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american-satanxx · 1 year

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So to Hell with Good Intentions Chapter 3

Author’s note: Let me know if you wished to be tagged.

Masterpost

Tag list: @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky

...2018; It: Chapter 2 set Thank God, It’s Friday. by Ice Nine Kills is playing in the background as I’m packing up my makeup kits at the end of a very long filming day. Just as I’m closing up my last kit, there is a knock on the door followed by it opening up. I look in the mirror and see Bill Skarsgard standing in the doorway. “What is this crap you’re listening to?” He questions with a smirk. “I’ve been meaning to ask you all these months.” “The band is Ice Nine Kills. They just released an album called The Silver Scream and all the songs are based off of horror movies. This song is based off of Friday the 13th. “I guess that explains why you’re listening to them then.” He laughs. “Any songs about IT?” “In fact they do.” I reply quickly, turning on IT Is the End. “This is their song about IT. But them being horror based isn’t the only reason I’m listening to them. I did makeup and special effects makeup for them for their music videos for this album. Plus my cousin is friends with them.” “All good reasons.” He muses before walking in. “So now that we’re wrapping, what are your plans next?” “Probably take a break.” I shrug. “Maybe see what my cousin is doing. Either visit him at home, in the studio or even on tour. Possibilities are endless right now since I’m in between projects.” “My offer still stands,” he states. “You’re more than welcome to come to Sweden and I can show you around.” “Been there, done that.” I laugh. “I’m gonna stay away from Sweden as much as possible. I nearly got in a fight there once on vacation. Me and Swedes don’t get along. Other than you, of course.”

There is a loud knock on the door and in comes one of our big burly security guards walking in. Steve has been my saving grace plenty of times when it comes to me forgetting my passes in the beginning of shooting. “Hey Valentine, there is someone at the gates asking for you.” He informs me, causing both me and Bill to share a look before giving the muscular man in front of us. “It’s two in the fucking morning, who the hell is out at the gate asking for me?” I ask him. “Did he give you a name?” “Patrick Bateman.” “The character from American Psycho?” Bill questions before looking at me. “Is this safe? Because he clearly gave you a wrong name.” I just laugh before grabbing my purse. “It’s fine guys, it’s my friend Spencer. Patrick Bateman is my contact name for him in my phone. Don’t ask. He's a horror movie obsessed fanboy which caused me to call him American Psycho most of the time.” “Are you going to be safe with that man?” Steve questions me. “There are scarier things in this world than Spencer Charnas, trust me.” I assure him. “I’ll follow you out Steve, it’s time for me to head back to my hotel anyway.” “Are you going to the wrap party tomorrow night?” Bill questions as he walks out with me. “Nope.” I reply. “Not much of a party person. Besides, the last wrap party nearly got both of us in trouble with our significant others.” I remind him as I lock up my trailer. “I’m going to stop by, get my shit and fly back out to L.A as soon as possible.” Bill pulls me into a hug and places a kiss on my head. “Be safe. Text me as soon as you get to your hotel. I want to make sure you get back alive.” “Again, Spencer Charnas is many things but he’s not actually a serial killer.” I assure him once again as I pull away. ** Steve and I head back to the gates just in time to see Spencer taking a picture with the other security guard. Apparently he’s a fan. “Patrick Bateman? Seriously Charnas?” I laugh, causing the lead singer to look at me; a grin forming on his lips. “I’ve got to keep you guessing, Valentine.” He walks over to me and pulls me into a back breaking hug. “I missed you.” “It’s two in the morning Spence,” I remind him. “What are you doing in Canada at two in the morning? And more importantly, how did you find me?” “Chris. He told me your location. And I wanted to fly out and surprise you, that’s all.” He shrugs. “I’m kinda attached to you and I really miss you.” My heart melts at him saying this. “Let me guess, you don’t have a hotel or anything to stay in.” I assume, earning a nod from the singer. “Follow me and you can crash at my place. It’s a five minute drive from here.” “And when we get there we can watch movies?” He suggests, playfully. “I already have a probably cold pizza in my rental car.” “Sure, you can pick.” I smile as we link arms and walk away. ** “Alright Spencer, what are we watching?” I ask him as I walk out of the bathroom. After my shower I changed into a Scream t-shirt along with short shorts. Spencer looks up at me as I pull my blue hair up in a messy bun. A smirk forms on his lips. “Are you going to answer me, American Psycho?” “Look at your shirt.” He replies. “That should give you your answer.” “Good pick.” I reply as I grab a slice of pizza and sit on the couch next to him. He pulls my legs on top of his, allowing me to lounge on the couch. Causing me to shoot him a look. “What?” He asks, looking innocent. “You’ve been working all day, you deserve to relax.” I just smile as he presses play. “How is work anyway?” “We wrapped today, so pretty fucking great.” I reply before removing my legs from his lap. I scoot over to cuddle up against him instead; this causes the man to smile softly down at me. “What? I like cuddling while watching movies.” He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping as he puts his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. “You’re not going to the wrap party?” He questions. “Do I look like the partying type, Spence?” I chuckle. “Besides, the last wrap party is why my last relationship ended.” “Did you cheat on your boyfriend with Bill Skarsgard?” He jokes, laughing only stops when he realizes I’m not laughing. He pulls away from me, looking at me; kind of shocked. “You hooked up with Pennywise? The girl afraid of clowns?” “You’re acting like I fucked Bill wearing his Pennywise gear.” I laugh. “It wasn’t my finest moment and I regret it. But honestly me and Trever were on the way out anyway. Me having sex with the demon clown only helped end it sooner.” “Have you ever cheated on anyone else?” He questions. “I’m curious.” “Nope.” I reply back quickly. “And that was the only time I ever hooked up with an actor or musician that I worked with. I don’t make it a habit to sleep with the hand that signs my paycheck.” For the rest of the night, a silence washed over us. It wasn’t a bad silence, but a silence that tells me something quickly changed between us. Not sure if that change is good or bad. It’s just different.

#ice nine kills #ice nine kills fanfiction #ice nine kills fanfic #spencer charnas #spencer charnas fanfiction #spencer charnas fanfic #spencer charnas imagine

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proper-goodnight · 2 years

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Pawns in the Game

Anon Request

If you would like a Faceclaim for Sierra Seven, my anon suggested Bill Skarsgard!

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, One-Shot

Words: ~3.4K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Six had spent years in covert operations. He’d studied faces and evaluated threats for a living; he knew what an operator looked like when a fight was over, and what they looked like when a fight was about to begin. His survival depended on thinking ahead, and through pure expediency, he’d thrived. Long distance sniping, close quarters fighting, edged weapons, Krav Maga, long guns, short guns, explosives, poisons…

But God, he sucked at Chess.

With a renewed irritability, he watched as Chief Cahill knocked his King off the board–an unnecessary amount of force sending it careening underneath the dusty couch that he’d taken residence on the last few weeks. Something about that was oddly poetic, as if she was continuously reminding him of his place while she took the only other room in the safe house that wasn’t the bathroom. His face attempted a smile, but it morphed into an awkward little grimace as Cahill maintained eye contact with yet another victory.

Her chin settled on her palm, raising her eyebrows.

“You do realize that you’re above Special Forces? Strategy is supposed to be your specialty.”

“Chess takes two people.” Six replied easily, glancing down at the stark difference between their remaining pieces on the board. He would have suggested a two out of three, except that it would require him to have a point to barter a tie with. “And nobody is going to bring a Chess board to a gunfight, so.”

Cahill rolled her eyes at the quip, but Six could see the start of a smile before she’d turned away and left the table. The rickety legs shook from the force and the last of his pieces made a home on the equally unsteady floor boards. It wasn’t the best of safehouses, but it was a means to an end until the heat on her died down.

“I’m going to call Fitzroy in the morning and tell him to close the contract,” she went on absently, fishing a cigarette from a pack in her suit jacket.

“Close the contract?” He echoed.

“Fitzroy has reason to believe that my trail’s gone cold, and he’s already forwarded the compensation to your bank account,” she turned to him expectantly, lighter in hand. The sparks snuffed out with the confession, and she covered the flames with her hand to shield it from the sudden draft. “You’ve done your job and Fitzroy has another job laid out for you.”

Six should have expected that. So many days with nothing and the clear indication that Chief Cahill was itching to get out of the safehouse and back to some semblance of normalcy–he hadn’t personally thought about what would come after. He’d spent plenty of time moving around between places similar to this one, and most even worse, figuring it out as he went.

The idea left him unsettled.

“Does he know who ordered the hit?”

“A third party not worth my time, trust me.” She took a drag from her cigarette. One flicker of her eyes up to his face sent her reprimanded him before he had the chance to respond. “They’ve been given a phone call and a financial incentive, and since there’s been no sign of the assassin, it’s safe to say they took their payment and ran.”

Six didn’t believe that, but maybe it was his own bent moral code and too many years on the job.

“Did Fitzroy look?”

“One man is not worth our time.”

“He’s worth mine.”

Cahill sighed, fixing him with a glare that would have brought any other inferior to their knees. If anything, it only made him more determined to go against her orders.

“Your job was to protect me, nothing else. You are not to pursue this.” She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “Tomorrow you’re going to be on a plane bound for Europe. Understood?”

Six worked a tick in his jaw, nodded, only to answer with a flat: “Understood.”

“I’m serious, Courtland. You’re going to be facing disciplinary action–”

“I hear you.”

Cahill was unconvinced, but for the sake of a headache that only he could cause, she dropped the subject in favor of taking her cigarette out into a less confined space. He wasn’t far after her, but she was beyond conversations about Chess and his lack of social etiquette.

She dropped her cigarette to the ground shortly after, snuffed out by snow and ice. One last slithering string of smoke drifted up from its tip and disappeared. Any arguments about the possibilities of her would-be-assassin were drowned out in that last puff of smoke. ~~~~

Six’s life had been dedicated to killing men, and there was one out there that he’d missed. If he was going to break the tie with something, it may as well have been something that he was good at.

Threats of penalties to his paychecks and future support likely awaited him when he got back because he had decided to run off and play the patriot. He didn’t mind, he guessed. He took the time to think about the contract, about the assassin. Someone that worked in service to someone easy to pay off, and that much made it a little easier to narrow down.

Looking a little closely into Fitzroy’s personal accounts had handed him leaps and bounds as well, backtracking until he found the third party, and then backtracking through the third party to find the culprit. Not a name, or a face, but a general location at the very least. It brought him to the heart of the states, just West outside of D.C.

West outside of D.C. and directly into a trap that had flipped his car over and turned it to ash.

Snow had piled onto the roads, but he hadn’t run into much trouble with the car so far. It was finally warming up, the death grip on the wheel loosening to a more relaxed handle as he steered around a corner. Angelic, feathery ice crystals kissed the windshield, and rubber blades squeegeed them away, melted water streaking along their tips. The car passed under the streetlights, illuminating the inside of the cab and casting soft shadows over his face, pulsing and fading, brief but alert all the same.

His hair was damp, frizzled strands out of place while his fingers tucked around the damp ends of his jacket. Six molded over what had exactly led him to this point, but they were moving too fast for him to keep up with. His solution was to grab one and hold onto it.

Suddenly there was plenty to distract him from.

Bright lights flashed somewhere to his left. Car brakes desperately needing changed squealed, and with a curse that lost itself under a breath suddenly yanked from him, the tires slid and the wheel whipped to the side and locked. His seat belt snapped into place and his spine bounced against the seat.

The next thing he could make sense of was that he was suddenly upside down. A crash reverberated against his eardrums, shards of broken glass pelting none too gently against his face. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Six took a breath of thick and rotting air to rocket forward, to shove up in defiance of impending death. Unbuckling the seatbelt, he fell against the car’s roof. A fierce kick and the door shot open, landing on frozen concrete. It wobbled, metal grinding on ice, then it settled into silence.

When he’d dragged himself from the car, he’d landed right on one of his wounds, of course. Dark blood squelched upon impact, his breaths ragged as he flipped and sat up, the sound of people nearby soft and muzzled by distance. Six didn’t want to deal with the passersby quite yet. It risked a scream at least; a forcible visit to the hospital at worst.

A filthy hand dragged down his face. He sat against the car he’d clawed his way out of and took a moment to breathe, one leg folded in, the other stretched outward. A glass shard embedded loosely in his stomach earned a look of utter contempt.

Unconsciousness was taunting, fluctuating, and smug. It left as it desired, only to return before Six had any chance of jolting up and identifying his surroundings. He seldom made it past opening his eyes before they rolled back and flickered shut.

This was the closest he’d been to death in… he didn’t know how long. Long enough. It was an inconvenience, either way.

A man strode forth through the glare of the hazard lights blinking on and off. His pointed shoes crunched against bits of car, and the Sierra learned very quickly that it was not a good Samaritan coming to help, rather someone with purpose–one that likely ended with his brain matter all over the concrete.

Six shoved his hand into the folds of his jacket and noiselessly withdrew a pistol–the attached silencer longer than its barrel. He then rolled, prone and locked into a cramp that seized his entire body. When his stubbornness ran its course, and Six finally surrendered, the horrific pressure waned. He sank into crushed remnants of glass and car parts.

His shoulder shrieked, but not so mind-splittingly as the wounds beneath his chest. Nausea licked up his throat, though he kept the acid down. His hip and leg weren’t doing so hot either, and with exploring fingers he investigated each source of pain.

Once he was sure that he would live, his forearm braced against the side of the burning metal, attempting to find the strength to pull himself up.

“Hey, big guy.” A sharp pain behind his knee sent Six buckling with a quiet grunt. His hands slammed into a patch of black ice, saving his face from impact, but he lost his gun. The air dropped into a vicious chill. Snow fell harder, but even it could not bring a quiet serenity to the chaos of the flames and Six’s irritation speaking louder than his words could. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to answer some questions for me, could I?” The voice was like silk. “I’ve been told that I can be very persuasive.”

“I’m convinced.” A wheeze pushed from him, lungs struggling, burning as he took in the frost. One hand lifted, drained even further of color. Six attempted to rise, soon lifting his other hand to show they were both empty.

Darkness concealed only half his features now as he stared up into the unnerving mug of an old comrade’s face. They’d all visited him in the form of the word ‘DECEASED’ in bright red print on a file. He saw their fleeting shadows, their drowned bodies in the rivers and lakes. And after all this time, one wandered down the side of a street in D.C. with an incentive to kill him.

They’d all had it coming eventually. Every last one of them. It was easier on his conscience to call the extinction of the other Sierras an act of due justice, and his own survival an act of his stubbornness as well as luck. It wasn’t as though Six grieved any of them, but he remembered.

Especially this asshole.

“You remember me?”

Six squinted, not a single protest leaving him as he analyzed his face. He’d always been a deathly looking man, wearing the lives he’d expunged on his sleeve and shown bare to the world.

“Sierra Seven?”

“You’re worth a lot of money,” Seven mused. “I won’t need any work for the next few years.”

“You had the lowest contract completion rate.” Six spit through grit teeth, a sudden boot coming down on his hand making him cry out. He clenched it into a fist, hearing a loud snap. Through the pain, he carried on through grit teeth and a breathless gasp. “I’m not surprised you need it.”

A combat knife gleamed in Seven’s right hand, twirling before it came to rest in his palm.

Six maneuvered onto his hands and knees, wiping a grimy hand over his mouth. “How much do you weigh? One-sixty?” He extended his arm, waving a finger up and over the man’s torso. “The jacket with the–with the blue cuffs. I like it.”

Begrudgingly, but not unexpectedly, the other Sierra sprang toward him just as Six grappled for his gun. Deft fingers raked through his hair then clutched. Not a heartbeat to spare. Seven dove the knife forward in an attempt to stab a jagged gash through Six’s jugular. A pistol fired, grazing Seven’s right calf. Another shot missed, landing squarely in the car’s side.

Six caught the agent’s wrist after a third bullet went flying, the knife slicing his hip. An airy grunt left him. He wrenched the knife away, sending it across the concrete and glass arena. Fists flew and collided while they quietly wrestled for control. They were taught not to go at each other snarling like animals, rather similar to a dance where the two opponents knew the steps of the other quite well. Six managed to catch the agent’s arm and snap it clean at the elbow. A sickening crack reverberated through the open space.

Another crack. A groan, wet with agony. Six shoved forward, busting the agent’s face into a glistening red pulp. While he struggled for another breath, one hand unhooked itself from Seven’s coat to tear his pistol out of its leather cradle and shove the barrel against his abdomen. A few derogatory clicks followed the realization of an empty chamber.

Six’s face scrunched into a grimace, then he sighed. “Shit.”

A fist sailed directly into his nose, a sickening crack sending him slumping with his spine against the remnants of his car.

Another, softer grumble.

Six ran a thumb over the middle of his face, the broken bone and the stench of blood square in the center, shoulders stretching back in some pitiful attempt to regain his senses. He half-ducked half-fell to the ground. A thud above him reverberated against the metal, a sudden weight on his back that kept him pinned down, writhing underneath him like a cornered animal with no viable chance at escape. His breathing became labored, but not panicked.

His fingers grabbed blindly for his ankle, grabbing his knife that he twisted around and drove directly into Seven’s calf. A garbled yell deafened in his ears, one of his arms grabbed and shoved up against the car, his arm repeatedly beaten against it until he was forced to drop his knife. It skittered across the concrete with a resounding clang. His hair was a grimy mess of scarlet tufts, one eye shut and bleeding from an open wound at his eyebrow. When he breathed, he spit up blood.

A quiet, displeased grumble shook Six’s chest. The reflexes to follow were sharp, cruel, cold. A large hand lashed forward, gathering the collar of his coat in a row of deadly fingers to jerk him forward and lift. Seven leveled their faces. It was with one, the other dangling at his side in two awkward pieces connected by flesh.

The resistance eroded. Seven set his jaw and gave him a single, very harsh, shake.

“One reason,” he growled. “Give me one reason not to pop your head off like a fucking cork.”

“I’ve been told I have that effect on people, but I’m going to have to ask you not to do that.”

The bitter irony was lost in their heated space as he shoved him hard against the driver’s side. Pain exploded through his back, but his defensive demeanor never waned. The angle of his arm narrowed against Six, adding pressure to his windpipe. “Where’s Cahill?”

“Who?”

His elbow sailed into Six’s nose, making him wheeze. Irritation pinched at his eyebrows, tucking his head back against the man’s bated breaths. “What do you want? An apology?” Six choked. “Catch up over coffee and talk about it?”

Seven chuckled, amused by the defiance but not any less inclined to change his mind about killing him. He enjoyed the pain that he inflicted, the pressure added gradually and with no other intention except to make him suffer.

Six took it in stride, between one wounded animal to another, a message had been relayed–his, more clearly. He was going to die, left in the streets without a name attached to his face. A ghost. His vision twisted and distorted, black fringing the outside corners and moving in.

In what would be the few remaining moments of his life, a faint glint flickered at his vision’s edges, then a cloud of red mist exploded from Seven’s head, body collapsing forward and releasing his death grip on Six’s throat. Six slid down until he was sitting, looking over at the corpse that he felt a weird urge to apologize to.

The pitter-patter of light footsteps sounded from his left. Six’s head snapped to the side, lips parting for a moment until he recognized Chief Cahill. She bounded over the wreckage, the ice and debris hardly proving a worthy obstacle. He waved, his other arm tucked against his chest and aching.

“Boy,” she sighed, her irritation and disappointment obvious, even in his nearly comatose state. “Look at me.”

Her orders were answered only by an awkward peering through half-lidded eyes, blood pouring from every orifice of his face. Sounds had been secluded to white noise, his vision swimming in a mixture of red and purple while he struggled to keep his head up. There was an alertness in his distant expression, but he figured that if she asked him any direct questions, he might not have been cohesive enough to answer them.

“You should have told me that you were leaving,” she scolded, removing her jacket to press it against a spurting gash in his leg. Her eyes were fixated on his face, being none too gentle in her prodding at his more life-threatening injuries.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You said not to, so.”

“I told you to head to Europe.”

“Missed my flight.”

Cahill rolled her eyes, disappointment, as well as some vague sort of nausea evident as she took in the state of him. He could only imagine how bad he looked, sitting amongst the remnants of carnage and his safe drivers discount.

“I warned you. You might be a Sierra, but you’re not invincible.”

“I’m disposable.” Six corrected, shrugging and grimacing at the pain that shot up his spine. “That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”

Cahill narrowed her eyes. “Disposable, fine. You’re not replaceable.” He hissed at the harsh shove against a spot on his calf, strongly suspecting it was on purpose. “You’re a valuable asset, Six. We can gladly pick any idiot to do your job, but nobody will do it as well as you.”

Through one open eye and a vision of red, he mulled over the confession. The sincerity in her gaze did not hide anything other than genuine honesty. It put him off giving up the ghost for at least a while longer, but the hand that she extended to him almost made him forget that he was injured at all. “You’re still an idiot, though.” She didn’t sugarcoat that. “And you’re still bad at Chess.”

Six laughed, then immediately coughed. God, that hurt. “It still takes two people.” He sighed.

“Are you ready to go?”

He waved his good arm dismissively. Even his good arm felt as if it would pop out of its socket. “I’m good. I think I might sit here for a while.”

“You’re going to bleed out.” Cahill mused. “You might go into a coma.”

“I’m hoping so,” he smirked, leaning his head back, allowing his eyes to shut. “It’ll be the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

“It doesn’t look like he hit anything vital. You’ll be alright.” She clapped a hand against his shoulder, and he winced at the sudden contact, hand coming up to grasp the abused area. One eye opened to fix her with a gentle glare, but she’d already turned away, calling who he assumed was Fitzroy and advising him to bring several bags of AB and a new suit–he’d mentioned 42 regular, but he suspected that she ignored him on purpose and told Fitzroy to bring what he had. Once the phone call ended, she’d turned, only to say: “This isn’t getting you out of Europe, by the way.”

Six offered a meager thumbs up in response. He hadn’t counted on it.

#Courtland Gentry #The Gray Man (2022)#fic request #fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #sierra six

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jj-lynn21 · 2 years

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CHAPTER 2: THE RENTAL MISTAKE

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

The chapter are short in this five chapter story about a rental mix up that could end up benefitting both parties. Characters include AU Bill Skarsgard and my original character Sammatha. It is mostly whimsical with a little blood and sex towards the end. A bit of orgasm denial and oral on female. Enjoy.

“I rented this place.” They reply in unison.

‘You have to be in the wrong house.�� Sammatha protested. ‘I rented this place two weeks ago.”

“I rented this place two weeks ago.” Bill tried to explain calmly. “My phone is in the bedroom. Do you have yours? We can call the owner to try to straighten this all out.”

“I managed to keep it dry.” She pulled her cellphone from her cleavage.

Bill grinned.

“What?” she smirked. “I needed to keep it dry running in here in the storm.”

“You don’t need to explain.” he looked away running his hand through his hair. “Just make the call.”

Sammatha made the call. It rang and rang and rang and rang... “He isn’t answering.” She turned the phone to show Bill.

“That sucks.” Bill scratched the bit of hair on his chin.

“Double bookings happen.” Sammatha got up and headed to get her things. “You were here first. I’m sorry I woke you.” just then thunder struck, and a bolt of lightning was seen out the front window. She jumped.

“Hold on.” Bill caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “I don’t think you should be driving in this weather.”

She turned surprised. Her face at his chest. She looked up at him. That is when it hit her who this was standing before her with sleepy eyes. The killer clown. The upir. He was so many of her favorite characters. “I don't want to go back out there.” She swallowed hard. “I can sleep the night on the couch.”

“Nonsense, you are sleeping in the bed.” Bill’s voice was insistent.

“Okay.” she smiled.

“I will take the couch.” bill smiled back. “It pulls out into a bed, I think. Now let's try to get some sleep. We will try the owner again in the morning, I just need to grab my phone from the bedroom.”

Sammatha agreed with a nod. They both went back to the bedroom where Bill quickly grabbed his phone and disappeared into the living room. She quickly fell asleep once she was laying in the large comfortable bed. Bill on the other hand took a while longer to fall asleep again. He pulled out the bed from the couch. It was a bit smaller, but not terribly so. It was queen-size. He had to find the extra sheets and blankets in the hall closet. Then the thunder exploded at what seemed like his head. But he eventually drifted off.

She woke to the wonderful aroma of bacon sizzling and coffee hot and fresh. Sammatha stretched when she pulled herself out of bed. Then she headed to the restroom to fix herself up before appearing in the kitchen.

“Good morning.’ she yawned as she grabbed a coffee cup from a shelf and poured her morning wakeup call. “Thanks for making enough coffee for us.”

“I was making it so might as well make a full pot.” he flipped some pancakes and pulled the bacon from the oven. “Are you hungry? I made more than enough. II tend to eat more when I am not working.”

“I was just going to have...” she stopped when he put the mound of bacon, sausage, eggs and pancakes on the table. “Wholly cow, are you expecting more people?”

Bill chuckled. “No.” he put some plates, silverware and napkins down. ‘This is how I eat on vacation. I made a little extra for you if you want to join me that is?”

‘Thank you again.” she took a sip of coffee before filling her plate with the breakfast goodies. ‘My name is Sammatha. You can call me Sam. Most people do.’

He swallowed a big mouth full of breakfast while nodding politely. ‘I’m Bill”

‘Here is to calories that don’t count on vacation.” She took a bite of the fluffy pancakes. “Of course, it could be my last vacation meal if I don’t find a place to stay. You were here first so whatever the mix up you should be the one that stays.”

“Nonsense.’ Bill huffed. ‘We can try to call the owner again. If he does not answer, we both stay here. if that is something you would be comfortable doing?”

‘I guess that would be fine.’ she paused to sip her coffee and take in some more deliciousness. “But I will take the living room as my home base and sleep on the pullout. I practically get lost in that big bed.’ she laughed.

“That’s a deal.” He held out his hand for her to shake on it.

Sammatha shook his hand. Bill called the owner putting his phone on speaker so she could hear. Still, it rang, rang and rang some more. ‘I will shoot him a text.” He wrote:

I think you double booked the cottage. Another guest showed up last night.

Please call back to work this out.

Bill showed the text to Sammatha before sending it. “What do you think Sam?”

She read it with a nod of agreement. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Bill sent the text. They ate in comfortable silence. Bill got up to take the empty dishes to the sink. She could not believe he could fit all he ate in his slim muscular body, but his belly was protruding a small bit. She got up to help him.

“I’ll wash and you dry.” Sammatha suggested.

Bill pointed to the dishwasher. “I think that is what that is for.” He started loading the dishwasher. “You can go about your vacation however you want, but I am going to try out the kayaks down by the like. You can join me if you like?”

“That sounds fun.” she went over to finish up her coffee before putting the coffee cup in the dishwasher.

She went out to get her bags to change as Bill went to shower and dress. This worked out perfect as if choreographed. Bill was done with his shower in the bedroom dressing as she got dressed and ready for the day in the bathroom. He came out first and had another cup of coffee. Sammatha appeared from the bathroom in black shorts and a hot pink tank top.

“Ready for some fun.” She commented.

“Definitely.” Bill smiled and opened the door for her to go first.

The skies were clear and sunny. A bright blue with whisps of white floating aimlessly. They grabbed life jackets from those hung on a hack and chose kayaks to begin their tranquil journey. Bill playfully splashed her with his paddle. She laughed and splashed him back. He pointed out animals and birds along the shoreline as they went.

As they were paddling, he saw a bunny sipping water at the edge. He pointed that out to her. “Look at that bunny. That’s a baby.”

“Oh, how cute.” Then she screamed.

Bill looked with wide eyes. “Oh, shit.”

An alligator had made its way quickly across the bank and devoured little creature.

“I think we should turn this way.” Bill grabbed the front of Sammatha’s kayak turning it in the opposite direction.

“It's the circle of life, Bill.” She padded towards where he pointed her away from the carnage.

“I rather not be part of that gators circle.” Bill paddled a little faster. “Did you see the size of that thing?”

She caught up to him “It was large.”

They had been out on the water sever hours by that time, so Bill just paddled back to shore. As they were standing taking a breath from pulling the kayaks up, the alligator or maybe another one swam by its eye seeming to be on them. “That thing was eying us for lunch.”

tags: @super-pink-a-palouza @caliskarsgard

#Bill skarsgard #au bill skarsgard #fanfic #fan fiction #the renal mistake #fun #romance #friendship

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anastasiaskarsgard · 6 days

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Girlfriend, you cannot say you dated a Lithuanian gorgeous guy and not share a pic or two! Only if you’re comfortable but I am so curious! Let me live through you! My life is so boring.

Love to see you more active again! I missed you!!!! The Bill Skarsgard tag almost died out completely, but thankfully he’s got new stuff coming out.

Are you going to go see any of his new movies?

Ok so this picture is like over a decade old from when we first started dating.

He was in great shape and he’s like 6’4 so he was actually huge honestly. I thought so at least. He was so sweet to me in the beginning and he rode motorcycles and did stunts on them. He spoke multiple languages and was very driven. We were both in our twenties, he’s like 3 or 4 years older than me, but he seemed so much more mature than most guys. He was so sure of himself.

Then he became obsessed with working out so he could enter physique competitions. He just woke up one day and decided it’s what he wanted to do. He became crazy about clean eating and at first I was supportive and on board. I thought that he was just trying to reach a personal goal to check off some list and then he’d get over it.

I changed my eating when I was around him to eat clean like him and I went to all his competitions the whole year. He made it to the world championships his first year and I was so proud of him (eventhough I honestly didn’t like how he looked anymore.) he had abs when we met but he had a cute little bit of fluff, and no veins sticking out. He also got way more lame trendy tattoos. Now he looked like this:

He went from being my pasty teddy bear to a orange spray tanned, veiny, monster, obsessed with measuring himself, and what he ate. All he did was work out and obsess over these competitions, but I figured he would get it out of his system and become human again.

The day of the world championships, he told me how much he loved me and wanted me to move in with him. He thanked me for being such a supportive girlfriend and he genuinely seemed appreciative. He won the world championship title. I was so happy for him, but also relieved. I thought he’d proved his point to himself and now he’d go back to being my sweet, less orange, crazy brave, good at everything he puts his mind to boyfriend.

Nope. He was already setting new goals to become even better for next year, but not only that, he decided that if I worked really hard all year, I could possibly win some competitions and maybe not this year, but the next I could be a world champion too.

I didn’t know what pissed me off more. That he wasn’t going to slow down, but double his efforts, or that he thought itd take me two years to do what he did in one. I could have fucking done it, if I actually gave a shit, but I didn’t have any interest in any of it and thought they all looked gross. I told him that to his face, surrounded by his other self-obsessed, meat-head friends. He said really rude things to me, and mocked me. He made me look like I was some obsessed fangirl that followed him around, that he thought had potential but obviously he was wrong.

Eventhough we were sharing a hotel room, I had a key, but he had the keys to the rental car. I did not care, I called a taxi (this was before Uber) and I marched out of there. I had the driver take me to the mall and bought a Cinnabon. The taxi cab driver actually used my new phone that could make short little videos to send him a clip of me finishing my Cinnabon, and saying “I’m finished with my Cinnabon, just like I’m finished with your bullshit.” Then I had the driver take me to our hotel, where I got all my stuff and he waited for me, and then took me to the airport.

Artiom didn’t take that well AT ALL. He went crazy blowing up my phone, calling our mutual friends to find out what I was doing, where I was at since I blocked him on everything. He tried showing up at my house, and even my work. Whole nine yards. Some of his friends thought it was crazy how obsessive he was being considering he had a wife. I was like he has a what now?

Come to find out, he had a WIFE! He didn’t live with her and she lived back east somewhere, and the marriage was only so he could get citizenship, but I tracked down her Facebook and I messaged her, and eventhough she confirmed it was only a marriage for citizenship and he told her about me, she was totally in love with him and he just didn’t care.

He’d totally taken advantage of this woman, got what he wanted out of her and abandoned her. In order to get citizenship, they had to stay married a certain amount of years and act like they lived together the whole time and it was a real marriage. She explained how leading up to getting married he was the perfect boyfriend. He liked her to bring girls home, but she was bi so she was totally into it. She thought it was going to be a real marriage, but only a couple months after the wedding, he tells her he’s moving across the country and she’s not invited but they’ll stay married and he will pay her rent for a few years , and pay her car payments until he gets his citizenship, then she’s free to do whatever she wants. He told her he’d come see her now and then and write her messages and text her all the time. She thought it was a long distance relationship. Then she started to see him posting pics of him and I, or pictures of groups of people, that I always seemed to be in. She asked him and he said I was his gf, but she was his wife.

My mind was blown. Needless to say, I felt really bad for her and refused to ever speak to him again. Even the few times he ended up where I was at, and he yelled in my face, I’d just stare at the ground till he finally went away.

Last I heard, he was world champion 9 times and married some woman he doesn’t post about on social media, but he’s all over hers. Poor girl.

I’m totally going to go see every damn movie Bill is in! If I could sit through the third season of hemlock grove, I can sit through anything!

#personal #the Lithuanian guy #totally toxic #wasted a year of my life #idk if I really hate that physique #or I just hate him and associate that look with him #either way it’s a no from me

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chinawof · 4 years

Text

1 New Voicemail - Life Coach 😌

@bskarsgard-rp

China sat in her room unable to sleep. Her palms were throbbing with pain, her head pounding, and racing with words she wasn’t even sure she remembered correctly from her fleeting read over them all. All she knew was what she felt the other day was back, the pain and anguish, wanting to make sure Bill was as far away from her mess of a life so he could be happy. They’d fixed it once, but it seemed irreparable now, and that tore her up more, because she knew how isolated and alone Bill felt in Ohio, remembered promising she would be there for him. But then she’d betrayed it all by letting her paranoia get the better of her then showing Liam those texts. Whatever she was trying to accomplish, it seemed Liam had finished for her.

She quickly checked the time in Cleveland; saw it was an hour ahead of her own three in the morning, and hoped to God he’d be asleep, because she didn’t think she could have this conversation if he answered.

Shaky fingers found his number and pressed the green call button. She put it to her ear and waited.

With the first ring her heart was racing.

By the second her stomach was churning.

The third was where she took the phone from her ear ready to hang up.

At the fourth ring, she forced herself to put the phone back to her ear.

Her throat closed over at the fifth.

Then a tone, a voicemail message, and a beep.

China was stunned for a second, swallowed hard, blinked back tears she knew wanted to fall and stilled herself with a deep breath.

“Look, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, and I get it completely. I just wanted to say that I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice cracked ever so softly. “I’d try to explain why I showed him the texts, but honestly, I don’t think I can justify it or deserve for you to understand it.”

A few tears fell softly that she swept away ever so slightly with a sniffle. “I guess at least now you don’t have to worry about the gossip about us, or Alex hating me, huh?” She gave a cracked laugh with her words, that broke into a moment of her trying to still her crying self.

After a couple moments, she took a deep breath, sniffled away her sobs and carried on, “I’m so sorry I ruined your friendship with Liam, too, that was never my intention, and I feel awful for it. For you, and for him.” Chi took another moment to calm herself, feeling the tears returning and the tightening of her chest. “Please, Bill, if anything, talk to him. I’d hate to think you were more isolated out there than you already are, and it’s all my fault.” With the cracking of her voice, she bit her lip, another moment of quietness filled with sniffling and rough breathing.

“Thank you for being a great life coach, and I’m sorry I screwed it up.” Each word was harder to get through now her voice strained with upset, so she forced out a soft, “Bye.” Before she cast wet, bleary eyes down to press a number on the screen, confirming the voicemail, letting herself do it before she questioned what she had said and if it was phrased correctly.

Her eyes glanced over her bedside table where bright numbers told her she’d been on the phone only five minutes, but also illuminated a delicately and intricately painted red horse she had been keeping there. Chi’s heart hurt a little more, but she forced her eyes shut and looked away from it.

What did it matter any more anyway? She just didn’t know how she kept screwing everything up. China let herself sink down beneath her blankets in her dark bedroom, glad Lauryn wasn’t here with her, so no one would question the sound of her crying into her pillow for the last few hours of the night that remained.

#bskarsgard-rp #(text: bill skarsgard.)#(voicemail: bill skarsgard.)#(phone call: bill skarsgard.)#(self para.)

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nobodys-nothing · 6 years

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“It’s so easy to fall over to the other side. And then you get so incredibly sad again.” Simple Simon (I rymden finns inga känslor) dir. Andreas Öhman (2010)

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hrtbreakanniversary · 2 years

Text

HONESTY; druig [one]

summary: this wasn't in the job description.

pairing: mafia!druig x nurse!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: blood, language, violence, guns, misogyny, crude remarks, DRUIG

a/n: ty for all the love on the intro! i appreciate you all so very very much. also kro's face claim is bill skarsgard. hope you like it!

intro

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LONDON

Nibbling on her nail, she nervously tapped her foot. Watching through the clear glass for it to drop. For if it didn't, her whole life was be ruined. There was no reason for her to-

Click. Drop.

Finally.

A dollar not wasted.

With a devious smile, she reached down and grabbed the Fiber One bar. Oh the chocolatey goodness. Sighing, Y/N ripped open the packet right there in front of the vending machine to take a quick bite out of it because she knew her pager would go crazy at any second now.

She felt the gooey goodness of the oats, chocolate, and honey enter her mouth and she couldn't resist but to slowly chew to savor the taste. Opening her mouth to take another bite, the granola bar was pulled out of her hand.

She groaned out, already knowing exactly who the culprit was.

Taking a bite out of her a pound of a treat, Doctor Dane Whitman sent her a wink. He turned away from the female whose hands were propped onto her hips in utter disbelief to continue his way down the long hall. With a huff, Y/N fast walked past all the residents to slip her arm into his, pulling him down to slouch to her level. "You still have that date tomorrow night?"

"Regretfully yes."

"Who is it with again?"

"Some bloke, Kro. I'm meeting him at a bar."

"Kro? In heavens name is that? Where'd you meet a Kro?"

"Where most love stories begin." Her phone yanked from the side pocket of her scrubs," Tinder." After worried advice of Dane wishing her to be careful and to be dressed right for the cold weather, she looked down at the half eaten fiber one in his hands," In exchange for my dinner you just took, say, would you let me assist on your next surgery then?"

"I don't think someone's life is equal to a bar." Dane laughed, removing his arm to wrap around Y/N's shoulder instead. "Not that I'd think you'd kill someone. I know you've got talent but you’re not scheduled with me today nor yesterday nor tomorrow nor ever,” He teased but the shorter girl could only roll her eyes.

"Come on." She pouted," I'd much rather shadow you than Trevor."

"You have to give him more credit."

"He'd have a whole room full of me and one intern and he'd choose the intern over me." Y/N knew what Dane had to say. It's what he'd say each time. Deepening her voice, “ You just have to prove him wrong." Pushing his arm off of her," Yeah, I can't really do that if I can't touch anything."

Dane did feel for the girl. He's known Y/N since she’s moved here two years ago from the small borough of Kensington to Hamsptead. The newly turned 21 year old who had just graduated from nursing school had barely known the hardships of life from her spoiled upbringing. It didn't help she was naturally selected each time due to her last name. Only now she is being neglected her chances because Trevor Moore had moved from the United States and the first person to tell her no. He's not saying that she doesn't deserve to be where she is now because he knew she was so hardworking but the fact that it's best she learns you can not be simply handed things because it is asked for.

Though he did want to punch Trevor. The man is a git.

"Then you know. Prove, prove, prove. Prove that you're more than what he thinks he is."

"Okay, Yoda."

"You think I'm hot and wise?"

"No, you're wrinkly and hairy."

"Ha ha ha." He pulled a face as he held the door open for them to walk into the holding area. Y/N tilted her head," Wait, did you just call Yoda hot?" The wrinkles from her scowl smoothed out, feeling pretty impressed at the annoyed look on his face. The two stood in front of one another in silence as they settled down, other nurses and their CNAs frantically running through the halls. Dane took it in himself to break the pause," Okay, how about this? If Trevor doesn't have anything for you today, I have a surgery you can accompany me on tonight." The operating room nurse assisted on slipping the rest of his blue coat," We're performing an easy bypass surgery."

"Oh, I've done that a million times! I assure you that I can do

"I know." Mask already on, " 7 p.m."

"7 p.m." She repeated, pulling up a thumbs up to Dane who had once again turned her back towards her.

"You're doing it wrong."

The syringe fell the ground after Trevor fought from it. Y/N knew she should've just let it go but she was stubborn and she desperately needed to do what Dane advised. "How'd you even pass medical school if you can't even fill it up correctly?"

Seething teeth, Y/N opened her mouth in protest but she quickly made eye contact with the girl glowering up at them. Her eyes flicking between them from behind her ginger hair. It wasn't hard to tell that she was beginning to feel anxious the second she saw her hands fidget with the string of her purse so Y/N took the step to move behind the curtain so that there was more air to breathe. Whispers could be heard behind before the clacking of heels coming around the curtain signaled that Trevor had finished.

"I was doing it right, you asshole."

"You just call me an asshole?"

"No other person in this room except for you."

Trevor clenched his jaw, disposing of the now contaminated needle. "You're so fucking immature." He grumbled. "You need to how to respect people who are in a higher position than you. Just because you think that you're right doesn't mean you are."

His lips kept moving but it was like there was nothing coming out of his lips because it was all white noise to her.

If anyone was immature, it was him. As she watched him fill up the syringe the same way she did, her mind ran through all the things she did wrong according to him. From the way she checked the blood pressure of the older patients to the way that she assisted someone to the bathroom. Y/N tried her best not to take it to the heart because she heard worse things said about her behind her break and to her face. His comments were just rocks compared to the arrows that have pierced her skin.

Plus through the break room gossip that typically got around, it's pretty obvious that he has this hostile attitude to anybody that doesn't have any balls between their legs.

"If your mind was off what color you should do at your next appointment, you wouldn't be making these small little mistakes."

Curses sat on the end of her tongue, tempted to grab the tray next to her and simply just bonk his head over with it. But sound of the clock turning a hand that signaled that a new hour had dawned before them drifted her attention away from the weasel of a man in front of her.

7 p.m.

"Do we have any more patients scheduled for today?"

"Why are you asking me? It's not like you'd be of any help if we did have any." Trevor hummed, signing off the last papers.

"So no?"

"You're really wasti-"

Y/N walked out towards the hallway, knowing she left before Trevor could finish his sentence with an extra skip in her step. It's the fact she hasn't gotten her hands in on a surgery in so long. She couldn't wait to get her hands moving. A wide smile prompted its way onto her face, turning the corner only to catch a large man who fell so stiffly like a building. A warm and wet feeling covered her left hand when she found her balance and caught him on his upper torso, one on his back and other under his arm. When she lifted it up, red had entirely coated her index finger and ring finger.

Behind him stood a beautiful woman. It was hard to not stare, her beauty mark in the perfect place atop her lips. Her hair pinned back but a mess. After her came a man who stood shorter than the two but you could tell he carried himself with much confidence to overpower that fact. If it was hard to not stare at her, it was even harder to not stare at him. His ocean blue eyes pierced through her own Y/E/C eyes.

But she was cut off from her trance when she heard the frantic rush of," Where's Sprite?" come out of one of their mouths.

Just as fast as she exited the hospital room, she backed right back in.

"What? Done messin-" Trevor's eyes grew as big as his head when he caught sight of bleeding man in front of him, " Well, what are you doing? Get him onto the table."

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?" Y/N seethed, setting the man down as gently as she could. That's when she got a formal look at his chiseled face and the grey steak on his hair, along with the gashing cut that had ripped through his two layers of clothes that continuously seeped out blood. Just as fast, she clamped her hands down with a towel she stole from the side to try to slow it down.

"Ikaris!" The young patient from before ran into the room, her hand holding onto her right arm. Y/N worriedly eyed her, "Trevor, can you check on her?". She didn't check to see Trevor had listened, her attention immediately back to who she presumed was Ikaris on the bed. With her other hand, she tried to reach for a retractor but it was slapped away. In shock, Trevor looked down at her with those eyes that had a foul feel that could make anyone else cover away.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"What?"

"Don't think I didn't hear your conversation with Whitman."

Unknowingly, the older woman zoned into the conversation at that mention of the familiar last name.

Trevor continued," This is all a ploy to get yourself to prove yourself to me. You taking the bigger role while I take the smaller one.”

"Really? Right now?" Y/N scoffed in disbelief, grabbing the retractor to push back the skin and dropping the towel down to get a better look. She knew it. Everything else in the room disappeared and it was just her and the patient's life in her hands. She saw the vein that was gaping open at her. Luckily it didn't fully cut through. She grabbed a clamp next to hold the vein together. Reaching for the materials needed for the suture but it was too far. "Trevor, can you-", She felt a hot breath breathe down her neck," So how much you pay for this to all happen? Or did Daddy forgive you and decide to give you some money now? Mommy make enough stripper money?"

Trevor's comments never bothered her. They never bothered her because he never brought up her family. Fuck, she had no idea that he knew about that. But like she said, break room gossip got around.

No, not right now. She pleaded to herself. Please not right now.

Her breathing began to get shaky and her hands clasped and unclosed around the tool. More and more blood flowing out the more her mind took over.

"Shame you didn't follow your Mommy. I mean your attitude is something else and can get you in trouble but man, this body. Oh wait, I know what this is for. My attention." Trevor leaned closer," You woman and your need for attention. It's pretty dangerous sometimes. To yourself and everyone around you. That's why you all belong at home behind the counter, making me food for when I get home. Don't know why you have to do a man's work. All you ladies need to do is sit there and look pretty while sucking my-" His airways were cut off as he pulled back by his front collar from someone behind him.

"Now... now... that's no way to talk to a lady. Especially with a child in the room. Your Momma know you speak with a mouth like that?" The other man from earlier tightened his grip, Trevor letting out a strangled cough. He pushed Trevor against the wall, holding him up with one hand," She doesn't look fairly comfortable to me for you to get all up and personal like that." He blew a piece of Trevor's hair away, causing him to frantically blink in fear,"Now I typically do not care what you do with one another but right now, you're going to leave the pretty gal alone because if that man bleeding out right there dies, it won't be because of her but because of you. I don't think I need to tell you what the consequences are if that happens." A hard cold metal poked Trevor on the side and in the corner of her eye, Y/N saw the outline of a gun. If she wasn't freaking out before, she was now. Why did he have a gun? Was he going to kill Trevor?

"Druig, let him go." The beautiful woman spoke up for the first time that moment. Druig didn't budge and closed his hand tighter around the collar, Trevor wheezing out a breath," Sersi, you surprise me. Wouldn't you want men like this to be squashed like a little bug when they act like one?"

"Now."

With a huff, Druig let go of the red faced man and swiftly tucked the gun back into the slot between his jeans. Trevor collapsed to the floor, searching for air to fill his lungs. "Y-You're crazy. I'm calling the police!" He was out of the room without Sersi being able to say something.

"I'll have a word with you later." Sersi whispered underneath her breath to Druig who couldn't help but have a smug look on his face. But soon the attention was back to Ikaris whose face grew paler and paler.

Y/N just stared, afraid for her next move.

"Well, what are you doing?" Sprite spoke first," Save him!"

But Y/N was still in her own state of mind. Her hands now becoming more and more shaky. "C-Can- Pass me the tweezers, holder, and that thread." At first, Sprite had struggled to find out but it was on one of the blue trays to the side before swiftly handing it to her. Y/N quickly began the suture but she was in shock from what Trevor had said and the fear of whoever these people are in the room with her. Her hands stopped shaking but her breathing became too rapid, making it hard for her to see properly. It didn't help with who she presumed was Sersi had stepped forward to keep a close eye on her. Around the second loop, she felt she was going to faint. Her mouth dry and her eyes heavy.

A cold hand rested on the nape of her neck,"Breathe." Druig curled and leaned down," Breathe with me."

She tensed up. Is he going to pull the trigger on her? "No please. I-"

"I'm not going to hurt you. Just listen to my breathing and follow."

Y/N obeyed in the case he would hurt her and listened to his breathing. Her racing breath began to slow down, following in rhythm with his as they took turns exhaling and inhaling. Druig moved his other hand to wrap around her forearm, his thumb sliding on the skin. When she finally gained her conscience back, it was like magic. Suturing the vein came like the wind, fast and easy.

Trevor hurriedly pulled on his peacoat, not even trying with his scarf. He can just tell HR that he fell sick. They'd understand. Tucking his hands away to make himself appear smaller, his eyes were set on the door. His feet swiftly dragged him. Eyes darting side to side in fear for something to jump. His heart dropped when he stopped by his arm but let out a deep breath when he saw that it was just Dane. "Where's Y/L/N?"

Trevor looked back at the room which caused Dane to turn his head towards before he roughly yanked his arm out of Dane's grip, breaking into a sprint to the exit.

Usually Dane would brush off Trevor's strange behavior but it's the way he had looked like he saw a ghost. Almost like a trance, he began the walk to the room Trevor motioned to, eyeing the puddle of blood near the entrance. "Y/N?" He shoved open the door to see four familiar faces.

Y/N snapped her head back, Druig's hand falling off but his hand on her arm still remained. Now halfway through the stitch on the outer layer of Ikaris’s skin, she cursed Dane for his bad timing. She saw them all turn to look at the new presence in the room. "Please don't hurt him. He's one of our top surgeon. His life is much more valuable than mine. Please, he did nothing wrong.” She pleaded.

"Nurse Y/N, I'll take over from here."

Dane had kicked out everyone else from the room except for Sersei. As she did in the beginning of the night, her nails returned back to her mouth as she nervously bit her thumbnail.

"That's not good for you."

Shit, she didn’t even know he was standing there. Sprite had announced she was going to get a snack from the cafeteria because all of this made her super stressed out. That all she wanted to do was get a vaccine shot and go. Y/N assumed that the older male had followed her but here he was. Although he did help calm her down, she still felt fairly intimidated by the one standing before her. Averting her eyes to the ground, Druig pushed himself off the wall and mocked her crossed arms. Craning his neck down so she could look at him.

"You always let that man talk to you like that?", He didn't wait for an answer," Pretty obvious you do."

"Hey, you don't know me."

"No, I don't. But you're pretty easy to read." His eyes held a glint she's never seen before," Spoiled girl? Always gets what she wants?"

"And what are you? Some boy with anger issues? Pulling out a gun in the middle of the hospital. "Frowning, "You don't know me." She repeated but this time her voice began to falter, " I could care less about what that man has to say about me."

"Hm." Druig looked up into the air as if he was thinking of what to say next," So you don't know how to stand up for yourself. I can see how easy you let people get under your skin. I can how easy you let them step over you. Hell, you're letting me do it right now."

"What's your problem?"

"My problem. My problem is I dislike people like you. I dislike the ones that are so weak." He pointed," People like you irritate the fuck out of me."

"Then why did you defend me?" Y/N laid her hand out, "If you agreed with what he said so much."

"I didn't agree what he said and I didn't defend you. You blanked out and I simply just didn't want my colleague to die because you couldn't handle criticism."

Now she hadn't thought a stranger would care about her in the slightest nor was she hoping for it. But to be plain rude out like that. Another man in for a cursing again and this time there was no child there to prevent her from the nasty words she had to say.

But the sound of a crispy chip cut her off, signaling that somehow on time, Sprite was back. And just like Druig said, she left it at that with no words to defend herself and walked away. Reminding herself that her silence was the best weapon that she had.

Ikaris's chest rose up and down, signaling that he was in fact breathing and the EKG machine was now attached to him, his heart beating at a normal rate.

The two ex-lovers sat besides each other, their shoulders brushing up against up one another. Although there was no time to be feel fiddly. No time to catch up on the last three years they have not seen each other since the dreadful night that they refuse to think about.

Because they knew something. They knew something was coming.

They were already back.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Ikaris has just been shot and I didn't see where it came from. We're suppose to be here to get things done for Sprite's school but I doubt it's safe for her to go anymore. So I haven't really gotten the time to make a plan yet."

Dane knew not to say anything more because he poked at her one more time, he would unleash the temper that he knew she had. A temper that he didn't want to deal with after this tiring day. But he noticed something. More like someone. That someone that would typically be here in anything involved one of her family getting injured.

"Where's Ajak, Sersi?"

"Ajak is dead."

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taglist: artaxerxesthegreat

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lihikainanea · 2 years

Note

That image of Bill in the tiny swim trunks on the pool float with the straw hat and booze…vacation Bill vibes! What does Tiger think?

I mean, we all know how much I love this concept of Bill, with his RayBans on, his long legs splayed off the edge of a giant inflatable swan as it floats out to sea.

But also, forgive me for a moment here sweet nani but my mind drifted (no pun intended) to something else--I promise I'll keep it vacation Bill related.

We talk often about how tiger can definitely struggle with how she looks. She can sometimes get real down on herself, she's very self conscious about her stretch marks or just in general her...lack of celebrity looks. Especially when she compares herself to Bill, and the women in his world. Tiger can really dig herself into a hole of self-loathing.

But what if--ohhh god this is delicious--what if Bill is the one struggling a bit with how he looks, these days?

Hear me out.

Bill is definitely not a chonky boy, but his weight does seem to fluctuate a lot--he goes from rather gaunt-like thin, to having a bit more of a dad bod. That photo from Clark on the boat in the rain is just glorious--you see his soft handles at his hips, a bit of a pooch in front. He's got a bit of a soft, paunchy belly that's a little more to hold onto than usual.

And what if he's noticing, and he's feeling a little self-conscious about it all? Maybe some of the tabloids are commenting, and the brothers are being thrust into the spotlight together a bit more than usual because Alex has that big Northman movie coming out, and Bill has his big Netflix series. Stellan is even riding the wave after Dune. The entertainment industry suddenly has Skarsgard fever and everywhere they look, seemingly every magazine cover is talking about the Swedish dynasty and plastering photos all over.

And the problem is, Alex gained 20lbs of muscle for his role in the Northman. And while Alex is one of the more muscular of the brothers anyway, that's certainly not the way he normally looks. But every single magazine cover is plastering them side by side-- Alex, screaming and covered in dirt, every muscle rippling in a still of the Northman--and Bill, a candid, walking around New York City, a little paunchy belly showing in his tight shirt, sipping an iced coffee with extra whipped cream.

And it's making him a little self-conscious.

He knows what his brother went through to get like that. They had frequent late night calls where Bill would hand the phone to tiger and Alex would make her detail every single thing she ate that day, in the greatest of detail--and Alex would be drooling on the other end. He'd send screenshots in the family chat of him working out basically every second of the day, hating his life. Alex didn't put a single thing in his mouth that wasn't chicken, broccoli or brown rice for 6 months. His cheat meal once a month was salmon, instead of chicken.

Bill knows his brother doesn't naturally look like the chiseled god he transformed into for the movie, but everyone else is sure acting like he does.

And then there's Bill, who's naturally skinny but who has maybe gotten a bit of a dad bod in recent months after some well deserved time off. He was never one for the gym anyway, but now that he's in his thirties his metabolism is slowing down a bit and he's not quite the lithe, stick figure he always was.

And listen, tiger loves it. She loves the soft handful she can now grab at his hip. She loves that he has the tiniest, every so small protrusion of a belly that sticks out from tight shirts or over the top of his belt.

But he's self-conscious of it. And every time tiger tries to grab a little handful or rub it--or in general really anytime she passes her hand over his midsection--he flinches, gets uncomfortable, moves away. Tiger notices that on vacation he's wearing his shirt a lot more which is weird because Bill would basically walk around naked all the time if he could. But on the beach he keeps it on, shrugs when she pulls at it and just says he doesn't want to get a sunburn. He wears a t-shirt to bed which is like, devastating because his warm chest and the smell of soap when she nuzzles his skin there is her favourite thing in the world.

And Bill is pretty sensitive about it all, and tiger isn't used to seeing him be anything but confident and self-assured so it takes a bit of time before she's actually able to get it out of him. But she draws the line one morning at an ungodly hour on vacation, when Bill has the audacity to leave the bed and try and go out for a run. Tiger sits up, makes an incredulous noise, and then wrangles him back into bed like she's an octopus and he's a drowning alligator.

"God what the fuck," he shrieks, "How many fucking arms do you have?!"

He shrieks when he feels teeth dig into his peachy backside.

"Stop you beast," he swats at her. But she wins, pins him down, then just lies on his chest and pulls the blankets back over her.

"We're going to talk about this," she mumbles, "But at a more pleasant hour."

"Talk about what," he grumbles.

"About why you do this," tiger reaches a hand down to palm at his tummy and he flinches, grabs her wrist quickly and moves it. He sighs heavily.

"Go to sleep," he says gruffly. She does. And then she picks her moments.

Maybe it’s muuuuch later on, quite late that night actually, as the both of them are in their private pool on the balcony. Tiger was the one to throw off her swimsuit first, and after much more convincing than is usually necessary--she finally got Bill to ditch his shirt and swim trunks. She wraps her legs around his waist as he floats on his back, paddling slowly.

“What’s up with you?” she asks gently.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she says with a soft kiss, “You’re not yourself.”

“What’s myself?” he bristles, “An eight-pack yielding, chiseled demi god that looks like he can bench press an elephant? Because wrong brother, kid.”

“Okay wow,” she says, and she can’t even hide the surprise, “Yeah, see, that right there. What is that?”

“Nothing,” he dismisses.

“Billy come on,” she coaxes with a kiss to his nose, “Talk to me.”

He sighs heavily, and pushes her off of him.

“Everybody is acting like he looks like that naturally,” he huffs, “And meanwhile, they’re all publishing photos of me sucking down an 8000-calorie coffee with a big buddha belly.”

He slaps his gut at the last word.

“Bill, nobody looks like that naturally. Especially not Alex. I’ve seen Alex chug an entire 12-pack of beer in the time it takes me to drink one,” she says.

“I know that,” he snaps, “You know that. But the contrast is still rather fucking apparent.”

He goes silent and she lets it hang there for a second, and sure enough after a brief pause, he sighs.

“I’m not in my twenties anymore,” he says, “I’m not as thin as I was. And I feel like it’s showing everywhere. I never used to have this,” another grab at his belly, “Or...or these. What the hell are these?”

He grabs at his hips, and the ever so tiny soft palmfuls he can feel there.

“Okay first of all,” tiger says as she wades back over to him, “Bill, you were on drugs in your 20s. Lots of them. Nobody is as thin as they were in their 20s and nobody is supposed to be.”

“Second of all, quite frankly--I find it hot as hell. It’s straight up fire bud, it gets me going,” she tells him, “You got something to hold onto. And I happen to love holding onto it.”

“Tiger,” he whines.

“No fuck you,” she cuts him off, “I mean it. You were a rake, pal. You looked like Slenderman. Now you have...you have girth. You’re wide as a fucking doorframe. You filled out and it’s glorious.”

He huffs, embarrassed. She doesn’t let up.

“I would have been terrified to climb on top of you in your early 20s for fear I’d snap you like a fucking twig. And now I ride you like a fucking stallion and you slap my ass and ask me if that’s all I’ve got.”

He fidgets awkwardly, his eyes flitting to hers, but tiger can see the small hint of a smile tilt his lips up.

“I don’t have a dad bod?” he asks lowly.

“Of course you do, and it’s fucking hot as sin,” she says, “Now you’re a whole ass daddy. I love it bud, I really, really fucking do.”

“I don’t feel like you do,” he says cheekily, and he wades away from her. “I don’t know, doesn’t seem very heartfelt.”

Tiger knows what he wants. And if he wants her to make him feel good, oh hell, she’s all in. She swims to the edge of the pool.

“Give me 10 minutes and then come in,” she says, “If your dumb skinny ass doesn’t believe me, then I’ll show you.”

She steps out of the pool and Bill grins.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth kid,” he warns dangerously. Tiger just turns, her whole body illuminated in the moonlight.

“Fucking make me,” she challenges.

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fic

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TRANSLATED INTERVIEW thanks to skarsgard_bro on Instagram

Dazzling light

After taking over Hollywood, Bill Skarsgärd is back in Sweden. This spring, he plays the country's most legendary gangster. Now he wants to go further down into the cracks to find the light.

Text: Tom Cehlin Magnusson Photographer: Eric Broms Styling: Maria Montti

Bill Skarsgard hears voices in his head. Voices calling for crime, even. But before you throw yourself on the phone to announce the medical information or Stop the Press, Bill himself seems to take it eswxeasy. It even seems to be voluntary.After living with the monster project about Clark Olofsson's life for several years, Olofsson's raspy voice has forever engraved Western Gothic patterns in his brain. In addition to studying Clark Olofsson's voice throughout his criminal career (it's been a while, for anyone wondering), Bill has also, just in time for the final edit, invented his own variant of what he calls Clark Olofssonska.

Bill Skarsgard is sitting on a sofa in his office on Södermalm, alert despite an early morning with his daughter. "The narrator's voice is like a character of its own. It's a cool, jazzy soundtrack to the series, and when I was reading it, it was like ..." he snaps his fingers.

"It's a sawy Clark in a smoky bar with a cigar and brandy who a little pretentiously colors the story of hislife," he says.

"I have not seen how it turned out yet, it is possible that I have to redo that.

When Bill Skarsgard was to find Clark's voice, he and Jonas Äkerlund brought in external help.

"Jonas and I had a meeting with Fredrik Lindström and played stuff for him. And he as a linguist wrotean analysis that I got from him, he was so damn nice. "

What did you come up with?

"He still has a ton of Västgötskan even though he moved to Gothenburg when he was six years old. As a rule, you should change your accent if you move at that age. But he did not said something about it. There's a key to the character there. You yourself had changed that on the first day of school. But here is a bastard who went to school at Hisingen and did not change his dialect. He ran his race already as a child. " He seems both impressed and amazed.

"I find it incredibly fascinating with language. If you listen to people in the 70s, people who were in their twenties then speak in a special way, " he says and begins to imitate a sluggish Södermalm woman.

"But they do not talk like that anymore. People's own language changes during the course of life. They change their melody and emphasis. It's fascinating that one's own voice changes over time. But Clark Olofsson has sounded so similar to himself all along. Which also says something about him as a character. He does not change. During the past year, most of what Bill has done has happened at a more accelerated pace than language studies with Fredrik Lindström. He has more or less every day glued different types of loose beards to his face, been isolated in a hotel room in Lithuania, mixed drinks in a plastic cup on a rocking boat in Croatia and perhaps above all pulled down his pants at more filming locations than any blockbuster series on HBO uses. Jonas Äkerlund's Netflix venture Clark is a high-octane my thologisation of the country's most mythologised criminal with the record chronically pressed into the carpet. The series begins with Clark Olofsson saying "Now we drive, for hell" inside his mother's womb. Then the tempo increases. (He walks by birth sideburns.)

"I have probably never been like that ..." he says and becomes silent for a second.

"It will be damn exciting to see how it is received."

Bill Skarsgärd, Jonas Äkerlund and photographer Eric Broms sat at Hotel Lydmar on Blasieholmen in

Stockholm. The company checked over their shoulders from time to time. The atmosphere was a bit tense despite the light of summer evening. The atmosphere was torn up in one fell swoop for Bill more

than familiar voice. The whole table turned when a man suddenly exclaimed "Where the hell are they, the bastards?" and ordered a Bacardi and Coca-Cola.

"Then Clark sat down and held the box for an hour and a half. And you just sat and laughed at all his anecdotes. He really is a pro at it. I love such characters, " says Bill.

We're in Bill's office. In a small villa on Södermalm, the 31-year-old actor receives in a gray knitted sweater and black jeans. He offers a pair of felt slippers from a wooden basket by the front door and shows around. In one corner are a bunch of whiteboards, in the basement there is a music studio. In the toilet, Bill shows a framed mug shot of Clark Olofsson.

"It's cruel, it's a shitty house. I have this as a production company together with two of my best friends.

When you have a three-year-old at home, it's nice to have a place to go and get things done.

He now lives in Sweden again, after almost a decade in a suitcase around cities such as Los Angeles and

Toronto, together with his partner, actress Alida Morberg, and daughter Oona.

What does the production company do?

"We have several projects that we are developing. I live in Stockholm now, but the idea came from my friend who is an American screenwriter. We wanted to start doing things together. If you have close friends who are all incredibly talented at what they do, and you still hang out all the time, you can work together and do things together. It feels like the most fun way to work. For example, we are developingan animated TV series. An international project but rooted in Scandinavia ", says Bill.

"I have a couple of ideas for Swedish stuff that I would like to do. An anthology series about Stockholm, for example, where each episode is like a short film, short stories with a common thread. You tell little human life stories in each episode, it feels damn fun.

Recently, Bill debuted as a director with Soul of a Man, a short film based on Edgar Allan Poe's short story Bon-bon with his brother Gustaf and father Stellan in the lead roles. The reason we are seen is also a personal project. Clark is a real big bet. Jonas Äkerlund directs, backed by Netflix, For the first time, Bill Skarsgärd's name is not only on the cast, but also as executive producer. But what from the outside may sound like a luxury prestige project has rather been an itinerant stress circus for over a year.

"For a while, I felt that I didn't know if this will be possible to fulfill, it is far too ambitious for the budget. It was chaotic."

Why?

"Many different reasons, but above all because it is such an incredibly ambitious project. Jonas writes like a mower, a section can have 300 locations or something like that. This is not how television is done - anywhere. Locations cost money, "says Bill.

"Even in huge productions, like these Marvel series that are being released now, they go around in boring studio rooms - that structure is the TV model. But Jonas does not write like that, Jonas Äkerlund himself seems to have taken the stress calmly:

"All the recordings are intense, but this one was long. We had 90 days of filming spread over almost a year with a very ambitious script. Not a day that was the same as the other, which meant that it never became leisurely or boring. Every day was like a memory for life", says the director and praises the main character.

"I knew Bill was right for the role, I would not have done the series without him. Engaged, smart, dedicated, talented and sickly good-looking."

The result is something of a bush, says Bill. He is open about not knowing how the series will be received, but it is obvious that he feels for the series. When he starts talking about Clark Olofsson, he has a hard time quitting.

"It will be very fun to see how it is received and what it can find for audiences in the rest of the world.

Almost all of Jonas' stuff makes Dad kind of cult follower. The tone of the show will probably be quite polarizing, either you love it or you hate it. And it's fun, then you at least arouse emotions", says Bill.

"I've seen them all now and it's unbelievable that we managed to row all this home. It really is a miracle. It really is … something, " he says.

"And very much Jonas. He has basically written everything himself. He has a very special tone. Which I hope will be very refreshing for a Swedish audience", he says.

"It's so incredibly naughty."

The series is based on Clark Olofsson's autobiography, and the degree of truth is accordingly.

"The series' tagline is 'based on truths and lies'. And lies should be in capital letters - it's told from Clark's perspective, which is probably a bit of a mythomaniac himself. You have to keep that in mind, a lot of this stuff happened, but it did not happen in this way. And one should not have too much confidence in the narrator. He does not take into account the victims, who he has exposed to terrible things, and neither does the series. It will be a point of it, and I hope you understand that", says Bill.

Reading Clark Olofsson's Wikipedia page is like reading the script for a twisted Scorsese movie. He has been called Sweden's first and only pop gangster. On the run from a youth care school in 1965, he picked grapes, cucumbers and tomatoes from Tage Erlander's official residence in Harpsund, the following year he escaped from a prison for the first time. After the Norrmalmstorg drama in 1973, where he became the concept of the Stockholm Syndrome, he has escaped from more or less every prison that can be escaped from, robbed banks, convicted of drug smuggling, acted as an intermediary in the theft of some Picasso paintings and changed his name a couple of times. When Clark Olofsson was interviewed last year by Janne Josefsson, an old neighbor from Hisingen in Gothenburg, he said that according to a contract with a film company, he was forbidden from participating in criminal activities. But that his ears still register things that move outside the world of clauses. "I am open to ominous proposals. Pig-like proposals", Olofsson said then. Back to Lydmar's outdoor restaurant, and what you can expect is a couple of Bacardi and Coca-Cola later.

"When I met him for the first time, I felt like I had been in this person's head for so long and seen hours of archive material on him - almost every decade of his life, there's some shit he's done that he's being interviewed about. - and so I myself fell victim to him. I liked him. Though it's a person who has done so many terrible things in his life. But then you still sit and tan and shake your head when you look at his interviews."

Was it difficult to portray such a person?

"I had done a lot of research on him before the script actually existed. When Jonas started writing, I realized that this is not a real, true interpretation of this man. And it was a bit difficult in the beginning he says. You tried to portray a real person, and then you read the script and felt that this is not how it works.This is not how you behave. It became clear that I had to separate the real man and my embodiment from him. But despite the tone of the series, there is a lot of this real person in that, somewhere. Which was very important," says Bill.

"But then we found the tone, and it's a Kalle Anka version of the real Clark. The series depicts nothing in a realistic way. When you talk about Clark, everyone thinks you should make a serious, dramatic, subtle and minimalist series. And this is the complete opposite. Because Jonas is like that. It's not a Marcimain interpretation of Clark Olofsson, directly?

"I've told people it's a comedy, and people do not understand how it can be. But his life is incredibly humorous. And cooked and crazy. Every single interview you see with him, you sit and laugh, because he is so fucking entertaining. The series is in the same tone as when he sits and entertains an interviewer, but it's like the audience becomes the interviewer. And the audience also falls victim to the Stockholm syndrome. Just like so many in his life have done.

In addition to Bill, his partner Alida Morberg appears in the series, friends Adam Lundgren and Björn Gustafson also play prominent roles in the series. His little brother Kolbjörn also appears in the first episode. Adam Lundgren says that the recording was like a summer camp.

"We talked several times that it is unbelievable that we have had to do this together and at the same time get paid. It was as if two polar bears took the key to the mask and suit store and then just blew on, says Adam. The series has been postponed several times. It's clear that Bill has had a lot of time to think about Clark.

"Despite all the fucking shit he's done, there are so many sick people who forgive him. The whole Swedish people did it. The majority, at least. And everyone from prisoners to prison directors loved him. He managed to gain trust over and over again even though he fucked up, escaped, manipulated and lied. People fell for him and forgave him all the time. Not least in the entire Norrmalmstorg drama ", says Bill.

"There was something in him that made people want to be with him, want to forgive him or take his side. Even though he was wrong in almost all incidents, and made mistakes. How does it feel to play such a person?

"It was so much dirty, dirty stuff. Pig stuff. When you play the scenes, it does not feel fun, because the character is so manipulative and lies all the time. When you look at it, it's fun, but doing it was not fun. I had to be the pig. But that it is nasty becomes clearer and clearer, and I hope that you have the strength to look at him all the way through because in the end it is like ..", he interrupts and makes a flushing sound.

"And it is important, I think, that you feel that way in the end."

He limps a bit. It is a few weeks before Bill Skarsgärd will go to South Africa to start filming Boy kills world, a kind of dark action comedy made by Sam Raimi, iconic director behind, among other things, the

Evil dead films. Not much about the film is known, but according to IMDB, the plot seems to involve a deaf-mute boy who, with the help of a shaman, becomes a murderer on a revenge hunt. As you can perhaps trigger from the core synopsis, it takes some training to do the role. Before Bill leaves Sweden, he therefore has a strict training schedule, which has resulted in an injured leg when he shows up for the photo shoot for Café's cover.

The sun shines in through the wide windows of the Old Town. The photography is something of a reunion: The series about Clark Olofsson has been made in close collaboration between Jonas Äkerlund and the photographer Eric Broms. The photographer pulls out the phone and shows Bill films from the recording, Bill laughs and imitates Jonas Akerlund's sloppy 90s Stockholm. When Bill stands in front of the camera, something happens. His features are strengthened, his eyes become even larger at the same time as his lips and cheekbones are pulled out as if there were invisible threads at the ends.

Nowadays, he is an experienced Hollywood name. Following the success of Pennywise in the immensely popular IT films (the first is the most lucrative horror film ever, among others), he has made major appearances with, among others, Tom Holland and Robert Pattinson, an action film with Keanu Reeves army, another with Adrien Brody there.

He was not even twenty years old when he stepped up to Hannes Holm with a couple of glasses inside the vest to convince the director that he was the only alternative for the lead role in Behind Blue Skies.

Just a couple of years later, he had been sacked by legendary agent William Morris Agency and booked a role in Hemlock Grove, one of Netflix's first original series.

Bill did his first cover interview for Café on the fruitful trip to Los Angeles. He told me that he and his friends had nowhere to sleep, and how his father had exclaimed a "fuck off" when he heard how quickly his son had landed his first Hollywood role. Streaming services were so new that the writer had to explain what one was.

That was, in short, just before a revolution would turn the film and television industry upside down.

"The industry in the United States tanned. It became a completely different world then. I belonged to the generation that understood that it is quite obvious that that was the future. There was no doubt about that. I'm from the Napster generation. The Sopranos were downloaded the day after it was released in the United States. They did not sit and wait for a year for it to be released on SVT", says Bill.

He himself is an old-fashioned celebrity in some sense: he has no social media and is barely visible to the public when it is not time for a film premiere. At the same time, his own career has developed symbiotically with the new media landscape.

"It feels more exciting to be a part of the industry today than it was five years ago," he says.

"If you make a Swedish horror film that is released on a streamer, you can change your career throughout the day. Like the Squid game guy, he had a shitty idea that he's been trying to get done for a lot of years. Today, a young David Lynch can do something in a country like Sweden and find five percent die hard fans. Five percent of 150 million viewers is quite a lot. Then you can do things that are alternative and strange, but if they are good enough, they can resonate with enough people to be a success."

You mention that Clark is quite daring, has not Netflix been in and poked at something?

"No, I do not know if there is any other production company that would make this series. You could never have done it on SVT. It can probably be very offensive, I think. And it is very own and alternative And it was not cheap to make. Even if we had far too little money, our ambitions were dashed. So it is the giants who have the capital to issue provocative things?

"Yes, I have felt a little general that this particular industry has been shaped so much by the political climate. That projects must represent one side of the political climate. That the point of the project is to do it. Fine, I think, It's hard to do good things in those templates, but it's done. And then it is important and great that it is done. It probably goes in cycles, but it is important that there are also things that become more nuanced and messy and add to it more. It's more appealing to me," says Bill.

"If I look at something or read something, I want it to be messy. If it's clear what the message is, it's going to be boring for me. And very often not true. The characters are not there for the sake of the characters but to fulfill a function. A preacher. He says that there must be room for art that is not constructive.

"None of this really has anything to do with Clark, it's way too clumsy for that, but it does not fill checkboxes for politically correct demands anywhere. And that is a statement in itself. I do not know the Swedish industry so damn well, but such demands might come more from elsewhere. And then that series could not have been done " says Bill.

"Most people make mistakes. Telling about people who make mistakes, where you have to get an opinion yourself, and maybe even have a different opinion depending on who is watching, is very important. There is nothing challenging about enjoying a morally perfect person. Then it is important that it exists also. But what I'm getting turned on by is what's weird and wrong. A man turns off Hollywood Boulevard, depresses the brake and looks out the car window. And looking. The cortisol levels in the blood are not lowered by the dry, white make-up on the face or the red wig that itches. When the car is parked, an almost two-meter-long clown-made man steps out of the car and rushes into an office. So in retrospect, when Bill Skarsgärd got the role of Pennywise in IT (the trailer became the most watched of all time and the film the most lucrative horror film of all time), it feels obvious. But on the way to his second audition, Bill Skarsgärd was just a guy in clown makeup who had a little too much time to think about how he would have to wash away the perhaps overly clear symbolism from his face if he did not get the role.

"I was quite young when I did Pennywise, 26 years old. The whole thing was to figure out how he sounds. You can not sound like yourself, you have to invent the voice. That whole role was just one big voice job. With the laughter and all that stuff. I was terrified that it would sound strange or wrong, but I went for it. And felt that it went well. Then I gained self-confidence and realized that I could work with the voice and make it something else.

I read that you came up with that laugh just on that drive to your audition?

"Well, not as a finished product that way. But I wanted the laughter to be as close to panic anxiety or hysterical crying as anything fun."

The role that turned him into talk show couch material was as done for him. His stretchy facial features are widely talked about at this point. During the filming of the sequel to It, sneaky pictures spread that went viral when he scared the shit out of Bill Hader by showing how Pennywise's spreading pupils were not the result of any special effects. On Conan O'Brien's and Stephen Colbert's couches, he got to show off his resilient mind game that earned him the role of Pennywise.

"It's a thing that I think Sweden is bad at. Even if you look at our biggest actors, they have patents on themselves. There are not many who make twisted transformative characters where you barely recognize the actor. There are some, but not many. The big icons, like Persbrandt, always go in and out is as good as it gets - but it's always Persbrandt. It's like Humphrey Bogart, you pay to see Bogart," says Bill.

"My brother Gustaf I always think goes for it. He can get a lot of criticism for that sometimes, but he does something - he does an old man. A character. Or David Dencik, people who invent funny things. But that's pretty unusual. And it takes courage to do that. It will be a step outside of yourself. It is harder to own the truth the further away from yourself you come. But then it also becomes the challenge. That it may wear or break. When I look at Clark now, there's not much Bill there anyway. It's something else, a fucking spectacle.

This autumn, Bill is also relevant as Sven Stole in Björn Runge's Burn All My Letters, based on Alex Schulman's novel about the love story between Karin Stole and Olof Lagercrantz.

"Then I'm also making a fucking old man. But as far from Clark Olofsson as you can get. In the 1930s, people spoke completely differently. I watched interviews with Stolpe, there are not many from when he is young but when he gets older: Okay, what happens if I cast this voice?" he says and begins to imitate the controversial author.

He himself has several voices. On the TV couches of Conan O'Brien, Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel, he is a thoroughbred professional, born to fold one leg over the other and smile into the right camera. In other interviews, he has a politely formulated distance to personal questions. But when he talks about languages and dialects, his voice thickens, he laughs and imitates (does an old man, as he himself says). His Södermalm dialect unfolds to its full wingspan.

"There will be people who will be bothered by it. But there is a fucking difference between my Sven Stolpe and my Clark Olofsson. You will not recognize them. And that's what's exciting. That's what gets me started. The films are coming out the same year and they do not sound the same at all. It's a fun risk to take.

A couple of years ago, he did one of the lead roles in The devil all the time along with names like Tom Holland and Robert Pattinson. A role as far away from Russian-German-Icelandic man as a Swedish actor usually gets to put its canines in, with a deep Appalachian dialect from far down in a dialectal mine where diphthongs come to die. You even get praise for your English in your Flashback thread.

"Yeah! I think it's fun. When you do that, there is a risk in it. The safest thing an actor can do is to talk like himself. Every time you do something that is not yourself, you go outside your comfort zone. English is not my natural language. In Devil all the time it was my first job where I felt like fuck it, I'm going there. And so I thought it went damn well. And then it has colored all the other things I do now " says Bill.

"The accent is one thing but the voice is the role. The voice tells something about the person. If you were a working class in West Virginia, it colored how you talked, and what you talked about. You were not allowed to talk about emotions. And then you realize that that is the role. A person who has far too much emotion and no one to talk to. Post-traumatic stress did not even exist as a term in the 1940s." he says and tells of when he managed to capture how the character would sound. He clasps his hands.

"Okay, fuck it - this is him. Here we go!"

This year he is doing two of Sweden's biggest projects in film and television, soon he will appear in a bunch of American films with, among others, Christoph Waltz in the cast.

"Now we'll see how it goes with the Swedish stuff, there will probably be negative Flashback reviews as well. I promise people will bothered about it. But my hope is that many will feel that it's cool that the guy who sits and is interviewed on a TV couch does not sound at all the same way as in the film", says Bill.

Is that what you're looking for in a role?

"Now it has become a thing for me. I kind of think it colors the choices I make today, "says Bill.

"I like it to be weird."

#bill skarsgård #interview #café magazine #2022 #translation #iltiou

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sohoharlem · 3 years

Note

I live in LA so I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few celebrities, so here are some of my favorite celeb encounters:

13 year old me met Robert Pattinson in 2010 and I remember pointing on how his nose was crooked... IDK why I did that!!! :/ and I can also confirm that he’s super tall/lanky. He was one of the nicest and funniest celebrities I’ve ever met and he even complimented my Justin Bieber hoodie.

I met Chris Evans and Jenny Slate in 2017. They were at a Mexican restaurant and he was really sweet and signed my phone case and when they left he was taking pictures with some of the workers. I noticed he would stand behind Jenny a lot. They would be talking to somebody and he would stand behind her with his arms around her stomach. Very timid and wouldn’t take his cap off. Jenny was cackling the whole time. Annoying high pitched baby voice, wanted to smack her so badly, but I’m a guy and I don’t hit women.

My friend and I went to the screening of IT and Bill Skarsgård was there and HE IS ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MEN I’VE EVER SEEN LIKE IM CONVINCED HE’S THE ONE THAT MADE ME GAY 🤷🏻‍♂️ He has these protruding green eyes... it’s hot stfu... and he was so funny and charismatic. He smelled so expensive too. He declined taking pictures with fans and gave us signed posters of him and the cast. Very fucking tall...

One of my favorite celebrities is Jake Gyllenhaal. He was at this cycling place back in 2014 and when he saw us calling for him he turned and waved at us and just stood there staring at us awkwardly for like a good minute or so. He came up to us after his cycling class was over and told us if we were waiting for him and we were like yeah and he took pictures with us and asked if we knew any places that had good ice cream.

Not surprised about Bill. Skarsgard!!! Thank you for sharing these!

- SH

#robert pattinson #bill skarsgard #chris evans #jenny slate #jake gyllenhaal

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jackandjackiekennedylover · 3 years

Text

The real world

Roman Godfrey x Reader

Imagine You having feelings towards Bill. But he has a girlfriend. Your character and Roman come into the real world.

Where the hell are we, Roman asked as he looks around.

Idk Roman. It looks like we are in California, You said.

Just fucking great. more people to see me, Roman said.

Just hush and follow me, You said.

You two didn't notice paparazzi taking pictures of you two.

Breaking News

Bill Skarsgard was spotted cheating on girlfriend Alexis Darwin with a mystery girl.

Who is this mystery girl?

Does Alexia Darwin know that Bill is cheating on her with this mystery girl?

I can't believe that you cheat on me. I thought that you love me, Alexia yelled.

I didn't cheat on you, I would never cheat on you, Alexia. I love you, Bill said.

Why are you lying to me? Did you cheat on me with y/n l/n! , Alexia yelled.

Y/n and I are friends. Don't bring her into this, Y/n didn't do anything, Bill said.

I'm done and I'm leaving you bill. This is goodbye, Alexia said.

You choose Y/n over me, Alexia said.

I told you that we are only friends, why can't you get that threw your damn head, Bill said.

Go to hell Bill, Alexia said.

Just get the hell out of the house, Bill said.

Breaking News

Bill Skarsgard and His long time partner Alexia Darwin had called it quits after two years of being together.

Is Y/N L/N the reason of the couple break up?

What is this, Roman said as he shows you the newspaper.

I'm guessing that there is another me and you here, You said.

You fucking think Roman said.

Listen. I love you Roman Godfrey and I would never cheat on you, You said with a smile.

I love you too, Roman said.

I had told Peter something before we left, You said.

What did you tell Peter, Roman asked?

You watch him light a cigarette.

I told Peter that I want a family with you in the future and You are a good father to Nadia. I just want to see you like that with our child. If you want a child with me, if you don't. I understand, You said.

I do want a child with you. I'm just scared bc what if it becomes an upir like Nadia was. What if it kills you. I couldn't live without you, Roman said.

I can promise that I will be fine Roman, You said.

Roman look into your eyes.

Ik that but I'm scared for you. What if you died from this, Roman said.

Let's just see what happens, You said.

Come on let get something to eat, I'm hungry, You said.

You grab his hand and drag him into a restaurant.

I'm going to do anything to cheer you up and you can't stop me, The Other You said.

Y/n. You don't have to do this, I'm fine, Bill said.

Bull Crap. I can there is something is wrong and I'm going to do something to cheer you up, The Other You said.

Come on. Let's have lunch, The other you said as you drag him into the restaurant. Where Roman and Your Character was at.

You were looking at the menu. When you lookup saw your look like and Roman look like.

Roman, You said as you shake him.

What, Roman asked?

Look, You said.

Roman look up and see. Your look like and his look like

Shee -It, He mumbles.

No Crap. What are we going to do, The Paparazzi thinks that we are them, You said.

I fucking know, Roman said.

Your phone ends up ring.

Shee-It. It's Peter, You said.

Answer it, See what the hell Peter wants, Roman said as he lights another cigarette.

Hello, You said.

Hi Y/n. I mean Mrs. Godfrey, Peter said with a smirk.

Your face was red.

Ha Shut the hell up, You replied.

Where did you and Roman go, Peter asked?

We had ended up in California, You said.

How Peter said.

I don't fucking know, You said.

You heard Peter snickered a little In the background.

What is so funny, You asked?

You are starting to sound like Roman a little, Peter said as he starts to laugh his ass off.

Ha Really Fucking Funny. Grow up, You said.

You are turning into Roman Jr, Peter said.

Your face was red.

I'm going to let you guys have fun. Remember to used protection unlikely if you want Roman to knock you up, Peter said.

Your face was red from half-mad and embarrassed by Peter.

Are you ok there, bc your face is red that you look like that you are going to kill someone, Roman said?

When we get home. I'm going to kill Peter when I see him, You said.

Why Roman asked?

You will see, You said.

You two got up and left the restaurant. You and Roman didn't notice that the other you and bill were following you two outside.

Why do I have a feeling that we are being followed, Roman said.

Yeah. I have the same feeling, You said.

Those two look so familiar, Bill said.

You and Roman turn around. You cover your mouth at what you saw..

How is this possible, The Other You said.

Who are you, Bill asked?

You should know. Who I am, Roman said with a smirk.

Roman Godfrey. No, You aren't real, I play you in Hemlock Grove, Bill said.

I'm real alright, Roman said.

How are you two here, The Other You asked?

We don't know, but We need to head back home soon, You said.

Do you work with him, or what, Bill asked?

I work with Roman. That's how we got together, You said.

You two are together, Bill said.

It's more like. We are married, Roman said.

Yeah. You can call me. Y/n Godfrey, You said with a smirk.

Are you two together, Roman asked?

No. We are just friends, Bill said.

The other you look at him with a sad look in your eyes.

#bill skarsgard imagine #roman godfrey imagine #hemlock grove #bill skarsgard #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey #bill skarsgard x reader

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crimsonrae · 4 years

Note

I saw you were taking request. May I request your take on sub! Napoleon, with a plot of course. I don’t know really. If you don’t feel comfortable please ignore this request!! Xx

Hey Nonnie!

I had to really think about this, because while I don’t think Napoleon would be averse to being a submissive in private, I do think that the notion wouldn’t occur to him right away. He’s a very take action and control type of guy, so I wrote this as more intro Sub!Napoleon... if that makes sense and it came out a little more of a tease fic than I intended, but I like it. I may make a part two to this that will be a bit more explicit, but for now - I hope you enjoy

Warning: Mature Themes.

NapoleonxOFC

Nightingale.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Napoleon knew that for certain as he watched his mark walk away. She had been his ticket into the theatre... quite literally. Illya had discovered days ago that the theatre’s manager was a woman with access to all pertinent areas.

They needed that access.

Why?

Because in two days' time, an exchange between the premier warlord of Eastern Europe and the Black Market’s most successful weapons dealer was going to occur during a viewing of Stravinsky’s, The Nightingale.

Tickets had been sold out for months and frustratingly they had only been able to gain intel on Sergei Rundolski, the warlord. The information that U.N.C.L.E. had attained on the weapons dealer was simply a codename: Viper. Not even a description.

It hardly mattered now. Their time was up and they needed access to that theatre.

He had taken one look at Peril’s surveillance photo of the manager and knew he would have admission to that opera in no time. She was a mousy, quiet-looking woman. Her hair pulled back into a bun and glasses too large for her face. Cute, in a librarian-chic sort of way he supposed... Lonely too, he’d bet. All he needed to do was turn on the charm and she’d be putty in his hands.

At least that had been the plan.

He had ‘stumbled’ upon her outside of the bar she frequented for a nightcap. Smooth apologies for knocking into her small frame and an offer for a drink falling from his lips before she could so much as blink at him. Her eyes had been wide as he smiled down her. A shy hesitance fluttered at him as she accepted his offer.

He thought he had her then.

She had wine. He a scotch.

“What is it you do, Mr...?” She queried politely.

“Burke. James Burke, I’m in acquisitions.” He answered calmly with a quirk of his lips, “And you?... No, let me guess. Glasses, a simple, but very flattering day dress, smudges of paint on your hands and we’re near several museums... An art restorer by chance...Mrs. -?”

Faint amusement shimmered in her gaze as she sipped at her wine, “Miss. actually...And no, I’m not nearly talented enough to restore art. My job is much more boring, I assure you.”

He didn’t miss that she hadn’t given her name. She was cautious... and bashful. Against his will he found himself being charmed. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had given him a truly honest smile and not a coquettish smirk or suggestive grin, but the rueful quirk of her lips was nothing but genuine.

He tilted his head curiously, “Oh, I’m sure you’re plenty talented, my dear. And I doubt you could ever be boring.”

A cute little hum, almost a giggle bubbled from her as she shook her head, “You’re too kind, Mr. Burke... And what is it that you acquire?”

“Gems.” Napoleon stated softly and by the intrigued look he received, he remitted flirtatiously, “I find precious little gems that have been undervalued and make them shine again.”

“Oh, I see. Diamonds in the rough?” She responded with a timid grin that was just the right amount of tempting.

Napoleon responded with an answering grin, “Yes...diamonds in the rough, indeed.”

His hand moved gradually across their little table and brushed tentatively against her soft fingers. She inhaled sharply at his gentle touch, her fingers flexing under, but not pulling away. A curious – searching gleam entered her eyes as she peered up at him uncertainly, “Mr. Burke....”

She petered off and dropped his gaze embarrassed.

So, he pushed, not hard, but gave her a definite nudge as he rested his warm paw fully over hers, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

She tensed and slowly removed her hand from his. Her shyness, now replaced by impassivity as she politely murmured, “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Burke...but I think I should be on my way – alone. Goodnight.”

Without another glance in his direction, she slipped from her seat and darted for the exit. He watched as she scurried from him and wondered where he had erred.

Hurriedly, he threw a few bills on the table and started after the curious little mouse. Missing Illya watching from the back of the bar with an exasperated frown, “Smooth, Cowboy.”

She was half a block away by the time he caught up, “Wait... wait, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She huffed quietly before glancing at him from the corner of her eye, “You don’t follow direction well, do you, Mr. Burke?”

Napoleon’s brow furrowed, “Wha-”

“I believe I said that I would make my way alone.” She stated simply, sharply – never once breaking her stride.

Her tone caught him off guard. It was the first time that she had shown him more than a meek-mild exterior. There was a thin strain of steel shinning at him now and he was fascinated by its appearance.

He easily kept pace with her as he responded amused, “You did, but -”

“But you decided that the shy little girl didn’t know what she really wanted.” She interrupted, annoyance coating her visage, “You took my very vague interest and decided that I was charmed and willingly for whatever games you had in mind, no?”

“No.” He denied with equal fervor. Unwilling to admit that she was partially right, but he hated being so easily read, “I was merely being polite.”

She scoffed and turned to gracefully scale the steps of a stooped home. He followed like a moth to a flame.

Her hand rested on the handle to her door, but she turned to glower at him, “I’m not so naïve, Mr. Burke. Charming as you are, your intentions were less than polite.”

The latch disengaged as she pushed down on the handle. Napoleon quickly placed his hand over the door, preventing her from opening it but didn’t speak until she met his gaze again, “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“And I don’t like you.” She returned bluntly, “Leave.”

He narrowed his gaze at her.

He had hoped to seduce into his bidding, but frankly, now he would coerce her if need be. Too much was ridding on this mission, “Make me.”

He didn’t expect the kiss.

Not with the infuriated glare he had been receiving. He had expected to be slapped for his petulant challenge. Instead, her hand had wrapped swiftly around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss that had made his head spin.

By the time he had bearing enough to reciprocate, her delicate fingers had snagged onto his tie and cinched the knot uncomfortably tight against his throat. He choked, partially in pain, partially in surprise. His hand reached for hers to relieve the pressure but found himself stilling as she tutted.

He was shocked by the hot stir of arousal that flooded him at the sound and blamed the lack of oxygen to his brain for that reaction.

“I do like it much better when people are direct. Don’t you, Mr. Burke?” She murmured, brushing his lip with her thumb.

He nodded hesitantly, his skin buzzing with the need to touch and be touched.

“Do you want me, Mr. Burke?”

His gaze widened intrigued and confused by the drastic change in the woman before him. Gone was his little mouse and in her place stood a confident vixen.

Napoleon nodded again and found it to be true. He did want this confusing creature. He wanted to push her, bait her... see how she would react, see what she would do to him. He had a feeling he would enjoy it.

Desire burned in her gaze and she whispered “But there is still the problem of you following instructions. Perhaps, I should teach you a lesson.”

“And what lesson would that be?” He managed to rasp out.

They stared at each other a moment longer. A silent war waging within her that he only half understood.

She pursed her lips and tugged a little on his tie, “I’m going to invite you in, Mr. Burke, under the condition that you do exactly as I say when I say it. Do you think that you can do that? If not, leave now.”

She released his tie and he finally was able to take a deep breath. He cocked a brow at her as he smoothed his appearance, “And if I do neither of those things?”

She shrugged, “The police are only a phone call away.”

She pushed the door open to her home, allowing him the chance to make the decision of staying or leaving unencumbered. Not knowing that leaving wasn’t an option for him.

His eyes fell to her hips as she swayed passed him and he bit his lip appreciatively as his gaze traveled down the curve of her legs to the dangerous-looking heels she wore.

He always did have something of a shoe fetish.

His cock stirred and twitched. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

When she looked over her shoulder, he smirked, “I can follow instruction.”

She arched a brow at him, “We’ll see about that.”

Part Two___________________________

Tagged:@bichibibi @madbaddic7ed @beckster07890 @herefortherealdeal @a-wxnderless-mind @clarreee @graceful-leah @sweetdreamsofgelato @werewolfonastolenbike @worshipping-skarsgard @chamomilebottom @henry-cavill-obsessed @singeramg @tinabean37 @viking-raider @xxxkatxo @mary-ann84 @henrythickcavill @omgkatinka @oddsnendsfanfics @misslalaland-blog-blog @littlefreya @radaofrivia @iloveyouyen @justaboringadult @qualitynightkoala @maizyistrash @magdelen69 @agniavateira @cavillhavoc @henryfanfics101 @imneonpanda @lebguardians @marswritings @oddsnendsfanfics @promptandpros @multixwolf @vikingsbifrost @wolvesandhoundshowltogether

#napoleon solo #napoleon solo x ofc #fic request #man from uncle fanfiction #Nightingale Series

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theodcr · 3 years

Photo

TASK 011 : FAMILY

THE CAST:

king frederik iv of sweden ( hugh laurie ) dowager queen emelina of sweden ( anna chancellor ) prince regent elliot of sweden ( mark ruffalo ) princess linnea of sweden ( aj cook ) crown prince theodor of sweden ( bill skarsgard ) princess josefina of sweden ( kristine froseth ) princess evelina of sweden ( daisy ridley ) princess eleonora of sweden ( katherine langford ) princess elsa of sweden ( kathryn newton )

not pictured / distant family: king alexander i of sweden queen consort olivia of sweden the royal family of switzerland count ronald stolberg countess marguerite stolberg the royal family of luxembourg

I. THE PAST ( not pictured ) king alexander i & queen consort olivia of sweden

born within mere days of each other, both brought into the world in the frigid swedish winter of 1927, alexander and olivia were seemingly star-crossed. olivia’s parents were low on the totem pole of swedish nobility, but fortune had allowed them this: a generations-old friendship with the royal family. there was no need for social climbing where olivia’s family were concerned. in title they fell at the bottom of the heap, but in esteem they sat prettily next to his majesty the king. so alexander and olivia were introduced as soon as possible, in the hopes of ensuring the friendship between the two families would live to see another day. and much to their parents’ delight, alexander and olivia did them all one better: they fell in love and were married in stockholm in 1945, just after the end of the second world war. they were shortly thereafter crowned king and queen consort of sweden. they’d been married fourteen years before their first child was born: a boy, frederik. elliot and linnea followed after, and alexander passed in 1994, leaving the crown to frederik, his pride and joy. olivia, grief stricken at the loss of her husband, feeling alexander’s absence like one might feel the absence of a lost limb, passed shortly thereafter, within just a few frigid winter days.

issue: ✗ king frederik iv of sweden ✗ prince regent elliot of sweden ✗ princess linnea of sweden

count ronald & countess marguerite stolberg

ronald and marguerite stolberg were a case of little more than luck. or, as they’ve told their children and grandchildren, fate. a count and his wife from western germany, the two could hardly even call themselves nobility. still, what they lacked in titles they made up for in wealth and, moreover, in love. ronald never wanted power, and so was content to take his title and his fortune and to live out the rest of his days never attempting to climb the social ladder. he met marguerite dupont at the free university of berlin. she wasn’t of the nobility; in fact, she wasn’t even particularly wealthy. but she was whip-smart and exceedingly kind, not to mention beautiful, and there was nothing to do but fall in love. ronald’s parents objected to his marrying someone so well beneath their status, but marguerite was, to ronald, the only woman in the world. he couldn’t possibly leave her just in the name of money or power, so he married her in secret, not caring for the approval of his parents. his parents were angry at his disobedience and even angrier at his lack of vision, so they turned him away and planned to make his younger brother their heir.

ronald, out of a county but still very much in love, was more than fine with this arrangement. the way he saw it, he’d escaped a lifetime of stuffy suits and crowded high society functions. he and marguerite settled in a townhome in berlin and were, for a time, incandescently happy. they brought a daughter into the world, adélaïde, who was to be raised without the pressures ronald’s parents had put on him. but when ronald’s father fell ill and a fatal car accident spelled his brother’s end, ronald’s mother was left begging him to come home. he was ready to deny her, to reject her the way she’d rejected him, but marguerite convinced him to return home and reclaim the title that was rightfully his, to make amends with his dying father, and ronald had never been able to deny her. so they returned to the world ronald so hated, and they welcomed another daughter, emelina, into their family.

issue: ✗ dowager queen adélaïde of luxembourg ✗ dowager queen emelina of sweden

II. THE PRESENT king frederik iv of sweden & dowager queen emelina of sweden ( hugh laurie & anna chancellor )

frederik and emelina met in college. frederik was in his first year at stockholm university following two years in the military, and emelina was studying abroad in stockholm for the spring semester. the two hit it off immediately, spending some time as friends before they began dating. study sessions in the library soon migrated to study sessions in frederik’s dorm, and when the end of the semester came, emelina was loathe to go home to germany. until emelina graduated, the two wrote letters back and forth; phone calls were an option, but the love letters were far more romantic ( and, for emelina, far less expensive ). when she graduated college a year later, she didn’t hesitate to move to an apartment in stockholm, where they could date a little more officially. and the rest was history: they fell in love and were married, and for just under twenty years, they were happy.

when frederik got sick, emelina began to shut down. her temper shortened. her relationships suffered, but none more than the ones she had with her children. emelina shut everyone out, especially after frederik passed. she felt she had lost half of herself. sweden saw her standing at her husband’s funeral, and for many years after that, they did not see her at all. she never left the grounds of drottningholm. for nearly a year after the loss, she hardly left her rooms. things changed after theodor came home from the army wounded and nearly dead; it was as if emelina came back to the world of the living. the near-loss worked wonders for waking emelina up to the things around her. she finally began to move on. she left her rooms more frequently, she laughed and smiled, softly at first, and soon with full force. she helped linnea with planning and, eventually, hosting dinners and charity events. in recent years, sweden has regained their dowager queen. and more than that, theodor and josefina have regained their mother.

issue: ✗ crown prince theodor of sweden ✗ princess josefina of sweden

prince regent elliot of sweden, duke of skåne ( mark ruffalo )

read the story !

princess linnea of sweden ( aj cook )

as both the youngest child and the only princess, linnea was doted on not only by her family but also by her people. she has been beloved in sweden from the day she was born, especially before josefina’s birth and the births of linnea’s daughters. but being the baby hardly made linnea frivolous or idle. her people loved her, and she, in turn, loved them. she devoted her life to charity work and diplomacy. for many years, she has been sweden’s matriarch; when emelina retreated into the palace following frederik’s death, linnea took up many of the duties that should have fallen to the dowager queen. to encourage international relations, she pursued a relationship with gunnar ragnarsson, an important businessman from iceland, and had three daughters with him. ( read their stories here ! )

issue: ✗ princess evelina of sweden ✗ princess elonora of sweden ✗ princess elsa of sweden

III. COUSINS OF HOUSE OLDENBURG ( not pictured ) the royal family of switzerland

king alexander’s younger sister married the king of switzerland. the two went on to have vera and ingrid bernadotte, who became queen of switzerland and duchess of guyenne, respectively. their children, in turn, are second cousins to theodor, josefina, evelina, eleonora, and elsa.

the royal family of luxembourg

emelina married frederik of sweden, and her older sister adélaïde married emile of luxembourg. the two went on to have four children, all of whom are first cousins to theodor and josefina.

IV. MORE INFORMATION

since tumblr is so fucky about links, click the source link for a page that leads to the family tree / page & a timeline of swedish succession !!

#hshqtask011 #theodor : tasks #good morning to ronald and marguerite ONLY #wanted to redo this bc the old one needed a lot of updates

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halfway-happyyy · 4 years

Text

It’ll All Work Out

AN: Been a while! Got inspired to write this piece as I am currently stuck working through this mess, while my partner stays home to social distance. Hope everyone is staying safe out there! All of the fluffiness and feels.

Word count: 1499

This was never going to be simple.

You knew it from the moment he sidled in next to you at that quaint bar somewhere downtown. All of his impossibly warm skin, a cracked leather jacket, the distinguished Swedish lilt. You were good at avoiding eye contact; it was a trait you had picked up in younger years and never fully let go of. Yet you yearned to stare at him- you ached to watch the way the feint wrinkles next to his eyes grew deeper when he smiled, the way his cheeks grew pink under the influence of dark ale and even darker lights. You’re pretty sure you knew that night that you loved him. You knew because he asked you to dance with him and you said yes without missing a beat. You wandered fearlessly into his open arms and swayed with him to the live band a few feet away, oblivious to everything around you. No one had ever felt like home the way Alexander did. You were hard-pressed to believe anyone ever would again.

And then the earth made a full rotation around the sun, and the inevitable happened and he got on a plane and disappeared for four months.

You were surprised with yourself if you were being honest. Where a year ago, you never thought twice about the empty space next to you in bed, now it was all-consuming when the lights went out at night. An indent of where he used to sleep could still be found there, and quite frustratingly, you found yourself aching for him. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of his touch that you keened for, though you missed that very much as well, but it was the act of having someone take up the perfect amount of space in your life. You longed for the idle wine-induced arguments, early mornings perched on his lap at the kitchen table, pouring over coffee-stained scripts and even later evenings attending premiers in dresses you could never fathom wearing in your wildest dreams. You had watched your life intertwine with his in ways hard to explain, and yet you still let him board the plane to Iceland without telling him the truth.

You managed to miss the first phone call.

Somehow the frequency of the vibration had been a few octaves too low the first time and a second managed to rouse you from your slumber. You fumbled around in the dark for the phone next to your bed, wordlessly pressing the glowing green button before you had even worked out what to say. You scrubbed a palm down the length of your face to wake up. “Mmm, hullo?” You yawned sleepily into the darkness before you.

Alexander sighed heavily, the sound tinny and crackled through the connection of the wire. “Hi baby. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I’ve just gotten some bad news.” Your gaze travelled to the newspaper splayed haphazardly on your bedroom counter, the headline reading:

DEADLY VIRUS MAKING ITS ROUNDS IN THE NEW YORK CITY AREA

LOCKDOWN FOR RESIDENTS IMMINENT

You were pretty sure you had every idea what this was about, though you asked him to elaborate regardless. “They halted production on the film this morning and I’m currently in a car on my way to the airport.”

“When will you be home?”

Alexander hesitated before replying. “I’m supposed to land at JFK around 6:45 in the morning.”

“Alright well, I’ll pick you up-

“You can’t baby.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly void of all moisture. “I can’t?”

Another beat. You could hear Alexander saying something to the driver on the other end. “I need to… self-isolate for fourteen days upon arrival.” He must have sensed the unease on your end because he cleared his throat and began again. “Just for precaution’s sake of course. I’m all good- I feel fine. We are all fine here on set but Bill is lending me his place in the city for the two weeks while he goes home to Sweden.”

And then it donned on you. “Why aren’t you going home too?”

Alexander murmured something else to the driver and you could make out the sound of a car door closing in the distance. “Well, you are my home.” The silence didn’t settle long before he informed you that he’d made it to the airport. “I’ll call you when I’m on solid ground, okay?”

You found yourself nodding into the growing light of your bedroom. “Wait! Alex?”

“Yeah baby?”

Your heart began to hammer wildly inside your chest. “Have a safe flight home.”

“Can’t believe I get to see your beautiful face in fourteen days.” Alexander faltered before the line went cold; you could almost feel the warmth from his smile all the way in New York City.

If any of the fourteen days were going to be anything like the first one, you figured you could probably get through this ordeal relatively unscathed. Alexander facetimed you for over two hours after getting settled into Bill’s apartment. He spoke at length of his time in Iceland, and how when this was all over, the two of you would road trip around the country for a few weeks before production picked back up again. You spoke until you noticed how jetlagged he was, and you hung up on the promise of another call again later in the evening.

Day seven was rough all around. Courses you’d been taking while Alexander was away, had been cancelled in person but were to continue up online a week later. Work had sent you home a few days prior and the feeling of being trapped in your own space, by yourself had become somewhat overwhelming. “I know times are scary and unpredictable right now... but we’re already halfway there baby.” Alexander mused quietly, a glass of wine wedged firmly within his grasp.

“Not soon enough,” You groaned.

“Just think,” Alexander smirked. “In seven days, I get to finally touch you after four months away…”

You rolled your eyes and unscrewed the cap of the half-empty wine bottle before you. “Do not start with me, Skarsgard.”

Alexander clicked his tongue teasingly. “Of course I’m going to start with you, and then after I do that, I’m going to finish with you.”

You could only imagine the things he had planned for you; the places his lips would touch, fingers would slip, tongue would graze. Your eyes fell shut as you gave yourself over to the thought, earning a hearty laugh from Alexander on the other end. “I’m hanging up on you now.”

Day thirteen had finally arrived. You had been occupied most of the day with work, so had not had a chance to speak with Alexander until the evening over dinner. He had made himself salmon and rice with a garlic dill aioli and you opted for Asian-chicken stir-fry, which you consumed mostly wordlessly. After dinner, you chose a vinyl record to put on (Ryan Adams) and set Alexander up so that he could watch you finish off the rest of the dishes. “That’s one thing I’ve really, strangely missed since I’ve been gone,” Alexander offered up after a while.

“Hmm?”

“Doing the dishes with you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Dishes?”

He nodded his head, a small smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “Or anything really. Dishes, reading, bickering, making the bed.”

“Grocery shopping?” You quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes! My favourite Sunday’s with you are the ones where we wake up late, grab breakfast from Frankie down the block and grocery shop.”

“Frankie does make a mean egg’s benny,” You offered quietly.

Once you had finished up the task at hand, your fingers raw and red from the water they had been submerged in for over half an hour, you took Alexander to the bedroom while you got ready for bed. He wordlessly watched you free yourself from your clothing and slip into one of his old t shirts. “Guess what Alex?”

“What’s that baby?” He yawned.

“I get to see you in ten hours.”

Alexander beamed brightly at you, the sheer force of it caused you to smile back just as big. “How did I get so lucky, hmm?” A moment passed before he spoke again. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do tomorrow morning?”

“Well, I think I might just wrap my arms around you and never let you go.” You sidled down in bed and turned onto your side. “And you?”

Alexander took a deep breath and said, “The first thing I’m going to do tomorrow morning when I see you, is tell you how much I really do love you.”

Those last five words hung suspended in the void between the pair of you; he was six blocks away but if you closed your eyes real tight, you could almost feel him next to you. “Tomorrow morning I’ll say it back.”

This was never going to be simple.

But damn, it was going to be worth it.

#phoeobe bridgers on repeat #this was not meant to make light of the current situation #more so to distract from it #hope yall enjoy #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard fanfic #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard fluff #fluff #writing #alex sstuff #alexander skarsgård

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mikkomacko · 4 years

Text

Christmas Magic 2

The smack delivered to her arm stings against her bare skin, y/n flinching immediately. "He's a dad?" Emma exclaims loudly, dropping her candy cane striped hat to the floor. "You're going out with someone's father?"

"Would you chill, it's not like he's forty!" Y/n hisses, rubbing at her bicep that Emma had slapped in reaction to y/n telling her about Harry. She pulls down the skirt of her Mrs. Claus dress, smoothing out the white fuzz at the edging.

"But he's like had a child," Emma says as if y/n's missing something obvious. "you'd be like a mom but not a mom."

She can't help but roll her eyes at her friend and co-worker's words. "Dad's deserve rights too, you know? Especially hot dads."

Emma laughs at that, swatting at her arm again. Thankfully it's playful this time. "Ok but how hot is he?"

"A cross of Mick Jagger and Bill Skarsgard."

"Holy fuck he's your wet dream!"

"I know," she squeals, clenching her fists as she does a little dance of excitement in her spot. "and his daughter is so sweet. Like I know I love kids, but I really fucking love this kid."

Y/n has always loved kids. She grew up with lots of cousins and friends that had little siblings so being around children was second nature. Not to mention all the time she volunteered at nurseries and elementary schools and children's hospitals.

Emma tells her something but she's not listening enough to answer, and they finish getting ready for their set in silence because y/n is too deep into her thoughts to answer. And even as she's onstage, looking around just in case Harry and Ophelia happen to be back, she can't help but wonder if Harry loves all kids the way she does or if he's just soft for his daughter.

"A date?" Gemma gasps, and Harry can picturing her clutching her non-existent pearls. "With a woman?"

"Yes Gem," Harry exasperates, "a woman has agreed to go on a date with me this weekend."

She giggles through the phone, either happy that he's got his first real date in four years or proud of her own joke. "So the nipper needs a babysitter huh?"

Harry cradles his phone between his ear and shoulder, grabbing the check in form on the reception desk. "Yes she does and she's very excited to see her aunt Gemma." He winces through the lie, remembering how much Ophelia had wailed when he informed her that she wouldn't be attending dinner with him and y/n.

"Does she know your going on a date or does she think you're working late again?"

"Umm," Harry pauses, hearing Gemma's words but too caught up reading over all the names that have signed in. After a moment, one in which Gemma knows he's multitasking ( or trying to), Harry finally answers. "she knows it's a date. Wouldn't lie to her."

"How'd she take the news?"

"Well, I um, I asked the girl out when Ophelia was with me." Harry admits and as he thinks about it, he's lucky Ophelia didn't burst into a tantrum in that cafe when he'd asked. She's always had issues with sharing Harry, even going as far as yelling at his old boss when he'd had to come in on a weekend, leaving her with Uncle Niall.

"So she knows you're a dad then?"

Harry scoffs, "Of course, wouldn't ask someone out without telling them about the little miss."

Gemma makes a sound as if to say "that's why you've never gotten any dates" and he's tempted to tell her that he's in fact never wanted to date anyone until he met y/n. He thinks it was how starry eyed she had Ophelia. Or maybe it's how sweet her smile is.

Harry's interrupted by a terrible, screeching cry from down the hall. "Sorry Gem, gotta go. I've got a crier. I'll text ya the time." He's hanging up his phone, dropping it onto his desk quite ungracefully, and swiping up a patient chart as quickly as he can. Harry jogs down the hall to the room of Charles M. Brunt, putting on a smile as he enters the room.

"S'all this crying for me?" He greets, catching the attention of the wailing boy. He stops squirming in his mother's arms, staring up at Harry with big, teary eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

"D-do I really have to get a shot?"

Harry tries not to smile because he had a feeling all this wailing was due to a shot. Instead, he pouts sympathetically and nods. "I'm afraid so but don't you worry. I promise it won't hurt."

Charlie's face wobbles a bit as he sniffles sadly, looking to his mother for help. She wipes his tears, shrugging sadly at him. "We trust Mr. Harry don't we Charlie?" Charlie nods at her words. "Then we know this will be ok."

Harry offers him one last encouraging smile before gathering everything for Charlie's flu shot, picking out the Avengers band-aid because he knows Charlie loves that one. Harry gets Charlie's sleeve rolled up and latex gloves on, wiping his bicep with an alcohol wipe. Charlie attaches himself to his mother's arm, squeezing her hand for dear life like he always does.

"Hey Charlie," Harry distracts, subtly pulling the cap off the needle. "what'd ya ask Santa for for Christmas?"

Charlie seems to forget what's going on, relaxing as he falls victim to the excitement of Christmas. He starts listing off different types of Legos he asked for, only pausing when Harry picks him with the needle. He's quick to inject the fluid before Charlie tenses to much, pulling the needle out and covering it with the band-aid.

"We did it Mr. Harry!" Charlie laughs, straining his neck to look at his band-aid. "And you put Thor on me! I love Thor!"

Harry chuckles. "Well he is the best." He responds even though he couldn't care less about the best superhero. He's pretty sure he told Ophelia last week that Captain America is the best Avenger because he's her favorite.

Harry sends Charlie off to the checkout desk with a fist-bump and a "merry Christmas," wondering which superhero y/n thinks is the best.

She's nervous. Really nervous as she paces back and forth in the living room of her little apartment, fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater. She's got her water proof boots on, her gloves tucked into the pocket of her winter coat, and tights on under her jeans, beyond prepared to brace the cold so she can enjoy her night with Harry.

Her date with Harry.

But he's late. Not so late that she'd think he'd stood her up, especially since he called her ten minutes ago, breathless and a bit grumpy, to tell her that he's running a tiny bit late. She doesn't know how far he lives or if he's driving or taking the train or maybe a taxi, so she can't really time how long it'll take him to get to her complex.

Y/n is in the middle of re-tying her boots when her phone rings, Harry’s name popping up on the screen as well as a picture of Mick Jagger back when he was around her age. She’s quick to answer, breathless with nerves as she softly says “hello?”

"M'outside," Harry says, sounding a lot happier than he did earlier, before quickly adding, "well I think I'm outside." He chuckles a rumble-y little titter that crackles in the phone's speaker while y/n tugs on her coat and rushes outside, locking the door behind her. She peers down from the second story landing, spotting the black car she'd seen him load Ophelia into after the carnival.

"There you are," she assures him, practically hopping down the stairs. "M'coming now."

"Ya know I can see ya, right?" Harry laughs teasingly but cutely, and she can't recall a time she's ever referred to someone's father as cute.

"Well I didn't know if you could see in the dark or not!" Y/n defends, laughing because there's just something about Harry that makes her overflow with giggles.

"Old enough to be a father, love but m'not old enough to be blind."

She laughs even more at that, blushing over the fact that Harry's so hilarious. She's never met a guy that's been genuinely silly and funny like Harry is.

"Blindness comes in all ages sir." She responds sassily, giggling when Harry chuckles deeply. His only line of defense is a response of "hurry up and get in the bloody car," but she's already reaching for the handle of the passenger side door. She hops in, the heating blasting against her cold cheeks and the seat warm under her body.

"You're being awful bossy," y/n says, phone still pressed to her ear despite the fact that Harry has set his in his lap and looking at her with bright eyes, that twinkle blue and she can't help but swoon over the fact that sometimes his eyes are blue and sometimes they're green. She wonders if Ophelia's eyes do that too.

Harry simpers, a little shyly, and shrugs. "M'a dad. Bossy comes with the title."

Y/n rolls her eyes, finally hanging up her phone and tucking it into the pocket of her coat. Harry looks at her expectantly, hand resting on the gear shift and she quickly buckles up to appease him.

"Speaking of being a dad," y/n murmurs, unable to stop herself. "how's Ophelia?"

The smile that takes over his face is breathtaking, crinkling by his eyes and indenting dimples into his cheek. He only glances at her for a second before returning his eyes to the road and y/n realizes she doesn't know where they're going. Then she catches the glimmer in his eyes and decides she doesn't care.

"She's good. Spent the day making gingerbread houses with her before my sister came to babysit for the night." Y/n practically coos at the longing in Harry’s voice, as if he’d do anything to always have her with him.

"Wait," she frowns, turning in her seat to look at him. "was she upset that you were leaving tonight?"

Harry looks at her curiously for a very brief second, shrugging as he struggles to come up with an answer. Y/n already knows the answer that's going to come out of his mouth. "She was a little hurt that she wasn't tagging along," he finally replies, sugar coating the fact that Ophelia had a tantrum when Harry went to leave without her.

"She was?" Y/n grimaces, slumping into the seat. The car comes to a red light, Harry finally looking at her once they've stopped.

"S'why I was late," he says apologetically. "she was hurt that I got to come see you and she didn't."

And that wasn't what she was expecting to hear. She thought he'd gently tell her that Ophelia was hurt that someone was stealing her daddy for the night. That Ophelia hated y/n and didn't want Harry with her. She saw how much Ophelia loves Harry, how anxious she is without him. She can't really imagine Ophelia being sad that she wasn't spending time with y/n instead of being sad that she wasn't spending time with her father.

"Really?"

Harry must hear the surprise in her voice because he chuckles softly, nodding as he takes the green arrow to head left. They're going to the outskirts of the city where there's mostly just big luxurious houses and small business. She listens with a tiny smile and blushing cheeks as Harry tells her all about Ophelia's love for her. He gushes that Ophelia keeps begging to go back to the carnival and if he didn't have work he probably would have taken her because she's just so sulky every time Harry tells her they can't go visit y/n. And when he tells her that Ophelia typically hates strangers, but not her, she thinks her heart's going to beat right out of her chest.

The restaurant Harry chose is small but cozy, dim-lighted with dark wood floors and oak tables and booths. Garland and white lights line every single window, mistletoe hung from every light fixture, and a thin but tall tree placed by the entrance next to the hostess. Judging by the pictures on the wall, it's family owned and operated since 1985 when a man named Carl Knox opened it for his wife, Lucilia. She can't help but think how cute it is that the restaurant is called Lucy's.

Harry seems to be a regular here, comfortably hanging his coat on the hooks by their booth and helping y/n out of hers. Always nervous in new places, she fiddles a bit when she first slides into the booth and is handed a menu by a teenager named Justin who greets Harry with a "nice to see you again Mr. Styles. No little one tonight?"

He chuckles, glancing at y/n with that same shy look he had when he'd reminded her in the car that he's a father, and she wonders if he's worried about the fact that he has a child.

"Not tonight, no," He murmurs, rubbing his knuckle against the tip of his nose. "and ya know not to call me Mr. Styles, come on."

Justin laughs, patting Harry on the shoulder. "I know, I just like to see ya get all uncomfortable when I say it." Harry rolls his eyes, again looking at y/n shyly as he rubs his knuckle against his nose once more. Y/n catches a peek of yellow that has her heart jumping. "Alright, back to business. I'll be back in a minute to take your orders."

Justin moves to another table and y/n finally drops the menu she was pretending to read, only to find Harry already looking at her. He blinks nervously when they're eyes meet and she can't stop herself from asking, "can I see your nails?"

Harry looks down at his lap when his hands sit, bobbing his head in a tiny nod. She sees his Adams's apple bob as he swallows, bringing his hands up to the table top. He splays them out, skin pale against the dark wood and his sweater sleeve rises a bit to show off a glimpse of dark ink. He's got tattoos, she realizes as she spots the cross by his thumb. She doesn't think much of it as she reaches out to run her pointer finger over the cross, smiling proudly when she sees his nails. She knew it.

"They match Ophelia's." She muses, looking over his yellow nails that are topped with the same smiley faces Ophelia had on hers. She looks up at Harry through her eyelashes, blushing at the look of awe on his face.

"Y-yeah," he breathes. "she loves having them painted but m'awful at it. Took her to this place by m'home but she was nervous so I got mine done too. She was so happy and I like the colors, so we kinda made it a tradition."

Her bones feel like jelly with how warm her veins have gotten. She knew from the minute she saw Harry that he's handsome. He's so handsome she'd even go as far as calling him hot, and she hates calling people hot, but he makes her feel hot. And she knew he's a good dad, could tell when she read the identification card Ophelia had handed her. But she's never met any man that would willing get his nails done with his daughter and enjoy it enough to keep doing it. She's overwhelmed with how cute and handsome and sweet and sexy he is.

"That's," she pauses, trying to catch her breath. Her finger continues to dance over the soft skin of his hand. "that's the most adorable thing I've ever heard." Harry chuckles bashfully, shrugging and somehow that makes him even more attractive.

"S'nothing. I mean, she's my daughter, ya know?"

"It's not nothing," y/n insists. "it's really sweet and progressive of you. I mean, my dad would never do that."

Harry's eyes flicker between hers, dazzling blue and warm. He shrugs again, looking as if he's about to say something but is interrupted by Justin returning with glasses of water. They're pulled out of their moment, Harry ordering an iced tea and a chicken salad sandwich. Y/n sticks to her water but orders a salmon salad.

Once Justin's left with their orders, Harry looks at her with a purse of lips that looks as if he's trying to keep from saying something. Y/n chuckles, wrapping her fingers around her glass of water. "What?"

"You gotta tell me how ya got the job of singing and dancing in a costume." He chuckles, leaning forward on his elbows. Y/n, familiar with this question, tells him that she works at the radio station that puts on this carnival, and she'd done a segment years ago in which she sang a duet with a bunch of guests artists. Apparently everyone enjoyed it so they begged her to sing for the carnival and she's just kept doing it ever since.

They fall into easy conversation, not even pausing when their food is delivered. Between bites of the best salad she's ever eaten and sips of water, she finds out that Harry is a nurse at the pediatrics ward of the hospital and his favorite part of the job is the fact that it made raising Ophelia easier. They gave him lots of time off when she was born because he's been her sole parent since birth, and he's got a flexible schedule so he can always pick her up for school and spend weekends with her. He also didn't have to worry about little colds or teething when she was younger because he's learned all about it.

Harry doesn't talk about Ophelia's mom and she doesn't ask. Even when he mentions that Ophelia's nothing like her mother, and he looks almost scared that he's mentioned it, y/n plays it off with a little comment about how she's nothing like her father, but she's really glad Ophelia's like hers.

Y/n can't believe how comfortable she is around Harry. They'd talked that day at the cafe and got on well but there was no pressure to impress there. Here, however, is the pressure of a first date that usually makes her awkward and nervous. With Harry, it's not the case. They laugh and joke around, and nudge their feet together under the table. They argue over the bill a bit, Harry finally paying it to make up for the hot coco she bought him and Ophelia, but he promises next time they can split it.

The car ride home is filled with Christmas music that Harry insists she sing along to since she's "a proper performer." But she can't even hold a good note because Harry's constantly glancing at her with a big smile that has her breathless and laughing. She's still giggling at him when they pull up to her apartment, this time Harry shutting down the engine and unbuckling.

Y/n doesn't really question him when he gets out, rushing around the front of the car with a little hop in the headlights that has her snorting. He opens her door for her, helping her down and adjusting the collar of her coat in the same way she saw him fix Ophelia's at the carnival. She can't help but be endeared by the little mannerism.

"Second floor?" Harry asks, offering his elbow to her. She nods, slipping her hand in the crook of his elbow and they head towards the stairs. Their breath fogs out around them, puffing out when they reach the top and Harry let's out a dramatically harsh pant.

"Sorry, the dad bod's getting to me."

She giggles, breathing a little difficult too but she thinks it's from Harry, not the cold or her body shape. Y/n leads him to her front door, pausing with the key in the lock.

"Do you want to come in?"

Harry looks sorry as he shakes his head, pursing his pink lips to the side. "Would really love too but I gotta get home to the little miss. Never been out this late before and m'afraid she'll be a little rattled."

"Oh my God," y/n gasps, slipping her arm out of his. "what are you doing up here then? Get home!"

Harry chuckles, that same rumble-y laugh she'd heard over the phone. It's prettier in person, even with how masculine it is. "Forgot to do something at the restaurant," he explains, bringing his hands up to her shoulders. He's hesitant, eyes flickering between hers as he reaches up with one hand to push hair out of her face.

"Oh," she breathes, able to smell his husky cologne. He cups her cheek, gloves soft on her skin, and waits to see if she's going to shake him off. When she doesn't, he takes a little step forward. Y/n does the same, bringing her hands up to his chest.

Harry smiles cutely, leaning down to put a small kiss to her lips. His lips are cold but somehow still soft, his breath warm on her cheeks. She pecks his lips back, eyes closing just briefly to feel how soft his lips are on hers, even if it only lasts a couple seconds.

"S'no mistletoe here," Harry murmurs, stroking his thumb over her cheek "but I couldn't not kiss ya." His touch is electrifying, eyes sparkling like Christmas lights and y/n definitely thinks there's something magic about him.

#christmas magic #Christmas Magic 2 #single dad harry #dad harry #dad harry styles #fluff #Harry and Ophelia #nurse Harry #one direction #fanfiction #fanfic #harry imagine #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic

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