle Chen laughed kindly. He wasn’t comforting himself – instead, he was comforting us.

Uncle Chen: Let’s not bring up these disappointing matters on a holiday.

Uncle Chen: Weren't you two planning to pass New Year’s Eve here? For this year’s New Year’s Eve, I’ve prepared a lot of interesting activities –

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen, to give up now is to fall right into what he wants.

Xia Yan: I’m afraid that he purposefully borrowed an amount that you would be reluctantly willing to bear. He wants you to give up in the end, not wanting to make a big fuss over this.

As Uncle Chen was talking earlier, Xia Yan had already completely flipped through that detective’s tracking investigation report.

Xia Yan: I know that you’re worried that finding evidence within such a short time is too difficult.

Xia Yan: In spite of this, don’t worry.

Xia Yan: I’m the “Bartender Detective” who once solved a problem within the time spent preparing a glass of drink, after all.

Xia Yan: There are still a few hours before zero-o’clock – we’ll have more than enough time.

MC: Uncle Chen, when I heard you talk about the “Bartender Detective” earlier, I was very curious.

MC: Just view it as you giving me the chance to personally see Xia Yan as the “Bartender Detective”!

Uncle Chen: But that guy has already noticed how I had detectives follow him. He called me just now to ridicule me.

Uncle Chen: He’s definitely already prepared thoroughly. If you go now...

Xia Yan: Don’t worry. I actually think that this is exactly something we can use.

Bar Street

Xia Yan and I went towards the most popular bar on the bar street – “HOT&CLUB”. Even several tens of meters from the door, the music surging out from inside was still audible.

MC: According to the previous detective’s investigation, this is the borrower Cui Xu’s most-frequented bar.

MC: As soon as we submit an appeal, Cui Xu will receive a notice from court. He’s bound to be extremely careful – getting evidence will be very difficult.

Xia Yan: So we need to get evidence that he is left-handed before 12-o’clock tonight and then have Uncle Chen file an appeal.

Xia Yan: Cui Xu is a frequent guest of bars, and he’s very skilled at bar games like table tennis and darts.

Xia Yan: We can set up a situation to make contact with him, lead him into competing with me, and then collect materials with that.

MC: Competing?

When we were little, a relative bought a dartboard for Xia Yan and I. Unwittingly, Xia Yan then developed a habit of throwing darts to clear up his mind when thinking.

MC: Your darts technique is pretty good, but competing…

MC: And do you know how to play table tennis?

Xia Yan: Of course. Plus, I’ve never encountered a worthy opponent these past few years!

Looking at my surprised expression, he smiled.

Xia Yan: My work requires me to get in and out of all sorts of situations. If I want to be freely adaptable to changes, I naturally need to know a bit of everything.

Relaxing, I nodded. Since Xia Yan said that there are no problems, there will definitely be no problems. Thus, I changed focus, starting to think about ways to lead on Cui Xu.

MC: For Cui Yuan to be able to forge handwriting, he must have high anti-reconnaissance awareness.

MC: If we’re too deliberate with leading Cui Xu to compete with you, we’d instead arouse his suspicions.

Xia Yan: We have to make it deliberate.

Xia Yan winked.

Xia Yan: Cui Xu just called Uncle Chen to provoke him – he’s quite arrogant.

Xia Yan: What would he be like if he saw a deliberate and third-rate trap?

MC: So you plan to use this detail about him to perform a bout of “the mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it”?

Xia Yan: That’s right.

MC: Then I feel like this plan can be optimized some more.

Xia Yan: How do you want to optimize it?

MC: I’ll be the “cicada”.

HOT&CLUB

Xia Yan and I walked into HOT&CLUB. The sound of drums was deafening, and the dazzling lights roved over the bodies of the dancing guys and girls. Xia Yan embraced my shoulders, guarding me within the crook of his arm. We walked in the sea of people while looking for Cui Xu.

MC: Found him – he’s over there.

I was just about to head over when Xia Yan suddenly tugged my wrist.

MC: Don’t worry, Great Detective.

MC: I’ve often done this level of acting before when going to get evidence – I won’t expose us.

Xia Yan: I know.

Xia Yan smiled, slowly letting go of my wrist.

Xia Yan: I just wanted to tell you that I’ll always be behind you, where you can see me just by turning around.

MC: Mhmm!

-- I faked an expression like something unexpected had happened and walked towards the bar counter, sitting down on the spot beside Cui Xu. I first looked for the busy bartender on the other side, then, as I flipped through the drinks menu, sneakily looked over the other guests’ cocktails at the bar counter.

Cui Xu: Is this the young lady’s first time at a bar?

MC: Uh… it is. You can tell?

Cui Xu: Of course. Just now, you were looking all over the place, with an expression like you were at a complete loss.

Cui Xu: Are you waiting for a friend?

MC: I was stood up by someone, so I came into the bar to pass some time.

Cui Xu: It’s such a waste for such a pretty face to be spent on anger. Here, I’ll treat you to a drink.

MC: I’m not too great with drinking alcohol – I’m just afraid of getting drunk right after finishing.

MC: I’ve heard that there are a lot of games in bars, and I’d like to try them first.

Without changing my tone or expression, I guided my conversation with Cui Xu, turning the topic to what Xia Yan said earlier – an activity that could expose that he was left-handed.

MC: I’ll probably not bother with dancing… too tired.

MC: Working every day is already so tiring. It’s hard enough to get an opportunity to relax, so I’d prefer a quiet and interesting game.

MC: Table tennis does look pretty cool, but there are too many people over there…

Cui Xu: Then how about darts?

MC: (That’s exactly it!)

I faked an ignorant expression.

MC: Ah, darts… I’ve seen darts competitions on television before, but I don’t really know how to play.

Cui Xu: No worries, I’ll teach you. My dart skills are the real deal.

As Cui Xu said this, he compared his thumbs, then stood up, leading me to the other end of the bar counter – where the dart machine was. I turned back, looking at Xia Yan, and he nodded at me.

PART 4

HOT&CLUB

Cui Xu: Right, you haven’t ordered anything since you came to the bar, yeah?

As Cui Xu spoke, he handed me a glass of “iced red tea”. The orange liquid was embellished with lemon slices, ice cubes, and mint leaves – bright and beautiful.

Cui Xu: I’ll treat you.

Cui Xu: This is a non-alcoholic cocktail, with a taste like iced red tea. It very much suits girls.

MC: Whoa, it looks very pretty. I can’t even bear to drink it.

MC: (As if anyone would believe it really is “iced red tea”…)

I hadn’t even been able to refuse it yet when Xia Yan’s voice sounded behind me.

Xia Yan: Using a Long Island iced tea to trick girls – that’s way too tasteless.

Cui Xu: Tch…

Cui Xu “hmph”-ed coldly, turned around, and slowly looked over Xia Yan.

Cui Xu: What nonsense are you talking about? Wanna start something?

Xia Yan: How could this be considered wanting to start something?

Xia Yan: This is a bar, after all. You’re not the only one who wants to strike up a conversation with a beautiful lady.

Xia Yan: Although, my method of striking up a conversation is – to find an opportunity, and to act handsome.

Smiling, Xia Yan sent a glance over to me, his expression reckless and brash. I, who had just led Cui Xu through the plan skillfully and easily, felt at a loss for a moment.

MC: …!

Xia Yan casually took the darts in my hand. His fingertips brushed over the back of my hand, somewhat rough and slightly warm. The dart spun in his fingertips, looking like a flower, becoming a sharp tip in flight. Xia Yan looked at Cui Xu across from it, his expression very provoking.

Xia Yan: How about we compete in a round?

Cui Xu poked at his eyebrow, then disdainfully sounded out a “heh”.

Cui Yuan: “501”, double entry.

Xia Yan: Sure.

After he finished speaking, Xia Yan no longer bothered with Cui Xu. He turned around to “strike up a conversation” with me.

Xia Yan: Beautiful lady, do you know how points are recorded in dart competitions?

MC: Uh… I’ve seen a few competitions.

MC: The dartboard is split into a total of 20 divisions. Accordingly, the numbers on the dartboard are all different. Each are marked from 1 to 20 points.

MC: The two narrow circles on the dartboard are individually for double and triple points. It’s like this, right?

Xia Yan: You’re pretty knowledgeable about it. What a pity – I’d wanted to give you an explanation.

MC: Hahaha…

MC: (When we were little, I saw you play it so many times and accompanied you in watching so many competitions. How could I not remember…)

MC: Then could I trouble you to explain “501” and “double entry”? I’m not too familiar with these…

Xia Yan: The so-called “double entry” game requires you to hit the double-point area to start recording points, and it requires you to hit the double-point area to win the competition.

Xia Yan: As for “501”, each person’s starting points are 501 points. The accumulated points increase or decrease based on the dart throws.

Xia Yan: Each game has 20 rounds, and you can throw 30 darts in one round. The first person to lower their points to 0 is the winner.

MC: 20 rounds? So won’t you have to throw 60 darts?

Cui Xu: How could we let the beautiful lady wait that long! Nine darts is enough.

MC: Nine darts?

Cui Xu: This is the fastest, and simultaneously the hardest, way to win a dart competition – “Nine dart collection”.

Cui Xu walked behind the throwing line.

Cui Xu: Using nine darts is just three rounds to take the points from the original 20 rounds.

Cui Xu: The world’s first double entry nine dart collection was achieved on October 8, 2011, at the World Darts Championship’s semi-finals.

Cui Xu: Brendan Dolan vs. James Wade.

Cui Xu: Back then, the score count that Brendan Dolan achieved in the first round was –

He threw out a dart –

Cui Xu: D20.

Bam! – The dart stably struck the 20-point double point area.

Cui Xu: And then – T20, twice.

Following Cui Xu’s voice, two darts successively struck the 20-point triple point area. He turned around, raised his chin at Xia Yan, his lips curving upwards in a completely taunting way.

MC: …

Xia Yan met Cui Xu’s gaze indifferently and just laughed. He walked up to the throwing line and held up the dart very casually.

Though Xia Yan had said before that he had never met a worthy opponent until today, the skill Cui Xu just showed…

MC: (No, Xia Yan is definitely even more amazing.)

I silently stayed firm with this belief in my heart. Suddenly, a whistle sounded not far from me.

Xia Yan: Beautiful lady, why are you zoning out?

MC: !!!

Maybe it was because Xia Yan had poked at my focus on my worries, maybe it was this frivolous tone of his, but my heart was suddenly in a panic. I met Xia Yan’s gaze – in his expression, there was a defiance and brashness I had never seen before.

Xia Yan: If you don’t watch me, then no matter how handsome I look when winning, it would be all pointless.

The roving lights in the bar dyed Xia Yan’s figure with a hint of unruliness. In this moment, this figure that I was unmatchably used to… seemed to be somewhat unfamiliar.

Xia Yan’s mouth hooked upwards.

Xia Yan: Just like that. Don’t look away.

MC: …

Xia Yan’s voice seemed to carry a strange magnetic force, sucking my gaze to his body with no way to look away. Only then did he smile and return his gaze to the dartboard.

Xia Yan: If you want to pay respects to the classics, then be more thorough.

Xia Yan: Back then, the positions of Brendan Dolan’s first round of darts were –

Xia Yan: D20, in the middle, leaning left.

Xia Yan: T20, right.

Xia Yan: T20, left.

Three darts consecutively flew from Xia Yan’s hands.

Bam bam bam – the darts plunged stably into the positions he just mentioned. Cui Xu held back the taunting on his face.

Cui Xu: … Kind of interesting.

Cui Xu: Looks like we can play a little high today.

With a flick of his right thumb, the darts were thrown high into the air. Right after, his left hand grabbed in the air, and the darts smoothly slid between his fingers, a cycle of points between his five fingertips.

MC: …!

Here it is – I held on my phone, silently opening the video screen. The second round started, and Cui Xu stood again behind the throwing line. He threw faster and more precisely with his left hand than with his right – the areas that the three darts successively fell stably into were – T20, T20, T20. Right after, the third round – T20, T20, Bullseye. After the three rounds, Xia Yan and his opponent had completely struck off 501 points.

But we already got our evidence.

MC: (Awesome! Next, we need to remind Uncle Chen to submit an appeal.)

Cui Xu: Now, don’t you need to find an excuse to leave and have the old man submit an appeal, beautiful lady?

Cui Xu fiddled with the darts in his hands, looked at us, seeming to smile, but also seeming to not smile.

Cui Xu: It must have been that old man who had you two search for evidence off of me.

Cui Xu: He really knows how to make trouble – even found two detectives.

Cui Xu: Did you two think that I would relax my guard just because today’s the last day of the appeal validity period? Haha.

He took out his phone, waving it in front of Xia Yan’s and my faces – 0:10.

Cui Xu: 10 minutes past midnight. The time to appeal has already passed.

Cui Xu: Your dart throwing was pretty good, but I won.

Just as Cui Xu finished speaking, we heard Xia Yan laugh lightly.

Xia Yan: They didn’t set up a clock in the bar because they wanted to let guests forget about the meaning of time after coming in.

Xia Yan: So if you want to look at the time, you’d rely on your phone.

Xia Yan took out his own phone, tapping at it a few times. Cui Xu’s phone screen suddenly blacked out, and in two seconds, the numbers on it had changed from 0:10 to 23:30.

Xia Yan: But things like phones are way too easy to hack.

Xia Yan: The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it.

Xia Yan: The people executing a ruse aren’t just you alone.

Cui Xu: You rascal!

Cui Xu’s complexion suddenly paled, and he rushed at Xia Yan.

Bang! Xia Yan raised his arm – I couldn’t see his movements at all, I just saw Cui Xu directly tumbling over in the space between us.

Cui Xu: Ahh!

PART 5

Street

After, Xia Yan immediately contacted Uncle Chen to have him submit an appeal online.

Xia Yan: Alright, smoothly resolved!

Xia Yan: Let’s head back. It’s nearly zero-o’clock, and the New Year’s Eve activities at Uncle Chen’s place –

When he mentioned Bar L, Xia Yan suddenly stopped.

MC: What’s up?

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan carefully looked at me a few times, his expression evasive – just like how he was at Bar L, when I asked him exactly if he had been at the bar on that rainy day. I couldn’t resist laughing.

MC: Are you afraid that I’ll ask you about… if you were at the bar that rainy day?

MC: Alright, I won’t ask anymore.

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan froze for a few seconds.

Xia Yan: Weren’t you really curious before…

MC: I’m still pretty curious now. But…

I looked towards Xia Yan and smiled.

MC: Everyone has matters that they don’t want to tell others.

MC: This is especially so after we grow up.

The closer people are, the harder it is to talk about certain matters, so a lot of people choose to go to bars to talk to strangers. Though in the past, Xia Yan and I were always so familiar that we were like a single person without any secrets between us, we’ve now grown up. After growing up, there will be boundaries. Forcing him to tell me his thoughts and forcing him to accept my help were also a sort of wrong. If I were to question him in the pestering way like when we were little, it would be a severely EQ-lacking action.

MC: …

MC: I’m sorry. Earlier at Bar L, I even questioned you…

MC: I didn’t realize at that time…

Before, Xia Yan urged me to not join NXX, but after I made my determination known, he respected my decision. This time as well – he clearly would have been fine on his own, but he considered my thoughts and let me help out. Xia Yan has always considered me, and has always respected my decisions. I’m all too clear on this mindset of his.

So, even if he had some things that he didn’t want to tell me, what’s the big deal?

Though it was just like before – as long as I kept trying, Xia Yan would not reject me – the more it was like this, the more I had to have a sense of measure. Otherwise, I’d put him in a difficult position.

MC: In the future, for anything that isn’t easy for you to talk about, I –

Xia Yan: It’s not like that!

Xia Yan suddenly grabbed onto my hand, holding it with force, his hands grasping my knuckles.

Xia Yan: There’s nothing that’s inconvenient for you to ask.

Xia Yan: Whether it’s the whiskey matter, or the rainy day matter – you can ask about anything you want to know about.

Xia Yan: None of my matters are inconvenient for you to ask about.

Xia Yan: There is no boundary between us.

MC: Xia Yan…

Suddenly, he seemed to have become aware that he was holding my hand with too much force, and hurriedly released it.

Xia Yan: Sorry, I held your hand with too much force… I probably hurt you.

Xia Yan looked at me, his gaze trembling slightly.

He went silent for several seconds, and finally, slowly opened his mouth.

Xia Yan: I…

Xia Yan: I just… was embarrassed to tell you…

Xia Yan: I didn’t want to let you know… that I once wanted to avoid you.

MC: Avoid me?

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: I was afraid that I would bring… trouble to you.

Xia Yan looked at me, his eyes full of guilt and unease.

MC: Was it because of the NXX issue? At that time, you had already started investigating related events yourself, right?

MC: Were you afraid that meeting me would get me involved in danger?

Xia Yan didn’t respond, like he was agreeing silently.

I tugged on Xia Yan’s arm, having him face me wholly.

MC: What relation do we have between us?

MC: Even if there’s danger, I want to face it with you.

MC: If on some day in the future, you truly encounter a hard problem that I can’t accompany you in facing, then I’ll wait for you to return.

MC: Remember this well – everything about you isn’t trouble to me. It all has extraordinary significance!

Xia Yan: …

As we spoke, snowflakes like little diamonds fell down from the sky, one landing precisely on Xia Yan’s eyelash. His pupil seemed to flicker with a small light.

Xia Yan: Mm, I’ll remember it.

MC: You also have to remember that, compared to trouble, compared to danger, compared to anything else, what I fear more is that you… won’t be here.

MC: Where you are by yourself, if you’re living alright, if there are things upsetting you, if there are people who can share your burdens… I’ll be very worried…

MC: So you must promise me, from now and in the future, you can’t think about escaping from me again.

I looked firmly at Xia Yan, putting on an imposing manner like if I didn’t hear a definite answer, I would swear to not give up. Xia Yan looked at me and laughed lightly.

Xia Yan: I swear, now and in the future, I will never think about escaping from you again.

Xia Yan: I will do all I can to always, always accompany you.

Xia Yan spoke unusually solemnly – even more solemnly than I had expected. His clear eyes reflected the fluttering snowflakes.

MC: …

MC: That’s right!

MC: In the future, even if you want to escape to the ends of the world, I’ll still drag you back!

Xia Yan: Yep, I have no doubts about that!

Bong bong bong –

The bell from the clock striking zero-o’clock sounded. Innumerable brightly-colored fireworks lit up the faraway night sky for a while.

MC: It’s zero-o’clock!

Xia Yan: I’m sorry – blame me for taking up time.

Looking somewhat upset, Xia Yan looked at the fireworks in the faraway night sky.

Xia Yan: What do you want to do now? There should still be some final New Year’s Eve activities going on at Uncle Chen’s place, although it’ll take some time for us to rush there.

Xia Yan: Or we could go to the center plaza to look at the fireworks show? It’ll be closer that way.

MC: Mm… forget it, I don’t want to go to either place now.

MC: I feel like it would be pretty nice if we passed New Year’s Eve here.

Innumerable fireworks in the distance soared up, then fell down. Xia Yan’s and my spot definitely could not be considered a suitable viewing location, but I felt extremely happy. Compared to how you pass New Year’s Eve, what’s more important is who you spend New Year’s Eve with. At this moment, I really just wanted to stay like this with only Xia Yan for a little while longer.

MC: Xia Yan, how about we just slowly walk a bit back to Uncle Chen’s place?

Xia Yan: Sure. Here, give me your hand.

Xia Yan held my hand in his, putting them together into his coat pocket. Just like it had been every winter, his palms have always been so warm – holding his hand was like holding a little sun.

Xia Yan: Alright, Xia Yan-brand hand warmers have turned on!

Xia Yan: Now we can go.

MC: Wait a bit, Xia Yan.

I haven’t said my New Year’s blessings to Xia Yan yet.

> Happy New Year! May you be happy every day. > May everything go your way and you accomplish everything you set your heart to.

MC: Xia Yan! Happy New Year! For this new year, may you be happy every day!

Xia Yan: With your blessings, I’m sure that I’ll be happy every day for this year.

Xia Yan: You too – Happy New Year. May you be happy every day.

MC: With a Xia Yan-brand little sun, is it even possible for me to be unhappy?

Xia Yan: You’re absolutely correct! I’ll definitely ensure that you are completely happy every day!

> Happy New Year! May you be happy every day. > May everything go your way and you accomplish everything you set your heart to.

MC: Xia Yan! For this new year, may everything go your way and you accomplish everything you set your heart to!

Xia Yan: I’ve already accomplished what I’ve set my heart to.

MC: Huh?

Xia Yan: You too - for this new year, may everything go your way and you accomplish everything you set your heart to.

PART 6

Bar L

Xia Yan and I returned to Bar L. Xia Yan said he had to do some cleanup on the video, so he had me wait a bit at the bar counter. Not long after, I heard the sound of familiar footsteps behind me.

MC: You were pretty… fast?

I angled my head around, seeing Xia Yan, now in full bartender attire.

MC: Xia Yan, this is?

Xia Yan: Several months ago, I disappointed a certain very important guest because of my error.

Xia Yan: So I made a request of Uncle Chen just now…

Xia Yan: To let me become that guest’s exclusive bartender tonight to properly make it up to her.

Xia Yan: Alright, young lady, what would you like to drink?

MC: For this, I’ll have to think carefully about it!

I pondered for a moment.

MC: I heard earlier from the owner of this place that you have a liquor that very much suits you.

MC: I’d also like to request this handsome bartender to prepare a cocktail that suits me best!

Xia Yan: It’s a task with some difficulty.

Xia Yan: But as your exclusive bartender, I will definitely satisfy you.

Xia Yan: Please wait a moment.

Xia Yan placed a cocktail glass in front of me, then took a bottle of wine from the wine shelf.

Xia Yan: First, pour the chocolate liqueur into the wineglass.

Xia Yan: Then, gently float a layer of fresh cream on top of the liqueur.

Following the back of the spoon, the fresh cream slowly infused itself in the glass’s contents. Right after, Xia Yan stuck a cocktail pin through a dark red cherry, stacking it on the glass rim.

Xia Yan: Angel’s Kiss – please try it.

MC: What a romantic name – why is it called that? Is it because the cherry is like a pair of lips?

Xia Yan: There’s another important reason.

Xia Yan: Young lady, please take the cocktail pin and soak the cherry into the liqueur, then gently take it out.

Complying with his words, I dipped the cherry into the liqueur, then took it out. The cocktail stirred up, and the fresh cream floated into swirls, like a small pair of lips.

Xia Yan: This is the Angel’s Kiss.

Xia Yan: It’s said that after drinking it, an angel will transfer your thoughts to the person you care about.

Xia Yan: I feel like this is the cocktail that suits you best.

Xia Yan’s voice became unusually gentle.

MC: …

After finishing his work, Xia Yan went into the bar’s inside room to change clothes. Completely concealed behind the door, Uncle Chen faced the girl waiting at beside the bar counter.

Uncle Chen: Angel’s Kiss – just like Cupid’s arrow, shot into the hearts of lovers.

Uncle Chen looked at Xia Yan, smiling meaningfully.

Uncle Chen: On an important day, if you drink a glass of Angel’s Kiss, the god of love will definitely transmit your feelings to the person you yearn for day and night.

Uncle Chen: It really is a drink that’s extremely well suited for her.

Xia Yan: …

Uncle Chen: I’ve been thinking all day about the conditions that she came in for the first time, at the beginning of the year.

[Flashback]

The beginning of the year…

The noisy sounds of rain were shut outside by the heavy oak door. When guests pushed open the door to come in, the clamminess of water vapor blew in.

Uncle Chen: There are quite a lot of guests on rainy days. You’ve really worked hard.

Xia Yan: You’re looking at this as an outsider – I don’t feel like I’ve worked hard at all.

As they spoke, the oak door was opened again.

Xia Yan: There’s another guest coming –

Xia Yan: …!

It was [MC]. Even if they were separated by a room full of guests, even if it was just a back view, he could still recognize that figure easily.

Uncle Chen: What’s wrong, Little Xia? Do you know that girl?

Xia Yan’s mouth lightly trembled, out of his control.

Xia Yan: I’m sorry, Uncle Chen…

Xia Yan: Can I trouble you to serve this guest…

Xia Yan hastily left the bar counter.

Uncle Chen: …

Uncle Chen looked deeply at the girl by the door. She had just closed the door and was turning around, walking to the bar counter.

After closing that day, Xia Yan carried out closing tasks in behind the bar counter. After everything was properly tidied up, he slowly sat down behind the bar counter, looking at that empty seat in front of him.

Xia Yan: …

Hearing footsteps behind him, Xia Yan swiftly stood up.

Xia Yan: Uncle Chen, I’ve completely tidied up this area. If there’s nothing else, then I’ll leave first.

Uncle Chen: Wait a bit, Little Xia.

Uncle Chen called out to Xia Yan and held up the whiskey in his hand.

Uncle Chen: If you don’t have anything to deal with for the next while, how about accompanying me in drinking a glass?

Uncle Chen: I’d like to invite you to help me try this bottle of alcohol.

Uncle Chen poured the whiskey into two glasses, then handed a glass to Xia Yan. Xia Yan took a light sip.

Xia Yan: The taste is very good, and the texture is extremely gentle.

After hearing this, Uncle Chen smiled.

Uncle Chen: Every time I drink it, I’ll think about the taste that this batch of whiskey had right after brewing.

Uncle Chen: It was completely different from now. Its texture was very spicy, its aroma was average – it could be considered a complete failure.

Uncle Chen: I didn’t think that after some time, the taste would become good.

Uncle Chen: So, if a matter hasn’t reached an end, one cannot give up, because the possibility of unexpected opportunities will always exist.

Xia Yan: …

Uncle Chen gave a wooden box to Xia Yan.

Uncle Chen: Wine and life are both like this.

[Flashback end]

Uncle Chen faced the girl at the bar counter, then turned his gaze back to Xia Yan.

Uncle Chen: There’s actually another saying about whiskey.

Xia Yan: You really have a lot of sayings for your alcohol.

Uncle Chen: Even if it’s the same kind of wine, it will have different meanings to different guests.

Uncle Chen: Someone who can deliver drinks to guests that are most suited for them is qualified to be a bartender.

Xia Yan: Then what do you want to say this time?

Uncle Chen: Hemingway once said: “There are two matters that you must absolutely not hesitate about. You must do them immediately.”

Uncle Chen: “Kiss a beautiful girl, or open a bottle of whiskey.”

Xia Yan: … Thank you.

Xia Yan tilted his head towards the person who was waiting for him at the bar counter. She was freely looking over the various kinds of alcohol behind the counter with interest.

Xia Yan: I need to wait a bit longer to open that whiskey bottle.

Xia Yan: I’ll wait until there are no impurities at all. I’ll wait until the day when I truly have no secrets from her.

Xia Yan: At that time, I will open it without hesitation.

-END-

#tot translation #tears of themis #weiding shijian bu #未定事件簿 #xia yan #夏彦 #I know nothing about darts #so there’s a 99.99% chance that the dart terminology is all wrong #anyways #Pls I can’t #I love xia yan so much #happy new year #!!

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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boundgodling · 3 years

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L'manburg; Finishing Wilbur's Unfinished Symphony

A Historical Essay-S2

L’manburg, the second oldest nation within the Dream SMP, has been blown up thrice, and betrayed many times more. Too many betrayals, and in this season, too many new nations and alliances formed. And all over that, the Crimson is creeping into our lives, and into the bodies of many others. In this essay, I will, to the best of my ability, explain and analyse every action that the members of the Dream SMP have done, and attempt to predict the future of the next season, as Wilbur’s unfinished symphony is finally completed by three people and an unexpected alliance.

One thing I did not mention in my last essay was the 3 lives system. If one SMP member dies 3 times, or their chosen amount of lives, they ‘permadeath’ in the game, dying as if in real life. However, the death only counts as a ‘canon’ death if it was important to the plotline, dividing the deaths into ‘canon deaths’ and ‘respawnable deaths’. The current death counter of the time of writing (17/1/2021) can be found at the end of the essay, and the current death counter can be found on the Dream SMP Wiki.

New L’manburg is the nation of Manburg. But, you may remember that Manburg was blown up by Wilbur Soot, with underground nukes and bombs. However, the presidency of Tubbo_, along with Quackity and many others repaired the nuked mess of Manburg to a new nation, and gave it a new shine and charm. TommyInnit also helped rebuild, although he was more for fun than helping.

New L’manburg was also the home of several new members. In fact, following the tradition of the war periods before, 6 new members had joined the server, just like every other period following the wars before.

The new members were Ph1lza Minecraft, ConnorEatsPants, CaptainPuffy, Vikkstar123, LazerBeam and Ranboo. Many of these members play an important part in the later storyline.

After Schlatt’s funeral, Quackity took the remains of Schlatt, eating his heart during the drunk party, but kept all 5 of the bones. With these items, Quackity believes he could revive Schlatt from the dead, as Schlatt still had 1 canon life left.

Tommy and Ranboo burnt down GeorgeNotFound’s house together, but when taken to trial by the government, Tommy covered for Ranboo, due to Ranboo forgetting the event because of endermen memory loss. Yet, this event gave Dream an excuse to manipulate Tubbo and Tommy, and by extension the people of L’manburg. He threatened New L’manburg’s freedom, building obsidian walls around New L’manburg, and only agreed to take the walls down if Tommy was exiled and banished from his nation once more, under the justification of ‘removing rebels from your (Tubbo’s) nation.’

Tubbo, for the sake of his nation’s independence and his people’s freedom, decided to exile Tommy, disuniting the clingy duo. Dream took Tommy in a boat to a new plains biome, that no one had been before, and Ghostbur followed along. You see, the terms of Tommy’s exile was to leave to somewhere that was nowhere near civilization at all.

During Tommy’s time of exile, Dream played the part of a ‘friend’. He would manipulate Tommy into thinking he had no friends other than Dream, and even planned a beach party with Tommy, only to destroy the invites afterwards. Dream also destroyed Tommy’s armor and tools after the dusk of everyday.

One day, Tommy stored some armor and tools in a secret base under his house. Dream, however, when destroying his stuff with TNT found the stash. At this point in history, Tommy had tried to suicide many times, as he only had one life remaining (see 3 Lives System) through jumping into lava in the nether. Dream, however, stopped him. We can consider the reasons and motives of why Dream, the puppeteer of the server, decided to stop him from dying.

One possible reason is that if Dream wanted to keep Tubbo and therefore the rest of the server not within the lands of The Greater SMP Nation. Dream has been cutting away at everything with meaning to him, as if cutting the strings and ropes that held him down.

Another important thing to remember is that Dream swapped sides just before the Manburg-Pogtopia war, because of something Schlatt gave Dream before his heart attack/stroke killed him. But, on the topic of Schlatt, he hasnt burnt through all his lives. The Manburg Festival firework death, and his heart attack/stroke leaves him with one life remaining, although we’ll talk more about this later.

That special something was a written book. But, Dream said that the book didn't contain any ‘war” information. So, what could have that book contained? We know it wasn't a simple joke, as Dream isn't playing around and wouldn't give up his position on the winning side for a joke; this is evident in him cutting all attachment to him, removing his friends, and ignoring the leather of his dead horse Spirit.

It couldn't be a hint to the third disk in Tommy’s possession; everyone knows it is in his enderchest, safe. I believe it was a book of information(see Schlatt’s book), causing Dream to become self-aware. Dream’s motives were always evil, but self-awareness could have made him more cautious, or be able to carry out these plans more efficiently. Self-awareness did not make Dream evil though, as he was aiming to destroy the people of L’manburg from the start, a tyrant like the ones Technoblade swears to destroy.

Back to Tommy, his last stint at Logstedshire, the plains biome, named by Ghostbur, Tommy tried to kill himself again, after Dream blowing his stuff up again, this time from jumping off a height that would surely kill him. However, he changed his mind half jump, and landed in a pool of water, breaking his fall. The tall one-block wide tower, however, remained.

Tommy left Logstedshire, and ran his way, over many days, to his old ally, Technoblade’s house. He lived there, stealing from Techno for food and supplies.

During this time where most fans focused on Tommy and Dream’s exile shenanigans, BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, Skeppy and CaptainPuffy discovered an egg in Bad’s statue room. The egg was red and crimson in colour, and gained the nickname of The Crimson. Some ‘vines’ composed of red blocks also spread from the egg. Bad showed Dream and Awsamdude the egg, and told them to touch it, saying that it would make them feel good. Dream and Sam seemed repulsed to the egg, however.

The egg has been proven to be able to corrupt minds, as when Puffy touched it later, she became more greedy and self-centred. The egg can also control certain minds, such as Skeppy’s, to become protective or attached to the egg. Ponz found a small piece of red vine in his base, and became attached to it, calling it ‘Lil Red’. Bad protected the egg, and Skeppy just wanted to stay with it, even after knowing the risks.

Bad and Ant, both manipulated by the egg, spread the vines to different parts of the server through placing crimson nylium, which would pass on the crimson vines. But, those affected by crimson and the crimson itself had a couple of weaknesses. Holy water from Church Prime(also see Twitch Prime) would remove the corruption from the corrupted and controlled, and kill the crimson it was put on. Soul flames, similar to the fires lit on soul sand or soul soil, would burn the crimson vines. However regular fires do not work. Also, the uniforms from Church Prime acts similar to hazmat suits when examining the egg.

After Sam removed the corruption from Bad, Ant and Puffy, he explained the above weaknesses to the group. Sam had been researching the crimson this whole time. Skeppy, however, due to prolonged contact with the egg, was not able to be ‘cleansed’ of the egg’s corruption.

Philza was put under house arrest after the government discovered him helping a fugitive: Technoblade. A compass leading to Techno’s house was discovered in a chest of Philza’s house, and a branch of the government named The Butcher Army decided to take one of Technoblade’s canon lives, although Techno had decided not to be destructive or make any threats towards New L’manburg.

The Butcher Army ventured to the tundra, and told Technoblade he was under trial. Of course, Techno refused to be arrested, and he fought off the army until Quackity took Techno’s horse, Carl and threatened Carl’s life. Techno then agreed to go to trial, as long as his horse didn't get hurt.

When they returned to New L’manburg, it was revealed that it was not a trial, but an execution for Techno’s previous war crimes of spawning withers. However, Technoblade managed to escape with Dream and Punz’s help (Punz being hired as hitman by Dream), and Techno now owes Dream a favor.

Technoblade discovered Tommy living in his house after a couple of days, and offered him an ultimatum: either side with him, or die in the freezing cold of the snow tundra. Tommy chose the former, and the alliance between the two was formed, only because Tommy desired to get back his disks to stop the conflict.

Tubbo once ventured to Logstedshire, and saw Tommy’s tower, and believed that Tommy had killed himself, and was dead. But, this next point of conflict will end the sadness around Tubbo’s death, and start a new bout of angst.

The two ventured to L’manburg a couple of times, but the main focus of these travels was the final trip together. They were confronted by 20 people at the blown up community house, with no knowledge of what was going on.

It turns out, Dream found out that the oldest structure on the server, the community house, was blown up by ‘Tommy’. To everyone’s knowledge, no one else would do it other than Tommy, yet Tommy had no motive to do so. So everyone believed Dream, until Tommy and Techno showed up. Dream was building back up the obsidian walls to prevent L’manburg from having freedom. Tubbo and the other members of the cabinet were protesting, but Dream being the powerful entity, ignored them.

Techno was willing to fight all 20+ people at the meeting, but Tommy turned sides and joined Tubbo and the government in uniting L’manburg, ignoring the disks. Techno, Philza, who had left his house, and Dream decided to unite and destroy the government; and not just setting bombs under L’manburg, they wanted to make it so that nothing could rise up again.

On the final day(6/1/2021), Technoblade, Dream and Philza bombed L’manburg with TNT droppers from the sky, and destroyed the whole country. Many people see L’manburg as running out of canon lives (see L’manburg in the glossary). Niki, against the government but not necessarily an Anarchist, burnt down the L’manburg Tree, also known as the L’mantree or the L’tree. She then said one of the main lines, ‘It was never meant to be.’

Technoblade spawned in approximately 11 withers, and blew up the Bee House first. His hound army also helped with thinning out the crowd. However, none of the deaths counted as canon during this time.

Yet, there is one thing to remember: Dream didn't call in his favor from Technoblade, which will be important in the plot of season 3.

Without any information from season 3 leaking in, I believe that the favor Technoblade owes Dream will be used very well, and I hope that no one starts a new government, otherwise the Arctic Anarchists will come back to shut it down.

#dream smp #my writing #skye writes #how do i tag #someone tell me tags to add to this

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