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hualianff · 3 years

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More Than This VI 《V》

It’s no surprise XL gains his own taste of fame after walking the red carpet with one of the most sought-after actors in the country. He doesn’t mind it, going as far as to create a few social media accounts to interact with fans and scroll through their photos and edits of him. He has a few fan sites too, but only for fancy events where he chooses to be recognized in public.

XL and HC agreed before sharing their relationship with the public that they would maintain a strong sense of privacy when it came to their personal lives. They only share what they want to. The paparazzi who manage to take photos without permission are immediately disciplined so it doesn’t happen again.

(“I can’t believe you did it.”

“Hmm, Gege said he was okay with it.”

“I know! But I didn’t expect you to actually....” XL stares at a recent selfie of them HC had posted on his Twitter, taken the night HC won his award. “We look like we just had sex.”

“Nobody’s gonna know.”

XL raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his boyfriend. HC insists again.

“Nobody’s gonna know-”

“They’re gonna know,” XL says with a sigh, pointing to the hickey marks clearly visible on the photo. HC rolls over closer to XL in their bed, scrutinizing the image on XL’s phone.

“Oh, I didn’t see those when I posted the photo.”

“San Laaang!” XL cries, pushing at the taller man’s shoulder before burying his face into his pillow. HC makes XL breakfast in bed as an apology and promises to not drunk-post anything again.)

Eight months after officially dating–which is over two years since they met–HC asks XL to move in with him. XL doesn’t even need to think about his answer, a simple “Yes! Yes please!” escaping his lips. Both HC and XL’s faces light up with overjoyed smiles.

They seem to have had the same idea about where to live, purchasing a home they’ve been eyeing for months! The best aspects include a massive yard (front, side, and back) for XL to tend to, a hot tub, and a spacious living and dining room area to entertain guests. It’s not the grandest or most impressive residence by size or feature. In fact, the first months have them living in a half-finished, rusty house with the prettiest garden you’ve ever seen.

It gradually gets better. HC and XL knew they would have to do a lot of work to improve the shape of their home. Over the next year, they repair and remodel the house themselves, simultaneously adding value to the property and curating the style to fit their dream home. XL makes sure to post progress photos on his social media. His most recent selfie of HC and himself in hardware glasses got over 500k likes! He pinned HC’s comment that said, “Gege is my own very handyman!”

(HC, in a sleeveless tee, shorts that show off his ass, hair pulled back into a high bun: “Gege, you’re the boss now. Tell me what to do.”

XL, struggling not to gawk at HC’s side boobs: “O-okay, first, can you smash those cabinets-”

Cue them making out against the counter when it’s the only part of the kitchen that is fully done.)

***

Having a partner who considers the outdoors as a second home is a special experience. XL often takes HC on dates to national parks and plant nurseries. They go on weekend camping trips where XL teaches HC how to properly filter water, summit long stretches of terrain, and stay warm during cold nights with below-freezing temperatures.

(HC, trying to fit into XL’s sleeping bag: “Hi, gege-”

XL: “San Lang, you have your own sleeping bag that you can actually fit in.”

HC: ‘But I’m cold. Gege helps keep me warm.”

XL: “Fine. But let’s use yours because it’s bigger.”

HC, kissing XL’s forehead: “Thank you, my love.”)

On their hikes, XL points to different plants, explaining their origins and why he finds each one particularly beautiful. At first, HC picks up random flowers on the way home and then he asks XL about what flower fate gave him that day to gift his beloved. (“San Lang, that’s not allowed!”) HC eventually stores all the random facts in his mind, always eager to listen to XL talking about his passion. He also learns to keep his hands from digging up “poor, helpless plants from their home soil.”

However, this unfortunately doesn't prevent HC from accidentally squishing some plants in their yard that he thought were just weeds.

(HC, thinking he’s a good partner: “Get out, stupid weeds. CHOP CHOP!”

XL: “SAN LANG STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

HC: “Gege always works so hard. I just wanted to help you in the yard today because you deserve it.” 🥺

XL: *sigh* “I appreciate the gesture, San Lang. But those particular grasses took months to grow, and you just killed them-“)

***

Countless media outlets try to stir up trouble like they typically do with celebrities. Especially when HC has roles that involve romance, articles claiming HC and XL are on the brink of breaking up receive lots of attention. However, what gains more attention are the videos the couple posts on Youtube or Instagram live of their reactions to their “scandals.”

(XL, reading a headline: “Actor bachelor Hua Cheng and co-star Yushi Huang seem to be cozying up after a late-night shoot.’”

HC: “I’m not a bachelor, the fuck?”

XL, smiling: “You could be. Me as well. We can be bachelors together.”

HC, chuckling: “All right. If gege is, then so am I.”

The comments: “That doesn’t make any sense!?”

HC, reading another headline: “HC’s lover found with a mysterious third party??”

XL, exclaiming: “Oh, that’s Shi Qingxuan! You know, the designer for all our red carpet outfits!” 🥰🥰

HC: *nodding along*

XL, cheekily: “-and my secret second-lover”

HC: *blanches* “What.”

XL: “Kidding!!!! San Lang is the only one for me, hehe.” *kisses HC’s cheek* “Okay, next one!”)

Everyone watching the videos is 50% confused and 50% entertained as HC and XL make light of any drama the media portrays them in. Viewers accept that of course, the rumors aren’t true; HC and XL are still very much in love.

They’re in love with each other and will continue falling for many years to come.

***

HC doesn’t like watching himself on screen. However, he does enjoy previewing his own movies for the first time with his boyfriend.

While XL watches the new movie, HC observes XL’s reactions. It helps that XL is a conversational movie watcher too. XL’s narrations consist of horny comments during the sexual scenes (“Ooh, that’s hot. Nice tongue.” “Thank you?”), side remarks about the plot and characters (“San Lang, your character is very rude.” “...”), and dramatic reactions to the huge reveal scenes where HC becomes a human punch bag. (“Oh my goooosh, San Lang!! It was him all along- AHH!!”)

As a perfectionist, something you have to be in HC’s field of work, HC is incredibly self-critical of his performance. Which is another reason why it’s nice to have XL watch alongside with, who never has a shortage of praises for his boyfriend.

(HC: “Fuck, why did they leave this shot in the final? I’m supposed to be mourning for my dead lover but instead, I look like I’m crying out of daddy issues. Why did no one tell me!? It looks so bad-” *pointing to himself on the screen* “-stop looking so constipated-!”

XL, squeezing HC’s nape and massaging his shoulders: “San Lang, no one thinks that except for you. You did everything perfectly. Please acknowledge your hard work and just enjoy the movie.”

HC: *sigh* “You’re right. Okay. Thanks, gege.”

A beat of silence. HC cuddles closer to XL.

HC: “Love you.”

XL: “Love you too.”)

***

XL now knows HC’s movies well enough to quote HC’s lines in his movies to make him laugh. HC happily indulges him, questioning after breaking character, “Gege, are you sure I’m the actor out of the two of us?”

One time, HC and XL are in their kitchen re-enacting a scene with HC as the investigator going to a bartender for more information on his suspect. HC has XL caged against the counter, asking in a teasing manner, “How can I repay you for your help tonight?”

XL lowers his eyelids, looking up through his lashes, flawlessly depicting his character. “Any restrictions on your offer?”

“No, darling. Name a price, a brand, a desire. Right now, anything is on the table,” HC says huskily. XL slyly bites his lip.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

XL brings a hand up to cup HC’s jaw, then smooths it down his neck, traveling down his bare chest. XL tilts his head to expose his neck, wanting to build up his boyfriend’s anticipation. But before he can say his next line, HC effortlessly throws XL over his shoulder like a bag of rice.

“San Lang, wait, this is not how it went in the movie!” XL shouts, a little dizzy from the sudden lift turning him upside down. HC takes long strides to their bedroom, plopping XL on their mattress and blanketing him with his larger frame.

HC only utters a husky “we’re improvising” before diving down to devour XL’s lips. XL’s arms hook around HC’s neck, holding him impossibly close.

***

After a filming shoot where HC’s character gets beaten up–HC performing his own stunts–he heads home beyond exhausted. He just wants to take a relaxing shower and cuddle his boyfriend in their warm bed.

HC arrives at their house a little past midnight. He opens the door and finds XL’s back facing him, quietly humming a song as he takes care of the vase in the living room. The sight makes HC smile.

However, as XL turns around, the vase slips from his hands and explodes into pieces on the ground.

“San Lang! What happened to you!?” XL cries out, the panic in his voice only comparable to the day he had confessed. HC stands in the doorway confused. Was something wrong with his appearance?

XL is on him in an instant, his pupils shaking as he frantically asks, “Does it hurt a lot? What happened!?”

HC blinks, expression blank as he still doesn't understand what has freaked XL out. But as the shorter man gently caresses HC’s face, it suddenly hits him.

The make up!

HC urgently starts rubbing the fake bruises off his face. “Gege, I’m okay! It’s just make up, none of this is real. See?” He holds his hands out for XL to see as the pigment stains HC’s palms. “I’m so sorry! San Lang is dumb, he didn’t mean to make you worry,” HC murmurs as he takes XL between his arms. He really loves this man too much.

XL’s teary eyes shine glimmer as HC embraces him. “Y-you’re sure you’re okay?”

HC nods, leaning into the slender hand that cups his cheek.

“Thank goodness,” XL breaths out as he buries his face into HC’s neck. His next words are slightly muffled. “It looks…so realistic.”

“Yeah, the make up artists are all quite talented, aren’t they?”

XL clings tighter to HC.

“Very much so. Let’s shower so we can properly wash it off.”

“All right,” HC says. “Wait, we?”

XL tugs HC toward the master bathroom.

“Hush, let’s go.”

***

They lay in bed together after four long months of separation. Both of them had been in different parts of the country; HC filmed a drama series while XL traveled for several high-profile projects. Their respective busy work schedules limited communication to brief video chats and text messages, which never seemed enough.

Now, with his head resting on HC’s chest, their legs overlapping comfortably, XL finally feels like he’s where he belongs.

“Why did you choose me?”

Tactical fingers massage XL’s scalp, lulling him into a serene state of bliss. XL nuzzles further into his boyfriend-sized pillow.

“It’s not like I can choose who I fall in love with, Gege,” HC states with a light chuckle. “But if you want an answer, it’s because you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”

XL looks up at his boyfriend, mouth forming a shape of an O.

“That simple? Even when we made a deal to have no strings attached?” XL asks. HC groans at the reminder of their initial agreement.

“Yes, which was a dumb decision on my part.”

“I agreed to it too. We were both dumb.”

They are silent for a moment. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about or referenced their insecurities when it came to confessing their feelings. XL’s luck when it came to dating someone who could love him for every part of him was practically nonexistent. HC’s constant grappling for his self-identity and worth rendered most of his relationships superficial. And temporary.

Always temporary.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t like your plants though. They’re so pretty. And fascinating.” HC says, breaking the silence.

“They take up half our living room space.”

“So? You work with plants all day. They’re bound to be a part of your personal life as well.”

XL’s heart bursts with a sudden fondness. It’s a wonderful thing to be appreciated for the little things.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says happily. HC hums in response, sending vibrations to where XL’s cheek lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a famous actor for the first three months we…”

“Met up for sex?” HC finishes with an impish grin.

“Yes,” XL laughs.

“It was nice not to be recognized for once. With you, I could just be myself,” HC says with ease he never thought he would be able to do. He’s struggled with letting himself be vulnerable his whole life. It turns out, HC just had to find the right person. And thank god he did. XL is more than HC’s outlet from his career. He’s become HC’s closest friend who knows him the best; he is HC’s number one supporter in any endeavor he pursues; he makes HC feel important. XL sees and loves HC for who he is. No amount of fame or wealth could come close to comparison.

“Gege?”

“Hmm?”

“Does it ever bother you that my life is always everyone else’s business?” HC softly asks.

“Well, the fame can be a bit…uncomfortable,” XL admits. “But you’re an amazing actor. And a remarkable person. I can’t blame your fans for loving you so much, you know? I also got to ride in a limo-“

“Which you rode very well-”

XL flicks his boyfriend’s forehead.

“You’re so predictable.”

“You would’ve said the same thing given the chance. Don’t lie, gege.”

They go back and forth a little longer, never once creating unnecessary distance between each other as they roll around until they’re on their sides. Facing each other in their bed that’s been vacant for months, HC and XL are inseparable.

“As I was saying, fame is something that comes with your job–your passion. You can’t control it, nor does it solely characterize who you are. Besides, I get to be a part of your life! That’s all that really matters,” XL continues. He shifts forward so their bodies are closely pressed together. XL plants a kiss on HC’s chin, then whispers a confession that tilts HC’s entire world on its axis.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

HC’s world spins and spins until all that he sees is his beloved, gleaming brighter than all the galaxies without the power to disrupt their orbit. He wraps his arms around XL and kisses the top of his head.

“Me too, Gege.”

Bonus:

HC watches wearily as XL salivates at a showering scene where HC’s bare ass flashes in the frame. XL turns to HC with a serious look in his eyes.

“San Lang! Hiking has done your ass wonders.”

XL sneaks a grope to a meaty cheek. HC chokes.

***

“You can’t be late to your own premiere!” XL cries incredulously.

“Try me,” HC purrs into XL’s ear, delicately kissing the lobe.

XL gasps as teasing hands roam around his torso, one of them slipping down to cup his behind. He vaguely thinks about how SQX is expecting them in the next hour to help with their red carpet outfits. But when hungry lips attach to the sensitive column of his neck, XL is a goner.

“Gege doesn’t have to do any work. Just lay back and look pretty.”

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi!)

#tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #cerdrabbles #fluff #Actor HC #Landscaper XL #fine.

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muertawrites · 4 years

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Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning!

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water.

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives.

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible.

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self.

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression.

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.”

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought.

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.”

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image.

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best.

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.”

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.”

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind.

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.”

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.”

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it.

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.”

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you.

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.”

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.”

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.”

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience.

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?”

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks.

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.”

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage.

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond.

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.”

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return.

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??”

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back.

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.”

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly.

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.”

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.”

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips.

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.”

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely.

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.”

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does.

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers.

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer.

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.”

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you.

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.”

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board.

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response.

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…”

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him.

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move.

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?”

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.”

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his.

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.”

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask.

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient.

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.”

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely.

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.”

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…”

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.”

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her.

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple.

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

Private Time - Ch. 4

Klaine, 9k, A03, M

Yup, here’s another chapter...

Chapter 4: "... now you’re always taking up the washer with your nasty sheets, the hallway by Kurt’s room smells awful, and every single package from Amazon is just more lube!”

*****

It’s a Wednesday afternoon (or maybe Tuesday? Blaine isn’t sure, the days are blending together so much he can hardly tell, they’re months into quarantine by now) and he is sitting around the coffee table with Sam and Kurt playing What Do You Meme. It’s a dumb game even in the best of times, especially without the benefit of alcoholic beverages, but Sam just got the Game of Thrones expansion pack and he begged them to play. It’s not like they have better things to do.

Just as Kurt is complaining again about what to play for a Tyrion card (“he only has one expression, there’s no opportunity for creativity here”) Rachel comes down the stairs and plants herself in front of them, hands on her hips.

“I think we need to reconsider private time,” she announces, chin in the air.

Blaine’s brain (and a less rational part of his body) immediately sounds an alarm. This is serious. Since he and Kurt have gotten together, private time nights have been, without question, his favorite nights of the week, possibly of his life. There’s no way he can let Rachel do away with private time. He concentrates on keeping his face schooled to his most earnest choir boy expression. “Why, Rachel? What’s wrong?”

Rachel harrumphs and glares at him. Guess the innocent look didn’t work this time. “You know what’s wrong. All of you do.”

Sam, bless his heart, really doesn’t. “Do you need more time to practice? We could add another night. Friday, maybe?”

Rachel turns her glare to Sam. “No, we don’t need more private time.” She drops down onto the less ratty of the two armchairs with a dramatic flounce. “I didn’t think it would be so bad, living with three guys, since two of you are, you know, generally pretty well groomed and understand the critical importance of personal hygiene. And until lately you all seemed fairly well behaved about... stuff. But now you’re always taking up the washer with your nasty sheets, the hallway by Kurt’s room smells awful, and every single package from Amazon is just more lube!” Rachel’s voice cracks at this last bit, and she buries her head in her hands.

“That’s not true, Rachel, our last Amazon box had this new card game expansion pack-”

Rachel whips her head up and Sam falls silent. “Right, of course, how could I forget – and you were so excited you couldn’t even save it for game night.”

Blaine frowns. “We can save it for game night, Rach. When’s the next one?”

Rachel stands up and points her finger at Blaine, her freshly polished nails catching the light (the color is actually called “Teal the Cows Come Home,” although when Rachel did his toes with it earlier he pointed out that it’s a little too blue to properly be called teal). “Exactly!”

They all stay quiet as Rachel storms back up the stairs.

“I don’t even know when the next game night is,” Sam says, dragging his fingers through his blond hair. It’s gotten a bit long these past few months. Maybe Blaine will offer to trim it for him.

“I think that was her point, Sam.” Kurt rises from the lumpy couch and goes into the kitchen. Blaine and Sam trail after him, and they crowd together to look at the big calendar taped to the refrigerator. It is mostly filled with doodles and alcohol wish lists (“margaritas? Need limes/lemons/Sprite?”). Blaine has to look back two weeks to find a game night.

“Rachel’s feeling left out.” Blaine shifts his gaze to the other two, who quickly slam “not it” fingers on their noses. Blaine sighs. “I’ll go talk to her.”

*****

Blaine pauses outside Rachel’s door. There’s a shiny gold star with “Diva Sleeping” hanging from the doorknob, and it swings back and forth when he knocks.

“Who is it?”

Blaine stifles a laugh. There really aren’t that many possibilities.

“It’s Blaine. Do you want to go for a walk? It’s really nice outside. Sunny and almost seventy.”

“You always go running with Sam.”

This is true, although Blaine still wishes he could just go by himself sometimes. Alas, that is not to be, not if he wants to maintain roommate harmony in these crazy times. “Yeah, I know, but we could just go for a walk. Head over to campus, see what things look like these days.”

There’s a pause, and then a quiet “okay.”

Blaine turns to go back downstairs when Rachel sticks her head out of her door. “Blaine - what should I wear?”

“To go for a walk?”

Rachel narrows her eyes at him. “Yes, that’s what I said. Is this an exercise walk, or a…” she trails off, her eyebrows drawing together as she searches for the word.

“A stroll?” Blaine suggests. It sounds suitably Rachel-appropriate that it might cheer her up.

Rachel allows a little smile to tug at her mouth. “Yes. A stroll.”

“Which do you want it to be?”

Rachel looks back into her room, and Blaine knows she is considering her outfit choices. It’s fine, he gets this from Kurt all the time.

“I have a new dress I was going to wear for the music department’s spring awards ceremony…” She looks up at Blaine. “I hate that everything is cancelled.” The ongoing disappointment at everything they look forward to disappearing is hard to escape. Blaine knows how she feels.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Rachel nods, and then straightens her shoulders. “A stroll, then.” She gives Blaine a look that clearly indicates what she thinks of his sweatpants and old Dalton shirt. “You have to change too.”

“Obviously,” Blaine replies, smiling.

When they meet up downstairs a little while later, Blaine is quick to admire Rachel’s pretty pink dress and matching white tote bag adorned with pink and yellow daisies. Rachel beams, and praises Blaine as well (he’s got on a blue shawl neck sweater that he knows Kurt will enjoy petting later, over a pink button up and slim dove gray pants).

“Have a nice time,” Kurt says as they leave, giving Blaine an appreciate wink.

As soon as they get outside, Rachel does a little twirl on the sidewalk. She takes Blaine’s arm as they start off down the street. Blaine takes in a big breath of fresh air, and they exchange a pleased look. This was definitely a good idea.

There are quite a few blocks of residential neighborhood before they get to campus. As they get closer, the rickety multi-family buildings and student apartments give way to more respectable looking houses, interspersed with smaller university buildings. The atmosphere seems strange, though, as it always does these days. It’s definitely not normal without the expected traffic from cars and bicycles – there’s far less of that since everyone is working from home. Most classes are over by this point anyway, but it still seems odd without clusters of students hanging out and walking purposefully here and there.

At least the weather is starting to get better. New England doesn’t so much have spring as an extended winter followed by surprising sunshine in June.

They make their way through the law school campus, commenting on how the grass miraculously always looks green in the quad. The university is apparently still spending plenty of money on grounds keeping. At least it means some people still have jobs. Rachel lets out a melancholy sigh as they go past the music buildings. “It seems like forever since I practiced with a real piano.”

“I know,” Blaine says, squeezing her arm in sympathy. Then he gets an idea, and wonders why he hasn’t thought of it before. “I can play the piano, you know. I could accompany you on my keyboard, if you wanted. It might be fun, even if we’re just messing around.”

Rachel turns and gives him an appraising look. “Are you any good? Because I don’t want to waste my time if you’re not.”

Blaine isn’t even offended, it’s such a Rachel thing to say. “I am, I promise. But we can try it out and you can judge for yourself. No worries either way.”

Rachel nods. “Okay. Maybe when we get home.”

They pass the big science center and walk through the plaza, stopping for a minute to watch the fountain which sprays water over a bunch of big rocks. Usually this time of year there are tourists congregating here, but today it’s quiet, like everywhere else.

Blaine gets a whiff of what smells like curry, and he looks around to see that the tandoor food truck is pulled up in its usual space. “Looks like they’re doing call-ahead orders,” Blaine says.

“I would die for some biryani,” Rachel replies wistfully. “And veggie korma. They do such a good job with their vegetarian options. Do you think we could get take-out on our way back?”

“Sure. But we have to let Kurt disinfect the containers before we open anything.”

“Of course,” Rachel says, agreeing easily. They had some heated debates about take-out in the early days of the pandemic, with Blaine arguing that unless they put the food directly into their eyes there was no way for the virus to be transmitted, and Rachel going through a period of intense anxiety about anything that couldn’t itself be quarantined for three days, but after a few weeks their desire for pizza and hot wings won out. Kurt insisted, however, that he be the one to make sure that everything that came into the house was carefully cleaned before they touched it, and that everyone washed their hands before any actual eating commenced. No one objected. It’s been hard to find a balance between feeling safe and living their lives, but they’re doing their best.

Blaine and Rachel pass through a tall ornate metal gate and into the yard. There are a fair number of people here, spread out on the grass enjoying the mild weather. Blaine glances quickly at Rachel. “Do you want to sit for a while?”

She looks around. “It’s more crowded than I imagined it would be.”

“Amazing how quickly we’ve adjusted to the idea that people are dangerous,” Blaine says. He knows how she’s feeling. Even with masks on, and at an appropriately socially distancing six feet away, it doesn’t feel right to be close to other people. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

They weave between the stately brick buildings and find a smaller courtyard with a little less foot traffic. “Perfect,” says Rachel, taking a rolled up sheet out of her bag and spreading it on the grass. They sit down, and Rachel pulls out two bottles of flavored seltzer and a tupperware container with a bunch of grapes and some wheat thins.

“It’s the not most elegant picnic, but I thought it was better than nothing.”

“It’s lovely, Rachel, thank you.”

“I’m sure Kurt would be appalled at the lack of cloth napkins.”

Blaine chuckles. “I wouldn’t know. We haven’t been on a picnic.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “You haven’t? That’s one of Kurt’s favorite date ideas.”

Blaine frowns. “We haven’t exactly gone on many dates.” <i>Any</i> dates, he thinks to himself. He and Kurt got together in such a weird way, trapped in quarantine for weeks while they crushed on each other until they couldn’t resist any longer. Their date opportunities are severely limited - they can’t go out to restaurants, or coffee shops, or see a movie or a show. While they have the perfect excuse to spend time together, it might be nice to do something special for a change. “I guess I really don’t know what kind of date he’d like.”

“Oh.” Rachel pulls out a grape and pops it into her mouth. “Well, then, you’ve got some thinking to do, haven’t you?”

“What, you don’t think eating every meal in front of the television while Sam tells us how many crunches he did is sexy?”

Rachel grins. “It depends. What is Sam wearing in this scenario?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Blaine pulls a grape off the stem and rolls it around in his fingers. “Maybe you could give me some ideas of things you think Kurt would like? You know him a lot better than I do.”

Rachel gives him a fond smile. “I’d be happy to.” She finishes chewing the cracker in her mouth and lies down on the blanket, closing her eyes. “I miss sex,” she says, and Blaine nearly chokes on his seltzer.

“What?”

“You heard me. Not all of us were gifted with a quarantine-approved boyfriend. I miss sex. The fun, the excitement. The awkward noises. The orgasms.”

Blaine squirms a little but he knows it must have taken Rachel quite a lot to reveal this. Taking a breath, he lies down next to her. She clearly needs to talk, and it might be easier for them both if they aren’t looking at each other.

“Were you, um, dating anyone, before the shut-down?”

Rachel sighs. “Not for a while. I haven’t had a long-term relationship in years, but there were a few promising possibilities.”

“It’s kind of tough to date now,” Blaine says.

“Right?” Rachel sighs. “Some of my friends are still hooking up, you know.”

This strikes Blaine as insane. You can’t hook up from six feet away. “Really?”

“Really. I even thought about it… there’s an old flame I see every once in a while, Jesse. I think he’d be up for it-” Rachel cuts herself off and giggles at her phrasing.

“He’d be crazy not to want to be with you, Rachel, but I don’t think now is a good time. Even if he says he’s healthy, he could be asymptomatic. And then you could get sick, and…” And all of us would catch it, too, Blaine thinks.

“I know, I know. I’m not going to do it.” Rachel shifts and turns on her side, and Blaine turns to face her. “Can I ask you something?”

Suddenly they’re a little too close for comfort, and Blaine tenses. Rachel isn’t going to ask to kiss him, is she? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl thought he’d be open to it, even though Blaine has always been clear that he wasn’t interested in girls that way. But Rachel knows he’s with Kurt, she’d never… well, only one way to find out. At least she’s asking first and not just groping him while he’s drugged up on cold medicine. “Sure, you can ask me anything.”

Rachel bites her lip, then apparently decides to go for it. “Do you think Sam would be interested in me?”

Blaine almost laughs at his own obliviousness. Of course Rachel’s not interested in him, she definitely seems more into the jock type anyway. “Sam? I don’t know, maybe.”

“Come on, you guys are close. You must have some idea. What does he think of me?”

Blaine tries to think of the best way to answer this. “I know he thinks you’re very attractive,” he begins. None of them have missed how Sam practically drools over Rachel when she does yoga with Kurt. Frankly they all leer at each other during yoga. It’s a group leer-fest, everyone’s invited.

“Well, of course,” Rachel says, smiling to show that she’s joking – partially joking, anyway. “But do you think he’d be interested in, you know…?”

Blaine is quite certain that Sam would jump at the chance to get hot and sweaty with Rachel, but he’s not sure what would happen after that. It might make the rest of their quarantine very awkward if things didn’t go well.

“Do you think I intimidate him?” Rachel goes on, pressing the subject. “I do that to people. I know I’m bossy, it’s one of my best traits. I like to tell people what to do. A lot of guys like it.”

Blaine absolutely does not blush, thinking about how he and Kurt have been engaging in some rather arousing professor-student role play. Nope, not thinking about that at all.

“And it doesn’t have to be a big thing-” Rachel snorts. “Although, you know, if it was, that would be fine-” Another snort-giggle.

Blaine puts his hand over his face. He can’t bring himself to respond.

“I mean it doesn’t need to be too serious,” Rachel goes on. “We can just have a wank together, help each other out. Enjoy some <i>private time</i> but, you know, with mutual orgasms. I know how much Sam enjoys his time alone… he’s very… vocal about it… I bet he wouldn’t mind some company…” Rachel’s voice has acquired a sultry tone Blaine has never heard before. “Blaine… am I making you uncomfortable?” She’s clearly having way too much fun with this, and Blaine can’t decide if he is more amused or embarrassed. In either case, it’s time to change the subject.

“We should probably get back.” Blaine sits up and puts the lid on the tupperware, pressing it down to seal the edges. Rachel leans up on an elbow and smirks at him. “Too much information?”

Blaine shakes his head despairingly. “We’ve been in quarantine together for two months, and there’s no end in sight. I think ‘private’ has kind of lost its meaning.”

Rachel stands up and smooths her hands down her dress as Blaine rolls up the blanket. “Well, it’s decided. I’m going to take a long shower, slather myself in body lotion, put on my favorite lace underthings, and proposition Sam. Tonight.”

“But private time isn’t scheduled until tomorrow.”

Rachel looks at Blaine as if he’s gone off his rocker. “I’m not going to spend my private time hooking up with a boy, Blaine. I need all the time I can get for vocal practice. I’m serious about my instrument, and I’m not going to allow this pandemic to get in the way of my future stardom.” Rachel huffs and walks away.

Stunned, Blaine quickly grabs their belongings and follows Rachel, chastising himself. He’s become so used to having relations with Kurt during private time that he forgot private time wasn’t supposed to be for sex. He’s just about to apologize to Rachel when she turns and grins at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “Gotcha!”

#klaine #klaine fic #glee fic #blaine anderson #rachel berry #private time

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jackson-investigations-blog · 5 years

Text

First Case

My first real case was when I was 15. Seven years after the incident in my aunt’s basement. Mrs. Allen was a nice woman in her late 70’s, a widow to the former Mr. Allen. I would often stop by when I was young to take apples from their orchard. I didn’t know Mr. Allen too well, he kept to himself mostly. I never saw him in town with his wife and the only time I ever saw him outside was when he would tend to the orchard, but that was it. I couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like if I tried.

Now Mrs. Allen was a sweet woman, most everyone knew her in town and she had the kindest smile that she always wore. After the passing of her husband though she was seen around less and less, until not at all. It was a private funeral for Mr. Allen, buried in his orchard the way he wanted to be. As far as I knew, or anyone else for that matter, that’s the way it was.

It had been a while since I had seen Mrs. Allen in town, a few months in fact, and I decided that I should go see her. I considered us decent friends and thought she might welcome some company. God, I hated that walk to her home. You see, you had to walk a narrow dirt road surrounded on both sides by the orchard. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been so quiet and the trees hadn’t started rotting and dying. It must have been years since they’d been cared for and it showed.

When I finally got to her home it was a mess. The planks rotting off on the sides of the house and the porch. Weeds and tall grass up to my knees. The chimney looked like it could collapse at any moment. Mr. Allen’s old car overgrown, claimed by the yard. I guess Mr. Allen did all the upkeep on the house as well. I walked up the steps to the porch and to the front door, that’s when I realized just how quiet it was. There was no sound at all. No birds, no wind, nothing. I felt lead in my stomach as the fear set in but I had already come this far. I opened the screen door and knocked. The front door opened as I did and I still think that going inside was a bad idea.

I stepped into the house, the dust on the windows so thick there was only a bit of hazy orange light coming in. Enough to see but not in great detail unless I held something close. Everything seemed to be in order. Magazines placed neatly on the counter, pillows set up straight on the couch, coffee freshly made in the brewer. It all looked just positively average. I wandered around the living room and attached kitchen calling out for Mrs. Allen. Then I noticed something that caught my attention.

Two mugs sitting across from each other on the coffee table. Nothing immediately interesting about that at first glance. Except Mrs. Allen was a widow that lived alone. Had anyone else been here they would have drove and the only cars were covered in weeds. So who was her with Mrs. Allen?

I started searching the rooms for Mrs. Allen. The guest room and bathroom were disastrous, claimed back by nature and in complete decay, but the master bedroom was in perfect order the same as the living room and kitchen. Why? I looked around the rooms for a bit but couldn’t find anymore evidence that someone was there. When I went back into the living room I fell back against the wall. The mugs were gone. I mean they had completely vanished. Someone had to be here with me then.

Every bone in my body was telling me to leave but something was happening here and this was the closest I had been to anything like this in years. I sat on the couch and I thought about what I knew. This house is old, if someone was here I would have heard them. There were two mugs right in front of me not even ten minutes ago, where did they go? Things don’t just disappear, I held them meaning they had to exist.

Looking down at the floor I saw something I didn’t expect. A stain, a big one, halfway under the coffee table. Maybe I overlooked it before but I’m certain I didn’t. I pushed the table out of the way to get a better look and sure enough it was a coffee stain. I know because I remember spilling it on my aunt’s carpet before quite a few times. But there was something else, some darker spots on the coffee stain. I mean some really dark spots.

I stood up and started to push the other furniture aside, hoping to find some other clues. I only found one. A handle of a mug laying back underneath the couch. Why was it there? Was it the handle from one the mugs from earlier?

I decided to work off the idea that it was from one of the mugs, and if the handle was here where was the rest of it? I pulled up the couch more to check under it, then took off the cushions. Nothing. As I was putting things back in order I saw something on the underside of the cushion. A huge dark spot nearly covering a third of it that looked identical to the spots in the coffee stain. It was blood.

I couldn’t handle it. Where was Mrs. Allen? What happened here? The fear was making me sick but I had to keep going. I needed to know what happened. When I looked up away from the couch the room was different. It had started to fall apart. Cracks on the walls, dust covering everything, furniture laying on its side. The order wasn’t there anymore but what disturbed me the most was seeing the blood. A trail of it leading from the kitchen and down the hall.

I was too afraid of what I might find in the hallway so I started with the kitchen. A pool of dried blood nearly covered the whole floor, handprints and smears in the blood defining the scene. The knife laying next to it, stained and rusted. The picture was starting to come together but not everything. I had to follow the blood.

My curiosity leading me down the hall and into the bedroom. That’s when it all came out of me, I puked. I don’t know what I expected to see but it sure as shit wasn’t Mr. Allen's body laying in the bed, covered in blood. The smell alone would have been enough to make me vomit but seeing him like that was too much. It didn’t take much more looking to find out what happened. Written above him on the wall behind the bed, in what I can only assume was his blood, “Say Something Say Something Say Something”. Sitting in the chair across from the bed was Mrs. Allen. Not a mark on her but she was terribly thin. I could tell by the cobwebs on her that she hadn’t moved in quite some time.

After I collected myself I contacted the police and they were there in half an hour. We all came to the same conclusion. Mrs. Allen had murdered her husband for reasons unknown. They believe she just snapped but I have my own theories. If I could ever go back to that house I would have done things differently because I know there’s more to that story, and I want to know which one was telling it to me.

#horror #paranormal #supernatural #ghosts #log #journal #creepy #story #investigation #investigator #hunting #writing

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