#and now after years of social media silence they pop up in my comments twice in the past three months

[hotgarbagedumpsterfire]

Sometimes, when I’m lonely, I still think of you…

[randomshyperson]

Can I request a celebrity AU with Elizabeth Olsen and Female Reader? Where R is Vision in the MCU. And like throughout a series of interviews and behind the scenes shots, you can see how the two actually fall in love in real life. And in like the final interview they ask “Are you two dating?” And this time they can finally say yes

Hello darling, how are you? I hope well. This took me a while, and i’m not sure you’re even going to like it. But i hope you do. It was honestly kind of strange to write for Lizzie, i kept mistaken the name as Wanda. Also, i changed your idea a bit, because i could find the right way to write the interviews. But anyway, here it is. Good reading.

Elizabeth Olsen x Reader - Love is outside the screen

Summary: The one where Reader plays Vision in the MCU and she falls in love with her co-worker Elizabeth Olsen.

Warnings: None.

Words:  4.308 words  //// Read on AO3

Marks:  @wandamaximoffpuppy

Part. 2  || Part 3

Eight years ago

Your agent was calling you for the third time, and you thought you should answer before you lost your contract.

Letting out an impatient sigh as you reached for your cell phone, you left it on speaker.

- Hello, Sara. - You say with a slight irony as you relax your body in the water of the jacuzzi again.

- It's not polite to ignore someone who keeps you employed. - she said irritated, making you laugh.

- Sorry, but I told you I was on vacation. - You reminded her. - And what did you keep doing? Oh yes, calling me.

- Don't be so grumpy, woman. - She replied with a light humor in her voice, and you could hear the clatter of keystrokes, suggesting that she was working. - I have an opportunity for you.

You raised your eyebrows in curiosity, but said nothing. And by your silence, Sara kept talking.

- Tell me, have you ever thought about being a superhero?

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking it was a joke. 

- I'm not going to make any weird latex movies, Sara. - You warn her, and she lets out a laugh.

- Actually, honey, it's Marvel.

You blink in surprise, and then turn to rest your arms on the edge of the jacuzzi and look directly at your cell phone.

- What are you talking about? 

- Ah, caught your interest, huh? - She remarks. - You actors are all the same, one famous name and you fall to your knees.

- Sara...

- No, it's okay. - She giggles. - They want a openly queer actress to play a lesbian heroine, I think. And then they called me.

- Wow, Marvel doing something like that? - You comment. - It sounds like a lie.

Sara giggles.

- It pays well anyway. - She says, and then a notification pops up on the screen. - I just sent you the script. Let me know if I can confirm your audition.

You let out a sigh before saying goodbye and hanging up, grabbing your cell phone to read the script.

It is the scene description of your character's appearance, and there is also a note for the chemistry test. You bite your lips thoughtfully. You were known in the media for roles in international, indie and cult films, mostly lesbian romance. You had a few academy nominations, and had been awarded twice by the critics. Superheroes were not really what you were looking for. But then you remembered how much you missed having a lgbt reference in media like this, and then you are sending a message to your agent confirming your audition.

//-//

Present

You are twiddling your thumbs in your dressing room. It must be the ninth interview in less than two weeks. Letting out a sigh, you stand up, momentarily looking at your appearance in the mirror. The make-up team did a good job, you look well. And then you are walking outside, to the dressing room next to yours. 

You knock on the door, and are soon answered. But Elizabeth doesn't smile when she pulls you inside.

- Hey, Lizzie, what's up? - you ask worriedly as you close the door. The next second she's hugging you tight, and you sigh. - You're anxious, aren't you?

- I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my mouth. - She grumbles and you start stroking her back, trying to calm her down.

- Remember that exercise we practiced, okay? - You ask her tenderly as you move your feet so that you move together toward the sofa in the living room. You break the embrace slowly, to sit Lizzie down on the couch as you kneel in front of her. She looks on the verge of tears, and you place your hands on top of hers. - Breathe with me, okay?

It will take you many minutes to calm her down, but you don't care. And then she smiles, and brings your foreheads together.

- Thank you. - She whispers before kissing you. She walks away too quickly in your opinion, but you can't say anything because the producer is calling you next, announcing that the interview starts in two minutes. You smile at Liz before getting up.

//-//

Seven years ago.

You had just finished filming your last scene in Age of Ultron when your agent called you. Scrolling your finger quickly across the screen, you answered while your cell phone rested on the table in your dressing room, and you kept your hands busy trying to pin up your hair.

- I'm leaving the studio, Sara, what's up? - you told her.

- I wanted to congratulate you on the affair, although I'm surprised it happened so quickly. - She says and you frown in confusion, finishing up with your bun. You pick up your cell phone next.

- What are you talking about?

Sara giggles, and sends you an attachment. You pull your cell phone away from your ear to look at it. It is a photo of you and Elizabeth, your teammate and romantic partner in the franchise, taken the same day you discovered Liz had social anxiety and took her out for coffee with you to take her focus off the celebrity world for a while. The paparazzi managed to capture the exact moment when you kissed her on the cheek in farewell. 

- This is all over the gossip sites as Marvel's mysterious romantic couple. - Your agent commented, and you rubbed your fingers across your forehead in irritation.

- You want me to publicly deny a relationship, is that it? - you ask, walking around the dressing room and gathering your things.

- What? No! This is great for advertising. - she says with slight excitement in her voice. - Especially after the movie comes out! Fans love couples who fall in love behind the screen.

You roll your eyes, switching your cell phone to your ear.

- I'm not going to make a relationship contract if that's what you're thinking! - You say with irritation and can imagine Sara rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

- Yes, yes, we've been over this, Miss Morally Correct. - She scoffs lightly. - But I really called to talk about the premiere. We have details to discuss.

Sighing, you ask her to wait. Then you finished putting your things away, and grabbed the phone as you walked out the door.

//-//

Six years ago, California

Interviewers can be motherfuckers when they want to be, you thought as you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your face impassive as you watched the woman in front of you list the "missed moments" from the Avengers set. You knew that your agent had talked to the show's staff about the authorized questions, and yet here you were on live television, having to declare whether the timely photos taken on the Avengers set meant that you had a secret relationship with your best friend Elizabeth Olsen.

A slideshow was playing on the screen behind you. There were pictures from the footage, many where you and Liz were laughing together, or having lunch together. There were some where she was sitting on your lap, or vice versa. Your expression softened when you noticed one where she was looking at you adoringly. It was so strange to be an artist sometimes. You smiled politely at the presenter.

- Come on, Ellen, you know how these things are. - You said. - Things are different on camera, Lizzie and I are friends.

The audience let out a chorus of displeasure, and Ellen laughed lightly.

- You know that many of the fans would like this rumor to be true, especially since you two play a couple and you are openly queer. - She says, and you wiggle your fingers in your lap, uncomfortable with where this conversation is going, but you nod in agreement. - Furthermore, you say that the paparazzi cameras are deceiving, but what about the stories you post on your personal networks?

She asks with a chuckle, and then other videos are playing on the screen, and you force yourself to smile and watch.

The vast majority are harmless, and platonic. You spend a lot of time at Liz's house because when she moved in, you were her reference and tour guide, and so you got into the habit of checking up on her. And then you became friends and you spent more time at her house than at yours.There were many videos and pictures on yours and her instagram where you two were tending a garden, playing board games, cooking together, or watching sports.  You bit back a smile as you watched the memories through the images. 

- See?It's hard to believe that this is just platonic. - Ellen insisted again, and the audience laughed.  You tried to cover it up with a smile. - But since you claim to be single, we're going to play a game now. It's called "Who Would You Rather?

The audience applauded and you giggled, straightening your posture in your chair. And then the studio screen had a sign with the name of the game.

- It's very simple, you just have to choose which of the artists you would rather. - She explains, and you blink.

- Rather what?

Ellen lets out a giggle, and you understand, nodding in embarrassment. The audience laughs. The picture changes to two pictures.

- Who would you rather, Scarlett Johansson or Chris Hemsworth?

- Wow, that sounds like a trap. - You comment awkwardly, making the audience laugh. And then you bite your lips. - I think Scarlett.

Ellen gives you a suggestive look, and the audience chuckles, you force yourself to imitate them. The picture changes again.

- Scarlett or Sebastian Stan?

You laugh, smoothing your hair slightly.

- I don't know, I think Seb. - You answer. And then the picture changes again, and you want to run away when the audience gives a chorus of excitement.

- Sebastian Stan or Elizabeth Olsen?

- There it is the trap. - You comment clumsily, causing the audience to bust out laughing. You swallow dryly and look down at your lap before saying. - I'd say Elizabeth Olsen.

You played for a few more minutes, and then the game ended with you choosing Elizabeth at the end, which got the audience cheering and celebrating. When the interview was over, Sara was calling you, and you were massaging your forehead when you answered.

- I thought you said you two weren't dating. - She teased, and you grumbled in irritation. 

- I thought you had discussed these matters with the staff. - You retorted, slightly irritated. - She only asked me about Lizzie and dating the entire interview.

- Honey, you're America's sweet couple. - She sneered. - Ellen wants viewers and will ask the questions that the audience wants to know.

- That's ridiculous. - You said and then sighed. - Why did you call me anyway?

- I have your new shooting location, so get your coats and jackets ready.

//-//

Six years ago, Berlin.

You are laughing at Anthony's imitation of Robert. Sitting in the shared dining hall, you were having a good time over lunch with your other colleagues while you were recording Civil War.

And then you were in scene again, many minutes later, and you found it strange that the nervousness was crossing beyond your character during a specific scene in which you were counteracting with Elizabeth. 

You saw her laughing at a comment your character made, and you should have this expression of surprise and embarrassment, but you didn't even have to act it out. Your cheeks reddened naturally at the image of Liz laughing. And then the director said cut when you were done and you were rushing out to clean up your makeup.

Later that day, after the shoot was over, the team wanted to visit a local pub, and you accepted the invitation, ignoring the previous event, and smiling when Elizabeth touched your arm to get your attention.

- A toast to the Avengers! - shouted the camera crew chief when you were all gathered at the bar, you thought maybe he had had too much to drink, but you joined in the toast. 

You stood next to Lizzie and Chris at a table while sipping a dark drink that might have been craft beer, or something German.

Your cell phone vibrates with a notification and you choke in surprise at the content of the message. Sara had sent you a note from TMZ, stating that your secret romance with Elizabeth Olsen was threatened because you had been seen leaving a coffee shop with Katie McGrath. 

Chris and Lizzie look at you curiously, and you just lay your cell phone down on the table for them to see while you turn the entire glass of beer in your mouth.

- Wow, so your type really is super heroines. - Chris commented with a smile, and you laugh, pushing him away slightly. 

- I swear, I can't be seen talking to any woman that she is automatically my girlfriend. - You say irritated as you put your beer glass back on the table. Your gaze returns to Lizzie, who has picked up your cell phone from the table and is reading the news. Then she hands the phone back to you, and gets a strange look on her face that you can't read very well, but she forces a smile.

- At least you cheated on me with a pretty girl. - she says and you frown in surprise. Chris laughs at the joke, but before you could have any other reaction, the rest of the team is joining you.

//-//

Five years ago, California.

You gave up fighting the questions about your relationship with Elizabeth. They would happen anyway, whether your agent talked to the teams or not, so you just smiled politely when you told people you were just friends and remained truthful in your statements. 

Usually the interviews with Lizzie were easier, because you went into protective mode and your brain was ready to give sharp, snappy answers to keep Elizabeth from being embarrassed. 

So here you were on the Night Show, with one of your favorite interviewers, and your best friend by your side. Jimmy was asking good questions, and he was funny. You hoped he wouldn't ask anything too embarrassing.

After many questions about employment, and worldview, which was refreshing, he finally asked you about the rumors of your secret relationship.

- Girls, you know that the public wants to know. - He began with a smile, and you laughed lightly, exchanging a look with Lizzie. - And actually, we have arguments this time.

- Here we go. - You commented with light irony which made the audience laugh. 

Your latest posts on instagram were visible on the big screen.

- Last Tuesday, both of you posted these stories on your personal accounts. - Jimmy started with excitement. - And it rocked the internet completely, because the location was visible on your instagram, Elizabeth.

Lizzie let out an embarrassed giggle.

- Well, if the public's doubt is whether we were together there, they can confirm it. - She said, and Jimmy let out an excited exclamation. Lizzie waited for the audience to stop their celebratory chorus before speaking again. - But this was a special celebration, since it was my birthday. 

- And I took her on a trip to Mexico. - You completed the story with a slight smile. The audience let out a chorus of happiness and you looked at them in confusion. - Guys, friends do this!

Jimmy and the audience laughed for a moment and then the image came off the screen.

- Come on girls, you're giving us material. - He remarked with a smile. - And you're still going to deny the relationship like you always do, I imagine.

You and Wanda exchange a short chuckle.

- Look, Jimmy, all I have to say is that Lizzie is amazing, she really is. - You saw yourself confessing. - Anyone would be lucky to date this brilliant, spectacular, sweet, fun-loving woman. But that person is not me.

Jimmy lets out an exclamation of sadness along with the audience, but then they applaud your words, and you smile wryly. You risk a glance at Lizzie for a second, and she has slightly flushed cheeks, and looks surprised at your words.

You ignore the nervous feeling at the pit of your stomach, and decide to keep your posture polite as you answer the next questions.

//-//

Four years ago.

You had to kiss Lizzie. And then you shook your head. No, not you. Vision. Your character, Vision, had to kiss Lizzie's character, Wanda Maximoff. And you repeated this like a mantra as you walked from your dressing room to the set.

The day you read this scene, you smiled politely at your agent, and disguised any apparent nervousness. And then you spent the last few weeks pretending that if you didn't think about it, eventually the director would make a change and the scene wouldn't even exist. But here you were, trying to have one last drop of professionalism.

You weren't even recording the scene officially, it was just the rehearsal of lines and marking, and you had sweaty hands. 

As you walked through the studio, the staff smiled and greeted you, and then you spotted Lizzie and ignored the uneven beating of your heart.

- Let's get started girls. - announced Russo as soon as he caught sight of you. He signaled for you to follow the team's prearranged schedule. You smiled at Lizzie as you took your place. - We can test the order of the scene directly. I need to know which angle is best to have Vision ask Wanda to stay with her.

And then you started recording. And now you were Vision. There was no time to think about how naturally your hand fit into Lizzie's, or how good it felt to feel her hugging you. And then Russo shouted cut again.

- That's pretty good. - He commented, looking at the monitor. - Let's shoot the stone scene okay, then the action scene.

The scene started, and you said your lines the way you were supposed to. And then you were looking at Lizzie, and she kissed you as the script said. You held the sigh in your throat, and pulled away. Vision doesn't sigh, so you shouldn't either. And then you are smiling as written, and the director closes the scene again.

You were getting pretty good at hiding how affected you are by Lizzie the more you kiss her onstage. And then you wrap up the day's shooting, and you are mentally exhausted. You want to sleep in your dressing room, but you decide to go home.

And as you are walking back to your car, Lizzie calls out to you.

- Hey, partner. - She greets me by walking beside you. - Don't you want to go for a drink tonight?

You let out a sigh, ignoring the urge to shout that you would go anywhere with her, and thinking about how tired your body is.

- I'm exhausted, Lizzie. - You tell her, and she looks upset, but you add with a smile. - But I'll take it if it's something at your place.

Lizzie's face lights up quickly, and she nods, and then says she'll leave something in her car. She returns when you are already in yours.

- All set? - You ask to confirm, and she smiles and nods. And then you start the car and drive out of the studio.

Lizzie turns on the car stereo a moment later, and you begin humming the song.

- You've been distant lately. - She comments distractedly as you drive away. - You know you can talk to me, right?

You smile, ignoring the feeling in your stomach.

- Yes, Lizzie. - You say without taking your eyes off the road. - I'm just busy, that's all. It's nothing.

Lizzie makes a noise of agreement and looks away. You think maybe she believes you're not telling her the truth, and you feel guilty. So you decide to change the subject.

- How are things at home, Liz? Are Mary-Kate and Ashley well? - you ask, and she looks at you quickly.

- Everything's fine. - she says, and then she bites her lip. - Did I do something?

You frown, glancing quickly at her before looking down the street again. The light was red. And when you turn your head toward her, she lets out a sigh.

- You don't talk to me anymore. - She says seriously, looking at you. - Since Berlin, you're just distant. Always busy, and with ready-made answers. And now you try small talk, even though you hate it. I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.

Your heart is racing at the accusations, because she is absolutely right. And then you swallow dry, and prepare to speak, but then Liz is pointing ahead, the headlight has opened. And you have to drive, and she crosses her arms and looks away to the window.

You drive the rest of the way to her house in silence, and when you park the car in the driveway, she mumbles a goodnight before getting out. 

Squeezing the steering wheel in your fingers, you take a deep breath. And then you get out of the car, and the noise of the door opening surprises her because she turns to look. But you are walking toward her, and raising your hand to the back of her neck, bringing your mouths together. Lizzie chokes in surprise, but in the next second she melts against you as she kisses you back.

You part breathlessly, holding your foreheads together.

- I am in love with you. - You confess. - I'm sorry I was a complete idiot, but I was terrified.

Lizzie giggles, kissing you again quickly before hugging you. And then she is breaking the embrace to look at you, a shy smile on her lips.

- I'm in love with you too. - she says. - I'm glad that's the problem and not something else.

You laugh, and kiss her one last time before entwining your hands and walking toward her house.

You decide to take things slow, so naturally, two weeks later, you ask her to be your girlfriend over dinner. Lizzie smiles all night, but you know that if this is a secret, she can't wear the ring.

Public relationships mean contracts, and agents, and unwanted questions, and lots of opinions about your lives. And you two wanted to keep that to yourselves for the time being.

So when directors comment that your onstage chemistry is amazing, you two just nod and thank them. When the interviewers ask if you are together, you deny it as before.

The first time you sleep with Lizzie, you almost break the bed. And it's all right, because you two are laughing with happiness and pleasure, and she pulls you in for another kiss. And you entwine your hands, the commitment rings on your fingers.

A year and a half later, you are getting very busy with your participation in a youth series, and there are many rumors that you are dating your co-star, so Lizzie is jealous and you can't blame her. 

You decide that the secret cannot go on any longer, at least not to your friends and employers. So you talk to Lizzie, and you both call your agents. Sara laughs for ten minutes when you tell her, but she is happy to talk to Lizzie's agent. You are not public yet, but it is important that all parties are in agreement. You hate bureaucracy, but you don't mind as long as Lizzie's hand is in yours. Your friends are very happy, and the other cast members tease you constantly about it.

When you shoot the last movie, you think you are going to be fired because your character has died. But then you and Lizzie get a series together.

You try not to overthink how you will deny the rumors on television, but Lizzie kisses you on the cheek and tells you that you will face it together. 

It takes three more months for you to propose. You think your chest will explode with happiness when she accepts.

And then you are calling your agents again, and Sara almost faints when you tell her that you got married in secret at some registry office in the Caribbean and she needs to get the paperwork sorted out. When you get back to California, there is a small ceremony with your family members.

//-//

Present

You and Lizzie are sitting side by side in the interview. The questions about WandaVision are over, and now you know from Jimmy's expression what he is going to say.

- The last time you were here, I had only an instagram post as an argument for your secret relationship. - He says, making you, Lizzie and the audience laugh lightly. - But now I have talked to the production and they prepare a presentation.

- My goodness. - You remark, making him laugh. And then he waves to the big screen, and you try to disguise your nervousness.

A presentation of images began to play to the audience to the sound of "honeybee" by the band "The Head and The Heart". There are several studio shots, from photo rehearsals to behind-the-scene moments. There is a picture from the day you met, from the first cast test, from the Avengers taping, paparazzi shots of you laughing in the parking lot, or in the open areas. There are pictures of you walking around Los Angeles together, pictures of your rides, or your travels. There are clippings from instagram stories where you spend time together, laughing and hugging. The presentation ends with the BTS photo of WandaVision from the first day of recording where you have your arm around Lizzie, and the two of you are laughing.

You clear your throat away the emotion, but Lizzie wipes her eyes lightly.

- That was very beautiful. - She comments as Jimmy hands her a piece of tissue paper. The audience bursts into tears of excitement.

- I guess we can get to the part where you deny everything now can't we? - Jimmy jokes and you smile and straighten your posture.

- Actually, Jimmy, we have something to announce.

[epic-potato-crisp]

Intermission (AjinWeek2020/1)

Day 1: Favourite Character (Shimomura Izumi)

Note: Truthfully I felt bad choosing, as I have four favourite characters in Ajin (Kei, Kou, Izumi and Tosaki.) This OS focuses on Izumi however, she deserves light to shine. Enjoy! :)

…….

Career counseling goes a little like this.

“What would you like to do after school, Miss Tainaka? Where do you see yourself in a few years?”

“I don’t know.” Yoko pauses.

“Your grades are fine, although if you applied yourself more I’m sure you could produce even better scores. Looking at attendance-“

She drowns out the voice. She doesn’t even know if she’ll still be alive by then.

….

It’s cold and filthy. Everyone she meets is a stranger at best. She mistrusts, but she thinks it’s  essential for survival. Locking her door. Taking up offers that guarantee freedom despite repulsing her inside out. There’s a price to pay for everything in life.

“Be wary, Yoko.” Her mother used to say, “Not everyone is your friend.”

She misses her. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the morning, she imagines her voice.

She doesn’t cry.

….

Death is blinking machines and hospital sheets. Death is white curtains and the pungent smell of antiseptic. Death is talking to a figure by her bedside that knows her name and plays her a recording of her mother.

She’s heard about the famous last moments one experiences. The movie-reel flashbacks. A wish for forgiveness. Inner peace.

Instead, all she can think about, as she drifts off, warm and letting loose, is how futile her endeavors proved to be.

She tried hard to vanish.

Now she’ll die with an identity, after all.

….

Yoko resets and Yoko becomes Izumi. Izumi takes on her father’s last name, and ironically, that’s as close to her heritage as she ever got.

Shimomura Izumi has a one-bedroom apartment in Ueno and a work contract with the Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare. Shimomura Izumi has an immortal lifespan and a boss that holds her secret leverage against her. In theory.

In practice he buys her her first set of office clothes and essentials, and pays her a decent wage. She’s probably setting the bar low, she thinks. Not that she has much to compare too.

In practice they spend long hours together in what is almost companiable silence. A job that seems bleak and ordinary on the outside, and probably would be, if not for the horrendous documents she has to look at.

“Give that to me.” he says one evening, pulling a large, nausea-inducing stack of “Classified-Governmental” files from her desk. “I’m out of work, anyway.”

That’s a lie, and she knows it.  But she’s not one to turn down a good offer.

“You may leave for today.”

….

They capture Nagai Kei. Twice. The first time, Izumi won’t speak about.

The second time, it’s not only him, but also Nakano Kou, another Ajin.

The second time, they’re already one foot in jail, hiding out in an old military building in the woods.

“You should move in here.” says Tosaki, nonchalantly, turning away from the window where he’s observing the daily training rounds much to Nagai’s chagrin, “It would be more efficient.”

“Perhaps.” Izumi says, retaining a neutral expression. She is better off keeping out of attachments.

A few days later, she moves her spare belongings. She likes the familiarity and quiet of her apartment. But she prefers not being alone.

…..

Days become a routine. They don’t end until past midnight.

There’s a new, worn-out couch in their pseudo-livingroom, courtesy of Hirasawa and Manabe and a location they won’t disclose.

Izumi lies  down, sighing in bliss at the brief respite. Then, she picks up her accounting reports that glare at her accusingly from the side table.

“You’re going to fall asleep like this.” Tosaki objects when he comes in later, taking a seat at a table and throwing throwing her an amused glance.

“My rhythm works well into the night. There’s no reason for concern.” Izumi replies, writing small notes in the margins before angling for her calculator.

Tosaki scoffs, but bites back further comments.

When Izumi next comes to, the clock on the wall shows 4 am.

There is a pillow under her head and a light blanket thrown across her. Her documents have been neatly stacked on the nearest table.

She sighs, and, fighting the urge to roll over and sleep until morning, she heads to her bedroom, taking her work with her.

She finishes an hour later. Three hours later, she wakes up and makes Tosaki a cup of coffee he didn’t ask for.

 …….

Ogura is the only one who partakes in her smoking habit. They’re outside the hideout, sitting on a bench. Despite the time of night, it’s still unbelievably warm. Izumi slips out of her sandals and touches the grass with bare feet. A bunch of cicadas scream in the background.

“Wonder what he’ll be up to if he ever grows tired of burning down the world.” She says, sighing and stares out into the pitch-black night infront of them. They’re arrived full-circle at one of their favourite topics.

“Satou’ll never get bored.” Ogura objects, squashing his cigarette against the wall before lighting a new one reflexively.

“He’s a gamer, isn’t he? And he’s already streaming on his website. He’ll want to stay hip and go with the crowd. Not gonna be long until he opens a Youtube gaming channel.”

Izumi stares at him, incredulously.

“He would. It’s all the rage in the States. He’d pick a fancy name, too. Like…killer-grandpa-606”

“Stop it.” Izumi says, choking on her next drag.

“Murderous-maniac-xoxo.”

“Killers-with-Hats.”

“That’s a good one.”

Her knowledge of pop-culture has steadily improved, mostly due to Nakano’s influence, but also Nagai’s- although she would never put him on the spot like that.

…………..

They’re not supposed to use the internet, as not to leave traces on websites, and they’re most certainly not supposed to have social media profiles. Izumi senses a loosing battle far into the first few weeks. Does she have evidence? No, she would tell Tosaki-san blankly. She only has a hint.

(She personally logs Nakano out of his youtube account on multiple occasions.)

Instead, she calculates and sends emails with attachments, and installs a VPN on every single device she can get her hands on. That’s more than she can do.

It’s more than she knew how to do, weeks prior. Adapt, overcome.

………….

The name is a fraud. There’s no Yukimura Hifumi – none, that she knows of, at least. But she’ll need a fake I.D. one day. They all will. It’s a little like a vacation they can’t take, she thinks, surveying country maps for places to flee to. “I have an aunt in Kyoto.” she says, one evening.

“And she can be considered trustworthy?”

“She has dementia.” Izumi says. And a house that reminds her of vacations spend with her mother. And a backyard where the neighbours’ cats frequent.

“We’ll consider it.”

….

Somedays, she finds it hard to stand up. Somedays, she finds it easy.

On every single day, she pushes herself regardless.

“Good morning, Kuro-chan.” she says, like every morning, and opens the window.

She’ll make this identity her own.

[choonlo]

Hey ⑇ p.js

a park jisung oneshot

genre : fluff

wc : 4k

The screams got noticeably louder when a familiar tune began to play from the speakers.

A bead of sweat trickled from the side of your forehead down to your neck as you desperately tried to fan yourself with your hands. Joined by a few other fans, the six members of NCT Dream were in the middle of the crowd, dancing to their latest song, "Boom". You hadn't expected this to happen—actually, none of the people here had, not even the host of the occasion. It was merely a coincidence, you thought. For Korean idols to appear and eventually join this random K-Pop dance event was something out of a fangirl's dream, your dream, and everyone else's for that matter.

As you rapped Jaemin's lines along with the crowd, you let your eyes take in as much of your bias as you could. Park Jisung was indeed just a few meters away from you. Hell, you hadn't had the chance to go to concerts your whole life, but guess what? Your very first one was free, and it was better than those VIP seats that you couldn't afford with the five bucks you called your "savings".

It was hot. It felt like the sun's rays were stabbing your skin, and the heat from being squished in the middle of the cluster of sweaty bodies certainly didn't help either. You ignored the pounding in your head and focused on Jisung who was now dancing to Chewing Gum. The corners of your lips twitched upward. It's been years since the song was released, and you could still remember the curly hair that had brought you into the fandom.

Despite the obvious changes from 2016 Jisung and the present, you could still feel the childlike innocence that radiated from him, the absolute cuteness that caught your eye when you first watched their debut video.

Minutes passed, and they were finally done. The host was now talking to the group, thanking them as each of the members took their turn in shaking his hand. Most of the people were filming the moment, wanting to have something to remember the experience with. You would've been doing the same, but you weren't. It didn't occur to your mind that you should've been doing something like taking a picture, of recording a video on your phone. Instead of doing any of these, you screamed.

"I LOVE YOU PARK JISUNG!"

You had screamed at the top of your lungs, your shrill voice piercing through and drowning out every other noise. Silence suddenly existed in the busy area you were in thanks to you, and you hadn't noticed what you'd done until Jisung's eyes locked with yours.

Actually, all eyes were on you, but it was as if you and Jisung were the only ones there, as cliché as it sounded. Was it mentioned that you were wearing a shirt with Jisung's name and face imprinted on it? And that your backpack was embedded with NCT enamel pins, half of them being, again, Jisung's face. Well, now you remembered.

Finally, you snapped out of your trance and slapped a hand over your mouth, face flushing when you realised the amount of attention being directed to you. A few people started laughing, giggling, whatever. Some went "aww" at your adorable reaction. This made you look down at your feet, and because you did so, you failed to see how Jisung's cheeks reddened, too.

×

Having finished your grieving session, you walk down the stairs to grab a glass of water, phone in hand. You've been wailing in your room for the past few hours, and you basically let your heart out as your parents weren't home yet. But you were probably loud enough that your neighbours may have thought of calling the police, which they thankfully hadn't.

"Legit, I wouldn't be surprised if Jisung has a fanboy crush on you right now," Kim clicked her tongue, her voice seemingly laced with excitement.

Videos of NCT Dream's appearance earlier had started to circulate the internet, not one from any of the social media platforms you used didn't have at least ten posts about the afternoon event downtown.

Of course, that wasn't what had gotten you riled up.

There were clips dedicated to you, most having your face clearly shown in them. Notifications from your phone blew up the moment you got home, friends and strangers spamming you with messages, and you weren't surprised that some even had threats.

Apparently, a lot had seen how Jisung reacted, and some speculations of you being someone more than a fan began to spread across the whole fandom. Oh boy, how you wished.

"Um, no," you retorted, placing the glass on the coaster as you plopped yourself onto the couch. "Did you even see my face in those videos? I looked like crap! Jisung probably felt embarrassed!"

"That's not the overly confident Y/N I know," Kim laughed through the phone. You roll your eyes at her comment. "You looked cute! Like, you looked haggard as fuck, but it was the pretty type of haggard!"

"What does that even mean?" You were annoyed, but you couldn't help but laugh at her statement. "This isn't a fanfiction, Kim."

She groaned, "Oh shut up, ten bucks to you if you don't get involved with NCT's Jisung within a month."

"Are you serious?" you replied, enthused. "You do know that I'm totally winning that bet?"

"Yeah, sure." As she spoke, you heard your phone emit a soft ring from the coffee table. You lean forward from the couch to peak at the screen, there was a notification from your social media, someone had just sent you a message.

"Was that yours?" Kim asked. Your response was a mere hum as you took the device into your hand. It was from a user whose name was literally "akzkjzjsj", and you almost ignored it if it weren't for Kim's comment; "I bet it's Jisung."

Squinting, you saw how the person's icon was a picture of the ceiling, nothing else but a light bulb in the image, like it had been taken just now for a one time use.

akzkjzjsj

: hey

Curious, you were. It didn't seem like a bot. Maybe the person would give you threats, too? It made sense, as it was an account that had just been made.

PJiuwusuwung

: whats up?

akzkjzjsj

: do u know nct

You scoffed, wasn't that already obvious? Ignoring Kim's voice, you typed in a reply.

PJiuwusuwung

: this is legit a jisung fan account ur talking to

akzkjzjsj

: ok

: can we meet up tomorok?

: tomorrow*

PJiuwusuwung

: um what i dont even know u???

akzkjzjsj

: that dog cafe downtown tom at 3 pm

: Nthnkzs (:

Your eyebrows furrowed. "What?" you let out a confused noise, beginning to type once again.

PJiuwusuwung

: wtf !

: what makes u think i'll go !

: hEllo? !

Noticing that your messages weren't sending, you clicked on the person's icon. A wry laugh bubbled from your throat, the person had blocked you. You exited the application and placed the phone back onto the small table.

"Are you done ignoring me?" Kim's irritated voice made you sigh. "What happened? Wait! Don't tell me Jisung actually contacted you."

"No, it wasn't him," you began, "Some guy—or girl, just asked to meet up tomorrow at that dog cafe we go to a lot. And guess what? The asshole blocked me before I could even reply."

"Don't go," she said with a stern tone. "It might be sasaengs, you should be careful when going out. Some people can be dumb enough to do something crazy before thinking twice."

Kim was right, but you decided to brush it off. "Calm down, it's not like I was planning to go anyway," you chuckled lightly, shaking your head.

"Yeah, good to know."

×

"Dad, I'm going out!"

"Where to?" he questioned. Slipping your shoes on, you thought of what your best friend had told you the night before. You technically weren't going to the cafe. There was a sale in the small store downtown, and you didn't want to pass the chance to get your hands on K-Pop merch for lower prices. Obviously, you had to ask for money from your mother, and she was reluctant to give you any, but you had begged enough that she was finally just forced to do so.

"I'm going to meet up with Kim downtown."

"Have fun," he replied. "Don't stay out too late."

After half an hour, you finally arrived. You entered the store, but not without bumping into a few bodies, the place was filled with people after all. Noticing how many customers crowded around the NCT section, you lowered your cap, and you snickered silently. Why were you acting like this? You thought you were being too dramatic, they probably had no clue who you were, anyway.

Your hand hovered an inch above the mask you wore before you stopped, hearing the conversation of the girls by the stand.

"Have you seen that video Jisung? The one where he acted weird when that one fan suddenly screamed "I love you" out loud?" one of them asked, studying Jisung's photocard in her hand.

"Who hasn't? Ugh, seriously, I would've went if I had known that Dream would show up!" the other whined. "The girl is so lucky, all the members looked at her at the same time! I would sell my kidney just to experience that!"

A shiver ran down your spine. It certainly wasn't nice to hear people talking about you, even though it wasn't anything bad, it made you uncomfortable.

Saving the money given to you was undeniably the better option rather than staying here. Right when you turned your back to walk out of the store, your head bumped into someone's chest. You softly mumbled an apology and stepped aside.

A hand grabbed your arm, and you felt yourself stiffen. Fuck, were you recognized? You didn't even wear the bag you wore yesterday, and you had normal clothes on, not those unofficial NCT shirts you usually used. How could someone possibly. . You tried to jerk your arm away from the person's grasp, but his voice stopped you.

"Good thing you didn't remove your mask," he remarked before pulling you out of the store. You knew better than to attract attention to yourself and the boy, and because you had an idea of who he was, you didn't cry for help. Once the two of you were a good distance away from the shop, you pulled your arm out of his grip and stepped back.

"What do you—"

"Don't worry! I won't do anything to you," the boy chuckled, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly. You look at him, he wasn't Jisung, the neon hair peaking out from the front of his hat said otherwise.

"Zhon—"

"Hey now! No blowing our covers!" Chenle hushed you as he crossed his arms, sending you a playful glare. He noticed your confused expression and sighed. "Why are you even here? Didn't we tell you to go to the dog cafe down the street?"

"Wh—" you paused. Realisation hits you like a truck and you gasp, hands moving to slap your cheeks. The person who had messaged you last night, the one who'd asked you to meet up. Was it Chenle?? "Why did you want to meet me?"

"Me? Oh no, not me! All we did was talk to you for Jisung," he explained, voice retreating to a soft whisper at the end of his sentence. Before he could say anything else, you cut him off.

"We?"

He tilted his head in confusion before letting out a sound and clasping his hands together. "I mean me, and the other members, aside from the youngest."

"You see," he continued, "Jisung basically developed a crush on you when he saw you yesterday! He couldn't stop asking himself, and us, what your name was and if he was your favourite among all the members—which was obvious because his face was literally on your shirt."

Chenle shuts his mouth, realising what he was doing. "I'm sorry for babbling. Jisung's waiting for you in the cafe, you should go now!"

He twirls you around and gives your back a push, snapping you out. "Wait, I—"

"Follow me," another boy shows up in front of you. You feel your head pound from everything that's happening, but you follow him nonetheless as he crosses the street. It takes the two of you a few minutes to get to the doors of the cafe, and you almost feel like fainting right there and then.

"I-I still have so many questions," you stare up at the person who escorted you to the cafe. The familiar eyes were enough for you to know that you were talking to Lee Jeno. "Can I pleas—"

"You should get in and sit down," he assured, giving you a pat on the shoulder. "You'll have your questions answered in there."

You nodded your head and tiredly pushed passed the door, the bell ringing from the motion. Puppies started to swarm around your feet, and you began to feel better as you squatted down in an attempt to stop the dizziness you felt.

As you pet the small poodle softly on its head, you take notice of the person who knelt beside you. Raising your head, your eyes immediately meet his. Jisung's face blushes a bright red, and you head the choked howling from the other side of the cafe. The other three members were clearly here.

"H-Hey," he uttered softly, averting his gaze onto the puppies that played with you. "I'm Park Jisung."

Despite the awkwardness, you didn't stop the laugh that bubble from your throat, and Jisung was glad that you didn't, because your voice truly was music to his ears.

"You didn't have to introduce yourself, Jisung." You wanted to give yourself a good ol' pat on the back as you smiled at him, making him even more flustered than before. It was weird, you should've been the one unable to talk properly! He was your idol, after all.

"Do you—I—uh, should—" Jisung was being the exact meme you'd expected him to be, and you felt your lips twitch at his cuteness.

"Let's take a seat on the tables—I mean chairs, the chairs, yes," he kept on stammering, standing up and holding a hand out for you. Now it's your turn to be awkward, staring at his hand for a long time before feeling the heat rise up to your ears.

"Oh, I'm supposed to—" you took his hand and stood up. The other members couldn't stop themselves from making noise. Chenle, who had already entered silently from behind the two of you, would've burst out laughing if it weren't for the four covering his mouth.

The two of you settle at the table further inside of the cafe, cautious of the fans that may possibly pass by. Jisung sat across from you, facing away from the transparent walls. Silence lasted for a long moment before he finally spoke up, "So, how long have you been a fan of our group?"

You looked up from the puppy on your lap and bit back a smile. He actually spoke without stuttering this time. "I started liking NCT when I saw Dream's debut video."

You saw the interest sparkle from Jisung's eyes as he leaned forward, intrigued. "I was actually skeptical about it first, because I wasn't quite a fan of cutesy concepts. But once I watched it, your unit became my favourite group."

"Why's that?" he wondered, tilting his head to the side cutely. An action so adorable that it made your heart skip a beat.

"W-Well, first of all, the song was catchy," you shifted on your seat, avoiding his gaze. "The vocals and raps were everything. I even spent my time trying to learn the choreography!"

You were about to start talking again before you remembered who was sitting in front of you. It was hard to do anything when you knew that the Park Jisung was giving all his attention to you.

The corners of Jisung's mouth quirked into a grin, he knew his effect on you, but he didn't want that to ruin this rare opportunity to be able to spend his time with someone he liked. "Hey." His voice made your shoulders jump. "Let's try to be comfortable with each other. Just talk to me, and I'll listen."

Because I want to get to know you better.

"Actually," he began when you finally faced him, "I was wondering if—"

"Sorry to interrupt," Renjun's voice startled the both of you, and Jaemin had to slap his shoulder to stop him from giggling. "Your drinks are with us,"

The two boys moved to the side of your table and placed each beverage on the coaster provided. Your eyebrows raise when you realize that the one given to you was your favourite. Jaemin was beaming, and seeing Renjun give you a polite smile, you decided not to question it and thanked them before they retreated back to their spot.

Either they stalked you hardcore, or they asked the lady in the counter for your usual.

"G-Go on," you shyly urge Jisung to continue, looking down into the glass as you look a sip from the straw.

"Can I get your number?"

He'd said it so softly, so sweetly, and oh so smoothly that you almost choked, shocked at his straightforward question. You face becomes beet red and you clumsily try to get an answer out.

Jisung sees how you react and panics as well, "I m-mean you don't have to! I just—"

"It's okay!" you cut him off, shaking your head profusely. He went silent, and so did you, not knowing what to say. What's next? Your mind was a total mess as you tried to think. Finally, you decided on getting your phone out, but he beats you to it, handing you his phone with a new contact ready to be added.

He knew that your first da—meeting, wouldn't go well. Jisung was an idol, and you were his fan. Although he was glad that you didn't go brain-dead, it was still a shame that the two of you couldn't speak to each other properly as it was, clearly, awkward.

That's why he thought that getting your number would be best, as he could easily talk to you without you seeing him get flustered about everything you did. It was an idea that he was proud of, so he couldn't help but bite his lip in an attempt to hide his smile as he watched you type in your number.

"H-Here," you return the gadget, looking away embarrassed and bewildered. Park Jisung asked you for your number. Park Jisung has your number. Park Jisung plans to contact you after all of this. The Park Jisung, actually knows you?

Jisung shot up from his seat, arm sticking out ready to catch you when you almost fell off your seat sideways. He moved to kneel beside you, pressing a hand onto your forehead and taking your wrist into the other, "Are you okay?"

It felt like your body was on fire when he touched you. "I-I-I am! Yeah, I'm good! Totally good!" you yelped, gently peeling his hand away from your head.

"But you're hot to the touch!" he protested.

"That's because I'm blushing!" you shook your head, pulling him up to stand. "I'm not sick, I'm just flustered."

"O-oh," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault!" Well it is his fault, WHAT WERE YOU SAYING? You mentally slapped yourself and opened your mouth to speak.

"I—"

"Jisung!" a voice softly hissed. Donghyuck moved hastily, slamming his hands onto the table harshly. He turns to your and gives you a smile. "Hello, Y/N."

"Hi?"

The boy laughs and turns back to his friend, shooting Jisung a panicked glare. "We have to go. Now. The manager is looking for us!"

Both your eyes widen and the two of you stand up in unison. Haechan pats Jisung on the chest before hurrying back, and Jisung looks back at you.

"I can see that you have to go," you gestured to the boys in chaos from the other side of the room. You quickly took notice of the apologetic face he had. "Don't be sorry, I understand. Now go! I don't want any of you getting in trouble."

Jisung nodded and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your breath hitched when he pecked your cheek before he runs out of the store with the other members, but not without sending you a last wave. You stood there, dumbfounded, a hand on the place where Jisung had kissed you.

A moment passes and you finally recollect yourself, staggering toward the counter to pay for the drinks you had. The lady smiled and returned the money, "Those boys already paid."

You uttered a soft "oh" before nodding your head and walking out of the cafe. Damn, the past hour felt like an eternity! You were dead on your feet when you arrived home, and you quietly made your way upstairs to your room as your father's snores echoed through the living room.

Crashing down onto the softness of your bed, you let out a tired moan. It didn't take long before you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

×

A vibration from your leg woke you up, and you groaned as you sat up, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room. You yawned, stretching your arms out and arching your back. "That was one hell of a dream."

You reached for the phone that had gotten out of your pocket, and you blink. Why were you wearing the clothes you had on in your dream? A gasp escapes your lips and you quickly unlock your phone. An unknown number had sent you a message.

Unknown #

: hey

: its mee

You

: who is me?

: j88sufn?

: jisung??

Fingers shaking, you clicked your tongue as you had wanted to slap yourself for being so nervous.

Unknown #

: your one and only :))

You wanted to yell at the top of your lungs, but all that came out was a croak, your voice getting stuck down your throat.

You

: BUT i thought it was a dream?

: are u messing w me

The person takes time to respond before the bubble disappears. Instead, they sent a picture of you playing with the dog in the cafe you were in earlier.

Unknown #

: certainly wasn't a dream

: anywayyy how r u?

You take a full minute to process what was happening and slowly let your thumbs type.

UWUSUNG

: hold that thought

: i gtg for practice, i'll ttyl c:

: ♥️

What? Did Jisung just send you a heart? You, Y/N L/N, could talk to Park Jisung anytime you wanted to. It felt like a dream, like you were being one of those delusional fangirls. But you weren't, because this was real, you concluded after biting onto your arm.

You hadn't sent a reply back after that, as it was too much for you to take in. This only happens when your crush is in the same school as you, not when your crush is an actual idol from SM Entertainment!

You almost threw your phone the moment it rang, someone was calling you. Was it Jisung? No! He left to practice!

The contact "Kim✨😘" flashed from the screen and you sighed in relief, feeling your shoulders relax before you answered the call. Not waiting for her to make a sound, you squealed into the mic, earning a shout from her.

"What the actual FUCK?" she growled. You shrugged her clear annoyance off and started rambling about what happened. Kim, on the other hand, couldn't understand a word you were saying, telling you to shut up.

"Okay, calmly, tell me what happened," she told you, letting you breathe in normally. As you were about to speak, your phone vibrated, and you held it in front of you to check the screen. Jisung had sent you a picture of himself, although it seemed like it was taken by someone else. He was posing for the camera, a sheepish grin on his face as he went with the awkward peace sign.

You let out a laugh at this, finding the picture, which was presumably taken by Chenle, cute. You replied with a heart after saving the image.

"Hey." You heard her huff. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"Hey," you repeated, lips a permanent smile. "Let's meet up tomorrow."

"Sure, but why?"

"Because you're getting your ten bucks tomorrow."

[melodyalanaroster]

Welcome To Weathering

Disclaimer: This takes place after The Implementation Of Protocol 216.

"I love you Nathaniel. Don’t ever forget that.” Alana’s voice began to waver, despite her desperate attempts to keep it steady. Nathaniel was doing everything in his power not to cry. “I promise you, I wont.” He choked. He took his jacket off, placed it around Alana’s shoulders and kissed her. “I love you more than anything in this world Alana. And when I get home, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” Alana turned to Sam and Ken. “Take good care of them.” She pleaded. Sam hugged Alana. “You know damn well we will.”

The car ride to Weathering was mostly quiet. Kentin drove and did his best to catch up with Nathaniel and make small talk, but Nathaniel wasn’t having it. It was nice to see his friend again, but he was too upset over having to leave Alana. Amber attempted to apologize to Kentin and Sam for how she acted in High School, but Sam cut her off before she could finish. “If Mels believes you to be redeemed, then so do we. My sister wouldn’t forgive and protect someone like you if you hadn’t changed.” She stated. “Oh, okay.” Amber muttered and looked down. Nathaniel stared out the window. “The last time I was in Weathering, Alana was leaving for Toronto.” He thought. Sam got on her phone. “Rini? Are you near Amouria? Good. I need you to get to the Black Tower and keep Mels company. She’ll know why I sent you and will tell you if she feels like it. Because you and I both know she’s insanely stubborn and will fall back into the abyss if someone from her innermost circle isn’t there to keep her out of it. I have no idea how long. The Black Tower has plenty of spaces to do that, I’m sure Mels won’t have an issue with you using a room to perform that action. Viktor can handle that, it’s not a difficult task. Trust me, you still won’t meet Nathaniel until the moment she’s decided upon. Thanks for this Rini. No, seriously. I’m not as worried for my sister... But I do know Nathaniel will rest easier knowing that Mels is being looked after during this. Alright. Love you too. Later.” She hung up and put her phone in her lap. “So, Severina is going to be with Alana?” Nathaniel piped up. “Yeah. Trust me, if anyone can keep my sister from falling back into that pit of depression, it’s her.” Sam replied. Nathaniel continued to watch the scenery pass by. It had been forty five minutes and they still had a few minutes left of the drive before they would arrive at the Roster Family Home. “Wow, I didn’t know Weathering was so far away from Amouria. This town is so cute.” Amber commented as she watched the town begin to pass her window. “It’s gotten a few face lifts over the years. It was a bit smaller when Mels and I moved to Amouria... And even smaller when we were kids.” Sam explained. “What type of people live here?” Amber asked. “It’s a mix. Neighborhood wise, the farms are to the East, the upper class is to the West, and everyone else lives in the North And South. The Roster Family Home is to the North...” Sam explained. 

The car swiftly passed through the city and began to enter a slightly wooded area. “We’re here.” Ken stated as he pulled up to a gate and put in a pass code. As the gate opened and the car pulled through, Nathaniel and Amber looked at the house. “Woah.” Amber commented. When the car came to a complete stop, they all got out and looked around. Ken popped the trunk and Sam immediately walked up to the door, unlocked and opened it. “Come on.” Sam encouraged. Nathaniel and Amber got their bags and walked inside. “Welcome to Weathering guys. Until Purification is complete, this place is your home. You can move about freely within the city, but you cannot go to Amouria. Nathaniel, you will be in Mels’ room. I trust that you remember where it is.” Sam clarified. Nathaniel nodded and walked to Alana’s room. When he got to her door, he sighed. “It’s strange being here and not having you with me.” He muttered as he opened the door. The room was covered in geeky items. The bed was black and deep blue, like her bed in Death’s Domain. He sat his bag down on the floor and sat down on the bed. 

His mind wandered to what was going to happen. Each and every member of the Cartel was going to die. The Police Force was going to be made aware of the R.D.R’s decision, as well as why he was no longer an issue. Eric had tried to call him at least twice in the past couple of days, but he ignored him. He knew what Eric was bound to ask and say... And he really didn’t want to be interrogated again. Alana had told him that she would contact Eric and tell him everything that he needed to know. Because of Sam, Alana would have Severina to lean on during this time. He kicked his shoes off and laid down.

“Hey Nathaniel! Wake up!” Sam shook him awake. “What’s going on?” Nathaniel gasped as he sat up. “Dinner is downstairs. Come on, you need to eat.” Sam stated. “Aren’t you not allowed in here?” Nathaniel asked as he sat up. “Under normal circumstances, Mels would kill me if I came in here. But, I am allowed to come in and check on you if it involves a meal being ready.” Sam explained. Nathaniel got out of bed and followed Sam downstairs. 

Kentin had ordered take out and placed it on the table. “There’s tacos and nachos for everyone but Amber.” He stated as Nathaniel and Sam entered the room. “Thanks for the salad.” Amber did her best to smile as she sat down in front of it. “You made sure to get sweet tea, right?” Sam asked as she sat down. “Of course I did, love. Come on Nathaniel, sit down. Make yourself at home.” Ken smiled as he sat down next to Sam and motioned to Nathaniel. “How can you two eat? Knowing what Alana is doing right now?” Nathaniel asked Sam and Ken. Sam sighed. “Right now, my sister is currently watching Sailor Moon with Severina and intends on doing a live stream of some of her play through of Kingdom Hearts 3 tomorrow.” She stated. Nathaniel blinked, a little caught off guard. “What?” Ken checked his phone. “Yeah, it’s on both the Family Forum and Instagram.” Nathaniel took out his phone, checked Instagram and the Family Forum, and sighed. Sam cocked her head a little. “This isn’t the first time my sister has watched over a Purification. This is simply the only time she’s ever been the one to enact it. She doesn’t have to take part in some elaborate plan. She just can’t leave the city until it’s over.” Sam explained. “So? She’s not gonna do any of the killing? Or be present to it?” Nathaniel asked. Sam face palmed. “I know she explained this to you. YES. She will be present for the death of the final boss. Once he’s dead and Purification is officially over, she will probably come out here and pick you up herself. Geez boy. I get that you’re upset, but please don’t waste my time being dense.” Nathaniel looked at Sam, annoyed. “Do you always have to be like this?” He asked. “YES! Nathaniel! As my brother, you are entitled to being treated how I see fit to treat my siblings. When you and Mels act like dense fools, I will happily call you two out on that. For fuck’s sake! I told you the exact thing the first time you two were together! You think that’s changed? Fuck no! So, sit your ass down and eat!” Sam boomed. Nathaniel looked at Sam, shocked and sat down in front of a plate of nachos and tacos. His mind didn’t want him to eat.... It wanted him to do his best to make his way back to Amouria and make sure Alana would be okay... But, he knew Sam was right, and his stomach needed him to eat... So, much to his brain’s dismay, he began to fill his stomach.

After dinner, Sam and Amber began walking around the property, talking. Either Alana had notified her sister about Amber’s condition, or Sam had instantly recognized it herself. Nathaniel pondered as to which option was the one that took place. “Mels told us the other day about Amber’s diet.” Ken walked up behind him. “Am I really that easy to guess?” Nathaniel asked. They began walking through the house. “For the past few years, I have had to be the sane one for both Sam and Mels. You can’t do that without picking up a few tricks.” Ken explained. They began talking about some of the events of the past few years. Alana had told Nathaniel a lot, but Ken was filling in some of the blanks. The rumors of the treaty between the Military and the R.D.R were true. Alana and Sam had had a fight so vicious that the organizations made it illegal for them to ever fight as enemies ever again. Everyone hated Azrael and blamed her for worsening Alana’s depression. “I don’t need to hear your side of Azrael forcing Alana’s and my separation.” Nathaniel interrupted Ken as Ken had begun to talk about it. “Sorry.” Ken replied.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, they met up with the girls, who had also ended up walking in silence. “Hey, guys, do you think we could go into the city and wander around a bit tomorrow?” Amber asked, doing her best to break the silence. “I’d rather not.” Nathaniel stated. “Well, that decides it. We’re all going.” Sam declared. “Why?” Nathaniel asked. “Because, you’re not gonna sit around this house and mope the entire time my sister is saving your ass! There are a shit ton of things to do in this city, and frankly, it would be good for all of us to actually enjoy our time here.” Sam emphasized.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to end and Nathaniel to go back to Alana’s room. He checked social media to see if there had been any updates. Eric was still trying to get a hold of him, demanding to know the answers to several questions. “I will discuss things with him.” Alana had told him. He knew he had to have faith in her. As he logged onto the family forum, he noticed that Severina had posted a video. She and Alana were laughing and eating pizza. “Come on Mels, why can’t I meet him before that gala?” “Because! This will be the first time my best friends meet my boyfriend! It’s going to be a historic event! Not to mention how Nathaniel and I will look like royalty and be able to have a romantic dance.... We haven’t done that since Prom....” “And what about that party you two went to a while ago?” “That was different... Nathaniel pulled me into a tango, and I was wearing a dress that amounted to little more than a napkin. At the gala, he’s gonna wear a custom suit, which he looks BEYOND SEXY in, I’ll be wearing a really cool dress, and we’ll have a chance to slow dance. God, the mere thought of it is magnificent!” Alana blushed. Nathaniel chuckled. She seemed fine, but he knew that with Severina there, Alana wouldn’t get too depressed. That didn’t stop him from missing her and worrying about her.

As he took off his clothes and got into her bed, he looked at the ceiling and sighed. “This is going to be interesting.”

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

I had the option of keeping Nathaniel and Amber in The Black Tower, but everyone told me that it would be better to do some world building. And because of that, here we are. Nathaniel and Amber are in Weathering with Alana’s sister and Ken. This completely derails from the in game canon. I’m definitely out of my element in the sense of writing from Nathaniel’s point of view... But, I feel like it’s necessary. I was really unsure of how long this one should be, because it doesn’t go with the game canon... But, I’m happy that it’s much shorter than the other ones....

Credit goes to:

Unnieverso for the Kentin Sprite

FNAFfanart67 for the base to Sam’s sprite

andanguyen for the background

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Part XIII - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

Maybe the lyrics and the melodies would leave her feeling just as confused as I did in New York when she disappeared in the middle of the night.

Maybe the pictures I drew in the songs would leave her feeling as empty as I was that winter. I could only hope.

7.5k wc

read parts 1 - 12 here

AN: Thanks so much for reading!!!! So interested to hear your thoughts on what is going to transpire with Harry and Margot. If you like my work, please REBLOG because where I come from, sharing is caring. 

THEN - Day 1534

I knew I needed to get out of my parent’s house. If it weren’t for the fact that I was 21 and my social life was minimal, I might not feel so strongly about it. 

But seeing as Ben and Sara were home from college and meeting up with friends from high school--it got me thinking that maybe I didn’t have enough of a social circle. 

Coming home from Tennessee made me realize that my social circle mostly existed of people who worked for me in one way or another--throw my boyfriend, his band, and the people who worked for them into the mix and I felt pretty fulfilled.

But suddenly, I was back in California for 12 months of minimal interaction with people outside of my immediate family and Sinead. I was lonely. I was bored. And I didn’t really know what to do about it. 

Which is why, a whole year after I left Harry in New York, I somehow talked Maya into playing basketball with me in the driveway. 

“Your free throw sucks,” she said--holding the basketball in the air before throwing it in my direction. Maya’s senior season was about to end--so she was open to embarrassing me for only our mom and Pete to see. 

I shot the ball again and watched as it missed the hoop entirely--Maya didn’t even make an attempt to get my rebound. “Yeah, well--not all of us are high school basketball stars.”

She rolled her eyes--giving me a hard time in jest. “Not all of us left high school to go on tour.”

“Touché,” I said, dodging the ball that she passed back to me--this time with more force and speed. I reached a hand out to stop it, keeping my body a safe distance in case it developed a mind of its own. 

“How do you feel today?”

Her words seemed nonchalant, but I knew her question was loaded. What she really meant was are you a mess inside on the one year anniversary of your life ceasing to exist? She walked towards the hoop in our driveway, reaching for her water bottle as I smoothed out the messy hair that came loose from my ponytail. 

I shrugged my shoulders, wishing that the sunset didn’t remind me of him. 

“Fine,” I said. 

“Okay and now for your truthful answer,” Maya prompted, gaining a laugh from me as I walked to meet her by the grass.

I thought of Maya on the basketball court--her high school’s female version of Troy Bolton. I’d been dragged along to plenty of her basketball games and Ben’s soccer games--my mom seemed just as excited to watch Maya rule the court as she did to see me fill up the Rose Bowl. 

“I just wonder what he’s doing.”

She took another swig of water and then handed it to me. “Would you ever reach out?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh after I sipped. “And say what? I miss you--I shouldn’t have left you--I  suck?”

Maya kept her eyes on me--her silence was her answer: yes. I could say that if I wanted to. 

I groaned and walked back to my place on the court, watching as she bounced the ball twice before passing it to me. “I’m sure he wonders what you’re doing, too. You pretty much fell off the face of the earth.”

I tried to shoot again, the sound of the ball on the rim echoed off of the trees that separated our house from the Toluca Lake neighborhood. “I didn’t fall off the face of the earth.”

“You literally finished tour, went to rehab, came home, and haven’t posted anything on social media. No music, no interviews. People at school used to ask if me you were dead.”

I rolled my eyes, watching as she shot the ball from the box, a gust of wind blew through our private yard. 

When I didn’t respond, she laughed. “I’m just saying. He--of all people--is probably the most curious about what you’re up to.”

“I’m sure he thinks about it--,” I paused, “in between his fantasies of murdering me.”

“You’re dramatic,” she waved me off. “He probably wants to call you. I bet he’s a mess today.”

“You don’t know that. He was a shell of himself during your decline.”

My decline. I rolled my eyes. 

That was the thing about Maya--she was thoughtful and introspective and observant, and most importantly, ridiculously mature for a 17 year-old. She knew Harry well--even if she met him for the first time when she was just thirteen. 

She shot the ball and then did it again--a three pointer. She tossed it to me and I didn’t even catch it--reaching for it so hard that I nearly lost my footing. “What was your impression of that time?” I brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the setting sun--I’d never really asked her what it was like for her.

“Of your decline?”

“Yes,” I made a face. “My decline.”

She put a hand on her hip and let out a sigh. “You were a mess. It was obvious to everyone--Harry was, like, I don’t know--a chicken with his head cut off.”

I laughed at the last part a little--the image playing through my head as I went to retrieve the ball that had bounced past me. 

“I don’t know why he didn’t just address it more directly,” she commented, her words almost more to herself than to me. 

I felt the need to defend him for some reason. “I mean--he did address it,” I said. “I just lied to him a lot.”

“He gave up too easily, though. He knew you weren’t okay and he should have pressed you harder.”

“I didn’t see you pressing me harder.”

“I’m your little sister. I could tell you the house was on fire and you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Partially true. She held out her hands as if to summon the ball from me. I tossed it to her and watched as she dribbled it a few times and then shot it, the soft sound of the nylon net against the ball as she turned to look at me again. “I’m right.”

“He did give up too easily--I agree with that. But I think he did the best he could.”

It felt strange to say it--it  felt weird to talk about him as if I weren’t mad and as if I wasn’t upset that he didn’t call. It’d been a whole year--and tonight, despite the fact that it was November, felt eerily similar to the driveway scene I’d replayed in my head a thousand times. 

We’d sat on the grass only a few feet away, our hands brushing against each other when we stood to have dinner. He seemed to watch me with a smirk and something about him made me feel like I didn’t have to try so hard. 

I didn’t have to be Margot Jones 24/7. I could just be. 

So maybe that’s why I defended him. Maybe it was because out of all the things that had happened between us--all the things we can’t ignore--making me fall in love was my favorite. 

NOW - Day 1729

Sinead sat at the counter while I pushed around scrambled eggs in a frying pan that my mom bought for me when I moved in. 

It was late morning--nearly 11am when Sinead showed up--but she said she had good news when I opened the door with narrowed eyes. She’d been showing up unannounced more and more often, and now that I wasn’t as miserable and grouchy as I’d once been, I think she enjoyed my company a little more. 

“So--it just says they’d love to meet. They don’t even mention the old contract or anything like that. Just that they would talk about it.”

I let my shoulders slump as steam floated up above my head. “I dunno--that makes it all real.”

“You’re already recording it,” Sinead said simply, her tone more serious than I would have liked. 

I turned around to face her, letting my hands rest on the granite behind me. “Sinead--it’s pretty laissez faire right now. We’ve done, like, three songs. I’d hardly call it an album. Who even knows if they’ll go together.”

“The songs?”

“Yeah,” I turned back around, unable to ignore the thoughts of Harry in my head. “They’re all old, so far. Half old, at least. I haven’t written a lot of new stuff. They’re all just things I was sitting on. And they’re really different from anything I’ve put out before. Less pop and more--indie, I guess.”

She looked up from her phone for the first time and seemed to soften her expression. “I just think that you’re most you when you’re creating. You’ve been bored lately.”

“I was locked up and went to therapy a shit ton,” I defended my empty schedule. “I needed a second.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” she stood from her stool and walked towards the Keurig. “I’m just saying that I think you’re ready. Even if you’re afraid.”

She didn’t press me any further. In fact, she was quiet until I sat beside her on the deck and forked a bite of food into my mouth. 

“Does Harry know you’re recording?”

I nodded, my eyes hidden behind my sunglasses as I watched a few surfers try to catch a wave. “We haven’t spoken in more detail than that, though.”

“Well, should I tell John you’re down to meet or no? If it’s too soon it’s too soon, but I don’t think he’ll pressure you. He knows what happened.”

What happened. I rolled my eyes a bit--thankful she couldn’t see them beneath the shaded glass. What happened is I was burnt out. I was working more hours a week at 17 than most people do in mid-life. Being me was a constant job and I had a boyfriend who was regularly on the other side of the planet singing love songs to stadiums of girls who wished I didn’t exist. 

I’d release an album and piss people off for being too honest. Tone it back and I was called too mysterious. I couldn’t please everyone, so I stopped trying. Forgive me for losing my shit.

“I’ll go,” I said with a lift of my shoulders to show my lack of emotional attachment--however fake it was. “But we can’t tell Harry.”

Sinead thought on that for a second--licked her lips--and then smiled. “Okay.”

THEN - Day 1308

There were nights when the thought of Margot didn’t seem to swirl in my head. Nights when the alcohol was plenty and the music was loud and laughter seemed to fill the air. Those nights were what I lived for--or, they were what I needed to live. 

I wasn’t thrilled with the way everyone seemed to settle in on the couch when we returned from a restaurant downtown. Mitch’s eyes were looking more sleepy with every second and Jeffrey seemed glued to his phone.

“C’mon guys,” I said, clapping my hands together as I made a move towards the kitchen. “Who needs a drink?”

I scanned the room--none of them seemed to flinch at that. Out of the eight people in front of me, Mitch was the only one who even looked up at the sound of my voice. 

“Mitchell? Fancy some rum?”

“Nah, man,” he shook his head, standing from the couch with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m tired. I’m just gonna head upstairs.”

I frowned at that--now letting my eyes sweep back to the rest of them. “What’s the deal? The night is young! Why are we all acting like old ladies?”

Jeffrey looked up at this, clearing his throat as he adjusted on the couch. “Harry, man, we’re tired. We’ve partied the last three nights after working all day. Let’s just have a quiet night in.”

My stomach seemed to sink at his words. A twinge of anger passed through my chest and I felt my eyebrows meet in the middle of my forehead. “We don’t need a quiet night, I don’t need a quiet night.”

Mitch seemed to slip up the staircase--a few of the others following behind without any words. 

“I thought we came here to have fun,” I called after them, hearing my voice echoing off the walls of the stairs and the foyer, following them up the steps to the second floor. “Work hard, play hard, right?”

“Harry,” Jeffrey was now at the counter, standing in front of me with his mouth set in a thin line. “Are you alright, man? D’ya wanna talk?”

I let out an angry noise before dropping his eye contact, my hands coming to rest on the cool granite of the counter. “Talk about what, Jeffrey? Talk about the fact that I got fucking dumped and it’s been a few months and I’m not over it? Or about the fact that every fucking song we’ve written so far is about her and her emotional fucking baggage?”

He seemed to wince at my swearing--or maybe it was the fact that my eyes were now filled with tears. 

“You want to talk about that?” I pressured, watching as he let out a sigh and shook his head. 

“You’re writing songs about her because you’re feeling, man. You’re feeling a lot right now and you’re processing it. I promise it won’t feel this way forever.”

I appreciated his attempt at soothing me, but it felt like the only thing that would work was a shot glass filled with the rum that sat beside my hands on the counter. “Feels that way.”

He nodded. “I know. But--just rest and chill for a while. We can’t drink every night. We can’t party every single night. Go upstairs and sleep and channel this energy into making a good fucking album to show her what she’s missing.”

I laughed a bit at that--I wanted it to be true. I’d hoped from the second I signed the contract with the label to come down here and make it that she’d hear it one day and wonder what had happened. Maybe the lyrics and the melodies would leave her feeling just as confused as I did in New York when she disappeared in the middle of the night. 

Maybe the pictures I drew in the songs would leave her feeling as empty as I was that winter. 

I could only hope. 

NOW -  Day 1732

Margot didn’t know I was coming home to L.A., and I wanted to keep it that way. Out of my own selfish fear that she’d tell me not to or she’d worry about what people would think, I wanted the 5 hour plane ride from the East Coast to be relaxing. After all, promo tours were almost as tiresome as getting back together with your ex. 

When I landed at the small regional airport in Burbank, I called her and listened to the voice message that had been updated since 2015. She sounded older, more mature, somewhat vague, and like she probably wouldn’t call you back as soon as she could. 

I called Sinead next, hoping to find a location to head towards, seeing as I was already in a car heading West into town. Again, no answer. It was Nick who finally did. 

“Hey--yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s with Nathan.”

“In the studio?” I clarified, tugging at my lower lip as I watched the California landscape take shape outside my window. A noise of confirmation from Nick. “For herself?”

“Uh,” he seemed to stall, likely wondering if he should backtrack or carefully considering how to proceed. “I don’t know--have you called her?”

“Yeah--no answer.”

Had I called her? It felt like a bit of an insult--almost as if he were implying that I should know more than I did, and the fact that I didn’t held significant meaning.

I was doing my best--which is something it felt like everyone ignored. I was trying with every bone in my body to glue the pieces back together to resemble what her and I had once had, minus the cracks and the flaws and the lack of communication about emotions. 

With Nick off the phone and a better idea of where she was, I gave the address of Nathan’s studio to the driver, watching as the Hollywood streets turned to the hills of Sherman Oaks. 

The small house on a residential street was just as quiet as I remembered--except only now the shutters were blue instead of black. I wondered if the inside would be the same--the same couch where I’d watched Margot record the first song we’d written together. The kitchen off the side that Nathan kept filled with her favorite snacks. 

When I knocked on the door, there was silence for a moment, birds chirped in the yard--the soundproofed walls didn’t give me a taste of what was happening inside. 

Nathan, with a bit of surprise but a smile nonetheless (thank God), opened the door and called Margot’s name. “Someone’s here to see you.”

He stepped aside to let me in, pausing awkwardly in the small back room until Margot appeared with furrowed brows. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, moving towards me to let her arms wrap around my middle. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, thankful for the fact that, while she did seem confused, she wasn’t angry or upset. 

“Few days off. Figured I’d rather spend them here than New York.” 

She smiled up at me (apparently that was the right answer), but took her arms away from my sides, crossing them over her chest as she eyed me up and down. “And you just knew I was here?”

“I talked to Nick--I think he didn’t want to tell me.”

She let out a laugh and shrugged a bit at that. Nick hadn’t ever hated me--I think my relationship with him was more affected by his fear of what would happen if things didn’t work. When we were young, he’d tell Margot that relationships are great but work was important. I think it stressed him out for her career to be so intertwined with mine--any slight movement on either side of the boat and the whole thing could capsize. He wasn’t wrong.

Margot moved aside to let me hug Nathan--I’d spent plenty of late nights with them in this house, bringing food from In n’ Out or coffee from Starbucks. 

“Good to see you, man,” he said, clapping a hand on my back before pulling away.

“You too--how’re things? How’s Stacy?”

“She’s good, Lily’s almost three--it’s wild.” He pulled out a phone to show me a picture, both Margot and I smiled at the screen, though I figured she’d already seen it. 

When they led me back towards the board I wanted to ask but I didn’t. I didn’t let the words trail out of my mouth to inquire about what was happening--was she recording? Was it hers? Would it be released?

Instead, she texted Sinead to make sure she’d bring my bags into the house and let her know that we’d both be home for dinner. 

Eventually, she looked up at me from her seat on the couch. Nathan had disappeared on a phone call, giving us a few seconds alone. 

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“About what?” I feigned confusion, eliciting a giggle from her as she lifted her feet to rest on my lap. “This?” I motioned around the room--searching for clarification. “Your professional endeavors are none of my business.”

She rolled her eyes at my wording. “They are if you’re sleeping in my house.”

“Yeah about that,” I faked a frown. “Can I sleep over tonight? M’really not feeling the drive to Agoura Hills.”

She whacked me in the stomach playfully, another side eye as she leaned back to rest her head on a throw pillow behind her. She closed her eyes. “I’m recording my own stuff.”

There it was. I shifted a bit, letting the words settle in the air between us before clearing my throat. I nodded. I was supportive. I wanted her to do what she wanted. God knows everyone would be more than eager to listen to it--they were dying to hear from her and understand what had happened. 

“New or old?”

“Both.”

Another nod. Apparently words were escaping me. 

She opened one eye to peer over at me. “Do you care?”

“Care?” I asked, confused about her wording. “I want you to do what you think is best.” The words fell out of my mouth like hot lava. It was a phrase I’d said so many times. 

Should I extend the tour and spend more time away from you? Whatever you think is best. Should I do more promo for the album and lose more sleep? Whatever you think is best. 

Should I do this interview? Do this magazine cover? Where should we go on vacation? 

She knew it just as well as I did--which, I’d assume, is why she rolled her eyes before sitting up and staring at me straight on. “That’s not much of an answer.”

It used to be plenty. 

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” I said honestly. “Do I care as in am I interested and supportive and all of that? Yes. Do I care as in am I worried that you’re going to--” I cut myself off. 

I hadn’t thought through the words enough yet. I knew she was thinking about it. I knew she was with Nathan that time I’d called her after she spoke to Ryan Seacrest. I wasn’t completely in the dark--but I didn’t know enough to save me from the ruminating over worst case scenarios. 

“Am I going to what?” She pushed. “Do the same thing you did to me?”

Ouch. I sighed, letting my head fall against the back of the couch in exasperation. “Yeah. That.”

She srunched her lips in thought, her eyes trailing over the room. Past the sound board, past Nathan’s chair, past the coffee table where I knew she did a lot of writing. And then they fell on me. 

“You can’t blame me for wondering.”

“I don’t,” her shoulders moved with her words. “But you can’t expect me to not be honest.”

“I was honest too.”

“No--you made it sound like I left without a word and like you had no idea what was going on.”

“I didn’t!” I defended suddenly--the emotion just as raw inside of me as if it were November of 2015. “I felt like I had no answers and then suddenly you weren’t there. I never planned on not being with you. I always factored you into my life.”

The words looked like they stung, and I hadn’t meant for them to. Margot seemed to retract her feet and become smaller as she shook her head. “I didn’t plan on fucking you up, Harry. I made a decision based on what I thought was best.”

She threw my words back at me like poison. I broke eye contact. For a minute I wondered if we’d ever be able to move past it--the night in New York when she cut the cord. 

She shook her head a little, staring at the hardwood floors beneath us. “I have to tell my story and say how I feel. If I don’t do that--I’m just doing the same thing as before.”

She could tell I didn’t understand when I narrowed my eyes. 

“I have to be honest and write what I feel and tell my side because if I don’t I’ll resent it and I’m not going into this with any type of agreement to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to be silenced by fear or anxiety or anything.”

I nodded--almost taken back by her honesty, a breath of air escaping my lips. “I want you to do what’s right for you. I just don’t want to look like an asshole.”

I smirked a little--knowing full well that I probably would. Maybe not in every song. But in some. 

A door shut down the hall, letting us know that Nathan was off the phone. Margot laughed and rolled her eyes playfully at me. “That makes two of us.”

THEN - Day 652

“Get your feet off the table,” my mom’s voice sounded from behind me as I . scrolled mindlessly on my phone. She let a hand trail down my hair as she passed behind the leather couch in my green room. 

I rolled my eyes and let out a scoff at her. “Mom--I can put my feet on my table if I want.”

“It’s called basic manners, honey, okay?” She sat in an armchair beside me--looking over her cell phone quickly before clicking it shut. She brought her eyes up to mine, then sighed. “I just met with Nick. They want to add another date in San Diego.”

“Okay,” I nodded, dropping my own phone to my side before crossing my arms, trying to pull the San Diego date into my head. August. Sometime in August. But I didn’t know when. 

“Margot, you don’t have to say ‘yes’ to everything.”

“It’s my tour,” I reminded her, knowing full well that the decision ultimately came down to me. I hadn’t even spoken to Nick yet--and as I’d gotten older, my mom took on less and less of a managerial role. It felt better to have more separation between work and family, especially once I no longer needed her permission to lawfully engage in work. 

“Margot Leanne,” my mother shook her head at me. “What has gotten into you?”

I rolled my eyes again and pulled my legs up in front of my chest. The last thing I needed with two hours before doors was my mom acting as if I needed to run everything by her. 

In some ways, 2014 felt like the height of my career. I was on my 3rd headlining tour--my second sold out arena tour--I’d won four Grammys in February, and my time off was spent jetting between countries to visit my boyfriend on his sold out arena tour. I didn’t need my mother telling me to get my feet off of the coffee table. 

“Nothing has gotten into me,” I said quietly, hoping she’d drop the issue and give me some space. She didn’t seem to understand how much I needed lately. 

Days on tour were hot and busy and the nights were even more hectic. I spent most days doing radio interviews in cities we visited, meeting with VIPs--mainly the family or daughters of the arena executives who had been connected to a small meet and greet. Then there’d be wardrobe fittings, going over tricky dance moves, soundcheck, meet and greet with fans, and then I was lucky to get an hour or two of quiet before I had to start hair and make up. 

Pair that with being on stage in front of 50,000+ people for two and a half hours and by the time I got into bed on the bus, my ears were ringing, my head was spinning, and my heart was asking me how long this would all last. 

Would I make it another 10 years? Could I do another four arena tours--like my contract demanded? How many albums would the label want out of me? Was I writing this next one fast enough? Soon I’d have to start recording late at night on the bus once Nathan flew out. Write, sing, record, perform. Smile, be grateful, be cheery. Repeat.

It was hard to quiet my thoughts at night, but the hum of the highway beneath the wheels would usually lull me to sleep. And when it didn’t, I called Harry. 

THEN - Day 1629

When Sinead showed up at my house a few days ago to tell me that Harry was releasing a single, I knew someone who’d be more shocked than I was. 

“I can’t believe that asshole has the balls to write some song and release it,” Cara rolled her eyes and sipped at the iced coffee in front of her. I sat in the kitchen of her West Hollywood apartment, hoping the maintenance man would be over soon to fix her air conditioner. 

The spring air was warm in Southern California, and Cara had nothing but shorts and a sports bra on when I showed up. 

Cara and I met when we were 14--early in my music and acting career and early in her high school career. She lived down the street from me when we first moved to California, and for some reason, she was one of the only people I felt I could trust. 

She wasn’t too shaken by the whole fame thing--in fact, she was more concerned with whether or not I could help her meet Channing Tatum than she was about the fact that I was signing record deals and had a popular sitcom. 

“He’s not an asshole,” I said, wiping the condensation on my plastic Starbucks cup before a drip found the top of her counter. “He’s just--I don’t know. I have no clue if it’s about anything. Could be about a fucking staircase, for all I know.”

“Yeah, I just,” she shook her head, running a hand through her long hair. “I hope he doesn’t stir shit up.”

“Uh, it’s going to stir shit up. I’ve kept such a low profile no one even knows I’m here,” I motioned around her apartment--implying that there had once been a time where Cara had to come to me. I got sick of sneaking up the back stairs of her apartment complex and through the hoard of paparazzi that would follow behind my car. 

“I could call him--you know, reach out and ask if it’s about you.” There was a knock on the door--hopefully the maintenance man. 

“No,” I shook my head, watching as she rounded the counter to greet whoever was on the other side. “No one is reaching out to him.”

“We’ll call Niall! I’m sure Niall knows.”

“He doesn’t--I texted him the other night.”

Cara pulled the door open, revealing a man in a blue collared shirt. He looked more like a pool boy than a maintenance man--and he introduced himself as Pete. 

Cara showed Pete where her central air ducts were--and soon he was headed out to the back of the building, hoping to find the problem. Cara relocated to her couch and I followed behind, bringing my iced coffee with me. 

“Or Niall’s just not telling you,” she shrugged. 

“He would tell me if he knew--or warn me, I guess.”

She gathered her blonde hair to one side and used the hair-tie around her wrist to hold it in place. “Y’think Harry’s pissed that Niall and you are still so close?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I lied, letting my tongue find the green straw before sucking. “I lost compassion for him when I went to rehab and he didn’t call.”

Cara laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her cup to make sure she’d gotten all of the coffee out--it was just ice now. “He wanted you to get help--so you do, and then he doesn’t call. Typical man.”

I was quiet at that. I didn’t know if I’d call Harry typical. So many things about him and about us felt anything but--but I knew what Cara meant. And she had a point. He wanted me to get help, to go somewhere and get better, but when I did, he disappeared. 

So was that what he really wanted after all?

But I couldn’t let myself think that way--I couldn’t let the what ifs occupy my mind and I couldn’t sit around wondering how things would be different if I hadn’t left, hadn’t gone to Tennessee, if he had called. 

I went. He didn’t call. I learned ways to handle the waves of panic that settled in my bones when I was left with the quiet of my bedroom and the uncertainty of a Sunday afternoon. 

I wasn’t paralyzed anymore by the fear of the unknown. 

“You okay?”

I let out a sigh but nodded--thankful to have someone like Cara who’d stuck around through it all. I couldn’t say the same for a lot of my friends. “I just can’t believe he’s not in my life, you know?”

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face as she waited for me to say more. I think Cara was used to me being pretty tight lipped about things, so when she got something out of me, she wanted as much as she’d get, 

Lucky for her, I was under-caffeinated, hot, and had nothing to do on a Friday morning. 

“I didn’t think--I dunno,” I stopped myself. 

“What?”

I looked around the room, feeling the emotion build in my chest as I spoke. “I really thought he would have called by now.”

NOW -- Day 1734

Margot peered over the counter--a wrinkle in her forehead as she read over the board one more time. It was early afternoon, so it’s not like there was a line behind us or anything, but her indecision felt eerily similar to how things had been. 

“Just a chocolate milkshake,” she spoke finally, her eyes flickering up to smile at the girl who’d fill our order. 

We’d dipped into a small ice cream shop on the Pacific Coast Highway--and after a few pictures with the two girls behind the counter, Margot took on the task of deciding what she wanted. Now, after ordering, she smiled up at me. 

“We came here when were, like, 19--do you remember that?”

“S’why I suggested it,” I said, slipping my fingers between hers as I pulled her towards the register. 

Things felt calm--or, more importantly, Margot felt calm. She didn’t seem to check over her shoulder every second for a camera or obsessively fix the sunglasses on her face to shield her eyes from whoever was watching.

She leaned against me as we waited for our order--my arms wrapped around her shoulders in an display of affection. I was surprised she was okay with it--she used to be more standoffish about that type of thing. 

Once I finally got my sundae and she finally got her shake--which she beamed at with wide eyes--she sat across from me at a small table in the corner of the room. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked me suddenly--her eyes on her hands as she fiddled with the straw wrapper in her fingers. 

“How am I feeling?” I repeated her question, checking that I hadn’t misheard her. She nodded. “‘Bout what, lovie?”

“About all of this,” she shrugged a bit, taking a sip of her treat before bringing her eyes back up to mine. 

I let out a breath of air through my nose--hoping to string together the right words so as to not alarm her. But then, when she shifted in her chair, I realized I was doing it. 

I was dancing around her, fearful of saying the wrong thing, but even more fearful of her reaction. I cleared my throat--she stared at me with eyes that told me she knew I was thinking. 

“I feel like I’m taking it day by day,” I said honestly, watching her closely for any sign of emotion. She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. “What?”

She tilted her head to the side as if to shrink away from the question. I reached a hand forward to poke her arm--eliciting a giggle from her as she sipped at her shake again. 

She sighed, rolling her eyes a little. “I think that’s the only way we can do this. One day at a time.”

I nodded--a sense of relief washing over me upon hearing we were on the same page. The relief, though, seemed to give me the necessary clearance to be more honest with her. 

“S’hard, obviously, to be away and be working right now. But m’really happy that we’re giving this a shot.”

“Me too,” she nodded slightly, her eyes scanned over the empty room. At 1pm on Tuesday, we figured we were safe to dip inside here and make it out relatively unscathed. There was laughter from the two girls behind the counter--who seemed to sheepishly watch us enjoy the ice cream--but she didn’t seem to mind too much. 

“How do you feel?” I turned the question around--always hoping for a better view of Margot’s mind. How did the wheels turn inside? How did she manage to handle all of the emotions I knew she felt without always giving it away that she was feeling them?

“I feel--” she hummed a little, thinking of the right word before picking up the straw wrapper again. “Nervous, I guess.”

“Nervous?”

She dropped the paper on the table and nodded--another sip before bringing her eyes back to me. 

“About what?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged awkwardly--and I think we both knew she was lying. “I mean, people know, and they’re starting to really know,” she motioned with her chin to the girls behind the counter--who’d undoubtedly already posted their pictures to the internet. “And people haven’t always liked it.”

I hummed in agreement--there was no use in denying that people were talking and we were spending time together and there was now a mountain of evidence that we were, in fact, back together. Whether or not either of us had confirmed it publicly--what did it matter? Pictures of me leaving her house--pictures of us out to dinner, in the car, my arm around her shoulders walking into an office building in Encino where we saw Hillary--seemed to solidify the thought in everyone’s head. 

The look on her face made me concerned, though. “Do you not want them to know?”

“No--I don’t care--it’s the truth, I just--” she paused again, scrunching her lips as she seemed to let her mouth catch up with her brain. “I’m trying really hard to talk more. And tell you how I feel and be honest and all of that. But it’s hard and scary--especially when you’re traveling so much for work and when the actual tour starts in the fall. S’bad timing.” 

I laughed a little at that--nothing about our relationship seemed to have good timing. She kept her eyes on her hands--the wheels must have been turning, she started speaking again and the words seemed to come out a quicker pace. “And I’m afraid that everyone in your life--your friends and family and the fans--they’re probably not too happy with me.”

“It’s no one’s business,” I said simply. “My friends and family are fine--my life is my life and we all know that my mum and sister want nothing more than for us to just have a baby already.”

She laughed, somewhat reassured as she sipped at her milkshake. “And Niall practically cried tears of joy when we FaceTimed him together that night.”

I laughed, taking another bite of ice cream in front of me. She was quiet for a moment--the air around us settling before she spoke.

“I think it’s going to be an album.”

An album? I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise--the ice cream in front of me was sure to melt now. “The songs?”

She nodded. After our conversation at Nathan’s a few days ago, we hadn’t spoken of it much. I didn’t want to pry and she likely didn’t want to give away too much in the early stages. 

“Oh.”

Another nod. 

“How’s it going?” I asked slowly, the words came out of my mouth sounding manufactured and awkward. 

“Good,” she said simply. “S’nice to be back in the studio and being creative and whatnot. I really like the way the songs are shaping out.”

“Do I get to hear them ever? Or I’ve got to wait like the rest of the world?”

She laughed at this, her lips pulling up into a smile that made my stomach warm with butterflies. “Who knows. I don’t even know if we’ll do a traditional release.”

“What do you mean?”

Her shoulders rose and fell, she picked up the milkshake and tilted it to sip the last of the ice cream inside. “We might not announce it until, like, it’s just released.”

“No promo?” My forehead wrinkled in confusion. It didn’t sound like something Nick would go for--or the label for that matter. But then again, when you’re Margot Jones, they let you make your own rules. 

“Might just release it on apple music, spotify, other streaming platforms. This--to me--is less about money and awards and making waves.”

I nodded, urging her to continue. I spooned some ice cream into my mouth. 

“It’s more about just putting it out there. I’ve been gone. You were gone from my life. A lot happened. Here’s how I felt.”

Her words, though they made sense, sent a bit of a chill down my spine. I guess I couldn’t blame her for wanting to tell her side of things. I mean--how could I? How could I be upset that Margot Jones--of all people--had a captive audience that was begging to hear her take on things?

I guess I couldn’t--even if I was nervous for what her side entailed. So instead of protesting, I swallowed my pride and reached across the table to hold her hand. “M’proud of you, lovie. I want you to tell your side.”

NOW -- Day 1735

Harry heading to the East Coast for more promo left a quiet wake in the living room of my house. Sinead, who had my laptop set up on the coffee table between us, leaned forward to press play once I settled into my spot on the cushion. 

I’d known about the documentary--Harry had mentioned it in passing at Geoffrey’s the first time I saw him. For some reason, though, I pushed it out of my mind until he mentioned it again in front of Sinead. As soon as he left the room, she insisted--with wide eyes--that we watch it one night with a bottle of wine.

I wasn’t afraid, exactly. It’s not like I thought he was going to bad mouth me on camera or do anything purposeful to make me look bad--the songs did enough of that on their own. I think he knew that. 

So when the music started to play and he appeared on the screen, Sinead looked over to me and offered a smile. I think she knew how sad I was. 

It was strange to be watching something that offered a glimpse into his time without me. I mean--that’s what it was, right? Here’s a documentary of what I did to get over her. 

It felt, even more now, like he was offering people a piece of our story and showing them how bad things were. He cut his hair, he stayed in a house on a hill where no one knew his name. I was left with a strange flavor of guilt in my mouth that only slightly disappeared with each sip of chianti. 

He drank--like he’d mentioned--to forget about the reality of the world off of the island. And when that didn’t work, he drank more. 

I tried to think of the time frame--where was I when he was there? What was I doing? The truth is that I was likely in my bedroom at my mom’s house--or Amanda’s office--hoping to avoid those exact circulating questions about where I was and what I was doing. I couldn’t even run from myself. 

“I can’t believe he even wrote this song,” Sinead said quietly, her eyes drifting to mine as the sun set outside. “About sleeping with someone else in an attempt to move on.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I shrugged--and I meant it. I could tell he wasn’t himself. I could tell he was sad and lonely and confused, slowing coming out of his funk as time wore on and the number days between now and New York climbed. But I still wished that instead of finding someone else to spend the night with, he just picked up the phone. 

I don’t think I’d ever not wish for that. 

NOW -- Day 1742

I don’t think Margot cared that she wasn’t here. She said she wasn’t ready to be more public and she said she’d rather support me from the sidelines--or, really, from a safe distance in L.A. I’d been briefed by my team on ways to respond. How to answer questions that felt manageable-- or how to avoid the ones that didn’t.

I knew the game and I knew how to keep a steady smile throughout all of it. I was hoping, maybe unrealistically, that no one would put me on the spot. I  hoped that there were better things to talk about than whether or not my car in her driveway meant something. I was hoping, truthfully, for an easy night of work and drinks and watching the movie and just getting on with it. 

But life was never that easy. 

The first question wasn’t too loaded. “How’s Margot--you’ve been spending time with her?”

She’s good. She’s great. We’re enjoying each other’s company. 

Fine enough. I could answer that. She knew I’d get asked and she knew I wasn’t going to go out of my way to deny anything. But I also promised I wouldn’t give too much away. 

My real concern, I guess, was saying the right thing. After a few years in the business, I felt like I could talk my way out of just about anything, but having Margot involved felt different. I didn’t want to say anything she wouldn’t like--I didn’t want to say anything that made it sound like we weren’t together. 

I guess, realistically, a part of me wanted to be honest. And not in the sense that I would tell an interviewer everything there was to know about our relationship, but more so that if someone called her my girlfriend, I didn’t have to backtrack and try to minimize our relationship. 

I knew that Margot didn’t like the way the media portrayed me--I mean, I couldn’t say that I always loved it either. But it felt safer to just admit we were together and give Margot some sort of stability and reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere. 

She’d yet to bring up the girl from Jamaica again but I knew it was only a matter of time. I could see it in her eyes when she stared at me in bed--my head on the pillow beside hers only minutes before she’d turn the light out. 

I knew she was holding it in and I knew that--finally--she was creating music to let some of that out. I only hoped that it did the trick to release some of the tension and pressure between us. 

A woman with a big smile in a blue dress seemed to catch my gaze as I made my way down the line of media. She asked about the movie and moving on from the band, and just when I thought she was finished, she spoke again. “Margot Jones--are things back on? It’s pretty clear through your album that you had a lot to say to her, or about her, really,” her voice was inquisitive but pointed, almost as if she knew exactly how I’d answer. 

“Uh, y’know, Margot is a great girl and she’s always been an important part of my life, so s’nice to get to hang out with her again. Thanks for coming,” I said to the woman, ready to move my feet to walk away, but she spoke so quickly I couldn’t help but hear her follow up. 

“Did you hear that she had a lover in Tennessee? Is his story true?”

I tried to not let the confusion watch over my face in public--that was one of the first things I’d learned. Our publicist had told us early on that the worst thing you could do was let them know you were shocked. Something about fuel on the fire, making more news, the like. 

I tried to blink a few times as the security guard behind me pushed me forward, clearly giving me an excuse to not answer and move on through the line of people who were dying to ask me stupid questions. 

A lover in Tennessee? Is his story true?

I had to push it out of my mind to get through the rest of the small talk--the questions, the fans, the people who’d been invited to the premiere. A swirling in my head in the London heat made it hard to focus, but once I was able to dip inside the air conditioned loo in the theatre, I pulled out my phone. 

A quick google search would likely put my heart to ease. Margot Jones Tennessee lover. 

What a strange thing to type--I waited for the webpage to load. 

I blinked twice again, trying to make sense of the pictures at the top of the page--pictures of Margot from various events or magazines--and beneath them, small black words seemed to elicit a thundering heartbeat that suddenly brought a pounding to my ears. 

Tennessee rehab employee breaks silence: I dated Margot Jones!

[rebels-advocate-blog]

fbi: don’t move

hOwDy hO, hErE wE gO

Ivan is a completely ordinary, totally unassuming, simple meme-loving guy, and Alfred is the FBI agent who secretly lives in his camera. Governments and grudges are thrown aside as chance encounters in Washington D.C. bring them closer and closer together.

read it with your own eyes on fanfiction.net!

read it with your own eyes on archive of our own!

or, just scroll down a bit and read the first chapter right here! (with stolen eyes)

.

fbi: don’t move

Ivan laughed, which was to say he snorted very, very lightly. Even snorting was an overstatement; a silent wisp of breath escaped him as he swiped away at his screen, liking the photo and commenting: LOLOKOLKOLOLOL1!1! He switched gears to search up the hashtag under the meme, something he almost never did, and found a semi-sorted collection of posts following the same theme. He wasted no time screenshotting a few of his favorites to pirate for himself later.

Soon. Soon he would break 999K followers. And then, and then. Then he would have a million followers. A million was a lot, depending on who you asked. Beyoncé only had fifteen million—at least on Twitter. (On Instagram she had eleven hundred million.) He wanted to rule the Internet.

Ivan turned his phone off and threw it across the bed, forcing himself to get up and move if he wanted to retrieve it. Stretching languidly, he rolled out of the warmth of the covers and faced the day.

He dressed in comfortable, durable clothes; Ivan had recently secured a position as a horticulturist for the Smithsonian Gardens along the National Mall, which was a fancy way of saying he cut grass and trimmed hedges all day, except it was really nice grass and they were really nice hedges. Obviously, wearing his favorite scarf was less than ideal for the sweaty work, but Ivan would never and could never take it off. He slipped into his boots and thrust a spare pair of gloves into his pocket. Sadly, he couldn't use his phone on the job, but he could use headphones. He began to hum to himself, imagining the songs he would listen to on his first shift.

Before shoving his phone into his bag, Ivan took a glance at the blank screen. A strange feeling overcame him as his eyes drifted upwards, making contact with the minuscule blue dots of light inside his camera lens. He held its gaze for a brief, piqued interest that lasted about two seconds, then giggled. "Goodbye, Mr. FBI," he sang to himself.

It was silly. He dropped the phone into his bag and left his apartment with haste.

.

Alfred grabbed street food on the way to work, washing it down with a hefty Starbucks to go. Whipping the shades off from overtop his regular glasses, he strode into headquarters. Immediately, he had to give up his meal so it could be scanned for toxins while he himself was stripped and searched. Elizabeta Héderváry, chief of the gray division, took an eternity to scrutinize Alfred's badge. Alfred tapped his toes and fidgeted to himself. Predictably, Ivan would be online in seven minutes. "Alright, Jones." She handed back Alfred's ID. "You're clear. But don't let me catch you in here again, or it's straight to the slammer." She drew a line across her throat.

Alfred gratefully collected his food and his badge. "Wait, what the? Dude, I work here!"

She stared him down.

Alfred, without hesitation, steadied himself and stared back.

After a few seconds of silence, Chief Héderváry burst into hearty laughter. "I'm only testing you, kid! I guess it's very Gilbert of me. But gosh, you would have thought I had just admitted to you that the tooth fairy isn't real, or that Santa is Illuminati propaganda, or that JFK is still alive up on a secret moon base in space...oops." She covered her mouth. "I've said too much."

Alfred blinked slowly. "Okay. I'll just...get to work then, um, before you zap me and wipe my memory."

The agent nodded. "Better bolt. Gotta keep you on your feet." She then began drawing her stun gun, but Alfred had already disappeared down the hall. He frantically dove into an arriving elevator and jammed a finger down on the button to close the doors as the clunky boots of the Héderváry's footsteps came closer. Alfred hugged his food to his chest and pressed into the corner of the tiny metal box. He had had his memory wiped before, he was certain, and had even had to do it to others once or twice—it was a ghastly, abominable experience. The chief's image appeared between the elevator's two closing doors and Alfred screamed, but when the shot was fired the elevator had already begun its descent.

Alfred shivered, cradling himself. He was safe for now. He dug into his food and snuck out a bite of greasy fry. It would be two hundred more dings of the elevator before he arrived at the secret underground black zone where all the FBI agents monitored their respecting, (un)suspecting citizens.

Alfred had finished half of his coffee before he made it to the negative two hundredth floor. It was pretty swampy down there, due to the thick consistency of cubicles, the heat coming off of so much compressed technology, and also due to the government having concealed the fact that, yes, Washington D.C. had really been built atop a swamp. He had his semi-greasy fingerprints scanned a second time and then navigated the maze toward his cubicle. He only had two minutes at best before Ivan came home.

Ivan was Alfred's monitor man, Alfred's subject of spy. Alfred had Ivan's schedule practically burned into his brain: he woke up at six-thirty, dabbled on his phone for fifteen minutes, then put it in his pocket and didn't use it again until four, when he got off work. Ivan did not have a computer, making Alfred's hacking tasks both easier and harder by reserving everything to Ivan's cell phone. Alfred would transfer Ivan's morning visuals to Alfred's own laptop to monitor in the morning, and Alfred usually came to headquarters to watch Ivan during the rest of his day. Sometimes he took shifts with another agent, but lately Alfred had been finding himself at headquarters more and more. After all, it was important to develop a deep understanding of your subject, even if your subject had no idea you even existed.

Alfred fired up his special, government-issued laptop, opening the monitor. Just in time, too; Ivan's face soon filled the screen. Alfred sighed. It was on.

Alfred knew almost everything about Ivan. His names (Ivan "Vanya" Braginsky), his family (one older sister and one younger sister), and even the songs he sang in the shower (surprisingly a lot of Taylor Swift). Alfred knew Ivan was the head of a semi-famous online meme domain. Alfred knew Ivan watered the sunflowers in his window every day as soon as he came home. Alfred knew Ivan didn't have many friends. Alfred knew Ivan had long, red scars circling around his neck, hidden under that huge off-white scarf he always wore. Alfred knew Ivan liked soft things and had five blankets on his bed. Alfred also knew that Ivan was at the top of the FBI's list of suspected dangerous Russian intelligence agents, and it was Alfred's duty to report any fishy activity. So far, Alfred had observed none.

Other than the fact that Alfred had to be constantly alert in his job, monitoring Ivan was pretty easy. Ivan had a cute face, and often made little childish noises and expressions whenever he saw something that grabbed his attention. Alfred had trained in the Russian language for years and still couldn't capture the melodiousness of Ivan's murmurs to himself. Sometimes Ivan would be scrolling through social media at night and fall asleep on his phone, which was annoying but undeniably adorable. And he was an immigrant; Alfred could damn well appreciate the hard work it must have taken Ivan to leave his homeland and adjust to life here.

However, this morning, Ivan had addressed Alfred personally, saying "Goodbye, Mr. FBI" before he put his phone away, and that had been hella creepy.

Ivan wasn't saying anything now, just staring at the screen, his eyelids half-shut, eyes moving in line formation over whatever he was reading. Alfred took a sip of his Starbucks and tapped into Ivan's phone display, bringing up a rectangle of white with a thick block of Helvetica text. Alfred's eyes scanned it himself, knowing it was another online post, and Alfred had read thousands of Ivan's. They were quality. When he finished laughing, he switched focus back to Ivan's camera visual; the ceiling behind Ivan was moving as Ivan sat down at his kitchen table. Ivan picked at his lip, snorting a little. The sound of his bags hitting the floor echoed to Alfred, and soon Ivan began humming a sweet song.

Alfred kicked back in his ultra-comfort wheely chair and popped in another fry, enjoying the music. He had no reason to feel so comfortable in the artificial presence of a creepy Russian, yet his wariness was drowned out by tribute for the memes. And Ivan's face. Thank god Ivan at least had a nice face that Alfred got to stare at all evening.

There was a knock on the wall of Alfred's cubicle. He spun around too quickly in the wheely chair and had to overcorrect, graciously spilling a couple of fries into his lap. "Whaddya want?"

It was Toris. A fellow FBI monitor, the long-haired Lithuanian stood stiff in the doorway to Alfred's workspace, making more eye contact with Alfred's inspirational NASA star map poster than with Alfred. "Hi. Um, Felicks went to the bathroom, so I was going to be taking break, and if I remember correctly, you told me to 'mosey on over when you get a chance, because I got the goods?'"

"Aw yeah!" Alfred pushed down his laptop screen so it was at a forty-five degree angle. Toris knew who Ivan was, and sometimes covered Alfred's shifts when Alfred stayed up too late playing video games or reading Marvel fanfiction, but Alfred still didn't want to be interrupted on the job. After all, both Ivan's screen and his camera were blank and black; he must have gone to take his daily shower. "Right here, man. Check it out. They were handin' them out all down the Mall, and I managed to snag a few extras!"

Toris took the item in his hand and inspected it cautiously. "This is a…a SAVE THE WHALES sticker?"

"No, a SAVE THE WHALES magnet!" Alfred corrected, spinning it over. "I thought you might want one, since your space is so plain and boring and all. It'd give you something to look at other than Felicks's fancy skirt collection, or whatever."

The tips of Toris's ears turned red. "They're designer." Yet he didn't refuse the magnet.

Not every FBI monitor happened to be stationed in the vicinity of their subject; Felicks lived halfway across the world from Toris, and was an alleged underground market weapons dealer, with emphasis on alleged. Mostly he just took selfies in the bathtub and embarrassed Toris to no end. Alfred considered himself lucky that Ivan was only half a city away, though they had yet to cross paths in public.

Toris drifted out with the magnet in hand and Alfred was left to finish dinner in peace. He flipped his screen back up and found that Ivan was at the stove, cooking his own meal while watching a Vine compilation. Alfred grinned, keeping up both the front camera and screen views as he dug in so he could laugh along with Ivan. "I smell like beef." A long time passed. They finished eating their dinners at the same time; Alfred imagined the noodle casserole thing Ivan had cooked tasted better than Alfred's weak Starbucks.

Now Ivan had set his phone against the wall to rest while he washed the dishes. He was mumbling peacefully to himself again, but Alfred couldn't tell if he was singing or talking over the sound of swishing water and clinking silverware. After a couple more plates, Ivan's movements slowed, and his gaze slowly climbed back up to the phone screen. The phone camera. "Are you there, Mr. FBI?" he whispered.

Alfred jolted in his seat. It was just like this morning! No warning, no nothing. In English! There was no way Ivan could ever know, of course, that he was being monitored, so the sudden unprompted conversations with a seemingly inanimate object had to stem from Ivan's latest meme obsession. Alfred knew about it.

He was onto them.

"How was your day?" Ivan asked, redirecting his gaze towards the skillet he was scrubbing. "Mine was well. I planted flowers today, and I had a nice conversation with a policeman. Do you talk to police often, Mr. FBI?"

Alfred let his shoulders relax, his mind wandering unintentionally, following Ivan's statements. Coincidentally, his brother Matthew was a DC police officer and friend of the division, but sadly, they didn't have many chances to talk. "What are you doing, man?" Alfred blurted out. "You know this is weird, right?"

Alas, Ivan would never be able to hear Alfred. He had already begun saying something else by the time Alfred was done speaking: "...and work around the people, because it is so fun inside, and there's AC! People are scared to talk to me when I am working outside. But at least I don't have to stand all day." Ivan's voice had gotten quieter, forcing Alfred to pay closer attention. "Do you stand all day when you work, Mr. FBI?"

"Hell no." Alfred kicked the wheels of his chair. "But don't get excited—it's a curse, dude. I would choose a nice garden with fresh air over this stuffy old garage any day."

Ivan was silent and complacent, as if he was really listening, Dora the Explorer-like, and Alfred still couldn't discern if it was endearing or eerie. Ivan's eyelids were halfway shut, a tiny smile gracing his lips. He waited a second more, then nodded. "Is your work boring, Mr. FBI?"

He considered. "Yeah. Not that you're that boring, but…" Alfred let the sentence hang. It wasn't as if it mattered if he finished it, anyway. And the fact was that Ivan was pretty boring. He was the only one ever in his apartment, and went to bed early on Friday nights. On Saturdays he did laundry and cleaned, and every Sunday he napped and called his sisters! "I'm just glad you work so much so I don't have to. Wow, I did not mean for that to sound mean. Um, it's true, though. If you had a computer, things would be differen—"

"Agent Jones?" a recognizable accented voice peeped around the doorway. "Whom are you talking to?"

For the second time that day, Alfred jumped and pushed down his screen, muting Ivan. "No one, good golly, don't scare me like that!"

Chief Arthur Kirkland, Alfred's boss and the head of the black division, didn't appear to notice or care. He stood stiffer than Toris had, clipboard and pencil in hand. "Okay, so, listen. You're mates with Agent Beilschmidt, right? He never checked in with Chief Héderváry and she wanted me to ask—"

Alfred adjusted his glasses, scrunching up his nose. "Which Beilschmidt?"

"The elder." Arthur steeled himself, putting a perplexed finger to his temple. "Apparently, Gilbert's gone MIA."

Alfred crossed his arms. "I haven't seen him since office bowling on Friday. He got his arm stuck in the ball return. Today Héderváry tried to stun me when I checked in! What is up with the gray division?"

Kirkland shook his head to himself, beginning to pace in place. His eyes were as wide as quarters, staring unforgivably at his clipboard as if it held all the answers. "With Carriedo missing already, I'm sure there's foul play to suspect, or even worse—the Mafia. They're on the same team; it's too much of a coincidence. It also means—" He gasped suddenly, raising his crazy blond head in epiphany. Then his voice lowered to a whisper. "It means someone else will be next."

Alfred sat up straighter, suddenly excited. "Whoa, really? Can I help? What case were they working on before they disappeared? Who saw them last? Where—"

"No." Arthur Kirkland was cross. "Not your division. Just let them handle it. Who are you monitoring, again?"

He hesitated. "Ivan. I mean, Braginsky. The...the guy—"

"The Russian spy, right." Arthur stuck his pen behind his ear. "Well. I'll be off, then. Remember to record any—"

"I know, I know." Alfred waved his hand. He felt more and more antsy the longer the Chief was in his space. "Just get on with it. It's fine."

"Right." Arthur frowned and touched his headpiece, half-turned away. "Good day, then. Do your work."

Alfred swiveled back to Ivan, groaning loudly as Arthur departed. Sometimes he felt like he was never taken seriously, but then again, he did sit at a desk and watch a famous memer's life all day. He wasn't sure if such a job should be taken seriously or not.

"I wish I was in a different division," Alfred blurted out. While he had been distracted by Arthur, Ivan had finished washing dishes and was now wiping down his stove and countertops. "I want to do more field agent stuff. My job would be a lot less boring if, instead of hacking all your gadgets and watching you from behind this screen, I could actually go out and spy on you. You know, like, shadow you from around street corners, hiding in the bushes with binoculars, open up the refrigerator door and BAM I'm there!" Alfred slapped his hands on his knees, grinning. "Eat all your food. Make you drop your croissant."

Ivan was still smiling to himself in that charming, unnerving way as he strangled the last drops of water from his rag and hung it over the faucet to dry. "What do you like to do when you're not working, Mr. FBI? Or do you work all the time? I imagine you taking shifts with someone else. Which FBI do I speak to now?"

"Nope, just me. I mean, other black division monitors like Toris sometimes, or Ludwig Beilschmidt if I can convince him, but mostly just me. They all have other guys to watch; y'all suspected criminals are weird. If I wasn't here I would be at NASA." Alfred glanced wistfully at the star chart above his head. "But they wanted me to work on computers, and I wanted to go to space. Diddly darn dang, I love space."

Ivan waited five more seconds before responding. "That's nice."

Alfred nodded fervently. "Damn right it is. Arthur—what a mom—says I waste my talents—"

"I hope you are having an good day, wherever you are," Ivan mused. "I assume you work at FBI headquarters. I walked by that place today. Tomorrow I work in the butterfly garden. It is very close, and my favorite place to work."

"That's rad. I've been there. It's right next to the Museum of Natural—"

"It is next to the Museum of Natural History." Ivan was staring directly at the camera. For the many months Alfred had been Ivan's monitor, he hadn't noticed the purple hue his eyes took on in this dim kitchen glow. "Very beautiful, da? Convenient that most of the Smithsonian buildings are close to each other, all in the same place. I can look at prize artifacts and arrange flowers at the same time."

Alfred was silent. A vision of Ivan with a butterfly perched atop his big nose entered Alfred's mind. He wished Ivan used his phone on the job, wondering what Ivan actually looked like while working. The phone was harder to hack when it was turned completely off; Ivan normally kept it like that during the day while Alfred was away.

"Oh. That reminds me. One moment, Mr. FBI." Ivan walked off out of view.

An idea began to take shape in Alfred's mind, replacing the image of Ivan and the butterfly. Really, allowing Ivan to go that whole slot of time without documentation was a bad strategy, especially if Ivan really was a dangerous Russian intelligence agent. Who knew what he could be up to? And with all the gray division field agents being abducted by the Mafia, apparently, there would be less people to go out and make sure Ivan wasn't, like, putting poison into the plants or something. Alfred could step up and ask. Alfred wanted to see Ivan irl.

And speaking of Ivan, where the heck was he?

Alfred instinctively leaned forward before forgetting it was impossible to see around the kitchen through Ivan's phone. He was positioned so he was staring at Ivan's undecorated refrigerator. He couldn't even hear Ivan, though he remembered Ivan had excused himself.

Ivan never did this. After dishes he would always make himself a lunch for the next day, spend another thirty minutes online, read a little of the book he was slowly working through, check his phone again, and then get ready for bed. Alfred stared frustratedly at the screen, willing it to shift. "Hey, get back over here!" he protested. "You can't just leave me hanging like this!"

From the other room came a thump and a crinkle of plastic that sounded like an empty Doritos bag.

"Ivan!" Alfred huffed. "Don't make me do it!" He brought up a tab of the phone's controls. His finger hovered over the mouse. "Alright, you asked for it. Hear that? I'm doing it, Braginsky!" He pressed a button, making the phone burst into a frantic buzzing.

A few seconds later Ivan reentered the kitchen, his soft boi face appearing innocent and concerned through the screen. Alfred shut the phone's buzzing off, crossing his arms smugly. "Explain yourself."

Ivan, however, didn't say anything. He picked up the phone, opened it, and went straight to his meme account. Alfred felt betrayed when Ivan didn't speak any more, just swiped through his feeds. "So close," he mumbled to himself, having switched back to Russian. Alfred was a bit startled by this, as well; if Ivan knew (or thought he knew) that no one was going to hear and respond to him, why had he been using English when he spoke to "Mr. FBI?" Alfred accepted it was just another of his quirks that made Alfred's job easier. But it signified that their conversation was now over.

"Okay, whatever, it's chill, then." Alfred glanced at the time. He still had a few long hours to go before Ivan clocked in for the night. He had been caught off-guard by the unprompted half-conversation, and now was embarrassed at how he had whined about being ignored. Deep down, Alfred didn't really believe Ivan was a criminal or a spy. Criminals didn't get drunk on vodka home alone and laugh so pleasantly. Spies didn't jump on their beds in excitement whenever it snowed and knit their own oven mitts. Ivan was as ordinary and unassuming and simple as one could be, and immigrant or otherwise he had absolutely no reason to be on the FBI black list.

So Alfred sighed and settled into his cubicle for another evening of memes, same as always. He waited, watched and waited, stole food from Toris and waited, but it turned out that Mr. FBI didn't even get a "Goodnight."

.

Ivan had no intention of telling his phone goodnight. In fact, he had been reading (and posting) so many FBI memes lately that he left his phone on his bed under the covers in paranoia while he went to the bathroom. But not because it was gross to have someone watching him do his business, which it was. It was because under his sink, squeezed behind the water pipe, was a laptop computer no one knew about but himself and an invisible faction of Russian hackers. Stored on that computer was vital information he had been slowly leeching from the Smithsonian Institute. He didn't know what the circle would do with the info when he sent it, wrapped up with ribbons and bows over a deep web email provider, but he knew if he didn't do his job there would be consequences. He made sure to flush the toilet and run the water on his way out.

Ivan hopped into bed and picked his phone back up, humming as if nothing had happened. He refused to look at the camera lens again, but chided himself. If someone really was watching him, he would know. He distracted himself by checking his meme account once more.

Ivan buried his body under the massive pile of blankets, turning off the lamp and letting his phone screen be the only source of light in the room. He had read that blue light before bed destroyed the eyes, but figured he was already too far gone in that direction to fix anything now. Someone had commented "Congratulations! Heart emoji, fireworks emoji, clapping hands emoji," on his most recent post. Ivan's breaths picked up as he doubled back to check his follower count, gasping when he saw it.

He had broken one million.

.

I have nothing to say for myself.

[agent-absinthe]

The End

This is for the ever lovely and talented @reformedkingsmanagent because I wanted to try my hand at a Charlie that I rarely see in fics.  

I want to advise everyone reading that this has heavy, heavy abuse and trauma.  If you are triggered by any kind of relationship abuse or violence please do not read.  

As always, Stay safe!  You control what you see!  And I hope you enjoy!  

(Recommended song for this is The End by Blue October.)

Charlie was in the middle of a Kingsman meeting, scrolling through social media on his glasses, like Eggsy was doing beside him, ignoring whatever Merlin was saying about drug lords.  Even Roxy across from him gave a muffled yawn and her head dipped forward before snapping back up, she had just come back from a mission to Tokyo and had yet to sleep.  It felt like just another day until a picture on Instagram flooded his system with rage.

tara_tart had just posted with the caption “The new bistro downtown is great!  Everyone go check it out!” which would have been innocent enough if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was kissing someone’s cheek and that same someone had commented on the post with “Love you babe <3”

With a few flicks and blinks of his eyes Charlie had everything about Tara’s new boyfriend laid out in front of him.  Accountant, recently graduated at the top of his class, a fitness nut with a great body, Charlie could still kill him.  That break up had nearly killed him.  They went to the same school, she was what he called a pity admission since she came from a lower middle class family.  Wasn’t much of his type at first either, a bit of a bigger girl with a soft voice she used to argue with him in Philosophy, but when he smiled at her he could tell she adored him.

It lasted for two years.  Two wonderful years.  He was going to propose, they would start a family.  Until she broke it off due to his “controlling, hyper obsessive nature” what did that even mean?

~

A sheen of sweat reflected off of Charlie’s face as he picked the lock to Tara’s apartment, using his watch to silence the security system that began beeping when he shoved it open.  Her familiar rose and peony perfume that he had bought her in Paris overwhelmed him, he almost lost himself right there in the hallway, a sob raking up his throat.  He stifled it and pushed forward into the dark apartment, noting all of her usual habits: the dishes still lying in the sink, her shoes all over the place, books piled up next to the tv.  His hands were shaking as he pushed open the bedroom door and breathed deeply trying to soak as much of her up in this small time frame as possible.

“Still so messy, love.”  He said aloud to no one but himself and the pretty cat that slunk out from under the blankets.

Charlie bent down to give it a scratch on the chin and the cat purred, looping around his legs when he straightened to explore the bedroom.  His large hands carded through her closet, pulling out a few dresses he didn’t recognize to admire before putting them back, he reached into the very back and found a scrapbook of her childhood and college memories.  He smiled, eager to see what pictures of them she had kept over the years…but as he flipped through it he realized there were no pictures of him in here at all. None.  Breathing suddenly became difficult and he tossed the book onto the floor, shoving his hand even further back into the closet and looking for a photo album- something, anything.  She would not have thrown him out of her life completely, she loved him, she’d always love him just like he loved her.

A journal was the only thing he pulled out and eagerly opened up.

My therapist tells me that anytime something reminds me of him or I relapse into some of the habits he “groomed” me to have that I needed to write it down in here and it would make me feel better… I forgot to do the dishes last night and when I saw them in the sink this morning I had a panic attack-I was tired and forgot that he isn’t controlling my life any longer.  Thought I was going to see him coming around the corner ready to break every single one and then make me clean it up like before… sheets got wrapped around my neck from all the turning, thought it was him trying to choke me again- need to schedule another appointment with Dr. Reuben… I relapsed.  Ended up on the bathroom floor at 3 a.m scrubbing it because I had a nightmare that C came home upset it was dirty, Michael had to pick me up and carry me back to bed.  Why can’t I get rid of him?... Had a panic attack at work today, a cute boy with curly hair delivered the donuts and I thought it was Charlie, got sent home, took a few days off… Michael said he loves me and I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks.  Maybe this is where I start to heal.

Charlie snapped the journal shut, his body shaking with rage before he reopened it and began tearing the pages out handful by handful, ripping them apart further once there were none left in the spine.

“No!”  He screamed, forgetting to stay quiet in case any of the neighbors were home.

“No!”

Breathing even more ragged than before, Charlie stumbled up and over to the old, shitty vanity he had begged her to get rid of but she wouldn’t because it was her grandmothers.  The mirror spotted with old make up and a crack, he stared into the mirror remembering the night she wouldn’t listen to him and he had shoved her against it to get her attention.  Tara hit her head on the corner and caused the crack, they had to go to the emergency room for stitches.  Remembering the blood slipping across her forehead and how the nurses had looked at him like he was evil, like they were fucking superior to him the cunts- the glass shattered, Charlie immediately retching his fist back as his knuckles began to bleed.  Deep breaths, deep breaths like Merlin taught you.  One.  Two. Three. Calm Down.  Breathe through the anger.  

Sweat was dripping off his nose now, his whole body shaking so bad he could hardly stand.  It wasn’t until he heard the door unlock with a click that he forced himself to get up and move to the balcony door without so much as a creak from the floor boards.  The cat followed mewing at him.

“Come here.  Come on.” He held out his hand to it and as soon as it’s wet nose touched the tip of his finger Charlie grabbed it by the scruff, tucking the cat into his coat as he slipped out.

~

“Bruv, when did ya get a cat?”  Eggsy was in some obnoxious neon blue Adidas clothes scratching the cat, who Charlie had named Pleb as the expensive leather collar with a bright gold tag read.

“Oh, it followed me home last week.”

Charlie really couldn’t be bothered right now.  He placed a Kingsman Ghosting chip in Tara’s cellphone and could now go through all of her things, the burner phone he was using acting as an exact mirror.  Right now she was messaging her god awful boyfriend about the recent break in that had happened, the conversation was boring until she finally brought him up.

No you don’t understand my therapy journal was ripped to shreds.  I think it might be my ex.

What?  The one who abused you?

Yes.  I don’t know what to do.  What if he hurt Niko?  What if hes watching me?

Call the police.  He’s breaking his restraining order right?

I cant, his family is fucking loaded the only reason I got the restraining order is because I had documentation and testimony. I don’t have shit now.

Fine, then I’ll stay with you.  I’ll be over tonight.  I’m not gonna let anything happen to you I love you.

Thanks babe I love you too.

Abused.  He actually laughed, ignoring Eggsy’s questioning look, he never abused Tara never never never.  He loved her, how could he abuse her?  That’s not how that worked, how STUPID could they both possibly be, no no it wasn’t her, she was being led astray by this asshole and that therapist probably had put all kinds of ideas in her head.  Charlie would have to make sure she went back to her old self just as soon as he was able to get her back.  Although now that this bastard was trying to play protective he would have to learn stew for a few days and watch them, figure out the routine.  Luckily, Merlin had given him a few days to heal a bullet scrap to his ribs since the manor was finally properly staffed again.

~

“Michael, honey thank you so much for staying with me.  I’ve been so fucking scared lately and I didn’t know what to do, I thought he was gonna come back and-”

“No, baby I won’t let anything happen to you I swear.  I love you, I love you so much.  Maybe uh,”  Michael smiled at her sheepishly, “maybe instead of sleeping over it could just be… sleeping?  My apartment is a little bigger, I’ve got a huge closet I barely use-”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”  Her heart felt like it was going to stop.  No, it can’t be true she was too fucked up.  Just like he had said, she was too fucked up for anyone else to want.

“Yes, baby.  Please, I know you’re scared of letting people into your space, but I wanna grow with you.  So, what do you say?”

Michael was a big guy.  6’2 and kinda beefy, a lacrosse player at university, if he wasn’t such a softie he would have made an excellent fighter.  Tara felt so protected by him and he looked at her like she was the world and not some kind of trophy or property like Charlie had. She couldn’t let the ghost of what he did to her hold her back any longer.    

“Yes.  Yes, as soon as my lease is up!”  Tara threw herself at him, pressing her lips to his fiercely.

Charlie sat in the issued vehicle with his hands knuckle white on the steering wheel as he listened in on the conversation from the frequency amplifier. No, this couldn’t happen.  It wouldn’t happen.  He reached into the glove compartment and tapped on the side twice, a Kingsman pistol with a silencer attached popped out of the bottom and he it pulled out.  Checking to make sure it was loaded and ready in case he needed to do anything tonight. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that and tonight would be just another night of scouting, sneaking in after they were asleep and just… watching.

~

Tonight was not going to be a scouting night.

The moans from Tara’s bedroom came through so clear on the radio that Charlie might as well have been in there with them.  He had helped himself to the scotch in the back of the cab and alternated between sloppy mouthfuls, the alcohol running down his chin to soak into his shirt, and contemplating just putting the pistol in his mouth instead.  His eyes were red and irritated from staring at his fucking phone for two days straight, his body screamed for hydration and food, instead he kept feeding it scotch.

“Yes, yes.  Fuck! Michael!”  Her moans blared through the speakers and Charlie could just imagine how she was bent over letting him fuck her like a common whore.

Heavy breathing took the place of the moans and soon everything dissolved into obnoxious whispers about how much they loved each other and how nice it would be when she finally moved in with him.  

“Shut up!  Shut up shut up shut up shut up!”  He screamed so loud he could feel the strain on his vocal cords, his fist slamming into the radio repeatedly until he had damaged it to white noise.

Blood began to dot the interior of the car as it dripped down his hand, at least three broken knuckles and metacarpals, but the scotch had numbed everything.  All he felt was rage.  Charlie drug a hand down his face trying to hide the drunk sobs that were bubbling past his lips and chased them back down with the last of the scotch.  He threw the empty bottle against the passenger window where it shattered, a piece of it flying out to embed into his arm.  With the pistol tucked safely into his waist band Charlie spilled out of the cab and stumbled toward the apartment building. He made a very impressive vertical jump to grip the metal rod of a sign and used his momentum to swing and grab onto the bottom of her balcony.  Despite his drunken state he could still remember everything Eggys had taught him about parkour and gymnastics.

He lifted himself up and over the ledge; muscles straining through the thin, white shirt that was stained with perspiration as more slid down his neck.  God, they didn’t even have the fucking decency to close the curtains.  Charlie stood outside for a few seconds and simply watched them sleep, his harsh breaths fogging up the window and blocking his view.  Michael had an arm wrapped protectively around Tara, his face cradled in her neck and hair.  Idiots didn’t even lock the fucking balcony door, she must have wanted him to come in and save her.  

Tara felt warm and heavy wrapped in the blanket and Michael’s arms, could feel his chest rise and fall against her bare back, the soft cotton of his briefs rubbing against her ass.  She was so content she didn’t even register the sound of breathing until something cold and metal was pressed onto her shoulder.  Her eyes blinked open and Tara felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on her.  

Charlie Hesketh stood above her.  A gun hanging limply by his side.

“Hello, love.  Miss me? I missed you so much, Tara.  So fucking much.”

She was frozen in place, only able to stare up at him before he pressed the barrel of the gun into Michael’s arm and shoved, stirring him awake.

“Oi, oi!  What the fuck, who are you?”  Michael was up immediately his intimidating stature not seeming to be effective on the just as tall man standing in his girlfriend’s bedroom.

“Charlie, mate.  Now, I need you to get the fuck out of here and stay away from my fiancé.”

“Fiance?  Listen mate you better get the fuck out of here because I won’t call the police I’ll just kick your ass.”  He hadn’t seemed to notice the gun, Charlie needed to fix that.

There was a quiet pop! A bullet grazing Michael’s calf and embedding itself into the drywall.  She’d never get back the security deposit back.

“Ah fuck!  Fuck! You fucking shot me!”

Tara was sitting up now, heart pounding in her ears, everything was happening in slow motion.  

“GET OUT!”  It came out as a guttural roar barely sounding human as he shot two more bullets into the floorboard near Michael’s feet.

And he did.  Michael, the one she thought was her saving grace to make her life better, half crawled half ran out the bedroom and the front door leaving nothing but a trail of blood and his dignity behind.  She wasn’t able to mourn his abandonment for long because a hand wrapped around her upper arm and tried yanking her up.  Only for Tara to clutch the sheets to her chest and fall to the floor at his feet where the barrel of the gun was pressed to her head.

“I could handle you leaving.  Even lying about me in court to get that fucking restraining order!  And- and- and then, oh then you have to go and fucking post about him all over social media like a fucking whore.  You did it on purpose, didn’t you?  Hmm? To fucking lure me back here.”  He was bent down now, his mouth pressed against her hair.  The smell of scotch, sweat, and two day old after shave permeating around him.

“N-no, no.  Charlie, please.  Please stop, honey don’t do this-“  Tara tried breathing, a panic attack beginning to tighten her chest and make her dry heave. Memories suddenly getting jumbled together-

“Charlie honey, please don’t do this.”  Tara was cornered in the kitchen crying, terrified of the ceramic bowl Charlie was holding in his hand.  Other dishes were broken into pieces on the floor.

“I ask you to do one thing for me.  One!”

“Charlie, it’s 5 fucking dishes!  The world isn’t going to end if I leave 5 dishes in the sink until after dinner!  Stop being such a fucking psycho!”  The bowl he was holding suddenly connected with the nice oak cabinets next to her head as he advanced on her.

“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.  Do you have any idea what I do for you?  I let you live with me in this gorgeous house that you could never afford to stay in otherwise in your pathetic fucking life.”

Tara didn’t back down from him.  She was tired of this, “you can’t afford this either. Your parents pay for this house you spoiled little brat!  You don’t do anything!”

It suddenly felt like her eye and ear had exploded, she forgets how large Charlie’s palm is sometimes.  How much of her face it can cover when he slaps her.  The blood vessels in her eye would be popped the next day, that isn’t something you can hide with make up…

“I don’t do anything?  I don’t do anything?”  His hands suddenly around her throat, thumbs crisscrossing against her wind pipe and fingers meeting at the nape of her neck., “you don’t do anything.  You’re lucky I even fucking looked at you, you’re so lucky to be with ME you useless fucking-”

Whatever he had said after that faded into blackness as he squeezed harder and pressed her into the counter-

“I said stand up!”  He was standing again, screaming at her as she sobbed on the floor.

She tried to stand, but fell back to the floor her legs too weak, “I-I can’t.  Charlie, please-”

“Is that all you can say to me?”  He went back to squatting in front of her, his eyes raw from crying, the tears running down his face freely. “Please?  Fucking please!”

He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back as he stood. The gun suddenly pressed right under her chin and Tara began to scream.  Charlie didn’t seem to mind and yelled over her.

“I begged you not to leave!  I said I would take therapy, counseling whatever the fuck you wanted and you still left me!  Why should I listen to your begging, Tara?  Why?  I should just do it.  I can you know, I do it for a living because unlike you in your little fucking office job I actually help the world.  I kill people every single day and you’d be no different.”

“No no no no no.  I’m sorry, I’ll stay I’ll marry you.  Whatever you want honey.  I’m sorry I was so stupid-”

“Shut up!”  His vocal cords tore even more, curls stuck to his forehead from sweat, “It’s better this way.  For both of us-”

It was happening.  He going to do it.  Tara stared up at her ceiling and closed her eyes, praying for something, anything.

“I love you.  M’ sorry it had to come to this.”

“Charlie, no!”

His finger flexed around the trigger as several beams of light suddenly shone on him accompanied by screaming.

“Drop it!  Drop the fucking gun or I will drop you!  Step away from her, hands on your head!  I said hands on your fucking head pretty boy!”

After an officer had Charlie’s cheek smashed into the hardwood floor he saw Michael run into the bedroom, a paramedic chasing after him, and slide to the floor by Tara’s side.  He had gone to get help.  Of fucking course.  

He had sweated out all the scotch, it left behind a pounding headache.

~

Merlin was in sweats and a stained tshirt when he picked up Charlie a few hours later at the station.  The Scotsman looked fucking livid.

“Kingsman resources.  Ye used kingsman resources to stalk your ex-girlfriend.  Charlie do ye have any fucking idea how many strings, how many cover ups I have to do to fix this.  Anyone else would have left ye in that cell.  Harry- fuck, Arthur is not to know about this, ye hear me?  Don’t open your fucking mouth at all.”

Charlie’s forehead laid against the car window. He felt like shit. Being berated by the only authority figure he ever looked up to in his life didn’t help.

“I don’t know what to do, Merlin.  I didn’t have anyone else to call.  You helped me with the anger management stuff I just…”

“We’re putting you in therapy.”

“No-”

Merlin suddenly turned the wheel, sending the car into a dead end street with no cars and slamming on the brake.

“You just ruined someone’s life.  All you fuckin’ posh brats don’t seem to understand what that means. Charles, you put a gun to a civilian’s throat and threatened her life.  Startin’ tomorrow you’re going to therapy and I’m putting you on mental recuperation leave until you’re safe to go out on missions.  You’re gonna be on Manor arrest until I can trust ye not to try this again.”

Merlin’s age was showing as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to look at the young agent by his side who had started to cry, his face still turned towards the window.

~

It had been a month or so now.  Tara honestly hadn’t been counting.  Too busy moving her things into Michael’s place, he was with her every step of the way now.  Through the therapy, the crying, the nightmares.  Sometimes it was both of them waking up at night in a cold sweat, Michael’s calf burning from the memory of the bullet.

But it was getting better.

It was a sunny day for once.  A breeze blowing through the open window as Tara folded some linen to put in the hall closet, smiling at the thought of baby blankets in there one day. She was distracted from the daydream by a faint meow and looked down to see a much fatter Niko staring up at her like he had never been gone.

“Niko!  Baby!” The cat purred in her arms as she held him noticing the new collar with a golden sideways K on it.  The same symbol on the letterheads that announced they would be paying off any debt she owed.  

It always came down to power and money, didn’t it?  Just another thing to be swept under the rug.

[dee-vine]

Shutter Speed Ch. 12

Well I got this out super quick! I don’t mean to spoil you guys, because who knows if this will ever happen again, but I just got so excited and have so much time on my hands. So here you go! 

I appreciate the lovely comments on the last chapter, they all meant so much.

Much love,

xx Dana

Ch 11 | AO3

“Honey, I’m home!” Jughead calls out as soon as he and Betty step over the threshold of his apartment. He’s met with silence, however, and a completely empty apartment.

“Maybe they’re at my place?” Betty suggests, setting her bag down. As soon as she says it, a loud thump is heard from Archie’s bedroom, followed by a holler and a giggle. Jughead freezes as the bedroom door opens to show an almost naked Archie, clad in only boxers and looking a bit frazzled.

“Oh, hey guys. Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” he says, and Jughead could not be more horrified. That is, until Veronica pops up behind him with only a sheet wrapped around her.

“Oh my gosh, how was your trip? I need to see all of the photos, asap!” Veronica says, a wide grin on her face.

“Yeah, sure. But maybe after you’re, uh...decent,” Jughead mutters, motioning towards their appearances. Neither of them seem to mind, simply shrugging in sync much to Jughead’s disgust. “Right, you two finish what you were doing. We will, uh, be in my room.”

With that, Jughead grabs Betty’s hand and makes a beeline for his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He drops her hand and immediately plops facedown on the bed with a loud groan. He feels the bed shift and turns over to find Betty sitting crossed leg beside him, smiling widely.

“Aren’t they so cute?” she asks, bouncing slightly on the bed. Jughead rolls his eyes and props himself up on one elbow, looking up at her.

“If by cute you mean disgusting and annoying, then yes, you are correct,” he says with a straight face, causing Betty to pout out her bottom lip.

“Oh come on, Jug, why do you have to be so negative. Who hurt you?” she asks teasingly, tugging on his hat. On instinct he reaches up and holds his hat down, Betty’s hand dropping down to the bed. He looks up at her, their eyes connecting, and Jughead feels compelled to be honest with her.

“My mom left us,” he blurts out. She looks taken aback, hand lifting up slightly as if to reach out to him, but thinks twice and sets it back down, letting him continue. “She left when I was young, because she couldn’t handle my dad anymore. She left and took my sister, but didn’t take me because she thought I’d end up just like him and didn’t want to deal with that.”

“Oh, Juggie,” Betty whispers, reaching out to take the hand that’s toying with a loose thread on the blanket. He looks away from her, can’t bear to see that sad look on her face.

“It’s been years since I’ve even heard from her. Sometimes we’d call, but that stopped a few years back. Was too much for her, I guess,” he mutters. Betty’s hand tightens around his, bringing it up to her chest to envelope with her free hand.

“Do you not believe in love, because of her?” she asks quietly, her thumb rubbing along his in a comforting way. Jughead stops for a second to think, do I really believe in love?

“No, I do. I believe that there is someone out there for everyone, there has to be,” he decides. She nods, accepting his answer, and he looks back up at her, squeezing her hand. “I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me, you see.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Betty says, shaking her head.

“No, really. Nothing has ever lasted, Betty. No one ever seems to stick around, and I don’t want to become like my dad, I don’t want to fall under her assumptions, but what if it’s just in my genes?”

“Jughead Jones, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You may not be able to choose who your parents are, but you can choose who you are. If you don’t want to be like your dad, then you’re not going to be, do you hear me?” Betty says, and Jughead can only nod. “You are a beautiful person, inside and out. You’re probably my favorite person, Jughead, and I know that there is a girl out there that you are going to make so, so happy. You just need to wait and see.”

Her voice gets quiet at the end of her speech, her eyes dimming. Jughead wants so badly to grab her and tell her that that girl is her, wants to just grab her and kiss her, but they’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

“Jug! Come show us the pictures!” he hears Archie say, and Jughead has never hated him more than right now. Betty seems to be shaken out of a trance, her hands falling to her lap as she stares at a spot on the bed.

“Yeah, one sec!” Jughead calls out, sitting up straight. He stares at the door for a second before turning to Betty, who’s still staring at nothing and not moving. “Thank you, Betty. You’re my favorite person too.”

And if those words have more meaning to them, well, no one needs to know.

----

“I’m still angry you didn’t tell me about Dylan as soon as you dumped him.”

Betty and Veronica left the boys’ apartment after Jughead had been through all of the pictures twice. Veronica had claimed she wanted every detail of the trip, so as soon as the girls got home, Betty sat and told her everything she wanted to hear.

“It isn’t that big of a deal, V. It was pleasant, if anything,” Betty sighs, leaning back on the couch. Veronica levels her with a stern look, squinting at her before she waves her hand as if waving away the subject.

“Whatever, that’s not even the most pressing subject. You and Jughead seriously didn’t kiss? Didn’t profess your love?” she asks, and Betty can’t stop the blush creeping up her neck.

“Why would we?” she feigns confusion, but she knows exactly why they would. Betty can’t deny it anymore--she likes Jughead.

“Oh, come on! You went on a romantic getaway together! You shared a room at a bed and breakfast!” Veronica exclaims.

“A bed. We shared a bed,” Betty adds, and immediately regrets it. Veronica’s eyes widen and suddenly she’s grabbing Betty by the shoulders, shaking her frantically.

“Elizabeth Cooper, I cannot believe you shared a bed with the love of your life and didn’t think to immediately tell your best friend of all time! How do you not lead with that information?” Veronica practically yells. Betty flinches and pulls herself out of Veronica’s grasp, hugging a pillow to her chest.

“I know you want us to be together, but it’s not like it’s that simple,” Betty says quietly, which makes Veronica stop moving. She looks sad all of the sudden, frowning at Betty and reaching a hand out to touch her arm.

“I know you just broke up with Dylan, so I understand why you wouldn’t want to jump into thing with Jughead so soon. But you can’t deny it any longer, you guys like each other,” Veronica says. Betty sighs and leans over to put her head on her shoulder, Veronica immediately stroking her hair.

“He’s told me things that I don’t think he tells other people. I care so much about him, but I don’t think he’s in the right state of mind to jump into a relationship either,” Betty admits. Veronica makes a quiet sound, nodding her head slightly. “Maybe one day. Maybe now that I can accept my feelings I’ll be more open to it. I just won’t let myself get hurt.”

“It’s going to be okay, Betty. If it helps, I won’t push you anymore, okay?” Veronica says gently, hugging her close. “I’m going to go take a shower now, okay? And you should definitely get some rest, you’ve had a long day.”

Betty smiles to herself and gives her friend a tight squeeze before sitting back up, Veronica patting her knee before standing up from the couch. She saunters off to her bedroom as Betty settles in and turns on the tv, deciding to put on a movie to ease her mind. The movie barely even starts before her phone buzzes against her leg with a notification. She picks it up and sees it is from Instagram, and that she was tagged in a photo by someone named jjonesphotographs.

“Juggie,” Betty smiles to herself, opening up his page and clicking on the first photo. It’s one of her from today, in the flower field. She’s facing sideways, her hands up by her head, and her hair and dress blowing back with the wind. It doesn’t even look like her, it looks majestic and professional.

“Our very own Rebel Without A Cause has finally joined social media!” Veronica says, bursting from her room. Betty lets out a laugh and hits the “follow” button on his page, liking the photo. “I am so proud of him, he’s finally learning something from me. And that photo! Oh my gosh Betty you look incredible. I’m about to print that out and put it on flyers all around the city because everyone needs to see this.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re not printing out anything,” Betty rolls her eyes, but blushes nonetheless. Veronica smiles at her, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, watching. Betty gives her a skeptical look, pausing her movie to look at her. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“It’s nothing. Just that, a month ago you would’ve said something about how it’s not you but the way Jughead photographs you,” Veronica comments, leaning her head against the door frame. Betty’s blush deepens and she hides her face in a blanket to avoid Veronica’s stare. “I’m proud of you, is all. You may not have noticed, but I have. You’re happier, B, more confident in yourself, and that makes me so happy.”

She had noticed. Ever since she got closer with Jughead, she doesn’t even have time to think those bad thoughts that used to consume her life. He’s always texting her or hanging out with her, and every other time she’s thinking about him. She has been so happy, the crescent scars on her palms nearly faded to white.

“I am happy, V. Really happy,” Betty says, smiling softly up at her. Veronica grins and walks towards the couch, bending over to hug Betty from behind and kiss her on the head, making a loud kissing noise. “Okay, that’s enough. Go shower!”

Veronica laughs and pats her head before going back to her room, leaving Betty smiling on the couch at her movie. She picks up her phone and goes to the messages between Jughead and her, clicking on the type box. Her thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment, debating on what she wants to say. She finally types a simple “thank you for indulging me,” and puts her phone away.

----

Jughead wakes up to a mixture of emotions. First, he sees a text from Betty, a thank you text. That makes him smile, and as he’s typing his response he is interrupted by an incoming phone call that diminishes that smile. It’s his father, who he hasn’t heard from since the party when he drunk called him and ruined his entire evening. He doesn’t want to talk to him now, but knows his father will not stop calling if he doesn’t pick up, so he does.

“Dad,” is how he greets, his tone harsh. These phone calls are always the same— they start with his dad telling Jughead how much he loves him and his sister, and how he’s sorry and he’s really going to try this time. Every time Jughead starts to believe him until he asks for money, and then it all fades away.

“Jug, my boy. How’ve you been?” FP asks, and Jughead rolls his eyes.

“Cut the small talk, dad. How much do you want?” Jughead asks. It’s silent on the other end, and he almost thinks his dad hung up when he speaks again, his voice softer.

“I’m in rehab, Jughead—“ and Jughead was not expecting that. “After I last called you, I realized I was going to lose you if I didn’t do something about it. So I checked myself in.”

“Dad, I don’t know what to say,” Jughead says, his voice cracking slightly. He’s hit with a wave of emotion, sitting on the edge of his bed to brace himself.

`“You don’t have to say anything. I’m doing this for you, Jug. I already lost your mother and sister, I recognize that, but I can’t lose you too. You’re my son, I need you. And I understand if you don’t want to, but I would love for you to visit me,” he says. Jughead pauses for a moment, taking his words in. He’s still shocked and doesn’t really know how to react to his father actually getting better, because he’s not used to that.

“Yeah, of course Dad. I’ll come visit you,” he says. After that they make plans, FP giving him the details of where he is and when he can visit. He tells him he’ll be there today, and FP is so happy he starts crying on the phone. Jughead actually smiles while telling him to relax and that he’ll see him soon, and if Jughead cries a bit when he hangs up no one needs to know.

----

The rehab center is smaller than he expected. There’s not much to it on the outside, and the inside definitely isn’t better. The lady at the front desk looks welcoming, though, and she smiles as Jughead walks up to her.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks, taking her attention off of her computer.

“Um, I’m here to visit someone, FP Jones. Wait, sorry, it would probably be under Forsythe. Forsythe Jones,” Jughead says, leaning against the counter. The receptionist turns back to her computer, typing in what he presumes is the name.

“Are you related to Mr. Jones?” she asks, not looking away from the screen and still typing away.

“Uh, yeah, I’m his son,” he mutters. He shifts on his feet, getting uncomfortable by the  way she glances up at him. She smiles though, and brings out a clipboard to hand to him.

“You can just sign in and Charles here will bring you to your dad. I believe he’s in group session right now, but it should be ending soon,” she explains. Jughead nods and signs his name with the date and time before following the nurse Charles. He looks around at his surroundings as they walk down a long hallway until they reach an empty waiting room.

“You can wait here. They’ll come out through that door right there when they’re done,” the nurse tells him, pointing to a door on the right. Jughead nods and sits down in a chair, pulling his hat as far down as it will go. He takes his phone out of his pocket to find a few notifications, some from instagram and the rest text messages from Archie and Betty. He had tol Archie where he was going, since he had to borrow his car, and he was incredibly supportive and even offered to tag along. Jughead rejected that, however, because this was something he needed to do on his own.

And he definitely did not tell Betty about this visit, because she would have gone into her protective mode and would not have left him alone. He will only tell her if everything goes well, which he is hoping it does.

“Jughead?” he hears, and is drawn from his phone to see his father standing in front of him. He’s shaved his beard since Jughead last saw him, and his entire face seems to be smiling.

“Dad, hi,” Jughead says, standing up from his chair. As soon as he does he’s pulled into a forceful hug, his dad pulling him tight to his chest. Jughead hugs him back just as hard, and has to bite his tongue to not be overwhelmed with emotion.

“I’m so glad you came. I know you said you would but I wasn’t sure if you’d follow through and I’m just-” FP starts to say, but is interrupted by a sob slipping from his lips.

“I’m here dad, I’m here,” Jughead tells him, hugging him tight. He’s the one that finally pulls away, but keeps his father at an arm’s length to study him. FP wipes at his face and gives his son a weak smiles, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk, I’ll show you all the cool places,” he says. Jughead nods and follows him out of the waiting room and down the hall. They stop by his father’s room and the cafeteria, and then some other activity rooms before going outside into the courtyard. There are a few people around, and the two of them sit on a bench by a small garden, a few inches between them.

“Are you still taking pictures?” FP asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. Jughead can’t help the smirk that settles on his face, nodding his head and looking at the ground.

“Yeah I actually have an internship with a magazine that one of my professors helped me get. It’s a really great opportunity and I’ve had a lot of fun with it,” Jughead tells him.

“Yeah? That’s awesome to hear, Jug. You’ll have to show me one day,” his dad says, and it sounds hopeful. Jughead looks up at him, pausing before he nods. He doesn’t want to make any promises, because who knows what will happen in the future, but it’s nice to think about.

“How long do you think you’ll be in here?” Jughead asks, his fingers toying with the flannel that’s wrapped around his waist, nervous.

“About a month I think. At least that’s what they tell me,” FP says.

“And you’re getting a lot of help here?” Jughead asks, slipping into his protective mode. If his father is going to waste his money on getting help, it better be for the long run.

“I am. I go to group session every day and meet with my counselor every other day. And aside from that, they have students that come in and help out sometimes, who are also pretty helpful,” his father says, looking past him with a grin on his face. “Actually, there’s one pretty special student that I want you to meet.”

His father waves someone over with great enthusiasm. Jughead looks at him a little confused until he turns around to see the figure walking towards them. He jolts up out of disbelief, his father letting out a laugh behind him as the person gets closer.

“Toni?”

(don’t hate me!)

[sicknightlarry]

Always Here

A (very) short one-shot about Larry in 2017.

    Louis hadn’t been feeling like himself lately. Sure, Just Hold On had been a major hit and the other boys were doing great, but Louis just felt…off. Their hiatus had been going on long enough, but Louis knew that the other boys had been enjoying it and didn’t want it to end. Niall had said the band might get back together in 2030. But Louis couldn’t wait 13 years to see his Hazza.

    He had to mentally pinch himself for that one. Harry hadn’t been his for a long time. A few years. And he seemed happy with the new album. Too busy for a relationship. Too busy for Louis.

    Harry thought back to his interview earlier that day. It had started off clean and fun, a mariachi band reading some of his old tweets. But then that one about Louis popped up. Harry had played it off well, but Louis had been on his mind since. He hadn’t talked to Louis in months, maybe even more than a year. He wondered what he was up to.

    Louis was torturing himself. The hype after JHO was over, and now Louis was living a relatively normal life. He had a lot more time to himself, which proved to be not such a good thing. Louis spent his days checking his social media, scrolling through comments about Freddie and the boys and Larry. God, it hurt. But Louis kept pushing, kept welcoming the pain. With Harry’s album playing in the background, Louis delved deeper into the world of Larry. For the most part, the Larry shippers had cooled down, but a few accounts remained even in 2017. Louis read stories about him and Harry, watched videos, the whole lot.

    None of it helped. If anything, Louis began to miss Harry even more. Had he forgotten about him? Was he never really that important to him in the first place?

    Harry was scrolling through Twitter when he saw Nialler’s tweet. The Irish man had had a good chat with Louis recently, and wanted everyone to know it. Harry wondered what they had talked about, and why Louis hadn’t thought to call him.

    Louis had had enough. He’d spent days stalking Larries on every media platform, and he was done pining after Hazza. He had to do something, something big.

    Sober Louis knew better. He knew the universe would blow up if Larries knew his feelings for Harry. He had to have control. There was no choice.

    Harry picked up the phone and dialed. After a few seconds of ringing passed, he picked up.

    “Hey Haz what’s going on?”

    “Just wanted to see how you were doing. Love the new song by the way.”

    “Thanks. Have you talked to any of the other boys?”

    “No. You’re the first. Saw you had a nice chat with Lou.”

Silence. “You should call him.” Then a click, followed by more silence. Niall had hung up.

    Louis was drunk. Beyond drunk. And even though he knew he was being reckless, he didn’t care. Either he would embarrass himself in front of the whole world or…well probably just that. He began typing:

    “Tommo here. Cute video.”

He left it at that. But, within minutes, hundreds of responses had rolled in under the YouTube video. At the top?

    Freddieismyqueen: “Thank you Louis! What did Harry think?”

Louis scoffed:

    “Your guess is as good as mine.”

    Harry woke to a million messages. Literally everywhere. Larry was trending #1 on Twitter (again) and Harry was beyond confused. Until he saw the feed. Screenshots of comments under a YouTube video. Louis had posted twice, each with over a million likes. The video itself? A Larry Crack! video.

    Fuck.

    Louis had passed out, unaware of the global uproar he had caused. He had dozens of missed calls from every person he knew, yet he was fast asleep on his couch.

    “Louis, pick up your phone dammit!” Harry then called Lottie, who was just as confused as he. After denying Larry half a dozen times, Lottie admitted to Harry that Louis had been staying at home and hadn’t talked to anyone for over a week. Harry was out of the door before she could say more.

    Louis woke up to a killer hangover. He must have drowned in liquor last night. With a huge groan, he peeled himself off of the couch and made himself some tea. Quietly sipping, he began to dig around for his phone. Under the couch. After seeing hundreds of notifications, Louis began to panic. Was something wrong? Was Lottie okay?

    Then he saw it. The comments he made. He didn’t remember doing that. But then again, he didn’t remember anything from last night. Had Louis really given up the fact he had been watching Larry videos and liked them?

    Harry had called 28 times. God. What was Louis thinking?

    “LOU!” Harry had been standing outside for a few minutes now, impatiently knocking and ringing the doorbell. Finally, he gave in and turned the knob. Unlocked. Weird.

    Harry stepped into his home, taking in the stench of liquor and the bottles strewn across the coffee table. He called for Louis again before beginning to search the rooms. Louis was nowhere to be found.

    “Louis, you can’t be so hard on yourself. Management doesn’t control us anymore, and, to be honest, you deserve to be happy.”

    “Look, Niall, I get it. But this doesn’t just affect me. This could–”

    Phone ringing. Louis glanced over at the screen, then lunged for his phone, swiping as he picked it up.

    “Harry, I’m so–”

    “Where are you?”

    “At Niall’s. Wh–” Silence. He had hung up.

    Harry was on Niall’s doorstep within twenty minutes. After Niall excused himself, Harry and Louis sat on his couch, side by side, both afraid to break the silence. They stole glances at each other, each quickly looking away before the other caught on.

    Harry broke it. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you call?”

    “Hazza, we haven’t been together like that for years.”

    “It doesn’t matter. We could’ve avoided all the drama if you had just called.”

    “I know.”

    More silence. After what felt like an eternity, Harry got up and walked out. When Niall asked about dinner, Louis followed suit.

    A week passed. Both boys refused to acknowledge what had happened, and they ignored Liam and Niall’s calls as well. At this point, Louis was wallowing in self-pity, while Harry blamed himself for their current situation. If he had just told Louis how he had really felt, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

    It had been a month since the incident on Niall’s couch. Harry had just had a long chat with his mum, who told him to patch things up with Louis. She knew Harry well, and was spot on about why he was upset.

    Harry picked up his phone and typed.

    New message from Hazza. Louis was in his kitchen, sipping his morning tea. He reluctantly swiped, bracing himself for a message explaining how much Harry hated him now. Louis couldn’t have been more wrong. Without finishing his tea, Louis slipped on his shoes and left.

    “Lou, I’m sorry. I miss you. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about us too. I’m not mad, but I need to see you. I’ll always be here, Lou, no matter what. I love you.”

Author’s Note: Sorry it was so short. It was my first fic, and I would really appreciate the feedback if you made it through. And I promise, in the future, I’ll use a computer to post and not my phone in order to fix the syntactical stuff (italics?!?!). Anyway, thanks for reading!

[elizabethanneo-blog]

I’m leaving on Sunday for a 6 week study abroad trip to Spain. Super excited to get out of my shitty little town and meet new people and all, but there is one thing holding me back, him. 8 months ago I met you. You were kind at first, so handsome and so witty, everything about you was so intimidating. I couldn’t believe you wanted to talk to me, or the fact you even knew who I was. I knew who you were since high school, always hanging around with the popular crowd of people I always wanted to be like. We started talking in September and first hooked up then too, definitely moved too fast but there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing that. You were the first guy since my first long term relationship. I had taken a year to find myself and really be on my own. I never thought I would feel butterflies in my stomach ever again, but you proved me wrong. Every time I hear your name, I get them. Seeing you across campus when I know you can’t even see me, I get them. Even seeing you pop up on social media I get them. We had our ups and downs for a few months. But finally at the start of the new year I thought we made a breakthrough. You drove me home and we bonded like never before. To some it might not seem like much, but in my shoes it meant everything. And then silence. There was silence for 5 months. I thought you moved on to someone else, even saw pictures online of you with other girls. My friends tried to tell me you were no good from the beginning. I lied to them, told them I hated you, even though I could never. Fast forward to last week, the senior class graduation. You were there, and so was I. We passed each other a few times, me trying not to acknowledge you even though we both know we saw each other. My friend commented on how dumb you dressed, even though I thought you looked so handsome.That night as I got ready to go out, a Snapchat came over on my watch, and your name popped up. I never thought I would see that name again, I had thought after seeing pictures with you and that girl I had finally realized I can do better. But here we go again, you sucked me right back in and I was under your spell again. I ignored it and opened it later. It was something stupid, but that something stupid meant the world to me. The fact that you had to go into your contacts and choose to send that to me, I know it wasn’t random. I got angry and wanted you to know I was angry, so I simply responded “fuck off” and chose not to answer any of the following snaps, hoping you’d get the hint. But of course you didn’t, you’re you and why would you leave me alone when I actually wanted you to? For the next 4 days you snapchatted me every single day, something simple and stupid, but just enough to let me know “I’m thinking of you” in that stupid way you do. I tried to be strong but again my feelings for you are too strong. I finally gave in a responded to one. And before you know it we’re driving to meet each other. Just when I thought I was done you sucked me right back in. It was awkward at first, but we both played it off cool. We listened to music, of course bonding over some artists that we both like, your music taste is so attractive to me. I told my friends I was going to call you out on your shit, I promised them I wouldn’t give in. But I couldn’t. It was a moment I had waited for for months, I wasn’t ruining it. We had sex, which lasted a while. You told me in a way that only you would that you missed me, which made me feel good. But I was still being cautious. When we finished, we walked a bit and then said our goodbyes. I asked if you weren’t going to speak to me again, you gave the same answer you always do: “I really don’t like texting whatsoever” and then something about Snapchat. You kissed me goodbye twice, gave me a big hear hug twice, and even held my hand for a second. You told me you’d like to see me again, most of me didn’t want to believe it. You said when you’re free, text me. The whole ride home I sat listening to the music, not jumping up with glee and not crying with sadness. I just sat there, contemplating our 2 hour long interaction. I tried not to get my hopes up, but let’s face it, I’m going to get my hopes up. I texted one of my best friends and explained to her. I told her o would see how it goes. And now I sit in bed writing this and you TEXT me, and you don’t text. You told me I hope you got home safe in only a way that you would, and my heart fluttered a little.

You see my problem is, I leave for Spain on Sunday. I want this to happen but at the same time I wanted to get out of here for so long and one of the reasons I wanted to leave was you. Now I do not want to leave. I want to stay and see what happens between us. 6 weeks is a long time to be away from home, in that time you could move on to someone better. This is me writing all the feelings that are rushing through my body at this very moment. My feelings for you are so strong, yet I cannot tell you exactly how I feel or else you’ll get scared like you did in October. This is me wishing and praying that this works out this time, because I thought these feelings were long gone in me, until you brought them out again.