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cali-holland · 3 years

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An Irregular Romance ★ Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Summary: Over five years ago, Harrison followed his heart (a.k.a. you) to drama school, and the day he asked you out was the day he discovered you had a boyfriend. He thought that part of his past was behind him, but then he was cast as Leo in The Irregulars and you were cast as Bea. Romance and shenanigans ensue as he tries to navigate the resurrection of his crush on you.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: spoilers for The Irregulars, swearing, drinking (reader gets v drunk at one point), cheating boyfriend + “open relationship” drama

Masterlist in bio

*Gif is not mine

A/N: inspired by harrison literally saying he followed the girl he liked to drama school but she didn’t like him back; the drama school is the brit school (idk if that’s what he was talking about but age wise it works better); also darci is 18+ in this fic bc it just fits better to make her around their age; plus i had to re-post this bc the tags didn’t work so rip

also just like to say a massive thank you to @duskholland for proofreading this for me :) you’re the best! this fic would be missing 90% of its commas if it wasn’t for you lmao

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Harrison had been buzzing with excitement all week. While he knew for sure that he had landed the role of Prince Leo in The Irregulars, he had no idea who the other cast members were. His agent learned from Netflix that they’d announce the cast on Saturday, so now here he sat, anxiously awaiting the news as he drank another pint with his good friends.

“Anything yet?” Tuwaine asked, refreshing his Twitter timeline.

“Nope.” Harrison said with a shake of his head as Netflix’s Instagram page remained unchanged as another minute went by.

“Maybe they’re announcing it at midnight.” Tom shrugged, trying to be useful to ease his friend’s nerves.

“Everyone would be asleep.” The blond replied before taking another long drink of his beer.

“Well, congratulations whenever they officially announce it.” Harry stated, standing up with his empty glass. “Next round’s on me.”

The conversation began to wander off, and Harrison found himself deep in thought, pondering his mysterious, new castmates. Would he like them? Would they like him? Were they big names or no names? Were they people he had screen-tested with (because, truthfully, he only screen-tested with a few girls, but even then, he didn’t screen test with all of the potential actresses)? As he got stuck, trying to think of someone he’d actually liked when they screen-tested together, he was snapped out of his thoughts by Tom yelling.

“It’s up!” Tom held his phone in the middle of the table as he, Harrison, Tuwaine, and Harry, who was now back with more beer, looked over the cast. A sense of pride soared through the group at Harrison’s picture and name being on the official Netflix page for The Irregulars. Harrison read over the other names, wondering if he knew any by happenstance. Just as he recognized one name in particular, Tom spoke up.

“Y/N Y/L/N? Isn’t that the girl you fancied in drama school?” Tom asked with a smirk. His smirk seemed to widen as Harrison blushed a deeper shade of red.

“No, no, no!” Harrison grumbled, taking out his phone to look over the post for himself because maybe, if he looked from his own account, the cast would magically change. When he looked at your name and picture right beside his, realization hit him. He slumped over, putting his head down on the table regretfully.

“I’d nearly forgotten about Haz’s girl that wasn’t his girl.” Tuwaine joked.

“Wait, what girl?” Harry questioned, out of the loop.

Perhaps the stupidest but best choice Harrison had ever made in his life was following you, his biggest crush, to drama school. Why his mother even let him chase after a girl like that was beyond him; he thought she should’ve advised him against it, but with the whole “follow your heart” attitude, his mum was his biggest supporter. He did his best to impress you, to get you to notice him, but you were unfazed by him. The day that he finally got the courage to ask you out was the day that he learned you’d had a boyfriend for the past two months.

Though he didn’t get the girl in drama school, he actually enjoyed it, and look where he ended up now— a new Netflix show was on the horizon for him. Despite the fact that he was (and still sort of is) crushed and embarrassed by the fact that you (very kindly) rejected him five years ago, drama school turned out to be a blessing.

“Harrison, here,” Tom laughed as he clapped his friend’s shoulder as Harrison still didn’t lift his head from his pitiful position, “thought he’d pursue acting because Y/N wanted to be an actress. He didn’t realize that in order to get her attention, he’d have to actually talk to her.”

That was enough to make Harrison lift his head, eyeing his friend questioningly. Cutting Tom off, he defended himself, “What do you mean? I did talk to her.”

“Right— you’d have maybe one conversation with her every three weeks.” Tom turned back to his brother, “Anyway, Haz finally asked her out and, turns out, she’d been dating this other guy for months.”

“Whatever. I only asked her out because you and Tuwaine shoved me into her. Maybe she doesn’t even remember me.” Harrison pulled out his phone to check over Netflix’s Instagram, wanting to see for himself the new cast again. When he opened the app, it notified him of all the new followers he had gotten, and, with one glance at the list of names, one account stood out to him.

‘@yourusername started following you’. Harrison let out a sigh, not wanting to dwell on this any further.

“She works fast.” Harry teased, looking over the blond’s shoulder.

“We’re co-stars now. She probably followed everyone else too.”

As if on cue, a new notification came through his Instagram— ‘@yourusername sent you a message’. With bated breath, he opened it to see the message that confirmed his worst fear— you remembered him.

‘Hey stranger! How have you been?’

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With every passing day, Harrison’s excitement for this new big project grew… but so did his dread about seeing you again. He wasn’t entirely sure now as to why his gut was filled with butterflies mixed with anxiety just thinking about you. You were only ever nice to him, both before and after he asked you out. It all led him back to the same conclusion that he still had a thing for you, but yet again, maybe it’s just life that your first real crush always has some power over you.

As he walked down the strangely long hallway to the conference room, he adjusted the collar of his letterman’s jacket. Today was the big day— the first table read for The Irregulars, and the first day he’d be confronted by you after all these years. Just on the other side of this door, his co-stars and the main production crew were waiting. Everything was real now; production would start in just a few days.

With one last nervous breath, he pushed open the heavy oak door and entered the room. People were chatting as they sat around the large conference table, which had small name cards at each seat. Harrison’s eyes found you almost immediately. You were locked into a conversation with your co-star, Darci, seated to your left for the table read. To your right was one of the last available seats, and Harrison’s name was on the little card on the table. All hopes of being unnoticed by you were instantaneously gone as he took his seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You said to Harrison with a laugh, and he was instantly reminded of how that laugh basically drove him to where he was today.

“How long has it been?” Harrison asked, trying to play it cool like he hadn’t been rehearsing this day in his mind for the past several months.

“Far too long.” You smiled.

As the last few people trickled into the room, introductions flew around the table as everyone met their new coworkers. After a cold read-through of the script and a few words from the show’s creator, the table read was deemed over. Just when Harrison thought he was free to forget about your existence for a few more days, you pulled him aside.

“Hey, Darci and I were going to get drinks with McKell and Jojo. You should come.” You offered, and Harrison chanced a glance across the room to where Darci was chatting with your other two main co-stars.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Harrison replied. He cleared his throat before giving you a definite nod that yes, that’d be a great idea.

“Perfect.”

And just like that, the five of you made your way across town to a pub. Darci had chosen the spot, explaining that it was the best place for drinks in Liverpool, and, seeing as she’d lived there her whole life, none of you tried to argue with her.

Harrison felt a strange pit in his stomach as everyone talked and laughed over some beers, as if you weren’t all strangers a few hours ago. His eyes always seemed to land on you and your contagious smile. You looked almost exactly how he remembered you, and you still were the same happy, go-lucky girl he’d fallen hard for. It was crazy to him how quickly you gave him butterflies, how effortlessly you made him feel like a silly schoolboy all over again. He couldn’t help but wonder if you thought he’d changed since his school days, too… or if you even thought about him enough to notice. So far, you’d made no indication that he was anyone besides an old friend from drama school, making him hope you didn’t remember that dreadful day.

As you and Darci excused yourself for a bathroom break, Harrison gave himself a little reminder that he was meant to be getting to know all of his co-stars right now and wasn’t meant to be focusing so intently on you. He took another sip of his beer, turning back to Jojo and McKell.

“So how do you and Y/N know each other?” McKell asked, and Jojo tried to hide his shit-eating grin behind his beer.

“Drama school, a few years ago.” Harrison replied, trying to play ignorant.

“Ah, so it’s a schoolboy crush, then?” Jojo questioned teasingly.

Harrison felt his face heat up. Jojo and McKell were practically strangers to him, and they already knew. He was cornered, “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” McKell said while Jojo simultaneously replied, “Very.”

“Just ask her out.” Jojo encouraged.

“That’s the problem— I did.” Harrison replied, and both of their jaws dropped.

“No way. Did she let you down easy at least?” McKell’s voice was somewhere between a disbelieving, teasing, and pitiful tone.

Harrison scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Well, yeah? I mean she wasn’t rude about it, but it was still a bit awkward. She was dating this other guy at the time. He didn’t go to our school, though, so I had no clue about him.”

“That’s rough.” Jojo grimaced, before he gave Harrison a hopeful smile, “Maybe she’s single now.”

“I’ve been rejected by Y/N once— I don’t need her to reject me a second time.” He shook his head with a small laugh to conceal his embarrassment. He took a drink of his beer, hoping that would calm his nerves a little.

“Incoming,” McKell said quietly, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.

“What’d we miss?” Darci asked as she slipped back into her seat. You remained standing to put your jacket on, both you and Darci completely unaware of the boys’ conversation.

“Nothing, just Jojo being an idiot.” McKell joked, to which his newfound friend just punched him in the arm, taking another long drink of his beer.

“I think I might head back to the hotel.” Your words were met with a collective groan from three of your co-stars— Harrison silently frowned as he sipped on his beer.

As your head was down to collect your things, Jojo swiftly kicked Harrison under the table. Harrison looked at him quizzically, sending him a “what the hell was that for” look. When his co-star just nodded his head encouragingly towards you, Harrison got the idea.

“I’ll walk you.” Harrison said, making you look over at him. Standing up from his seat, he insisted, “I was just about to head out, too.”

“Okay,” You smiled, still completely unaware of his interaction with Jojo.

After you all exchanged phone numbers and created a group chat lovingly titled “The Irregz”, you and Harrison left the pub. You fell in step together, walking along the sidewalk in the chilly Liverpool air back to the hotel that you’d all be staying at for the next few months.

“So what have you been up to since graduation?” Harrison asked you, his hands deep in the pockets of his letterman’s jacket.

“All sorts of things, really.” You shrugged with a smile, “I got a few TV roles here and there, did some modeling, but so far none of it has really stuck, so I’m hopeful that this will be a foot in the door. What about you?”

“The same as you, really, but, instead of shows, I’ve done some short films.”

“I see you’re still best friends with Tom.” You said in a teasing tone. Harrison felt an unusual, upsetting tug on his heartstring. Not noticing any change in his demeanor, you continued with a laugh, “It’s funny. I would’ve placed my bets on you being world-famous after graduation.”

“Me?” He questioned, surprised by your words.

“Yeah, you didn’t go to LAMDA for nothing.” You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow, and he felt his cheeks heat up once more. “Don’t be modest— I’m not wrong.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” A laugh passed his lips, any previous bashful reservations slowly fading away.

Before Harrison could say anything further, your phone began to ring. You fished it out of your pocket and barely looked at the caller ID before sending it to voicemail. Your actions were fast, but Harrison still caught the name of who was calling, Davey, followed by a red heart emoji. And that’s when it hit him— you were still with the same boyfriend from drama school, all those years ago.

And just like that, Harrison felt a tsunami wave of heartbreak from drama school wash over him.

“Hey, Y/N!” Harrison called out as he stumbled his way over to stall you from leaving school. He had one hand holding onto his book bag strap tight enough that his knuckles were turning white, and he shuffled his other through his hair.

“Hey, is everything alright?” You asked, concerned at how nervous he seemed.

“Yeah, um, well, tonight’s opening night for West Side Story, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? I know it’s your favorite play, and it’s one of mine too, so, yeah, I thought maybe we could go together?” He was sure that he’d never sounded so unsure of himself. Truth is, he didn’t want to ask you out right now, but Tom and Tuwaine had quite literally shoved him in your direction, physically encouraging him. He felt rushed and unprepared.

When you smiled so captivatingly and softly at him, he felt his racing heart speed up even more. Was this it? Was he really going to take you on a date? He thought to himself. His hopes weren’t up for long as you spoke up, “I can’t. I’ve already got tickets for tonight. I’m going with Davey.”

“Davey?”

“My boyfriend.” You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice.

His heart shattered. The only reason he was here, at this school, was because of you, and now he just had all of his hopes for any future dates with you thrown out the window.

“You and Davey are still together?” Harrison wondered aloud as you two arrived at the hotel.

“Yeah,” Your response was hesitant and quiet. He knew why— there was that elephant in the room between the two of you.

Before he could stop himself from mentioning it, he blurted out, “You don’t have to feel guilty about it, you know.”

You paused, watching unsure as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I kinda wonder what would’ve happened if I had said yes. Davey and I didn’t even end up seeing West Side Story, anyway, so I wonder if you and I would’ve ended up any differently.”

It wasn’t much, but his heart sped up ever so slightly— so you had thought about him, even in the dating context. Harrison couldn’t think of a response (his brain repeated “fuck Davey, ask her out again”) fast enough as you stopped at the front desk. You mumbled something about needing some towels, and Harrison took that as his cue to just continue walking. He bid you a quick farewell, wanting to escape to his room as fast as possible.

Nothing you had said tonight had been particularly flirty, but he still rewound the events in his head because maybe he missed something. As he laid down in his bed that night, his mind drifted off with thoughts of you, wondering just how he’d manage to pull off these next few months without falling for you all over again.

Over the next several weeks, his predicament only seemed to grow. Spending so much time with you (and your other three co-stars) just made Harrison wish even more that he’d asked you out sooner in drama school, and having to spend most of his screen time gawking over you added to it further. Maybe it was another school boy crush, or maybe it was intense method acting— either way, he definitely liked you.

Ever since he read the script for episode four, he knew that eventually your two characters would become romantically involved. He would’ve felt giddy over the thought (because his eighteen-year-old self would’ve died at this opportunity), but whenever he thought of the scene, he was reminded about your boyfriend. Harrison wasn’t the type of guy to hate his crush’s boyfriend, but something just didn’t seem right about Davey.

Harrison was lying on his hotel bed, reading over the episode’s script for what must have been the fifth time through that afternoon. It was Sunday, the day before you’d both film Leo and Bea’s kiss. With a beer on his side table and an array of highlighters beside it, he was set. As the words started to run together, and his glasses began to feel uncomfortable on his nose, he heard a knock at his door.

“Coming!” Harrison called out. Setting his script aside, he rolled off the bed. He was confused at who could possibly be at his door, but, figuring it was someone from set, he had the decency to slip on a white t-shirt, opting for not answering the door in nothing but grey sweats. He was thankful for his last-minute decision as he opened the door and was met with you on his doorstep. Smiling at you and leaning on the doorframe, he let out a small, “Hey.”

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to rehearse tomorrow’s scene.” You offered with a friendly smile on your face.

“Right now?” He asked, glancing back into his room to decipher if it was clean enough or not.

“Oh, is this a bad time?” You replied, subconsciously stepping back. “Is someone here?”

“What?” Harrison looked at you, confused before it clicked what you thought, “Oh, no, no. There’s no one here. I was just rehearsing, too.”

“So is that a yes then or-?” You trailed off.

“Yeah, come on in.” He opened his door fully, allowing you to step in. He chivalrously closed the door behind you. “Would you like water or anything?”

“Can I have a beer?” You asked, spotting the one on his nightstand.

“Sure.” Harrison nodded. While he got you a beer and grabbed his own half-consumed bottle and script, you settled on the couch with your pages in hand.

“Thank you.” You smiled as he handed you the beer, and you took a sip happily. “You know, I’m honestly so jealous of you this week.”

“Why?” He asked with a laugh, thrown off guard by your confession.

“You get to do all the palace scenes again.”

“I also throw myself off a balcony.”

“But still.” You insisted. “Leo really needs to sneak Bea into the palace just so I can have one of those extravagant ball dress scenes. I just want to feel like a princess, and I feel like it’s what Bea deserves.”

Harrison looked at you admiringly for a moment. “You are a princess.” His face dropped as soon as he realized he’d said his thoughts aloud. Coughing, he tried to cover it up, “I mean—- you were kind of princess-like in episode 3, right?”

“Smooth.” You laughed, but didn’t press the situation. Your phone began to ring, and Harrison watched as you rolled your eyes, declining the call and ultimately silencing your phone.

“Spam call?”

“More like clingy non-committal somewhat boyfriend.” You stated, rolling your eyes.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused. You hadn’t mentioned Davey in the past few weeks— not that Harrison was complaining, but he just assumed you were private about your personal life. “I thought you and Davey were on good terms?”

“We are? I don’t know.” You sighed, taking a sip of your beer.

“If you’re not comfortable with the topic, we can just rehearse-”

“No, it’s fine. I just haven’t really talked about it with anyone. Before I came here, he asked about having an open relationship while I’m away, and I told him no. And the last time we talked, we got into an argument and that was a couple days ago. I’m not ready to talk to him, and at this point, I’d much rather talk to you than him. It’s very frustrating that he wants to have an open relationship, but he still expects me to be at his beck and call. It’s like he’s looking for someone to substitute me, but I can’t have a life of my own. He wasn’t the most supportive of me taking this job in the first place, too.” You paused, with a small shrug, “I know you’re probably thinking I should leave him, but I can’t. We’ve been together for 5 years. I don’t know anything else at this point.”

“I get it.” Harrison said softly, hesitantly resting a comforting hand on your knee. “He was your first love. It makes sense that it’s hard to move on.” He felt his own heart sink at his ironic words. After all, you were his first love.

“I wouldn’t say he’s my first love.” You said softly, placing your hand on his, squeezing it gently. “Plus, at this point, I wouldn’t even say I love him.”

A silence fell in the room. Harrison really didn’t know what to say now. He would have told you to leave him, but you already knew that, so what was the point in him repeating it? Besides, it was your relationship, and you needed to make the decision for yourself… or let Davey make it for you.

“Let’s go through the scene, yeah?” You asked, changing the topic. You dropped his hand to pick up your script again.

“Right.” Harrison mumbled to himself, flicking through the pages to the scene.

You glanced around his hotel suite for a moment, looking for something similar to a bridge rail to lean on. “Should we use the kitchen counter? As the bridge rail?”

“Yeah, that works.” He nodded. The two of you got up, scripts in hand. Harrison stood to your right, just as the stage direction had called for. There was some space between the two of you, enough room for Harrison to shuffle closer to you later, as scripted.

“You’re not on your own, Beatrice. You must remember that.” Harrison said to you, leaning on the counter but looking over to you with his icy blue eyes. “You’re very different to anyone I’ve ever met.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking at him curiously.

“You have something about you.” He started, awkwardly.

You cut him off, “Like a smell?”

“No, like a quality.” He chuckled softly before continuing, “I don’t know what it is, but I really like it.”

“Well, when you think of it, let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to.” He smiled at you, his confidence slowly building as the scene continued on. Harrison stepped closer to you until he was right beside you, leaning sideways on the counter. “And I’m not saying you don’t smell, by the way. I’m just saying that that’s not the thing.”

You laughed, turning your head away from him in disbelief. “You know, I was thinking of kissing you, but now I’m not gonna.”

Harrison paused, taking a moment to mentally hype himself up for what was about to happen, but also taking a moment because it was scripted for Leo to be nervous. “Well, uh, I suppose I have to kiss you then.”

You turned to him, smiling coyly. Slowly, Harrison closed his eyes and leaned in. His heart started racing faster as he felt your breath fan against his face before his lips finally found yours. It was gentle and hesitant, everything that it had been scripted to be. As much as he wanted to keep kissing you and keep tasting the sweet strawberries of your lipgloss, it had to end. He pulled away after a moment, and you seemed almost breathless as you opened your eyes to see him again.

“I meant it when I said you’re not on your own.” Harrison looked at you with more hesitancy this time, but he still kissed you with the softest passion. The script said that Leo and Bea kiss and continue to kiss for a few seconds; Harrison wasn’t counting, but he was sure this kiss was longer than it was meant to be. Again, he found himself dreading its inevitable end. If there was one thing he could do for the rest of his life, it’d be this… well, this amongst other things with you. His stomach started to stir with guilt as he remembered Davey; you were still technically in a relationship, open or not, arguing currently or not. But then it clicked with Harrison, you weren’t pulling away— no, you were fully kissing him back.

Before he could pull away and end the scene with his last few lines, a knock came from his door. Regretfully, he stepped away from you. He didn’t meet your eye as he went to answer the door while you read over the script on the counter. Flustered, he opened the door.

“Mum! You’re here.” Harrison’s eyes went wide, surprised to see his mother and his sister standing before him.

“Surprise!” She smiled, hugging him almost immediately. “We had to come and see you at your big job.”

“Are you not happy to see us?” Charlotte teased, and Harrison shook his head, pulling her in for a hug. As they all stepped into Harrison’s apartment, you waved from the kitchen.

“Hi.” You smiled, coming over to introduce yourself.

“Oh, mum, Charlotte, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my mum and Charlotte, my sister.” Harrison introduced the three of you.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N from drama school?” Phil said with a smile, making the connection as you shook her hand. Charlotte seemed to stifle a laugh as Harrison’s cheeks heated up.

“Yes, that sounds like me.” You laughed, brushing off any awkwardness that Harrison feared was there. “We were just rehearsing our scene for tomorrow.”

“Maybe we can come to set.” Phil suggested, sending Harrison an expectant look.

“I’ll have to ask. This is so, so last-minute, though, so I don’t know.” He replied.

“It’s a spontaneous weekend trip.” Charlotte clarified.

“We should get some dinner. We haven’t eaten much all day.” Phil told Harrison before turning to you, “Y/N, you should come, too. It’d be so lovely to get to know you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You trailed off, glancing at Harrison. He sent you a silent look that said ‘she seriously does want you to come… If you don’t come, I won’t hear the end of it’. “I’d love to. I just need to go change first.”

You grabbed your script off the counter, and Harrison walked you to the door. “How long do you need?”

“Like 10 minutes?” You replied, and he nodded.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were coming, or that they’d invite you to dinner.” He said quietly, making you laugh.

“It’s fine, but I do have to warn you, if my parents spontaneously drop by, they don’t know who you are.” You teased.

He let out an embarrassed groan, “Let’s not talk about that.”

“See you in ten.” You sent him a wink before leaving to your own hotel room. As Harrison closed the door and turned back around, he was met with the smirking faces of his mother and sister.

“So, is there anything you want to tell us?” Phil asked.

“We were rehearsing. That’s all.” Harrison insisted, going through the wardrobe to find some clothes to change into for dinner.

“Huh,” Charlotte trailed off, crossing her arms. “So, you wearing sparkly lip gloss that matches Y/N’s is a coincidence?”

“It’s a kiss scene tomorrow. We rehearsed the lines and the kisses, too.” He explained. With a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and his red letterman jacket in hand, he made his way to the bathroom.

“Oh, multiple kisses.” She teased, making him roll his eyes.

“She has a boyfriend!” Harrison ended the conversation, closing the door to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, you returned back to Harrison’s room, and the four of you left, making your way to an Italian restaurant nearby. You and Harrison shared anecdotes about filming so far, keeping spoilers to a minimum until the server came with your food.

“We got in so much trouble from the makeup and hair department.” You laughed as Harrison finished telling them of how you two went on the playground last week, much to the chagrin of the crew.

“It was worth it.” He added.

“Who would’ve known you’d play a Netflix prince?” Charlotte asked teasingly, but it was clear she was still proud of his achievements.

“Look at that face. He couldn’t play anything but a prince.” You joked, and he smiled smugly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stated.

“Phil, I have to say, I’ve never met someone more well suited to play a well-mannered prince.” You told her, playfully pinching Harrison’s cheek beside you.

“I remember when there was a time he was revolted at the idea of playing a prince.” Phil said, her lips growing into a smirk, and Harrison knew exactly what that meant.

“Mum, no—“ He started, but you just shushed him, wanting to hear whatever embarrassing story was about to be told.

“He watched a single Batman movie growing up— and not even a good one at that, and decided he simply had to be Batman.” She explained. “Then the Christopher Nolan ones came out, and there was no stopping him.”

“Every kid wants to be a superhero, and Batman is simply the best one.” He said as if it was obvious.

“I didn’t know you had a Batman phase.” You teased.

“Phase? He still has posters and comic books and dolls.” Charlotte added.

“Action figures.” He corrected her, making you laugh at the humor of it all.

“You know, honestly, I think I still have Catwoman action figures.” You admitted, trying to make him feel better, and Phil’s eyes lit up as she remembered another story.

“I cleaned your room a couple weeks ago, Harrison, and I was surprised to see you still Anne Hathaway as Catwoman posters.”

“Do we really have to talk about that? Does this torture not end?” He groaned.

“Fine. That’s enough for tonight.” Phil let out a defeated sigh, clearly enjoying herself.

“Y/N, if you want the really embarrassing stories, you’ve got to talk to Tom. He’s told me embarrassing Harrison stories that I can’t say in front of mum.” Charlotte laughed, and Harrison’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head at his sister’s words.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You smiled coyly.

“Sometimes, I wonder if he forgets that I know just as much embarrassing shit that he did growing up, too.” Harrison stated, shaking his head.

The night went on with minimal embarrassment on Harrison’s end. After Phil and Charlotte went back to their hotel, you and Harrison started the walk back to your own hotel. As you walked, your hands would brush against each other’s every so often, but neither of you made any move to take it further.

“Darci’s going to be so jealous in the morning.” You said, making him laugh a little.

“Why’s that?”

“That’s her favorite restaurant in town. Plus, I just got a free meal.” You laughed. A visible shiver coursed through you as the chilly night air picked up.

“Are you cold?” Harrison asked, already taking off his letterman’s jacket.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking his offer of warmth. Your short sleeves did nothing to shield you from the cold, but he had at least been prepared enough with long sleeves. “Are you sure you won’t get chilly?”

“I’ll be fine.” He reassured you.

“I had a really nice time tonight. I’m glad your mum invited me.” You admitted happily.

“Me, too. Apart from all of the embarrassment I just went through, I enjoyed tonight.”

“I never knew you had a secret Batman fanboy side.”

“I never knew you had a secret Catwoman fangirl side.” He countered with a smile.

“Guess that means we make a good team, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

As you smiled at him, completely content under the moonlight, he wanted nothing more than to kiss you right then, to taste the sweetness of your strawberry lip gloss again. The last bit of your walk was filled with you two arguing over Batwoman and Catwoman, two things that neither of you had ever realized you had in common before.

Harrison’s wish finally came true the next day, as you two ran through the kiss scene multiple times. It was strange at first for him, because his sister and mother were intently watching, proud to see him in action, even if it was just a kiss scene over and over again. But, with you there, he grew more and more comfortable with each take.

As a few more weeks passed by, Harrison thought that perhaps you and Davey had officially ended things, but then he heard through Darci that you had magically worked it out. Whatever magic it was, he was upset about it, and he found himself increasingly irritated at the mention of Davey.

“Ooh, we finally get to meet the Davey tonight?” Darci asked as the five of you enjoyed lunch in between shots. It had been two weeks Harrison’s mother and sister visited, and now Davey was coming, much to Harrison chagrin.

“He’s only here for two days.” You explained, taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Ah, so you’ll be very busy, then.” McKell teased, suggestively nudging your side with his elbow. You brushed off his comment with a laugh, avoiding Harrison’s eyes.

“We should get him to do that calzone challenge with us.” Jojo said to Harrison. Although Jojo and McKell had been rather supportive of Harrison’s interest in you at the beginning, they seemed to forget about it most of the time now— for which he was actually kind of grateful.

The conversation couldn’t go any further as the director came into the room, holding the script in his hands. The look on his face told all of you that something was up. He looked between you and Harrison before speaking, “Change of plans for tomorrow. Eileen isn’t feeling well, so we’ll film Bea and Leo’s scene tomorrow instead of her scenes.”

“But tomorrow was supposed to be—“ You started, but cut yourself short, realizing there was no point in arguing. Schedules, plans, things all change, and this was just part of the job. “Never mind.”

“Well, tomorrow will be interesting.” Darci said quietly, voicing what was on everybody’s minds.

The director left with a silent nod, and the room fell silent for a moment. You and Harrison wouldn’t dare to look at each other, both of you feeling awkward suddenly. Making out with Harrison multiple times, especially with your boyfriend there, was not something either of you particularly enjoyed the thought of.

Having to film no more scenes today, Harrison went back to the hotel with Jojo and McKell. He didn’t end up seeing you for the rest of the day, but he was okay with that as he wanted to go as long as he could without meeting Davey. The director had taken some pity on the two of you, asking you to come in later in the morning instead of at 6 AM like usual.

Harrison made his way down to the hotel gym, wanting to utilize his newfound free time. Normally, he’d get his daily workout in after filming, but he didn’t see a reason to not get an early start today. He didn’t expect anyone to be up this early, but as he got closer to the gym, he could hear a voice coming from inside the room, the door cracked just slightly.

“Love, I promise I’ll be back in two days.” The stranger paused before continuing, “You know I’m only here for business, nothing else.”

Curious and trying to decide if he should even enter the room, Harrison snuck a quick glance through the crack in the doorway. He felt his blood run cold as he immediately recognized the guy sitting on the weight bench. Afterall, Harrison had looked at your social media enough to recognize your olive-skinned boyfriend, Davey.

“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” Harrison nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice from down the hall. He heard Davey mumbled something on the other side of the door, probably having heard your voice too.

“Yeah, but I just figured I’d start my pull-ups early today.” He replied before opening the door for you, acting like he had no clue that Davey had been in there.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Davey said to you, completely ignoring Harrison. He stood from his spot at the weight bench to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss you possessively.

“Davey, this is Harrison, he plays Leo. Harrison, this is Davey.” You introduced the two guys.

Davey looked Harrison up and down with his dark brown eyes and seemed to stand straighter, even though the blond was inches taller. Harrison was the first to step forward and politely outstretch a hand to the raven-haired guy before him. With a tight smile, Davey shook his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Davey turned back to you, “Spot me?”

“Actually, I wanted to-” Your eyes drifted over to the treadmill as Harrison got in position to start his pull-ups at the bar. Davey looked at you expectantly, and you nodded, silently agreeing to stand there and spot Davey while he bench pressed.

Slipping on his headphones and turning on some music, Harrison began his workout. He played his music loud enough to block out your conversations with Davey. Not only was it none of his business, but god, Harrison really hated everything about him already. Hearing silence between you and Davey when his song changed, Harrison spared a glance over towards you. He was surprised when he found your eyes trained on him or, rather, trained on his abdomen that seemed to stick out from his tight white shirt. Still unaware of his eyes on you, your own eyes trailed up to his arms, watching as they flexed with each pull-up. Feeling flustered by your fixed gaze, Harrison faltered a little, and your eyes immediately darted back to Davey in front of you. Harrison couldn’t help the proud smile that ghosted his lips as he continued— you were checking him out.

Harrison finished his workout and decided to get cleaned up before heading to set in half an hour, leaving you and Davey in the gym. When he left, he was surprised that you were still spotting Davey, getting no work out in like you had planned. The whole time he was getting cleaned up (and brushing his teeth repeatedly to ensure he had good breath), he just kept picturing your staring in his head. He had worked very hard to get his body in this shape, and he was very proud of himself too, but he was even prouder that you’d clearly taken notice. If anything, it almost excited him that they’d be filming this scene today. There were a few times in this episode specifically in which Leo is shirtless, but none of those scenes had been filmed— and if this scene was going to be anything like it was scripted to be, then you’d definitely get a better show than in the hotel gym.

He didn’t see you again until the two of you were on set, in full costume and makeup. He had a loose shirt on, but underneath it, his chest had been painted with blues and purples to make convincing bruises. As he went to his mark, Leo’s makeshift bed on the floor of the cellar, Harrison spotted Davey across the set, looking bored and unhappy. His blue eyes drifted over to you next, and he refrained himself from smirking as he noticed your makeup artist applying chapstick to your lips.

While you gathered your prop lantern and the lights dimmed around you all, Harrison made himself comfortable under the ragged blankets. The director called out “Action!” and Harrison closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep as he waited for you to come into the shot. Hearing your footsteps, Harrison stirred, blinking his eyes open.

“Bea, is everything alright?” He asked, looking up at you as you stood over him.

“Let me see your body.” You said definitively.

“Beatrice—” He started, but you cut him off.

“Show me, Leo. I want to see it.” At your words, Harrison shifted slowly, moving as if in pain. He pulled the blankets down and went to roll up his shirt. “Take your top off.”

He paused, looking at you questioningly with a hint of fear in his eyes. Groaning a little, Harrison sat up and removed his shirt. He looked at you expectantly, and you set aside the lantern before kneeling on the blankets beside him. Your hand drifted over the painted bruise tentatively, ghosting over the same abs that you had been studying just hours earlier. Harrison waited for you to deliver your next line, knowing he was scripted to kiss you after it. It felt like ages that he was waiting for you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you right now. His mind went blank as your eyes found his and you leaned in to kiss him.

It was unscripted, and he was surprised, but he didn’t let his surprise stop him from immediately kissing you back. Your chapstick tasted of strawberries, just as it had the last time the two of you had a kissing scene, and he swore he was in love with the taste of it. He expected to hear the director yell cut, to hear him question why you suddenly improvised, but when nothing came, he just continued to kiss you. You pulled back, a shy smile on your face, “I don’t want you to hide your body from me anymore. It’s too nice to be hidden.”

His heart leapt as he leaned forward to catch your lips once more, this time scripted. His hands shuffled to your waist, pulling you down to lay beside him as he rolled onto his side, his chest leaning over yours. Your fingers tangled into his hair, and he savored the feeling.

You pulled back again, whispering up to him, “No more hiding.”

“No more hiding.” He reaffirmed. As he continued to kiss you, his hands sensually wandered down your back, keeping you as close to him as possible. Part of him wanted to pause the intimate scene and pinch himself, just to make sure it was really happening, but he was worried if he stopped kissing you now that he’d never get the opportunity to kiss you like this again.

“Cut!” The director called, and Harrison reluctantly pulled away from you. He could’ve sworn a small frown passed your lips as he looked down at you, not having shifted off of you yet.

“Spearmint— my favorite.” You teased quietly, as if it was only for the two of you to hear. As you laughed underneath him, Harrison couldn’t help but wonder what his younger self would think if he knew he’d one day get to make out with Y/N Y/L/N. Even if it was just for the show, it was a sight that he’d always want to remember.

“I’ve always enjoyed the taste of strawberries.” He replied softly, rolling away from you.

The director ran you two through a couple pointers for the scene, and, to Harrison’s surprise, he even suggested Bea kissing Leo first, just like you had improvised. You reasoned that you forgot your line momentarily, but something about the way you kissed Harrison made him feel like that wasn’t the case; no, it seemed like you’d truly wanted to kiss him.

After running through the scene a few more times, the director was satisfied. While you stayed behind on set to film more scenes, Harrison returned to his hotel room. Just as he was searching his toiletry bag for some much-needed chapstick, his phone began to ring with a Facetime call. Seeing Harry’s contact photo light up on his screen, he accepted and set his phone aside momentarily. He didn’t need to wonder what Harry (and most likely Tom, Tuwaine and maybe even Sam) were calling about— he had made the dire mistake of telling his easily-excited best friends about today’s scene.

“Why are we looking at your ceiling?” Harry asked almost immediately.

“I’m, uh, looking for lip balm.” Harrison admitted quietly and smiled to himself when he found some. He quickly put it on and then grabbed his phone, heading to his bed where he could comfortably talk to his friends.

As expected, his friends let out an incoherent chorus of excitement. Sam seemed to calm down enough first to ask (more like, shout through the phone), “How was it?”

“Does she really kiss with tongue? Remember Jack used to say-” Tom started, and Harrison scoffed, hearing the name of one of their old classmates who swears he had a summer fling with you once.

“I still don’t believe him, but no, not today at least.” Harrison was honestly a bit embarrassed to admit it. You were in a relationship… with a possibly cheating moron, but still. It just didn’t feel right to talk about you in that way.

“Not today? So there could be another time!” Tuwaine shouted encouragingly.

“Is she still with that prick?” Tom asked.

“Yes, but,” Harrison paused, and they all looked at him expectantly, waiting for elaboration, “I think he might be cheating on her.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry questioned. “Mate, just because you fancy her doesn’t mean her boyfriend’s a cheater.”

“No, I mean I heard him on the phone, and he said he was in Liverpool for business, not for his girlfriend.” He reasoned, “I’m just very suspicious of him.”

“You should tell her if you think he is.” Sam stated, “If he isn’t, then, oh no, you’re on bad terms with her boyfriend, who probably already hates you after today. If he is, well, she’d hate you if she finds out you kept it from her.”

Harrison let out a small sigh as the others nodded. “I don’t know. It’s not my place. Besides, she said something a few weeks about him wanting an open relationship. Maybe it’s that?”

“Okay, look, forget I asked about him.” Tom said, shaking his head, while the others looked at Harrison skeptically through the phone, “How was it to finally have your drama school dreams fulfilled?”

“Fucking heaven.” Harrison admitted with a laugh.

For the next week, Harrison resisted the urge to tell you about Davey. He wanted to, he really did, but whenever he’d finally be alone with you and mentally prepare himself for the conversation, you would always just seem so happy and content. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb your happiness, especially when it was Harrison making you happy. After Davey left, it’s like something changed within you, and Harrison had no clue what it was, but he enjoyed it.

‘You have to tell her.’ Harrison read over his most recent text from Tom again. He let out a small sigh, trying to get the courage to tell you as you sat across from him at the booth.

It was Saturday, and you two, along with Darci, Jojo, and McKell, had made your way to a club, wanting to celebrate another week down. With only two episodes left to film, you all knew your time together was starting to run low. You were all a few drinks in by now, happily buzzed. Jojo and McKell were off somewhere, probably attempting to be each other’s wingmen. Darci was telling you a story so wild that Harrison wondered if it was even true. He finished the rest of his drink and shuffled out of the booth.

“I’m going to grab another drink.” Harrison said to you two, and, without waiting for a response, he left. He made no move to flag down the bartender, leaning against an empty spot in the bar. Pulling on the collar of his blue shirt, he started to feel hot, unsure if he could handle this.

“What happened to getting another drink?” You asked him, stepping up beside him.

“Where’s Darci?” He replied, not wanting to answer your question.

“Found a friend in the crowd.” You laughed and turned to flag down the bartender. You ordered a round of shots, to Harrison’s surprise.

“Are you good?” He asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” You nodded, but with how your eyes were glazed over the alcohol and another unreadable emotion, Harrison didn’t quite believe you. Playfully, you nudged him, “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been moping all night for god knows why.”

“I haven’t been moping.” He argued as a tray of four shots was placed in front of you two. You handed one to him and took one for yourself.

“Cheers to another week done.” You clinked your shot glass against his before both of you downed them.

As you went to grab your second shot, Harrison reached a hand and stopped you. Concerned, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Davey and I broke up— for good this time.” You admitted, and his hold on your wrist softened while he looked at you pitifully. “He told me when he was here that he went through with his ‘open relationship’ plan, even though I never agreed to it, so he’s been basically cheating on me since I left for this job. Then tonight, he drunkenly texts me, and I know it’s just a booty call. He’s done it for years, but now I actually see it for what it is. So now, my shitty boyfriend is gone, I’m finally single, and my only plans for tonight is to get properly drunk. Maybe even hookup with a stranger— god knows it’s been a while since I had decent sex.” Harrison was speechless, and you continued, a smile finding its way to your face at the end of your venting. “Dance with me after this shot?”

“Do I have a choice?” He asked playfully, feeling your mood lighten once more. You winked at him, handing him a full shot glass. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on you and to keep you from drinking anymore.

After you both drank back the burning liquid, you grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the dancefloor. Harrison had felt the alcohol that was flooding his system earlier, but the colored lights, pounding music, and countless bodies around him seemed to make the alcohol hit him harder. There was a weight off his shoulders, knowing you were actually single as you danced with him, and yet he still felt strange about his current state with you— were you truly into him or was he just the first guy you could drunkenly hook up with?

You turned to face him, a small frown on your face, “Haz, you’re being a bit of a killjoy.”

It was then that he realized, while you were fully grinding on his body, he was relatively motionless. Your hands found his, and you planted one on your hip and another on the small of your back, low enough though that it teetered being on your ass. You leaned in closer to him, letting him get a whiff of your perfume. While one of your hands trailed along the hem of his shirt, daring to even dip below his shirt, the other traced through his hair.

As you planted a kiss on Harrison’s neck, not caring at all for the dancing bodies around you, you heard him let out a strangled groan of your name. Your nails light scratched over the deep V in his hips, hooking onto where his jeans met the line.

“Should we get out of here?” You asked Harrison, your lips right next to his ear as your voice dripped with seduction. He felt his heart flip with intoxicating excitement before he was immediately reminded of the gravity of the situation. You went to kiss him, but he moved back quickly, stepping out of your reach. Pouting, you asked, “Do you not want me? After all this time?”

“No, I do.” Harrison insisted. “I want you, but not like this, not when you’re drunk. You’re not in the right headspace for this. I don’t want to be your drunken rebound.”

“How can you be a rebound when it’s always been you?”

Harrison sighed. Oh, how much he’d love to hear that from you— sober. He was saved from having to reply when Darci, McKell, and Jojo found you two. They looked at the two of you skeptically, but Harrison just shook his head.

“I’m going to take Y/N back to the hotel.” He said as he stepped closer to the group so that they could hear him over the music.

“We’ll come, too.” Jojo insisted, even though, with his words slurred and his eyes glazed over, he was thoroughly drunk, too.

“Where did Y/N go?” McKell asked, realizing your sudden absence.

“Oh god,” Harrison muttered, and the four of them dispersed in the crowd to find you, tripping over the other sweaty bodies. Darci found you first, unable to stop you from having a couple more shots.

“No, no, you’re done.” She argued with you. You reached for the last shot that she had taken from you, but, in your intoxicated state, you easily lost your balance. Harrison quickly wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you up.

“I don’t think she can walk.” Jojo commented.

“What gave that away?” McKell asked sarcastically.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” With a small sigh, Harrison, as the most sober of the group (though he still felt fairly tipsy), proceeded to lead you out of the club.

Darci hailed a cab for the five of you, and while it was an illegally tight fit, you all made it work. You leaned on Harrison as he was pressed right up against you. On your other side sat Jojo. You mumbled softly to Harrison, one of your hands falling onto his knee, “Do you remember that year when they put up mistletoe at school?”

“Where are you going with this?” He asked you softly.

“I saw you kiss Vivian at the one outside of the gym, and I couldn’t walk in that area for three months without thinking of you. I was so jealous of her, and you just looked like such a good kisser, which I’m happy to report you are.”

“Babes, maybe stop with the drunk talking.” Darci said, because all of you could tell this was stuff sober you would never say.

Harrison looked at you in surprise— he barely even remembered when Vivian dragged him under the mistletoe, so the fact that you remembered and were jealous? And you said he was a good kisser, too. He felt a glimmer of pride overcome him.

“Ask me tomorrow, it’s the truth.” You shuffled in your seat, laying your head against Jojo’s shoulder, “Jojo, wanna know a secret?”

“Y/N, maybe-” Darci started, but Jojo cut her off.

“No, go on, Y/N.” He laughed, wanting to hear your drunk thoughts.

“Do you think I’d make a good Catwoman?” You asked, words slurring together as you grew tired.

“Catwoman? Like Anne Hathaway?” He questioned, and you hummed a ‘yes’. “Yeah, you’d make a good Catwoman.”

“Good. Tell Haz he needs to my Batman then.” Your voice was quiet, as if it was something just meant for the two of you to hear, but your voice wasn’t nearly as soft as you had thought it was, meaning Harrison and the rest of your friends were truly aware of your little drunken secret

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Jojo reassured you, a shit-eating grin on his face as he glanced over your head to look at the embarrassed Harrison.

The rest of the car ride was silent, and Harrison helped you out of your seat. With the help of the others, he got you safely inside your hotel room. Everyone retreated to their own rooms, except for Harrison who stayed with you. He laid you down on your bed and went searching for your pajamas, which to his luck were stowed underneath your pillow.

“Can you change or—?” Harrison asked, holding out the clothes to you

“I’ve got it, though I wouldn’t mind you helping.” You said with a wink. As you started to change out of your club clothes, Harrison turned away from you and focused on getting out some much-needed pain reliever and a glass of water for you to have in the morning. He heard you shuffle on the bed behind him before you let out a small huff, “Hazzy, can you come here?”

Hazzy— that was a new nickname. To his surprise, you were already tucked up in bed, your previously worn clothes scattered on the floor around you. He set the water and meds on your nightstand before kneeling to your level, “What’s wrong, love?”

“Do you know why Davey wasn’t my first love?” You asked quietly, your eyes beginning to droop with sleep. You reached a hand out to tentatively run your fingers over his cheek before you cupped it, smiling softly at him.

He had a hunch, but he played along anyway, wanting to hear you say it, in case he never heard it again. “Why?”

“Because you were.” Your voice was so quiet that he barely heard you, but he was so glad that he did. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, and you let your hand fall from his face.

“Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Can you stay tonight? Please?”

“Of course, love.” Harrison stood to his full height, and when he looked at you again, you were already asleep. He softly readjusted the blankets on your bed to make sure you were warm enough, before he made his way over to the couch. Grabbing a throw blanket off the back of the couch, he settled into his bed for the night. Just like every other night lately, he drifted off thinking of you, but this time, there was an excited flutter in his heart.

The next day, Harrison woke up to you letting out a groan, loudly asking, “Why the fuck is it so bright in here?”

He slowly sat up from the couch to check on you. A smile crossed his face as you took the pain meds he’d left out and downed the glass of water. Your eyes seemed to bulge out of your head when you noticed his presence in the room. Laughing, he greeted you, “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Please tell me you miraculously don’t remember anything I said last night because I remember, and I don’t want to.” You said, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Sorry to disappoint then.” He sent you a sympathetic smile.

With a sigh, you patted the spot beside you on your bed. Wordlessly, Harrison got up from the couch and came to sit beside you on the bed. He expected you to say something, but when you were silent, seemingly caught up in your thoughts, he spoke up, “Did you mean it? When you said I was your first love?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in your reply, and you turned to finally meet his eye, “It was a very intense schoolgirl crush, hence why I hated Vivian after that mistletoe incident, but seeing you again just made me realize that it was more than just a crush. I’ve regretted saying no to you all those years ago ever since you came back into my life.”

“Well, I thought I was over my crush on you, but turns out, there are just some things time can’t change.”

A comfortable silence overfell you two again before you finally spoke up with the words that had been on your mind for weeks, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“I think I’m in love with you, too.” Harrison sealed his words by leaning in to kiss you.

With no script to follow now, he felt fireworks as you kissed him back. One of your hands drifted to the back of his neck, silently urging him to continue kissing you. His hands snaked around your waist before he shifted to lay on his back, rolling you on top of him. You deepened the kiss, your tongue finding its way into his mouth. He moaned at first, fully enjoying himself, before his lips curved into a smile, and he started to laugh against your lips.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, pulling away from his lips. His hands wandered from your hips up to where your own hands were resting on his chest, and he casually intertwined your fingers.

“It’s nothing.” He said in an attempt to play it off, but the smile on his face told you that whatever he was thinking was hilarious to him. “You remember Jack Evans? He told everyone that you were the best french kisser in school, and, well, he’s not wrong.”

You let out a scoff before giggling to yourself, “First of all, how many girls have you french kissed from drama school and should I be jealous? Second of all, Jack was an ass who couldn’t kiss for shit, but I’ll take it as a compliment that he told everyone that.” You leaned down until your lips were just barely touching, “And thirdly, do you want to keep talking about drama school, or do you want me to keep kissing you?”

“You don’t need to be jealous, but I kinda like that you are.” He replied with a cheeky smile. “And you’re right. He was an ass.”

“And for the last one?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

Harrison pretended to think about it for a second before he let go of your hand to cup your cheek, bringing your lips crashing back down to his.

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #the irregulars #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield one shot #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield x you #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield x you

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mk-wizard · 3 years

Text

Rescue Bots vs. COVID-19: How would it go down?

Hello. This essay is to answer a question asked by the inquisitive @petrichornial who raised a question that would make for an interesting scenario that would definitely involve the Burns family and Rescue Bots.

Right off the bat, we know that the bots don’t need to worry about catching it because COVID-19 is a virus that only affects organic people not robotic organisms. However, they can still be carriers as the virus can latch onto them which would require lockdown, safety, distancing and sanitation protocols to apply to them as well to keep humans around them safe. As for the Burns family, Cody would be the one stuck at home while the rest of the family would be required to go out often because they are first responders. In fact, I think all of the kids would be under lockdown which means most communication between everyone would only be digital. The good part is that a lot of things in Griffin Rock are done by machines anyway, so some business and such would still go on, but for people like Huxley Prescott who is a reporter, coffee shop owners and such, their work would suffer immensely.

Though the main focus would be how people are affected socially in which case, the four bots plus some of the townspeople would represent the five categories/issues society faces during COVID-19.

Number one, you have Heatwave who stands for people who are in denial of how much danger COVID-19 poses and how much they openly resent the lockdown and all of the restrictions. He wants to be free to do what he wants and he sometimes shirks protocols like not washing as soon as he comes back, not keeping his distance and becoming stir crazy from being inside so often. He probably become very moody and hard to talk to snapping at everyone.

Number two, you have Blades who stands for the other extreme of people who are taking precautions too far to the point of paranoia and hysteria. He sees COVID-19 as this boogeyman who is going to come get him the instant he takes a foot outside, he would fear going out, he would be afraid to go near anyone even people who are not a danger and have trouble performing rescues because that involves touching or going near people. Blades would probably go as far as thinking he has it or someone around him does prompting him to panic even further.

Number three, you have Chase who stands for the people enforcing the lockdown and safety precautions to the point where he is being too severe. In an attempt to keep people safe, he is fueling the paranoia and actually angering the stir crazy people instead of handling things with a sympathetic touch and common sense. I can even picture a moment where he refuses to let Chief Burns out during a rescue as an attempt to keep him safe, but doesn’t realize that he is endangering the people on scene. I don’t say all this because Chase is bad. It is that he is very lawful and is paranoid, but in a different way from Blades. Chief Burns is an older man making him more vulnerable to COVID-19 and he just wants to protect him, but fails to realize that the virus doesn’t work that way and that Charlie made an oath to help people. I even imagine a moment where Chase forcefully “sanitizes” by spraying them with sanitizer and water anyone who is caught outside including people who are allowed to be out like truck drivers or delivery people. Maybe even the cat Mr. Pettipaws after saving him and even suggesting giving HIM a fine for being outside.

Number four, you have some people who are accepting the lockdown and such, and are at home, but they are becoming extremely complacent to the point of laziness and letting themselves go. People are becoming slovenly, the state of property is being let go, nobody is exercising and take out is at an all time high indicating that people are not eating right either. This raises concerns because while people may not wind up ill because of COVID-19, they will wind up ill because of self negligence and unhealthy lifestyles. Some characters will even wind up gaining weight or dressing like slobs. I can picture mayor Luskey being the guy who just sits around dressing like a slob and becoming fatter which also has a very negative impact on his marriage as his wife becomes disgusting by his laziness and listlessness.

Lastly, we have Boulder who represents the best of us trying to get through COVID-19 and he would be the star of this episode as he would also serve as the voice of reason especially at the end. Boulder is abiding by the rules, but he is being reasonable about it and while staying inside, he is making the most of his time by keeping up with his hobbies and even maintaining the HQ. He even helps Cody get around to taking up cleaning up his own space and even sorting out material things he never got around to before. Boulder would probably even encourage Cody to learn how to keep after himself and the importance of respecting your home. I can even picture this episode bringing in Ratchet as a special guest star since he is a doctor and can give medical advance to everyone, including the bots, for the physical and mental health.

In the end, it would be Boulder along with Cody and Dr. Greene who would bring the town back to its senses by ceasing to be extremes in any directions by reminding them that outbreaks have occurred before throughout history. Moreover, they would inspire the people to be mindful that surviving COVID-19 doesn’t mean anything if we can’t even survive ourselves and that we shouldn’t use the lockdown as an excuse to let ourselves go or cease being productive. This would bring also the other three bots to their senses and give them, especially Heatwave, new purpose by helping people maintain their properties since the bots cannot get sick. Also, Prescott would find new purpose by allowing people to send in how-to videos and other family videos to bring up spirits on his blog. Lastly, some people would even use this chance to at long last use the lockdown to get around to doing things they should have done a long time ago. In the case of mayor Luskey, he finally decides to get up from the couch and exercise alongside his wife hinting that he is on his way to getting in shape and patching things up with her.

As a bonus point, I imagine Doc Greene is using the lockdown to do more than just do experiments. Being the positive person he is, he wants to use the time to be productive so he is trying out all kinds of hobbies though some of them are not working out like singing where he is tone deaf, cooking though his food is worse than Dani’s, and he even attempts things like yoga and knitting. However, he has the right attitude in not sitting around doing nothing and he is still taking care of himself and his home. In the end, he does find a hobby that works for him especially when you consider what his wife does: botany.

And that is my take on how COVID-19 would go down in Rescue Bots. Of course, this is only how I imagine it. I am curious to hear what you think would happen.

Thanks for reading, have a great day and stay safe.

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zumpietoo · 2 years

Note

You know what I can't wait for is when Tabitha and Betty have thier conversation and Betty gives Jug and Tabi her "blessing" or whatever because we know its coming and that's when B/Lili stans are going to lose. The irony being I think RAS is having this scene is because he had to scrap the TJB triangle and is hoping if Betty is happy for them they'll move on, not likely, they keep promising to leave and yet... hopefully that scene will be the impetus they need. I want B the hell away from Jabi.

Oh agreed....honestly, I only dislike Slizzy supporting them cause

A) hate her gross ass

B) it isn't her place to decide whether she approves or not

That said, this gives me the perfect opportunity to also drag this stupid (so hijacking your ask, sorry!)

Ummm.....I'd maybe entertain it, half heartedly, if that was the ONLY thing Slizzy said....but in that ep alone, she legit said Jug shouldn't be Tabi's problem, either, disparaged him at every opportunity, sought to turn Tabitha against him, literally DGAF if he was hurt or ded and gave away his manuscript.

She had spent the entire season treating him like a subhuman, unless he served some sort of purpose to her....which, BTW, he had apologized for the meanie VM already AND she was fully aware he didn't "hate" her, because YOU Slizzystans kept insisting how wildly "in love" he was acting all season (no, but, you don't get it both ways).

He HAD been nothing but nice to her, even when she was an utter dick to him, tho. And had already helped her out, etc....even when, again, she was an utter dick to him.

So, no, she doesn't get the "thought he was mad at her" as an excuse.

Plus we didn't see Jughead getting to trash talk Slizzy....

Further....in subsequent episodes Slizzy drives him BACK into the bottle, DGAF that she's done so or that an alcoholic is now drinking again, as he confesses to being one, then ghosts him, after making everything about herself to avoid addressing shit.

So no, she does NOT GAF about him.

Now, might that be from her own guilt----because it IS her fault he's there? Sure....but that's irrelevant. She's still a cuntwipe.

She didn't really help Tabs, she used it as a way to endlessly drag him and it was a matter of a few hours.

She didn't "escape a strangulation hold to save him".....she panicked, was being strangled, was rescued by everybody else, heard a gunshot, once safe and remembered he was also involved.

And that was the kindest she'd been all season----aware that Jughead was human and might've gotten hurt while helping a rescue crew....

You do that for any person who is part of your team.....again, do I think it indicates the JTB triangle? Sure. But Slizzy was always gonna be the third leg and sexually harassing PP ended that being explored..

I actually DO agree Slizzy might feel she doesn't deserve Jughead.....cause she doesn't. If anything, I'll say this....her being "supportive" is probably the first we've seen of her as a decent person in quite some time....

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icasttourniquet · 3 years

Text

Common Misconceptions: Raising the Dead (CPR)

Let's start with the bad news: basically all the CPR you've seen in movies and TV shows is performed terribly.

Here's the good news: most CPR is performed on dead patients, which means even bad CPR is better than nothing.

What is CPR?

CPR stands for (googles hurriedly) Cardio-Pumonary Resuscitation. It has two parts: 1) chest compressions and 2) rescue breaths. Here's a video in case you're still confused, but most people have seen CPR performed a ton of times during the climaxes of medical shows. It comes right before either a) the nurse yells "Clear!" and the patient comes back to life or b) the EMT says "I'm not losing you" and injects the patient with adrenaline right to the heart, and then they come back to life.

Raising the Dead

CPR is generally performed on dead patients. That is, patients without a pulse. In the first responder business, the situation doesn't really get worse than dead, so it provides a unique opportunity for authors because you can't really get it wrong.

Here are some questions I've heard people ask while learning CPR:

Should I perform CPR on pulse-less patients who have chest wounds?

Can I continue performing CPR if I break a rib?

Should I perform CPR on pregnant people?

What if I can't give rescue breaths? Should I still give CPR?

My patient has a lot of broken limbs. Should I fix those before performing CPR?

My patient was electrocuted. Should I give CPR?

Here's the trick to answering all your CPR questions. Is my character dead (no pulse)? Does performing CPR put a) the first responder, b) another patient, or c) a bystander in danger?

If you can answer (yes) (no, no, no), congratulations! Your first responder can perform CPR, even really crappy CPR, even CPR that is ineffective, for as long as the plot requires (ModN's WFR instructor tells the story of a 6-hour CPR session on a dead patient during a journey to care that included a toboggan ride).

(NOTE: there's actually one solid contraindication: if the patient is severely hypothermic, their heart rate may be so slow and weak as to be undetectable. In this case (and pretty much only this case) chest compressions may actually do more harm than good. Other than that, obvious signs of death like decapitation or rigor mortis indicate you don't need to start resuscitation, but there are still plenty of compelling interpersonal reasons to do it – at that point you're doing CPR for the responder and survivors rather than the patient.)

Otherwise, your character should go for it!

The bad news about CPR

Time for the bad news (other than you having a dead character on your hands). In general,* CPR is not enough to bring someone back. Its role is to continue circulating oxygenated blood while you wait for a defibrillator like an AED to arrive. The AED or manual defibrillator is what actually convinces the heart to stop fluttering/beating erratically, and allows it to resume something like a normal rhythm. That means that in the wilderness, CPR is almost never going to work. That said, ModN's WFR instructors had a couple tales of AEDs falling from the sky (via helicopter, not under their own power), so it's worth trying regardless.

* The exception: lightning-struck patients can at times restart regular rhythms with just chest compressions. This leads to interesting triage considerations when dealing with the aftermath of lightning, but that's a subject for another post.

How to perform non-crappy CPR

There are a million videos on YouTube that can talk you through every sort of CPR. Keeping in mind, of course, that some CPR is better than nothing on a pulseless patient, here are some quick tips that could indicate your character has some training:

Your character distinguishes between adult and pediatric CPR. Because children don't tend to get heart attacks, pulse-less children almost always have a trauma or respiratory cause. This means responders give children more rescue breaths.

Your character keeps their elbows locked. Here's a playlist of some examples of bad CPR (and some are really quite bad). Actors generally can't lock their elbows because they'd risk injuring or even killing their scene partner (so, okay, fine, that's a decent excuse), but people with real training will know better.

They do not always give rescue breaths. Any CPR is better than no CPR. Rescue breaths can put the first responder at risk because they can involve lip-to-lip contact, assuming no PPE is available. I once had a paramedic say bluntly that he really only gives breaths to children—it's just not worth the risk to him for anyone else. If this sounds callous, remember, CPR is (almost) only performed on dead patients, and the number one priority in any disaster is yourself.

(ModN edit: in a professional setting your character will always have some sort of PPE for rescue breaths: a face shield at the minimum, or in the front country a full-blown bag valve mask (BVM) that allows them to use their hands to get air into the patient.)

Your character does a blood sweep before staring CPR in a trauma injury. You may have heard the rule no pulse = chest compressions immediately. This is almost always true, especially in the frontcountry, when most pulse-less patients you encounter will have had a heart attack. However, in the wilderness, we can run into a bad situation: chest compressions that pump all my patient's blood out the gushing wound in their side.

Maybe you're thinking, hey! I thought you said my character could always do CPR on a dead patient and they'd be fine! And yes, I did say that—thank you for listening. If your character performs CPR on a patient with no pulse and arterial wound, they have not killed their patient. This is because the patient was already dead. They have not "sped up" the bleeding out process because this patient has basically already bled out. So, I'm not blaming your character for anything.

That said, the pro-est of pros will do a blood sweep after finding no pulse and stuff/apply direct pressure/tourniquet as necessary. As an added note, your character with no pulse and the arterial bleed? Probably not going to survive.

This leads me to...

Writing more realistic necromancy

If your character's CPR is successful, your character has just raised the dead. Thinking about it this way can help you write more realistic resuscitation scenes. Here's the number one thing that will make all your CPR more realistic:

Your dead patient does not go from dead to walking and talking in a few seconds.

When the body has no pulse for a while, it gets unhappy. This is because all its internal organs are dying and also because it is dead. CPR replicates the pumping of a heart, but not particularly well. Most people whose organs are all dying don't get that shot of adrenaline to the heart (this is not part of any WFR or EMT protocol but whatever) and then go back to swashbuckling adventure after a quick sip of water.

In fact, in real life, checking the pulse of your patient is an important part of performing CPR because sometimes they come back to life and you don't notice.

So how might you accurately describe someone who's just come back from the dead via CPR (possibly plus defibrillation)? May I recommend some of the following words (no need to cite me—just plop 'em in your writing):

Unconscious

Unmoving

Pale

Clammy

Weak pulse

Non-responsive to pain

Not dead!!!

An added point: absolutely no one whose heart stopped is now "okay" because their heart restarted. They are "not dead" because their heart restarted. Admitedly, not dead is pretty good in the first response business, but they need to see a doctor. As soon as possible. This is because something caused the heart to stop and CPR did not treat that underlying cause. Many people who come back from the dead die again soon after, and could come back and die multiple times before picking a state more permanantly.

Wilderness-Specific CPR

In the wilderness, we have get one (1) special CPR-related ability and that is the ability to stop.

In the US, there's a thing called patient abandonment that can get folks in trouble. Basically, if you start treating a patient, you need to keep treating them until 1) they are dead, 2) they are conscious enough to refuse further treatment and do so, or 3) someone else with an equivalent or higher level of training is treating them (ModN: as a W-EMT this is tricky – it's hard to find people more qualified in the wilderness to hand a patient off to!).

Because WFRs and EMTs cannot declare patients dead, and a dead or unconscious patient cannot refuse treatment, that means you are treating them until someone else is treating them. (As a side note, my first first-aid instructor told the story of performing CPR for 30 minutes in an ambulance on a patient missing part of his brain [this is bad] because the police officer at the scene didn't want to declare him dead on the highway, which would mean shutting down the road for a few hours).

CPR is unique, however, because it's performed on dead patients. The law doesn't want a poor WFR to be stuck in an endless CPR loop because they can't abandon their patient, so in the wilderness only, your character can stop CPR:

After 30 minutes of sustained pulselessness.

If another patient needs more help.

If continuing is dangerous to self or others.

Otherwise, backcountry and frontcountry CPR are pretty similar.

Summary

CPR is generally performed on dead people.

It is difficult to get worse than dead.

Garbage CPR is better than no CPR.

Recovering from being dead takes time and always warrants more care.

WFRs have a superpower and it is called stopping CPR.

Good luck raising your characters from the dead!

#ict #wilderness medicine #cpr #writing advice #writing tips #raising the dead #cycs

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fatbottombucky · 4 years

Text

A Past Life *Geralt of Rivia x Reader*

Summary: could you write a female reader x Geralt who has PTSD due to past abuse and he accidentally triggers a flashback. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable writing this, thank you for your time

Characters: Geralt & Jaskier

Pairings: Geralt x [F]Reader

Warnings: Nothing, except for Geralt yells at Reader and it triggers past memories of a man who was not so kind to her- she also flinches when he steps forward to help, makes the whole thing very angsty. They aren’t together in this, although I can do another part where they are because I have an idea for a sequel to this

“Look at us,” the sprightly voice interrupts the quiet, “three best friends, out and seeking adventure in this land.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, looking over your shoulder at the bard- who had hired you as an armed bodyguard whilst he sought adventures to sing about. What you didn’t expect was his ‘best friend’ to be a Witcher, especially The Butcher of Blaviken.

“Hmm,” came the grunt of Geralt, on top of his horse, Roach, “you’re not my friend.”

The comment completely aimed at Jaskier. Although, what you’ve seen from these two it’s just their norm if anything. Jaskier annoys Geralt, Geralt, for some reason, puts up with Jaskier and sometimes even humours him.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier exclaims, “you’ve known Y/N, what, a day and she’s your friend over me? The bard who, not only, writes lovely ballads about you BUT,” he strides ahead and starts to walk backwards to look up at Geralt’s face, “but, I may add, spends his free time helping you on the road and aiding you in trying times.”

Geralt looks down at Jaskier for a brief moment, expressionless and releases a deep exhale through his nostrils.

“Yes.” Is the one-word answer he gives Jaskier, casting a downward gaze to Jaskier, “she doesn’t talk… or sing.”

Jaskier looks at you, a scoff leaving past his lips. You raise an eyebrow with a proud smirk, befriending Geralt seemed like an easy task- you wondered if he actually did have a lot of friends, due to the limited demands. Jaskier fell silent and walked beside you, clearly wounded from the encounter and a little pouty.

You cast a glance to Geralt, clearly unphased or doesn’t care. “He’s playing you, Jask,” you elbow the bard, “clearly you both are friends because he could've run off to get away from you but he hasn’t, has he?”

“Ha!” Jaskier grins, “that is true, Y/N, Geralt clearly loves me. He just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, I mean, you’re new and he’s clearly uncomfortable around you.” You hide your smile, till you look at Geralt who is looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow, disbelief written on his face. “Don’t worry Geralt, you’ll get used to Y/N, just takes time getting used to her ‘tis all.”

You smile at Geralt who only slowly blinks and looks away, ahead and into the forest you’ve been walking through for Geralt’s next contract. You like to think you’d be useful, but you’re not well versed in slaying monsters, especially the ones that Geralt goes after. Sure, you’ve killed a few Ghouls in your time but anything three times your size.

You had never gone up against anything like a Bruxa though. In fact, most of your life has been dealing with the worst kind of monsters: men. They hide their true intentions with cheesy lines and charming smiles, they lurk in the open and gain trust, they make you believe you’re wonderful and special. The worst type of monsters is the ones that hide so plainly in sight.

“Maybe I should write songs about you,” you let a small exhale and shake your head, “the girl who doesn’t fear The Witcher.”

Jaskier looks pleased with himself, almost going to strum on his lute, “There’s a lot of girls who aren’t exactly scared of him.” You smirk with a raised eyebrow, the indication of your words not going unnoticed by either, “plus there’s worse to be afraid of than some monster slayer.”

“Hmm,” comes the grunt of Geralt, his language of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ or ‘continue’, in this case, it’s the latter.

“Men,” it’s a simple word but it makes them both look at you, then one another, “people who hide their intentions and cast shadows on your life. I know a monster slayers beast, but people, well, they hide theirs and that’s… far worse; a surprise attack.”

It goes silent between you three.

The dull thud of Geralt hoping down from Roach, he ties her reigns to a tree and looks Jaskier for a moment and then you. You raise an eyebrow, apparently, you’re meant to understand that look, but you don’t and that makes Geralt of Rivia sigh.

“Stay beside Roach,” is his response, “least I need is to look out for you two.”

You huffed a little, you may not be a “monster killer” but you can look out for yourself. You don’t need some brute man keeping you safe, especially since past ones haven’t been so good at it. But you’re hired to look after Jaskier, to go where he goes and therefore you remained beside the bard.

Geralt disappears through the thick brush, swords on his back and not making a sound; not even with his feet. He can’t have been gone for more than two minutes before Jaskier loudly sighed.

“How am I meant to write songs about him and his fights if I can’t see them?” He crosses his arms, lute on his back and shaking his head, “not like he’s extremely talkative after a fight either, grunts and one-word answers, half the time I have to make up details.”

You felt for Jaskier. He only wanted to write about real adventures, real stories, you’ve heard his old songs and listened to him write his new. He’s improved and Geralt doesn’t seem to realise how important he’s played in that.

“What if…” you trailed off, “I go and watch? I’ll keep out of sight and I’ll tell you what happened?”

Jaskier looks torn, “I’m not sure… Geralt, he can be very, I think it’s best we stay here.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, “I can look out for myself, Jaskier. Besides, he'll be too concerned with the Bruxa than I.”

Keeping a firm hand on your steel sword you walk in the direction Geralt left in. It’s dark and silent, which has you wondering just how far Geralt is, but then you hear it. The slight shriek in the distance, the grunts that distinctive of Geralt. You quicken your steps and crouch down, finally in view of the fight.

Your heartbeat quickens and for a brief moment you think Geralt knows you’re here, he looks around briefly as if sensing you but quickly goes back into defensive mode. The Bruxa is not what you expect, it looks human and naked, long dark hair and fingers that finish into sharp nails. It’s ugly but powerful. It disappears from sight, still attacking Geralt, who looks different than before.

Dark eyes and veins, paler than usual. His whole stance is oozing with intimidation and the focus; it almost makes you wonder why you aren’t scared, it almost makes you understand why people do fear him. You watch in amazement at Geralt fighting, how agile he is despite his size. You revel in just watching him fight, although you feel bad because it feels almost intimate- like you’re catching him at his most vulnerable, despite it being the complete opposite of.

But the moment of revelling is cut short, the Bruxa vanishes again and instead of attacking Geralt it goes silent. He stalks around the woodland floor, sword in hand, dark eyes casting in every direction and listening intently for his moment to pounce.

You frown because nothing is happening. For a moment you think it might’ve runoff, how you wish it would have. A twig snaps behind you, you stand to full height and swiftly turn around, the sword being pulled effortlessly from its sheath. Before you can swing, it hits you and it’s claws scratch your arm causing you to also fly backwards.

“I told you to stay away,” his voice is coarse and deep, cuts through the tension like a silver knife.

You sit up as he stands before you, back towards you. A purple circle encompasses him and he fights the Bruxa with efficiency, the cloaking of the Bruxa gone and he’s able to see it’s every movement. He picks up your forgotten sword when rolling out of the way, it’s sights set on you once again but before you can even begin to stand two swords pierce its stomach; slicing in opposite directions and cutting it in half.

A long-awaited breath of relief leaves you, you sit up and hold your sliced arm.

“Igni,” Geralt holds a hand over the body and it sets alight before you. He whistles twice and a moment later you hear the galloping of Roach approaching, also a very confuddled Jaskier trying to keep up with her. “I told you to stay away,” Geralt directs at you, although not facing you.

“It’s my fault, Geralt, I should’ve-” Jaskier tries to defend but is cut off.

“You could’ve gotten killed,” you shakily stand up, brush yourself off and trying not to look like you’re in pain because it’ll only make the situation worse.

You shrug one shoulder, “I’m fine. I’m also sorry, I didn’t think it knew I was there.”

Geralt huffed, his face almost back to normal but it only makes him look angrier somehow, “Fuck you are. You’re bleeding and Bruxa scratches are painful, especially when not treated properly. No wonder you’re afraid of men, you haven’t seen any part of real life to know you should’ve been too afraid to even be around here.”

The mocking words slice through you, you narrow your eyes at The Witcher. But instead of retaliating you compose yourself, knowing already that getting into any sort of conflict with a man, especially this man, could result in much worse circumstances.

“It’s done now. You’ve killed it, I got in the way. I’ll patch myself up when we go back to the village to collect your reward.” You think it’s over, well you hope it is. You begin to walk in the direction Roach came from.

“No!” Geralt’s stern voice stops you, you turn on your heel and look at him wide-eyed, he’s angry. “It isn’t done. You put yourself and me in danger, you can’t just-” he steps forward but you step back, breathing heavily and you fall to the floor, trying to capture your breath.

Past memories of your life before this one. A life filled with loud yelling, stern stares and even crueller hands. Of a man, not even Geralt’s build, more like Jaskier if anything. Sparking fear into you, instead of the love he once promised to forever give you. A life of threat and pain.

A life you longed to forget.

You shut your eyes tightly, praying to the gods that you don’t look like an idiot. You feel someone settle beside you, snapping your eyes open and met with amber ones, he lifts a hand but instinct takes over and you shrink away from him. Almost cowering before him, you thought you’d gotten over this. The evidence clearly states you haven’t.

A gentle touch is placed upon your shoulder, no words spoken as he keeps a small distance but a hand still comforting you. You eventually return to normal, finally looking at Geralt with teary eyes and a watery smile to accompany it.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can mutter and Geralt shakes his head, a little ‘hmm’ leaving him.

Geralt is silent, kneeling beside where you’re huddled, conversation not exactly his strong suit. You watch as he thinks over his words, a more refined ‘hmm’ leaves his body like he’s thinking of how to word something.

“Please tell me the one who caused this is dead,” you exhale through your nose in amusement, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “otherwise I’ll have to make another stop.”

You shrug a little, “It was a long time ago, I’ve been running from that life. I do not need a Witcher to kill for my revenge,” Geralt tilts his head at your words. “I’m a fucking idiot. A guy yells and I cower before him, how am I expected to protect anyone?”

“Because you know, more than anyone, what it’s like to be put into a position you cannot break out of.”

The words hang in the air for a second before he stands up, taking your hand and pulling you up gently. He looks over your wound, grunting at the look of it, the adrenaline is fading and it’s starting to prickle in pain. Jaskier, for once, is quiet but concerned about you. Geralt even helps you onto Roach, leading the horse through the woods.

Sat in the Inn with a couple of ales and Geralt patching you up in the candlelight. You recount the ordeal to Jaskier, who is smiling now with a belly full of bread. After being told countless times by Geralt that you’ll be fine, it was nice to see he actually cared about you.

“You know, I might just write a song about you,” Jaskier informs you, sitting back with a smug smile, Geralt raises an eyebrow. “We make a great team, don’t we. Where shall we go next?”

You frown a little, “I think, I’ve gotta chase up an old life.” Geralt snaps his eyes to you, though doesn’t say anything. “I left a book open, it needs to be closed. We all have to face our monsters at some point,” you sigh and sip your ale.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got a Witcher as a friend,” Jaskier states and nods at Geralt.

You don’t miss the gentle ‘Hmm’ from Geralt.

Part Two

(Lmao this is over 2K words, wtf! Hopefully, this is okay. I didn’t make this romantic, but if you want a second part I will make it romantic, I already have an idea for it. Just let me know- Rosalie)

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia one shot #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt one shot #geralt imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher one shot #jaskier x reader

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akizumy · 3 years

Text

Plus est en vous

This One Shot is part of my Impersonator!AU, which is Varian-centric and whose basic plot is this : everything is the same as in the show except that Cassandra refuses to team up with Zhan Tiri. There are not a few changes, mainly that Cassandra gets her redemption faster (because she isn’t manipulated by Zhan Tiri in staying angry at Raps) and that Zhan Tiri has to find another way to get the Ultimate Power. This takes place during the finale, and yes the title is both an indication and a pun. I hope you’ll like it ! Trigger Warnings for possession and threats to use violence (which of course remain threats, no violence shown here) -----

Rapunzel was silent as she walked down the corridor, letting her steps guide her through the castle. Her mother whom she just left had told her that king Edmund was on his way and would reach Corona in a matter of hours. Hours, and he would take the Moonstone back to the Dark Kingdom it should never have left in the first place. She should feel relieved. After all these months of trying to get through to Cassandra, things were finally about to get back to normal : Rapunzel and her friends -her family- right by her side, having their happily ever after at long last. She should feel relieved, yet she wasn’t. She couldn’t help the bad feeling gnawing at her insides, warning her to be on her guard, whispering that there was more coming. And there was. When Cassandra handed her the Moonstone, she told her about that mysterious ghost girl who had appeared to her. The warrior had of course been wary, refusing to listen to the spectre and feeling that there may be more going on than what she was letting on. Truthfully, Cassandra had hesitated to turn to the ghost, but her suspicion had been too strong; she didn’t know who she was, but that girl gave her the same impression that the servants of Zhan Tiri had -something ancient and powerful-. Cassandra had sent her away and the ghost had no choice but to do as told : before she disappeared however, she had made the threat to get her hands on the Ultimate power one way or the other. Rapunzel was no fool : she knew that threat was not to be taken lightly. That ghost girl, whoever she was, had almost gotten through to Cassandra of all people. Although she had fortunately not revealed herself for now, Rapunzel knew it was just a matter of time. She had to be lurking around, watching them at any time, waiting for them to make even the slightest misstep : and when one of them irremediably would, spiraling into dangerous thoughts, indulging in the wrong feeling for a little too long, then she would be there. No one was safe. No one but Edmund could be fully trusted, King Edmund who had already endured the Moonstone’s tricks for decades. That was why the princess had not taken any risk- she couldn’t take any risk, not with magic that could quite literally destroy the world as they knew it. Ever since Cassandra had given the Moonstone back, it had been locked away in a chest- a piece of ancient Corona metallurgy whose only key was guarded at all time by Rapunzel, and Rapunzel only. But the princess was only one person, and so it had been decided that a tag-team of sort would be formed so as to have at least one person watching over the chest at all time. Rapunzel had of course chosen people she trusted with her life : Eugene, Lance, Varian and Cassandra. She had gotten a lot of reproaches for this choice, but the princess had stood her ground : they were all redeemed, good people who wanted to do what was right- to protect the world. All of them were. A faint sizzling sound caught her attention, so subtle she almost missed it, soon followed by the muffled sound of glass breaking. But- there wasn’t anyone else in the empty corridors, just like there was no glass nor fire. In the span of a second, Rapunzel became extremely aware of her surroundings. Without her noticing it, her steps had led her near the royal vault, where no one was ever wandering and where the Moonstone had been hidden for that exact reason. Rapunzel didn’t think. She couldn’t think as she ran to the vault’s door and threw it open. Someone had to be in there, one of her friends as they had intended and surely they were the cause of that sound although there was no glass or fire in the vault, nothing but a chest and someone watching over it- There was indeed someone in here. There was one of her friends. That’s what she should think. That’s what she would think, if the chest was closed. Instead, the chest was wide open, its lock completely melted; if Rapunzel had to guess, she’d say it was because of whatever had been inside the small vial, now mere shards of glass on the floor. The room was bathed in a soft blue glow, illuminating the walls, the ceiling and the face of the person towering over the chest- over the opal. Varian. For a second, Rapunzel thought she was mistaken. The room was oddly dark, except for the blue glow : surely this wasn’t her friend, it had to be someone else, and even if that would be far more alarming it would be better in a way. Everything would be better than seeing Varian’s blue eyes staring at the opal gently floating in front of him, seemingly mesmerized. But then she heard Pascal croak in her ear, and she knew this was reality. This was actually happening -being betrayed, the Moonstone getting stolen- and she had to do something. She had to protect the Moonstone and stop Varian now before it was too late. She shared a look with Pascal, and the chameleon on her shoulder immediately understood, going invisible before climbing down. With that out of her mind, Rapunzel took a deep breath, air finally filling her lungs again : as she exhaled, evacuating both air and bad thoughts, Varian turned his attention towards her, finally noticing her presence. "Varian. What are you doing ?" The moment their eyes met, the moment she spoke these words, a race against time started. The clock was ticking now, and it was up to Rapunzel to buy as much time as she possibly could in order to avoid the worst case scenario. "Nothing to worry about, princess : simply what I must." Varian's voice was calm, too calm in a situation like this, and Rapunzel hated it. She wanted him to be scared, to be regretful, to be sorrowful : she wanted a proof that he was acting against his will, that he didn't want to betray her once again. She wanted to trust him. So she did. "Varian, you don’t have to do anything. Whatever this ghost girl has told you, it's all lies : she's only using you as a tool.” Chancing a small step forward, she extended her hand, “Please, let me help you." She had been expecting many responses -denial, lashing out, pleading-, but the chuckle that escaped Varian was not one of them. The sound of it wasn't malicious or condescending, but genuinely amused instead : it reminded the princess of the afternoons they would spend together, exchanging jokes and funny memories. "Oh no- you've got it all wrong, princess. Well, except for one point," He replied with a smirk, "I am afraid I have indeed been using him as a tool." Rapunzel's brain stopped completely. Him ? What...? All this time, she had been afraid the ghost would use one of them to reach the Moonstone. All this time, the princess had been so sure their enemy was trying to divide and conquer. She had never thought she would only conquer, never thought she would use one of her friends that way. But as realization crashed into her, Rapunzel had to face the horrible truth that the person right in front of her had not betrayed her, for the sole reason that they had never been her friend. "Who- are you ?" She whispered, her voice gone because of the shock. This- this couldn't be. Varian was- he was- "What have you done to him ?" "Don't look at me that way. I needed a body, and your little friend here appeared to be needing some sort of break. It is an arrangement, if you please." 'Varian' replied, and Rapunzel wasn't sure if she was more horrified by the fact that a child -her friend- was being possessed or by the casualty with which the ghost had told her the news. "As for my name, it would be rather difficult to provide you with an answer : you see, I was given many names throughout the centuries, tales or even forms I have taken." She waved Varian's hand -no, her hand because Varian was no longer in control of his own body, if he was even there- with a knowing smile. "A warlock. A demon. Even a blizzard. But I think most of your kind knows me as-" "Zhan Tiri." Rapunzel whispered. "Indeed." The demon replied with glee, as if Rapunzel's heart wasn't sinking in her chest, as if her whole worldview wasn't being shattered. Zhan Tiri was real- she was there. She had taken over Varian's body, and was using her friend to take the Ultimate Power for herself. What was she supposed to do...? "Now, if you'll excuse me-" Rapunzel felt her heart stop as the demon outstretched her arm, reaching for the floating opal. At that exact moment, Pascal reappeared next to the chest, sending his tongue right into Zhan Tiri's left eye : the demon stumbled back, more surprised than actually hurt, and Rapunzel didn't waste a second. Throwing her air, she caught one of Zhan Tiri’s wrist, restraining her and keeping her from going anywhere near the Moonstone. The demon was however quick to respond, grabbing one of her alchemy ball and throwing it at the princess. Rapunzel heard Pascal shriek in fear but she was quick to step aside, avoiding the pink goo as it expanded on the floor. When she brought her eyes back to the demon however, it was to see that Zhan Tiri had managed to get ahold of Pascal during their short fight, holding the chameleon with her free hand. "I advise you stand down, Sundrop." The demon laughed, and Rapunzel quickly thought of her options. She was all alone with a demon who was possessing one of her friends and wouldn't hesitate to hurt the other; no one ever went to the vault and the next shift, which was Cassandra's, wasn't before another ten minutes. Could she hold on that long without getting any of her friends hurt ? As if she had read her mind, Zhan Tiri's grip on Pascal tightened, urging the princess to make her choice. "Well ? What will it be, Sundrop ?" Rapunzel watched in horror as Pascal let out small croaks of pain and terror in Zhan Tiri's vicious grip, the demon threatening to hit him on the sharp side of the chest. "Let him go, please !!" Rapunzel blurted out, unable to stand the thought of her best friend getting severely hurt, or worse. "Let both of them go." Zhan Tiri only loosened a bit her grip on Pascal, eyeing Rapunzel in an insistent and impatient kind of way. With a defeated sigh, the princess released the demon's wrist : the latter immediately opened her hand, freeing the chameleon who ran out of reach of Zhan Tiri. "And Varian ?" The princess insisted, staring at the demon as she waited for her to complete her part of the deal. She couldn't really attack her as long as she was hiding under Varian's skin like a human shield, but once he was free she could- "I can't let the alchemist go for now, I'm afraid : as long as I don't have a body of my own, I will need to use his. I have been doing so for some time now after all, and I don't see the point in fixing something that isn't broken." The demon raised one of her hands to her head, brushing the raven bangs back in place as if she was merely taking care of something that was hers; Rapunzel was fuming, feeling an unfamiliar, unbridled anger surge through her, making her see red. "No- you can't just-" She cried in anger, gripping her hair more firmly : she wanted to fight, had to fight, but- could she do so without hurting Varian ? "Give him back !!" "Oh, don't worry your Heigness," In a smooth gesture, Zhan Tiri took Varian's goggles off of her head and let them fall to the ground, a gleeful smirk appearing at her lips at the sound of the lens breaking on impact. Finally, with all of her enemies rendered powerless, the demon could get rid of her disguise : no more pretending to be this pathetic alchemist. She would show them all who she really was, and they would fear her. "Your friend won't suffer nearly as much as the rest of Corona." Zhan Tiri finished, outstretching her arm and closing her hand around the Moonstone; Rapunzel let out a cry of terror as power exploded, filling the room before everything was drowned in a sea of blue and white.

#Tangled the series #Rapunzel's tangled adventure #Varian #Zhan Tiri #Rapunzel #tts #rta #Impersonator!AU #My writing #angst #Of course it is

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abbydramarambles · 4 years

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The REAL Ending CLOY

This is my headcanon and you can’t tell me otherwise. The epilogue in Switzerland is set a few years after the events of that piano concert. They have already found a way to be together more permanently. To me the house doesn’t seem like a vacation house, it seems like a home home.

There is that photo of Se-ri on the bridge, not something one would frame for themselves. RJH definitely lives there. Check out the north Korean coffee kettle and other souvenirs as well. This is the sort of stuff one would have in their home.

The only thing holding RJH to North Korean is his parents, the fact that they could be killed if he were to defect. After they die, he has no reason to stay. We’ve already been shown that he is resourceful and would know exactly how to get out. Not to mention that everything in north Korean runs on money, if you have connections like Se-ri and RJH do....anything is possible. And to me these two people with all their power, well they would find a way.

Dan’s mother travels out of the country a lot as well for business. I think the 2 weeks is the longest trip Se-ri takes while RJH’s parents are alive. It’s not the only trip of the year. I doubt her employees would be saying “you’re going to Switzerland again??” if it was a once a year sort of deal they wouldn’t think she had a man. They even say “it’s lasting a while this time”. Come on who in the world would think it’s a relationship if their boss goes to switzerland for 2 weeks a year. It’s her favorite 2 weeks of the year because of it being uninterrupted time.

Well with her wealth and his determination, and connections via his family, I'm sure they'll find a way eventually, either it is his parents passing away (since it has been about 6 years between him going back to NK and the epilogue meetup), or him somehow getting a long term mentoring position at Switzerland. You’re telling me Dan’s mom a department store owner can swing to Europe anytime, and Se-ri who created a whole scholarship for her man can’t swing something in collaboration with Papa Ri?

I got the impression the student performing his song on stage was a full-time student in Switzerland. RJH is not studying abroad but is teaching NK scholarship winners. Seri has been traveling back and forth a lot but these two weeks are the longest continual time they have together.

When Seri first sees him in Switzerland she asks how dangerous his journey was, and he didn’t answer, just said he got on the wrong train but reached his destination. “Destination” implies a final location to me, not just a two-week stay. For two people who find it torturous to be apart for even a moment, destination would not have been thrown around like that. It could’ve taken his Dad some time to manage the politics to make a permanent teaching position with the National Symphony. He did see his son cry in the car after leaving her. That man is powerful, the 3rd most powerful man in North Korean. A political manipulation genius, a man always one step ahead of the others. He got his son and 5 people in and out of South Korea. You best believe he can make it happen. He’s not going to sit back and leave his only son living without his only dream. Plus RJH was never a flag waving patriotic North Korean anyway. He already expressed that he wanted to stay with SeRi in South Korea, have a child that looks just like her. It’s kdrama script writing 101 to not have your lead character mention a deep desire such as this one unless its foreshadowing or serves a larger purpose. And Park Ji Eun is no noob writer.

Let’s look at the way the show itself references fate and destiny. Regardless of how impossible it may seem, these two always managed to find each other again. Fate is pushing them together and is on their side. I don’t think fate wants them to meet 2 weeks a year. Fate didn’t make them meet in Switzerland, in North Korea, in South Korea, and in Switzerland again for 2 weeks a year for the rest of their lives. I can’t entertain that. A lot of people think that the epilogue on the hill and when she meets him for the first time again in Switzerland with the parachute are the same time frame. I don’t think so. I really do think the piano concert is the ending and the picnic is the epilogue. It’s years from then, when everything has been sorted about how to be together permanently and it’s a window in to happy every after. Just look at their body language and expressions in the last scene, they are totally at peace and seem to have gotten everything they wanted. Even the music radiates peace. Listen to the lyrics of Sigriswil that play as the camera pans out “wandering this strange night, won’t you be here by me? now I hold your hands, with you I’ll be alright...how does it feel, my friend? It’s been a long day and night” THEY ARE NO LONGER WANDERING ALONE THAT IS THE POINT. period. It was a “long day and night, but now I hold your hand” ... how does it finally feel to have your happy ever after....my friend. IT REEKS OF OPTIMISM and closure. In film making the atmosphere says everything about what is unsaid in the script.

You best believe he won’t leave a stone unturned to be with her, see her grow old and live in the house of dreams with their twins. Just the fact that he vocalized this thought in the show leads me to believe that it did indeed happen.

Believe in what the show is telling us to believe. What it’s showing us, not telling us even. That love will always find a way.

Cloy’s ending also reminds me of very heavily of (spoiler) that of “my love from the stars”. It was written by Park Ji-eun, the same writer as CLOY. So yes they are forced to be apart in that show too, but he finds his way back and each time they meet its for longer and longer and its implied that one day it will be forever. If an alien could find a wormhole to make it back to his love interest, north korea isn’t looking too bad. Same thing with her other star crossed lovers show “legend of the blue sea”. The mermaid finds him again against all odds and they live happily ever (plus a baby). Hey I’m just saying that the precedent has been set on how this seperation works through our writers own works. Having seen all of Park Ji Eun I know exactly how she structures her endings. It’s almost always the same. The mermaid made it back, the alien made it back...north korea is where we draw the line? They’re only apart for awhile till they figure it out, and they work hard to do so.

Whatever this image is from TVN left it unaired. They shot something they had to pull back. My crack theory brain says she looks a bit pregnant. Actually, that ain’t even a crack theory, I stand behind it. Son yejin is so slim, and judging by the material of the dress it just wouldn’t fall like that unless they were trying to make her look pregnant. Like LISTEN, just LISTEN to me. They put in the effort to get the actors in these outfits we have never seen before, they even gave seri flowers...whY?? There are no other purely promo shots that didn’t have footage attached. The only ones I can think of are the ones they took in front of a greenscreen for the photoframes inside their house. THIS WAS A REAL SCENE THAT WAS DELETED. South Korean dramas pre-film certain scenes (like the swiss ones) and live film the others to make slight changes to the storyline based on audience reaction. During airing there was quite a lot of political backlash a la north korea.

There are some stills TVN released that weren’t screencaps. But ALL of them were in outfits relating to scenes we have seen, such as this one. It just would make no sense for them to go out of there way to get this image on the jam packed expensive swiss schedule and not just do greenscreen in korea like they did for all the other promo material UNLESS it was a real scene.

So you want more evidence for plot points that indicated the original, unaired, together forever in Switzerland ending?

Let’s look at some details, at one point in Episode 14 when Jeong Hyeok's father is meeting with the bad guy Senior Colonel who tries to use photos of Jeong Hyeok in Korea as a bargaining chip, he says "You should retire quietly. Using your health as an excuse won't raise any suspicions." now whilst this may be a casual reference to him being old and that health issues are plausible, it's also possible Jeong Hyeok's father has had some long term illness they've not mentioned which would add to why it wouldn't raise suspicions.

The main reason I thought of this is it would sort of line up with some other details, in the finale when they're deciding whether to send them back or not, at the NIS briefing they mention how the North has requested keeping it quiet and confidential, they mention "They want the confidentiality term to be five years. They're being sensitive about it because one of them is a high-ranking officers son". Then if we fast forward toward the end when Se-ri is receiving the timed messages, a year passes after her birthday message from Jeong Hyeok, after that scene we see Jeong Hyeok having his farewell meal with the townspeople and preparing to leave after being accepted as a pianist for the National Symphony Orchestra, presumably around the same time as Se-ris birthday given that scene was right before. Se-ri then comes up with her Switzerland Music academy idea probably a few weeks or month or so after she read RJH's text about meeting and then it tells as it's one year later, Se-ri waits but doesn't meet him and returns home, her mum says "It breaks my heart to see you return in disappointment every time" which if that's a correct translation it means it's been more than once by this point. Add up this entire timeline....guess what it comes out to. FIVE YEARS. That’s how long it takes them to sort out a permanent solution for their problem.

When he chooses to defect it will be much easier for him considering he’s making trips to Switzerland already. All he would have to do is walk into a South Korean embassy in Zurich. They have an open door policy for North Koreans, he doesn’t even need to cross the DMZ again.

You want even MORE proof? Okay my friend, I’ll bite. Why are there photos of a couple with children?? Honestly come on I really don’t have to say more.

They had to leave the ending open. Due to the political situation, they couldn’t exactly show RJH, a North Korean, defecting. Pretty sure our buddy Kim Jong-un would not be chill with that. However ridiculous it is, the show had multiple attacks on it while it was running by political parties saying it violated the “national security act”.

The ending was clearly cleverly re-edited to be less explicit so the viewer can read between the lines but the show-runners can protect themselves from lawsuits and public sentiment regarding a sort of maybe illegal situation. If you believe they met for two weeks a year for the rest of their lives, you don’t know RiRi Ri-eally well ;)

#crash landing on you #cloy #yoon se ri #ri jung hyeok #ri jeong hyeok #hyun bin #son ye jin #kdrama #binjin #dooly #riri couple

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

The Couples That We Know

Technically speaking, they’re not supposed to be dating. Each other, at least.

For Killian Jones, there are plenty of reasons to like working at Pendragon Publishing. Good pay, vaguely acceptable benefits, not-that-bad coffee in the break room. But there are also some things he kind of, sort of...hates. Namely the way dating his co-worker is possibly against the rules, and how that means they can’t go to the annual holiday party. Together, at least.

So, enlisting the help of their best friends only makes sense. Pretend to date other people, avoid any hint of suspicion, and drink all the wine Pendragon’s party-planning committee can offer them. Perfect plan, really.

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Rating: Still teen, still with some kissing Word Count: 6.1K AN: As promised, the onslaught of Christmas fic continues. This one somehow has secret dating and fake dating because I know no trope limits. Also it almost sort of follows the prompt @the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt sent in, which was "we’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years." Attempts to follow the prompt were almost made.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your Christmas jam.

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“You know, for this to work, you’ve got to actually stop staring at her. At least without quite so much palpable longing.” Opening his mouth, Killian has every intention of announcing how little he’s staring, but that would be a rather awful lie and it’s probably wrong to lie at Christmas. Or at least two and a half weeks before. Plus, Mary Margaret’s face makes even the thought of saying whatever he hadn’t entirely come up with impossible.

“You going to give me detention?” “I’m seriously considering it.” He sighs. Dramatically. Nearly lets his chin slump towards his chest, which would add more than a fair share of melo to that aforementioned drama, and—“You think this is a dumb idea?” Mary Margaret’s eyes widen.

Her lips practically disappear when she pushes them together that way, and Killian has to bite the side of his tongue so he doesn’t make some sort of teacher-based quip again. He really cannot afford to get sent to detention. Metaphorical, or otherwise.

“There’s no possible way for me to tell you, again, how dumb this idea is,” Mary Margaret says, and that might be the most scathing string of words he’s ever heard out of her. Telling Emma suddenly becomes something of a necessity, and that’s a problem.

The crux of their problem, really.

Eyes flitting up, Killian ignores the wholly out-of-character sound Mary Margaret lets out when his gaze darts across the room and lingers on hair that’s looking shinier than usual, as if it’s trying to distract him and overwhelm him, and both things happening simultaneously is almost too much for his brain to deal with. When he’s had two glasses of wine, already.

It’s not the best wine, actually. Killian’s not surprised. Pendragon Publishing is not especially well known for its money-spending efforts, and the annual holiday party is no different. Funded by some half-hearted party committee, that is very likely controlled by just one person, that same person does not appear to have an eye for decorating. If the copious amount of mistletoe hanging everywhere is any indication.

And the whole thing exists to drive Killian insane. Both the mistletoe, and the party. Or so he will argue. When Mary Margaret inevitably points out what a dumb idea this is, again.

She’s totally going to say it again.

“It’s going to work,” Killian mutters, but it sounds inherently unenthusiastic, and Mary Margaret’s eyes cannot widen anymore. They’ll fall out. Which will cause a scene, he imagines.

And they’re trying to avoid that.

Or, well—avoid breaking the rules, technically. They don’t want to do that. Because Pendragon might host shitty holiday parties, but it’s one of the most well-known agencies in the Tri-State area, and both Killian and Emma like their jobs. They like each other too.

Deciding to date wasn’t really part of the plan. But she makes him smile, and he considers the ability to make her consistently laugh one of his better talents, and they’re really good at kissing each other. Which is something they’ve been doing for far longer than anyone realizes. Months, actually. With post-work dinners, and weekends spent together, and Killian has started to find it harder and harder to leave her apartment in the morning, because he keeps staying at her apartment all night, and not proclaiming several rather life-altering strings of words is becoming more and more difficult.

Which brings them right back to the crux of the problem. Pendragon’s holiday party, and its presumably boxed wine, and dating other employees isn’t explicitly mentioned in the employee handbook, but it’s very likely frowned upon and showing up here together wasn’t a feasible option. No matter how much he wanted it to be.

Showing with other people, though. That made sense.

It made—sense adjacent.

“Did I tell you that you look nice?” Tilting her head, Mary Margaret’s gaze turns appraising and she wasn’t particularly pleased about having to take her ring off. It hangs on a chain that’s only occasionally fallen over the front of her dress, and David thought the whole thing was hysterical.

He sent “Mary Margaret 101” facts to Killian all week.

“You don’t have to actually woo me,” Mary Margaret counters, but there’s a bit of color on her cheeks that doesn’t have anything to do with the heat in this rented loft. It’s very warm.

“No woo’ing, just facts. Should that dress look familiar, though?” “Depends on how often you’re rummaging around the back corner of Emma’s closet.” “Not that often, but—” Mary Margaret nods before he can get the rest of the question out, smiling over the top of her glass. Filled nearly to the brim with wine that may actually be capable of eroding paint. It’s so bad. That’s probably not a metaphor for anything.

“You’ve really got to stop staring, it makes you look like a crazy person,” she adds, and to prove how capable he is of following direction Killian’s does the exact opposite. Back towards his girlfriend, and there wasn’t really a ton of planning before they dove into the deep end of this totally legitimate, absolutely will not blow up in their face plan.

Will’s arm is slung over Emma’s shoulders. “Can’t clench your jaw like that, either,” Mary Margaret mutters. Keeping the laugh out of her voice is seemingly impossible.

And rolling his whole head is juvenile, but Killian’s starting to feel a little drunk. Without any of the fun benefits. His head hurts. “Should have come up with a list.” “I could if you want.” “I do not, no.” Mary Margaret’s smile is a hint more honest, that time. It really is a nice dress. “That’s what I figured,” she says, tugging on his tie familiarly. “But you look like you’re going to challenge your own best friend to a duel.” “Swords are a requirement for that, aren’t they?” “Alexander Hamilton.” “Excuse me?” “Dueled with pistols, so—” “—Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays?” Snickering, Mary Margaret bumps her hip with his and there are at least ten unopened texts from David on Killian’s phone. Demanding update for what he was regularly referring to The Great Idiot Romance of 2020 . Although, he never mentioned that in front of Emma.

Who very likely would have won that duel, should it have occurred.

“Alright,” Mary Margaret sighs, like she hasn’t already agreed to a whole night of this, “we should probably mingle, if we’re going to make this look legit.” “Say legit again, please.” She sticks her tongue out.

“Not a very good argument, Ms. Blanchard,” he chuckles, shifting his hand to the small of her back and he supposes he should eat something. To sop up all the wine. Her expression doesn’t change. Might get more scowl-like, if anything.

And there’s likely no reason for Emma’s neck to twist the way it does, except something else vaguely melodramatic that Killian cannot think about for the next four hours, but she does and he stands up a little straighter. Presumably, at least. Mary Margaret’s reproachful tongue click is very loud.

But then Emma’s eyes are widening as well, and her lips are slightly twisted and Killian does a God awful job of winking at her.

He swears he can hear laugh — across the whole loft. Four hours at this stupid thing, max. Then he’s going to make out with his girlfriend. For possibly four hours straight. Which he imagines is a record of some sort.

“Food,” Mary Margaret declares, fingers back on his tie and she makes him eat four bacon-covered somethings before they leave the table.

To mingle. As is required by polite society and Mary Margaret Blanchard soon-to-be Nolan, and Killian quickly loses track of the number of people they smile at and the few others they nod in the general direction of, and he really should have been better prepared soon-to-be to evolve into a problem. He’s not. And Aurora’s gasp catches him off guard.

“Oh,” she cries, hands flying to her cheeks in the middle of a group of editors congregated by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and at least that’s kind of picturesque. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Killian!”

Every one of his muscles tenses. Freezes, making Killian’s ability to stay upright all the more impressive, and it’s nothing except instinct when his gaze practically flies towards Emma.

Who immediately tugs her lips behind her teeth, Will’s eyes widening to a size that would be comical in any other situation.

Mary Margaret’s jaw works — trying to find an excuse, or an explanation, but there’s not any of those things and Killian finds himself nodding again. “Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, “that’s, uh—we are totally engaged.”

“Selling it,” Mary Margaret murmurs through clenched teeth, and he considers it an exceptionally large miracle that he doesn’t point that out. She’s not doing a good job of playing her role now, either.

Aurora doesn’t notice. Another miracle. ‘Tis the season, or whatever. “So,” she presses, “have you set a date or—” Strictly speaking, biology was never one of Killian’s better school subjects, but he’s starting to wonder just how much stress the muscles in his neck can continue to cope with, and he’s all too aware of how much he’s beginning to resemble a bobblehead.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’re, uh—” Licking his lips doesn’t help their overall state, floundering under the expectant stare of half a dozen coworkers who are now heavily invested in a wholly fake relationship, and Mary Margaret’s hand threatens to crack several of his knuckles. When she laces her fingers through his.

“Thinking next winter,” she says, sounding more honest than anything else they’ve told these people. “City’s basically all decorated for us, already, you know?”

Aurora does know, it seems.

Her nod isn’t as erratic as Killian’s, is far more enthusiastic — complete with wide eyes that practically announce her interest, and the hammering of his heart against his ribcage makes it difficult to hear the footsteps that are moving towards them.

Will looks far too entertained.

Emma’s lips are still missing in action. “Couldn’t help but overhear,” Will drawls, and the duel is starting to sound very appealing, “sounds like congratulations are in order.” He’s going to kill him. Killian’s going to let go of Mary Margaret’s impressively tight grip, and he’s going to use both of his hands to strangle his best friend. Or at least ensure that he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he doesn’t continue talking.

He will enjoy it. Thoroughly.

Lifting her eyebrows when neither Mary Margaret nor Killian respond to this supposed stranger’s proclamation, Emma’s exhale is inappropriately loud. Rife with guilt, and an emotion Killian can’t quite name because being jealous of her best friend’s engagement to someone else is as absurd as anything they’ve done tonight, but it’s also kind of nice and— “Aurora, this is Will,” Emma introduces, and he’s actually got the gall to smirk in Killian’s direction. Before thrusting his hand forward, smiling a bit more good-naturedly at Aurora, who only looks slightly confused.

That’s fair.

All of this is flying off the rails, and Killian briefly considers how much of a scene it would cause if he barreled into the kitchen demanding better alcohol choices. It’s probably not worth it.

“Nice to meet you,” Aurora says, like an actual human. With normal, human thought processes and presumably fewer holiday-based lies to deal with. “We were just talking about Killian and Mary Margaret’s wedding.”

Blood floods his mouth, and Killian’s only slightly worried about running out of tongue to bite before the night is over. Mary Margaret’s fingers somehow tighten even more, threatening the blood flow to his entire right hand, and Emma is very interested in the state of her shoes.

“That’s absolutely what it sounded like,” Will grins, “when’s the happy day?” Glaring without making it obvious is actually difficult. Killian widens his eyes, but that only makes the width of Will’s mouth increase — like some literary cat, and Emma’s eyes keep closing for prolonged periods of time. Like at least several seconds.

“Next winter,” Killian bites out, “we’re getting married next winter.” “Decided on a location, yet? Gotta get that stuff in early from what I’ve heard.” “Have you just?”

Will nods, shoulders shifting ever so slightly. Like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. It’s not entirely working.

Maybe they should apologize to Aurora.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Will says, “wedding industry’s cutthroat like that. Plan months in advance, and even then you might not get your first choice.” “That’s definitely true,” Aurora agrees, and maybe Killian will just topple over. Sit down on the floor and drink an entire box of wine, and he doesn’t think anyone else notices when Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. “When Phillip and I got married, we went through a couple different venues before we found one that worked with our date.” “Sounds hectic,” Killian mumbles. Talking was a mistake. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, Emma’s gaze snapping up in unspoken warning, and he’s worried he’s using up his miracle supply. So as not to cry out at the overall force of Mary Margaret’s fingers.

All five of which were apparently blessed with mutant-type strength.

“Luckily we’ve got that covered,” she says, brightly and only a little disingenuous.

Emma blinks. “Yeah?” “Yup. Did you know you can get a permit for a Central Park wedding for like fifteen bucks?” “Wow, that’s—that sounds really nice, actually.” “Depends on whether or not it snows, but—” Mary Margaret shrugs, and none of them are lying anymore. Well, at least not quite as blatantly as five seconds before. Will’s smile almost looks legitimate.

“You’re thinking of an outdoor wedding?” Aurora asks. “In the winter?” Another shrug, hints of color rising on Mary Margaret’s cheeks. “Early December, and we probably won’t be outside for very long. Mostly just the ceremony, and some of the pictures. There’s a certain kind of romanticism to the city in December, isn’t there?” Aurora doesn’t look overly convinced. Killian barely notices — is admittedly very preoccupied with the look on Emma’s face, and how it almost feels a little wistful and maybe just as romantic and not kissing her is somehow a victory and loss all at the same time.

“You know,” Aurora says slowly, like she’s about to impart a crucial piece of information on them, “if we’re being honest, I am actually surprised this is happening.” One of Killian’s fingers flutters. Where it’s tangled with Mary Margaret’s, and Emma hasn’t blinked in years. Possibly longer. “Weddings? Or another wonderful event put on by Pendragon?”

“Bet they didn’t try and find this venue that far in advance,” Will mumbles. Emma closes her eyes. That’s like—half a blink, at least.

Aurora shakes her head, still looking far more serious than the situation requires. “No, no, no, well...you and Emma are always together at work, aren’t you?”

Breathing is a challenge.

Gritting his teeth less so, the overall tension in Killian’s jaw threatening to do permanent damage. Emma hasn’t opened her eyes yet.

“We’re friends,” he reasons, and if he were actually engaged to Mary Margaret he’d be almost offended by this whole conversation.

Lying likely robs him of any right to relationship-based offense, though.

“Oh no, no, I know,” Aurora says, without sounding entirely honest, “and I’m sure it’ll be a gorgeous wedding. Just—if we had to guess, I think most people at Pendragon would have thought it’d be the two of you.” If nothing else, this night has provided a massive insight into all the facial expressions Mary Margaret is capable of making. At least half a dozen that Killian was previously unaware of, including the current one — a mix of disgust and appropriate scandal, and Killian resists the urge to point out that he and Emma probably couldn’t date, even if they wanted to, which they are, but that’s...that’s beside the point.

Entirely. Like a different hemisphere from the point.

Aurora gives a tight-lipped smile.

“When did you and—” Will clicks his teeth, effectively redirecting the conversation. “—Phillip, was it?” Aurora hums. “Guessing you two didn’t get married in the winter, did you?” Whatever else she says gets lost in the buzz between Killian’s ears, the overall state of his heart continuing to threaten the structural integrity of his ribs, and Mary Margaret gives his hand several squeezes. To recapture his attention and whatever professionalism he’s barely clinging to, and she’d been right about romanticism.

Of which he’s clearly bordering on hopeless at this point.

Emma smiles.

And Aurora excuses herself eventually — Phillip appearing like an unknowing brunette knight in conversational-armor, all four of them nearly exhaling in tandem.

“So,” Will says, “scale of one to ten, how much did we suck at that?” “A forty-seven,” Mary Margaret replies, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder while he finally lets out the scoff that’s been bubbling in the center of his throat.

“Next winter, huh? For real?” She makes a noise that’s presumably some sort of agreement, and Emma’s smile doesn’t waver. “Thinking about it. If Scarlet will double check with Belle about taking pictures in front of the library.” “Public property,” he replies, “don’t have to double check.” “But can we go inside at some point?” Killian asks.

“Wimping out about temperature already?” “Expressing concerns, like Aurora who is—” “—A wedding genius, apparently,” Emma mutters, and Mary Margaret’s shoulders shake. She still hasn’t touched her wine. Eventually that will prove important.

“Got a lot of opinions when it comes to other people’s plans, at least.”

“Eh,” Will argues, “did we give her much of a chance to delve into those opinions, or was Killian too busy making eyes at Emma?”

Continuing to open his mouth without actually saying any words is frustrating. For Killian. And the state of his heart, which cannot seem to find a rhythm anymore. Especially when Emma flushes, and threatens to stare a hole into the floor and of the two dresses she owns that are currently making the rounds at this party, the one she’s actually wearing is better.

Probably because she’s wearing it.

“I told you,” Mary Margaret grumbles, without any of her previous ability to chastise. She sounds almost amused.

“Although,” Will adds, “Emma’s not doing much better, so—” Huffing out a breath only serves to flutter the few strands of hair that frame either side of Emma’s face, and that’s only vaguely messing with Killian’s perception of...reality, maybe. “Ok, you do not get to point out my own,” she leans closer, like that will help the volume of her next few words, “fake relationship shortcomings.” “Why not? It’s making all of this endlessly entertaining.” “I’m a better fake date than you,” Mary Margaret says. “You had to use your own wedding plans because you can’t take your ring off.” “That is nice!” People likely don’t turn the way Killian’s brain has already convinced him they do, but every one of Emma’s teeth is visible when she grits them like that and both of their potentially-obvious fake dates look properly ashamed.

“Sorry,” Will grumbles, while Mary Margaret twists her heel and whispers, “no more wedding talk, I promise.” Emma laughs. That’s—surprising. And it’s not quite the laugh Killian’s also started claiming as his, but that feels almost possessive, and she’s definitely carrying less tension between her shoulders than he is. “I think that ship has sailed,” she says. “Should have thought about your outfit beforehand.” “Killian likes the dress,” Mary Margaret smiles.

“Yeah, well Killian likes me, so…” Tugging Emma against his side, Will lets out another noise that will only garner them more attention, and people are starting to dance. The party fund could not afford a band. Or a DJ. Or anything more than what sounds like slightly muffled speakers and someone’s Spotify premium account. Killian hopes it’s premium, at least.

Hearing ads in the middle of this instrumental Christmas music might be the last straw. For his sanity.

“Well,” Will says, “if Mary Margaret’s going to start planning weddings, then I guess I do have to step my game up. C’mon, Em—let’s show ‘em what we’ve got.”

“And what do we have, exactly?” “Impeccable rhythm, and the lingering knowledge of a Groupon dance class.” “Do people still use Groupon?” Emma challenges, and Killian loves her an absolutely ridiculous amount. For several thousand things, but at this very moment, it’s mostly how her voice causes Will’s eyes to bug again and his tongue to poke between his lips and maybe the whole night isn’t a total disaster. He should tell her he loves her.

Sooner rather than later.

“My girlfriend,” Will replies, “who will totally be able to sneak Mary Margaret and David into the New York Public Library to avoid frostbite and ensure very pretty pictures, presumably on that fancy staircase they’ve got.” “Nothing sets the tone for a winter wedding like some casual breaking and entering,” Killian says, barely containing his grunt when Mary Margaret’s foot shifts. On top of his.

Emma rolls her eyes.

They’re just playing the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas now.

“We’d appreciate whatever rules Belle could break for us,” Mary Margaret promises, “and will not mention that she’s the only person still using Groupon. Like, in the world.”

Will’s tongue is going to dry out. “Get on my fake date level, almost-Nolan.” “Shout that louder, please,” Emma groans. “And does the staircase not have a name? Fancy staircase cannot possibly be the acceptable vernacular.” “Probably not, because no one actual uses the word vernacular in actual conversation. Now you’re just trying to show off.” “Sound suspiciously like you’re impressed with my vast vocabulary, Scarlet.”

“Product of your profession.” “Grand, I think,” Killian says, fully prepared for Emma’s slightly parted lips. He will argue he’s prepared, at least. One of his knees does threaten to buckle though, and Will’s current eye-roll rate cannot possibly be healthy.

“The profession?”

“The staircase.”

“Oh. That’s pretty lame, actually. It doesn’t have like a—staircase sponsor?” “Not that I’m aware of, but the entrance hall is called Astor Hall.” “Similar to the place of the same name?” Will quips. “Or—” “—The guy from the Titanic?” Mary Margaret finishes. “Why do you know about this?”

Killian lifts one shoulder. The one not currently providing rest for Mary Margaret’s head. “I know everything, a good fake-girlfriend would know that.” “And a legitimate girlfriend would dispute that,” Emma says, “plus, the Astors own or have endowed like half of New York. This is not impressive knowledge, and don’t get Mary Margaret talking about Titanic, she’ll start waxing poetic about Leonardo DiCaprio.” “I do have a longstanding crush on Leonardo DiCaprio,” Mary Margaret admits. “If I start quoting things about a real party and point out that Kate Winslet was willing to dance, will that get you guys to move?” Will demands. “Because we’re starting to draw attention and that’s probably not going to help our quest.” “It’s a quest now?” Killian asks.

“Way more dramatic that way, so yeah.” “Please don’t start quoting Titanic at me,” Emma requests, pulling on the front of Will’s jacket and it’s a testament to their dedication to this ridiculous plan, or quest, that he wore a jacket. No matter how bad a plan it might be.

Or quest. Whatever, honestly.

“Alright,” she continues, “show off the lessons, or I’ll make fun of you for the foreseeable future.” Will winks. Not well, but possibly better than Killian is capable of, and he’s going to blame the wine. “Prepare to be absolutely wowed, m’dear.”

Rolling her eyes doesn’t do anything to shift the smile off Emma’s face, although she does look at Killian before she moves and the jealousy clouding his overall sense of being is as antiquated as the music and as absurd as anything else.

Impressive, considering their overall barometer for absurd.

“When do you think Aurora got married?” Killian asks, rolling his head towards a sympathetic-looking Mary Margaret. “Spring? June? That’s cliché, right?” “June,” she echoes. “Probably required her dozen bridesmaids to help her hand-make table favors, too. Just to really drive the point home. You want something else to drink?” “Yes, obviously.” Narrowing her eyes slightly when she nods, makes it more difficult to look at her — but that might also have something to do with the amount of alcohol Killian’s already consumed, and he really does appreciate how often Mary Margaret keeps making him eat. Even when it appears everything on this catering menu comes with bacon. “Don’t do that, ok?” he asks, at least two of their allotted four party-hours later.

She lifts her eyebrows. “Keep texting my fiancé?” “Maybe you are the worse fake date.” “Well, you’re speaking in tongues now, so—” Shrugging, Mary Margaret’s shoulder doesn’t collide with Killian’s, but he’s also starting to feel a little buzzed. And hating bacon. And possibly happiness. On principle.

Will and Emma keep dancing. Which also keeps them from having to interact with anyone else, but his buzzed-mind doesn’t care, and this whole thing was mostly his idea and that’s starting to really annoy him.

That might be his base setting at this point.

“Bacon,” Killian clarifies, “don’t allow the national obsession with bacon to affect your food decisions when you—” Footsteps move by them, curious eyes and he’s not a frog, so his blood cannot possibly run cold. Plus, it’s honestly way too warm in this room. “We,” he amends, somehow rushing over two letters, and Mary Margaret noticeably sags against his side. “What was that about this being a dumb idea?” “Ah, getting fired at Christmas-time sucks. How will you buy us all presents, then?” Laughing helps loosen the knot of emotion that’s been growing increasingly tight in Killian’s chest, and the ends of Mary Margaret’s lips quirk up when he kisses the top of her hair. “Bacon is vastly overrated, though,” she adds, “people are obsessed with it.” “It’s weird, right?” “Definitely. Should I apologize for getting you engaged against your will?” Kissing her hair again is easier than responding, because responding might force Killian to contend with a lot of life-type plans he’s only half concocted, and he really should tell Emma he loves her first. Like, more than he realized.

Until he had to pretend he didn’t.

“Nah, but you can explain it to David because I don’t want my story to get interrupted when he inevitably starts laughing.” “You wanna dance?” Smirking at her does not have the same effect it has on Emma. And that’s definitely a good thing, but Killian’s drifting towards melancholy and the music isn’t instrumental anymore. Michael Bublé is a Christmas requirement, though.

He flips his wrist.

“Sweep you off your feet, Miss Blanchard.” She’s closing in on Will for number of pointed, if not passably amused, eye rolls. Still, Mary Margaret’s hand lands in his, and Emma’s eyes definitely drift towards them — which is as bad as it is good, and Michael Bublé’s version Santa Baby might actually be the worst thing that’s happened to any of them. All night.

“Not exactly the pinnacle of music, is it?” Killian mumbles, and Mary Margaret hasn’t stepped on his foot. Or pointed out how close they linger to Will and Emma, both of whom look as unenthused by the music choices.

And maybe it’s because he keeps staring, or possibly because Will is not the asshole he likes to pretend to be, but Killian is not entirely prepared for his friend to spin his fake date closer, or mutter something about cutting in that makes Mary Margaret laugh and Emma’s jaw drop and she steps on his foot.

It’s the best thing that’s happened to him. All night.

“We are not good at this,” Emma says, but she doesn’t sound all that upset about it and the buzz between his ears lessens. Turns into something warm and hopeful, and she’s close enough that he can smell her shampoo.

“Something to be said for effort though, right?” “I’m not sure we’re making much of an effort.”

Nosing at her hair proves her point, but Killian’s—an idiot, and willing to blame romance, and the holiday season, and all the wine. So much. Even more bacon. God, he hates bacon. “Scarlet’s not subtle. And you look incredible.” “Do those sentiments go together?” “No,” Killian answers, “but true all the same.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Twirling her away, only to bring her back just as quickly, Killian doesn’t try very hard to avoid the smirk. So, he’s kind of a glutton too. For punishment, and poorly-timed emotions, and there’s a rather obvious glint in Emma’s eyes that leaves him breathless. Plus, she sort of slams back into his chest. “God,” she grumbles, “lacking some grace, huh?” “Eh, we’ll get there.” “Will we just?” He only realizes what he’s said when he notices the way her voice drops — rasped between lips that are redder than usual, and difficult to hear over goddamn Michael Bublé, and he’s totally staring at her lips. Obviously, he’s sure. “Yeah,” Killian nods. “Guaranteed.”

Part of him worries. Suddenly, Immediately. Overwhelming—ly. But Emma doesn’t move, and they’re more swaying than dancing now, and Mary Margaret’s footsteps are rushed. In a dramatic, everything is blowing up sort of way.

That sucks, admittedly.

“What are you—” Emma starts, but Mary Margaret just shakes her head. Yanking on Killian’s sleeve, she threatens to rip the fabric and he’s never heard her use any of those words.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hisses.

Killian tilts his head. “Be more specific.”

“Lance Sinqua is here. Is he supposed to be here? Why didn't either of you tell me he was going to be here?”

“He works in acquisitions, I think.” “I thought you knew everything,” Emma teases, and he has to bite the other side of his tongue. To stop from kissing her.

Making out, more like. “I’ve had a lot of wine,” Killian reasons, “Should I be more concerned about why Sinqua being at his own holiday party is a problem?” Swatting at his side with both hands, Mary Margaret all but snarls. Emma looks appropriately surprised. “I know him,” Mary Margaret says, pausing between every word for emphasis. “And he has seen me.” What feels like the weight of several words and half a dozen ridiculous plans and/or quests fall into the pit of Killian’s stomach. Where they immediately crush a variety of internal organs. “Will’s distracting him now,” Mary Margaret explains, “but—he doesn’t know David personally, just that I’ve got a boyfriend—” “—Fiancé,” Emma corrects lightly, but the tone changes again and Killian’s never gone into shock before. He assumes it feels suspiciously like this.

“I do not care; at all. Just—Killian, you’ve got to come. Now. Like right now.”

Nodding hurts his neck again, but Killian’s legs move on their own and his hand finds Mary Margaret’s and thinking about the look on Emma’s face isn’t healthy. Makes him want to stand on a table, or something equally absurd. Shout several things from several different rooftops, and he wonders if she’ll have to wear a red dress for the wedding.

The real one, not whatever one he and Mary Margaret are going to lie about.

And to his credit, Will’s attempts to run distraction do look admirable. Moving hands and a nearly legitimate smile, while Lance nods in interest and continued conversation, and Killian squeezes Mary Margaret’s hand. In what he hopes is solidarity.

“Hey,” Will exhales, as soon as he sees them, “here he is.” Killian’s cheeks ache. “Present and accounted for. You must be Lance, Mary Margaret said you’re old friends.” “Ah, I don’t know about old,” Lance objects, “but certainly the rest of it. I didn’t know she’d be here, would have asked you guys for drinks before or something.”

There’s really no word for the sound Mary Margaret makes at that. Part squeak, and what sounds like an admission, but that says a lot more about Killian’s growing guilt and residual jealousy and—

“How long have you two been engaged?”

Racking his brain, Killian’s had too much to drink for this. He’s dimly aware of Mary Margaret swaying closer to him, Will’s grimace all but broadcasting how unprepared they are for that particular question, but it also seems like he’s trying to tell Killian something. He does not understand. Fuck boxed wine, quite frankly.

He opts for honesty.

Sort of.

It worked for Mary Margaret, after all.

Sort of.

“We’ve, uh—” Killian starts, “—been engaged only a couple of weeks, but...we’ve been dating since March.”

Will’s shoulders droop. His eyes turn imploring, but he can’t actually say anything and Lance is, so it absolutely does not matter. “March?” he echoes. “Your friend said it was kind of a whirlwind romance. Got together in the summer.” His mouth does more than open. His jaw drops, nearly to his ankles and shoes that he actually got polished because this party isn’t super important, but Killian wanted to look nice on his fake date and Mary Margaret’s hand is the only reason he doesn’t fall over.

“Ah,” Killian breathes, “right. That’s—yeah, that’s right.” Lance doesn’t look convinced, either. He should go talk to Aurora. Who keeps glancing at Emma, like she’s got like SONAR. Joke doesn’t even make sense. In Killian’s head.

“We’ve been celebrating a bunch of different anniversaries,” Mary Margaret cuts in, speaking so quickly it’s as if that lie jumps out of her mouth, does cartwheels and then gets a four from the Russian judge for lack of proper execution. “Y'know...romance, and everything. He’s uh—Killian must be thinking of when we met.” Lance quirks an eyebrow. He might hate Lance. He definitely hates Lance. “You’ve only known each other since March.” “Oh my God,” Will mumbles, scratching behind his ear. And really, that’s not what does it. But it’s certainly a tipping point, or a metaphorical straw, and Killian nods once before he lifts Mary Margaret’s hand to his mouth, mumbles thanks against her knuckles and marches directly towards his actual girlfriend.

Who is standing directly under the mistletoe.

It’d be more impressive if she wasn’t, honestly.

And the music doesn’t stop — although Killian can’t really hear it either, an arm finding Emma’s waist, and her hands landing flat against his chest and someone cheers. Will. It’s definitely Will. Heads turn towards them, surprise coloring more than a few of their co-workers faces, while others look...less so.

Killian doesn’t bother dwelling on that. He’s got more important things to do.

“I’m pretty ridiculously in love with you,” he says, Emma’s eyes getting brighter and her lips as distracting as ever. Several of the less-than-surprised faces aww. Audibly. Which doesn’t quite make sense, but he’s still not dwelling and—“Not admitting to dating you is driving me nuts.” “When is your lease up?” “What?” “Were those words confusing in that order?” Emma asks, infusing the question with false confidence that he can hear perfectly and she should have confidence in spades. At least when it comes to this.

Maybe if they get to keep their jobs.

“A little,” Killian concedes. “Are you—do you want me to move in with you?” “A ridiculous amount.”

“That’s admittedly not the best adjective I could have used.” “Eh, I won’t get particular with syntax.” “Stop showing off,” Will yells, “and kiss other directly on the mouth!”

There’s a general hum of agreement — even while Lance continues to look a little confused, and Aurora looks a little offended, both of which makes sense because they were fairly awful liars, and someone’s given Arthur a microphone. So the owner of Pendragon Publishing can tell them, “Literally everyone knew, you both suck at not making out in the break room.”

Heat wafts off Emma, climbs up Killian’s neck and takes root in both of his cheeks and Arthur is not done.

“It’s not encouraged. Intra-office relationships, usually way more trouble than they’re worth, but, well—all you really need to do is sign some paperwork with HR and maybe find some other corners that are less obvious.” Nodding slowly only makes it more obvious the kind of strain all of Killian’s muscles are under, but he can’t come up with a feasible response to that and Emma’s fingers curl. Into his shirt, and he imagines that makes it easier — when she yanks him forward, lips slanting over his and she doesn’t have to push up the way she normally does. Still, Killian’s fairly certain he hears one of her heels pop out of her shoes, and if this is how it feels when a heart beats its way out of a person’s chest, it’s actually fairly comfortable.

“I love you too,” Emma mumbles, against his mouth. So, the only reasonable response is to kiss her again. Several times over.

And they do fill out paperwork, eventually — the story of the fake date fiasco, as David comes to call it, perfect fodder for Emma’s maid of honor speech, and proof positive of the inherent romanticism of the city at Christmas.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #i was not kidding about the amount of christmas fic #i've got three more prompts to write and also the blue line stuff i rewrote and a new time travel chapter tomorrow #guess who's stressed in a holiday sort of way???

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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 2: Where Has It Gone?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Prowl, Jazz, Bluestreak Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 1549

( Previous )

Earth. For the time being, it looked like they’d be calling it home—along so with a host of Decepticons. With the Prime’s skills at diplomacy, the humans hadn’t quite welcomed the Autobots, but had at least agreed to leave them alone when they promised they intended no harm. And, once the Decepticons began to attack human establishments in search for energy and resources, the Autobots’ opposition of their enemy faction had warmed the humans to them further.

These were the kinds of details Sunstreaker didn’t care too much about, though. He held no love for the squishy organics that populated the planet, and the whole place was so full of… Dirt.

And now they were stuck here for the foreseeable future. His only consolation was the fact there were still Decepticons to fight to combat some of the boredom that might have otherwise come, and he had to admit that there was a strange kind of beauty to the alien world. Not to mention it had a star it orbited. They had stopped at other planets on the way to the accident that landed them here; daylight wasn’t something he hadn’t seen before, but it would be a long time before he got used to it after the eternal night Cybertron had been clad in for the entirety of his lifetime.

Sunrises and sunsets in particular were something to marvel at, and even now Sunstreaker sat on the edge of one of the Ark’s engines, the spaceship’s rear so protruding from the mountain it had been buried under for the longest time. It offered an excellent vantage point over the desert and the setting sun in the horizon. His drawing tablet was held steadily in his servos as he painted the sight with sure strokes of his stylus. It was a pleasure to even have a drawing tablet again, after he hadn’t possessed one since the beginning of the war. Excuse him for making the most of it now that he could.

Sideswipe’s voice rose from below him where his brother was chatting with Bluestreak and Jazz at Ark’s entrance. Sunstreaker let the conversation wash through him, Sideswipe’s laughter the only thing that he allowed to ring loud and clear in him. There was something about a bet relating to Prowl that Smokescreen had been organizing, Sideswipe’s intrigue over it clear. Jazz was always going to win any and all bets related to Prowl, but that never stopped others from trying to get even partial winnings. Wasn’t some fun at the expense of the black and white doorwinger just fun?

It was indeed, up until a fourth voice joined in. “I heard that.”

Sunstreaker grinned at Prowl’s flat and entirely unamused tone when the SIC joined them, his wings twitching stiffly in clear indication that he wasn’t all that pleased. Bluestreak squeaked and began to stammer apologies at once. Sideswipe just went on to laugh outright, as unapologetic as Jazz who wrapped an arm across Prowl’s shoulders. “Aw, Prowler. Just a bit of fun in good spirits, yeah? No harm intended, whatsoever.”

Prowl wasn’t having it, but Jazz was a terrible mech to argue with. With grins and playful words he shot down each of Prowl’s complaints until the tactician was dragging a servo down his faceplates, looking beyond frustrated.

Sideswipe was still snickering at the two, but Sunstreaker’s attention was pulled back to his work. The sun was going too low to be an useful reference anymore, but he was almost done anyway. One detail was fixed, other two added as he captured the last of the colors onto the screen, and then… He wasn’t going to make it look any better without spending an eternity on it.

Satisfied, Sunstreaker subspaced his tablet before pushing himself over the edge entirely, taking the too long fall down and landing heavily in the middle of the conversation. He took the pain in his legs gladly just for the others’ reactions. Sideswipe didn’t react in any way, of course; Jazz’s visor flashed and Prowl’s wings jerked and that was already quite a bit of reaction from them, but Bluestreak jumped back in fright. “Oh, Primus, Sunstreaker, can you not do that?” he squeaked. “I swear you’re going to snuff my spark one day with the scares you give by creeping up on mecha, and I don’t know how you even do it but it’s really disconcerting–!“

Satisfactory. “Do you want me to tell Ratchet that you’re apparently once again trying to injure yourself with foolhardy stunts?” Prowl asked from him, continuing on with laying down the effect his too sudden entries had on others–

There was just the slightest tug of a smirk at the corners of Sunstreaker’s mouth and he shrugged, uncaring despite the threats of getting Ratchet involved—which would end in something painful. In response Prowl’s doorwings hiked higher, but before he could gear up to more admonishment, Sideswipe clicked for their attention.

“As much as I’d love to stay and listen to your lovely voice,” his brother winked at the SIC, “I’ve got an early patrol in the morning. Figure I oughta go catch some recharge before that. Wouldn’t want to give the ‘Cons an easy kill ‘cause I was runnin’ low on charge.” In the middle of that Sideswipe set towards the Ark’s interior, Sunstreaker trailing a step after him.

“Have a good night!” Bluestreak wished after them, Jazz repeating the sentiment.

And Prowl, poor, poor Prowl only looked more aggravated. They’d inevitably do something to land themselves in his office again, though, they always did. He could lecture them all he wanted then.

And they would tune it all out and have no answers when Prowl demanded them to tell him what he’d just said. Then they’d be handed a punishment of some sort… Rinse and repeat ad infinitum. They never learned, much to their commanders’ eternal chagrin.

They headed straight to their quarters, Sideswipe practically dancing the way and Sunstreaker walking in a more sedate manner next to his energetic half. They passed a couple of mecha Sideswipe had friendly words for, Sunstreaker’s offer a glare, before they came to their door. Inside Sunstreaker laid down on their berth on his back, Sideswipe crawling on top of him, chest to chest. Their spark halves pushed on the insides of their spark chambers as they settled, drawn to each other with inescapable demand—but they didn’t merge their cores, only their fields. “Gotta find Smokes in the morning,” Sideswipe murmured. “I want in on that bet.”

“Shower and polish, too,” Sunstreaker added, letting his optics close once the lights in the room turned off. Sideswipe giggled.

“Wash before a dusty patrol, that’s such a good idea. It’s a backroads patrol, too.”

“It is.”

“Shower and polish. I need to get up early for that. Only need my ratios after the patrol.” Air pushed from Sideswipe’s vents as he relaxed fully and let silence fall despite his dislike of it, Sunstreaker taking his weight and doing the same. They set the length of their frames’ recharge cycles to give themselves enough time in the morning, before initiating them for their systems to power down.

They didn’t get the chance to run the full course of it, though. It was only three hours later according to their chronometers when there was a knock on their—careful, but loud enough to rouse them. They tensed, confused and still in the middle of bringing their systems online, but as ever, their combat programming reached its peak before anything else. Even if it was danger, they would be prepared.

However, a ping for identification said it was only Bluestreak. Sideswipe triggered the door to open. “Come in.”

Bluestreak’s optics glowed in the dark as he stepped into their room, wringing his servos together. “Thanks. I uh, ha-had a bad memory purge, I’m not really sure why because I haven’t done anything special, but I had one anyway a-and I really wouldn’t want to be alone right now but I can go if I’m bothering you–“

The twins untangled themselves and Sunstreaker scooted to the side until he was against the wall. Sideswipe gestured for Bluestreak to join them, his brother settling down next to Sunstreaker and beckoning Bluestreak to lay down on his other side. “’Course. C’mere and lemme cuddle you. I need a cuddlebuddy.”

Bluestreak cracked a small smile but took the invitation, nearly tripping over his own pedes in his rush to get the comfort of another. “I know you prefer to cuddle Sunny,” he said even as he got on the berth and burrowed into Sideswipe’s side, his doorwings in the open space behind him.

“Yeah, well, variety’s the spice of life,” Sideswipe grinned. “Plus he’s right there, so.” Sunstreaker huffed but let his optics offline again, Sideswipe doing the same. They didn’t continue their recharge cycles right away, though, instead waiting until Bluestreak began to relax and then, eventually, fell into his own recharge entirely, the sounds of his systems evening out. It likely wouldn’t be the last time they got the gunner in their berth like this, but it was big enough to accommodate all three of them, so what did it matter?

Besides, he was a friend, and wasn’t this what friends did?

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #bluestreak #jazz #prowl #fic #2021 #disaster

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yolkyeomie · 3 years

Text

Trade Off of Gifts | Bang Chan

summary — no one knows the world of an artists as well as you do, at least that’s what you thought until he decided to show up one day

word count — 1.7k words

pairing — chan x gender neutral!reader

genre — fluff, artist!reader with a tiny hint of musician!chan (even tho he’s already a musician???)

disclaimer — just something tiny for all your fast and short topher needs !!

Being someone who is artistically gifted has its perks, leaving you to be more creatively thoughtful than most of the people around you.

The world and its people was one big incomplete painting to you, splashes of colors being splattered into its surface as you began to maneuver through it. You were the artist who determined what colors were allowed to stay and what colors no longer fit the narrative you were trying to create. It was a tiresome and even lonely job when you had to pick up a brush and bring a new color into your final masterpiece, but it was a rather exciting process nonetheless.

Different colors meant different things and different shades indicated different tones. Sometimes they’d change meanings and sometimes they’d stay the same, it always depended on how you felt that day. You could never explain exactly what everything meant to you, thinking of it as some innate feelings you were born with.

You never bothered trying to help outsiders comprehend what you meant either, as it was easier to keep it to yourself instead of giving your thoughts and feelings for the world to see.

But then somehow, you were stumbled upon by someone who shared the same views as you. Someone who saw the world in a rather similar artistic and dreamy light as you did, and they weren’t even an artist who puts pen to paper.

“That’s a nice drawing,” the stranger told you, hovering over your shoulder like a hawk to its prey. You scrambled to your feet almost immediately, pressing your art to your chest in a defensive manner. You didn’t like it when people hovered over you while you were drawing, entranced in this magical world of fantasy and possibility when you doodled on whatever surface you.

Usually, people would interrupt you when you weren’t finished, commenting on how odd everything seemed and how empty your art looked.

But then it clicked in your head, the stranger didn’t make any sort of ignorant comment on it. He simply said it was nice.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your eyes darting down to the sketch you had created.

It wasn’t anything special, a half-done headshot of one of your friends from memory. It didn’t really look like any of your friends at the time either, there wasn’t enough detail on the features for it to be recognizable of who it was. “I mean, it’s not really done or anything so it’s not the best I’ve ever created but—“

“Really?” He questioned, his eyes widening to show off the little twinkling stars in his eyes and his mouth gaping open at your response. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his expression, nodding your head as an answer. “You’re a really good artist, you know that? Not many of my friends can even pick up a pencil if we really wanted to, but I guess that’s not really a compliment. Is portraits the only thing you draw?”

You lifted an eyebrow as he spoke, cautiously eying him and the choice of his words. He definitely wasn’t new to the whole artist thing, there was no way he was that knowledgeable on what artists liked to hear and what they didn’t like to hear and wasn’t an artist himself.

He even called you an artist instead of a “drawer”! If that wasn’t a dead giveaway of the fact that you were in the presence of an artistically gifted person then you don’t know what was.

“Not always,” you answered him, shrugging your shoulders as you tried to come up with a decent answer. “It really depends on my mood, but I like drawing portraits of people more than anything. It gives me an excuse to look at others without seeming… creepy? You know?”

“Oh…,” he nodded, a smile donning his face as he looked up at you. “So you’re a people watcher?”

“Not exactly,” you corrected him, “I just enjoy looking at people’s faces. You know, to catch every little detail that makes them unique to themselves. Everyone’s got something about them that’s different from everyone else and drawing lets me capture their uniqueness in a form that can be treasured forever.”

“That just sounds like an over-exaggeration of people watching,” the boy insisted, a laugh escaping his lips when he caught your frustrated glare digging daggers into his skull. “I’m kidding I promise! I completely understand what you mean. So who were you drawing just now then?”

Your expression immediately falls into a grimace, hesitantly peering towards your unfinished work to your friend. “Ah… this?” You ask him, trying to stall time from explaining your latest creation to him.

Through when you looked up to the boy he only nodded at your question and gave you the brightest smile he could. “It’s… it’s a drawing of a friend. He didn’t ask me to make this or anything, but I was just using him to practice faces.”

“You’re only practicing?” the boy gasped, scooting closer to you to steal another peek of your sketch from before. “That’s crazy, I would have thought you were working on an actual project and trying to get to the final piece!”

“You flatter me too much,” you joked, giving your sketch a half-smile. You appreciated the compliments he was showering you with, but there was no way you were actually living up to those expectations in your head. Being artistically gifted had its perks yet also had its more major downfalls: creating unattainable standards for yourself that you constantly set yourself up for failure was one of them. “I still have a long way to go before I can get anywhere near where I want to be.”

“I think where you are now is a great place, you should help yourself to the compliments when you get them. You deserve them,” he commented, a wide grin stretching across his face. Watching his lips turn into a smile made you so do the same, the atmosphere around him too addicting to go to waste. “Plus, I can tell you like it when people praise you.”

“Shut up, you ruined the moment,” you hissed, jumping to your feet to shove him out of your range of sight. The boy giggled at your reaction as he forced himself to stay put, not moving a singular inch no matter how hard you pushed him. “Leave! I don’t want you around me anymore, you ruined the moment!”

The boy thought about your words for a moment, as if he was trying to determine whether or not he wanted to leave you alone. “How about this,” he offered, spinning on his heel to face you. It caught you off guard for a moment, stumbling back on your feet as he shined that same smile from earlier on to you. “I’ll leave you alone now, but you have to let me come back and talk to you about your art more.”

You snorted, “I don’t even know you, why would I do that?”

He nodded in understanding, considering your comment before holding his hand out for you to shake. “Okay then, hi! I’m Bang Chan and I want you to let me come back another day and talk to you about your art. Does this make up for the lack of acquaintanceship?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you humor him, shaking his hand before sliding out a slightly impolite question from your lips, “Is Bang Chan asking to hang around me because he wants me to give him a free drawing? If so I’m sorry but I’m not confident enough in my skills to even make you anything if I wanted to. There’s a reason I’m practicing here you know.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he clarified, slumping back onto the ground and laying back with a content smile. “I don’t want free art, I just want to hear you talk about your art. Maybe people watch with you from time to time.”

“I’m not a people watcher.”

“Sorry,” Chan nodded, “maybe not-people-watch with you then.”

You went silent for a moment, looking down at the sketch in your hands and glancing back towards the boy. “So that’s all? You just want to… hang out with me while I draw? No strings attached? You’re not going to ask me to draw you for free in the future or make fun of my unfinished work at all?”

He nodded in response and pointed a finger at your head. “The mind of an artist is a very interesting place to explore because not every artist has the same thought process when it comes to their creations. I want to see how we differ from each other.”

“So you’re an artist as well?” You question, your eyes widening as you slowly began to realize what he had said.

“Wouldn’t exactly say an artist,” Chan laughed, downplaying his statement as much as possible. “More of a… musician? I guess? I make songs, but that’s nothing compared to being someone who puts a pencil to paper.”

So your hunch was correct, Chan was artistically gifted! Of course, it wasn’t exactly in the way you had thought before but the mere fact that he was like you made much more sense now. “A musician is still an artist,” you tell him, “just because you’re not creating art in that sense doesn’t mean you aren’t an artist. Art comes in many different forms you know, you can’t limit it to one medium.”

“Well my form of art isn’t very… how do I say this, it isn’t—“

“—You’re embarrassed.” You finished. As expected the boy came up with as many excuses as possible, trying to drill the false act into your head but utterly failing. All you could do was laugh as you spoke, “don’t worry! It’s normal to be closed off about the things you create, I’m embarrassed to show off my art to people all of the time.”

Chan nodded, nervously fidgeting with his hair as he tried to play off his flustered actions. “I guess that’s one thing we have in common right?”

“Make that two things,” you corrected him. He turned to you with a confused glint in his eyes as you held up two fingers and grinned at him as you explained, “we’re both artists and we’re embarrassed to show people our creations. Oh the woes of being artistically gifted, am I right?”

He nodded in agreement, a cheeky smile appearing on his face once again as he repeated, “oh the woes of being artistically gifted.”

#stayhavennet #kpop imagines #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop au #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids chan #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz chan #skz #bang chan imagines #bang chan #chan x reader #bang chan x reader

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sepublic · 4 years

Note

I can't believe Belos /is/ feathers and muds

…Wait a minute.

Belos is feathers and mud, he has the angelic motif combined with his goopy, liquidy body…

The curse was already pre-made by someone else, and sold to Lilith. It cast red light, similar to Belos’ spells… And only Belos can cure it.

We know he wanted the portal. We know that Eda was the one to get it. And we can assume that her connection with Wild Magic led her down a path that resulted in Eda finding the portal in the first place.

Belos ALSO has control over the entirety of the Oracle Coven, who can predict the future. He even personally appointed its Head Witch when he first established the Coven System, so the Oracle Head is likely personally loyal to him given how they supported Belos in a takeover with attitudes VERY contrary to the wild magic-friendly ideas of the time.

“Two witches torn apart, now alone… Two hearts of stone, a curse of feathers and mud, a betrayal of blood.”

…Did BELOS make the Curse of Feathers and Mud?! The one that cursed Eda?! If the curse came from, then the Betrayal of Blood was from Lilith… Two hearts of stone could be metaphorical towards Eda and Lilith’s botched relationship, or involve something else (not Eda and Lilith’s gems though, Dana confirmed those are just clothing-bits and Eda’s changing is a visual indicator that’s unique to her, unless Dana REALLY changed the meaning of Eda’s gem)… And the first stanza is self-explanatory!

Is the poem describing how Eda and Lilith remained separated, whilst naming the two culprits; Belos, who made the curse, and Lilith, who cast it?!

But why!? Did Belos just create a few curses to use on others, lost track of some of them, and somewhere along the line they ended up at the Night Market! And then when Lilith mentions the curse, Belos is like, “Hmm yes that sounds like something I made, which means I can fix it!”

Or, worse…

Did he get a prophecy –possibly from the Titan himself or the Oracle Coven- about the portal he needed being found by someone, a wild witch… And that if he wanted Eda to find this portal to begin with, Belos needed to let her continue down the path of rebellion that she intended for herself? But at the same time, Belos needed Eda to hand over the portal, and while he could always just swoop in and take it by force once Eda found the portal and he learned of this…

…Why not make it so that she’s dependent upon him? Use the power of the Oracle Coven to foresee events, and manipulate them… I’ve said before that regardless of the curse, Eda would always go on to be a wild witch, which likely means that she would’ve found the portal either way… So cursing Eda wouldn’t change her finding the portal; All it’d do is just make her more likely to trade in the portal in exchange for getting a cure!

Goodness, what if Belos cursed Eda because she’d get her hands on the portal, and he wanted to have some form of leverage over her that could lead her to handing it over!? Belos doesn’t know the exact circumstances of how the portal is recovered, only that they eventually are, so it’s best to let Eda do her own thing and figure it out on her own… And then he waits for a sign that Eda has the portal!

And then he gets it, when Warden Wrath mentions that a humanhelped Eda… So suddenly, Belos tells Lilith that he’ll cure her sister, in exchange for capturing her!

Mind you, this doesn’t exactly excuse Lilith for what she did, especially since as far as she knew, she was doing this all on her own. She doesn’t mention Belos, so even if he pulled the strings from the shadows, it’s still TOTALLY her fault… And even if it wasn’t Belos, we still know it’s partially the fault of whoever made and sold the curse to Lilith anyway, so! Not to mention Belos is already indirectly to blame for establishing a Coven System that encourages this sort of competition between siblings…

Plus, Eda likely already blames Belos for Lilith’s motivations for this precise reason; That even if Lilith has guilt, Belos is ALSO to blame for creating the Coven System that made her feel like she had to do this! Finding out that Belos had a more direct hand probably wouldn’t really shock or change much to Eda from a personal-grudge sort of sense, besides affirming what she already felt…

…Though, this DOES make me think back to what Episode 2 said about there being no magical destinies. But at the same time, the Oracle Coven exists, indicating that Oracle Magic is a VERY prolific and wide-spread field of magic (though it may also involve invoking the dead and not just future-sight)… Given what I speculated earlier, perhaps destiny is something that is easily changed and hinges entirely on the decisions of others; Hence why Belos doesn’t just take Eda for himself, because he knows that altering her life too much will influence circumstances and dispel the prediction he had in mind!

And THAT would tie into Episode 2’s idea of determining one’s fate, if it’s ultimately dependent upon one’s choices and thus liable to changing at any moment. It’d also explain why Belos lets Eda be her own person, as Eda making her own destiny on her own terms is what gets her the portal, not necessarily a divine will planned out from the very beginning! It would be Eda’s decisions that would make her own ‘destiny’ (an idea she specifically brings up in Episode 2), hence why Belos has to be careful about not influencing Eda too much… Hence, a curse that in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t really change Eda’s defiance towards the system!

(Of course, this is all speculative)

Granted, from a narrative perspective, it wouldn’t change much (beyond showing how much more of a threat Belos is/establishing the Oracle Coven more) if Belos DID manipulate things, as I said before… Eda already blames Belos for indirectly making Lilith curse her, finding out he had a more direct involvement would merely reinforce some already-passionate hatred.

Lilith didn’t have someone breathing down her neck when she made that choice, it was still fully her own and even if the system enabled her, Lilith is still guilty and knows it. Hence, why she’s making amends for it (not to mention how her sins go well beyond the curse, extending into her support of the Emperor’s Coven in general).

…But it’s definitely food for thought, isn’t it?

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house belos #emperor belos #speculation #ask #theory

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seokjinsdisciple · 4 years

Text

You’re On, Doll

requested!

You and Jaehyun are CEO’s of rival companies, hating each other for as long as you can remember. Will you be able to find common ground after an important file goes missing, or will the two of you never quite see eye to eye?

enemies to lovers! jaehyun x reader

warnings: degradation, oral fem recieving, they have sex in an office so, one thigh slap (i really held myself back ok), finger sucking, i think thats it?

word count: 2.6k

There was truly only one person on this planet that you hated with your whole being. It’s not like you made it a habit to argue with your other business competitors, but something about the way Jung Jaehyun carried himself left a bitter taste in your mouth.

So, you tried to ignore all possible encounters with him, something that was much harder when all of your friends were the same. That was one of the downsides of running a successful programming company, your world was small.

The situation you were currently in didn’t surprise you at all, your mind drifting from the girl beside you who hadn’t stopped trying to sell herself to your company, towards where Jaehyun sat. A smirk formed on his lips at your obvious disgust. This is one of the games he played, bring someone who either loved or hated your company and let them run wild during what was supposed to be a relaxing party.

“I don’t currently have any open positions,” you said to the girl, never breaking your gaze from Jaehyun’s. He wanted you to crack first and be the one to approach him, but you weren’t that weak, “please excuse me while I grab a drink.”

You made your way over to the drink table, smiling and chatting with a few people who lingered near it. You knew exactly who was approaching as their smiles dropped and weary glances came your way. You finished your drink, grabbing another before rolling your eyes and turning around.

“What do you want?” You asked, taking in the appearance of the man stood before you. It was no secret that Jaehyun was attractive, he always had been, but tonight it seemed to be worse. His suit was embroidered in gold, as if he were some sort of Mafia boss. The smirk that painted his face was only amplified by the way his hair was pushed back. His hands were stuffed casually in his pockets and if you hadn’t been so focused on what he looked like, you might’ve heard him respond, and then repeat himself, and then laugh.

“Am I that distracting?” He smiled as his hand wrapped around your wrist, tightly enough to spark a feeling of lust in your belly but not enough to hurt. Jaehyun knew you had a thing for his hands wrapped around your various body parts. He let out another laugh at your gaze, pulling you through the ballroom and into the hall.

“You aren’t distracting, you just look like you’re trying too hard,” you snapped, following behind him into a smaller living room.

“Is that why you were fucking me with your eyes?”

“I was not,” you hissed, a moan slipping from your lips as he attached his lips to your neck, hands drifting across your waist and across your open back, “Jae, I told you that we aren’t doing this anymore.”

He let out a little sigh, his forehead resting against your collarbone.

“You’re right, I know,” he muttered, hands still on your hips as he took a step away, “I’m sorry.”

You grabbed his hand lightly, leading him to sit on the couch next to you, “What's with the girl?”

“What girl?” Jaehyun asked, confusion crossing his face for only a minute before realization dawned on him, “Ah, she’s one of my interns, and I caught her looking up open positions in your company.”

“So you thought you would torture me as a punishment?” You asked, finishing your martini before resting your head against the back of the couch.

“What can I say, I hate disloyal employees,” he shrugged, finishing off his own whiskey before copying your position and turning his head to look at you, “Plus it was a win-win situation, I get to annoy the hell out of you and my mother doesn’t badger me to bring a date.”

“I don’t understand why people find you so charming,” you rolled your eyes, glancing at him, “and I really don’t understand how so many women end up in your bed.”

At this Jaehyun laughed, “Don’t forget you’ve been in my bed,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you slapped his arm lightly, “That was a lapse of judgment.”

“It was several lapses of judgment,” he smirked, “Unless you aren’t counting the times we weren’t in bed.”

“I’m only counting the times that you made me cum. So yes, it was a lapse of judgment,” you said, emphasizing the endings of the words. You were working him up now, and you knew it. You felt him before you even had a chance to process your assumed victory. His hand was on your thigh, his grip light, and barely-there as he spread your legs open. You held your breath, eyes fluttering closed as his finger ghosted over your core. His touch was gone in a second, a laugh in its stead as your eyes shot open.

“We both know that that’s a lie, doll,” Jaehyun smirked at the way you slightly squirmed in your seat, “See ya around, YN.”

Jaehyun smirked as your jaw dropped, waving with a smile as he left you in that room, turned on and frustrated. As much as you hated to admit it, you and Jaehyun had been fucking around for years now, and you just recently cut it off. If you were being honest, you missed him, but you would never admit that to anyone, let alone him. You just groaned at your luck, standing up and hurrying out of the room and back into the ballroom to retrieve your things.

You should have been suspicious then, the way he had led you out and distracted you. You didn’t notice though, at least not until a few days later that your file was missing and the only person who would want it had distracted you while his evil little minion had stolen the file from your purse. You were angry. Very angry. That file had a list of investors in it, and you’d be damned if Jung Jaehyun stole them from you.

So here you were, strutting through the lobby of his office. You pushed past security officers, most of them knowing who you were and glancing quizzically at their partners. ITs not like this was the first time you had been to his company if anything you had been there several times for peace meetings and just overall business. So you knew where you were going.

You made it to his office first, grunting in annoyance when it was empty. You strode around the corner, anger completely blinding you as you stormed into the middle of his conference room. Everyone stopped in their tracks, looking from Jaehyun to you. You nodded briefly at the CFO, your close friend Johnny, before speaking.

“Get your ass in your office, right now,” you growled, storming out of the board room and back into his office, praying that he would follow you. You breathed out a sigh of relief as you heard the lock click.

“What the hell is this all about?” Jaehyun asked, and you turned to look at him. Damn him. His hands were on his hips, his tie crooked and face flushed with anger.

“I want my file back.”

“I don’t have your file,” he said easily, the only indicator of his lie the small movement of his index finger against his hip.

“Jaehyun, I don’t have time for this. You’re lying. I know you’re lying. We both know you’re lying so give me my goddamn investor file before I lose my shit.”

He glanced out of the windows of his office, and you followed his gaze. A small crowd had gathered. They pretended to not look as our eyes fell onto them. Jaehyun let out an almost inaudible curse as he made his way to the window and hastily closed the blinds.

“You fucking ruin everything, you know that?” he asked, his voice much less angry than it had been before.

“I ruin everything?” you asked incredulously, “I ruin everything? Jaehyun you’re the one who stole my file! Since when have you ever done business this way, I mean Jesus! You’re acting like a-”

“Just shut up, and listen to me,” He raised his voice slamming his hand against the window, making you jump a little where you stood.

He turned to look at you then, his eyes glassy and cheeks redder than before, “I’m in love with you.”

You stood there for a moment, looking for his tell, looking for any sign that he was lying. You didn’t see anything, and suddenly your heart was beating at two times the speed, breath caught in your throat and nerves twisting your belly into knots.

“I’ve been talking to your dad, about merging the companies and being co-CEOs. I knew you’d never give your company up and I don't want you to. But Jesus, I can’t go on any more dates that my mother sets up for me because I don't want to marry any of them. I want to marry you. And I know that’s insane, and I know you hate me. But its the truth. It’s the truth,” he finished, his breathing ragged and refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jaehyun,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I think I love you too.”

“You- you do?” he asked, eyes snapping to where you stood, your anger completely melted and your eyes just as teary as his, “Say it again. God, please say it again.”

“I love you,” you muttered, your grin growing, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He rushed towards you then, lips finding yours messily, the two of you grinning too much to actually care. The force of the kiss pushed you back against his desk, the two of you exploring each other's bodies with your hands as if this was the first time. You melted into him, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress and tugging at it. When it was unzipped he pulled it off, never once breaking the kiss.

You tugged at his tie, bringing him as close to you as possible. You whined as he broke the kiss, arms leaving your body as he hastily cleared off a spot for you on his desk.

“Patience, princess,” he muttered as he kissed the side of your head, guiding you onto his desk, “Spread your legs for me, doll, let me take care of you.”

You wasted no time, complying easily to his command as he knelt before you. He was slow at first, kissing up the side of your leg as he gently eased your heels off of your feet. He paused his mouth as he reached the crux of your thigh and your core.

“Baby, you’re sure?” he asked, pressing a light kiss to your thigh, eyes locked onto yours as you nodded. You hissed when a lap landed on your inner thigh, “Tsk, you know the rules doll. Or has it been that long that I need to train you again, you filthy whore? Been too busy fucking other people that you forget my rules?”

“No sir,” you muttered out, the hint of a smile teasing Jaehyun’s lips, “haven’t had anyone but you. Want you to touch me now, please,” you babbled, willing to do and say anything to get him to finally touch you.

“My dirty girl hasn’t had anyone but me?” Jaehyun asked, an eyebrow raised and a shit-eating grin unable to be hidden on his face. You let out a needy whine, scooting your hips closer to his face, “Is my princess needy? Does she want a reward for being such a little slut for my cock and my cock only?”

“Please, sir,” you nodded desperately, not wanting to beg but getting to the point where you didn’t care anymore.

Jaehyun placed a soothing kiss to your core over your panties, hooking his finger underneath the hem as he spoke, “It’s ok, doll. Be nice and quiet for me, hm?”

You nodded again desperately, Jaehyun forgiving your lack of words just this once as he shimmied your underwear down. You tried your best to hold in your moans as he devoured you. The closer you came to your climax the harder it was to keep quiet. Having mercy on you, Jaehyun slid his hand up your body and pushed two fingers into your mouth. Letting you suck and drool on them as he continued to pleasure you. You were so so close, bucking and grinding your hips into his mouth as you came. You tried to be quiet, you really did. But if you were being honest, you couldn’t help the moan that left your body. Jaehyun’s tongue retreating but your body still shaking as you raked in deep breaths. He pulled you calmingly into his chest, whispering praises and pressing kisses to your hair as you calmed down.

He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear as he cupped your face, “Can you take more?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any sort of hesitation.

“Please Jae, I can take more, I promise,” you whispered, hands finding his tie and loosening it as he kissed your forehead. He undid his belt buckle quickly, shuffling his pants and boxers off quickly. He slid himself inside you, bottoming out with a small groan. He rested his forehead against yours as he waited for you to let him move. A small moan leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips.

He lost it then, all of his usual calm and cool composure was out the window as he thrusts into you. His pace was steady, but it was much faster than usual, something that had you biting your lip in order to ensure your moans were quieted. As he hit the sensitive spot deep within you, you let out a guttural moan, slapping a hand over your mouth as Jaehyun laughed.

“I thought I told you to be quiet?” he smiled, his previous dominance out the window as he pulled you into him. His thrusts are still powerful, but his actions are more loving and intimate than they were before. He kissed you gently as he thrusted, his pace faltering as you clenched around him.

“Jae-,” You whined, almost running away from him as his fingers found your sensitive and swollen clit, “I’m close.”

“Me too, love,” he whispered, rubbing more vigorously as you spasmed around him one more time. His lips met yours as your moans grew less discreet again, his mouth absorbing as much of them as he could. He was cumming swiftly after you, his fingers digging into your hips as he twitched inside you.

“I love you,” you spoke, wrapping your arms around him tightly and resting your chin on his broad shoulder.

“God, I love you too,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss as he eased himself out of you, “What do you say we skip the rest of our work today and spend the day in my bed, together?”

“That sounds like a dream,” you added, your limbs cooperating with his hands that were guiding you back into your clothes, “If you can make me squirt I’ll sign the merge papers.”

At this Jaehyun laughed, “Oh, you’re on, doll.”

You followed him out of his office, too happy to care about his employees' embarrassed faces and awkward stances. Jaehyun was finally yours, and you were finally his.

#jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127

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daretosnoop · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins

Chapter 1

This chapter is more descriptive heavy. I changed the layout of the upstairs area to include a bathroom and another bedroom.

At first, all Nancy felt was dizziness. It was strange. It wasn’t the first time she’d been knocked out by someone. But it was the first time it was done by a masked skull figure, and they didn’t exactly knock her out so much as throw, something, towards her face. Whatever it was, it was potent. She still felt woozy and would have gone back to sleep if it weren’t for the thunder and a woman’s voice.

“Here, drink this”.

The sudden smell of something bitter filled Nancy’s nose.

“Don’t give her anything strange, then I really will have to take her to the hospital,” came another, lower, voice.

“Oh hush now. Just get back to your work,” the woman snapped back. She turned towards Nancy and urged the drink.

“It will make the dizziness go away, dear”.

Ignoring all warnings of caution, Nancy reached for the drink and drank. It was bitter, not that she expected it to be anything else, but it worked. She quickly found herself coming back to terms with her surroundings.

“There’s a dear,” the woman said. “I’m Renee. Mind I ask what you were doing unconscious in the Bolet manor?”

“Someone attacked me”.

“Someone, attacked you?” Renee repeated, not understanding.

“Someone dressed as a skeleton attacked me. I’m Nancy Drew. I’m looking for Henry Bolet”.

“Girl, you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard? Should we take you to the emergency?”

“No,” the lower voice broke in. “No emergency rooms! I’ve already got enough to deal with, and this power outage doesn’t help matters!”.

Renee sighed and shook her head. She turned towards Nancy.

“If you need me, I’ll be out in my garden”.

Saying so, she got up and left out through some double doors.

“I’ll call them and put them on hold and see how they like it!” the low voice grumbled after Renee left the room.

Slowly, Nancy got up and looked around. The room was dimly lit. Candles were everywhere, decorating bookshelf after bookshelf. One bookshelf was oddly decorated by teeth, with each book depicting a tooth on its spine. Another had a stuffed lizard on it. Trophies decorated the other side of the room, and in the left hand corner a desk sat with a young man on a swivel chair.

“Uh,” Nancy called weakly, then cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Are you Henry Bolet?”

The swivel chair turned and she came face-to-face with an oddity of a man. He dressed sharply and was very fit, but he leaned into the red chair and slouched a bit. His crisp looks were contrasted with features that Nancy recognized as a goth look. Not quite one or the other, she thought.

“I am”.

“Uh, well. I guess I’m the woman who fell unconscious at your house. Sorry about that. Bad way to introduce yourself, though, I guess it could be worse.”

Henry looked at her perplexed. “How so?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I could be all up in your face demanding why you kidnapped my friend”.

“Okay,” Henry drawled.

“Long story. I’m Nancy Drew. We have a mutual friend, Ned Nickerson?” She held out a hand towards him. “Pleased to meet you”.

Henry shook her hand firmly.

“Ah Ned,” he started but then dropped the sentence. He knew who Ned was, barely. They shared accounting courses. Ned Nickerson blended into the class and Henry would have never thought to approach him. But somehow Ned noticed him and stuck around to give a friendly wave and smile.

“He’s, persistent,” Henry concluded.

“Well, that’s Ned for you,” Nancy said, giving Henry a bright smile.

Ned was the only one to notice Henry being even more gloomy and withdrawn as usual. Perhaps he overheard the phone calls Henry had with Bruno Bolet’s doctor and solicitor. Henry didn’t know, but Ned asked him how he was coping with his uncle’s loss. When Henry said he was going to New Orleans, Ned insisted on having someone check in on him.

“I’m guessing he sent you here to check on me. I kind of come off as needy, but I’m fine, really. So you can just go on home and tell Ned I’m fine. Go out and enjoy New Orleans”.

Henry didn’t really understand why Ned would send some friend over. They barely knew each other, so this Nancy person would find things even more awkward. It was best to just get this over with. The sooner she left, the better it would be. The whispers were chattering amongst themselves. They weren’t loud, and they seemed at ease. It was a new sensation.

Skull… find… mask… skull… her…

“I can’t just leave! I don’t know how you’re doing. Plus,” Nancy started to shift her weight from one foot to another. “You see. I’m the type of person, well,” she sighed. “Look, I just can’t let go of what I saw”.

“What did you see?”

“The door was open so I stepped inside. When I entered the living room, there was a man dressed in all black with a skeleton mask. He threw something at me and I got knocked out”.

She’s really lost it.

“I have not lost it!” Nancy snapped, reading his face.

“Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”

“I know what I saw, and I’m determined to figure it out”.

Well, at least she’s not bothering him about his feelings.

“Can I at least look around for some clues. I promise not to break anything”.

Henry sighed.

“Alright. But I better warn you. Uncle Bruno was eccentric and into all sorts of exotic pets and things. So be careful. Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean they are”.

Way to sound ominous Bolet. He didn’t mean to scare her, but also didn’t want to deal with a bigger headache than the one his uncle left for him.

But Nancy just smiled, thanked him, and left the room.

Nancy really didn’t understand why Ned asked her to go and visit some classmate of his. He even acknowledged that he barely knew this Henry Bolet, but she’d be damned if she let the Nickerson charm fail now on account of her. Everyone became enthralled by a Nickerson. So she came down to the French quarters of New Orleans with a friend, Bess Marvin, for a week of good sights and good food, only to have it pour down rain for two days. Trapped in their hotel room, she and Bess called their friends, Ned and Bess’s cousin, George Fayn. It was there that Ned requested her to check in on Henry, and seeing as the rain had no intention of stopping, Nancy went alone.

She was expecting it to be a simple check-in, nothing longer than an hour or two. When she knocked on the door, on one answered. She learned from the concierge that most folks kept their doors open in New Orleans. It wasn’t just on account of friendly neighbours It was also to allow ghosts to exit the house after accidentally entering it. Apparently, ghosts became cranky if they get trapped in a house. Twisting the knob, she entered the manor and went to the foyer. Towards her right was a room and she walked towards it. A person stood in a black tailcoat and boots with his back to her. She called out to them and as they turned, a shiver ran along her shoulders. The person had no face. Or rather, their face was obscured with a skull mask. Before she could ask who they were, what they were doing here, why even were they wearing a mask, the electricity went out. Rats, she thought. Trapped in an empty house with a skeleton person, well done Nancy. A flicker went off and a flash of lightning lighted the room. Within that brief time, the skeleton person managed to tramp up to her, close enough for her to see the eyes underneath the mask. They threw some powder in her face and between her stinging eyes and choked coughs, Nancy lost consciousness.

Had she not been an experienced detective, Nancy knew she probably would have become one today. She went back to the living room and started to investigate. The skeleton figure was inspecting the model cemetery when she entered, so she headed towards it. It was really beautiful and Nancy could see why it would have won an award. This Bruno person clearly appreciated cemeteries from the intricate figures of each burial ground. She read the names. Sleeping Meadows, Terra Siesta, Crowing Crypts, Sorrow Park, Withering Roots Memorial, Forty Winks Mausoleum, all clearly meant for a final resting place. Each burial ground was uniquely decorated and had crypts that indicated how a person was buried. She followed each paths around the cemetery, anticipating any indication of what the skeleton figure was looking at. There was a swamp with an alligator in it, surely a creative addition. There was also a large mausoleum separate from the other burial grounds. It seemed randomly placed and as Nancy peered closed, she saw that there were four engravings on it.

There were buttons that allowed her to change the engravings. Clearly this was some sort of locked box, but she didn’t know the combination that would open it. But she was confident that this was what the skeleton figure was looking at. Stepping away from the model, she looked around the room. There was a collection of portraits on the left wall. These must be the Bolets. They were quite unique in how their appearances overlapped. Guess, this must be where Henry gets his looks and style from. Each portrait revealed the personality of the subject. Oddly enough, they each held some object in their hand. One frame was empty and below it, Nancy saw a piece of paper. She picked it up. On it was an etching of a crow. It matched the engravings on the solitary mausoleum. Surrounding the crow was a detailed border. But Nancy remembered that only one of the engravings had this border. So, there must be three other pictures I need to find.

Nancy looked closely at the bird drawing. It looked like someone stenciled it from some surface. I wonder if this belonged to the Skeleton figure. The paper was slightly damp. So, that must mean the skeleton figure, must have stenciled this outside somewhere. I’ll have to take a look around outside.

Pocketing the paper in her trench coat she moved towards the fireplace. It was cold, but there were indications that it had been previously used. It’s too hot to be using a fireplace right now. She picked through the coals and found scraps of some paper. Most of it was too small and burnt off to be of any use, but she did find one piece with a name on it. Zeke. It looked to be the name of some business, but what?

Nancy stood up and went back to the study room. Henry was still typing away at his computer.

“Henry? I have some questions for you”.

The man swiveled around and raised an eyebrow.

Start small Nancy, you don’t want to scare him. He already thinks you’re seeing things.

“How well did you know your uncle?”

Henry shrugged. “Barely knew him at all”.

“Didn’t he raise you?”

“I guess. If you could call sending me to boarding school, summer school, military school as raising a child. He may have looked after me, but he never cared to spend any time with me”.

“Oh”. Great going Drew. She tried again. “Well, what about your parents?”

“They died in a car crash when I was eight. Then I got dumped onto my uncle. End of his bachelorhood I guess”.

Okay, that didn’t go so well either. She might as well rip the whole Band-Aid off.

“I think this skeleton figure was looking for something in this house. Is there some big object or hidden money or something that people might want to get their hands on?”

Henry looked at her, puzzled.

“Uh, maybe? There’s a lot of junk in this house, as you can see. Some of it might actually be worth something.”

“Well, I think they were after whatever is locked up in the mausoleum box in the cemetery model. It has a lock on it and this,” she took out the crow stencil. “This must have been left by the skeleton figure. If we can unlock the mausoleum, we can get whatever’s inside before the skeleton figure comes back. Do you know where the solitary mausoleum is located?”.

“Look,” Henry began and Nancy internally groaned. She knew that word and tone all too well. Distrust and disinterest. It was rare to ever find another person who had the same interest and excitement in uncovering mysteries. Most people didn’t care about the little odd threads that didn’t add up, only to cry when everything become unwound. It was times like these where she sometimes wished she had her friends and fellow detectives, Frank and Joe Hardy, to back her up. People were more willing to listen to a group than an individual.

“Why are you so concerned about this skeleton figure?” Henry asked.

“Why are you so calm?” Nancy countered. “Someone broke into your house and you’re calm about it? I clearly interrupted them which means they might come back, which means you’re in danger”.

“I got a lot of work to complete”.

Who doesn’t. Nancy sighed, “You don’t need to help me, just tell me a bit about the garden space. Is there a mausoleum that’s separate from other burial grounds?

Henry hesitated. There was such a mausoleum and he knew it very well. Too well.

“What do you need from that mausoleum? The door is completely locked. No one had been inside in years”.

“I don’t think I need to go inside. I just need to look at the building itself. There are engravings that could match the key for the model one”.

Henry nursed his head. “Alright. Once you enter the cemetery and go past the bent tree, the mausoleum should be to your left. Just keep heading that way. Hard to miss”.

Nancy beamed. “Great, thanks so much. She turned to go out towards the door, then turned back.

“Yes?” Henry drawled.

“Do you happen to have any paper?”

“Sorry. Ask Renee”.

Nancy nodded then headed out the door.

Henry watched her leave then turned back to his computer where an excel sheet filled with numerical data awaited him. God, I hope I don’t regret this.

Outside the Louisiana heat infused into Nancy’s skin. She was not accustomed to the humidity and could already feel her back start to warm up and stick to her dress shirt. She turned to her left and saw a small alcove draped over by green vines. Tucked inside was Renee who was busy potting young plants.

“Hello,” Nancy called out.

Renee looked up sharply and Nancy wasn’t sure whether it was the heat or Renee’s grey eyes that initiated the sweat droplets down her back.

“Hello, dear. Welcome to my little lantern-lit corner of the world. Come in here where it’s dry”.

“What are you growing?” Nancy asked.

“Whatever I need dear”.

“Nothing like freshly grown herbs to add to your food, right?”

Renee looked hard at Nancy and her voice dropped.

“I don’t use these herbs for cooking, darling”.

Then what do you use them for? Nancy wanted to ask Renee this, but the older woman switched topics.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Henry yet?”

“Yes, I have. From your conversation earlier, am I correct in assuming you two are not on the best of terms?”

“My you’re forward aren’t you!” Renee laughed. “Henry is a very morose, very negative young man. Very cunning too”.

“How so?”

“I am almost certain he’s selling his uncle’s property on the sly. When he’s not supposed to, that is”.

“Doesn’t it all belong to Henry now?” Nancy asked.

“Absolutely not!” Renee exclaimed. “According to Dr. Bolet’s will, Henry is to receive thirty percent of the estate. Dr. Bolet’s physician, Gilbert Buford, is to get thirty percent. Our Lady of Route 57 Dentistry and Cosmetology gets thirty percent, and I am to receive ten percent”.

“Is the cemetery part of the estate?”

“Yes and no. It’s not legally part of the estate, but it technically belongs to the Bolet family. It all belongs to Henry now, along with his thirty percent”.

“Who is Gilbert Buford?”

“That’s Dr. Bolet’s heart doctor and best friend. Those two go long back. Thick as thieves”.

Nancy reflected on what Renee provided her with.

“Does Henry seem upset by only getting thirty percent?”

Renee drew her head up and stood tall. “Young lady,” she started. “The Bolet family is intrinsically connected to New Orleans. Henry is not only gaining assets, but also a name, title, and land. Thirty percent of the Dr. Bolet’s fortune is quite a tidy sum, never mind the Bolet family fortune and cemetery”.

“Oh”.

Renee looked towards her plants and slowly resumed her potting.

“I suppose I gave you the impression that Henry is greedy. While I cannot attest to it, Henry is nonetheless not someone you can trust. You best watch yourself around him”.

Renee potted some soil then paused.

“One more thing dear. That skeleton man, I’ve—I’ve seen him too. Now don’t ask me more questions, I don’t want to think about it. But just know, there is something in this house that’s just not right”.

Nancy nodded then switched the topic.

“Do you happen to have some paper?”

“Get the urge to draw something?”

“Yep!”

“Well, now. I know I have some paper in my room, but I won’t be able to go get it till after I’m done potting my plants”.

“I can help you pot the plants”

Renee laughed. “Impatient one you are! No. No. No need. Just take this key and go on up yourself. And while you’re at it. I’m feeling a bit hungry. In my cupboard there’s a stash of Koko Cringles. Be a dear and bring one down for me, and help yourself to one too”.

Nancy took the key and headed back inside. Henry didn’t acknowledge her entrance, so she continued out of the study and up the staircase. It was wonky and creaked a bit. There were four doors. One door was on a lower level and the other three were sequentially placed along the top most level.

She didn’t tell me which door was hers.

Nancy placed the key in the first door, but the handle had no lock. Curious, she pushed open the door and saw an empty room that was bare of anything save a drawer and bed. There was some clutter around the bed and she assumed it was Henry’s. Why would he sleep here though? It was so, lifeless. The rest of the house had character, but this room just looked sad. Nancy quickly shut the door and move up a floor.

The next door had a vase decoration near it, though Nancy didn’t recognize the plant resting within. This door had a lock and she tried the key. The door unlocked. She stepped inside.

The room looked like a doll house. A creepy one at that. There was an elegant but simple bed with green bedsheets. The bedside cupboard. A vanity table was littered with all sorts of bottles and herbs, and a chest sat in one corner, opposite the bed. Nancy first went to the table.

A bottle with the label ‘hiccup powder’ sat at the forefront. Surely not, she thought as she picked up the bottle and opened it. But to her surprise the burst of powder caused a series of hiccups to come bursting out of her. She quickly put the bottle back, then began to rummage through the other bottles. There was nothing labelled sleeping powder or knock-out powder, though some of the bottles were unlabeled. She didn’t think it was wise to open them though. There was no paper on the table, so she went towards the cupboards.

Opening the top drawer, Nancy found the paper. She then opened the bottom drawer and found a stash of chocolate. Jackpot baby! She took one for Renee, and then ate one. The warmth of the melting chocolate felt good in the creepy room and Nancy couldn’t help but take one bar for the road. No telling when she would need to keep her fortitude up in this house. She got up and turned towards the door when something on the wall caught her eyes.

The wallpaper itself was old, faded and ripped in places, but clear as day in the centre were seven symbols surrounding a major rip. They contrasted a glaring red against the pale yellow wallpaper. Blood red. Nancy stepped towards the symbols and tentatively placed a finger on one sign. The colour was dry and odorless. Probably not blood. But she had no idea what those symbols meant.

Walking around the room, Nancy noticed a rocking chair and went towards it. Lightning flashed and as thunder rumbled, Nancy caught a glimpse of a doll. Not just any doll, but one she specifically saw with an old case of hers. A doll that belonged to a woman that died more than 200 years ago. Nancy had no idea how Renee could have gotten her hands on that doll seeing as the company closed a long time ago. She turned to her right and saw the chest.

Squatting down, she saw four abstract figures on each corner and a large blank circle at the centre. Surrounding the large circle were a multitude of buttons. Curious, she pressed one, and a line appeared on the centre circle. She pressed another and another line appeared. The centre image was now beginning to look like one of the corner figures. She pressed two more buttons but both failed to finish the image and the circle blanked out.

Nancy looked back towards the wall symbols, then at the chest. Random symbol equals random symbol? She tried again to replicate one of the corner abstract figures. This time it worked and the figure turned blank. Curious lock, she thought as she solved the other three figures. Once all the figures turned blank she heard a click and the chest lifted a little.

Opening the chest, she saw all sorts of odds and ends and a book on hoodoo symbols. She opened the book up and skimmed through the pages. On one page she noticed that the symbols on the wall matched the one’s in the book. Beside each symbol a name was written. Bah? Boo? Dee? Mo? They didn’t spell anything, nor make any sense. Still, it was best to record it down. Nancy took out a notebook and pen from her trench coat and jotted down each symbol along with their associated name. She then packed everything up and headed out of the room and back towards the garden.

#nancy drew #CRY #Legend of the Crystal Skull

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Text

Before Dawn ~Pt3~

Please enjoy part three bc part four is coming sooner than you think 👉👈

@hidehaskak here is your tag sweetheart, as promised

Warnings: none I think

Shaggy Hair

After that eventful night of your past concerning confessions you find yourself hanging out in Levi's office almost every evening after the curfew bells ring. It's sort of an unspoken bond even; you catch up to him after dinner with panted breaths and you offer him a cup of tea in exchange of his company, a simple deal he never turns down.

Thus this night so far is not different than the others. You're sitting with a straight back on his loveseat couch and sip on your tea while staring at nothing in particular. Your eyes often travel to Levi's direction, who's turned his back on you to work on his paperwork. His form is illuminated by the soft, warm candle light that flickers now and then by sudden wintery breezes of air that burst through slits in the windows making his onyx hair, that fall in teeny v shaped strands on the nape of his neck, sway.

Your train of thoughts travels to your hair next, inevitably finding yourself comparing to Levi and his level of perfectionism. In the past few months it's gotten way longer, shaggier than your usual maintenance length, something that you don't particularly regret, but it gives you the urge to seek a change. Maybe looking like another version of you will help you feel better, refreshed even.

"What are you thinking about? You sure are abnormally silent tonight " Levi, even though he wishes you were more talkative, understands you are a quiet, peace loving person. Sometimes you only hum in response to his words and then apologize because you don't want him to think you're brushing him off, even though he's aware that's not the case. But this moment, it's rather different. There's something off in particular about your current behavior that he can sense without even having to turn around.

With knees curled up to your chin you only bubble in response. "Nothing, maybe I just need a haircut. That's all."

This time he turns his chair around to look at you, one hand strongly grabbing the wooden edge to support his whole weight. He looks at you in a rather strange way and you don't know why but you feel weird. As you expect of him to come up with some sarcastic remark about him not being a damned barber you watch as his expression softens by each passing second. His eyebrows don't furrow anymore, as per usual and his orbs seem dilated in an amusement expressing way.

"Come to think of it, it's nice having your hair down your shoulders as the wind hits you right?"

You simply nod in response, your top lip feeling stuck to your bottom one. With ogling eyes you watch as Levi gets up from his chair and walks to the direction of the couch you're sat at. He sits himself down, softly, as if not to disturb you and crosses his right leg over his left one. It's in the swift of a move that his left palm shoots to the crook of your neck where your hair rests, before stopping absurdly, inches before your strands.

"You look nice.. with your hair down, that being said what I mean is-" His usual, cold, silverly blue eyes soften by each passing second they spend fixated on your form. You're puzzled by the fact that he's looking at you like this, whatever that look's indicating is something you try to convince yourself you're oblivious to.

"You like saying that being said right?" You question. Momentarily you probably don't think about what the fact that you're picking up small details about him means, but unbeknownst to you, he's taken aback.

No one has ever taken time to notice small things about him, seeing his cold and unresponsive, insensitive facade that threw everyone off. It was his form of emotional self defense and seeing someone so easily see through his walls or even be able to break holes in them was somewhat a new feeling he had yet to adjust to.

The hand that reaches for your loose strands of hair finally finds a spot at the top of your head, through your shaggy front bangs. A sigh escapes your mouth and adjusts your lips into a playful pout, much to Levi's liking. Maybe he won't admit it but he's kind of mesmerized by the way your (e/c) colored eyes look in this dim lit moment.

Upon seeing his lack of response and startled expression you assume you've taken things too far. Supposing he's still your superior officer even after curfew, you've acted very disrespectfully by sassing him out on a noble habit of his. The hand that rests on your head might show otherwise, you know it's a solid response of affection but you choose to actively blind yourself from it. There's no way you're looking at him with the same adoration he's looking at you and your heart painfully throbs at that.

Whether it's too early on in your acquaintance, or because you fear that everything's in vain, or even because you like to belittle yourself out of pure habit, you cannot accept that this man can look at you in a different, warmer even, light.

Thus, with a cough that throws his hand away and an apology you excuse yourself before he manages to respond, or probably assign you with any extra duty for the week. He's unpredictable with his reactions, that you know for sure you can't close your eyes on.

_____

"You want me to to smoke, come again, tea with you?"

This is, ridiculous, to say at least. Henning and Tomas are really going out of their way for the latter to make an astonishing move on you, much to their avail and it's kind of pathetic, but you're in no place to judge. You've tried to stop the duo way too many times for all the sanity you've got.

"Exactly!"

"No!" You poorly exclaim "Plus the corporal is going to end us if he finds out! This is tea we're talking about."

"Oh stop being so hung upon that man and have a little fun with us. You don't have to smoke, just join us."

Your chest feels heavy at the mention of Levi's name. Either Tomas and Henning are stalking you or the girls are gossiping way too much about where you're lost at almost every single night. Neither of them are going to understand that you're only befriending the stoic, newly entitled corporal, instead of seducing him. Plus Tomas would be terribly heartbroken were you in a place to admit to anything you've started to feel about the raven haired man.

"Why don't you have fun with Gelgar?" Your arms unfold from the bound you've forced them into under your bussom in defeat as you examine the looks on both of your friends' faces. Joining them in their fun never hurt anyone. Naturally the next thing you find your self doing is sitting outside their barracks silently giggling to Tomas' childhood story about trying to ride a running chicken.

Henning's arms wrap around both you and Tomas, bringing you closer, while he throws his head back in a rather loudly exhaled laughter. You often wonder what your life would be without all the people you've come across, better yet your family like friends. In moments like these you feel as if your whole life has been filled with friends and fun.

"Stable duty until further notice"

The eerily stern voice that shakes you off your thoughts belongs to no other than Levi himself, who's standing right behind Henning with his hand covering his face in frustration. So much for not wanting to get caught and have a little fun.

_____

"Ah fuck" Your sigh surely catches Levi's attention as you bury your head in your palms in annoyance and defeat. He's unsure whether letting you off the hook or not is the right choice to make as he's got no idea what being lenient with cadets is going to do to him as a corporal. His mind is strangely often caught up on what his duties as a corporal should be, even though they shouldn't be any different than the one of the notorious thug in the underground.

Nonetheless not only does he have to adjust to being a military higher up, he also has to cope up with youngsters, who enjoy disobeying just out of hormonal spite. As if paperwork is not taking a toll on him as well, you really have to make him face you as a superior after having just punched a place in his non military related life.

He throws a soft, alarming kick at crook of your back, paying extra care in not actually hurting you. In turn you feel the tickling on his leather covered foot dance on your cold skin, signaling you to stand up from your sitting position.

"What was that?" He sighs. "Laps until dawn."

"What? I wasn't the one smoking!"

Your voice pierces his ears when you loudly whine out and for a fragment of a second he can't believe his ears. He takes an intimidating step towards you and watches as your chests almost collide as he looks at you with a soul crushing stare.

"I hope you like tunning because you're not stopping until I think you've got it through your thick skull that you should stand up for your comrades. Not only your self!"

"But!"

Levi, even tough he wants to be mad at whatever you're pulling with him, feels his will leave his body by looking your form up and down. With one foot scratching the ground behind the other, hands crossed behind your back and a guilt driven averted gaze you're making him not want to be harsh on you. You're leading him on to make a decision to your liking, with the way you slowly come close to him, making his heart skip a beat inside its skeleton prison. Almost, lustfully he watches as you rip a chapped piece of flesh from your lips with your teeth, causing blood to rush and puff them up. It may all have happened in a second but to him it felt like a torturous eternity of being stripped of any strict will he had against you.

But he shouldn't give in. Whether you're doing this on purpose or not, he won't give in. You're acting like a pleading puppy and he knows that giving in is going to disconcert his title. He should make known to you that he calls the shots in the professional relationship between the two of you, so with a deep breath that fills his lungs of oxygen and scrunches his nostrils wide open he reaches his hand under your chin and positions your head to his eye level.

Tomas and Henning are watching wide, surprise ridden eyes as the corporal puts his hands on your chin and burns hole into your face. Tomas is almost taking a step forward, unsure of what this gesture between the shorter man and you means, ready to jump into the situation to take your side at any given time. Levi definitely notices the tention in the air, but he never lets go of your chin, he never breaks eye contact either.

"You expect to be treated differently by pleading like a dog after acting like a child. I'm not punishing you for that. Im punishing you for disrespecting curfew, your superior and putting your personal profit before your team's. Now, start running."

In the blink of an eye the mesmerizing moment the two of you have shared is gone like an overused burnt out candle. Levi suddenly feels the frozen breeze of the night engulf him and decides to stand tall to his legs before gesturing to the two other males that they should take off to their barracks to which they respond with a reluctant nod. Tomas' throat tightens and his chest stiffens as he passes him by but Levi chooses to ignore it.

With an almost mechanical shift of a movement he falls with his back on the wooden barrack wall and crosses his arms on his chest in casual manner. The rest of the night is spent with him watching over as you pantingly run around the dirty soil, running tireless laps with sparring him the occasional death glare.

______

Your legs can't hold the weight of your body as you wait for Mike to reply to your knocking on his door. You don't have it in you. Your muscles spasm in spurs that run down your knees and come back in before you even manage to blink.

The familiar flash of golden hair blurs your vision as you look up to your squad leader the moment he opens the door to let you in. It's safe to say he doesn't want to endure whatever odor your skin's emitting right now, the salty drops of sweat you've wiped of your face are not an indicator that you've stopped reeking of the disgusting smell. Thus, Mike can immediately tell that something is somewhat wrong with you and he demands an explanation.

"Well Le- Captain Levi punished me for violating curfew, disrespecting him, and putting myself before of my comrades. He will come to check with you on my situation, he said."

Mike sighs and he closes his eyes at the hearing of your words, considering Levi's newly profound liking in giving you harsh punishments. It throws him off, in a way. You're a good soldier, Levi wearing you down excessively, should be off limits, and even if you do lack some basic discipline it's only in moments when you don't know how to act.

"Ah, look, Levi must have had a reason to punish you."

"I promise sir, I was whining about my punishment." You scoff, feelings your legs tremble with each passing minute.

"I know you weren't." He assures you. A knock can be heard before the door opens, only to reveal Levi walking towards Mike's office in all his might.

"Speak of the devil, you'll be joining Levi on the next training mission in the mountains. Both you and him haven't received that particular training and I don't like that you lack this from your papers. I'm not taking any chances with you on your survival either, you're a good soldier."

For the thousandth time today, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes stare deep into Levi's bored ones as you try to bring your hands to salute your commanding officers. Your mind refuses to acknowledge your wish though, your shaky hands fall limp on both sides of your body so you chose to simply nod. Your body relaxes in the depths of the chair you're sat at, ignorant to whoever is watching. You can't physically bring yourself to care about the consequences of your actions before your superiors.

If Mike sees the way Levi's tense eyes watch your panted breaths go in and out of your heavy chest he never speaks a word.

My requests are open so you know what to do if you want to see more of my writing ❤️ thank you for reading I appreciate you very much

#attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot #mike zacharias

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