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outofsstyles · 3 years

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a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

��This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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hard-to-be-the-bard · 3 years

Text

Prince Nuada X Autistic Reader

again gonna be based on the AU where he works for the BPRD :) also because obviously autism is a huge scale, i’m just basing it off my own experiences, so sorry if it isn’t what you wanted but let me know if you want me to change it :)

- You were friends with Red, Abe and Liz

- Nuada had seen you with them multiple times

- But whenever you saw him you’d avoid his gaze, muttering to your friends and leaving the room

- He was under the impression you disliked him, but for what reason, he’d never been rude to you?

- So he decided to talk to Red about it

- Who had given him a raised brow and a sigh

- “Look, y/n doesn’t hate you, she has autism” He starts and Nuada frowns

- “Autism? What’s that?” He asks, and Red scratches his forehead

- “Well it’s hard to classify under one vague description, but it’s a sort of communication and social disorder” He starts

- “There are different types, it’s a spectrum so everyone with a diagnosis has different symptoms” He says, and Nuada nods

- “So what makes hers different” He asks, and Red shrugs

- “She doesn’t like meeting new people, puts her on edge, too many social expectations I believe, she doesn’t like handshakes, or people touching her, unless of course she touches you first, then you know it’s ok, what else, oh yea, bright lights, she’s light sensitive” He gestures the brightly lit room. “Which isn’t particularly best being here and all, she also has hyperfixations” He says, and Nuada frowns

- “Hyper fixation? What are those” He asks, and Red explains

- “A special interest, something she’s currently interested, it can change of course, and she can have multiple sometimes, but at the moment it’s mushroom species” He says, and then looks curiously at him

- “But why do you want to know” He asks, and Nuada shrugs

- “I want to get to know her” He says simply, and Red watches him

- “Well, she’ll talk to anybody about her fixations, so why don’t you start a conversation about mushrooms” He suggests, and Nuada nods, thanking him before leaving

- Two days later he’d found you sitting at a desk, book in hand, he noticed the title from afar. Fungi, he smiled. Before walking closer, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you, and your head shot up, looking at the man who was sitting across from you

- He gestures to your book

- “I see you’re interested in mushrooms” He offers, and you nod slowly, not sure why he’s sitting near you. But he keeps on talking

- “Did you know a single Portabella mushroom can contain more potassium than a banana?” He asks, and your interest is peaked, a grin on your face as you nod.

- “Mhm, the French first started to popularise them in the 19th century, but before that the Egyptians and Greeks believed they’d provide energy during battle, and I suppose they were right because they would give them a lot more energy than some things they would of eaten in that era. But the Egyptians labelled them to be the plant of immortality and made it so commoners weren’t allowed to eat them-” You slowed down, looking up at Nuada, to see he was still paying attention and upon seeing he was you kept talking

- The conversation lasted a while, the two of you passing facts back and forth, Nuada even knowing some that you hadn’t

- Nuada on the other hand, was beaming at the conversation, he’d finally talked to you, and you’d enjoyed it, or so he thought, but from the way you smiled at him he had to be doing something right

- It was only now you’d realised you’d been talking for over three hours, and you bluntly pointed this out to him, and he glanced at the clock in the room

- “It appears you’re right” He says, and stands

- “Do you- want to come and get dinner with me?” He offers, you looked at the clock, it was late, meaning the hall wouldn’t be as busy as it usual, but still you looked uncertain, and Nuada noticed this

- “If it’s busy when we arrive we can always turn back” He offers, and you looked up at him, wondering why he offered, and it was at that moment you realised he knew, knew about the autism, and you frowned to yourself for a moment, you didn’t think elves knew about autism. Unless, unless he’d spoken to Red about it. But he’d only do that if he actually wanted to talk to you

- And why would he want to do that? You thought to yourself. And then you realise Nuada was still standing there, waiting for a response, and you nodded your head, following him towards the food hall

- When you got there it was relatively quiet, but he still looked at you for confirmation to go ahead, and when you nodded he smiled

- You were both sitting next to each other on the bench, making some light conversation, as you ate, and you heard the thumpy boots of Red, and you looked up and saw his surprised expression, Liz, Abe and Nuala following behind him, similar surprised expressions on their faces.

- He walked over, taking a seat on the other side of the table, smirking

- “Looks like you made a new friend there short fry” He joked, and you frowned

- “Fuck off” You blurted out before making an oop noise at the back of your throat, apologising and he laughed.

- “Don’t worry about it kiddo, it’s good to see you’re making friends, and you-” He turned to look at Nuada. “You do anything to upset her and I’ll curb stomp you” He says, and you laugh slightly.

- Nuada frowns, assuring him he wouldn’t, and Red nods, before standing back up

- “Well, I’ll leave you two to it” He smiles and you wave goodbye to him

- A few weeks later and you’re at Nuada’s side, the two of you closer now than before, practically never apart, if one of you was somewhere, the other wasn’t far behind.

- Nuada was fiercely protective of you, someone made a joke at your expense, they’d be threatened until they wished they could crawl into a corner and cry.

- You let him touch you now, which was a big step, he would do it firmly, not lightly, knowing it made your skin crawl, but there would be head pats and shoulder pats most days.

- If you were in a crowded area you’d move closer to Nuada, a hand balling in the fabric of his shirt and his arm would be around you quickly, finding the quickest route out of the situation

- The others had watched your relationship progress, they were surprised with how quickly you’d accepted him into your life. You still barely let Red touch you and you had known him for over a year

- But it was quickly becoming less platonic and more romantic. His gestures more softer, sweeter, caring, forehead kisses and hugs before leaving to your respective quarters

- And it was long before the two of you were sharing a quarter. Both of you preferring to start the day together, as well as ending it together

- And he eventually kissed you one day

- Making your relationship official

- Red had still threatened even if he knew he wouldn’t hurt you. Nuala was over the moon, her brother finally accepting humanity, when a few months ago he’d set to destroy them, he was now caring for one

- He was still in tune to your needs, he knew what you liked and disliked, any fabrics that caused you discomfort, smells you were adverse too, food that made your stomach crawl. He always seemed to know when something was wrong.

- He made your life a thousand times earlier, making sure you completed deadlines, handed in reports, took any medicine on time, ate properly

- It was easier to manage with him around

- And he wasn’t going away any time soon

#prince nuada #nuada x reader #nuada x s/o #nuada x you #nuada imagines #prince nuada x reader #prince nuada x you #prince nuada x s/o #prince nuada imagine #autistic reader #x autistic reader #nuada x autistic reader #prince nuada x autistic reader #hellboy x autistic reader #hellboy x reader

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ricinbach · 3 years

Text

howlin’ for you. | chapter 2 - who was trapped

the ticket to freedom brings nothing but confinement.

New York City.

What the regular humans, Mundies as they taught you to call them, deem the most beautiful and vibrant city in the entire world. The city that never slept, and most likely never will. Out of all places to exile yourself, this had to be the one in dreams - with the flickering neon lights, bright and worn-down medley of advertisements and signs, the constant smell of grease mixed in with cigarettes - all enhanced by the vapor emanating from the sewer lids embedded in cracked asphalt.

All those years ago, when your kin decided to break all hell loose in the Homelands and eventually relocate, it was the general consensus amongst Fables that a fresh start in an urban city would be the most viable option. Starting out with a clean slate, the idea of commencing anew appealing so much to so many who have lost money, family and pride. Settling into a city that could seemingly offer so much, blending in with the rest of the human population did not seem to be that hard of a task to accomplish back then.

The Homelands had been old and full of major drama - moving to designated apartment blocks close to one of the world’s biggest metropolitan hubs surely could not be that bad of an idea.

Could it?

Well, to you, it seemed like as long as there were Fables involved, with them living in close proximity to each other if not neighboring, there was bound to be some sort of ruckus starting - no matter the location, yet it was of course an added ingredient to the recipe of chaos.

It was as if this secluded part of Brooklyn, its atrocities and “marvels” magically hidden in plain sight from the mundane eyes, attracted all sorts of trouble like a damn magnet. At every single corner and crevice of these streets there was some Fable getting their first sexual release for the night or some others looking for a quick fight with their rivals older than time itself.

The latter never seemed to end well for anyone involved and around, once the rumored Big Bad Wolf intervened into the scene.

Yet, it was hard for you to know for sure other than echo the gossip around since he did not frequent this part of town - it was a long-lived wonder of yours whether he got tired at all, running all around this cursed town as the only source of visible authority and enforcement.

He was a beast walking amongst men, after all. That much you had seen for your own bare eyes back in the Homelands. There was a reason why everyone thought twice before crossing him, or attempting something borderline illegal by his terms. A visit from him meant trouble and you had succeeded in your attempts of keeping a low profile, thus far.

Maybe you would get an answer to your worries and wonders that particular night - by the looks of how it was unfolding, it could very well end in either you crawling to the Fabletown office for his help or your quick and inevitable demise in that forsaken club.

The little polaroid in front that seemed to send shivers of disgust along with fear down your entire body was the one to blame.

There was a lot of messed up shit happening in Fabletown, and you had seen your fair share of it, both when hooking and living. Out of everything, this had to be the most fucked up you had the pleasure of witnessing. Oh, how you wished you had not, as you kept on staring at the scene it depicted in utter disbelief, eyes wide and hand over mouth. The more you stared at it, the more you wanted to storm out of there and run the farthest away your legs took you.

“How the hell did you guys get this?”

“That’s not important,” she had simply stated, the traces of disgust mixed in with some sort of hope evident in her dark green orbs as she glanced at you. “This is our one-way ticket out of this hellhole.”

The dimmed lightbulbs of the worn makeup mirrors seemed to focus all their everlasting glow onto the photograph in question, the weight of the conversation at hand naturally muffling the usual bumping of the raunchy bass coming from the main room as you holed up near the closets. Taking your eyes off focus for just a split second to calm your heartbeat down, through the smoky reflection, your eyes would spot the clock just ten short of hitting midnight.

For fuck’s sake, it was supposed to be the beginning of your pole time that night, but you had absolutely no confidence on your feet to carry you in six-inch platforms after what you had just seen.

“Well, we found it back in the motel. You think we could use it against him?” a feminine voice would interject from over your shoulder, her tone sounding equally as confused if not more. The faint breeze carried her scent as she approached - a seductive musk mixed in with oud that you could swear only Faith wore. A side glance would confirm her identity to you - Nerissa, with her white halter dress tightened up around her figure, her pink ribbon identical to yours. Hazel eyes looking ever so soft - worried, more like, as her gaze switched back and forth between Faith and the picture she was holding onto so firmly.

Having half a mind into what Faith had been thinking, even the thought of planning it scared you to your core. “That's exactly what we could do,” your lips would softly echo their thoughts, almost in a fading whisper, teeth gently biting down your lower lip in thought. “This right here is proof that even Fabletown’s finest are sick fucks.”

“That’s right,” Faith added, her rose-colored lip curling just a tad bit upwards, stepping around the room pensively as her heels clicked in a methodical rhythm. “Word gets out, no, better yet - ” she halted gently in her step, holding the picture up to the both of you as if to emphasize her point, “ - this damn thing gets out, Georgie’s fucking toast.”

A feeling of great unease lulled you in, engulfing your nerves, the faint hints of music outside the door echoing off. Something was not right. No, this was just too good to be true.

How many times had you tried to escape? To just tear that ribbon apart and not give a damn about the consequences? Begged and pleaded the owner, tried to conspire with the girls? True, now you had actual solid evidence that could get you out of there unlike all the other futile attempts - yet would it work for sure?

That was when you saw it. It took you a bit of time to connect the dots in your mind after the initial shock of seeing the explicit picture had worn off just enough - you were not sure if you were glad you could make better sense of this because apparently the deeper you tried to dive in, the uglier it got.

“Wait a minute,” you thought out loud, eyebrows furrowing. “Isn’t he a regular of - ”

“Now, now,” came the accented, dreary voice that froze you in your place and hung your words dry in your throat, “ - why the fuck is the pole empty?”

It was like someone had shot you. Not that you were entirely sure how that would feel like, or how much it would pain you to have lead lodged inside you if it did at all, but this cold and terrifying feeling that washed all over your body had to feel damn near close.

Time was bent, all three girls frozen and staring at the floor as the door creaked open while it let him in, along with the sudden burst of raunchy beats that filled the small powder room instantly. In the heat of the moment, Faith had proved to be the cunning lady she was known to be as she had managed to tuck the photo somewhere in her skirt - it was nowhere to be seen, and you certainly hoped the bastard had not taken a glimpse at what you three where hiding. She would sneak a side-eye glance at you, ready for the wrath that was to be delivered by the devil’s incarnate.

His heavy footsteps filled in the room yet stopped midway, the low eyes fixating on you - you could almost feel the fiery daggers burning into your skin from his daunting stare. Heart almost skipping out of your chest, you dared look up to meet his eyes.

“I don’t fuckin’ keep you so you can gossip with your friends in the fuckin’ dressing room, do I?” came Georgie’s mad hiss, the words spat out of his mouth as he tugged onto your wrist, dragging you on his way out of the door and into the club - into the purple and pink, crowds of nearly naked men and women with no modestly left to show, and the gleaming pole.

“C’mon, let’s fuckin’ go.”

A little wash of relief descending over you, your eyes would catch your friend’s pairs in a small, reassuring wink over your bare shoulder as you stepped out from the doorway and into the madness.

Luck, whatever that was at that point in your life, seemed to be on your side - if you had managed to hide this just a little bit longer from him, something inside you believed. Believed you would all become free from this prison, if you played your cards just right.

Yet it also told you that things could go so wrong, oh so wrong - after just one small mistake.

#bigby wolf #howlin for you #bigby wolf x reader #bigby wolf x you #twau #the wolf among us #telltale games

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cdarkheartzero · 4 years

Text

Today’s theme-

“Diary of a security guard part 4- “His own legs”

Data log entry 6553

I barely even started my shift before I got the news. Three smeets had disappeared at some point during the night and -OF COARSE- the little shit was one of them.

Receiving the names of Zim and Skoodge wasn’t surprising. Those two were always together and up to something but I was shocked when the keeper said “Smeet Tak”. TAK? She was usually fairly well behaved. Few fights here and there, sure but this? Especially because she hates Zim. Why would she join them? At least that’s what I hoped for anyway.

Since the “snack heist” episode, I assumed the boys were off to find another “treasure chest” of pure sugar so I figured I would check the pantries first. They weren’t stupid enough to do the same closet twice in a row but I would bet my monies that’s where they were.

[[MORE]]

Stumbled down the halls when I noticed a door slightly left ajar. Yup. There they were. As I approached I could hear a conversation being had between Tak and Zim. GOOD. I can grab them all at once. I slowly opened the door juuuust enough to squeeze my body through and crept in behind boxes , eyeing the mess of once-again ripped open junk food and wrappers littering the floor. I sat behind a rather large box (big enough to shield me from sight at the very least) and waited for the opportunity to pounce.

Skoodge was sitting on the floor very much invested in the “ploof puffs” he was shoving into his adorable chubby face. Not really paying much mind to the other two. Zim and Tak sat atop two boxes staring each other down. Tak had her back to me and Zim was so fixated on his enemy, that he didn’t notice me peeking out from the box behind her. I could see on Zim’s face that SOMETHING said before my arrival was eating at him. The conversation continued-

“I’m telling you the truth, Zim.”

“There is NO WAY you did it on your own, Tak.”

“You think I’m lying? Or is your pride eating away at you because I’m clearly the superior soldier to-be?”

“There is NO WAY YOU would hurt my pride. BESIDES, how could someone with your intellectual shortcomings accomplish something soldiers are trained YEARS to do?!”

“Okay, fine. This will shut you up, you reject!”

I couldn’t see her face but she stood straight and her body tighten, I could see her fists turning pale by the amount of pressure she was putting on them. The ports on her back slowly opened and her PAK legs menacingly emerged. Awkwardly crawling out and wobbling as the touched the ground and lifted her mid air.

Skoodge panicked and fled at the sight of the thin, metallic limbs- having never seen or been told about these things prior, this must have been quite terrifying. And it’s true. I was shocked myself. The shit was right. Irken soldiers are taught how to use these well into their military training and it takes a tremendous amount of skill and concentration to activate. For a smeet this was basically unheard of. Tak May very well be the most advanced smeet in Irken history.

Zim was.... far from impressed. He puffed his cheeks and pouted quietly as Tak spat insult after insult to him, Landing harsh and pride crushing comments. I almost felt sorry. It wasn’t until one of her legs abandoned its position of stabilizer and shakily made its way toward Zim’s throat that I knew I had to step in NOW.

Not wanting to use my taser on her, I did the next best thing. I took my boot off and smacked it on the PAK leg closest to me, knocking her off balance and bringing her hurdling downwards. The PAK legs quickly retreated back into their holder and the small Irken was left confused and slightly stunned by the secret attack.

Skoodge ran over to me, tears in his eyes, wailing about the scary legs. He clung to my foot tight. Real tight. Kid has a good grip. I (and my newfound leech) walked over to Tak to picked her up. She just stared at the floor, quickly blinking and not saying a word. Man.... I got her good. I put her to my chest and she didn’t budge. It was unnerving to say the least but she was still alive so.... I just gotta gather the last one.

Zim was spaced out. Totally lost in thought. Didn’t even twitch when I approached him. Seeing those legs really internally triggered something. I scoop him up and stare. I might have well had not been there as far as he was concerned. He was gone from this place.

We get back to the smeetery and I drop off Zim and Skoodge (Skoodge waved me good-bye too. He is so cute sometimes) and made my way to the medical ward with Tak. Just to make sure I didn’t mess her up too bad, you know? The staff there assured me she was okay and just stunned but I told them to keep her for testing anyway. Can’t have that on my conscience.

By the time I got back to the smeetery, Zim was gone and Skoodge was alone, doing some light reading in the form of a cooking magazine. Where he got it, I didn’t ask. It was unusual to see these two separated though. “Where is Zim?” I asked confused. “Hmmm?” He hummed with a slight jump. Must’ve startled him. “Zim wanted to go to the tube room. Is Tak okay?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. She’s fine. You okay though?”

“Yeah. That was just scary.”

“They really aren’t. Just another tool we have to protect ourselves and aid ‘n battle. One day you will be trained to use yours too.”

His eyes lit up in wonder and confusion “I HAVE THEM TOO?????”

“Yup. But it’s totally normal you can’t use them yet though. The fact that Tak could is real unusual. I know you’ll get there.” I said ruffling his antenna. He let out a laugh and smiled “Thanks”

“Anytime. Imma see what the little shit is up to.”

“HAVE FUN!” He joyfully waved as I walked away. Skoodge is unusual too. Now that I think about it, everyone associated with the little shit is so quirky. This batch of smeets...they really do have bright futures ahead of them.

Walking through the doors to the usually silent unborn sleeping chambers, the room echoed with low, muffled grunts and heavy breathing. I know this voice. I just had to find him.

Tucked off to one of the corners of the massive room, Zim was doubled over panting, clutching at his chest. His PAK opened and his legs partially exposed, spazzing and sparking, filling the air around him with a dangerous electrical charge. Never in all my life have I seen a PAK respond this way. His body seized, confulsing constantly. His eyes welled with tears, sweat dripping down his entire frame. Veins bulged out of his skin.

Here is something ya gotta know about Irken anatomy. PAKs serve as a second brain and is connected to the organic brain through the spine by a series of wires. Some things are only possible BECAUSE of this connection. Like using PAK legs. The host needs to be able to simultaneously create a gateway both consciously and subconsciously to allow data to flow between the two. Using the legs as an extension of their organic bodies. Being able to tell each of the 4 legs to move independently but having enough focus to not completely be distracted by it. Kinda like breathing. Your brain knows to do it automatically. But if you wanted to, you could alter its patterns. Except a loss of control would mean a comrade getting empaled. Concentration and data input is everything. I’m gettin side tracked though, I didn’t even know it was POSSIBLE to see the bridge between the two minds. But here they were. I could see every ridge, every curve of the wiring violently throbbing.

This is bad. THIS IS SO BAD.

I tried to grab him- he needed medical attention ASAP. WHAT ON IRK WAS HAPPENING!? But as I reached for him, the legs became defensive and started stabbing in my direction. The electrical charge strengthened too. Zim coiled into himself more. He wanted to scream. I could see it in his face. But every time he opened that yap of his- there was nothing.

Oh, My tallest. The closer I got to him, the more his PAK simultaneously defended/harmed him. I screamed for help. Someone.... ANYONE, please. Come! I have no idea what’s going on!

“....z-zara....” I heard faintly between gasps and groans. He reached his hand to me. FUCK THIS. I cannot let the suffering go on any longer. I’m sorry, Zim. But I gotta do this.

I grabbed my taser out and gave his PAK a short jolt, praying that it would short circuit and reboot. His legs stabbed into my hand before going limp, just like the rest of him. The bright pink lights emminating from his back faded to a faint, dim color. But it was still lit. Please. PLEASE. Be okay.

There was a moment of silence. Felt like a decade though, wondering if it worked. Or if I just made the worst mistake of my career.

“REACTIVATING”

The PAK light shone bright again and gave the body a single jolt. The legs instantly retracted. He stirred, groaning. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked a few times, not a single word spoken between us. He looked at me, pained and spiritually drained. “Zara....” he finally said.

I grabbed him and gave him a hug. I was so relieved. He was okay. He just accepted my embrace. He didn’t have the strength to fight. Slowly pulling him away, I could finally speak. “Imma take you to the medical station, okay?” He replied with a humm. Response accepted.

The smeetery staff rushed in (it was so hard to believe only a moment had passed In real time) but I took it upon myself to hand deliver him where he needed to be. It was a long, unsettlingly uncomfortable walk. But this.... I wanted to be here. I needed to. Unfortunately, we soon arrived to the medical station and I finally had to hand him off and return to my shift. I didn’t wanna leave him. Not one bit. I can’t even imagine how he was feeling. But I have a job to do. We gave each other a sad look as we parted. There was a slight pain in my chest the whole time.

The rest of the day dragged on what seemed like years but within a few hours, Zim had been released from care and returned to the Smeetery by a member of the medical staff. She just silently walked in, spoke to a smeetery staff member, placed him on the floor and disappeared. I was thrilled (I would never tell him that though). But I can tell he was still deeply upset. I approached him and asked if he was okay. His eyes said more than his words ever could. I picked him up. I honestly don’t have a game plan but... he needs a few minutes to breathe, I think.

I wave to another guard and ask her to take my place. She saw the smeet I held close and said “fine. But you owe me one.” Wouldn’t be the first time Kira helped me out. She was probably the closest thing to a friend I had in this place. I thanked her and took my leave. Zim didn’t really ask any questions. Just kinda went for the ride.

We wound up in a pantry. I sat down on the cold floor and put him next to me. This... was awkward. I couldn’t figure out what to say or do. Or even why I wound up HERE of all places. Why not my office???? Thankfully, he tore me away from my thoughts and broke the ice.

“Why are we here? Don’t you usually want Zim OUT of the pantry?”

“Uhhhhhh.... you looked like you needed a few minutes to breathe.”

He hugged his knees. “Zim is fine.”

There was that silence again. I’m the adult here. I gotta do something....right?

“You know, the thing with Tak has never happened before.”

“Just rub it in...” he mumbled burying his face into his legs.

“But, you were able to pull yours out too. Even just a little. That’s impressive too.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but mine tried to kill me.”

“Maybe yours are just-“

“The medical staff-“ he cut me off “told me I might never be able to use them right. That Zim might be “defective”.”

I was agitated to say the least. How can you say something like that to a smeet? A BABY? This little soul who just began living this life he never asked for? My emotions got the best of me. “Listen here, Zim. Maybe you can’t use your legs the way she does. Or the way I do. But I know you will find a way. You have never bowed down when the odds were stack against you before. Why start now?”

He didn’t stir. I passionately rambled on “you are a lot of things. Cunning. Manipulative. Obsessive. Persuasive. Passionate. But you are damn smart. I’m constantly surprised by your ingenuity and craftsmanship. You know how good I am at dismantling your bombs at this point? You challenge those around you to grow and be better. I wish you WOULDN’T challenge me with explosives, mind you, but you aren’t defective. No way, no how. You are different. And no one said different is bad. Just means you leave your mark in ways no one expected before. And maybe that scares some but.... I believe that you can do amazing things. And screw em If they don’t see it.”

He let out a small chuckle. It was refreshing to hear, even if it was a sad, emotionally drained laugh.

“Does that mean you don’t hate me?”

“I didn’t say all that now.”

He smiled with sorrow and hugged himself tighter.

Maybe that was a little too deep. I was actually kinda embarrassed for that. But.... perhaps I could say something else to make him feel better. “You know” I started “when I have a bad day, I like to look at the stars. You can’t see them here but they always put me at ease.”

“Stars?”

“Yeah. They exist outside the planet, in space. Burning, exploding balls of chemicals. Mostly hydrogen and helium. But from Irk’s surface, they are just beautiful bright lights littering the sky. You can’t see them everywhere here ‘cuz of the brightness of the surface’s refelection in our atmosphere. But I came from the sugar mines before I was a guard. It’s a lot less industrial and darker there so it was always so much easier to see.”

“Burning balls? Really?” He scoffed, amused and confused but intrigued.

“I guess tellin’ you about ‘em doesn’t do it justice. Here. Let me show you. Computer.”

My PAK lit up and released a small floating, mechanical ball with a small circular screen used for projections. Zim just stared. “Show us stars.”

As instructed, the screen painted a gorgeous night sky (as “night” as Irken pink skies get anyway) glistening with hundreds of stars. Zim stared, taken aback. There was a slight sparkle in his face. Good. This helped. Thank the Tallest. The projection stayed active for only a moment before I thought it was enough. Without saying anything, the orb returned to where it had come from.

“You okay?” I finally asked, knowing the answer already but hoping for the best.

“.... can we stay here a little bit longer?”

I can tell in his voice, he was embarrassed. Ashamed. Depressed. Confused. Self-loathing. His whole world thrown in a blender. “Sure” I said pulling him closer to my leg. I kept my hand on his back, gently stroking it. Imagine my surprise when he accepted my compassion and snuggled up to me.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but all my organic brain kept repeating was “just be there for him.” I dunno what this feeling in my spooch could have been but it felt knotted and twisted at the sight of his misery. I had to look away. What is this smeet? Why does he make me feel this way? Do I have a bug? Is this something else I don’t understand? ...You know what? It’s Best not to think too much about it, I guess. Just take in this silence with the little shit. He will be back to his old self tomorrow I bet.

Zara signing off

#invader zim #iz #zim #zero’s art #sketch #iz fanart #zero’s oc zara #iz smeet #smeet zim #irken smeet #skoodge #iz tak #tak invader zim

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sxveme-2 · 3 years

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Seventeen: The One With the Dancing

Warnings: Explosions

Word Count: 3026

Ever since Lily was a child, her parents were the one constant thing that never changed throughout her life. However, as each individual Osborne child grew up and grew out of the nest, things seemed to change. Their work became more of a taboo topic, and they'd never share the research they were doing. But it became worse when Lily married Scott. And it seemed as though things just...it was like there was something changing within the lives the Osborne children believed they had. Puncturing holes in that pristine image of Alicia and Abel.

Lily blamed herself for it, as she tends to do. She believed she allowed her relationship to become distant between her and her parents, which is why they didn't talk as much about these things. A part of her even believed it to be a factor from her and Scott’s marriage. She knew her parents weren't his biggest fans, and dinners were always tense. They would always pull him aside during holidays...but Lily never really thought twice.

She didn't feel the need to. She somewhat hoped that the little talks they had were them finally getting along. Because at one point, Lily did indeed love Scott. And he loved her. So she figured that was all. But that was simply the socially naive side of the girl.

It wasn't until now did she realize there was something deeper going on.

"What are you insinuating, Sergeant Barnes?" Abel countered, leaning forward.

"It was simply a question, Abel. I'm not trying to insinuate anything. It's just odd in my opinion, that's all sir." Bucky smiled gently, sipping on his own coffee.

"I-I found it a bi-bit odd as well." Lily managed, heat flushing as all eyes turned to her. She wasn't exactly known to defy her parents or speak out really. Even Bucky seemed taken aback. But she persisted, her heart racing, "I mean I called you a month ago. I figured y-you'd come down before."

Even when it came down to dire situations, Lily had a rough time standing up to her parents. Well, she struggled with everyone doing that. But her parents posed particular trouble for her. She appreciated and loved them more than she could put into words, and never wanted them to feel as though she were defying them. Their approval was Lily's driving motive in close to everything she did. It was one of the main reasons she became a doctor, other than her sheer intelligence and love for children. She wanted to be the absolute best for them, be the best, become the best. Even at her age, standing up to her parents was difficult. Their approval was everything Lily strived for.

The only time she even slightly wavered when it came to standing up to them, was with her siblings. If they were being a tad harsh on Rose for staying out a few minutes after curfew, typically Lily would smooth it over. Cedar didn't do so well on a test and they were upset? Lily reminded them that he's trying his best and that everyone has slip-ups. That was it. Those were the only times. Except for the conversation at the cafe.

"Lily?" Alicia pondered, "I don't understand. We were worried sick we just...couldn't get down here," the blonde insisted, but the twinkle in her eyes faded, "We want to go see him today."

"Mom you're dodging..." Lily whispered, fiddling with her fingers, "Why didn't you come down when he was initially arrested?"

"Mum!" a voice called. Rose. the elder sister let out a shaky breath as she leaned back in her seat, eyes averting from her parents just across from her.

Glancing down at her lap, Lily fluttered her eyes shut. A deep instinct within her knew that there was something going on. But another part of her wanted to block it out. Hide it away. Pretend everything was fine. Act as though Cedar was walking free, her parents were simply environmental scientists, that nothing changed. She didn't like the feeling of change. The uncertainty in the air, the confusion, the constant paranoia. Her fingers began to tug at a loose thread at the end of her stark white dress, fiddling and pulling at it. Until the cool feeling of metal splayed across her wrist, rubbing smooth circles.

"Everything okay, Lil?" Gen asked, pulling the blonde out of her fixation.

"Yeah sorry. Late-night last night." she lied, giving a forced smile.

-----

"Why don't you leave Hunt with Gen and Rose for a bit and we can go somewhere quiet?" Bucky whispered as the group went to stand, about to leave the cafe, "It's just a short walk from here, a block or so."

"Yeah...Yeah, let's do that." Lily nodded along, turning towards her parents who had already left the cafe, after telling the young girl they were going to the police station, "Hunt! Buddy why don't you stay here with auntie Rose and aunt Gen for a bit. Bucky and I have some stuff to do." the blonde smiled down at the boy, running a hand through his hair.

With a nod from her son, Lily turned her attention back to the brunette. Lily felt like the world around her was closing in. Everything was out of place and uneasy. Whether it be her parents, Cedar, or her love life actually having a spark to it. Things just wouldn't sit still. They wouldn't stop for her to catch her breath. Anytime she believed some sense of normalcy was returning, the world threw another curveball her way. She just wanted to get to know Bucky and hopefully open herself up again, maybe fall for another.

Slipping his flesh hand into Lily's, the man next to her gave a gentle squeeze. With a glance upwards, the blonde blushed at the way he looked at her. Those troubled eyes becoming clear when they rested on her fair complexion. She loved the way he looked at her. Those blue eyes staring down at her like there was no one else around. There was no confusion, no pain. Just her. He looked at her, not as Lily Osborne. Not as a single mother. Not the daughter of famous scientists. He looked at her as Lily. The brilliant mind who has suffered through emotional trauma, who continues to fight through the hard days and raise a son. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful, and the strongest woman he had met.

And his touch. Oh, his touch. Ever so feather-light yet meaningful and passionate all the same. His slight hesitation with the vibranium arm, yet never failing to overcome that slight fear. Because she made sure he knew she wasn't scared of him. She knows what he had done. Who he had killed. All the pain he had caused. But she knew it wasn't really him. It was the Winter Soldier. It wasn't James Buchanan Barnes. Not the man who watched National Geographic with her son. Not the person who cooked her dinner. Not the person who kissed her as though she'd break. His touch was the most special thing to Lily. Because he touched her like a human, and she let him with no real fear.

Bucky led the young mom from the cafe, fingers brushing gently across her knuckles as the cool November wind brushed between them. Her long blonde hair gently tossed across her face as they walked east from the cafe, dodging people. Lily had lived in the city for fifteen years, yet had no idea where was leading her. It was to a seemingly quiet part of the busy city, where there were small flower bushes and a few elderly walking about.

"Where on earth are you taking me?" Lily hummed, tugging gently at the taller man’s arm.

Twirling the blonde, Bucky chuckled before tugging her closer to his chest, "Well doll, I'm taking you dancing."

-----

"A retirement home?" Lily laughed softly as Bucky led her through the moth-ball scented halls of the building they had entered. But he seemed distracted, waving and smiling at little old ladies and bright old men. All seemingly knowing who he is.

"James!" a voice called as the two walked through a set of double doors to a large rec room. Lily turned her head to see an older woman, dark skin wrinkled in a pug like way that made Lily's heart positively melt as she smiled, "We were worried you weren't stopping by today. And you brought a guest! Don't tell Mathilda, she may cry." the woman teased, a raspy laugh escaping her lips as the pair made their way over.

"Hey aggie," Bucky greeted softly, "This is Lily- "

"Lily!" the woman, Aggie, exclaimed, lifting her hands up, "The girl you go on and on about. Yes, I remember. She's even more beautiful in person. I'm Agnes, call me Aggie. It's lovely to finally meet you, dear. And you two made it just in time for dancing!"

Before Lily could properly introduce herself, the taller man swept the blonde away onto the beige floor that was cleared for the event. A small laugh left the girl’s lips as she stumbled into Bucky's chest, a new sense of calm washing over her. Gentle music, All About Us by He Is We Lily figured out, began to play lowly around the hall, and Lily felt Bucky's metal hand grip at her waist gently, fingers running along the blue yarn of her cardigan. His flesh one tangling itself into her fingers, bringing the girl close as she rested her frail hand on his steady shoulder.

Where her hand-laid, the slight feeling of scarring was evident through the thin cotton of his charcoal grey shirt. A shaky breath escaped from Bucky's lips and Lily glanced up, catching his eyes in hers. Her fingers gently traced the line across his shoulder where his metal arm met the human muscle of his body. Her deep forest eyes kept his sky blue locked onto hers, as they swayed gently along to the music. She felt the room melt away around her, his eyes keeping her locked in place. The feeling of the scar tissue left a fire burning on her fingers. His eyes looked scared, and that's why she didn't stop. She wanted him to know she loved that part of him.

"I know most people call men handsome," Lily whispered, their noses brushing ever so lightly, "but this part of you is beautiful. It shows strength, Buck." she continued, "I know the pain associated with it. And I can't undo it. But I'm going to help you make new memories to outshine them," she concluded, a new sense of boldness and confidence surging through her.

"Lily..."

"I-I know it won't be easy. You being an Avenger. My current messed-up family. Raising Hunter. But the-there's something here." she continued, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her head, "And Hunt loves you. God, I haven't seen him smile like that in so long."

The feeling of his hand dropped from her waist, only to place itself on the blonde’s chin, lifting her chin to meet his eyes once more, "I don't want to put you and Hunt in danger...I couldn't live with myself if something happened."

Shaking her head, Lily gave a weak smile, "You couldn't hurt us. I trust you with my life...I trust you with Hunter." she insisted, their faces slowly moving even closer.

"Okay...I won't complain," he teased, a gentle grin on his lips, "Let's see where this goes." he whispered, pressing a loving kiss to the blonde’s lips.

As the music continued, Lily felt something open inside of her. Something...warm. It spread through her body. Whether it was the warmth from her closeness to Bucky or the new opportunity he symbolized. A new future for her. A kinder future. One where she was able to look forward to the days to come. Not dread waking up and seeing him beside her. Waking up and seeing someone she couldn't wait to spend time with. She saw a future with him. A happy one.

The music halted in her mind. There was no noise besides the gentle breaths escaping from the pair. Peace and tranquillity surrounded them. It had only been two months since they had bumped into one another at the cafe, and that day will live forever in Lily's heart. The sneaky glances from each side of the area. Only to be brought together by a certain young boy who now seemed to be one of the driving forces in the two's relationship. Or a future one. And it just seemed to all finally fall into place. Two months can change the entire course of someone's life, and that's what happened with Lily and Bucky.

All because of blueberry pancakes.

A rumble in the ground shook Lily's mindset. The entire building shook, more like it. A shake that Lily had never felt before. It didn't come from below, no. It came from outside. Not too far from the area that they were in. Bucky's hand tightened on Lily, pulling her into his chest, acting as a shield for her. The tv station in the corner of the room switched from Golden Girls to the news, a panoramic view of an explosion. From the prison. Just two blocks away. Where Cedar was held. Lily looked up at Bucky, who had a grave look on his face.

"I have to go to work."

-----

The only thing on her mind was Hunter. As they ran through the retirement home, Hunter. As they stepped out onto the busy street, Hunter. As they sprinted through the crowded streets, Hunter. When she came face to face with Captain America and the Falcon, Hunter. Her face sickly pale, her palms sweating as she heaved. Her breathing quick and her mind frantic. She wanted, no, needed, to see her son. Ensure he was okay and for the love of God, hide him from knowing that Cedar and his grandparents had been in that building.

"Our guess is this is an escape plan," Steve commented, turning to Bucky, "Three prisoners have escaped...Hallea Tyler, Ryan Hux, and...Cedar Osborne." the man commented, glancing down at the blonde next to his best friend.

Lily felt her knees shake. Her mind fell blank. A strong grip around her waist kept her steady, that familiar cold of the metal ticking off the fact it was Bucky. Cedar had escaped. Her parents had gone to the prison to see him, after acting strange. And now Cedar was nowhere to be found. Everything fell into place too perfectly, with too many coincidences. Glancing up at Bucky, she grabbed at his jacket before whispering the faintest word.

"Parents," she whispered, grunting as someone pushed past her, "ask."

"Is there anyone in the building?" Bucky asked, metal fingers running circles over her waist.

"They've identified those who didn't make it. No one by the name of Osborne. Your parents should be okay." Sam nodded, looking down at Lily, "We'll find them."

Her parents being alive was a relief, sure. But terrifying at the same time. If Lily's assumption was correct, then she wasn't sure if it brought her comfort. The idea that this could have all been orchestrated by them fit so well with the odd events leading up to this day. And as much as she didn't want to admit this to herself, it was the only real explanation to why the exact building her brother was being held in after an odd set of circumstances...and them showing up a day before. It scared her, that her parents could be capable of this.

"Hunter...Hunter, I need to get to Hunter." Lily whispered, tugging at Bucky's sleeve, "Please I have to get back to Hunter."

"Okay...yes okay," Bucky turned back to the other two, "I'm going to take Lily to her son. If you need me back here I'm on coms." With a nod from the others, Bucky tucked Lily under his arm and pulled her from the scene of the explosion. One that she believed he felt the same way about. That this was the works of the Osbornes, and whatever sneaky business they had seemed to get themselves into.

-----

Lily's breath was heavy as they reached Gen's cafe. No one in sight other than on the other side of the street. But Lily didn't care. She just needed to see Hunter. Make sure he was okay. That was her main focus. Getting her son to safety and as far from the city as she could. Take him home, keep him safe behind the closed doors of their home. Away from anyone's eyes. She just wanted Hunter to be okay.

Pushing open the door to Gen's cafe, she was met with silence. Only the quiet humming of music floating through the speakers. Her head spun, and a panicked feeling settled in. But she saw the blonde of his hair, and a feeling of relief overtook it. Both Bucky and Lily jogged over to where Hunter sat, and the latter tugged the boy tight to her chest. She was sure he could feel the pounding of her heart, and the urgency in her coos. Hearing him breathe made her feel okay again. She felt at peace.

"Lily we should go." Bucky whispered, tugging gently at her shoulder, "I don't like this."

"We guessed you'd figure it out, Sergeant Barnes," an all too familiar voice called, "Seems you and Lily are quicker than we originally intended."

Alicia Osborne.

Lily shot her head up, watching her mother, father, and brother walk from the back of the cafe. Immediately, she covered Hunter's ears and tugged him into her chest, ensuring he didn't see what was happening. but, she figured this was the entire plan. For what though? Lily didn't know. Whatever it was, it had Bucky and Lily in the center of it, dragging Hunter along with them. Something Lily would kill to avoid happening. But the others seemed to have different plans, as Abel walked towards Bucky. And then spoke in a tongue Lily didn't know.

"Longing,"

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spaceorphan18 · 4 years

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99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #3

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

I’m using this as a fun writing experiment for a) writing short things and b) writing things from a multitude of varying perspectives. Have fun! :)

[Ao3]

***

Emma Pillsbury (Grilled Cheesus)

Emma isn’t sure what to do with her hands. Does she keep them in her lap? Does she reach out and try to clasp his in her own? Does she just sit on them? She doesn’t know. It feels almost like one of her panic attacks - when she feels out of control and needs to make everything in her life perfect so she can regain some control over the chaos. Only… her conduit is not her own brain, but the teenager sitting in the chair next to her.

Kurt Hummel is staring across the room, eyes fixated on a point across the vast, bright emptiness of the hospital waiting room. Only, he isn’t looking at one thing in particular. He’s thinking. She can see that about him, the way his eyes are shifting ever so slightly, the way he doesn’t seem quite connected to the rest of the real world. The wheels of his brain are turning so quickly. But about what?

About control, she guesses. She recognizes the look - as his eyes glaze over - lost very deep thought about what could only be -- control. They don’t have any answers yet, nothing concrete to stabilize the fears, no facts to make a plan, and in those instances the panic always rises.

She isn’t sure what she should do - or say. Will went to get coffee twenty minutes ago. Emma wishes he were here -- he’s better at the abstract. Sure, she can talk to Artie Abrams about college choices, and help Rachel Berry through her questionable choices in love, but discussing life and death with a student who has barely been to your office his entire high school career…? She isn’t sure how best to comfort him. She’s not even good at comforting herself.

“Is there anyone we can call?” she asks, breaking the silence. Her small voice sounds loud in the open and quiet room. “Your grandparents?”

Kurt turns his head slowly, as if being ripped out of his thoughts has made his reaction time slow. “They’re in a nursing home an hour from here,” he responds, almost dismissively. “I’ve looked over them more than they’ve looked over me.”

“What about your mom’s family?” she tries again.

A pained look forms on his face. “They live in Michigan.”

“Do you have any aunts or uncles…”

“We took care of each other,” he says sharply - as if that’s the end of that discussion.

Emma frowns. She feels fidgety. She notices a stack of magazines on an end table askew, and thinks she should straighten them. It would make her feel better. She reaches out to set them in a nice little pile.

Kurt returns to his deep thoughts.

“What about Mrs. Hudson?” Emma tries again. “Finn’s mom. I know she cares about you and your dad. Or maybe Mercedes Jones and her mom? Or even Rachel Berry and her dads would…”

“Stop trying to make this alright,” Kurt snaps.

He is angry, so angry now, and Emma’s heart just breaks for him.

“Kurt…”

“Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on. God,” he throws his head back and closes his eyes as if to hold it all in. “I’m so fucking tired of it.”

“No,” she says, the sharpness in her voice startling him. She reaches for his hand and grabs hold of it. He tries to pull away, but she only holds on tighter. “Kurt, I know you think you are alone in this - that you have to carry this on your own. And I recognize that you feel like you’re spinning out of control right now because this is a real situation with no sugar coated answers. But you are not alone. There are people who care about you who won’t let that happen. I will not let that happen.”

Kurt stares at her hard for a long moment, before his face begins to crumple and his resolve finally breaks. He doesn’t say anything as the tears begin to trickle down his face. She finally knows what to do with her hands, as she squeezes his hand tighter.

#s.o. writes things #99 perspectives #this one is heavier #they won't all be heavy like this

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rowankingsley · 3 years

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NAME: ROWAN ELISE KINGSLEY NICKNAMES: Ro, Winnie (close friends only) AGE: 28 PRONOUNS: She/Her OCCUPATION: Published Author/Freelance Baker HEIGHT: 5′1 BIRTHDAY: May 11th, 1992 ZODIAC SIGN: Taurus PARENTS: Cassandra and Tony Kingsley SIBLINGS: TBA ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good MBTI: ISFJ

BIOGRAPHY

TW: domestic violence, sexual assault, anxiety, eating disorders, mention of death, illness, drugs

Rowan was born to Cassandra and Tony Kingsley in the early summer of 1992, at which point things were already strained between the two-some because of Tony’s alcohol problem and Cassie’s generally meek personality. Rowan’s brother took a leading role in her care from a very young age, not just because her dad was useless, but also because their mother was so distracted by her need to please Tony that she dropped the ball often. Both her brother and her saw things they certainly shouldn’t have, were told things that no children should be told, and occasionally went without for no reason other than Tony liking control, but he never hurt them physically. However, he did hurt their mother.

Less than a year after her brother turned 18 and moved out of the house, their mother died of an aneurysm suddenly and unexpectedly. Despite how Rowan’s father treated her mother, the loss of her broke him and send him on a 3 month bender that only ended because he was booked with vehicular manslaughter and his 3rd DWI. This led to Rowan being unceremoniously dumped into the system while her father’s trial pended and they attempted to find family members that didn’t exist to take her on. Luckily, Rowan only spent a few months in foster care before the court allowed her brother to assume custody over her.

Her brother had been living in Augusta since leaving their parents’ home, working as a tattoo artist and had found a family within a non criminal motorcycle club that had welcomed him with open arms. From the moment she joined her brother in Augusta, the Valencia became her family. The women, wives and daughters of the organization were the people who taught her everything she knows about being a girl, doing make up, doing her hair, navigating boys. (This is probably why she went through a blue eyeshadow phase at 17).

Rowan is a textbook overachiever and perfectionist, she always had all As, was always in 6 clubs, and held officer positions in every single one including the dance team. While she did hold officer positions, she never really was one to take front and center–she prefers the positions of the people behind the scenes keeping things together. (secretary, treasurer, anything that has to do with organizational skills.

At 18 she received a full scholarship to NYU and left Augusta and her brother for the first time to go to school first time. She lived in the dorms all 4.5 years and graduated with a degree in English, minoring in Psychology. While over her high school years she wrote a lot, and even published one of her short stories in a local newspaper, she didn’t write her first full novel until she went away to college at 18. No one ever read that novel, and it hit the trash during its 5th round of editing. If you ever ask Rowan what she’s afraid of, she’ll tell you losing control again. She notes two prominent times of completely losing control over her life, one fairly recent, and the other while she was away at college. While she was away, she went out fairly often with her friends and one night someone slipped something into her drink.

Nothing happened, she made it home without incident, but the way it made her feel, the way she felt victimized or the potential of being so set her off. She had two drop three of her classes and extend her time in college an extra semester because of how hard she spun out, trying to control things that she wouldn’t typically even think about. She started her senior year 20 pounds lighter with 0% of the friends she had started her Junior year with. While she was away at college her brother became a father, which meant frequent trips home to visit and help out with her niece who quickly meant enough to her to be her own.

She returned home from school at 23 and worked in a bakery until she could live off of her cookie business (at 25 her cookie business was self sufficient). While she was growing her bakery cookie business, she began writing her first professional novel and completed it the same year she quit her job at the bakery. She used contacts she had gained while attending NYU and by the time she blew out birthday candles the next year she had sold the book and was dropped into the whirlwind that was publishing and promoting her first book. While it changed her life or the better and got her foot in the door with the publishing world, publishing her book also led to the the single most traumatizing thing she has ever experienced.

While she was marketing her book, the marketing manager became very demanding of Rowan and her time, which often led to them being together very late at night. One night, while out of town for a book reading, he pushed himself on Rowan. Without going into detail, this assault led to the second occurrence of Rowan losing complete control and her life suffering because of it. After the assault, Rowan threatened to blow the whistle, and in return he threatened her career so he still holds his position with the company and up until her departure he was still her marketing manager. Speaking of her departure, it came as she finished her second book and the marketing department of the publishing company she had been with all but demanded another book tour with the same marketing manager that had violated her. At that point, Rowan essentially threw everything to the wind and has been hiding out in the little beach town her brother and her had frequented for vacations over the years. The woman spent her profits from her last book to buy a little beach house that she would spend her days fixing up while she spent her nights trying her damndest to write something good enough to sell anonymously.

TENDENCIES

Because of how contentious Rowan’s early childhood was, she has a pretty anxious mind that is always running on 100. Her thoughts come a mile a minute and they can be pretty difficult to stop. Melatonin is her best friend.

When she loses control over things in her life (hELLO we meet again control-less childhood) she controls everything she can, and that manifests differently every time. Controlling what she eats to the point of malnourishment, controlling every single word of what she’s writing, putting herself on lockdown until whatever she’s working on is p e r f e c t.

She fixates on her mistakes, in high school if she answered to the wrong name during roll she would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.

She bakes in excess when she’s trying to think through something, the measurements and muscle memory movements help calm her brain into being able to process whatever is on her mind.

She’s always been a writer, from the very first time she had to write in her 4th grade ELA class. That only grew through Middle and High School creative writing classes. She’s always loved exploring the stories and that it was something that she could perfect through six or seven round of editing.

Sticky notes cover her bedroom walls because of how quickly her thoughts come and go, her ideas for books do NOT come in order and she can often be found starring at her walls with her little scribbles trying to figure out what order they should go in.

For someone who would be considered the ‘bright & shiny’ type, she has a thing for researching and watching shows about serial killers. She can rattle off facts like its her day job.

Because of how quiet she can be, sometimes folks assume she’s innocent or that she doesn’t know anything, but in reality the opposite is true. She’s spent so much time watching and analyzing everyone and everything that she knows much more that she lets on.

She learned how to play guitar in college (not very well) and is a pretty damn good singer, but she’d never be the type to want to be front and center in front of a crowd. She mostly uses these talents as a means to an end in writing mini stories with lyrics. It appeases her in the in between period of having finished a book and being able to start a new one.

All floral, all the time. Enough said.

GENUINELY afraid of birds and giant frogs

WANTED CONNECTIONS

**ex boyfriend, who she really fucked up with. message for more**

neighbors who take her under their wing

people with kids for her to spoil

drinking buddy

someone to suck at badminton with

a visceral romantic connection that sort of requires her to step out of her overthinking

#somertonintro #//HI HELLO IM BELLS #like this and ill come bug you when i get off of work

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rowankingsleyy · 4 years

Photo

Like this if you want to plot with Rowan and I’ll come ramble

NAME: ROWAN JESSAMINE KINGSLEY

NICKNAMES: Ro, Winnie (close friends only)

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: She/Her

OCCUPATION: Published Author/Freelance Baker

HEIGHT: 5′1

BIRTHDAY: May 11th, 1992

ZODIAC SIGN: Taurus

PARENTS: Cassandra and Tony Kingsley

SIBLINGS: Damien Kingsley

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good

MBTI: ISFJ

MORE UNDER THE READ MORE =)

TW: domestic violence, sexual assault, anxiety, eating disorders, mention of death, illness, drugs

SEQUENCE OF EVENTS

Rowan’s brother took a leading role in her care from a very young age, not just because her dad was useless, but also because their mother was so distracted by her need to please Tony that she dropped the ball often.

Both her brother and her saw things they certainly shouldn’t have, were told things that no children should be told, and occasionally went without for no reason other than Tony liking control, but he never hurt them physically. However, he did hurt their mother.

Less than a year after her brother turned 18 and moved out of the house, their mother died of an aneurysm suddenly and unexpectedly.

Despite how Rowan’s father treated her mother, the loss of her broke him and send him on a 3 month bender that only ended because he was booked with vehicular manslaughter and his 3rd DWI.

Luckily, Rowan only spent a few weeks in foster care before the court allowed her brother to assume custody over her.

From the moment her brother joined, the Valencia became her family. The women, wives and daughters of the organization were the people who taught her everything she knows about being a girl, doing make up, doing her hair, navigating boys. (This is probably why she went through a blue eyeshadow phase at 17)

Rowan is a textbook overachiever and perfectionist, she always had all As, was always in 6 clubs, and held officer positions in every single one including the dance team. While she did hold officer positions, she never really was one to take front and center--she prefers the positions of the people behind the scenes keeping things together. (secretary, treasurer, anything that has to do with organizational skills.

While over her high school years she wrote a lot, and even published one of her short stories in a local newspaper, she didn’t write her first full novel until she went away to college at 18. No one ever read that novel, it hit the trash during its 5th round of editing.

At 18 she received a full scholarship to the University of Nevada--Reno and left Red Ridge for the first time to go to school first time. She lived in the dorms all 4.5 years and graduated with a degree in English, minoring in Psychology.

If you ever ask Rowan what she’s afraid of, she’ll tell you losing control again. She notes two prominent times of completely losing control over her life, one fairly recent, and the other while she was away at college. While she was away, she went out fairly often with her friends and one night someone slipped something into her drink. Nothing happened, she made it home without incident, but the way it made her feel, the way she felt victimized or the potential of being so set her off. She had two drop three of her classes and extend her time in college an extra semester because of how hard she spun out, trying to control things that she wouldn’t typically even think about. She started her senior year 20 pounds lighter with 0% of the friends she had started her Junior year with.

While she was away at college her brother became a father, which meant frequent trips home to visit and help out with her niece who quickly meant enough to her to be her own.

She returned home from school at 23 and worked in a bakery until she could live off of her cookie business (at 25 her cookie business was self sufficient).

While she was growing her bakery cookie business, she began writing her first professional novel and completed it at 26. She sold it that very same year, and published it at 27.

While it changed her life or the better and got her foot in the door with the publishing world, publishing her book also led to the the single most traumatizing thing she has ever experienced.

After the assault, Rowan threatened to blow the whistle, and in return he threatened her career so she is still with that publishing company with him as her marketing manager.

As of now, Rowan is in the process of getting her second book published, filling in as mom as best she can for her niece, running her cookie business and holding cookie classes, and trying to make amends for the bonds she broke when she spun out last.

TENDENCIES

She fixates on her mistakes, in high school if she answered to the wrong name during roll she would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.

She bakes in excess when she’s trying to think through something, the measurements and muscle memory movements help calm her brain into being able to process whatever is on her mind.

For someone who would be considered the ‘bright & shiny’ type, she has a thing for researching and watching shows about serial killers. She can rattle off facts like its her day job.

All floral, all the time. Enough said.

GENUINELY afraid of birds and giant frogs

I’ll probably add to this it’s 1am and I’m tired.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

**ex boyfriend, who she really fucked up with. message for more**

high school friends/enemies

someone who works in the bakery with her

women who influenced her growing up within Valencia

Valencia members who are like family

someone who mentored her in her baking

friends she lost when she spun out during college

literally anything

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

wherever i go, you bring me home Damien Kingsley// her brother. her parent. rowan is extremely close to her brother, as kids they were all each other had. he’s done everything he could to give her a normal childhood, to make up for her parents’ lapses. she would do just about anything for him or his daughter.

can't stop staring, at those oceans eyes, burning cities, and napalm skies. fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes Lev Yegorov// no title. but he’s the only man who has ever quieted her brain long enough for her to both lose her breath and catch it. they’ve kissed a few times and have something comparable to a magnetic field between them, but lev broke it off out of respect for her brother.

i'll stand up with you forever, i'll be there for you through it all Natalie Cassadaga// her sister. they may not have grown up together, they bonded to an extent that would have been unfathomable had she not experienced it. barring childhood, they’re sisters, no buts.

i’m a mess, i’m a loser, i’m a hater, i’m a user Freddie Dawson// her confidant. this is the only person outside of nat who gets to see rowan admit to being a mess. freddie gets the 100% honest version of rowan, usually with a little bit of liquid courage.

you can leave me in the dark if that's all I get from you ??????? OPEN // her ex. they dated in secret for 8 months before her assault. when she spun out after the assault, she didn’t tell him and she pushed him away. she fucked up the relationship, but she’s a little bitter about how easily he gave up on her.

'cause they’re gonna tell you all the rules to break, to take away that light OPEN // her roommate. the boldness to rowan’s softness. how different they are makes them work, they bring balance to each other (and rationalize the one another when they go too far).

If you’ve made it this far, you deserve a baby Rowan picture, here.

#redridgeintro #about.#IM SO READY FOR THIS #COME LOVE HER #GIMME THAT EX BF

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thedirtpreferences · 5 years

Text

Preference #13 — Overprotective (Requested)

Vince: “Stop.” You hadn’t realized how truly fixated you were until Tommy chastised you, forcing you out of your dazed stupor. “You know he loves you and only you,” Tommy reassured you as you sucked in a sharp inhale, diverting your attention from the trainwreck that occurred before your eyes. You were currently attending an after party for one of their concerts. Usually you were fine with after parties; frankly, you enjoyed them. Vince worked hard; they all did. And they deserved to celebrate; to let loose after the countless hours they spent rehearsing and being in the studio. What you didn’t like, however, was how frequently women threw themselves at the band. More specifically, Vince. And that’s what you were trying to avoid watching right now. You hated every single thing about the girl who fawned over him, ogling at his every move. With one misplaced hand, you were going to be ready to come unglued. Vince was yours, and ONLY yours. There were always going to fans, and you understood that, but you needed them to understand boundaries. “I know, I know. But aren’t you seeing what I’m seeing? Look at how she’s staring at him! She’s practically undressing him with her eyes and-“ When the girl reached up to brush a piece of hair behind his ear and kiss him on the cheek, you stood from the bar seat, seething in complete and total disbelief. “Hey, hey, hey don’t do anything crazy,” Tommy tried, grabbing your wrist to desperately to prevent you from walking over there. “I’ll give you five seconds to let go of me before I bash YOUR face in, drummer.” You spit, snatching your wrist away as you bee lined to your boyfriend. From the moment her hands had touched him, you had completely faded out of reality. Maybe it was from the alcohol, maybe it was from finally enduring enough of the flirting, but you had had enough. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?” Enraged, you pushed her shoulder smirking internally, when she nearly clobbered to the floor. “Excuse me?” She asked in disbelief, pulling the strap of her shirt back on her shoulder as she pulled down her leather skirt. “If you’re such a fan of the band, you should know that Vince is taken and that he’s my fucking boyfriend,” By the time the words left your mouth, Vince was already behind you snaking his hands around your waist, as he pulled you back. “And if you EVER touch him again, mark my words, bitch, the only thing you’ll be touching is the floor when I knock your ass out.” As much as he wanted to remain serious, Vince couldn’t help but to laugh as he suddenly lifted you up swinging you around so that your attention was diverted from the poor tramp in front of you. “You got her, babe, you got her.” Vince smiled, kissing your ear as he carried you away from the scene. Even as you flailed and demanded for him to put you down, Vince held his ground until finally you were on the other side of the room, far away from the girl who had caused the original turmoil. “Who knew my Y/N had such a temper,” Vince smiled as he sat you down, ordering you a water in attempts to calm you down. “Yeah? Well, I didn’t like the way she was flirting with you,” You mumbled, avoiding eye contact when Vince met your troubled gaze. “Did you really think that something was going to happen? Don’t you know how much I love you by now? That nobody could ever get in the way of that?” Upon his questions, a smile twitched at your lips, the anger suddenly dissipating. “Sometimes I just need a reminder,” You said sheepishly as Vince pressed his forehead against yours, giving you an eskimo kiss. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

Mick: For the past fifteen minutes, you had been listening to the girls behind you fawn over the rest of the band. Nikki was tall, muscular. His bad boy persona made him irresistible to everyone who laid eyes on him. Tommy was lanky, but gigantuous. His young age made him charismatic, his boyish charm alluring everyone who laid eyes on him. Vince was sex appeal at its’ finest; long blonde locks, bright eyes. He was everything a girl could want in a guy, and he knew just what to do to make them squirm. Then, there was Mick, who apparently wasn’t up to par with the rest of the band. He was quiet, weird. He didn’t engage with the fans the way the others did, and he was far too reserved to be the lead guitarist. Furthermore, the star quality just wasn’t there with him nor were the looks. At least, that’s what you overheard. Maybe they didn’t know you, maybe they weren’t aware that Mick was sitting in front of them, with his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You could tell by the way he was staring straightforward that he didn’t care; that all that mattered was the fact that he had you and you loved him just as much. But that wasn’t enough for you, no. You detested the fact that they were saying those cruel words about him; someone who you felt was the most handsome, most talented person in the world. How could someone not feel the same about him? How could they not see how talented, how beautiful he truly was? It was preposterous, completely and utterly absurd. “How did he even make it into the band? Nikki must have been really high on drugs, or maybe he just felt bad for him because he is a cripple.” They laughed in unison, and at that point you had shot a warning glare at Mick, your hand curling tightly around your drink. “Babe, it’s fine. I’m use to it,” Mick sighed, kissing the side of your head as you exhaled in rage. “No, it most certainly is not fine, Mick.” You argued, seething the longer the two girls spoke about him. You were never the type of person to lose your cool, it truly took a lot to bring you to the brink of a meltdown, but somehow those girls were bringing you there. And when you got mad, it was nearly impossible to get you to slow down. Furthermore, you weren’t afraid of a brawl, especially if it meant bringing justice. “I don’t understand why he even stays in the band if he’s so miserable and in pain, I mean seriously. There are way better guitarists out there,” Upon the sneer, you were suddenly turning around in your chair, throwing your drink in the girls face as you stood from your seat. You didn’t utter a single word as you suddenly decked the girl in the face, knocking her out cold as she fell to the ground. “What the fuck?!” Her friend exclaimed, reaching for your hair as she lurched forward. You had been prepared, for the moment her hands reached out for you, you stepped to the side causing her to tumble forward. Your hands suddenly laced tightly into her hair as you pulled her head back, slamming it into the bar repeatedly until her face bloodied. The only thing that stopped you was Mick, as he suddenly yanked you back staring at you incredulously as he guided you out of the bar. “I didn’t fucking like how they were talking about you, not one bit, Mick.” You breathed once you made it outside, doubling over as you took deep breaths through your nose and out your mouth. “Hey, hey.” Mick whispered, his hand rubbing circles into your back as you caught your breath. “I didn’t know you had it in you,” He laughed as your face met his, slightly embarrassed from what had just happened. “I don’t think I’ve ever found you more hot,” Laughing softly, you smiled as Mick pulled you into a rough, yet passionate kiss. You knew exactly where the night was going to go.

Nikki: You were absolutely exhausted. Even though the concert had ended hours ago, the after party was still thriving and very much alive. And so was Nikki who always seemed to be the life of the party, no matter what the situation was. Furthermore, everything could be falling down and burning around him and he would still be able to have a good time and party. That is, until you pissed him off. And right now, he was creeping into serious territory of getting to that point. Where Nikki was all fun and games majority of the time, his temper had always been short and exceedingly explosive at times. One person would utter something even slightly insulting and he would be bashing their face in quicker than you would even be able to comprehend what was happening. It had gotten better since the commencement of the relationship, but you still couldn’t deny that Nikki was a hot head. And right now was no different; except for the fact that you, yourself, were starting to get a little irritated by the situation as well. “Look like a girl, sing like a girl, play like a girl are you sure you’re not a lesbian?” You swore there was nothing more ignorant than a drunk man at a bar in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention he was alone as well. It was undeniable that he was lonely and jealous, but it still didn’t compensate for his outrageous behavior. Furthermore, the man had been taunting Nikki for over fifteen minutes and where Nikki had done an excellent job at trying to distract himself and keep from exploding on the guy, he was starting to get super irritated. “Just ignore it,” You muttered, rubbing his arm in a way to calm his nerves. Upon your touch, Nikki relaxed as he glanced down at you feigning a smile. You knew he was only seconds away from giving the guy a piece of his mind, but he was hiding it well. “Y’know, I can’t even accuse you of being a girl because girls play better than your sad excuse of a band. You’re just a lousy nobody who is a washed up drug addict,” Nikki started to stand up and walk towards the man, but you placed your hand on his chest, your face pleading for him to stop. He took in a deep breath as he gave the man a warning look, huffing a short, heavy breath. “Sir, could you please fuck off?” You finally snapped to Nikki’s surprise as you turned on your heels to face the clearly belligerent man. “Pardon me, little lady?” He slurred as you inched towards him, crossing your arms. You were too tired, and too annoyed to be dealing with this bullshit. You had decided you were going to put an end to this madness in a more civil way; that’s what you had thought, at least. “I asked you to please fuck off. You’re clearly talking shit to get attention and it isn’t going to work. Take your alcoholism somewhere else and leave us alone, please and thank you.” You sat back down next to Nikki as you took a deep breath, taking a sip of your bourbon. “I’ll take my alcoholism somewhere else if he takes his heroine somewhere else,” So fast, you weren’t even sure what came over you, you were suddenly flying across the counter, your fist connecting directly to his cheek. He recovered quickly, however, throwing a drink in your face as you growled in irritation. That’s when you grabbed a beer bottle from behind the counter, smashing it over his head as you let out an enraged shriek. You were so absorbed in the fight that you nearly swung at Nikki when his arms scooped you up against his chest and he began to carry you out of the club like a bride. “I think it’s time to go back to the hotel, my little hero.” Nikki laughed as you scowled, the alcohol burning your face as it trickled down your cheeks. “When did my little Y/N get so fearless?” He inquired as you relaxed into his embrace, cuddling against his chest as your eyes grew heavy. “When that fucker insulted my boyfriend.” Nikki laughed at your words as he leaned down to kiss the crown of your head tenderly. “My hero.”

Tommy: Tommy was notorious for his bad choices. Be it in his drug usage, his excess in alcohol, or in this particular case, his choice of women. Tommy had always had a habit of making the wrong choice; choosing to be reckless instead of rational. And right now, as his ex crashed through his house party, smashing everything in sight as she cursed him with every cuss word imaginable, you couldn’t help but to wonder what in the actual fuck he was thinking before he had gotten with you. Furthermore, what mind set could he have possibly been in to wind up with someone who would be so cruel to him and so incredibly crazy? You certainly weren’t perfect, but you would never be able to charge into your ex boyfriends house months after you had been broken up and break their belongings in front of a group of people. This was next level crazy and you were gobsmacked by the situation. “Get the fuck out of here,” Tommy shouted as he attempted to grab her arm, ducking as she swung her fist wildly at him. “Don’t you lay your filthy hands on me, I know where your hands have been, they’ve been all over the slut that you cheated on me with,” Throwing you a hateful look, you cowered into the corner hoping the farther you got away from her, the more invisible you would become to the entire scene. “I never cheated on you and don’t you EVER call her that again.” Tommy growled, backing up as she picked up a vase, throwing it over her shoulder as she threatened to let go. Your heart was pounding as you watched the scene unfold, fear trickling over you as you saw her endeavors to hurt him. It took a lot for you to be combative, truthfully you were more on the laidback side of things. But Tommy was your forever love, and you had never felt so attached to someone in your life. To see him get hurt, would hurt you just as much if not more. You needed to act now to defend him; you needed to put a stop to this madness before she hurt him in a permanent manner. So, creeping from the corner, you picked up a large picture frame that held a photo of the band at one of their concerts and began to make your way to the enraged ex. When Tommy saw you, he began to shake his head and mouth the word ‘no’ as you got closer. You could see the color draining from his face as you got closer to her and could tell that he was underestimating you greatly. Just because you were kind and laidback didn’t mean for a second that you couldn’t fight. And boy, could you fight. Smirking slightly at Tommy, you raised the picture frame over your head and crashed it over her head, kicking that back of her knees causing her to flop to the floor. Once she was on the floor, you kneeled over her, yanking her hair back so that you could whisper the following words in her ear: “I think it’s best you leave now. Oh, and if you ever call me a slut again, I will end you.” Pushing up from the ground, you brushed yourself off and met dozens of astonished faces around the room. “Proceed to the party,” were your only words as you stepped over the girl and approached Tommy with a raised brow. “Anyways,” You muttered as Tommy brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, shaking his head incredulously. “That may have been the hottest thing I have ever seen,” He laughed as you shrugged taking his hand in yours as you stared back up at him. “As if it is even possible, I think I love you more now than I did five minutes ago.” He laughed leaning down to kiss you as his palms pressed to the apples of your cheeks, kissing you with all the passion and love he could muster.

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kumeko · 5 years

Text

father’s day

Characters/Pairings: Thane, Kolyat

A/N: Written for the @beyondthecitadelzine It was a bit hard to find the right wording for this piece.

Summary: Perhaps Kolyat shouldn’t have listened to Shepard when she suggested taking Thane out for ‘Father’s Day’.

…

“Shepard suggested this?” Thane asked slowly, trying to sit as still as possible. It was easier said than done, a boat on the water swayed and rocked with the slightest movement. Fortunately, his body had learned long ago how to freeze while waiting for the perfect shot. All he had to do was imagine the fight—

A lighthouse, lighting up the night. Somewhere in the darkness, a beast cried out. Eye pressed to the scope, he could make out a gravel path. His target was late—

—and Thane’s body stilled without thinking. Even his heart rate slowed. His fingers tensed around an imaginary trigger and he had to pull himself out of the memory before it threatened to drown him.

“Yes.” Unlike him, Kolyat was having a harder time of it. His hands clutched the wooden sides of the boot tightly, his claws digging in. It was all he could do to nod. Drell weren’t made for water. “She said ‘Father’s Day’ was something her people celebrate once a year.”

“‘Father’s Day’,” Thane repeated, rolling the word in his mouth. A day for fathers. It was strange to apply that word to himself; at this point he wasn’t sure if he could call himself a parent, let alone someone who could celebrate it. His seat bobbed once more and he stared at his son. “And she said to celebrate it like this?”

“She said it was customary.” Kolyat swallowed, shaking his head. Each word was dragged out of him, as though he was afraid the weight of them would sink the boat. “No, she says, her grin teasing, it’s a common event. To take fathers out for a hunt. Her hand rests on her hip. She stares at me. Though maybe you two don’t really need that.”

“A common event,” Thane muttered. Earthlings were strange, brave creatures. There were few things a Drell avoided, fewer things a hitman like him feared, but sitting on a boat in the open water was one of them. Yet here were two of them, hoping their boat wouldn’t capsize on the next wave. “Siha had mentioned she didn’t know her parents well—perhaps she is not as familiar with this custom as you were led to believe.”

“But she—” Kolyat shut his mouth, the argument dying as he considered it. The water rocked the boat and he shrank further into his seat. While a single fall into the water wouldn’t kill him, there was no need to see how much it would hasten Kepler’s syndrome. “You may be right.”

“Consider her advice in these matters like a Krogran’s on parenting.” Thane peered over the boat into the water. Kasumi had made a joke about this once, that he looked ‘green in the gills’. It hadn’t made sense then. It didn’t make sense now. Turning back to the boat, he picked up one of the sticks Kolyat had brought. “And we throw the stick into the water?”

“No, she said something about catching dinner with it.” Kolyat picked one up, examining the wooden stick. A line of wire ran up the side and he pulled it with a finger. “It is a little more advanced than merely stabbing.”

“Just barely.” Thane turned the handle attached at one end, watching as more and more wire appeared. A spool to loosen. Interesting. He threw the wire in the water and waited for something to happen.

For anything to happen. Kolyat had followed his cue and now there were two wires in the water, two sticks bobbing along with the waves. Thane turned to his son. “Now what?”

“Now we…” Kolyat stared at the water, at the wires, at the rods. When it was clear none of them would answer the question, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not sure.”

The more he saw, the more Thane was convinced that Shepard had no idea what she was recommending. She had mentioned—

You have a chance now, Shepard whispered, her expression wistful. A rare scene. She looked less like the avenger, the fire in her eyes softer. To be a real father. A second chance. Most of us of barely get a first one, let alone two.

A second chance. At death’s door, he had found another Siha, made friends he had never allowed himself to have in life, reconciled the son he had thought lost to him for good. Setting down the stick, he stood up.

“What are you doing?” Kolyat hissed, burrowing deeper into the boat.

“Turn off the hologram,” Thane commanded, and the water around their boat disappeared. Now they were standing in the middle of an empty concrete lot, bright lights fixated on them. The boat disappeared, leaving several chairs loosely arranged in a boat formation. Turning to his son, he offered a hand. “These Earth customs are not for us.”

Kolyat didn’t even bother to argue. Gratefully, he grabbed Thane’s hand and stood up. “I should have realized the moment she mentioned water.”

“No, she is surprisingly convincing.” Thane shook his head. “Besides, her idea wasn’t wrong.”

At this, Kolyat stared at him. He gestured at the boat. “Fishing?”

“Not that…” Thane swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. It had been ages since he had bared his soul to another, but his Siha had changed that. Had changed him. “It would be good to spend some time with you.”

Kolyat’s eyes widened a fraction. “You want to…”

“Yes.” Thane smiled, a shaky thing. It still didn’t feel comfortable, but he wanted to try. Time was short, was precious, and there were too many things he had to do. His brow furrowed at the thought. “Though I know it may be too late.”

His son gave him a long look before picking up a fishing rod. “As long as it doesn’t involve this, I’m in.”

Thane chuckled. Perhaps there was some hope for the two of them after all. “I think we can arrange for that.”

#thane krios #kolyat krios #mass effect #thane/shepard #fanfic

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ssironstrange · 5 years

Text

Hawks of Nephthys pt. 3

I thought this was going to be the final part but i was wrong lmao sorry there will be one more after this.

(read part 2)

tagging: @im-trying-to-be-oky

“There’s going to be a small ceremony held for the technique Christine and I came up with,” Stephen licked his lips, actually nervous for the first time in years. “I’d like you to come… as my date.”

Tony waved a hand and the holographic screens were pushed away. It was obvious he was trying not to smile.

“Are you sure? What happened to being afraid of it tarnishing your reputation?”

“I don’t need reputation. My work speaks for itself. Besides, it’s no skin off my back if someone would rather have less capable hands operate on them just because I’m dating a man.”

Tony rolled his chair away from the desk, stood and walked around it to meet Stephen where he stood fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Well it’s about damn time. I hate keeping secrets, you know.”

“I know,” Stephen smiled with soft fondness. “And please—leave the armor here.”

“Party pooper.”

“Another time.”

“Fine. I’m holding you to that. You’re gonna have a date with Iron Man one of these days. At that nice Italian place we like. Full armor. Might not even take the mask off.”

Stephen couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough, yet he laughed anyway.

Stephen opened a portal right beside where Steve stood in one of the compound’s many conference rooms.

No one seemed particularly surprised.

Except for Peter Quill who was still live on their view screen and apparently scrambled to get Gamora’s attention about it.

“You found his ship? Him?”

“We believe so. Picked up an old signal on the frequencies common to Earth.” Gamora responded, her tone carefully guarded. “Doctor, if it is him, the chances that he is still alive—”

“Are infinitesimal, I know.”

Silence and tension fell upon them like an itchy woolen blanket.

Nebula broke through the quiet after a few long minutes.

“We’re here.”

None of them, not even Drax who rarely sported emotion, could keep their expressions impassive. One by one their faces fell.

They didn’t have to say it.

It was his ship.

Stephen was gone from the compound and aboard the Benatar within seconds.

Tony Stark limped out of a C-17 with his arm in a sling and Rhodes delicately supporting his every move. Somehow, Tony still managed to stand tall and confident. He was too thin, his hair was too long, he needed to shave, and needed to sleep for about two weeks straight.

But he was alive.

At his side, Pepper squeezed his hand while holding back tears as Tony approached the two of them on the runway. He took a look around at the Air Force personnel, sniffed, then let his attention fall to Pepper.

“Your eyes are red. Few tears for your long lost boss?”

“Tears of joy,” She said through a bright smile. “I hate job hunting.”

“Yeah, well,” Tired eyes landed on Stephen and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Vacation’s over.”

With his good hand, Tony grabbed Stephen’s as he walked past and towards the car and held it like he’d never let it go again.

The docking clamps attached with a dull thud.

“Stephen, the ship is dead. Not even the backup life support systems are active. Are you sure about this?” Gamora laid a hand on his arm. Her concern was touching.

“I am,” He patted her hand, his own trembling more than usual. “I need to know.”

Rocket chimed in. “Knowin’ is one thing, doc. You don’t gotta go and hurt yourself like that.”

“I am Groot.”

“See?”

Despite the circumstances, Stephen let a fragile smile through. “I appreciate the concern, and I don’t expect any of you to understand. But this is something I have to do.”

Magic cloaked his body in safety against the harsh elements of the dead ship.

Stephen walked through the short terminal, opened the hatch door with a single gesture, and stepped inside.

Too focused on the patient file that promised to bolster an already impressive record, Stephen didn’t see the tail light until it was too late.

The car spun off the edge of the cliff, rolled and flipped multiple times on the way down, and landed nose down in chilly waters.

Stephen opened one eye that wasn’t swollen shut fourteen hours later to Christine and Tony talking quietly and his hands in fixators.

The deep and painful inhale and the spike in his heart rate alerted them to his consciousness. Tony’s eyes were red with heavy bags beneath them, and Christine could barely look at him.

“What… did they do?” He croaked out, throat dry and lips swollen.

“Take it easy, baby,” Tony placed a gentle hand on his thigh and fresh tears threatened to fall.

“It—it took Tony a while to find you…” Christine’s voice shook.

“What did they do?” His snarl was weak, but still enough to make both of them wince.

Neither of them could look at him while Christine donned her best professional tone.

“Eleven stainless steel pins in the bones, multiple torn ligaments, severe nerve damage in both hands.”

“Oh, God…”

“Stephen, honey, you were on the table for eleven hours. No one could have done better.”

He swallowed the sandpaper in his throat and turned his head as much as he could to look directly at Tony.

“I could have done better.”

It was the truth and they all knew it.

Christine excused herself and Tony squeezed his thigh tenderly.

“Baby, I promise I’ll find a way to fix this.”

Stephen drained every penny to his name on experimental treatments, more surgeries, and multiple therapies. Tony devoted his entire R&D department to it.

Neither of them were successful.

Neither of them stopped trying.

No atmosphere control.

No artificial gravity.

No temperature regulation.

There was very little difference between the inside of the ship and the vacuum of space outside. It was eerie and quiet enough that his own heartbeat seemed deafening. A simple spell was cast for a ball of light and it hovered over him as he walked, illuminated the darkness in a soft bluish glow. Anything that hadn’t been strapped down floated motionless until he pushed it from his path. Stephen knew there was no use actually searching the ship. There was only one logical place to look.

Stephen headed for the cockpit.

Stephen lost count of how many times they had done this now. It seemed inevitable they would attend the same galas, charity events, science and technology conventions, or award ceremonies. He watched Tony grow into his new CEO role under the guidance of Stane, a man who rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Stephen watched him evolve a mask for the media and public and delighted when it was taken off just for him.

They would disappear to storage closets, bathrooms, and empty offices at first. Eventually, Stephen started going home with him, started staying the night.

He looked over to Tony’s sleeping face beside him and felt a smile tug at his lips. Manhattan’s night time glow fell upon him through the huge windows of his penthouse suite—one he had been frequenting more often than his actual home in Malibu. He was soft like this, all his burdens and stress and sorrows suspended for a few blessed hours. The tension had long ago drained from his every atom, Stephen more than happy to take and take and take until Tony was spent. His hair was a mess, lips parted slightly for deep and slow breaths, face half smashed into the pillow he hugged, and his neck and shoulders covered in Stephen’s claim. No matter how many times he saw Tony Stark raw and vulnerable like this, it made his stomach flutter and heart forget a beat or two.

“I think I love you,” Stephen whispered and finally closed his eyes to drift to sleep with a warmth inside his heart.

Never had silence been so deafening as it was for him then. It was not like other silences which were, rather, lack of one dominant sound yet still enough small noises to fill the void. No, this was a true, total and complete silence. His blood rushed in his ears, his heart beat so loud he was sure the Guardians could hear it on their ship, and his every breath came in like the angry wind before a storm. It was disorientating to hear the basic workings of your own body, and just one of the many reasons Stephen liked to avoid actual space.

He rounded the doorway, telling himself he was ready while knowing he wasn’t.

The light from the orb increased, slowly pushing darkness back into the emptiness of space.

Stephen’s chest tightened, the weight of his sorrow crushing so hard he was almost positive it would collapse into the black hole it felt like. Strapped in one of the pilot’s seats, Tony Stark sat motionless, suspended in time.

Space was, at least, merciful in death.

Cold numbness ate Stephen away at his very core. He didn’t even feel himself take reluctant steps closer.

Tony was pale, his lips and fingertips tinged with blue and eyes shut. His head leaned to the side, pillowed by the chair’s headrest. Too skinny, even with the subtle swell of what little water had been left in his body trying to escape before it froze. He looked so peaceful, Stephen could almost pretend he was simply asleep.

Almost.

Cradled beneath his arm was the damaged remains of his helmet; the source of the distress call if he had to guess. Inside, a faint red light glowed on and off. Odd that Tony wouldn’t have shut it down once he knew the inevitable. Carefully, Stephen worked it out of the frozen grip of his would-be husband, his entire self functioning on autopilot to the point he barely knew if he was still in his physical body. A bit of magic was given to the nanite helmet, warming it just enough for its circuitry to function without the risk of failing under such extreme cold. The eyes flickered a few times, stayed on, then projected into the empty space of the cockpit.

#ironstrange #my writing #part 3 #tony stark #Stephen Strange #didn't get as emotional this time #can't promise anything for part 4 #sorrynotsorry to those who didn't want this to happen

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silvertonguedslavicwitch · 5 years

Text

Πειρασμός | Peirasmós

Chapter 14 : Home Sweet Home?

A/N : So sorry for the late update, my laptop went psycho on me for the past two days. But here you go, another update x)

Like a mouse following the cheese into a trap. That’s exactly the definition she would use, seeing the soldiers pouring inside the town’s walls. Unbeknownst to them, they were actually baiting them. But after seeing Aethelred and Alfred, her whole mind went dark and had only one thing certain in it. Protect the two princes. The cubs to the lion that led the powerful army charging through the small town. Even if she had to spill blood to do it, then so be it. There was nothing she would not do; to protect the ones she love and care about.

Keeping her eyes fixated on the two young males, she rushed to her checkpoint as fast as her legs could take her and perched on top of the highest floor from one of the buildings; waiting for the soldiers to come pouring into the west wing of the town. There were about 7 people stationed there, all 7 of them being her own soldiers, Ivar knowing fully well she has not yet trusted his kinsmen. That was highly considerate of him but the cripple told his brothers that it was to make sure the plan will be carried out instead of having a melodramatic season of delay due to trust issues.

Erika took out the bow she left in the room, and loaded one arrow, placing it gently as she makes her aim. Her breathing slowed down until she could only hear her heartbeat pumping from inside, and the bowstring was pulled slowly. The footsteps coming from the Saxon soldiers made the tension rise up gradually and it was only time telling her when to give the first strike; the sign to attack. Across her, two more soldiers were ready with a barrel of oil, just waiting for her command. But just when she was about to let the arrow fly its way into either one of the Saxons, she caught a glimpse of Alfred walking into the west wing; the wing they were targeting. She loosened her grip on the bowstring and cursed. “Damnit Alfred, get out of there.” Deciding it wasn’t worth risking it, she got up from her leaning position and aimed the arrow somewhere near the youngest prince instead.

The sound of the bowstring being loosened made itself known to the princess as the arrow made its mark at the poor unlucky soldier’s chest, who just so happened to stand beside Alfred. The boy dropped dead and it was a warning shot from the foreign princess, for Alfred to notice the impending danger and flee from there. When the first shot came down, it was sign for the others to carry out the other sets of plans. The wooden planks were let down from every corner and exit of the town, successfully barricading the soldiers with nowhere to go. A single hand gesture from the raven haired woman was all it took for her soldiers to pour the oil down.

The heavy crude lubricating oil greeted the Saxons face first and the grossed out groans were heard alongside a string of complaints. Of course, the complaints would not last long because they’re going to be running wild with flames. Literally. With the barricades sealing their sides, rendering them useless trying to escape, Erika notched yet another arrow and let Irena, who stood next to her, light it up with fire before pulling it. Making her aim by also slightly applying a stronger pressure to it and let the string go swiftly, the arrow hits the pavement that was also coated with oil; letting the fire erupt ardently. Soon, most of the soldiers in the west section had already burned themselves.

The first part of the plan was carried out prominently, so she made her way downstairs quickly to join the fight. Not so she could slaughter the Saxons, more to actually keeping a close eye on Aethelwulf’s cubs. She passed through a checkpoint at the south west corner of the alley, and the barricades were slowly being lifted as the archers took their aim and plucked them off one by one. It almost frustrated her to the point’s end when she could not manage to pinpoint their exact location. She had lost track of where Alfred fled to. Successfully dodging the other soldiers who were fighting against the Northmen with all their might despite being cornered, she wasn’t keeping an eye in front of her when she evidently crashed into a figure and both of them rolled down the pavement. The wet blood that coloured the road made her gag briefly before struggling to get back up and face whomever it was that she bumped into.

It was Alfred.

Secretly thanking God, she pulled him with her to a much more closeted and secluded alley. The reaction displayed across his face was enough to tell her than he did not expect to see her. “I thought you were captured and held against your will--” Sparing the younger prince a nonchalant look, she scrunched up her nose at the manner of melodramatic self he was trying to say she exuded.

“Excuse me, what? Captured and held against my own will? Who told you that,” she scoffed, still dragging him with her through the alley with all the dark walls surrounding them. There were a few soldiers fighting but they had more pressing matters to attend to; like surviving the end of the axe. So they didn’t exactly notice the new bride of one of the Viking princes were dragging their Saxon prince. “Don’t answer that, of course Aethelwulf would try to dramatize things over. He’s always been a drama queen.” She then rolled her eyes at the thought of the petulant King’s behavior. “No Alfred, I wasn’t tied or gagged up like some prisoner princess. This isn’t exactly a fairytale land, love. If you are captured, they’ll either kill you or maybe sacrifice you which isn’t any better than the first really, or they would offer you for ransom. You see, the second option is not really viable seeing as my brother was the one who offered me into the part of an alliance agreement. Brother of the year, I know.” Poor cub was struggling to keep in the same pace as she does, while also dodging the other people raining on them from all sides. To which Erika had surprisingly fend off very easily as she either hit their heads with the stick she took randomly at the corner, or kicked them off.

“Then, how are you here now? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Oh Alfred, always the sweet compassionate exuberant caring pup. She grinned widely at his question which made the prince to positively wonder whether his remark was a questionable one.

“Physically, they wish. Mentally, possibly every second I spent,” she shrugged and halted on her steps, letting the two vikings crash into each other within the narrow space, before jumping over them to resume her ‘fleeing’. “I married them, not bought them, Alfred. Pretty sure they actually have an amount of decent respect towards their women, seeing as they have shieldmaidens everywhere. Killing me off would be such a stupid move for them to do, especially when I’m basically the token of the ‘good will’ between the Russians and Northmen-” Right before she could finish her whole sentence, a random viking just so happened to strike at her, which she almost did not succeed in ducking.

Pushing Alfred away as he met the walls of the alley, she spinned around and slashed the viking’s left ankle, leaving him to grunt in pain as he fell down to his knees. Taking out her sword, she hits him with her hilt and kneed him to the face before making a clean swipe over his chest. She then beckoned for the prince to follow her as he was still struck by the nonchalant manner she had exuded earlier as she killed a fellow viking who tried to take on her. When Alfred didn’t move from his position, she took his hand and dragged him away with her. “-doesn’t mean they could not try and say my death was resulted in an ‘unlucky’ battle. That was the first attempt. Huh, I’m surprised they took this long to try and carry that idea out. Guess they’re not so bright after all.” It was almost shocking to see the infamous Erikaterina to chortle in such situation, but knowing her well, he shouldn’t be surprised.

When they finally made it out from the horrendous alley, she lets out a relieved sigh before offering the latter a soft smile. “Amiable people are affable. They are kind, warm, and friendly. There are not a lot of those people these days; making them to be such a short supply. But you know who’s amiable? You, Alfred. You’re the most amiable person I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet in all my life.” Her hazel hues softened as she embraced the younger prince, who returned the gesture. He has been growing very well and she knew this might be their last time meeting each other that is not under the grounds of hostility, so she was sure to bask in every single moment of it. “I missed you terribly. You and your brother, Aethelred. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this, this is definitely not the manner I want you to see me in.” A chuckle followed shortly after.

“Armor, or dress, crown or not, you’re still Erikaterina of Novgorod, Rika. You will still be her despite everything.” His statement had made the princess bit her bottom lip before trying very hard not to smile.

“That made me feel like I actually do have an identity.”

“And you do. You are your own person, not even marrying a Pagan would change that. One day, you’ll see that.” While the two converse, she told him to find someone trustworthy to guide him back to his father perhaps. Bidding the prince off, she hoisted herself on top of the rooftops as she climbed up. Her eyes caught the sight of Aethelred fending the vikings off. His fighting manner was much like his father, but still, he is new to it making him to be an easy target. She needed to get him out of there soon, forcing Aethelwulf to get out and she knew exactly where to hit.

Just one hit that is too close to home.

Grabbing her bow from her quiver, she notched an arrow before aiming it at Aethelred. She needed to be very precise and careful while doing it or she might end up hating herself even more for failing. Aethelwulf was ignorant when it comes to wars and battles, given that he is a great warrior. But he loves his sons more than anything, making him to be a good father. It was an idea she could trust. Her nimble fingers found itself tugging on the bowstring, pulling it slowly to her cheek level, as she lets out a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry, Aethelred.”

With that, the grip on the string were loosened and the arrow flew straight towards the eldest son, piercing his shoulder, just below his left shoulder. The prince staggered and Aethelwulf saw his son being vulnerable and went out his way to get his cub to safety, forcing the Saxon King to intervene. “Fall back! Retreat!” Hoisting his son’s arm around him, he dragged him away. Watching the scene unfold before her eyes, she sighed.

Mission accomplished.

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The Vikings emerged victoriously once again. While they were busy shoving the celebratory event to themselves, Erika took the other option; perching herself on the rooftop, staring into the distance while rethinking of Alfred’s words. She could hear the cheers coming from the people below, their loud mannerisms being colloquial to the raven haired princess. No doubt that Ivar boasted over his victory and condescending his two older brothers. Not wanting to be a part of a conversation that was likely to go south, she opted to spend the day to herself, relishing in the solace and comfort it gives.

But, little did she know, the very plan that Ivar had devised in order to win over his brothers, had gone south in the end. It was giving the older ones more doubt on the youngest brother. It was starting to break their strings. While she was too occupied with her thoughts, Hvitserk poked his head up and climbed to join her, taking a seat next to her. “Are you waiting for prince charming, ravnprinsesse?” Recognizing the timbre in his tone and the nickname, a small smile crept up, as she still did not avert her gaze.

“I got a prince. I guess you could say he’s charming in his own way.”

“Any possibility that he could be beaten by anyone? Maybe a formidable opponent?” His random question made her chuckle, which was a boost to his ego. Making the Russian princess laugh was not a normal occurrence and it’s something they actually take in consideration. An achievement to the flaxen haired prince. She hummed and shrugged casually, dismissing the light joke.

“Did you two fight with Ivar again?”

That had automatically strike Hvitserk to go into a full on defense mode, following the accusatory tone lacing his wife. “What is that supposed to mean. If anything, it’s Ivar who’s relentlessly picking fights with his older brothers,” he scoffed, crossing his arms as he huffed in the cold air.

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything, Hvitserk. I was just asking. Ubbe and him are tense these days. Ever since the first attack on York. I’m guessing it’s because of Sigurd’s death. It doesn’t help the manner of death placated on him too. Axed by his own brother.” Her tone was all too calming, it was one of the things Ivar was actually worried over. No one really knew what goes into her head. “He’s being impartial.”

“Ivar flaunts over his victory and I’ll be frank, it’s not really something we like seeing. Ubbe suggested that we should go ahead the road of peace. He wanted to make a deal with the Saxons.” Erika, who was highly intrigued by what he was saying, turned her face around to meet him.

“What do you mean?”

“Ubbe wants us to stop fighting and go claim the lands that were given to us by King Ecbert.” The Russian only nodded in response and stared at the space again. Silence ensued over them and she tilted her head to the side, questioning the prince what he was going to ask her. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I’m probably biased, as Ivar would say.”

“That’s Ivar. I don’t care, you’re my wife. I want to hear your opinion, and so does Ubbe. You’re experienced, Erika. You know things in some ways others don’t. That’s why the Saxons treasured you.”

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she scowled at the prince. “They like me because I’m actually a decent likable person to be around. They treat me like a person, instead of a thing.” Briefly apologizing for her sudden outburst, she resumed her talk. “But, if it was up to me, I do think Ubbe is wise to want all the fightings to stop and propose peace. That’s a high road into the new world you have to be willing to take. Co-existing is a thing every people needed to learn. Even the Saxons. However, it’s also likely that Ubbe will be rebuked by Aethelwulf. He’s a prideful person. Especially given their defeat today. It probably scratched his ego. But it is still possible if Ubbe is willing to risk it.”

“Things are so difficult,” he mumbled and she snickered lightly before taking his hand into hers.

“Nothing is meant to be easy, love. Surely, someone’s taught you that.” Within seconds, she was engulfed with a back hug from Hvitserk, who placed his chin above her head. It was comfortable. He only hummed and tightened his embrace around her, to which she gladly returned by caressing his hands as she leaned against him.

The two stared at the sky, both filled with questions differing from each other. But they don’t know that, neither do they need to. One thing was sure, the married couple was investing everything into making the said relationship work and it has been progressing splendidly over the period. She would never admit it, but Erika grew to like and hold a mutual attraction towards Hvitserk. Hvitserk, the same. Given, the two divulged in each other’s presence every night ever since, but they were married, so it wasn’t really an abnormal thing. What’s important, was that the gesture was sincere.

---------------------------------------

Following Ubbe and Ivar's untimely fallout, she sided with Ubbe when it comes to peace and solidarity. She wanted the bloodshed to stop, more than anyone. Especially, since it was against her now former friend. It's also a hit close to home. She was sleeping just across Hvitserk, on the floor, when she could feel her body being shook awake by someone. Groaning slightly, she almost cut Hvitserk. Taking the dagger from her hold, he placed it down aside and told her to get up. With no other explanation given, the flaxen haired prince took his vest and sword with him as he followed Ubbe out. Mumbling a few incoherent words to herself, she got up and dragged her sword and outerwear with her as she trailed behind her husband.

Once she got outside, she saw Ubbe with horses ready. Still not understanding the situation, she wondered what the elder Ragnarsson was planning but went along with it. It wasn't her place to question, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to anyways. Hvitserk helped her mount her horse as he got up his. The gates were opened and a small party was led by Ubbe.

Halfway into their journey, she glanced over to Hvitserk, who was riding next to her. “Where are we going? Where is your brother taking us to,” she mumbled groggily. Her conspicuous self has not yet resurface due to her sleepiness. She was actually quite tired today. If it wasn't due to the tight grip she had on the reins, she probably would've fell after the first two minutes mounting her horse.

“He wanted to propose peace, remember.” And suddenly all that sleepiness was washed off and replaced with uncertainty.

“Are you sure? Is that where we're going then? The Saxons’ camp?” Gone was the sleepy princess. What's left is the uncertain and nervous princess. Given her current predicament on things, it was probably not the best reunion she would hope for.

Soon, they arrived just outside the perimeter of the camp. They left the rest of the party in the woods while only the three of them advanced. At first, Erika wasn't sure if she wanted to meet them but she figured she was their best chance and shot at securing any deals made between the two parties. That is, considering Ecbert was right, and that Aethelwulf would forgive her any day, no matter how high and deep her betrayal and treachery went. She got off her horse and made her way to the tent, trailing behind the two brothers.

There, Aethelwulf, Bishop Heahmund and Alfred was present to oversee their ‘deal’. Taking a reluctant seat next to Ubbe, she tried her best not to look Aethelwulf in the face. She couldn't bear it. She didn't have the courage to do so. “Why are you here.” The King's booming voice made itself known to their companion.

The entire time, they spoke of possibilities and chances to reach an accord where both parties can be at peace finally. With her facing the table and fiddling with her fingers. “And why should we accept such offer from you? You attacked us.” The room was tense and the raven haired princess could take it no more.

“He has every reason to do so. It was his right. Your father handed Ragnar over to Aelle to be executed. Therefore, he aided and abetted in his death, despite it being indirect. If your father was murdered with brutality, would you not wish revenge over the perpetrators?” The sudden question from the princess made the Saxon King silent. “With that being said, it is said and done. It has happened. The sons of Ragnar have exacted their revenge as planned and both Kings are dead. But let us not dwell in the past. Their actions had resulted their ends. Let us not be another example of that. We are better than this. We are a new generation birthed to shape the world into a better place than before. We should not stretch our standards like our predecessors. Prince Ubbe came with a sincere heart, hoping for peace. Should you not be the better person and take it? They have nothing to lose. But you, you have everything to lose. You've lived in exile after your defeat the first time, Aethelwulf. Do not burden your people with another. Do this for your sons, by the very least,” she exclaimed. The desperation for solidarity was evident in her voice.

Alfred was smiling at her. Hvitserk had a proud look on his face, to see how well-spoken his wife truly is, living up to her status and reputation. Bishop Heahmund had a certain air to him that offered her respect. Then, there's Aethelwulf, who was in the mix of being proud of how far she's become, and the tense tides on actually accepting the said offer. “I think we should be the better one and accept their offer.” Alfred spoke up.

“They have no legality. My father had no rights to give the lands of East Anglia. He was no longer King-”

“Yes, but you are now King aren't you? Show them how generous you are, father.”

The start of Alfred's statesmanship flickered and Erika couldn't help but to notice the dimming light that was slowly kindling in him. Proud was an understatement. “Alright then..one condition.” Looking up to finally meet his eyes, she saw her friend looking back to her. “She stays here.” That was enough for Hvitserk to start retaliating. Seeing how it could render their deal useless if this kept going, she stood up.

“I will stay, per your bidding.” Hvitserk came to her side and told her she didn't have to, for they cannot make her since she is her own person with her own degree of status. Smiling softly at her caring spouse, she took a hold of his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I am doing it out of my free will, Hvitserk. It's better this way. Don't worry, I'll find you again somehow,” she reassured and he sighed in defeat, knowing he cannot truly convince her otherwise. When Erika has made her mind up, it was almost impossible to change it. He kissed her forehead and hugged her.

The scene before him made the Saxon King felt like there was a bile on the way up to his throat. He was glad Erika was back now, but he never thought she was starting to even like her ‘husband'. Either that, or she was one hell of an actress. He hoped the latter. “Alfred, take her with you..” With that, she left the two princes to deal with the King and Bishop Heahmund, as she followed the younger prince out of the tent.

Alfred led her to a tent, to which when she entered, was his own. He shared the tent with Aethelred, who was laid on his bed place. He tried to get up but she told him it was no need. Making her way to him, she took a seat at the side before examining his injury. “My aim has improved by a mile, so much your father would be proud. Though I can't say he'll be much of that proud when he finds out I tested the aiming theory on his own firstborn son.” Her fingers ghosted over Aethelred's shoulder.

“You were the one who shot me?” The disbelief colouring him was truly hilarious, it made the princess bit her lip and gave him an impish grin.

“So sorry about that. It was the only way I know your father would intervene and pull you out. You needed to retreat. Better a defeat than a death.” She shrugged and brushed over his hair.

While she spent her time talking to the two princes, they were interrupted by a presence gracing the tent. It was their father, Aethelwulf. Standing from her spot, she tilted her head to the side slightly as a questionable reaction was derived from her. “How did it go?” When Aethelwulf did not answer her, she squinted her eyes in response. Something was wrong. “Aethelwulf.. What did you do.” Once again, she received no answer from the Saxon King. She went out her way to go outside and search for the two brothers when Aethelwulf tried to stop her. “You let go of me this instance!”

The last thing she saw was the sight of soldiers laughing towards one direction, where Hvitserk and Ubbe were running off in distance. “Where are they going? Why are they leaving me?” Her long time friend came from behind, standing next to her.

“They didn't leave you.. I forced them to do it. There is no deal. And Heahmund humiliated them per say.” That had caused the princess to fume in anger as she flailed her arms around in distress, a sight to which Alfred, Aethelred, Judith, Heahmund and the other soldiers bear witness to.

“This is why I should have never left you to deal with them alone. You cannot keep me here forever, Aethelwulf! I am Hvitserk's wife. Legally and lawfully right. Even you cannot undo that,” she stressed her words and Aethelwulf who looked down said nothing, leaving her to vent her frustrations elsewhere as she left him.

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#hvitserk #hvitserk x oc #vikings #Bjorn Ironside #ivar the boneless #ivar #ubbe #peirasmós

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