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webethepeachesfromrockford · 2 years

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“I really want to kiss you right now.”

Okay, nonnie - here you go. I titled it I'm So Proud to Call You Mine and you can find it on AO3 right here! I hope you enjoy a little Greta POV because this all just sort of spilled out of me before I realized what I was doing. Happy reading, friends!

It’s a genuinely surreal feeling to be a part of something actually worth a shit. Greta never stops being surprised by the fact that she’s playing professional baseball and doing so quite well. Her mind can’t process the wins or the success. It’s too easy to get comfortable in a space that feels good. Greta so desperately wants to break her walls down and jump head first into the cool water of the best thing that’s ever happened to her. That’s a scary thing to do, though. She’s not honest with herself all that much but Greta can admit to feeling fear almost every minute of the day. Being a Peach, playing baseball, learning to love again – it all seems much too good to be true. What she said to Carson when the league first stared isn’t any less real, either. Especially now that she really does want something. Greta’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since her eyes caught Carson’s out on the street that first day. Being struck in the chest has only happened one other time, though the clash of it was much bigger when Carson came into her life. Greta’s not naïve enough to think she’s above life’s natural order, she’s just not a fan of the repercussions.

Still, Greta’s finding it easier every day to give into the urge to cling to something. Though she wants that something to be Carson, the implications of a thing like that are too grand. Instead, Greta tries to swing open a door and let some of the other Peaches into the tight confines of her life. It’s pretty much just Jess that decides to take the open invitation but that’s okay. Greta likes to hear the normally silent short stop talk about the odd things she’s into. There’s not much in common between them, Greta grew up as an only child with just her mother to do a half assed job at taking care of her; Jess’s five brothers and overbearing parents make Greta a little ill every time she mentions them. Regardless of the obvious differences, Greta appreciates the wide open eyes Jess sees the world with. There’s something to be said about a person that observes every little thing around them. Greta’s often too busy worrying about herself to take in a lot of what’s happening with others. Maybe that’s why she always feels so alone, even in crowded rooms. She’s selfish and that’s an isolating thing.

Becoming a genuine part of the team gets a little easier the better they play. Greta felt like she was walking on egg shells with Dove around. Despite her rocky start, Carson is a great coach that’s bringing the team together little by little. It’s a nice feeling, knowing her small shred of confidence in the other woman was enough to open the team up to the best thing for them. She’s a little biased, there’s no denying that. Greta knows her initial instincts are why she stuck her neck out to begin with but her closeness with Carson contributed too. It’s only fair that Greta force Carson out of her comfort zone when the woman does it to her every second they spend together (and the ones they don’t, too). Never mind the fact that Carson just screams natural born leader.

It only took a little shoving of her shoulders to force the real Carson Shaw out into the light. For others, Greta is good at doing that. When she focuses in hard enough, Greta can pinpoint potential and future trajectories. The talent has always been fool proof but that’s because Greta never lets herself get attached. Though she’s not sure why she’s deciding to do so now, Greta’s been enjoying bending that rule. Being with Carson is like floating on air. Not even Dana made her feel that way. It’s terrifying to admit that she’s falling and it’s happening hard and fast and completely out of her control. Not even pushing Carson away helped, so Greta’s left with only one thing to do. Leaning into it is going to be the most difficult thing she’s ever done in her life.

She tries, though – there’s no denying that. Carson is a natural flirt and Greta’s always tried to ignore it. There are lots of other things going on during the games so it’s usually a pretty simple thing to do. Jo provides a good distraction whenever Greta finds her eyes wandering to their elusive coach and catcher. For some reason, not even the De Luca charm is yanking her attention away from Carson and her dirty cheeks and that gorgeous smile. Greta knows she’s staring, she can feel it in the burn in her eyes with every extra second they refuse to blink. There’s too much shame in the movement, though. Looking away when the sun is radiating in Carson’s hair, lightening the color of it, seems like blasphemy. Carson is always a beautiful woman but there’s something about her in her natural habitat that makes Greta go a little wild. Not to mention the fact that she’s always liked her women with a little bit of fire under their skirts. The woman that Carson is becoming is filled with life and passion and desire like Greta has never experienced before. That alone makes it impossible not to keep her gaze fixated on the radiating beauty before her.

Unlike any other time where Greta would force her eyes away and make use of herself elsewhere, Greta doesn’t move an inch. She simply leans on the bat in her hand and takes Carson in. Her stance as she watches Esti hit the ball. Her smile as the young girl gets on base, cheering something in Spanish that no one really understands. There’s a solidity in Carson Shaw that Greta’s so attracted to. Giving into the weakness of soaking it up is what’s going to be her downfall. Despite the greatness of it and the eager way Greta takes all that she can get, there’s something in the epic nature of the way Carson has her heart that speaks of tragedy. Maybe that’s just anxiety and her own doubt’s manifesting but the inescapable panic remains. She’s done this with so many faceless women that were easy to fool around with and forget when the going got too tough. When everything started between her and Carson, Greta was sure the situation would be the same. It isn’t and hasn’t been from that singular moment in time when Carson looked at her and kept on looking. Those handful of seconds before Carson kissed Greta back for the first time changed life as she knew it. Greta’s not the same person. Because of Carson, because of the things that Carson brings out in Greta, hell, because Carson is so easy to love. Greta’s never met another person like her; that statement becomes more and more true as the seconds pass.

So caught up in her own musings, Greta’s thrown off guard when Jo nudges her arm – “you’re up, Bird.” She looks a little confused about Greta’s drift off into space but says nothing about it. They’ve been around each other long enough to know when to sound the alarm. Despite her outward appearance and easy go-lucky attitude, Greta spends a lot of time with herself, musing and thinking about way too many things at once. It’s not odd for her to drift off – though it doesn’t usually happen during games. Shaking her head to clear the cob webs, Greta climbs the stairs to exit the dugout. Carson’s standing there looking serene and happy and so goddamn good. She sidles up to Greta, bumps their shoulders together.

“You’ve got this, Greta,” Carson says, dropping her voice. With everyone else, Carson gets loud and pumps them up. When she speaks to Greta, her encouraging words are like intimate caresses. They’re said only between them, spoken so lowly that Greta has to lean in to hear. It’s probably a gimmick to have Greta close but it works, so she brushes it off. They’re all hot, sweaty, and covered in dirt. The last thing the crowd is worrying about is the closeness between a coach and her player. Still, it hits a little closer to home in the delicate moments following Greta’s retreat inside. She’s vulnerable and out of her mind a little because those encouraging words make her want to jump Carson right then and there. It’s a different feeling to be so randy in a moment that’s usually reserved for focus and determination. Greta can’t decide if it’s going to be good or bad for her next at bat. It’s still undetermined when Shirley slaps down a single to the left side field and it’s really her turn.

Greta doesn’t push past Shaw until she’s leaned in to whisper “I really want to kiss you right now.” She leaves the words behind with a wink and the splutter of Carson who has no idea what to do or how to handle such a direct statement coming from bottled up Greta. There’s so much satisfaction in the way that Carson still looks dumbstruck that Greta swings at the first pitch without caring what it is or what her call was. Her bat connects with it right in the money spot and the ball goes soaring up and away and over the center field fence. She gasps, simply because her minds been everywhere but on the game yet that ball she just hit was absolutely crushed. Greta tries not to think too much about what it all means as she drops her bat and makes the slow jog around the bases.

If she lets herself investigate even a little into the situation, Greta’s going to find out that breathing deep and actually enjoying the life she’s leading at the time makes her a better baseball player. Hell, simply rolling her shoulders back and letting some of the weight of the world drift away helps. While letting go has always been difficult for her to do, Greta’s starting to find that one look at Carson makes her mind turn to goo, giving way to moments where life isn’t hectic or spinning out of control. Maybe with her lover around, Greta can find a way to relax. All the time, too, not just in those stolen moments where there’s nothing more than her and Carson and the pleasure they give each other. Now that she’s allowing herself to see it, Greta knows simply being with Carson, accepting that another person brings her joy, that’s the real game changer.

The entire team is up and out of the dugout as Greta makes the final turn. There’s cheers and shouts and chants of her name but none of that matters because Carson is looking right through her. While the game is practically over, they have one more guest at bat to field. Greta can’t be so uncontrollably hot when standing on first base and actually making plays is her job. She tries not to give Carson any attention but that’s much easier said than done. Carson can’t resist telling Greta she’s proud and that she can’t wait to celebrate later on. There’s something sitting right under the surface of those words that make it so goddamn difficult to focus on anything but the bend of Carson’s knees as she takes her position behind the plate. Luckily, Lupe is on top form, so not a single bat hits a ball that inning. The game is finally over and once again, the Peaches win. They’re a couple away from earning a spot in the playoffs. When the group dashes out onto the field and everyone embraces, Greta takes an extra second to make sure one of her arms is wrapped around Carson. Since they won’t have time to celebrate right until much later on, the brief moment of contact is nice. Nice enough, at least, to tide her over. Like that’s ever truly been a tangible thing so tangled up in Carson the way she is.

There must be something in the water because all of the stars align for them that night. Since they don’t play until later in the evening the next day, everyone is taking an opportunity to go out and enjoy something other than ball. Greta makes the excuse of a sore ankle while Carson mutters something about game cards and just like that, they’re all alone. Of course, Greta has rules she needs to follow, even if they’re becoming a pesky pain in the ass. She waits to approach Carson until the group has been gone for more than half an hour. It’ll be a risk letting their guard down in the house but it’s one Greta’s willing to take. For once, she wants to have Carson on a flat surface they both fit on. Her knees are starting to become permanently achy from the car’s hard flooring. Though it’s a goddamn blessing to have the seemingly abandoned vehicle for solitude, there’s something to be said about a bed. Soft sheets remind Greta of the hungry look in Carson’s eyes the very first time they crossed the line and had sex with each other. They’re Pavlovian in a way. A bed and Carson immediately elicits a feral reaction.

This time isn’t any different. Greta doesn’t even wait for Carson to lock the door before she’s pushing the shorter woman back against it. Both hands cup Carson’s cheeks, Greta’s thumbs tracing the bones there delicately. They lock eyes and don’t look away until the magnetic pull between their bodies forces them to meet in the middle. Greta’s eyes are closed by then so she misses the huge smile that overtakes Carson’s face seconds before their lips touch. It’s probably a good thing, anyway – Greta’s still feeling vulnerable and something big like a heart stopping smile would be too much. Standing there, kissing Carson with everything that Greta can muster, that’s the move for right now.

It's a slow and steady shift from the door to the bed. Greta eventually gets too paranoid and flicks the lock closed to provide that final barrier. The action is enough for Carson to break away and smirk in Greta’s direction. “What’s gotten into you today?” Shaw asks her, the tone of her voice cocky and rough. Greta likes it so much more than she’s willing to admit. She gives herself a second to rebound from the way her thighs clench before her brain comes back online. It’s such a glorious thing to note the change between the Carson who fumbled in her attempt to kiss Greta back and the one that’s standing before her. She’s a changed woman and Greta is a fan of the confident and put together Carson Shaw who leads them and makes them feel unstoppable. Greta likes the last one the most. Both on and off the field, Shaw guides her with a strong hand and full heart. That’s why Greta is so done in, why her heart is not safe, why, after years of having rules and following them just fine, Greta is finally breaking each of them up and stomping on them for good measure.

Greta’s words are measured when she eventually replies. She wants them to have an impact like her earlier confession so obviously did. “You have, Carson Shaw. Your stupid little backwards cap and that smudge of dirt you always have on your cheek,” Greta takes small steps towards the bed where Carson is seated, looking at her wide eyed. It’s working, so Greta continues. “Your confidence is so sexy, Shaw.” She grins at the cartoon like way Carson’s jaw drops. It’s funny and attractive and so goddamn adorable that Greta has to finish off the distance between the two of them. If she doesn’t pin Carson down and make her be quiet, Greta’s sure more moments of butterflies and unruly heartbeats are in her future. Carson, the gorgeous little asshole, makes her want normal things like ‘I love you’ and long mornings wrapped up in each other. Greta is weaker and stronger in one fell swoop with Carson by her side. She can keep a tether on the rampant feelings when they only exist in her own head. The second Carson gives them life, makes them real, Greta has to deal with them. They’re real – no matter how much it scares her, those feelings are more real than anything that Greta’s ever experienced.

She makes her distraction technique pleasurable to bridge the gap between happy moments and Greta’s intimacy issues. Greta is sure that Carson has picked up on the painstakingly obvious inability to commit or give up anything truly personal about herself. Carson manages to tug a few details here and there but it’s not a lot. Not for someone that shares so much about herself each and every day. While she wants to say that she’s learning to let go and allow Carson in a little closer, Greta honestly doesn’t know how. Giving up control is like sawing off her right arm. She needs the damn thing to throw so every time she takes a step towards breathing in and letting go, her armor comes right back up in the ultimate defense mechanism. None of the other women cared that Greta spoke with her lips on their neck and face and breasts to avoid having to do so with words. Carson understands her, Greta can’t deny that. There’s no other human, aside from Jo, that does on such a molecular level. That’s why it’s all so frightening. Greta gets closer to crossing the line each and every day.

How can she resist, anyway? Greta is the one that initially pursued Carson that first night. She recognized the same thing most housewives in hiding have almost immediately. After putting out a few feelers and reading the room, Greta knew Carson was just like her. The kiss is still something Greta constantly revisits. She never expected the immediate sense of home to wash over her as Carson’s lips pressed against hers. When it happened, Greta immediately became addicted. That’s why she eventually pushed Carson away and ran out of the room. In such a public place like that bar, getting carried away can’t happen. It almost did and that’s sign enough. Greta tried to honor Carson’s wishes and just be her friend but neither of them enjoyed it. Carson’s longing for her affects Greta like a physical ache. Those moments they spent dancing around each other felt like her left ankle on a rainy day, the old injury flares up and pulses with pain until the pressure changes and all is well again. There’s no describing the way Greta’s entire body relaxed when Carson kissed her that second time. She’s still secretly over the moon about it. Suffice to say that Greta’s been dancing around the distasteful concept of falling in love for longer than she cares to admit.

Maybe that’s why she dives head first into the physical stuff any chance that she can. While Greta isn’t comfortable with the hearts and flowers bull shit, she does know the art of talking with her body. She’s intimately acquainted with the spots on Carson’s sides that make her shiver and those that make her break out into uncontrollable laughs. Greta says “you’re beautiful” with the teasing trace of her fingertips through the valley between Carson’s breasts. Cupping each one with reverence is Greta’s only way to say “I want you” without having to strip herself down and be vulnerable enough to actually let the words out into the open air. With a yank and a shimmy on Carson’s part, the shorter woman is naked and writhing on the bed. They haven’t even gotten the comforter and sheets out of the way in their haste to sprint into each other head on. Something in Greta thinks Carson may enjoy the subtle reminders of their time together. Greta still hugs the pillow that Carson slept on last week every night. Though the smell of her shampoo is faint, Greta picks it up with clarity and clings to it. She sleeps better now, having a small piece of Carson near.

Now, she has all of her there so Greta takes advantage. She runs her nails up the insides of both of Carson’s legs, cheekily getting them to spread to make room for her. Carson has taken a position up on her elbows to have a better view. Despite Greta being the one to say so, Carson enjoys watching just as much. It’s hot, too, to have those heavy brown eyes on her like that. Greta loves to look up from the task at hand to see Carson staring unblinkingly at her. She doesn’t skip a beat or hesitate before shooting Carson a wink and doubling down. It’s always nice to taste the flood of wetness that immediately follows. Greta gets off on being wanted and Carson does so like it’s her singular purpose in life. The feeling is intoxicating and scary and deliriously sexy. A desire like that shouldn’t exist but it does and Greta can’t get enough of it. Much like she can’t get enough of Carson.

Especially when that catcher’s strength shows itself in the roll of Carson’s hips as they impatiently push up into Greta’s teasing mouth. She’s making a path for herself down to Carson’s core, trying to make the moment last. It’s doesn’t hurt that Carson getting to the point of impatience is such a delightful thing to experience. Greta teases her sometimes just to see blush spread from Carson’s cheeks and neck down across her chest and stomach. Carson’s body in the throes of pleasure is like art – Greta’s never been much for those types of skills but she feels proud of the tangible painting before her. Sweaty hair that clings to her forehead and blotchy skin looks so good on Carson that Greta shifts her attention and starts to devour her lover with vigor. There’s more time on the horizon for them, Greta can feel it. The teasing can wait.

Greta shifts her position enough to bring her right hand up so her long fingers can part Carson’s folds. The simple act of touching her like that makes Carson howl. Looking up, Greta uses her free hand to make a “shh” gesture against her lips. Though Greta so desperately wants to hear Carson get loud and stay that way, they’re already risking enough. She’ll put the desire to make Carson scream in the fantasy bank for another day. Maybe they’ll find themselves in a bed together some distant time in the future where a little noise made isn’t going to hurt anybody. For now, Greta is plenty satisfied with the huffed moans Carson makes against her hand and the purposeful hitch of her hips to get closer to Greta’s mouth that Carson isn’t shy about. The actions carry the same sort of confidence that Shaw’s been whipping them into shape with, making Greta weak at the knees. She’s desperate herself despite not having been touched.

Carson is less than successful when it comes to completely muting herself, but Greta can’t honestly hold that against her. By the time the catcher is getting louder than a small little palm can contain, Greta is licking her clit ruthlessly. One of her hands holds Carson open while two fingers of the other thrust in and out of her cunt in the same rhythm as her tongue. Greta loves fucking her to the point of shaky thighs and a blitz of muttered “Greta” over and over again. Carson has an orgasm like she does all things, with determination and the raw sort of abandon only passionate people understand. She’s not afraid to reach down and ruin Greta’s perfectly curled hair. Her fingers are demanding as they tug on the strands and choke Greta on her pussy. There’s no ability to breath in air but that’s okay too because Greta can die happy drowning in all that Carson has to offer. The worry is unfounded, anyway – Carson only holds on for another couple swipes of Greta’s tongue before she’s losing it. It’s a miracle that her name doesn’t echo off the walls. Carson holds on by squirming on the bed and closing her thighs around Greta’s head to keep her there. She stays curled up like that until Greta slips her fingers out of Carson with a sigh.

With little kisses to the bottom of her stomach, Greta helps Carson come back down to Earth. There’s a roiling pit of want in her own belly but Greta pushes it away in favor of resting her chin on Carson’s hip to better stare up at disheveled hair and a blissed out expression. Carson has the same look in her eye after she hits a homerun or makes an amazing play at the plate. There’s satisfaction, sure, but something more, too. A small part of Greta wants to believe it’s the fondness for her that colors the look. Maybe it’s wishful thinking or maybe it’s intuition. She’s not alone in the obsessive feeling. Greta doesn’t have to ask Carson to know. Her lover is much more up front and obvious about it in her demands for dates and piss poor attempts at keeping distance between them out in public. Carson would absolutely tell her if she asked. She’s not afraid to battle the monster like Greta is.

Shaking her head of the thought, Greta shoots Carson a smile that’s instantly returned. Suddenly rough hands tug on her, pulling Greta up until they’re face to face. “Come here,” Carson says as she trails her fingers over the swell of Greta’s jaw. “I really want to kiss you right now.” There’s a glow in Carson’s eye as Greta snorts but does as prompted. It’s funny to hear her words from earlier tossed back at her. Unlike Carson, however, Greta’s in the perfect position to lean forward and smack them right out of the park with a sloppy kiss that has them both moaning. In the following moments when Carson flips her over and returns the favor, Greta wonders if being in the dugout will ever be the same. She can’t get the sight of Carson’s blush out of her head as she turned her back and stepped up to the plate.

Maybe it’s a good thing that the memories are tied together like that. Carrying Carson with her everywhere might be the key to continued success. It's hard to think when her orgasm washes over her but Greta’s absolutely sure of one thing – she loves Carson Shaw with everything inside of her. The haze of being taken apart is too much to decipher what that means or what comes next because of it. It’s enough in that moment to be able to recognize what all the fretting and yearning actually amounts to. There aren’t enough days left to treasure the realization or even do anything about it but Greta’s okay with that. With something as big as what’s happening between them a little time and distance can’t break them apart.

Who knows, maybe she’ll break down all the walls and ask Carson to come with her.

#gretson #greta gill x carson shaw #a league of their own #carson shaw x greta gill #a league of their own series #carson x greta #greta x carson #greta/carson #carson/greta #greta gill #carson shaw #aloto #bobbie writes #and i'm so proud to call you mine

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wroteasongabouther · 4 years

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can’t stand to see you lonely: part 3

a/n: we love a little throwback with this gif, my heart 😭 again, i can’t thank you all enough for the love you’ve shown my writing it’s truly the sweetest thing and i’m happy you guys are liking the story so far! this was is the longest part so far with a lot happening, so happy reading! remember to leave some feedback and reblog cause it’s always appreciated.

and as always, thanks to the lovely jess @arrogantstyles and jill @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading ❤️

word count: 19k

warnings: mentions of a partner cheating (f*** mark), minor mention of drugs (aka weed lol), alcohol consumption (tequila anyone?), and serious! sexual! tense!

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist

Y/N didn’t realize she had left Harry’s apartment the other day with his hoodie on until the next morning when she had woken up to the sweet smell of faint lavender and laundry soap. She didn’t return the hoodie, though. In fact, she shamelessly slept in the hoodie for three more nights; it was just really comfortable, she tries to convince herself that’s the only reason she’s wearing it to bed each night. It wasn’t because the smell that calmed her, reminding her of that dimpled smile and dazzling green eyes that would wander into her dreams every night now and then. And it was especially not because she found herself falling for those same pair of eyes, no, not a shred of feelings besides friendship there.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Sammy deadpans.

“What are you talking about now?” Y/N questions, keeping her eyes on her phone as she texts back Harry.

“You and your little affair,” Sammy quips back. His choice of words causes Y/N’s head to quickly snap up and look at her friend. He’s giving her a bored look, a smug little smile on his face that makes Y/N narrow her eyes.

“I am not having an affair, Sammy, so let’s not start that rumour around the office, please,” Y/N says to him in a hushed voice. “Plus, Mark hasn’t bothered to call or text me in almost a week now. So, I’m pretty sure the next time we do talk it will be to end things officially,” Y/N explains, her voice falling flat as she feels her heart rate pick up just thinking of her and Mark breaking up. Regardless of the fact he’s hurt her feelings, annoyed her and so on - it’s still a break up, and they really freaking suck.

“I sure hope so,” Sammy says. “You know I’m team Harry all the way,” he gives Y/N a wicked smile which she only rolls her eyes at.

There were no teams to be on, she thinks. She was just becoming friends with Harry, and yeah, she found him ridiculously attractive and really sweet too, but she wasn’t dumping Mark for him or anything. If she was dumping Mark it was because of how their relationship turned out, without Harry’s help, and how neither of them are benefitting from being together anymore. Hell, they didn’t even have sex last time he was in the city. It also didn’t have to do with the fact that Y/N would be nervous that Harry could hear them. Nope that thought didn’t cross her mind not even once - Y/N finds herself biting on her bottom lip as she’s deep in thought and trying to convince herself certain things.

Her phone buzzes where she left it on her desk brings her back to reality. She picks it up and swipes up as the face ID recognizes her, opening up the messages, between her and Harry, that she was previously on. Y/N can’t help it as a chuckle leaves her lips. She notices how Sammy leans back in his chair and raises a brow at her, but she chooses to ignore him and instead keeps watching the gif Harry sent on loop over and over again.

It was a cartoon Santa, dabbing. Yes, Harry used a gif that had to do with a trend from the world's youth. Y/N never would have guessed Harry even knew what dabbing was. She holds back another chuckle and looks up a gif to respond to his. She goes for one that’s a cartoon of Rudolph, his nose lighting up like a strobe light as he dances on two legs. It’s silly, but she’s enjoying this back and forth texting of stupid Christmas themed gifs. It’s been going on for about five minutes and she doesn’t even know why or how it started, but she loves it.

How’s work so far today? Harry texts after sending a gif of the Olaf the snowman from Frozen, dancing in the field of flowers. Y/N tilts her head to the side and leans further back in her seat, stretching her legs under her desk. The work that was on her desk was long forgotten when her and Harry began texting earlier.

It’s good, I finally have a few moments of downtime at my desk. We had like four clients in this morning for some fittings for the many Christmas parties going on next week. Y/N sends that off before typing, How’s your day? Write anything good yet?

Glad it’s less busy now, don’t let me distract you with all these amazing Christmas gifs though. And I’ve got a few things written while at the cafe, finally found the right melody for another song I was working on last week. Harry types out to Y/N, biting on the nail of his thumb after hitting send. He’s been leaning on the guitar in his lap for the past twenty minutes. That melody was found, but pushed away after he got into texting Y/N.

Not too distracting, although I think Sammy is jealous no one’s sending him any silly gifs. A second text shows up only seconds later, Harry’s sometimes surprised at how fast Y/N can type. And that’s good though! Will I ever get to hear you play in person besides through the wall our apartments share?

Harry smiles over his thumb at the first text but then is biting at his nail again as he reads over the second bubble a few times. He isn’t too surprised that she can hear him play from her apartment, but he is surprised she’s asking to hear him play. He doesn’t think he’s all that great of a guitar player. It’s kind of hard to think when he’s best mates with one of the best guitar players in the industry; Mitch could outplay him any day. Harry stops biting on his nail and hovers his thumbs over his keyboard. Although he’s usually too nervous to just sit and play for someone, he finds himself imagining playing for Y/N.

Tell Sammy I’ll send him some gifs too if he wants. And as for playing for you, maybe... if you catch me on a good day. Y/N shakes her head at his response, somehow not too shocked that’s what he says. She recalls him not telling her what popular songs he had written, how his cheeks grew a shade of pink at the mere idea of Y/N knowing of his work. So, she’ll take her odds and pray that someday soon she gets Harry on a good day and hears him play something.

“Y/N,” Amanda’s voice calling her name causes Y/N to jump, sitting straight up in her seat and nearly dropping her phone. She shuts off the screen and feels the vibration from her Apple watch, a notification reading that it was time to head into the conference room to interview new interns with Amanda. Y/N looks over her shoulder to see Amanda standing behind her with her eyebrows raised and her lifeline of a notebook in hand. “You alright?” She asks, slight concern in her tone.

“Yeah,” Y/N clears her throat and stands from her desk, wobbling on her heeled boots as she gathers up her laptop and cell phone. “I’m all good, ready to find us some new interns,” she states with a smile.

Amanda gives her a look as if doubting her, but then nods as Y/N steps in front of her and they move into the conference room. It’s not until their third candidate that Y/N thought of her boyfriend. Her watch buzzes, flashing up at text from Mark, then one from Sammy right away. She ignores them and tries to focus on listening to yet another fashion student talk about their love for the industry and the company. She was once just like them, sitting on the other side of this conference table and grinning ear to ear from just being in the building. She still felt excited to come into work every day and she feels very grateful to still feel that way. So, therefore she doesn’t hate sitting there for a few hours and having a handful of first impressions with girls that she once was. But, in the back of her mind she’s wondering what Mark could have texted her. It’s been five days since the phone call she ended up hanging up on him. What could he possibly have to say?

“Thank you for coming in today,” Amanda says with a smile to their last interview of the day. The small blonde stands up as the two of them do, and reaches across the table to shake both of their hands before saying short goodbyes and letting one of the receptionists walk them out.

“I think I liked her the best,” Y/N comments, writing a quick note beside her resume.

“I agree. We’ll email back and forth a bit more about it. I’ve got another phone meeting with a few clients for the new year first,” Amanda explains as she’s reading over her planner before snapping it shut.

“Sounds like fun,” Y/N nods before walking separate ways from Amanda and heading back to her desk. As she gets closer, she can't help but notice the oversized bouquet of flowers on her desk. Her eyebrows pinch together as she slows her steps, taking in the beautiful pinks and oranges in the bouquet before reaching for the card that stuck out of it. Sammy pops up then, right by Y/N’s side almost breathing down her neck.

“Did you not get my text? These showed up like halfway through your interviews,” Sammy states, trying to read the card before Y/N can. She shields it’s away from his eyes and looks at him over her shoulder. “Sorry,” he apologizes and takes a step back.

Y/N reads the printed out note and finds herself sighing as she reads it over again. I’m sorry - Mark. Y/N shakes her head and rolls her lips into her mouth, staring at the bouquet again. That’s it, just sorry? She thinks, but then remembers that he had texted her too. Maybe there’s something more there but Y/N finds herself doubting it.

“Who’s it from?” Sammy questions. Y/N ignores him and pulls out her phone from her back pocket. She unlocks it and taps on her messages app, having to back out of her conversation with Harry in order to open up Mark’s text from earlier.

Did you get the flowers? The company sent me a notification saying someone signed for them. Y/N rolls her eyes at his careless text message; not an ounce of emotion behind any of his words, through text or on the note. She doesn’t find herself smiling at the flowers, thinking how it’s a nice gesture, but instead finding it ridiculous that her boyfriend missed the whole point of the fight and just thinks some random bouquet of flowers will fix everything that she’s feeling. Is he even bothered by the fact they fought and haven’t spoken in five days? She wonders as she shuts off her phone screen without responding.

“Mark sent them,” Y/N finally tells Sammy, turning around to hand him the card. After he grabs it, and Y/N turns back around and places a hand on either side of the vase. She turns on her heels and walks around her desk to the left, moving Sammy’s chair out of the way and placing them on his desk instead. “You can have them, they look better on your desk,” she stays in a flat tone of voice, feeling indifferent about if she should just throw them out or not.

“Are you going to break up with him?” Sammy asks, his voice is quiet and soft - sounding like a caring friend instead of a gossiping coworker.

Y/N bites down on her bottom lip and nods, “yeah, I think I am going to. I just don’t know how, breaking up with someone on the phone feels so shallow and I would hate to be broken up with over the phone.” She explains, turning back around to look at Sammy again. He’s frowning, a look of pity in his eyes.

“But it’s unfair to you both to keep this relationship going on like this, Y/N,” Sammy says, letting out a deep sigh and tosses the card in the garbage bin by Y/N’s desk. “You’ll know what to do, you always do,” Sammy adds on with a smile.

Y/N tries to mirror her friends smile but feels it fall flat on her lips. She’s doubting herself, doubting her choices with Mark these past four months, and she keeps doubting herself all day till she’s walking into her apartment. She closes her door and slips out of her coat. Y/N sighs and pulls out her phone while walking to her bedroom, taking a seat on the end of her bed before pulling up Mark’s contact.

Her fingers hover over the call icon, her heart beating a million miles an hour as she imagines how this phone call is going to go. Should she really break up with him over the phone? She thinks, yet again doubting herself. This was really the only way to do it, seeing as he won’t be in the city for who knows how long. Y/N didn’t want to be in this relationship anymore, especially since it started to feel less like a relationship as the days went on this past month. Y/N inhales deeply just as her phone begins to ring, Mark’s contact picture of him kissing her cheek fills the screen in her hand. Y/N exhales before tapping the green icon on the phone and bringing it to her ear.

“Hi,” Y/N says softly into the phone.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my text earlier,” Mark starts off the conversation with a hard tone of voice as if he’s annoyed. Y/N licks her lips and nods, even though Mark can’t see her.

“Yeah, um, sorry, work got busy,” she lies. She had the time to text him back, she just didn’t know what to say as her thoughts were clouded with how to break up with him.

“Did you get them?” Mark asks.

“The flowers? Yeah, I did,” Y/N sighs. She’s racking her brain on how to do this. How do you break up with someone over a phone call? She shakes her head and brings a hand to her forehead, pushing her fingers through the roots of her hair. “Mark, we need to talk,” she says, feeling that’s the best she can do - the good ol’ classic line.

“Yeah, we do,” Mark agrees with a sigh from him now. Y/N listens as it’s like something shuffles on the other end of the phone, as if Mark switches his phone from one ear to the other. “Look, Y/N, you’re a wonderful girl, truly, you are. But we’re not really benefiting from this, are we?” Mark says, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts as her brows pinch together.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Y/N questions.

“Uh, yeah-”

“No, no, I’m breaking up with you. I have thought long and hard about this for days now, and I don’t think we should be together anymore, Mark,” Y/N blurts out quickly, feeling as though her moment that she’s been talking herself up to all day was being taken away from her. She releases the grip she had on her hair and stares straight ahead at the painting on her wall, waiting for Mark to say something.

He lets out a long breath, “then I guess this is a lot easier for the both of us then, huh?” He says. Y/N shakes her head in disbelief.

“I guess so,” she mumbles.

“I’ll uh, I’ll send my assistant over soon for any of my things I’ve left at your apartment. She’ll bring the few things of yours that are at my place too. Are you available tomorrow?” Mark explains, asking the question so casually too. In fact, he sounds like he’s distracted with something on his end of the call too.

“Have you had this planned for a while now or something?” She asks, her eyebrows only pull together tighter in confusion. How can he act so unbothered only seconds after breaking up with her? She thinks. Sure, it’s a mutual break up, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t bothered by it still.

“Uh, no,” Mark mutters, not sounding convincing at all. Y/N rolls her eyes and shakes her head at herself - how did she even date this guy?

“You know what, whatever,” Y/N breathes out as her eyes close and she runs a hand through her hair, “I’ll be home from work around five in the evening tomorrow for your assistant to come by. Tell her to be on time, please,” she tells Mark.

“Alright,” he says. There’s a couple beats of silence between them, and she doesn’t feel upset over it at all. In fact she feels at peace with this breakup. She supposes that they didn’t date for long, and they never said I love you to each other and really didn’t spend too much time with one another the past two months. Maybe that’s why she’s not bothered by this break up at all.

“Well, it was fun, Mark,” Y/N says, “I wish you the best,” she adds.

“You too, Y/N,” he replies. And with that, Y/N brings the phone from her ear and ends the call. Staring at the screen that was on Mark’s contact info for a few minutes as she lets herself fall into her thoughts.

That was a lot easier than she imagined it to be earlier today. Y/N falls back on her bed, her hair fanning out around her as she holds her phone to her stomach and stares up at the ceiling. Did he have this planned though? She finds herself thinking. She imagines that he sent those flowers earlier to butter her up, maybe, before he called to break her heart only hours later. And having already made plans for his assistant to go through his apartment and bring her things to her. Maybe he already had gathered her things beforehand, meaning over a week ago he would have packed it up - only to come over to her house and fight with her for days on end before making her drive him to the airport. Y/N just shakes her head as her thoughts run wild.

Y/N knows exactly what she needs to do to get out of this overthinking stage that she’s got herself into. She gets up from her bed and opens her closet, her figure skates sitting on the bottom of the closet leaning nicely against each other. She finds an empty tote bag and tosses them inside, then quickly gets dressed into a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a plain white turtleneck long sleeve, and then layering by putting on a dark grey crew neck that has ‘LA’ in white writing across the front.

After making sure she has her wallet, phone and keys, she puts on a black puffer jacket and heads out her front door. Harry’s walking out of the elevator just as Y/N is locking up, he’s got a Starbucks hot drink in hand and a smile on his face.

“Hey,” Harry says, but then his eyebrows pinch together as he realizes the time, “where are you off to?” He wonders. Y/N brushes her hair from her face and lets out a small sigh.

“It’s, like, two weeks till Christmas and I haven’t gone skating yet, so I just got up and grabbed my skates to go out,” she explains, lifting her shoulder that her tote bag was hanging off. Her skates are poking out the top slightly, Harry notices the white figure skates with a pair of matching light pink guards on the bottom.

“Oh, fun,” Harry nods, meeting her eyes again.

Y/N doesn’t even think twice before she’s asking, “did you want to come with me?”

Harry smiles, causing Y/N to mirror him, before he takes a few moments to nod in response. “I would love to, yeah,” Harry clears his throat, noticing how overly excited he may have sounded. “I should dress a bit warmer, though, it’s supposed to snow tonight,” he tells her, motioning to his apartment door down the hall.

“Good call,” Y/N says, following him to his doorway. Harry holds open his door for her after unlocking it, then letting it close softly behind them as he takes off the lighter jacket he had on. Y/N smiles at the decorations around his apartment, loving how the glow from the lights of his tree filled up the space around them before he can turn on any lights.

“I don’t have my own skates, suppose I’m not a real New Yorker like that,” Harry states as he opens the closet beside his front door and starts ruffling around in order to find where his scarfs were hiding.

“That’s fine,” Y/N says with a soft chuckle, turning around to watch as he sticks his head into the closet and pushes things around. “They have rentals at Bryant Park,” she tells him.

“I’ve never been,” Harry admits. He finally gets a hold of the long burgundy scarf with a brown leaf pattern on it, his mum had gifted it to him a few years back. Harry pushes the doors of his closet closed and puts the scarf down for a moment, hanging it on the door handle before he grabs his long black coat to slip it on. Once he’s got that on, he wraps the scarf around his neck, fixing the collar of his coat and the scarf so it’s comfortable.

“You’ve really never been to Bryant Park?” Y/N asks surprisingly. It wasn’t Central Park by any means, but anyone who lived in the Manhattan area typically had walked through Bryant Park.

“Nope,” Harry says, grabbing for his forgotten Starbucks drink, bringing it to his lips for a quick sip. He looks up at Y/N to find her smiling at him. “What?” Harry questions.

“Nothing, I’m just excited for you to see Bryant Park. It’s beautiful during the Winter,” she states.

“Well then, let’s not waste any time, come on,” Harry nods his head to the door and gives her a smile while holding it open for her. She thanks him, waits for him to lock the doors before they fall into step with one another to the elevator. Harry beats her to hitting the button, literally leaning in front of her in order to push the down button before she can. Y/N shakes her head at him, smiling.

“So how was your time at the cafe earlier?” Y/N asks Harry, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“It was good,” Harry says, tilting his head to the side so he can look at Y/N, “wrote another song about love,” he adds with a smile. Y/N chuckles and raises her eyebrows.

“Never would have guessed,” she teases him.

The whole walk to Bryant Park, all Harry can think about is when the hell was the last time he skated? That and how good Y/N looked, which is a thought that’s always going through his head, to be honest. But he’s stressing himself out, hoping and praying that some sort of muscle memory clicks in and he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of Y/N. God, maybe he should have just saved himself the embarrassing situation and declined her invitation. Harry knew the moment he looked into her eyes there was something a bit off with her; how her smile didn’t quite reach its full potential - so the moment she asked if he wanted to come along with her, he didn’t even think twice before saying yes. The girl has her own figure skates, Harry wouldn’t doubt it if she’s about to skate circles around him.

“All black outfit,” Y/N comments as she watches Harry pick out a pair of black skates in his size, “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear all black before,” she adds with a smile.

“I used to only wear all black,” he admits, “back in uni, I really didn’t venture out in fashion and only wore black jeans and black t-shirts basically all year,” he explains to Y/N, letting her lead the way to the area for skaters to sit on the many benches and do up their skates.

“I truthfully can’t even imagine that,” Y/N replies, taking a seat on the bench right by the open door to the ice rink. She looks out at the about forty people on the ice, lit up by the many Christmas lights hanging over it and a few light posts in each corner too, as the sun has fully set now. The city around them is still hustling and bustling as it always is, which makes her smile.

“It was a tragedy, but I got older and realized that fashion can be fun, especially after moving to New York, seeing what people wear out for some innocent ice skating,” he mentions, taking in Y/N’s fashion forward outfit. The style was very trendy these days, he had noticed - online and in the streets.

“I would be an abomination of a former FIT student if I just walked around New York City in leggings and a hoodie,” Y/N states, “if I’m going somewhere, with someone, I always feel the need to look good.”

“And you do, by the way, look good,” Harry says, his words coming out quick and in a bit of a stumble. Y/N can feel the blush creeping onto her cheeks. She says a quiet ‘thank you’ before she begins to lace up her skates.

Y/N has her skates done up before Harry, so she has an extra minute to take out her phone and open her Instagram app. She checks out her newest comments, liking a few, before she finds herself aimlessly scrolling through her feed and liking some posts there. Checking up on Harry, she notices he’s almost done doing up his skates, so she stands up and grabs her tote bag that now holds her skate guards and chunky black boots.

“Did you want to lock anything up?” Y/N asks Harry, motioning to the small lockers to their left.

He shakes his head, “no thank you,” he says before his attention is back on tying his skates. Y/N smiles at how his tongue pokes out just slightly passed his lips before she turns around and walks over to lock up her tote bag, making sure everything but her phone is inside.

Once the small locker door is closed, she walks over to the wall of the ice rink and opens her Instagram again, putting on a quick filter that makes it look like it’s being filmed with an old film camera before she pans her camera around while holding down the button on the screen. As she turns to face where Harry is, she cuts off the video and double checks he’s not in it. With having so many followers, she always makes sure that her friends and family are comfortable with being posted before doing so. Y/N adds a quick caption of ‘first skate this season’ with a white heart emoji before she posts it to her story, then she slips the phone into her back pocket and walks over to where Harry sat waiting for her.

“Ready?” Harry asks, smiling up at her.

“Yup,” she nods, smiling back at him. Harry nods, muttering ‘alright’ under his breath, and then stands up on wobbling legs. Y/N chuckles and reaches for his elbow, helping him stand up straight. “You’ve skated before, right?” She asks, realizing now that she only assumed that he had.

“Uh, it’s been a few years,” Harry admits, flashing another nervous smile her way. All he can think about is her hand on his arm, and how she hasn’t let go of him yet. Harry hadn’t even thought about the potential arm holding, or hand holding maybe, they could get into here. She has a boyfriend, he reminds himself over and over again as he watches her lips tug up as she smiles back at him again.

“Alright, we’ll take it slow then,” she assures him, pulling at his arm gently to get them moving forward on their skates.

Y/N takes the first step onto the shining ice, letting her blades slide over the top slowly before she takes a sharp turn and is in front of Harry in an instant. His eyebrows fly up his forehead as his eyes fall down to her skates again, noticing how worn out they look now, her left foot lifting up as she sticks the toe of her skate blade into the ice - her whole stance made her look like some sort of professional. Harry’s head snaps up and he meets her gaze, lips now smirking at his stunned expression.

“You’ve been skating a lot before then, hm?” Harry gulps, looking back down at his feet as he inches slowly to the ice.

“Since I was a kid,” Y/N reveals. He’ll touch more on it later, but first he wants to get himself onto the ice and get this embarrassment over with. Harry sighs and starts to place his right foot into the ice, letting out a deep breath as he does but just as quickly as he makes the move he’s slipping. Harry sucks in a sharp breath, ready to fall before he even has both feet on the ice. But both of Y/N’s arms fly out and grab a hold of his forearms, causing him to wrap each of his hands around her much smaller forearms.

Harry shakes his head and just decides to get it over with, pushing both skates onto the ice in a quick motion. Y/N is fully prepared for his sudden movement and skates backwards, checking over her shoulder quickly to make sure she doesn’t get in anyone's way. She keeps a tight grip on Harry’s arms and smiles as she looks up at him and sees the stressed out look on his face.

“You’re doing great,” Y/N assures him, her voice causing Harry to look down and meet her soft eyes. “We can move a bit closer to the wall so you can hang onto it for the first bit?” She suggests, motioning to the wall beside them.

“Probably for the best,” Harry agrees, nodding his head and finally taking his eyes off Y/N’s in order to make his way to the wall. The few movements on his part aren’t as hard as he thought they’d be to get over to the wall. He thinks his muscle memory for skating will click in soon, hopefully.

Y/N takes it slow beside Harry, waiting for him to get comfortable enough to only need one hand on the wall before she lets go of his arm. She already misses the warmth from his touch. Not even one day into her and Mark’s break up and she’s already feeling touch deprived. To be fair, her and Mark hadn’t so much as given each other a few quick pecks and barely snuggling on the couch the last couple days they were together. Y/N shakes her head slightly at her thoughts of Mark.

“So how did you get into skating?” Harry asks after a few moments of them finding a slow pace.

“Um,” Y/N pauses as she thinks of how to explain how her parents didn’t want to spend much time with her, so they stuck her into many different hobbies to fill the void. “I was into a lot of the typical little girl hobbies, dancing, gymnastics, art, but figure skating was something that just really stuck with me as I grew up. Probably in connection with my obsession with the holidays, and the winter season,” Y/N explains, noticing already how Harry’s pace on his skates is picking up.

“Are you, like, really good?” Harry questions. Y/N chuckles and looks away from the ice below them to meet his gaze before he’s glancing down at his skates again in order to keep upright.

“Yup,” Y/N nods, rolling her lips into her mouth to hide her grin.

“So humble,” Harry jokes with a chuckle. “You could probably skate circles around me, huh? Do those little twirly things too?”

“I could do a few spins, yes,” Y/N says and nods her head. “I’ll let you get used to the ice first before I throw out any big moves,” she adds, looking down at how Harry’s feet were moving on the ice. Every minute he is getting better, soon enough he’ll let go of that wall and be able to skate in slow laps around the rink with her.

“How very considerate of you,” Harry notes, causing the both of them to chuckle again.

They do another two laps with Harry’s hand just inches away from the wall, hovering over it just in case he made the wrong move. But then soon enough, they’re mixed in with the other skaters and making strong, smooth strides across the ice. Y/N is laughing at something Harry says about how he must look like Bambi on ice, head thrown back and eyes crinkled up, when Harry just about falls. She catches him gasping and opens her eyes quickly before catching his hand in hers.

“You okay?” She asks, clear concern in her voice as she moves in order to meet his eyes. Harry knows this isn’t the first time they’ve sort of held hands, but it still feels like her skin is too warm for his cold touch and butterflies erupt in his stomach as she cards their fingers together so effortlessly. Damn Styles grow some balls and don’t let her make all the first moves, he thinks to himself.

“‘M alright,” Harry mumbles and nods, completely losing focus on the world around them as they float across the ice looking into each other's eyes and holding hands.

Y/N licks her lips, blinking up at Harry in what feels like an innocent way but realizes the moment his gaze drops to her lips that maybe it isn’t. Clearing her throat, she squeezes Harry’s hand and then slowly lets go. Harry can’t help but feel disappointed by how short they’d held hands for, he was hoping it would at least last a whole lap around the rink. Y/N shivers and sticks both of her hands into her coat pockets, playing off letting go of his hand with being cold, but in reality touching Harry’s skin made her feel like she was on fire.

“Tell me what your favourite colour is,” Harry blabs out loud suddenly.

Y/N furrows her brows and looks up at Harry. He’s no longer watching the ice with each stride of his skates, instead his posture is completely at ease almost as he seems much more confident on the ice now. Something tells Y/N that Harry is stupidly good at pretty much anything and if he doesn’t get it right the first time it would only take a few more before he masters it.

“It changes almost every other day,” Y/N admits, biting down on her bottom lip - which causes Harry’s eyes to flicker down to her lips yet again. “Lately it’s been green,” she exclaims, as she speaks Harry’s gaze falls back to her eyes.

“Like my eyes?” Harry teases, batting his eyelashes.

There’s suddenly a group of teenagers in their way, causing their conversation to pause as they have to maneuver around the few bodies. Harry finds that he doesn’t struggle at all with the quick movements he has to make with his skates in order to get around them. He smiles to himself, proud of how fast he’s picked up skating again. Maybe he’ll try the little twirly spin around Y/N to impress her. Too bad she’s much more talented on skates and is picking up speed before making a quick turn and is now skating backwards in front of Harry with her eyes narrowed and a tight smile on her lips.

“Firstly, that was a poor set up to try and get a compliment out of me, I’ll just tell you that your eyes are very pretty,” Y/N states. Harry smiles at her words, those pesky butterflies back in his stomach once again. “And second, my favourite green is more like a dark, rich, forest green,” she explains, quickly looking over her shoulder as they turn the corner of the rink. Harry notices how effortlessly she picks up her skates and crosses them over each other to smoothly take the turn.

“Like a Christmas tree?” Harry wonders.

Y/N smiles and nods, “exactly, like a Christmas tree,” she says, a beat of silence between them before she asks, “what’s your favourite colour?”

“Pink,” Harry answers without missing a beat. It’s been his favourite for years now, since he was just a young lad.

“Like my lips?” Y/N teases, her voice dropping down into a low and soft tone that causes a fire to spark in the pit of Harry’s stomach. His eyes drop to her lips at the mention of them, which Y/N notices and smirks at him before she’s turning on her skates and facing forward again. They both don’t say anything as they skate around the other turn of the rink, avoiding an older couple that has slowed down in front of them. Y/N still has a smug look on her face when Harry glances to his left where she skates beside him. Obviously, yes, exactly like the shade of your lips, Harry thinks and wishes he had the guts to say aloud.

“More like,” Harry pauses and then smiles, “like the Pink Panther,” Harry jokes.

“You know what, fair enough,” Y/N chuckles and shrugs her shoulder.

The two of them continue to ask each other more random favourites, getting the basics down with favourite foods, favourite alcoholic drinks, and favourite word too, of course. In fact, they are just skating at a leisurely pace for quite some time. Y/N notices that the number of people on the rink dwindles down to a mere twenty and she lifts her Apple watch up, so it lights up and shows her the time. Bryant Park should be closing within an hour or two, depending if they’re on holiday hours yet, meaning that Harry and her have spent nearly two hours out on the ice together.

“I think it’s time you bust out some of those fancy figure skating moves,” Harry suddenly says unprovoked. Y/N furrows her brows and shakes her head, watching a young couple, just a few people ahead of them, holding hands, like how she wishes her and Harry could have been this entire time. But it’s too soon, she thinks.

“I don’t know,” Y/N mutters under her breath, her eyes still on the couple as they’re laughing together - much like how her and Harry have been. Did these strangers around them think they were a couple?

“Fine,” Harry huffs and starts to skate a bit faster to be a few strides ahead of Y/N before he comes to a wobbly stop a bit more into the middle of the rink out of everyone's way. Y/N comes to a much smoother stop in front of him. “I’ll give it a shot then, how hard can it be to spin around a few times.”

Famous last words, Y/N thinks as Harry tries to whip his body around to try and attempt to do a spin. She can already see how he’s lifting the toe of his left skate, the small ridges getting caught on the ice while his body is still trying to spin around. Y/N’s eyes widen as she suddenly tries to stop him, her hands just barely getting a hold of his arms before he can fall. But his weight is too much and her skates slip out from under her. A small screech escapes her mouth as the two of them begin their fall to the ice - for surprisingly the first time tonight. Harry turns them both so he gets the worst of the fall, moving Y/N so she falls more on top of him rather than on the ice. Y/N notices and quickly moves her hand to the back of his head to ensure he doesn’t smack it against the hard surface. Her fingers card through his hair, while her other hand is clenching into a fist around the fabric of his coat.

“Shit,” Harry groans as the bodies fall to the ice. Thankfully, he tries to sit up a bit during the fall, so he doesn’t hit his head but instead he feels immediately pain shot up his elbow and backside.

“Oh my god,” Y/N gasps, blinking several times as she takes in what had happened. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She asks Harry in a rush of words.

“I’m okay,” he nods, which causes Y/N to realize her hand is still brushing through his hair. She rubs his scalp a few times with her thumb before removing her hand and quickly lifting her body off of Harry’s. “I’ll probably have a bruised ass, but I guess that’s karma,” he tries to joke.

Y/N frowns and smacks his arm gently, “don’t pull that shit again, oh my god, I thought we were going to end our night in the ER.”

Harry chuckles and sits up, taking in how Y/N has sat up on her knees with both her hands resting on her thighs. Her hair is a bit of a mess and her eyes wide and wild with emotion - but otherwise she looks alright. Thankfully, Harry did good and kept her safe in their fall.

“Just need a few ice packs and maybe a joint before bed to ease the pain,” Harry says, only half joking.

“Wait,” Y/N’s eyebrows pinch together, “do you smoke weed?” She asks. To be honest, she couldn’t imagine Harry as some pothead. Not that there was a true look to a ‘pothead’ these days. Hell, she’s had her fair share of joints and edibles while in college. Even afterwards too, Sammy loved to roll a joint or two towards the end of their wine nights.

Harry shrugs and begins to get up from the ice slowly. “Not really. It makes me a bit sleepy, truthfully,” he tells her.

“I get that,” Y/N nods, “I don’t smoke often, but when I do, I typically fall asleep within the hour after smoking. It annoys the crap out of Sammy.” She tells Harry truthfully. Harry nods as well, only a little bit surprised to learn that Y/N didn’t say no to drugs in her youth. Not that he was judging, far from it really cause he had no room to judge, but he just simply didn’t imagine her consuming anything more than a bottle or two of wine.

The two of them get up off the ice now, finally getting back on their feet. A sigh leaves Y/N lips as she brushes her hands on her jeans. “I think you falling is our cue to get out of here,” she suggests, skating slowly backwards towards the doorway where the benches were.

“You’re probably right,” Harry agrees and begins to follow her, trying not to whine with his movements as a sharp pain stings his bottom with each stride of his skates.

Y/N leaves Harry to sit on the bench they had used before and goes over to unlock her locker and get her tote bag. Harry’s lucky no one stole his shoes he had just left under the bench with no care in the world, she thinks as she walks back over and sits beside him. She unties her skates and is slipping on her boots before Harry can even untie one of his skates. Y/N puts the guards on her skates and places them into her tote bag before turning to look at Harry, noticing the pained look in his face as he bends forward to work on the laces of his other skate.

“Did you need help?” She asks him.

“No,” Harry pauses to hiss in pain, “I’m fine,” he adds, but Y/N just rolls her eyes and scoots over on the bench till she’s nearly pressing right up against Harry’s side, leaning down in order to work on his laces.

Harry watches her nimble fingers untie and loosen the laces, noticing how her hair falls as she bends down further. A faint smell of roses hits him with the movement of her hair as she pushes it back away from her line of sight. Harry looks away, glancing around them to see if anyone’s watching them because from any other view it may look like Y/N is giving him-

“There you go,” Y/N says with a smile and sits up again. Harry looks at his skates to see them completely loosened and ready for him to slip off easily.

“Thanks,” Harry says quietly with a smile.

After Harry has his trusty not-so-white vans on, they walk over to return his rentals and make their way out of the ice rink area of Bryant Park. Harry notices the shops around the park, the painted white frames and clean windows were rather pleasing to look at while the inside glows with soft yellow lights. He wonders what they sell, but notices Y/N hiding a yawn behind her hand and decides it’s probably best they just head home. Also, his ass really did hurt with each step he took.

“Would you like to get a hot cocoa before we walk home?” Harry suggests, pointing to the small shack that was open and looks like it serves hot drinks and a few treats maybe.

“I would love that,” Y/N answers with a bright smile.

Her heart can’t help but burst at the thought that Harry knows her so well already. Not even a month of knowing one another and he already is so much better than Mark ever was. He would never go skating with her or buy her a nice warm drink afterwards either. It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend anymore, Y/N finds herself reminding herself, which causes her heart to pitter patter in her chest again. This time thinking about how maybe Harry could maybe be her boyfriend, one day.

“Hi,” Y/N gives the small brunette at her front door a tight smile.

She’s almost thirty minutes later than Mark said she would be. But to be fair, the subway was later than usual on her way home so Y/N had only just gotten home ten minutes ago. She had texted Mark to let him know and relay the message to his assistant, but he didn’t answer, no surprise there. So, in hindsight it wasn’t the biggest deal that his pretty little assistant was late.

What the big deal was the way she just strolled into Y/N’s apartment and set the box of her things on the couch. Y/N is standing by her door still in disbelief, mouth hanging open and eyes wide at the girls behaviour. When she turns around and gives Y/N a funny look while pointing around at her Christmas decor.

“It looks like Mrs Claus threw up in here,” she says.

“Thanks,” Y/N mutters and walks over to where she stood by the couch. Mark’s assistant steps back, pulling out her phone and tapping away at the screen as she seems bored to be here. “I’ll go get Mark’s things,” Y/N says, but then just as she’s about to walk away her eyes catch something red near the top of the box of her things that Mark had packed up.

She pushes her favourite Eagles shirt out of the way and hooks one finger around the lacy red fabric. The Victoria’s Secret label sticks out of the barely there red thong that’s hanging off her index finger. Y/N doesn’t recognize the underwear, she thinks as her head begins to spin. How the fuck did a pair of woman's underwear get into this box of things Mark packed up? Why would he have a red thong at his apartment that wasn’t Y/N’s? What the actual fuck? Another round of questions are about to spew in Y/N’s head as her heart beats out of her chest but then suddenly Mark’s assistant is reaching for the lacy fabric and taking it out of Y/N’s grasp.

“Oh, those are mine. Must’ve slipped in by accident,” she stammers out the words. Y/N’s head is spinning, her heart is beating out of her chest, as she puts the pieces together.

“Really? A thong just slipped into the box?” Y/N urges, narrowing her eyes at the young brunette standing in her living room. “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend?” Y/N asks and raises her voice, the anger filling her whole body now.

“Ex boyfriend,” the brunette has the guts to utter out.

“Answer the damn question,” Y/N snaps back at her.

Her face is turning red, to match the stupid thong in her hands, “uh, it’s none of your business-”

“Just tell me!” Y/N shouts, feeling like she deserves some truth in this moment. Mark’s assistant visibly gulps, avoiding Y/N’s eyes and looks all around the room.

“Like, a few months,” she mutters under her breath, still not meeting Y/N’s burning gaze.

Her whole body is shaking with the anger coursing through her. She should have known. How could she be such an idiot? She thinks while shaking her head. Of course, Mark was cheating on her during the entirety of their relationship. They were only dating for four months, meaning that for at least half of it, he was busy screwing his fucking assistant - how unbelievably cliche of him, but also how unbelievably naive of her to not guess. Y/N brings a hand to her forehand and rubs at her temple as a headache begins.

“Can I just get Mark’s stuff and go-”

“Get. Out.” Y/N spits out the words, glaring at the brunette who has the audacity to be so nonchalant about being the other woman.

“What about his things?” Mark’s assistant all but winces out the words, her dark eyebrows pulling together.

“Tell Mark to eat a dick,” Y/N sneers, taking a step towards the girl which causes her to step back. She can’t deny the bit of joy she feels at the sight of fear in the girls eyes. “And get out of my apartment, now!” Y/N shouts at the woman.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, turning around and walking to the front door.

Y/N is hot on her heels, making sure to slam to door shut behind her. The moment she’s left to herself, her apartment falling silent around her, she feels the pain settle in. Mark cheated on her with his assistant that he then had the nerve to let come over to her apartment. The realization of how embarrassing this whole situation is hits her, along with the hurt too. Regardless if it was a mutual break up, being cheated on does not feel good. Y/N sniffles, bringing a hand to her mouth as she suddenly is holding back sobs. Tears fall down her cheeks while her brain runs wild thinking of how many times Mark could have fucked his assistant and then just waltzed into her apartment and then they-

Her thoughts are cut short as she’s bolting to her bathroom, throwing the door open and bending down in front of the toilet. She lifts the seat and empties her stomach into the bowl. After a moment she’s coughing, lifting her head out of the toilet and reaching for the lever to flush away any contents that were in her stomach. Y/N grabs the hand towel to her right and brings it to her mouth, wiping away the bit of drool at her lips.

Y/N can feel the vibration from her cell phone after a moment of sitting on the bathroom floor, zoned out on the shower and thinking about how stupid she could have been to trust Mark. She lets out a short sigh and reaches into her back pocket to find her buzzing phone. Her eyes roll on instinct of seeing Mark’s contact photo taking up her screen. A part of her wants to answer, to yell and to scream at him. But a bigger part of her feels sick to her stomach again and just tired, honestly. So, she ignores the call and opens her phone to her contacts and deletes Mark all together. She goes into her photos and does a quick sweep of any photos of them together. It was something she was going to do eventually anyways, but after the news of him being a cheating piece of shit she couldn’t waste another second before getting rid of anything involving Mark.

Mark is a fucking asshole. His precious little assistant came by to drop off my few things and one of her thongs was in the box, so she spilled the beans that she had been sleeping with Mark for months. Meaning that piece of absolute trash was cheating on me like the entire time we were together. Y/N types out the message to Sammy, making sure that he knows the drama first - but also just simply because he’s her best friend.

Sammy is typing back a response as Y/N stands up from her spot by the toilet, flushing it again due to her spitting a few times into the bowl, and then she quickly washes her hands and looks up at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are red, her hairs a bit frizzy and out of place from the perfect curls she had earlier today, and her makeup is ruined. She decides to wash her face, drying it with a clean towel as her phone vibrates on the counter.

Are you fucking kidding me?! I’m going to kill him. Please tell me we have a murder plan, I know where we can hide the body. Did you want to talk about it? I can come over and bring a big bottle of tequila? Sammy sends each sentence as a separate text, adding a few choice emojis too. The knife is used many times. His enthusiasm makes Y/N chuckle but then she’s frowning again while walking out of the bathroom and to her bedroom.

Honestly, I just want to curl up in bed and cry it out some more while listening to some sad music. But I’ll keep you updated on any murder plans I think up. Y/N sends back her texts before throwing her phone down on her bed.

Letting out another sigh, Y/N strips out of her tight fitting pants and puts on a pair of grey sweatpants. Next, she takes off the collared button up shirt she had worn tucked into her pants today, hanging it back up in her closet to prevent it from getting wrinkled. Her eyes wander around her bedroom, a certain article of clothing was on her mind to put on and snuggle into bed with. Y/N smiles as she sees Harry’s black hoodie on the top of her laundry hamper. To be honest, it needed to be washed, but she needed the comfort of his oversized clothing more. So, she tugs it on, puts her hair into a messy topknot bun, and tugs down the hood before lifting the blanket and getting into bed.

Not even three songs into her ‘depressed? yeah, me too’ playlist of sad songs, there was a knock on Y/N’s front door. At first she thinks of ignoring whoever it is, but then her music is cut off as a phone call comes through. It’s Mark’s number, regardless that she just deleted his contact, she still knew his phone number. Y/N groans and gets out of bed. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she imagines Mark or that little assistant of his having the balls to come to her apartment again and demand for his few things he had left around here. Y/N narrows her eyes and unlocks her door, ready to glare at her sad excuse for an ex boyfriend - but her face instantly softens at the sight of Harry standing there.

“Nice jumper,” Harry comments. A smile on his lips as he takes in how Y/N looks in his clothing, days after he had lent it to her. But that smile vanishes when he notices the redness in her eyes and her pouting lips. “What’s wrong?” Harry asks, his voice full of worry as he fights back reaching for her and bringing her in for a hug.

Y/N sniffles, “um, I thought you were Mark, sorry,” she says in a quiet voice.

“Oh, sorry, is he coming over?” Harry questions. Suppose it made more sense for her boyfriend to comfort her during a bad day, he thinks although it tears him up inside that it can’t be him.

“No, no, he’s in Arizona, or somewhere. I don’t even know,” Y/N sighs, her voice sounding brittle, like it’s about to crack at any second, as she tries to keep herself composed in front of Harry. “I don’t really care actually, we broke up,” she reveals, her gaze down at the floor. Harry’s wearing those dirty white vans again, she wonders if he wears anything else.

They broke up, holy shit don’t freak out Styles, keep it together, Harry’s thoughts are all jumbled up at the news of Y/N and her boyfriends break up, which she is clearly very upset over, judging by her appearance and how she’s sniffling every second - bringing the sleeve of his Columbia jumper to her face to wipe her nose. Harry frowns and adjusts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” Harry says softly, “break ups can really suck,” he adds - knowing from experience just how terrible break ups can leave a person feeling.

“Yeah,” Y/N breathes out and looks up at Harry now, “but he’s kind of a trash human so it’s for the best, honestly,” she tells him, letting out a breathy chuckle while shaking her head. She shouldn’t be crying so damn much over the guy, she thinks.

“Oh, well then, fuck that guy,” Harry agrees with a nod of his head.

Y/N lets out a genuine chuckle at his words. She brings a hand, that is covered by the cuff of Harry’s hoodie, to her forehead to swipe back any crazy wispy hairs that are in her face. “So, what brought you to knock on my door?” She asks, smiling as Harry realizes he had gotten distracted by her state and forgot why he knocked at all.

“Right,” Harry chuckles, “um, a few friends of mine are in this band, it’s nothing crazy they just play at the pub a few blocks away. And I was wondering if you weren’t busy if you wanted to come with, thought it could be fun. But if you’re not in the mood to leave your home I understand,” Harry explains to her.

“No, I would love to come with,” Y/N insists. She lets out another chuckle and motions to her current appearance. “Just not looking like this, and as long as you promise there will be liquor involved in this Saturday night out.”

“I’ll buy you as many drinks as you need,” Harry promises with a smile.

“Then count me in,” Y/N says, mirroring his big dimpled smile. “Just give me some time to get ready?”

“You’ve got plenty of time, we don’t have to leave for another hour and a half,” he tells her. “I’ll let you get to it,” he adds, throwing a thumb over his shoulder as he takes a step away from her doorway.

“Oh, I’ll wash the sweater and give it to you soon, by the way,” Y/N says, lifting both her arms before letting them fall to her sides. Harry just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

“Keep it as long as you need, it’s no problem, honestly,” Harry tells her while flashing a grin her way, hoping that it makes her feel even a little bit better. And it does, his casual response to her wearing his hoodie and then those dimples - it had her stomach fluttering. She gives Harry a small timid smile, tucking her chin down slightly into the collar of the hoodie as she watches his walk backwards down the hall to his door. “I’ll come knocking again in a bit,” Harry adds before he’s out of her sight and she’s closing her front door shut once again.

Y/N absentmindedly brings her hand to her mouth, biting on her nails as she stares off at her Christmas tree - though the lights are blurry due to her zoning out. You can do this, Y/N thinks and begins to give herself a pep talk of getting out of the sad break up phase and going out with Harry and his friends. Oh my god, Y/N’s eyes widen at her thoughts, what am I going to wear?

Y/N felt overdressed.

After twenty minutes of ripping apart her closet and tearing items out of her dresser drawers, she was truly tempted to just keep on Harry’s hoodie, pair it with some good jeans and some red heeled boots and call it a day. But that would be weird, showing up to hang out and meet Harry’s friends while dressed in his clothing. She was sure they were already going to assume things with him just bringing her along. Y/N didn’t need them thinking they had sex before too.

The thought had made Y/N blush like crazy as she tore off the stupidly comfortable hoodie and grabbed a silky white top that plunged low in the neckline, tying off just at her belly button, and then had long flowy sleeves. Pairing this with her trusted pair of light blue jeans, and for accessories: some chunky gold hoop earrings and layered gold necklaces to fill up the amount of skin she was showing at her chest. To top it all off, she slipped into her go-to black Balenciaga boots and long brown jacket to keep warm. After heading into the bathroom quickly, she brushed her hair through again and restyled the curls, put on a touch of light makeup, and then made sure to stick her lip gloss in her small black purse just as Harry was knocking on her door again.

Harry was dressed in a grey t-shirt with a large yellow smiley face, brown trousers and a blue and cream plaid jacket that quite literally made chills wash over Y/N’s body when she saw the whole fit - but that jacket, it made her head spin with some rather inappropriate thoughts. She’s a fashion major, can’t blame her for thinking clothing can make someone even more attractive. But even then she should have gotten the vibe of this evening and changed into something more casual.

But she didn’t, so now as she’s walking into a dive bar a few blocks away from the apartment building, she feels very out of place. Everyone’s wearing t-shirts and jeans, it smelt like cheap beer and cigarettes, and was definitely not the place to wear a silky white top that cost about five-hundred-dollars.

“You alright?” Harry's voice is soft and closer, as he steps directly behind Y/N after walking into the bar.

He notices how she crossed her arms at her chest and seemed to tense up almost immediately after walking in. Y/N shivers at the feeling of Harry’s breath falling over her exposed neck, having pushed her hair to lay on her left shoulder while he stood over her right. Y/N is still looking around the bar, trying to put together who may be Harry’s group of friends in this crowded bar.

“Y/N?” Harry tries again, this time placing a delicate hand on the small of her back - barely touching her, that he’s not even sure she’s noticed through her thick jacket. But she does, and she feels dizzy at the sweet gesture.

“Yeah,” she sighs, blinking a few times before looking to her right shoulder at Harry. He’s lips are so close, she thinks while trying her best to keep her eyes on his eyes. “Just feeling a little overdressed,” Y/N admits with a tight smile.

Harry shakes his head, “you look fine, better than fine actually. You look amazing,” Harry watches as Y/N’s eyes flicker to his lips for just a split second. He smiles but clears his throat, finding that they’re both blushing at his comment now. “As any FIT student in New York City should, of course,” he adds on to try and make his compliment a little less obvious.

“Thanks, Harry,” Y/N smiles.

When Harry saw Y/N for the second time that evening, it was like day and night from the hour before when she answered her door in his hoodie. She looked incredible, and was so out of his league. Dressed like she was going to a photoshoot, hair flowing down her back perfectly, and accessories that made him visibly gulp - he was a sucker for some gold jewelry on a girl, it was a weird weakness of his. And now, standing in the dim lighting of this dingy dive bar, she did look a little out of place, but in the best way possible, like she shined too bright to be in just a dark and depressing place.

“This way,” Harry says, leading the way to where he notices his friends are sitting at a table. They thankfully got his texts about him bringing Y/N with him and had two seats open for the both of them.

“Should we stop at the bar and get a drink?” Y/N asks. She’s honestly unsure how the service works at a place like this. To be honest, she hadn’t been in too many dive bars in her years.

Harry stops, looks behind him at her, and shakes his head. “We have a waitress that works basically every night my friends play, so she’ll come by and get our drinks for us,” he explains to Y/N. She nods, giving him a tight smile, and Harry can’t help but notice how she’s still got her arms crossed at her chest. Is she uncomfortable here? Maybe he can make some shit excuse after the first few songs and get her home.

Harry notices as he’s turned towards Y/N just how much attention is on her. He’s not surprised, seeing how he already realized how much she sticks out in a place like this, but he doesn’t quite enjoy seeing every male’s - and a few girls too - eyes in this place on the girl he’s brought with him. So, he makes the quick decision of holding out his hand for Y/N to take. She looks at Harry’s outstretched hand and feels her breath get caught in her throat. Playing it off, she smiles and reaches forward, watching as his much larger hand envelopes hers and tugs gently to get them moving again. Y/N’s stomach is already full of butterflies and her head is spinning at them holding hands for all of ninety seconds it takes to get to his table full of friends - she needs a drink, stat.

Harry lets go of Y/N’s hand as he approaches his friend's usual table and has to bring his arms up in order to hug Adam, who’s throwing himself into Harry at the sight of him. Harry huffs out a laugh, making a comment about how drunk Adam must be already, to which he responds by smacking Harry’s back a few times and laughing with him. Y/N can’t help it as the corners of her lips turn up into a small smile at the sight of Harry engulfed in a hug by a man bigger than him. As she’s watching their interaction, she notices how everyone else is watching her. Y/N’s smile falls right away and she finds herself crossing her arms at her chest again.

“Everyone,” Harry speaks a bit louder in order to get everyone's attention as he turns around and holds his arm out to Y/N, which she takes as her singal to step forward for an introduction and smiles timidly at the group of four others at the table. “This is Y/N, Y/N, this is everyone,” Harry announces, smiling at his friends - catching Mitch’s smug look in return.

“Hi,” Y/N says, her voice that soft and gentle tone that he had grown to like, quite a lot, actually.

“I’m Tom,” he’s the first to speak up, offering a hand to Y/N to shake, which she turns just a bit to her left in order to properly greet Harry’s friend. Tom’s got bleached hair that’s not styled and laying flat on his forehead, his roots are a dark brown that match the mustache and bit of bread he’s got. Y/N notices the few different necklaces around his neck while he’s wearing a simple outfit of a black long sleeve and black jeans.

“Jenny,” the woman sitting to Tom's left reaches over the table in order to shake Y/N’s hand. She’s also got bleached hair, and a dazzling smile too. Y/N notices the equally dazzling ring on her finger and she glances down at Tom’s hands to see a wedding band, assuming they are married due to them sitting so closely.

“Mitch,” a long haired young man speaks up just as Y/N and Jenny drop their hands. Y/N meets his gaze and blinks a few times, feeling slightly intimidated by him. Regardless of how he seems like the scrawniest at the table, his eyes just sort of bring Y/N to a stop, but she recovers swiftly and gives him a smile, returning the wave he gives her as it’s too far of a reach to shake hands. Mitch raises a brow at Harry, to which Harry is quick to return. Catching the interaction, Y/N imagines they are the closest of the group. Suppose he’s just a bit protective of his friend bringing a random girl around, Y/N thinks to herself before her attention is grasped by the last person sitting at the table.

“And I’m Adam, the only name you need to remember, obviously,” says the man who had hugged Harry upon their arrival. He’s smiling so widely there’s crinkles near his eyes, which make Y/N feel all warm inside as she stares into his big brown eyes. He’s got a full bread, like Mitch, and matching brown hair that looks like it may need a bit of a trim but he styles it well. Y/N likes his button up shirt that’s a dark navy with little white stars all around it, paired with some plain black jeans.

“It’s really lovely to meet you all,” Y/N says after shaking Adam’s hand, “thank you for letting me come crash your night,” she adds with another timid smile.

“Nonsense, it’s nothing special,” Jenny assures her, waving her hand too before wrapping it around her half full glass of what Y/N assumed was alcohol - or hoped, because she really didn’t want to be the only one drinking tonight.

“Ouch,” Adam scoffs jokingly, “guess your husbands best mates playing is nothing special then, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m hurt, Jenny,” Mitch nods, bringing his glass up to his lips to take a sip of the dark yellow foaming liquid in his tall glass - beer, okay, sweet, so we’re all drinking, good, Y/N thinks. She also notices that Mitch is the only one with an American accent. She wonders how this group all became friends, being from different parts of the world, where did they all connect?

Harry chuckles and shakes his head at his friends, looking to Y/N to find her smiling at his mates too. He places a hand on her elbow, causing her to look at him. He nods his head to the open seats on the other side of the table for them. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and begins to walk around the table, stepping behind Tom and Jenny’s chairs before stopping at the first one on Jenny’s right. Y/N catches Mitch’s stare, now ignoring the conversation at the table to instead watch Harry and her, but she’s quick to look away from his intense gaze and focus on taking her jacket off. Just as she tosses her jacket over the back of her chair, fixing her top in a discreet manner too, a red headed woman steps up in between her and Harry who is also slipping out of his jacket.

“Hey, Harry,” the woman greets him in a sultry tone. If Harry notices the obvious show she puts into her voice, he doesn’t act like it.

“Hey, Amy,” he says quickly, looking at his chair as he pulls it out and takes a seat.

“Running a bit behind your friends tonight, huh? What took you so long?” She asks. Seems she's rather observant of Harry’s presence, Y/N thinks, while she takes her seat and looks anywhere but to her right where the red head - fake red dye too, it was so obvious - back was mere inches away from her.

“I love your top, it’s so stylish,” Jenny comments, causing Y/N to look to her left at Jenny’s dazzling smile again.

“Thank you,” Y/N says, “this may not be the place to wear it, seems more like a casual band tee kind of place,” she notes, narrowing her eyes while looking around at the bar around them. Noticing now just how many neon signs there were in the dark space. The biggest was on the wall behind the small stage, which every table was facing. The bar was at the back of the bar and there were booths lining the wall closest to the door, then a couple of pool tables and gambling machines in the far right of the bar. Y/N had spent too much time in high maintenance bougie bars to find any of this remotely normal - but she didn’t hate it.

“Rubbish, you look hot, definitely got people in here questioning their wardrobe,” Jenny states, gaining Y/N’s attention again, “hell, next time I’m stepping it up to match this energy,” she adds, waving her hands at Y/N’s outfit.

Y/N chuckles and shakes her head, “well thanks, but you look incredible already! There’s no need.”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupts the girls suddenly.

Y/N lets out a small breath before turning to face what she’s been ignoring. The flirtatious red head and Mitch’s strong stare. Y/N raises her eyebrows at Harry. She completely ignores how the waitress now stood facing both their chairs, but she did notice how her hand was resting on the back of Harry’s.

“What are you drinking tonight?” Harry asks her, lips turning up into a smile. He can’t help himself, he finds himself smiling so much around her he’s sure he has wrinkles already.

“Oh,” Y/N says, finally looking at the waitress now. Her dark makeup made her blue eyes pop, it was a bit smudged but Y/N assumes she’s too busy working to notice. The waitress, Amy - Y/N reads her name tag, pinned on her tight black v neck shirt that has the bar's name on it - is staring at her, clearly forcing a smile while waiting for Y/N’s answer. “I’ll have tequila and soda water, bring a few lime slices on the side too,” Y/N orders, knowing exactly how Upper East Side she sounds, “please,” she adds with a forced smile that she mirrors from Amy.

“Coming right up,” Amy nods before turning away, not without a lingering gaze on Harry though.

Her obvious fake customer voice was rather annoying, Y/N thinks as her eyes follow her walking back to the bar. She takes note of the crowd around the bar, many waving at the one bartender stationed behind the bar. He looks older and is struggling to keep up with the rush of people. When Y/N turns back around, to face the table again, she catches Harry eyes on her. She scrunches up her nose at him and he chuckles before their attention is taken away by Adam’s deep voice.

“So, Y/N, you're this bloke’s neighbour, huh?” He questions, nodding his head to Harry. Y/N smiles and nods, sitting back in her chair while folding her hands between her thighs.

“Yeah, we just met in passing and ended up becoming friends,” she states, catching Harry nodding in the corner of her eye while he rests an arm on the table and faces towards her as he leans slightly into Mitch. To which Mitch responds by pushing his shoulder gently, making Harry’s smile widen at how he manages to bother his friend so easily.

“Give us the tea. How shit of a neighbour is he?” Adam asks, causing everyone at the table to chuckle.

“Hey,” Harry playfully whines at his friends.

“He’s fine, great even,” Y/N tells them, earning another smile from Harry as he watches her.

“Surprising considering he’s a shit roommate,” Mitch comments after taking another long sip of his beer. Harry turns in his chair and glares at Mitch, earning a smirk from him in return.

“I am not,” Harry grumbles.

“When were you two roommates?” Y/N asks, finding herself bringing a hand up to adjust her necklaces. Anything to keep her nervous hands busy. Suppose making new friends wasn’t her biggest strength, it was a rather nerve wracking experience to be honest.

“We just room together when we travel for any work stuff,” Harry answers, meeting her eyes for only a brief second before he’s looking back at Mitch. “Mitch here just likes his beauty sleep, while I have a pretty set morning routine I like to stick to,” Harry explains, looking back at Y/N as he finishes talking.

“Yeah, that starts at like six in the morning like a crazy person,” Mitch huffs jokingly.

“Six is way too early,” Y/N agrees, nodding along with Mitch. “At least give the man till nine,” she adds.

“He’s just being dramatic,” Harry states. Mitch mumbles something under his breath before taking another sip of his beer. Sounded a bit like “say’s the drama queen himself” but Y/N isn’t sure. Regardless, the interaction makes her smile. Just as she’s about to make another comment, Amy returns with hers and Harry’s drinks. Setting his down first with a smile before turning to Y/N and placing the glass of tequila and a small dish of limes too.

“Thank you,” Y/N says. Doesn’t matter if she thought Amy had an attitude problem, Y/N had manners.

“Anything else for the table? Another refill for you boys before you head up on stage?” Amy asks, ignoring Y/N completely and instead turning her back on her and looking at Mitch and Adam. Y/N notices how she leans her body into Harry a bit, her arm resting on the back of his chair again. If Harry notices, he’s oblivious to her motives. It almost makes Y/N laugh at how Harry’s ignoring her.

“Please,” Mitch nods, lifting his glass to finish off the rest of his beer. Y/N tries to hide her facial expression as she is impressed with how Mitch manages to gulp down the beer so fast, instead bringing her focus to her own drink - which she was looking forward to downing herself honestly.

She picks up a lime wedge and squeezes it over her glass, watching the juices squirt out and into her glass. After she stirs it with her straw, she brings it to her lips and gulps back nearly half of it. Y/N suddenly feels her phone buzzing in her jean pocket. She sits up slightly in order to slide it out of her pocket and looks at the screen. It’s Mark’s number again. Rolling her lips into her mouth, she declines the call and sets her phone screen down on the table before grabbing ahold of her drink again and having another sip. He sure has some nerve to continue to call numerous times, Y/N thinks as she zones out from whatever Harry and his friends were talking about.

“Y/N grew up in the city, actually,” Harry states. Y/N raises her eyebrows and looks around the table to see everyone’s looking at her now. She’s missed what they were talking about prior so she just spit balls it here and smiles.

“Um, yeah, born and raised,” she nods, “I noticed you all have quite a jumble of accents, where are you all from?” Y/N asks, looking towards Tom and Jenny as they begin to explain where they were separately from before meeting in London.

Harry watches Y/N while his friends speak, mostly because he already knows everything there is about their lives, but also because he likes watching Y/N. Taking in her small mannerisms like how she talks with her hands quite a lot, and how she rubs her ankles together under the table as she listens to Adam talk about his wife and kids back home. They all chat amongst themselves, making jokes and laughing too, for nearly thirty minute before Mitch and Adam are whisked away to the stage. Harry feels his chest bursting as he sits back and watches Y/N interact with his friends as if they are her own. He smiles when she looks his way, her cheeks howling as she sucks on the straw of her second drink - nearly finishing it while staring at him. Harry has to break the gaze as his thoughts run a different less innocent route, causing him to readjust how he’s sitting and clearing his throat just as the lead singer of the band introduces them.

“So, why aren’t you in the band?” Y/N asks as the beginning chords of their opening song play out. She’s leaning her elbow on the table, resting her head in the palm of her hand while turning her head to Harry - shutting out Jenny and Tom completely but they’re too busy watching the band to care.

“Bold of you to assume I have enough talent to be in a band,” Harry says with a smirk. Y/N rolls her eyes and reaches for her glass, bringing the straw between her lips and finishing off the tequila and soda water with three squeezed lime slices in it - Harry watched her prepare her drink both times, finding himself intrigued by her drink of choice.

“You are definitely talented enough,” Y/N says, “from the bit I’ve heard through the walls, you’re great with a guitar and I’m assuming I’m right considering that your job revolves around music.”

“Well, they already have a guitar player,” Harry notes, nodding his head towards Mitch who’s strumming away on his guitar. “And he’s one of the best in the business so if I did have any talent, he wipes me out without a question,” Harry insists.

Y/N is about to respond but then the band is starting to really get into the song. She turns her head, sitting up straight again, and watches the band perform. They’re really good, she thinks and starts to bob her head along to the song. Harry tries to not be obvious, but he stares at her for a few moments before facing the stage to watch his mates as well. He smiles as he watches her get into the music, nodding along with the bass line and tapping her foot to the drums. They’re performing one of Harry’s songs. He had written it a couple years back when he had finally settled into New York, hence the title ‘Ever Since New York’. He didn’t sell the song to any big artist, instead he kept it within his personal folder and when Mitch asked if his and Adam’s band could borrow it Harry said yes. It was one of the few personal songs he would let his friends borrow, others were too much of him to let someone else sing.

Y/N is seriously enjoying herself. The tequila has hit her, settling into her body with a constant buzz, and this band was so good. She’s shamelessly swaying her body in her chair and nodding her head back and forth with the beat. To be fair, so was everyone else at the table. Jenny matched her energy perfectly, even throwing an arm around her shoulders as the course of their third song picked up - Jenny knew the lyrics and sang along, causing the two of them to erupt into laughter afterwards. After Jenny turns her attention back to her husband, Y/N looks at Harry and notices him lightly singing along while bobbing his head too. She smiles and ends up watching him instead of the band for maybe a little too long. He turns his head and catches her stare, raising a brow but she just shakes her head and leans closer to him to ensure he can hear her before speaking.

“They’re really good,” she compliments, “like a lot better than some of the mainstream artists I’ve seen recently,” she adds on just as the band finishes up another song.

“Yeah, they are,” Harry nods in agreement, “but the bands really just a hobby for all of them since they are all involved within the industry already.”

“Oh, that’s sick though,” Y/N says, “not everyone’s hobby includes filling up a dive bar in New York City every weekend with people singing along to your songs,” she exclaims. She had looked around the room earlier during the last song to see it wasn’t just the bandmates' friends that knew the words to their songs. Majority of the people in the bar were singing too, clearly being regulars to their sets.

Amy arrives at their table again, setting down everyone's refills in a rush, thankfully being too busy to stop and flirt with Harry. Is that jealousy, Y/N? She questions herself in her head. She ignores her thoughts and brings her new drink to her lips, not even bothering with the lime slices this time as she’s feeling a bit drunk now and honestly could care less. As the band opens their next song with some strong drums and an incredible electric guitar melody, the crowd goes a bit crazy. Y/N furrows her brows and looks at the people at her table, Tom and Jenny are also hollering at the band while Harry is chuckling. He meets her eyes before echoing the crowd and cheering on his friends. Y/N’s eyes widen and she huffs out a laugh before she grabs her phone quickly and opens her Instagram.

Just in time, she opens her Instagram stories as the song picks up and the small crowd that had formed overtime at the front of the stage starts to dance around. Everyone is cheering and singing along, causing Y/N’s jaw to drop in pure amazement. She holds down the button to record and gets a quick ten second video of the band rocking out while the bar sings and goes nuts as the bass line played by Adam kicks in and their drummer flings his body around to play one of the most addicting beats they’ve played so far. Y/N shakes her head and swipes a filter on before tapping on the screen, turning to face Harry - who’s already watching her, of course.

“Does the band have an Instagram?” She asks. To which Harry just shrugs in response, because he really isn’t too sure - he’s not hugely into social media himself.

“They do!” Jenny says with excitement, Y/N turns in her seat and grins at Jenny as she spells out the bands Instagram handle. “I keep trying to get them to stay active on it but they barely do,” she states.

Y/N slips her drink that she holds in one hand and taps ‘post to story’ on her phone that in her other hand. “Well, they might get, like, a few notifications flood in since I tagged them in my story,” Y/N tells her.

“Oh yeah?” Jenny questions. “Are you big on Insta?”

“It’s kind of grown over the years, I just hit half a million last week actually,” Y/N states. Her words cause both Jenny and Tom’s jaws to drop. Suppose it’s quite a big number, Y/N thinks.

“That’s insane, oh my god,” Jenny says, “is social media like your job then?” She asks. Y/N notices how both Tom and Harry are more interested in hearing about her Instagram than the band’s next song, to be fair it is a slower tune, but still it shocks her a bit.

“Um, not really,” Y/N licks her lips, “I have a career at a fashion studio in the city, we style the city’s elite and some celebrities, do their personal shopping and all that. But the social media thing is really just a little add on, I guess,” Y/N explains, pausing a few times as she feels a bit nervous telling them about her following. Some people saw it as a clout thing, asking for shoutouts and tags so her followers would get their follower count up. While others thought it was childish and weird that she was kind of like an influencer in a way.

“Wow,” Harry says, his voice gets Y/N’s attention as she looks towards him now, “how didn’t I know this?” He questions with a chuckle.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “it’s really just like a hobby, barely even that.”

“Like how the band is for Mitch and Adam,” Harry nods.

Y/N smiles and nods with him, “exactly.”

“You’re definitely the coolest girl Harry knows, by the way,” Jenny states, bringing Y/N’s attention back to her left where she sat. Y/N laughs and brushes her hair back over her shoulders.

“I don’t know about that,” Y/N disagrees and shakes her head, reaching for her drink again to take a few sips.

“No, you definitely are,” Harry corrects her, having a sip of his own drink as well. Y/N puts down her glass and smiles, shrugging her shoulders and leaning back into her seat.

“I mean, if you say so,” she says in a joking tone. Jenny, Tom and Harry all chuckle, which makes Y/N laugh along with them. The band is talking to the crowd now, mentioning that their weekly gig will not be happening next week due to the holidays. Then they’re explaining something about their next and final song, thanking the crowd before the song starts up.

“This was their first song as a band,” Tom tells Y/N. She smiles and nods, appreciating the insight from him.

The song is catchy, still fitting the bands vibe but definitely isn’t as good as some of the other songs they had played already. Y/N decides to take a final snap of the band on stage on her Instagram story. Mitch’s head is down, his hair falling forward that she can barely tell that it’s him, while Adam is grinning at the crowd which makes Y/N smile as she swipes on a filter to lighten the picture some and types out ‘new fave band alert’ as her caption, finding a red siren gif quickly before posting it to her story. As the song comes to an end the bar erupts into a roar of cheers. Y/N brings her hands to her mouth and hollers along with the bar, grinning as she watches the four boys of the band come together and bow. As they bend down Harry whistles, having both his hands at his mouth, to show his support to his friends.

Y/N widens her eyes and turns quickly to look at Harry, surprised by the loud whistle that came from him. He matches her look, widening his eyes and playing dumb as he slowly lowers his hands from his face. Y/N laughs, slapping a hand on his arm and leaning back, immensely entertained by his actions. Harry laughs along with Y/N till they both calm down and shake their heads. Just as Y/N is about to say something her phone starts to buzz on the table from an incoming call. She looks down at the screen and sees it’s Mark - again.

“Ugh,” Y/N groans and hits decline, unlocking her phone to go to her phone app. “How the hell do you block a phone number?” She asks aloud to no one in particular.

“Is it Mark?” Harry questions in a low voice, leaning towards Y/N to keep his words between them. Y/N frowns but nods her head once. The tequila in her system starts to mess with her, her screen becoming fuzzy as she thinks about all the crap she learnt about Mark earlier today. And now he was ruining her fun out with Harry and his friends.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Y/N asks, turning to Jenny since she would know the location of the women's bathroom over Harry.

“Down the hall in the back corner over there,” she points in that direction and before anyone else can say something Y/N is on her feet with her phone in hand and heading to the bathroom.

Harry looks over his shoulder as he monitors Y/N’s move across the bar. He’s worried about her, obviously, but he’s also watching to make sure no douche bag makes a grab for her. Although he is sure that she could handle it herself. As he turns back to the table he sees both Tom and Jenny staring at him. Harry furrows his brows and brings his drink to his lips, having the final sip of his third drink tonight. Jenny just shakes her head and looks down at her phone, he’s pretty sure she’s looking up Y/N’s Instagram. Tom’s still staring at Harry though.

“What?” Harry finally asks, setting his glass down with the few other empty ones at the centre of the table.

“So,” Tom pauses, “what’s going on here?” He questions, being annoyingly vague.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, trying his hardest to not roll his eyes.

“Well you just show up with this bombshell of a woman, who is beyond anything you could’ve described her as by the way, and we’re all just supposed to forget she’s in a relationship?” Tom questions, tilting his head just slightly to the side as he stares down Harry.

“Firstly, I’m insulted you don’t think we could just be friends,” Harry says, he’s about to continue but Mitch and Adam join the table again. They get a round of ‘good job’ from everyone before Mitch is turning to Harry and furrowing his brows.

“What were you saying before?” He asks.

“That it is just possible for Y/N and I to be friends, but also not that it’s any of your guys business cause it’s not even mine, but her and her boyfriend broke up, like, recently,” Harry informs his friends, dragging his fingertip along the condensation of his empty glass in front of him. He feels silly, having to explain himself for simply bringing along a friend to hangout tonight. But he can’t deny it feels good to know that she is single now. Only to feel bad a second later as he knows that Y/N must be hurting, judging by her drowning herself in tequila drinks and getting upset over Mark calling her.

“Well, shit,” Mitch breathes out. Harry lifts his gaze to find his best mate with his usual smug look on his face. “What are you waiting for then, loverboy, make a move,” Mitch coaxes him.

“Did you not hear me when I said they broke up recently? As in maybe I should just let that settle for a while before I try and make any sort of move,” Harry says.

“Well if you don’t eventually and you let this one go, then you’re a bloody idiot,” Adam resorts, “Y/N is a prize, one evening knowing her and I understand your little crush, H,” he adds with a smile.

“Trust me,” Harry huffs out a breath and shakes his head a bit, “I’m well aware. But seriously guys, I’m just going to let it play out and not force anything. I’m happy to just be her friend, honestly,” he explains. Everyone nods, seeming to understand where Harry is at now with Y/N. Perfect timing, Amy shows up with refills for everyone to get the attention of the group off Harry.

“So, Harry,” Amy says after setting down everyone glasses, turning her body away from Jenny and the empty chair for Y/N to completely face him - her boobs practically in his face. He gives her a polite smile, leaning back in his chair in order to get some distance from her. “Who’s this new girl you brought with you? A cousin or something?” She asks, her body seeming to lean even further towards him as she speaks.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to let Amy know her ridiculous assumptions were wrong. When he hears Y/N’s voice from behind where Amy stood. “Classy,” she mutters under her breath.

Amy rolls her eyes rather dramatically before she turns away from Harry and looks at Y/N as she’s pulling out her chair and returning to her seat. “What did you say?” Amy asks, her voice rather snarky in Y/N’s opinion.

“I said, wow you’re hair colour, it’s like, so classy, I love it,” Y/N resorts, putting on a smile just as fake as her words.

Amy’s lips part, her eyes narrowing at Y/N’s bored stare. Whatever bitchy response she has lined up for Y/N is cut short as Amy’s name is being yelled by the bartender. Her gaze falls behind Y/N, looking at who had called for her, before she meets Y/N’s eyes again. She glares again, huffs out a short breath, and then is nearly stomping away from the table like a child who didn’t get the Barbie doll she wanted to play with - or rather the Ken doll. Y/N’s lips turn up slightly into a smug smile as a feeling of pride flushes over her.

“Yup, it’s official,” Jenny says, bringing Y/N back to reality as she looks away to her left. Jenny is grinning as she brings an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into her side. “You’re one hundred percent the coolest girl Harry knows,” she states, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“You handled Amy like a pro,” Adam notes, then jutting his chin towards Harry, “H is always too nice to let her know how annoying she’s being.”

Y/N smiles and looks at Harry in the corner of her eye, noticing the slight tint of pink upon his cheeks. She flips her hair over her shoulder and shrugs, “I grew up dealing with the snobby Upper East Side kids, Amy is harmless, believe me,” Y/N ensures the group before grabbing for her drink and sucking back a few good gulps.

The group around the table begins to talk about the performance, compliments and praises to Mitch and Adam all around of course. Even a few strangers come up to give them a pat on the back and ask for a picture. They’re like royalty in this dingy little bar.

Y/N is enjoying sitting back and simply being around people, letting herself push away any thoughts of Mark. She had blocked his number while she waited in line for the washroom, then responded to Sammy’s million texts asking where she was and with who - when she told him she was with Harry he just replied with ‘#TeamHarry for the win’, which she rolled her eyes at but ended up smiling down at her phone and texting him a thumbs up back.

When Y/N finished with her business in the rather dirty washroom - the sink barely even worked, it was not ideal - and she saw Amy at the table beside Harry again, Y/N let her jealousy fly. Then when Amy started leaning so far into Harry that her boobs nearly touched his chest, Y/N just couldn’t help it. It was like her vision turned red suddenly, her chest swelling up as she tried to bite down on her tongue. But she couldn’t, she was too annoyed by Amy’s less than classy actions towards her customer.

“Hey,” Harry’s low voice snaps Y/N out of her own world. She blinks and focuses on him, feeling herself melt at the sight of his smile. “Are you okay?” He asks, more than likely referring to her quick departure to the bathroom after Mark called.

“Yeah,” she assures him with a smile and a nod. “I blocked his number, I don’t want to hear his excuses. I could really care less,” she explains to Harry. He nods in response and is about to say something else, about how Mark is a real idiot for whatever he did to hurt her. But Y/N sits up, places a hand on his arm that was resting on the table between then, and gives him another smile. “But enough about him, seriously, I’m feeling a little drunk and having way too much fun here with you to be bothered anymore,” Y/N tells him.

“Alright,” Harry smiles, peering at Y/N as his heart beats wildly in his chest. He’s pretty sure his skin’s tingling from where her hand rests. But it doesn’t last long before she moves, reaching for her glass - that she then raises into the air.

“I would like to make a toast,” Y/N announces to the table, gaining everyone’s attention and smiles, “to Mitch and Adam’s absolutely amazing performance, new friends, and to having a lovely holiday season,” Y/N beams as Harry and his friends cheer in agreement and everyone lifts their glasses into the air.

The group ends up buying shots after, then another round of drinks, and then more shots. Y/N is laughing so much her stomach hurts. She hasn’t been this happy while enjoying others' company in far too long, outside of work of course. Harry makes another joke, teasing Adam, but Adam dishes it back right away. Y/N finds herself letting her hand slip to Harry’s thigh as she throws her head back with laughter at Adam’s absurd comment. Everyone else is too focused on the banter to notice, but Harry does of course. He’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels her delicate fingers spread over his thigh. He gulps, unsure if he wants to break whatever drunken trance that Y/N may be in. Does she realize that she’s put her hand on his thigh? He wonders. But his thoughts are quickly answered as she caresses her thumb along his pants before lifting her hand slowly off of him altogether.

Y/N’s leaning on her elbow again, her chin propped up in the palm of her hand as she looks at Harry. He’s so hot, her drunk self thinks as she watches his Adam's apple bob up and down for a second time since she had placed her hand on his thigh. It happened by accident to be honest, but she wasn’t sorry about it. God, she was just itching to touch Harry. His thigh, his arm, maybe rub gentle circles on the back of his neck as he talked amongst his friends, but she wanted to touch his lips more than anything. She couldn’t stop looking at his pretty pink lips as he replies to whatever whoever said to him.

Harry catches Y/N’s glossy eyes staring at him in the corner of his eye. He rolls his lips into his mouth to stop himself from smiling. He likes how she can’t seem to keep her eyes off of him, because he does the same thing maybe a little too often. Harry turns his head and meets her gaze, giving her a smirk as she playfully narrows her eyes at him. Her cheeks are rosy from the amount of liquor she’s consumed, while her eyes truly are a bit glossed over from her being more than tipsy. She’s so hot, he thinks, as his eyes shamelessly roam over her appearance. Even hours later at this shitty bar and she still looks breathtaking. Harry’s gaze lingers a little too long on her chest, admiring the way the top fit her breasts; was she wearing a bra? Oh how he wishes he could find out.

Y/N adjusts her position in her chair, letting her left arm fall into her lap while she lays her right arm beside Harry’s. She is liking this game they seem to be playing with their eyes. She sits up straight, knowingly sticking out her chest just a bit as she watches Harry’s eyes fall to her breasts. But she keeps it classy, of course, unlike some people. Y/N lets out a breathy sigh as she looks at Harry’s hand mere inches away from her right hand. Those rings, she thinks, they could do some real damage. Her thighs clench involuntarily, her mind falling into a fog as she imagines them leaving red marks on her bare bottom or how cool they would feel against her throat.

“I really like your rings, have I told you that before?” Y/N’s voice is hoarse, but she doesn’t care as her pinky reaches over to touch the large gold ‘S’ that rests on his pinky. The metal is cool to her touch, just as she imagines. Feeling brave - thanks to her good friend, tequila - she lifts her hand slightly in order to comfortably drag her fingertip over the ‘S’ shape a couple times.

“No, you-” Harry clears his throat, feeling it become dry at the sight of her doe eyes staring at his fingers. His mind goes somewhere dirty, thinking of somewhere else his fingers could go. Tangled in her hair, wrapped around her throat, inside of her. Harry licks his lips before he speaks again, “you haven’t, but thank you.”

“Which is your favourite?” Y/N questions, her finger still lazily tracing the ring on his pinky finger.

“Quite like the inicals,” Harry answers, smirking as she glances up to peer at him through her lashes. She mirrors his smug look easily.

“A very narcissistic answer,” Y/N hums, teasing him. Harry playfully narrows his eyes at her, which she returns but ends up giggling after a moment as he sticks out his tongue at her. These inappropriate thoughts have got to just slide away for a moment, Y/N thinks with a deep breath.

“We’re going to head out,” Tom announces to the table suddenly, helping Jenny out of her chair. Jenny’s beautiful dazzling smile is on her husband as he helps her into her coat. They’ve both had quite a bit to drink too and Harry notes how Jenny latches onto Tom’s side after they’re in their coats.

“I’m still shocked you two both came out tonight,” Harry says.

“We paid big bucks for this babysitter, so they better keep it together for at least another four hours,” Tom exclaims with a wink. Jenny gasps and smacks her husband on the chest as she realizes what Tom is insinuating.

“Don’t go acting like you last longer than ten minutes, bud,” Mitch taunts jokingly to his friend. Everyone laughs as Tom glares at Mitch across the table. Y/N covers her mouth with her hands, finally bringing her finger away from where it laid on Harry’s ‘S’ ring, in order to cover her chuckles.

“It was so lovely to meet you, Y/N,” Jenny gushes, letting go of Tom in order to put her arms around Y/N and hugging her tightly.

Y/N smiles into her bleached hair, squeezing her back just as tightly, “you too, Jenny,” she says.

“Don’t let H keep hiding you away now,” she says, pointing a stern finger at the two of them. Harry laughs and shakes his head at his friend.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jenny,” he tells her.

Then they’re all saying goodbye to the couple as they walk out of the half empty bar. Y/N glances around the place, noticing how it feels less scary now. Maybe it was the tequila that helped, or how comfortable she felt around Harry and his friends. A yawn suddenly makes it’s way past Y/N’s lips, she brings the back of her hand to cover it but ends up squinting her eyes closed as her whole body feels drained. She meets Harry eyes after the yawning stops, he shows her a small soft smile that makes her return it right back.

“Ready to go home?” He asks. She contemplates it for a moment, because she truthfully doesn’t want the night to end. But she decides to not fight it and nods to Harry.

Harry does practically the same thing as Tom just had. He announces his and Y/N’s departure, helps her into her coat, and lets her say her goodbyes as Adam opens his arms up for a big warm hug. Mitch only nods, waving to them both before Harry leads the way out of the bar. The cold night air blasts Y/N’s hair back, the sharp wind taking her by surprise as she blinks back tears from the cold. She puts both her hands into her coat pockets and zips it up all the way, snuggling into the warmth it will provide her on their walk home.

“I feel like Mitch doesn’t like me much,” Y/N admits after a few minutes of comfortable silence between her and Harry.

“What?” Harry shakes his head, eyebrows pinched together. “No, that’s just how he is. He’s quiet and looks all moody. Give him some time, he’ll warm up, promise.”

“I think he’s just protective of you,” Y/N says, looking up at Harry after they cross the road, “thinks I’m a threat or something.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head again,“well, it’s definitely not like that with Mitch and I, plus he’s seeing someone. Her name’s Sarah, she plays drums on a lot of tracks we write.”

“If you say so,” Y/N sighs. She looks around at the sights before them. A few other mildly drunk people wander the streets, and she notices a few homeless people too, that tore Y/N’s heart apart, as they were bunkering down in the alleyways. Harry keeps pace with Y/N the whole walk home, letting her control the speed they walked and what they talked about. She would jump from subject to subject the entire time, but Harry thought it was kinda cute that she was so drunk she didn’t even realize how quickly she changed the topic.

And all too soon, they’re in the elevator in their apartment building. Harry presses the number six button and joins Y/N on the back wall. They both lean into the railing, comfortable silence falling between them once again. But it was obviously their thoughts were anything but silent. The elevator doors open on their floor, and Harry lets her walk out first as always.

“Well this is me,” Y/N says dramatically as she approaches her apartment door. Harry chuckles under his breath, shaking his head slightly and letting his eyes fall to the floor for a second before meeting Y/N’s stare again. “I really did have a great time tonight, Harry,” she tells him.

“I’m glad, I did too,” he agrees.

Y/N wants to kiss him. She really really really does. But they’re both a little drunk, and she literally just broke up with Mark yesterday - or maybe technically two days ago now since it’s past midnight. But it didn’t matter, she didn’t want to be that girl. Plus she wanted to really get to know Harry and take this slow and see where it went. That didn’t stop her gaze from falling to his pretty pink lips though. Harry’s thoughts are running laps too. He wants to kiss her. But he knows she’s more than likely still hasn’t recovered fully emotionally from her break up Mark, hell not even ten hours ago she was crying because of her shitty ex boyfriend. Didn’t mean he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her though, especially when her gaze falls to his lips.

Just as quickly as they seemed to fall into some dream like state as thoughts of kissing each other float around them, they snap back to reality. Y/N blinks a few times and takes a step back, bumping into her front door. Harry clears his throat and steps back as well, towards his own front door.

“Polar Express,” Y/N says suddenly, earning a look of confusion from Harry. “We’re watching the Polar Express tomorrow, and you’re going to play me something on that guitar of yours.”

Harry lets out a chuckle and gives Y/N a smirk, “yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“You will,” she singsongs as she focuses on unlocking her door. It takes a few extra tries to get the key in but once she does she unlocks it and opens the door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry smiles.

“Goodnight, H,” Y/N says softly, smiling as well, as she leans against her door to look back at him. Harry’s smile deepens at her using his nickname. She must’ve picked it up from his friends using it earlier during their time at the bar.

She gives him one last look over, knowing very well that she’s going to dream about him in that cream and blue plaid jacket - and maybe only wearing that jacket - before she shuts her door and presses her back against it as it closes. Today was a lot. But she’s beyond grateful that Harry invited her out, introducing her to his wildly unique group of wonderful friends, and letting her get a little bit drunk too. Her chest flares up as she remembers their close moment at the bar, her touching his rings, placing her hand on his thigh-

“Oh god,” Y/N all but moans out as her thoughts go right back to the place they were at before.

She shakes her head and heads to her bedroom. Harry wouldn’t be able to hear a vibration from the other side of the wall, would he? Y/N shrugs and opens her bedside table drawer to grab her vibrator, knowing just how much she needed it tonight as she imagined Harry’s hand between her thighs. Fuck, she’s so screwed, she thinks, biting her lip as she realizes, she really really really likes Harry.

>> part four <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

*like this post if you’d like to be added to the cstsyl taglist!*

#harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles concept #harry styles one shot #1dff #cstsyl #omg this took me so long i know but i really really like it and hope u guys to do!!

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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A Distant Dream V // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen-year-old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, heartbreak, fluff, talk of death and fluff.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: We’ve come to the end of the Distant Dream mini-series. I truly enjoyed writing this with my whole heart. @merceret I told you I’d use Lucy’s Cordial somewhere in the series. All parts are located in the linked masterlist.

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Masterlist

The massive changes between the ’90s and 2021 slowly but surely started no longer seemed startling as it had been at first. Carlos had helped you assimilate to homeschooling once he’d admitted he knew about the boys. Ray was still kept in the dark.

2020 ended on a high note. Mostly. With the years in Narnia providing you with the knowledge you flew through schooling. Then you took a job as a waitress at a coffee shop, one similar to the shop the band performed in. The downside to the end of the year was for the band.

Despite performing at the Orpheum, the band hadn’t received as much traction as Luke had desired. They were a step closer to the dream but not as far as the entire band had wished. During Julie’s Christmas break, Luke had overworked the band with little breaks.

“Hide me.” Julie hissed from behind the counter of Ancient Grounds. The Puerto Rican musician escaped the studio to have lunch with you.

Unfortunately, Julie failed to see that without the entire band together, Luke would go to what makes him just as happy. You. That’s precisely what happened as Luke walked in through the entrance of the coffee shop.

“He’s still pushing more practice?” You asked, stacking the clean mugs on the shelf with complete focus. How odd it is to go from being Queen to working in a city as a waitress.

“I love him like a brother, but I feel like my fingers are gonna fall off from playing the piano constantly.” Julie sighed, sliding down the counter to sit on the floor hidden from the approaching guitarist and from your manager.

“Hey!” Luke grinned once his hands fell on the counter to lean over on the balls of his feet. His lips pressed against your right cheek before he fell back onto his feet.

Not a single soul in the half-full Ancient Grounds batted an eye to your awkward stance when Luke kissed you. Not since the boys had become tangible and visible to the general public when they wanted.

“Look to decide to grace me with his presence.” You teased. Your foot nudged Julie in her thigh to urge her to crawl to the end of the counter.

“I have no clue where Julie is. Reggie dipped to join Ray in his errands, and Alex is somewhere.” Luke shrugged, stepping aside when an older gentleman dropped a tip in the jar before leaving.

“Pick a number.” You told the male with one of your dimples on display.

“Eleven,” Luke responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the regular game you played together.

Each visit, you’d split a dessert from the menu with Luke along with his favourite mug of tea and your drink of choice; even he knew he didn’t need caffeine with his energy. That was Luke’s favourite thing of being brought half alive from the golden glow they’d received. You were sure Reggie had cried upon eating your Tia’s best recipe.

“Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake. A limited-edition from our Worldwide Treat menu. It’s Canada’s month.”

Luke followed to the counter’s end, where the sweets were kept on a glass viewing shelf. With careful movements, you slid a perfect triangle of the cheesecake onto a beautiful plate. The half-ghost retrieved it to your favourite spot in the garden patio. Julie used the time to sneak out the door with Luke’s back to her.

“What is a Nanaimo Bar?” Luke questioned upon you joining him at the iron-wrought table. One teacup accompanied by a teapot with Luke’s tea and a mug of your drink on an emerald tray.

“It’s a no-bake dessert. The base is a chocolate graham cracker and coconut base with the middle layer a cream filling. The top layer is a thin layer of semi-sweet chocolate.”

Luken nodded, “Ancient Grounds loves cheesecakes.”

“Addie adores inventing new versions of cheesecake. Her best is the Creamsicle Cheesecake during the summer. A staple on the menu.” You responded with a twinkle in your eye. You may not look like the Queen you once were, but you were just as invested in learning about people as you’d done with the Narnians.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Luke questioned.

“I’m pretty partial to the chocolate cookies Addie makes.” You grinned, leaning closer to the male across from you. You hesitated in continuing, “In Narnia, the pastry chef Cair Paravel employed always had these gorgeous desserts with Edmund in mind. Turkish Delights with a secret ingredient.”

Luke’s smile grew as you talked about the other home you had. A place you rarely spoke about now. You hadn’t even returned to the basement to see the wardrobe like you had before.

“I wish I could have seen Cair Paravel. It always sounds so magical when you talk about it.” Luke’s tone was wistful paired with the twinkle of his hazel eyes.

“It’s a breathtaking place. Everything is lively in Narnia, and after the Witch was defeated, we ruled peacefully for the most part.” Your e/c eyes unfocused on your surroundings to recall all the wonderful times spent in Narnia.

The times you shared a table with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their home over the years snacking on the homemade jams. To the times you listened to Mr. Tumnus playing everchanging lullabies on his flute. Even walking the beaches with Lucy in hopes of catching sight of Aslan again. Of gossiping with Susan over the many suitors that came for her hand.

“If you could do it all over again knowing the outcome, would you still do it?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head. He’d shed the flannel jacket as the sun rose higher in the sky.

You nodded, “Absolutely. The Pevensies were some of the greatest friends one could ever hope to have.”

As usual, Peter wasn’t spoken of in light of the ache that resonated in your heart and the awkwardness Luke felt. A poor choice of avoiding your once husband instead of communicating on the topic.

“Have you ever thought of trying to find them?”

“No point. Peter would be ninety-seven now as the oldest, and Lucy would be eighty-nine. If I recall, it was 1940 for them when we went to Narnia. It’s possible Peter may have joined the war in ’42 when he was eighteen, so who knows if he lived.” Luke was surprised by the nonchalant reaction to the potentially grim outlook on your former in-laws.

However, Luke knew the truth, that you greatly missed the four people who became family during your disappearance. You could fool Julie and Reggie, but you could never fool Alex or Luke no matter how much you tried.

“I’ll see you at home? My break ended.” You swiftly cut off any more talking of your former life. Luke merely watched as you stacked the dirty dishes, only leaving Luke’s cup and teapot.

“I should get back. Julie’s most likely back in the garage from sneaking back.” Luke’s hand pushed through his messy curtain of brunette hair. His words revealing that he’d known Julie had been in Ancient Grounds the entire time.

“How’d-”

“When she sits on the floor, she taps the heel of her shoe on the floor. Same rhythm.” Luke smirked as he chugged the last of the tea, “Don’t tell her. I like when she fights a smug smile with that certain light in her eyes.”

The brotherly role Luke had taken on with the Molina girl was heartwarming, to say the least. Sometimes Julie would begrudgingly ask for advice about her feelings for Nick to Luke’s amusement. He adored being able to tease her.

“I’ll see you later.”

The boy dropped the correct change for the tea on his way out the door into the bright sunlight. Like clockwork, he’d turn into the alley to become intangible to poof back to the studio.

The rest of the day passed by like a breeze in the coffee shop with the late lunch rush and then the dinner rush the busiest time. Jess gave you a ride home in her truck as usual with a promise of a cupcake of Julie’s as payment.

“Did you see him?”

The sudden voice startled you so much your hand couldn’t help but grasp at empty air by your side. Alex screeched as you swung to face him on the Molina driveway.

“Alex! Good Aslan, you startled me.”

“...were you reaching for a sword?” Alex questioned, appalled by your reaction. Your e/c eyes rolled in response.

“Isn’t the saying old habits die hard?” You prodded the baby blue of Alex’s long sleeve shirt. One of the shirts you’d often stolen from him, “And no. I didn’t see Willie.”

Your heart clenched as soon as Alex’s shoulders dropped in defeat once more at the absence of the skater. It had been months now with little sightings of the skater you had yet to meet. The boys kept your presence on the down-low to avoid Caleb’s interest.

“I hope he’s okay,” Alex muttered under his breath. The elder Mercer began gnawing his lower lip in worry.

Gently you interlaced your hand with his hand, his deft fingers playing with the braided bracelets on your wrist. The bracelets had been a Christmas gift from Julie and Flynn with the colours of the sunrise. It grounded Alex more often than not.

“You told me the Club travels around the world. Maybe Caleb’s not in America; maybe his ego needs to recover from his loss.” You shrugged, tugging the teenager into the house. Ray barely waved from his work computer.

Ray Molina had welcomed Alex, Reggie and Luke into the family when he met them in person the day after the Orpheum performance. He’d accepted that Alex was your older brother and had been in Switzerland for boarding school. He understood that Luke and Reggie came as a package deal with Alex, so the boys had worked to clean out the basement.

A few visits to second-hand doors brought furniture for the basement renovated into the boys’ shared suite. Alex still spent most nights in your room; he still feared you'd disappear from his life again.

“I hope you’re right.” Alex muttered in false hope that something would go his way for once, “Oh! The band received an invitation to some underground music festival in England during spring break. We’re hoping to convince Ray and Julie’s aunt to let us go.”

And you could see the band practices would be growing for that breakthrough with the band. And you were correct in your guess merely hours after going to sleep.

At five in the damn morning, Luke burst into your attic bedroom to drag your less than enthusiastic brother from his sleep. You bet your ass you hit the teen in the face with your pillow, which meant you had to crawl out of bed to retrieve the pillow.

“Asshole!” Alex exclaimed as Luke roughly poofed both of them to the studio. Julie swaying sleepily in her sweater and pyjama pants, waiting for the two.

Spring Break 2021 (March 26-April 2)

The youngest member of the tourists proudly displayed her smile, catching sight of the bed and breakfast in the English countryside. Julie had been floored when Ray had given his permission to the foreign festival.

Ray couldn’t hide his excitement for the band, plus all-expense paid, receiving the invite via a relatively small record company.

“First birthday back together,” Luke spoke from your side. Hands intertwined together in the cool wind of England. His arms were covered by his flannel coat in the unfavourable weather of the day.

You hummed, “Never thought I’d be celebrating my seventeenth birthday in England during 2021. Besides, I’ve already been seventeen.”

“I always knew I’d bring you to all the countries in the world.” Luke’s tone was matter of fact, staring at the stage being built under a woman’s guidance in her mid-30s.

The bed and breakfast had a lovely history your tour guide Martin had enthusiastically told on the train ride from the city.

The man with spry greying hair pointed towards the old train station providing facts that interested most of the group. Luke’s arm tossed over your shoulder focused on the songbook, a new one, open in lap. Luke and you had slowly but surely evolved from shy brushes of skin to holding hands and then Luke’s arm over your shoulder. Chaste kisses on cheeks while you reassimilated into the dating world.

“In 1940, this train station deployed countless trains filled with evacuating children away from London during the Blitz. Filled with returning soldiers, mothers sending children to safety and children were torn from all they knew. Each child had a tag to identify them.” Martin explained intently, speaking to the group his organization had assigned him to.

“Where did they go?” Reggie curled into the travel blanket he’d bought specifically for the trip.

“Anywhere safe for them and where they could be cared for.”

“This route is one of many the evacuations used. The bed and breakfast we’re heading to holds a great history as well. It was once the Manor of Professor Digory Kirke during his life and passed down through generations throug-”

Martin’s story faded into the black abyss as sleep took you over by the soothing motion of the train and Luke’s warmth. Luke met the gaze of Alex. The two guys shared a sweet smile solely for the relaxed features of the younger Mercer.

“This is just another step in our journey for Julie and the Phantoms.” Your words warmed Luke Luke when he noticed you cemented your position in his life. You saw yourself in the future of Julie and the Phantoms as a faithful supporter and friend.

“Luke Patterson, correct? I’m Eva.” Your eyes widened, meeting the eyes that reminded you of someone. Just on the tip of your tongue, “My wife Diana will be a few minutes. We’re still getting the stage put together.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. How many people are you expecting?” Luke questioned the older woman. His mind snapped into business mode for the band.

“This is our fourth year putting on the festival at this location. This is the first year we added a wild card option for fans to vote on. Your band rocketed ahead of the other bands.” Eva explained, keeping her eyes on the woman you dubbed as Diana. The pure love in Eva’s eyes is a call to the yearning in your chest.

“I thought a recor-”

“Technically, yes, a record company flew you out. Diana started a small record label a few years back. Cair Oom Records. She’s the first person in both our families to step into a non-traditional career.” Eva explained to the now interesting young couple.

Luke was interested in the record label’s history, whereas you focused on the label’s name. Cair Oom. A call to your Narnia days you remembered.

“Cair Oom?” You interrupted the conversation in pure curiosity. Your eyes drinking in the features of Eva, her freckles and brown eyes mirroring a person from your past.

“The label name?” Eva continued once you nodded in response, “It’s from a childhood story my family passed down. Diana was close to my great-aunt before we moved out here to run the bed and breakfast.”

“Of a dream of a dream. Spare Oom.” It was whispered in the breeze straight in your ear of a voice you vividly recalled—the disembodied voice with the same freckles as Eva but with chocolate brown hair instead of strawberry blonde.

“Y/N? You coming?” Luke’s concerned hazel eyes bore into your distant ones wandering the hills of the property. You hadn’t even noticed Eva leaving towards the Manor.

Your e/c eyes search for the owner of the youthful voice but come up empty. The only people you saw included your group with the odd workers setting up under Diana’s supervision.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke stepped right up in front of you, “You’ve been out of it since Eva mentioned the record label.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, following the woman up the path. Luke stared lost as you disappeared into the door. Eva entered.

The woman stood outside a door within the home, “I never knew what she meant. Not until I saw you Y/N.”

Your foot stumbled back when Eva turned with a soft smile you vividly recalled on a certain Pevensie. Eva unlocked the door to a room with only a picture hung on the wall.

“Narnia.” You breathed, stepping right up to the detailed painting of Cair Paravel. Your fingers tracing the beautiful frame holding it up.

“Correct. My Great-Aunt, in her adult life, adored painting in her past time. It was rare she told Narnian stories, but my mother loved them so much she told them to me as a child.

“Who’s your-”

“My name is Lucy Eva Baker. I was named after my other Great-Aunt, but I prefer going by Eva.” Eva’s words pulled a deep gasp from your throat. Tears building as the truth settled in the room.

Eva shared the same smile and brown eyes as Edmund Pevensie did, even the mature aura wrapped around her. The maturity Edmund had grown into during the fifteen years in Narnia. Without a shadow of a doubt, Eva Baker was the granddaughter of your former brother-in-law.

“Your-”

“Edmund’s granddaughter.” Eva finished with a sympathetic smile, “You featured heavily in each story. I always knew Narnia wasn’t merely a story.”

And then the conversation stuttered when you finally noticed Eva spoke mostly of learning of everything by her mom and Susan. Not a mention passed Edmund being her granddad. A piece of your heart broke, and it seemed the older woman saw it happen.

“W-what happened to…” You couldn’t even choke the question out in the room. Eva’s hand reached out to grasp yours in her own hand.

“I can’t tell you much as that reason that will become clear but in 1949 just shortly before my mom was born there was an accident. Grandpa Edmund and Peter were waiting for the train at the station. The train wrecked, killing the train occupants and many people in the station.” Eva was quick to catch you as a piercing grief-stricken scream exploded in the room.

In the Manor’s tea room, the band and Ray enjoyed a genuine tea time with Diana. Ray and Diana traded stories of their young sons while Reggie restrained himself to savour the food. English tea time begging for genuine manners.

Luke raised his cup to lips before it dropped to the saucer upon an exploding anguished wail from upstairs. Thankfully the cup didn’t break as the American guitarist sprung himself in the direction of the wails—Alex hot on his heels with a call to his friends.

Your screaming drowned out the furious stomps of feet racing in the halls of the Manor to the entrance of the room. Luke’s heart shattered at the pure anguish coating your broken features. Alex roughly pushed his way to tug you into his arms.

Alex’s large hand cupped the back of your head while he rocked you in his arms, “Shh. Let it out.”

“No!” You screamed into Alex’s shoulder. You couldn’t acknowledge Luke’s comforting hand on your shoulder, “N-no.”

“I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Alex murmured in your ear so softly you almost didn’t catch what he said. Luke dropped to his knees by your side. The three teens unaware as Eva excused herself for your privacy. Eva had watched her great-aunt Susan break every time she spoke of her late siblings.

Seconds passed or maybe years as it seemed to happen to you. But soon, you simply rested against Alex staring at Susan’s painting. Barely blinking in the room causing you suffering. You barely responded to anyone as you battled the grief. You faded in and out of daydreams as the bands performed. Days mixed together. Time didn’t exist to you. You were aware enough when Julie and Ray invited you to shop in London.

To everyone, including your surprise, you agreed. The three half ghosts joining in fear you’d shatter again. Eva and Diana held hands watching the car disappear in the distance carrying a group of musicians. An echo of Eva’s words replacing in the back of your mind.

“Three of five drink at high tide. Four of nine and five of nine stand apart by time. A drop of Valiant’s potion will begin the time once before frozen.”

“Are they-”

“Yes.” Eva spoke before her wife could finish the sentence, “She’ll be returning to Narnia. Decades separating her from the Pevensie siblings.”

Eva was correct. At the station, the location was painful as it was Lucy, Peter and Edmund’s last place they’d been alive. Ray disappeared to use the restroom, leaving the five teenagers to wait for the adult.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, rubbing a spot on your arm with a grimace. Your eyes glaring at your tall older brother, “Don’t pinch me!”

Alex shook his head, “I didn’t pinch you!”

“Luke!” Reggie squealed, jumping away from the guitarist with a pout on his full lips. The bassist rubbing his stinging cheek, “These cheeks are reserved for my Grannie!”

Luke scoffed at his friend, “Why would I risk the chance of you biting off my finger Reginald?”

“We have bigger problems than whose pinching us! I’m losing my damn mind! First three himbos fall out of nowhere, then a girl trips out a magic wardrobe and now this!” Julie snapped, staring at their environment in the train station tunnel, “I need to be committed!”

You watched breathlessly as a strong gale storm literally tore pieces of the train and the walls of the station apart. Through the train windows, you watched as a bright blue sky increasingly grew. The colour is so clear and vivid in only one place you knew.

The train blew by. The wall behind you changed into stone—the floor into the sand.

“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, twirling around on the new scenery of a beach in what was supposed to be a train station. The poor male kept being thrown off-kilter since the alley in 1995.

You knew deep in your heart where you were. Especially when four people of different heights stood with their backs to you. One individual, the shortest, turns upon feeling eyes on her back. And at the same time, you spoke.

“Lucy!”

“Y/N!”

The two girls ran straight into each other’s arms sobbing in elation and relief at finally seeing each other after a long year apart. The seven additional people who joined the duo collapsed on the ground. Alex cleared his throat.

“Y/N? Are you going to intro-”

“That’s Queen Y/N.” Peter snapped towards the stranger with a pink sweater on. Peter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a man wear pink.

“That’s my sister.” Alex snapped, standing at his full six-foot height, pinning a glare on the other teenager. Peter scoffed in response. His face faltering upon finding your hand encased in a male shorter than the blonde.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Peter knew this man was the unseen third person that filled every conversation and room between Peter and Y/N. Peter was very much aware that you weren’t in love with him. He lived with the knowledge for a decade, pretending it was he that you deeply loved. Seeing the person holding your heart hurt.

“This is my brother Alex Mercer and our friends Julie Molina, Reggie Peters and my...this is Luke Patterson.” You gestured to each of them; the Puerto Rican musician shell shocked. Julie now knew why that talking lion you spoke of sounded familiar. Narnia had seen one other visitor years before Julie was born.

Rose Molina’s bedtime stories for her children involved a lion named Aslan and a magical wardrobe made from a special tree. Julie recalled the feeling Narnia birthed if in the world as Rose described it.

“Mercer as in...?” Edmund trailed off slowly.

“My horse. Yes. I guess subconsciously, I still remembered where I came from.”

“These are my friends Susan, Edmund, Lucy and...Peter.” You softly spoke of the eldest Pevensie. His blue eyes sadly meeting yours.

A fondness growing at the sight but a pain blossoming at the heartbreak in his features. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Peter had put two and two together on who Luke was to you. And while Peter desired to fight for you, he knew it was a lost cause; time cruelly separated you outside the world of Narnia. You both deserved happiness, so with great pain, Peter let you go.

“C’mon!” Lucy shouted, racing out of the cave on the bright sunny beach. The rest hot on the heels of the youngest member of the conjoined group. As you all goofed around on the beach, you told the Pevensie family all about Julie and the boys.

“Welcome to Narnia, my love.” You murmured to the boy that held your heart in his gentle hands. Luke Patterson beamed. He finally got the girl of his dreams and visited the place you hold dear.

The fun aspect of being in Narnia with both of your family came to a halt when you discovered the ruins. Cair Paravel had become a pile of broken stone and sadness. Not a single Narnian in the distance nor the Beavers or Mr. Tumnus.

“What?”

Julie and the boys’ presence became static in the background while the former Narnia royalty pursued through the ruins. They found the chessboard and the gifts Father Christmas gave them during the Winter Revolution.

Something clicked within Lucy as she almost robotically walked to each half-dead boy with her Cordial in hand. The room went silent as Lucy fed each phantom a drop of the medicinal potion. As soon as Alex closed his mouth, all three boys were enveloped in a blinding silver light.

And the true magic happened. For the first time in twenty-six years, three hearts began pumping blood. A previously frozen clock began beating to the sound of those hearts. The magic of Queen Lucy’s Cordial finished what Julie had started; the three formerly half head phantoms became living humans once more.

What a magical place the world of Narnia is.

(Above is the teacup and pot Luke uses in the Ancient Grounds coffee shop!)

Tag List(s) PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!

Julie and the Phantoms Taglist

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1 @writerinlearning @aiofheavenandhell @sageellsworth05 @link-102 @merceret @kexrtiz @biqherosix @lukewearingbeanies @dangersolns @soverignparker @omgdani17 @julessbrown

9-1-1 Taglist:

#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #peter pevensie imagines #narnia fics #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie #peter pevensie #luke jatp #jatp au #narnia imagines #narnia #jatp x narnia #caitsy and ash productions

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filthy-reckless-rp · 2 years

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♛ Spotted on the Upper East Side…

Name: Blair Waldorf Pronouns: She/Her Age: 19 years old Hometown: Upper East Side, NY Occupation: Sophomore at TBD College Social Status: Insider Faceclaim: Davika Hoorne

Who Is Blair?

“I’m not a stop along the way. I’m a destination.”

Blair Waldorf. Did you miss me? I missed you. Honestly, I can’t imagine the Upper East Side without you and I hope you feel the same way about me. I mean, sure, I’m a little hurt that you ever entertained Jesse Walker for a second but I can let bygones be bygones. Probably. I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself though. How is life out of Constance? You might no longer be the ‘queen bee’ of the school but I doubt you’ve left that attitude behind. You’ve always acted confident, self assured and in control of your own destiny. You know your own worth and won’t let anyone mess with you and live to tell the tale (unless they’re your besties). Smart, devious and cruel when the occasion calls for it, you’re unforgettable. Well, depending on whether or not Serena is around. Sorry- I know you’re friends again and I shouldn’t make fun. I’m sure you’re in control of everything as always, Blair. I just don’t think that’s going to last very long now. XOXO ---Gossip Girl

A Little Extra

Blair Waldorf has demanded to be treated like the queen she is from the moment she was born. She has always been the best. She has to be. Blair has worked harder and smarter than anyone else in her way and when that didn’t work, she wasn’t above playing dirty. Sometimes you have to scheme to get your way. Sometimes you have to break a few hearts to keep the status quo in check. It wasn’t easy being the Queen B of Constance Billard, you know. Blair had a lot riding on her shoulders and that was just her social life! On top of that, she had college to think about and then, naturally, world domination. Blair has always seen a very clear cut path for herself. There is a plan and she’d really rather stick to it. Blair won’t be made a fool of by anyone and so she’d made sure to guard her heart. Being close to her is a privilege that should not be taken for granted. Blair would rather burn the world to the ground than admit she was hurt, that she was heartbroken, even when she is.

It’s the Upper East Side’s worst kept secret that Blair has always been jealous of her best friend in the world, Serena van der Woodsen. Blair always tries so damn hard and Serena? Just breezes through life. Even Blair’s mom preferred Serena. The again, her mom would prefer a fresh shipment of couture gowns over Blair sometimes. Blair would never admit to feeling insecure or jealous so unfortunately, her feelings tend to come out in bitter and petty ways. When Serena left her though, Blair was devastated. She was heartbroken. And then she came back only for Blair to find out what she and Nate had done behind her back. Blair was furious and betrayed. She wanted to burn down the world. It took a lot of time, a lot of healing and apologizing for her to get to where she is today. The thing is, Serena, Nate and Chuck? They’re her real family. No matter how messed up and hurtful they can be, they’re hers and she’ll always love them. High school is over now though and Blair is going into her sophomore year of college. Her life is just beginning and everything is great. It’s. Great.

What Does Gossip Girl Have On Them?

Blair was worn down in a brief, foolish moment of empathy or whatever for Jesse Walker and his ridiculous ‘take down Gossip Girl’ idea. She ended up being a key player in the takedown. Not only did she help run the gossip well dry for GG, she agreed to throw a birthday party for none other than Dan Humphrey (bleugh) as a means to draw GG out. After all, who could resist something so absurd? So rife with the potential for drama. Anyway, it worked. Or so they thought. Blair wasn’t upset to see the back of GG. Now that’s she’s back though... It can only mean trouble.

Connections

Serena van der Woodsen - the best friend, the found family, the soulmate. Serena is the sunshine to Blair’s storm cloud. Serena keeps things fun and always reminds Blair of what she’s worth when she needs it. Serena is both the greatest friend in the world and the worst. It’s always going to be complicated but Blair loves her, always. And yes, B is totally cool with Serena-and-Nate, now. Yup.

Nate Archibald - the ex boyfriend. Blair and Nate had dated since the crib and he was the boy that B always dreamed that she would married. There was a time when all she wanted was to be a Waldorf-Archibald. Nate hurt her and maybe she’s not totally over that but she’s trying. They’re trying. After all, they’re the non-judging breakfast club. Bonded for life.

Chuck Bass - Chuck is the only person on the Upper East Side who truly appreciates and nurtures Blair’s devious side. There is no scheme like a Bass-Waldorf scheme. They’ve also been friends since the crib along with Serena and Nate.

Penelope Shafai, Kati Farkas, Bella Coates and Hazel Williams - the minions. Well, former minions. Well, friends. Blair knows they’re not in Constance anymore and is maybe trying to be a slightly better friend now. It comes and goes.

Jenny Humphrey - it was in a truly unexpected turn of events that Blair Waldorf ended up handing her crown down to a Humphrey. Begrudgingly, Jenny had earned it. And maybe it was time for something different. Jenny basically ditched the entire social hierarchy (ew) but each to their own.

#c: blair waldorf #t #ues #insider #sophomore #serena #nate #chuck #penelope #kati #bella #hazel #jenny #*

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emersonfreepress · 3 years

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ok ok in the spirit of community, how would the ros fair in a paintball war?

(referring to this ask! like the zombie au post this ended up making me think a lot 😅)

ohh... interesting, interesting... p sure the only paintball wars i’ve really seen were the ones featured in The League, Peep Show, and Community... but let me wrack my lil head...

ok, i ended up coming at this from multiple angles like the zombie au post 😅 always so much to consider in battle environments! and in the spirit of community, I'll stick with the individual player elimination style paintball match. in the woods with other e prep seniors. last one standing wins bragging rights

Gabe

Shooting skill | 6/10 - Experience with shooting and practice with Kile ofc

Stealthiness | 8/10 - He's done a fair amount of sneaking around during his after school activities, is super observant (or just paranoid lol), and naturally light on his feet. Good luck ambushing him.

Strategy | 8/10 - Strike deals. Do favors. Form alliances. Shoot 'em in the back once they’ve outlived their usefulness. ...What? It’s just paintball.

How does he win? | Graciously. Gabe likes winning, and especially via strategic manipulation, so it puts a smile on his face. And he's in a good mood so he treats a bunch of you to ice cream or smth 👀

How does he lose? | Slumps in frustration at being outwitted or taken off-guard, sulks about it for a little while. He's not that sore of a loser but needs time to lick his wounds and stop thinking of the different choices he could have made.

Kile

Shooting | 9 - The most accurate shooter of the cast and easily one of the best shots at E Prep. Lots of practice + talent

Stealth | 10 - They're stupid good at climbing trees and 100% consider that a valid method of ambushing their classmates. People start having flashbacks to 3rd and 4th grade recess and P.E. Scanning the trees. They just start taking people out with such efficiency it quickly starts ruining the game 😂

Strategy | 0? 10?? - “...Strategy? You just stay out of sight and kill 'em all, right?” (immediately scolded by Gabe for word choice 🙄) They really do mainly stay out of sight and pick people off with max stealth, like 😆 they'd be such a terror, people would need to take them out early for anyone else to stand a chance! They spend a lot of the game staking out the most frequented paths in the area and taking out groups quickly, all at once. Then they'll get around to stalking and picking people off one by one. The real fun...

Winner type | Stoic. Likes winning combat but the stakes were non-existent, so... the win is meaningless! this just infuriates the losers more 😅 such disrespect

Loser type | Sucks their teeth and tosses their paintball gun to the ground. "Y'all suck." (they're over it five mins later tho lol)

Jack

Shooting | 3 - This is nothing like shooting light guns... ☹️

Stealth | 5 - Not just due to his size making him an easier target, but homeboy is liable to get distracted by a cute squirrel or some pretty flowers 😂 He's not great at keeping his voice down either so good conversation would make him easy to seek out. He's just out here enjoying a beautiful day 😅

Strategy | 7 - All that movie-watching (and DMing) make him a valuable creative mind for problem-solving, but he needs a cooperative team to be effective. Rescued and recruited by Rupan/Rohan early on in the game ^ ^

Winner type | Disbelief! And everyone’s content and satisfied with him winning. Except Vivian/Vincent, that jealous fool

Loser type | Doesn't mind losing at all! He just hopes he was a good teammate and was glad to have fun ☺️

Jessie

Shooting | 7 - Comes from a family of hunters, girly knows how to shoot.

Stealth | 6 - Familiar enough with woods and stalking prey to be capable of sneaking around. Having too much fun to not giggle and get overly invested in the developing plot of the game. Even more easily distracted by critters and flora than Jack 😅

Strategy | 5 - Oh, she's just here to have fun. She'll go with whatever the person she's teaming up with decides, but can adapt easily enough.

Winner type | Surprised... then elated! Bouncing and happy and it's completely contagious. No hard feelings about a single thing. Convinces Heidi to invite people to the Emerson Estate—it's a hot day and they have a nice pool

Loser type | Same as Jack! Congratulates the winner with a hug because she's sweet like that 🧁

Rain

Shooting | 2 - This... thing is so cumbersome. And ugly. At least it shoots pretty colors.

Stealth | 7 - Small and used to sneaking around different environments and seeking out hiding spots. Their height and frame makes them harder to spot too.

Strategy | 4 - Hide!!! They’re not getting assaulted with paint and pellets!! Especially not after managing to make this ugly jumpsuit look cute?? Waiting it out is perfectly legitimate. Might share snacks if you decide to join them in hiding 😆

Winner type | Falls asleep in an unexpectedly cozy hiding spot and emerges as everyone thought they’d declared the winner. I imagine R and others yelling at them to get their gun while the original winner scrambles to get theirs, just for Rain to win by pure luck of the draw. Won’t stop them bragging about it, though! (I want this spurned runner-up to be Vi bc ofc)

Loser type | "So I can stop holding this thing?" Yawn. "I'm so hungry and bored, we've been at this for hours..."

Rupan/Rohan

Shooting | 4 - Ah, shit. These don't shoot anything like light guns.

Stealth | 7 - They sneak out and around town a lot 😂 They just force themself to be careful about how loud grass and bushes are.

Strategy | 7 - They’re treating this shit like an action movie and banding together a ragtag team of misfits to take down the strongest alliances and players. Savvy enough to reject Gabe’s and Curt’s offers to join, not opposed to strategic backstabs. They're very clearly just as focused on having fun as they are on winning—and playing Predator, which honestly works with Kile runnin around. They even brought war paint and borrowed a tactical vest. Is it mostly packed with snacks and weed? Maybe. Does it prove useful for negotiations? Hell yeah.

Winner type | Raucous celebration, just pure joy and adrenaline ☺️ Celebrates with their team, brags a bit, rubs it into Vi's face, makes fun of Curt, the usual. Then invites allies out to get pizza because it's the obvious next step

Loser type | Mostly disappointed they can't keep playing. They're a little sore about being left out of the action, but soon just start chatting with other marked players about how the game went for them. Plenty entertaining on its own, they want all the details

Vivian/Vincent

Shooting | 5 - They've got a little bit of shooting experience.

Stealth | 4 - They're overly sensitive and hate being in nature. Their skin is sticky, they keep feeling bugs everywhere, they've gotten dirt all over their pants, it's so hot, they keep WALKING into SPIDERWEBS, [flails about, screaming furiously]

Strategy | 8 - They have good ideas, they're just difficult to execute alone, especially since they're getting sunburnt and getting crankier and can't stop swatting at insects 😅 they're one of the first people to figure out that someone's taking out groups from the trees, so they stay solo and try to find a single person to team up with. Really what they need is someone who's a better shot but easy to boss around. They can probably just owe them for an in-school favor...

Winner type | Barely suppressed gloating. Vi somehow finds a way to be an obnoxious winner almost entirely by the look on their face. Once they're in a smaller group, they're passionately discussing the details of the game and happily boasting about their triumphs (while glossing over all of the whining and and slip-ups lol)

Loser type | Booo, such a sore loser. (Especially in the scenario where Rain wins 🤣) If they're outsmarted or outgunned in a clear, transparent way they'll growl and stomp off, then quietly glower and sulk for way too long. If they're double-crossed or beaten in an underhanded way oh lord —they're fighting it to the end. R can't help but get involved either way, reminding them it was a damn game with literally no prize. "C'mon, Vi, chill. You want ice cream? Let's get you ice cream."

Heidi

Shooting | 6 - Some shooting experience.

Stealth | 8 - She's very aware of her surroundings and her body. Perceptive yet quiet. Tactical. All residual traits picked up from her many activities over the years.

Strategy | 9 - Most likely to outsmart everyone. The first one to figure out groups are being targeted from the trees. Goes it alone and only open to trading (unless she sees Curt with Jess in which case she puts a quick pin in her plans to rescue her 😂). She also immediately figures out it's Kile, because ofc it is. Keeps close tabs on what groups are doing, knowing that eventually Kile will come down to ground level to pick off individuals and couples. Predator becomes prey 👀

Winner type | Proud but not boasting. She doesn't need to be. Victory looks good on her, natural and fitting. Thanks everyone for a good game then takes the girls for a long ride in the Cadillac 😎 top down on a bright day, baby

Loser type | Damn. She should have won this. Maybe if she'd... She probably could have... Then she snaps out of it, roped in by the celebratory mood of congratulating the winner. She's over any feelings of frustration or regret after getting to discuss the match with the person that took her out/the winner and there's no hard feelings. If anything this was fun as hell, it should be an annual thing. ☺️

Curt

Shooting | 8 - Some shooting experience and a natural knack for it. Good reflexes.

Stealth | 8 - Curt likes to say he gets along with the woods around these parts. Sneaking around is second nature to him. Really good hearing too. He's an easy target if you manage to seduce him though, having no issue leaving himself vulnerable if it means that kind of fun 😂

Strategy | 7 - Honestly, he's most interested in seeing how long he can get away with using charm and seduction for both protection and double-crossing 😂 Eventually becomes persona non grata and gets all of his ammo stolen by a vengeful mark, barely getting away in the process. Since that jig is up, he finally starts thinking a win might be nice... and so he teams up with the only competent player who would never betray him and also inspires the least vitriol in others: Jessie. What? Is his back-up plan using her as a human shield? No! 😚 Of course not! 👉👈

Winner type | Insufferable and gloating. Rubs it in a lot of people's faces, specifically Heidi, Rupan/Rohan, and any participants who genuinely don't like him. Brags to Gabe (who is completely disinterested in gassing him up 😂), then promises he'll make things up to Jessie (who didn't mind and had fun lol). Then celebrates by asking whoever he's flirting with these days for a quick date—and a ride in the Ferrari. Makes a scene pulling out of the parking lot. Ass.

Loser type | Doesn't care one bit as long as he had fun! And he always finds a way to have fun, it's why he's so carefree 😅

#lovely anon #answered #ROs #scenarios #someone pls confirm that kile is using paint pellets thx #I can totally see myself writing this out as a an actual short story 😂#maybe as a kofi reward whenever I get that set up 🤞🏾#I don't think any of these are incomplete...

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sherwoodknights · 4 years

Text

Me?? Over-analysing The Scarlet Pimpernel??? Its more likely than you think

So, surprise surprise, I was rereading the scarlet pimpernel in hopes of getting any tiny bit of inspiration for The Lady Of The League, and instead, I, of course decided to over-analyse it and came up with a lil theory about our very own Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet.

Bear in mind that this is just a nerd rambling, I'm probably very wrong-

Also idk how much of a "theory" this is. It's more of a "my brain worked overtime and wouldn't let me rest until I wrote this down and forced it upon my mutuals and followers"

So it's well established within the canon of the Scarlet Pimpernel that Percy stops any suspicion of him being the Pimpernel by hiding himself behind the facade of a brainless, foppish idiot. Which is a very important point, as it's how he manages to keep himself safe for so long.

Even more important is the fact that everyone believes it. His act works, and practically everyone in England remains convinced that Percy Blakeney is just an idiot who managed to marry 'the cleverest woman in Europe' somehow.

But clearly, Percy isn't the idiot he pretends to be. He is, of course, the titular Pimpernel, who is intelligent enough to rescue countless aristocrats from death, to plan escapes very quickly, and just to generally outwit Chauvelin and the French constantly. This is common knowledge to pimpernel fans, of course, so why is Jess basically regurgitating the whole first novel?

Because I have a question:

Why does everyone in England genuinely believe that Percy is a completely incompetent fop?

It's something that I don't think many people really think about. The explanation we are offered in the book is that for the purpose of hiding any association with the Pimpernel and his League, Percy goes out of his way to play the idiot. And that's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. I know I accepted it unquestionably during my earliest experience with the Scarlet Pimpernel.

But I personally think that it's deeper than this. And that's where my dumb, over-thinking analysis fandom brain kicked in, and started to construct this idea.

So let's start with what we know about Percy Blakeney from the book. Throughout his introduction in chapter 6, titled 'An Exquisite of `92', a point is made of the way he is perceived by English society.

"He, the sleepiest, dullest, most British Britisher to ever set a pretty woman yawning"

"the 'cleverest woman in Europe' had linked her fate to that 'demmed idiot' Blakeney"

"Every one knew that he was hopelessly stupid"

"But then Blakeney was really too stupid to notice the ridicule"

Each is a direct quote from the chapter. So clearly, there is a certain way that he is seen by everyone. And he accepts it. More than this, he plays himself into this view they have, for the sake of his own ends.

But nobody ever explains where this image of Percy comes from, and why it is practically just a fact that he is remarkably stupid.

The book is set in 1792, and the revolution began in 1789. The mass execution of aristocrats didn't come straight away, and Percy and his friends certainly weren't lying in wait for all of this to happen. So at most, Percy has been rescuing people for some time more than a year, and has been married to Marguerite for around a full year of that time. So for Percy to be so well-known by England, he's probably been known to them for longer than he's been Pimpernel-ing.

So why do they believe that he's so incompetent? Surely, if he was as clever as the reader knows he truly is, people would notice if he suddenly turned into a brainless fool for no reason.

Unless they never considered that he was intelligent in the first place.

Which is a weird thought, right? When we clearly know that he is clever. But then it starts to make more sense if you start to consider his history, specifically his mother and what happened to her.

"Although lately he had been so prominent a figure in fashionable English society, he had spent most of his early life abroad. His father, the late Sir Algernon Blakeney, had had the terrible misfortune of seeing an idolised young wife become hopelessly insane after two years of happily married life. Percy had just been born when the late Lady Blakeney fell a pray to the terrible malady which in those days was looked upon as hopelessly incurable and nothing short of a curse of God upon the entire family. Sir Algernon took his afflicted wife abroad, and there presumably Percy was educated, and grew up between an imbecile mother and a distracted father, until he attained his majority. The death of his parents following close upon one another left him a free man, and as Sir Algernon had led a forcibly simple and retired life, the large Blakeney fortune had increased tenfold."

So, there's a lot to unpack here. But the basics come down to the fact that just after Percy was born, an unnamed illness affected his mother's mind, and his father took the family out of England to some unnamed place, which is where Percy would then grow up.

And this is where things started to form for me. We don't know how quiet this whole thing was kept, but it does seem to be told to us as though it was common knowledge, and later on in the book, when Marguerite comes across a portrait of Percy's mother in his study, we find out that she knows what happened to her as well. And then another line from Percy's introduction in chapter 6 jumped out to me on rereading it.

"but then that was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that all the Blakeneys, for generations, had been notoriously dull and that his mother had died an imbecile."

This tells us that Percy is already at a disadvantage if he wishes to be seen as intelligent.

He has to contend with the fact that his family is know to be dull, and bland, and boring people, and on top of that, he also has to contend with the fact that at least some people know that his mother lost her mind, for one reason or another.

And then you start to consider Percy himself. He was raised and educated abroad. He was more than likely raised by paid servants and hired hands who knew very little of the expectations of an English society gentleman, and his parents, who did know what was expected, were unavailable and occupied by the goings-on.

So that's what we have to consider: Percy was inexperienced in an upper-class English society. He probably had very little idea of what to expect from others, and what others, in turn, would expect from him. And then, when his parents died, he suddenly found himself inheriting a title, and lands with an estate, and a place in this society he had never known.

So when he inevitably returns, what can he do? He won't know many people, and therefore, he won't have many people to learn from. He will be the outsider, the boy who didn't grow up in England, the one who doesn't know how to fit in.

So it starts to come together.

We're told that after his parents passed away, he travelled abroad a lot. But he more than likely would have returned to England at least once, to see his estate, to acquaint himself with a world he will now have to navigate and live in. And when he does, the image of Sir Percy Blakeney that England has begins to form.

There is already the image of the previous members of the Blakeney family, who are known for being "notoriously dull"

There is the whole history of Percy growing up with an "imbecile mother"

And now, he returns to England and joins society with no idea what to do

And so the image forms.

They label him as this fool, as this brainless fop who knows more about fashion than he does about the world. And because he has no way of knowing how to show them that he is in fact intelligent, he accepts it. He takes the role they have given him to play, and he lives it.

Because when he is Percy Blakeney, the idiot who will laugh at everything, who will lead England in its fashion, he is accepted, and he has a place.

And then, enter the revolution. Percy finds himself wanting to do something, and he becomes the famous Scarlet Pimpernel. And he realises that this image of him can be used to protect his life, and that of his most loyal friends and followers in the League.

So I propose the theory to you; Percy did not become the brainless fop to hide himself. Instead, he, in his unseen cleverness, used what people knew and expected of him to deflect suspicion.

And that's why it worked so perfectly. Because in order to hide in plain sight, he didn't have to change a thing about himself.

~~~~

So there we have it! A long, probably very useless rant that will probably never help anyone, but if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed my take!

Once again, this is just an idea I had about Percy, I'm not claiming it to be canon, I'm probably looking way too deep into this, but I thought I'd share it with y'all

#the scarlet pimpernel #scarlet pimpernel musical #Percy Blakeney #The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel #long post #theory time #ig?? idk #is this meta?#Idk whether this counts as meta #I have ✨obsession problems✨#Sorry Percy bro #You probably didn't need me to deep dive into ur life my man #but here i am anyway

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Iron 12 (Peter Parker x Fem!Oc)

A/N: Now let's start with Avengers! Getting closer to seeing Peter, lol.

I know, I know...

Words: 1,593

Masterlist:

Post-credits scene II / Chapter 13

“Good to go on this end. The rest is up to you,” says Tony from the other end of the call.

"You diconnected the transmission lines?" Pepper asks. "Are we off the grid?"

"Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy.”

"Well, assuming the arc reactor takes over and it actually works,” She continues

"I assume,” answers Tony. "Light her up.”

The huge sign forms a Stark when the lights come on.

"How does it look?"

"Like Christmas, but more... me.”

“Us!" says Lily after listening to the boring conversation between the two adults.

“We’ve got to go wider on the public awareness campaign. You need to do some press. I'm in DC tomorrow, I'm working on the zoning for the next three buildings,” says Pepper.

"That sounds so boring,” Lily complains walking to the couch, leaving her legs swinging on the armrest.

“I agree with the girl. Pepper, you're killing me. The moment, remember? Enjoy the moment.”

"Get in here and I will,” replies the redhead with a smile.

“Ew," adds Lily.

Since Tony and Pepper are finally together, they can't help but be more affectionate than normal, unfortunately the girl always has to interrupt them. She already has enough trauma.

When Tony reaches the tower, he walks on a platform where several robotic hands are responsible for removing the Iron Man suit.

The redhead continues to see the levels projected in the holograms. She leans back on the desk, waiting for Tony.

"Levels are holding steady… I think.”

Tony comes to her side, they talk, and then discuss the percentage of the great success of the reactor. All while Lily continues to get bored on the couch. The adults sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, surrounded by the armchairs, along with two glasses of champagne.

Blah, blah, blah, elevator, blah, blah, blah, money, blah, blah, percentage.

Lily sighs exaggeratedly to get their attention. They both stop talking and Tony watches her.

"Oh sorry, are we bothering you?"

Pepper purses her lips to keep from laughing.

"Actually yes,” the girl sits up. “I'm supposed to be able to do more things, go out more often.”

"And you did it.”

"From the house to the tower does not count, Dad,” She answers. "It's the same as before, only in another prison…”

"Don't exaggerate,” answers Tony. She sighs and falls back onto the cushions. “I don't understand why you’re bored. We’ve just made a breakthrough for the company.”

“One, your company. Two, I did nothing, just watched percentages, values, holograms. Bored!"

"I thought you liked that," adds Pepper.

"I want to do something else.”

"Like what, Smarty?"

"What about an Iron Man suit for me?" She says turning her head towards them.

Tony laughs out loud.

"It wont happen.”

"I had to try it…”

"Sir, the telephone," Jarvis interrupts. "I'm afraid my protocols are being overridden.”

"Mr. Stark, we need to talk,” says a male voice. Tony takes the phone from him.

"That sounds interesting," says Lily.

“You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message,” He pretends to be an answering machine looking at the screen, making Lily and Pepper laugh.

"This is urgent.”

"Then leave it urgently.”

But the elevator doors open, revealing Agent Coulson.

"This just keeps getting better,” says Lily. It had been a long time since they had seen Phil.

"Don't get excited kid. Security breach,” Tony complains.

"Phil, come in!" says Pepper getting up.

Tony looks confused at his girlfriend and follows her to where the agent is.

"I can't stay," answers Phil. He looks towards the couch where Lily greets him. "Hi, Lily.”

"His first name is Agent,” says Tony a little annoyed, but then he fakes a smile.

"We need you to look this over as soon as possible,” says Phil offering him a device.

Pepper is in charge of exchanging the device for his champagne glass, until it reaches Tony's hand.

"Official consulting hours are between eight and five, every other Thursday—”

"This isn’t a consultation," replies Phil.

"Now what did we do?" Lily asks, rising from the couch.

"Is this about the Avengers?" Pepper asks, then adds quickly. "Which I know nothing about.”

Tony opens the device in such a way that he reveals only a touch screen, he gestures to Lily and they both walk to a desk in the back.

"The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought — And I did not qualify," He huffs.

"I did!”

Tony looks at her.

"Who told you that?"

“Nat," She smiles.

"I didn't know that either," continues Pepper.

"Apparently I'm volatile, self-obsessed, don't play well with others…”

“Bingo," says Lily.

"That I did know.”

"This isn’t about personality profile anymore,” replies Phil.

“Whatever," says Toy looking at the screen.

"What are we watching?" Lily asks, as her father obstructs her vision.

"Wait, Ms Potts, got a second?" The redhead obeys.

Tony enters some codes.

"You know, I thought we were having a family moment," He complains.

"I was having 12% of a moment.”

"Oh, not this again,” says Lily

The pair try to argue again, but Pepper changes the subject.

"What is all this?”

“This is… this.”

Lily walks to see each screen, where the profiles of some people are shown. Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Thor.

Pepper sighs. "I'm going to take the jet to DC tonight,” She says.

“Tomorrow," corrects Tony. They both talk, but Lily's attention is still in the files.

"Lily?" says the redhead and the girl turns. "I have to go."

Lily walks up to her and hugs her tightly.

"Be careful,” the little girl whispers when they part. Pepper nods, strokes her black hair and kisses her forehead. She then goes back to Phil.

"Wait, so who am I staying with?" asks the girl looking at her father. The three adults share a look. "Jess is in class, Happy’s busy and you’ll go,” She points to Pepper.

“Actually…” Coulson begins.

"I'll find a babysitter," Tony interrupts.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sir. For this we need both Starks.”

"What?" say Tony, Pepper and Lily at the same time.

"They need me? Me?" Lily asks in disbelief. She feels a tickling start in her hands, but this time she controls it and hides her hands behind her back.

"No, Phil, it's dangerous for a ten-year-old girl," says the Redhead.

"I thought she was on probation," adds Tony.

“Our base will be surrounded by qualified and knowledgeable agents to ensure Ms. Stark's protection. Besides, it’s only a search, in case the situation changes, she’ll be taken to Miss Potts immediately.”

Lily's gaze moves between the agent and her father repeatedly, waiting for an answer.

“What do you need her for? Specifically,” says Tony.

"Director Fury thinks two Starks are better than one,” He tries to joke. "His words, not mine, but everything’s explained in the files.”

"Is this really happening?" Lily asks to no one in particular. “Someone finally heard my complaints!”

“Hey, calm your sugar. I won't let you go alone like this,” Tony warns.

"So, can I go?”

Tony groans. He senses Pepper's confused look, but he ignores it. Even he doesn't know if this is a good idea, but the fact that the super agents need his daughter makes him curious, and he has a feeling that if he doesn't accept, they’ll try to get it some other way and that's worse.

The redhead sighs in defeat, waiting for Tony to have everything under control. Although that’s not common in him. She now must worry about both of them, but at least has the assurance that Phil will be around. She just hopes she doesn't regret it later.

"Please, stay safe,” She finally says to them, then he returns to Phil and the two leave the Stark tower.

Lily watches them until she's alone with her father. She turns to meet the man holding a hologram of a blue cube.

"What's that?"

"We'll find out soon,” He returns the hologram to the screen and looks down at her. "I'll prepare coffee and chocolate, you and I will find ourselves reading and talking about the new rules of the game."

"New Rules? I'm not six years old anymore, dad.”

He sighs and makes a face.

"These rules are not in case you break something, Lily,” He looks directly into her eyes. “You heard Coulson. We’ll be surrounded by agents, spies trained to do whatever they are ordered to do. And at some point that order can harm us.”

"But Mr. Fury-"

“I know we have given them permission for certain things like your training, but it was all happening under my watch and Jarvis's. This time we’ll have to go to them, and that’s a problem.”

She frowns, analyzing that information.

“But Nat and Phil… They wouldn't do something like that.”

"I don't know, Kid. We can’t take anything for granted.”

"It's not easy and anyone can fool you, Lils." She remembers Nat's words during her training. In the end she nods towards her father.

"So what do I have to do?"

“Pretend that everything’s fine, but you have to stay alert and try not to get too far away from me. I don’t know the real reason why they want you in this, but you should not believe everything they tell you.”

"This will be more complicated than I thought," She adds with a grimace.

"Don't worry,” He offers his hand. "You and I are smarter than they are.” Lily holds his hand.

Taglist:

@silenthappyplace @yourbonesareinmybody @aylauwuuniverse @skittles-skittles @hufflepuffzutara @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs @heavenlymistakes @my-love-of-books @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

#Iron #Peter parker fanfction?#Peter Parker #Peter parker x oc #Peter parkerx reader #Avengers #Avengers fanfic #Marvel #Marvel fanfic #Tony Stark #Stark!reader #Bruce Banner #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Thor #thegangishere

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cinderelliee · 4 years

Text

My final character opinions before Chain of Iron...

Just finished my reread of Chain of Gold ahead of Tuesday’s release!!! I am posting my thoughts/opinions of the main cast so that after Chain of Iron I can see how or if my feelings change. Spoilers: most of my opinions are going to be that I don’t know enough about them lmao. I love the big cast of characters, but that unfortunately also means less time is spent on each one.

Disclaimer: I know that I love some characters that people hate and vice versa. My intention is not to start anything, but more to be more open about what I think about the characters. It’s okay to disagree and just because I say I don’t like a character, it does not mean I believe they are badly written...

Alastair Carstairs:

One of my favorites of the series, and possibly TSC as a whole (let’s see how the series goes first). I love him so much and I can’t wait to see how his story goes. I love that he keeps everyone at arms length and pushes everyone away, but he would also go to any length for the people he loves. I think he has a gift of being able to see people as they are, and notice things others don’t. Probably why he was the one, not Cordelia, who saw what was wrong with his father and kept it from his sister. I’m sure he used to look up to his father like Cordelia did, but instead suffered great disappointment when he learned the truth. And then when he went to the academy, finally having some time away from it, all he found was more disappointment. He did what he thought he had to to survive. And I think along the way he sort of lost himself.

I do think Alastair should make amends with the Merry Theives, but less for their sake and more for his own. I think his journey is more about finding and forgiving himself. There are other ways to live and survive than hurting anyone who gets too close to you. I think he started that journey in Chain of Gold when he dyed his hair back to black and broke up with Charles. But fixing yourself is easier said than done, it’s not one choice, but something that you strive for everyday. His journey actually reminds me a lot of Matthew’s; they have a lot in common and I think their paths will parallel each other’s. I also think Thomas will be a catalyst for Alastair’s growth, as well as a helping hand.

I can’t wait to see his dynamic with the characters this next book as he tries to return to his true self. It’ll be interesting to see how his relationship with Elias plays out too.

Anna Lightwood:

I really like Anna so far. I think she’s very unique and exciting. I love how dedicated she is to being true to herself, but at the same time cares deeply about her loved ones and shows it. Often times I feel like characters like her often act like they’re above showing affection towards their family, so I was pleasantly surprised when she wasn’t. This is probably because her parents love and support her, so she never had to scorn familial love.

Romantic love is a different thing. Now, my two pieces about her life style is: why don’t we all just have a good time. I know there’s some people who didn’t like that she called her many partners ‘conquests’ and that she had a little black book. But I didn’t really see that criticism until recently and I’m confused as to what people thought Anna was doing? Would they rather her not keep track and forget them all? It’s perfectly healthy to explore your sexuality as long as you aren’t harming yourself or others. I know Anna is seen as older, but she is still only 19 (I think? 20 at most right?). She’s still on her journey to figuring out who she is. She is a bit self-centered and definitely privileged (see her relationship with Ariadne), but if she didn’t have flaws there would be nowhere for her to grow from. I highly doubt Anna will be living her seductress lifestyle by the end of the series

Personally, I cannot wait to see how her relationship with Ariadne plays out. Hopefully Anna will have some healthy confrontation with how she reacted to her heartbreak and why. Anyway, Anna is definitely one of my favorites.

Ariadne Bridgestock:

She seems like an interesting character, and I like how she’s not afraid to go after what she wants. I’d like to know a little more about her past and motivations. I also think she’s in a really difficult situation with her family and who she is/wants to be. I think she made a really understandable choice when she engaged Charles, and I support her journey in winning Anna back (I don’t not agree with the people who judged her for not backing off from Anna. She is fighting for who she loves and we are all fools in love). I think she has a lot of potential, but I can’t quite say that I like her yet since she’s probably the character we know the least about.

Charles Fairchild:

No opinion. I don’t love or hate him. No feelings whatsoever. The only thing I care about is the possible drama he will cause for Alastair and Thomas or the Clave as a whole lmao

Christopher Lightwood:

This boy is great! I have no complaints about him at all. He is precious. Honestly I’d just like to see more from him! His lines always make me chuckle. Also I’m not convinced that he would be able to create a antidote before the Silent Brothers would’ve been able to. But whatever, it’s just a story so who cares.

Cordelia Carstairs:

I just think she’s really neat. She is a fantastic protagonist and definitely on her way to becoming my favorite TSC lead, other than Tessa, obviously. I love her strength, kindness, relentless resilience, and how headstrong she is. I think it’s hilarious how straightforward she is. There’s so many scenes where she just says exactly what she’s thinking and just surprises everyone around her because they underestimated her or never expected her to so forcefully share her opinions. I adore her relationships with everyone. Her and Lucie are adorable. Her relationship with Alastair is so sweet and watching them rebuild their relationship was one of my favorite parts of the book, and definitely something I’m looking forward to. Matthew and Cordelia’s relationship is one of my favorites from the book; I love how they challenge and surprise each other (I think they could learn a lot from each other). Her interactions with the Merry Theives in general are perfect.

One thing I will say is there just wasn’t enough of her. I was very surprised when I read it that James and her were basically co-protagonists. I didn’t expect James to have such a prominent role, usually the split between the girl and boy lead is 60/40 at most, but this felt more like a 50/50 split. I just would’ve prefered more from Cordelia I guess, but that’s just me.

Grace Blackthorn:

So at first I was neutral towards Grace. I didn’t care about her at all, but after I came online and saw how many people hated her and acted like her was a villain, I started liking her more. She obviously is a victim of her mother’s manipulation and she doesn’t want to do what she’s doing to James. It’s clear to me that she is doing what she can to survive and to help her brother, the only person she truly cares about. Since she is also one of the few characters that it’s unclear where her story is going to end up, I am curious to see how her story goes.

I know there’s some people who just wanted her to be a villain, and I totally get that. But I feel like if she was, we would get a less complex character. Cassie’s villains, with the exception of Jonathan perhaps, tend to be one dimensional (which is fine because that’s not the reason I read her books anyways!). I also don’t really think she needs much of a redemption arc because she’s just trying to survive.

James Herondale:

This is where I’m going to get a little unpopular. I don’t love James, BUT I don’t hate him either. I am just not interested in where his story goes at all. I think I get what Cassie’s goal was with his character. He doesn’t have Will and Jace’s dark past and he’s not a morally grey bad boy like Julian. James is caring and sweet and noble and has a good family and I can totally see why people like him. For me, he still fills the same exact role that I’ve seen, not just from Cassie, but other YA books as well, and I’m just tired of it. His motivations are doing whatever he can to protect his loved ones and doing things because they are the right thing to do. He is willing to lay down his life for the greater good. I just can’t see anything about him that feels new. The only times I’ve felt anything towards him is when Jem, Cordelia, or Matthew were making me feel something for him.

It could be because I don’t really care for Cassie’s plots and his arc is so heavily involved with all the Prince of Hell stuff. And the bracelet just pisses me off in a bad way. The solution to it is so simple that it just frustrates me, but does not intrigue me at all. I will say I like him better with the bracelet off so I’m hoping in stays off this next book so I can enjoy his POV a little more. I really want to like him, but I just don’t connect with him at all. I wish Cassie had come up with something other than the bracelet as well.

Jesse Blackthorn:

Imma be honest: at the moment I don’t really care about Jesse either. I don’t know enough about him. But it seems like we’re gonna get more from him this next book so I’m reserving my judgement until then. In Chain of Gold I noticed most of his scenes were pretty expository or he was passing along information, but we never really got to know much about him. Hopefully I will like him in Chain of Iron though!

Lucie Herondale:

I really like Lucie so far! My favorite part about her is that she is so practical, but also able to loose herself in whimsical fantasies. She is totally 100% Tessa and Will’s child!! I don’t have much to say other than I love what I’ve gotten from her so far, but I just need a little bit more to connect with her. I’m hoping Chain of Iron really explores her darker side and her motivations. I kinda have a feeling this next book will either make or break my opinion of her.

Matthew Fairchild:

Anyone who has been following me for a while now could probably guess that Matthew is my favorite from TLH. I don’t know what it says about me, but I relate to him on a personal level. Although I haven’t made the same mistakes he has, (thank heavens for that!) I do know how he feels. I do know what it’s like to have something happen, that’s completely your fault, and have it change your life into something completely different than you thought it would be. I have made a lot of posts about him so if you want more in depth details, they are on my blog.

I’m just going to say that, very similar to Alastair, I think that Matthew has a lot of amends to make, to everyone in his life. And his journey is what I look forward to the most. He’s made a lot of mistakes, huge ones, and I know it’ll probably get worse before it gets better. But I hope his story isn’t going to be as sad as everyone believes, (I don’t think it will be, since a vast majority of Cassie’s characters eventually get happen endings) it just means a lot to me that his character doesn’t end up a tragedy. Like I said before his relationship with Cordelia is something I am really looking forward to. And his relationship with his family as well.

I love him your honor. *if I loved him less I may have been able to talk about him more*

Thomas Lightwood:

I really like Thomas!!! I favorite thing about him is that he can so easily see the beautiful and worth in everyone and everything (which makes him perfect for Alastair!). I love how gentle and kind he is. So far what I have seen from him has been so great. And how he was able to carrying on despite his sister’s death and then Christopher’s illness was really admirable. But I’m going to say for him as I’ve said for most: I want to see more from him!!! I have faith that his and Alastair’s relationship with be the best part of the book, so I have high hopes!

Okay!!! I think that’s everyone!! Let me know what you think?? Do you agree or disagree! I would love to get into some discussions with people to pass the time until the release!! If anyone wants to make their own post, please tag me!! I’d love to see!!! Do you think I have enough ‘!!!!!!!!!’?

#Anna Lightwood #ariadne bridgestock #Charles fairchild #Matthew Fairchild #cordelia carstairs #alastair carstairs #James herondale #Christopher Lightwood #Thomas Lightwood #Grace blackthorn #Jesse blackthorn #Lucie Herondale #chain of gold #chain of iron #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

who’s my commander

pairing: no pairing

word count: 3352

summary: you’re introducing anakin to your battalion and it turns into a nightmare of epic proportions (for him). everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves.

a/n: based on the finest pieces of comedy in history, abbot and costello’s “who’s on first”. the clones are all original & will soon give more information about them, don’t worry.

jones lands the laat/i on the surface of felucia and you’re already dreading the idea of leaving your men here. it has nothing to do with the man you’re entrusting them to and everything to do with the cursed reputation this planet has for its hostility. if you weren’t leaving your men behind you’d be glad to leave.

the doors opened unceremoniously and you were barely adjusted to the light when you saw members of the five-oh-first approaching you behind their general. “anakin, it’s been too long! how are you?”

he smiles and takes your hand in one of his. “i’ve been worse, my friend. now i’d like you to introduce me to your command team, since none of us have worked together before.”

rex, who was standing at anakin’s right, knew what was about to happen. many of the lavender-clad men of the 25th battalion were known for being jokers back in their cadet days and had a reputation for such all around the gar. nearly a third were banned from 79’s for their well-meaning antics and when they were around, everyone was guaranteed to have a good time (if they had a sense of humor, that is).

the names of their higher-ranking officers, however, were the best and longest-running prank any clone had ever seen. it started out as a way to piss off the longnecks but it soon evolved to a new, unforeseen method to screw with the seppies.

and now, it was going to mind fuck one of the best generals in the republic army.

“absolutely, but i will warn you, sometimes our men give themselves funny names.” it’s hard work to keep your voice from betraying the joke. you’ve done this song and dance often and it never stops being funny. this time, you hope one of your men are close enough to record this one. “names like crappemm, jort-“

“jort?”

“yes, and his batchmate ba.”

“i see.”

how was “jort” the one that stuck out?

anakin nods and you smile. He probably doesn’t believe the names you rattled off are actual men in your battalion but he’ll learn soon enough when your men begin to make sheep noises that you weren’t joking.

“anyway, who’s my commander, what’s my captain, and i don’t know is my sergeant.”

the dumbfounded look you’re given by your fellow general almost sends you into the force right then and there. “that’s... what i want to find out.”

“so listen then. who’s my commander, what’s my captain, and i don’t know is my sergeant.” you don’t need the force to see that anakin’s men are enjoying the confusion radiating from him, his second in command stepping out of anakin’s line of vision so he can bring a hand to his head in amused exasperation.

“are you their general?”

“yes.”

“have you been their general since the start of the war?”

“yes.”

“yet you don’t know their names?!”

“well i should.”

more men from both the twenty-fifth and the five-oh-first have gathered to witness the mind boggling conversation between their generals. over rex’s shoulder you see two five-oh-first troopers enthusiastically eating from a bag of air-combusted kernels popular on coruscant. now that you think about it, it’s been too long since you enjoyed the snack. you’d have to find some next time your men are on leave.

“so then who’s your commander?”

“yes.” he’s right but he just didn’t realize it yet. ‘this is going to be fun… if he doesn’t fight me before i leave.’

“i mean the man’s name.”

“who.”

“your commander?”

“who.”

“the trooper that is your second in command!”

“who.”

rex turns to the commander in question. he had found his way to rex’s side where the latter now stood slightly behind anakin, discretely staying out of his general’s peripherals. “does this ever get old?” rex had never seen the well-known introductions of jedi to the twenty-fifth in person and quickly decided that the holos he had seen didn’t do it justice.

“not really, since you never know what to expect from each general.” who pulls a holodisc from a pouch kept around his waist and turns it on, presenting it to the man beside him. it’s a picture of general windu, his face frozen in a stupefied daze of perplexion. “here’s our first moments with the 91st several months back. it was my favorite, but skywalker’s becoming a high contender for the best reaction in my book.”

rex removed his helmet and lightly thwacked who with it. “general skywalker’s a smart man, he’ll figure it out soon.”

general skywalker did not, in fact, figure it out soon.

“who is my commander!”

“i’m asking you who your commander is!” anakin was dumbfounded as to why you were asking him, a man who has never seen your troopers a day in his life, the name of your commander. he’d have to get kix to check you for a concussion before you left because this wasn’t normal.

you let out a good-natured sigh before continuing your explanation. at this point you could tell it was going to take anakin a little while to understand the concept of your men’s names and hoped that kit would be okay with you running a bit late for your rendezvous. “that’s the man’s name!”

“that’s who’s name?”

“yes.”

“well go ahead and tell me!”

“that’s it!”

“your commander’s who?”

“yes.”

lavender hurriedly shushed cornflower blue in mixed efforts to contain the laughter. if anakin noticed the commotion around him it wasn’t acknowledged, much to the relief of everyone privy to the scene playing out.

fives was most definitely recording his general making a fool of himself and intended to spread it like wildfire across the arc trooper communication channels. to fives’s distant left, a fellow arc trooper from your battalion was doing the same but in slightly better quality. see, because has been through this scenario plenty of times to know how to keep his footage from getting shaky. the five-oh-first arc trooper, however, had no such advantage, his hud shaking periodically from his chortling.

“look, all i’m trying to figure out is who responds when you’re calling for your commander!”

“yes!”

anakin fixes a glare on you and you returned it with more mirth than was probably warranted. the last time a fellow jedi had been so cross at this situation was back when you were working with master windu. the man had so little patience these days that if he still had hair, it’d have probably fallen out during your last encounter with him.

when because sends you the footage of this latest introduction, you’d have the perfect reason for your tardiness. you’d also be equipped with a way to make your former master smile and a bribe to convince kit to take you for a swim.

“look, general, all i’m trying to find out is what’s the name of your commander!”

“no, what’s the name of my captain!”

“i’m not asking who your captain is, i’m-“

“who’s my commander!”

“one trooper at a time!”

behind his helmet, fives is crying from holding his laughter, and it’d be a correct assumption that most of the five-oh-first is doing the same as well as some of the shinies of the twenty-fifth.

“don’t change my men around!”

“i’m not changing anyone!”

“take it easy there, anakin.”

anakin wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he has no karking idea what kind of banthashit is going on here. “what’s the name of your commander?”

“no, what is my captain! i’ve said this already.”

“i’m not asking you who’s your captain!”

“who is my commander!”

“i don’t know!”

“he’s my sergeant, but we’re not talking about him right now.”

the sound of a helmet clattering to the ground draws your attention to where ba and jort are doing their best to silence a member of the five-oh-first with blue stripes on his face. the man in blue seems to be having a difficult time holding it together, judging by how he’s clutching his side and hunched, trying to fix his breathing.

anakin also turns toward the choking trooper and is worried when he sees hardcase almost on the ground. from what, anakin doesn’t know, but it doesn’t look good.

“he’s fine, generals! popping kernel just went down the wrong hole!” clever one, that jort was. always knew what to say at the right moment.

anakin, once he accepted that his man was okay, turned back toward you. if you weren’t so close to him you could fool yourself into thinking that his eye wasn’t twitching (it was).

“how did i bring up your sergeant?!”

“you mentioned his name, general.”

“if i mentioned your sergeant’s name, who did i say was your sergeant?”

you have to draw from the force to keep your expression neutral. maker, if you knew anakin would be this easily duped by your men, you would have requested to work with him much earlier into the war.

“he’s my commander.”

“what’s your commander?”

“what’s my captain.”

“i don’t know!”

“he’s my sergeant.”

“there i go, back to your sergeant!”

jesse’s hand snakes it’s way back into the bag of popping kernels kix held, the medic swatting at it blindly before moving the bag into the hand furthest from the cog-tatted man beside him. his eyes were glued to the scene in front of him, the general’s confusion making for wonderful entertainment. it made him forget for a moment that they were on felucia, also known as one of the worst hellholes a clone could be assigned to.

“all i’m trying to find out is who’s your sergeant?”

“why are you so insistent on making who my sergeant?” you can feel the force signatures of your men and at this moment, they’re so bright and happy it’s almost staggering.

“what am i making your sergeant?!”

“no, what is my captain, and who is my commander!”

“i don’t know!”

you remind skywalker the rank i don’t know holds with a quick shout of “sergeant!” and leave it there.

until anakin takes a deep breath to center himself, asking if you’ve got arc troopers.

“sure do.”

“give me their names.”

“why,-“ you try to give him the name of your arcs but he interrupts you before you can finish.

“i just thought i’d ask you!”

“well i just thought i’d answer you!”

anakin is losing his cool again and wonders to himself when you got so snarky. “then tell me who is your arc trooper-“

“who is my commander.”

“stop talking about your commander!”

if you weren’t such good friends with the jedi in front of you, it’d be safe to bet that you’d be sporting at least one black eye (if not a broken rib or two alongside it).

“give me an arc trooper’s name!” ‘now we’re getting somewhere!’ you think to yourself.

you answer him honestly, the same way you have been since you stepped off the laat/i. “why.”

“because!”

“oh, he’s an arc trooper too. how did you know?”

anakin sputters for a moment before quieting. he was trying to understand… whatever was going on. but so far, you weren’t giving him anything but a headache.

crappemm is approached by a member of the five-oh-first in arc gear. the man was surprisingly indistinct for a member of his battalion, no tattoos or facial hair to set him apart from the others. from what crappemm had seen and heard of the battalion he was set to work with on this hellhole, skywalker’s men were known for their out-of-this-box methods of setting themselves apart.

this one, however, seemed to keep things simple.

crappemm loves his crazy brothers, there was no doubt, but sometimes he can’t handle the constant noise and hubbub that chased his vod’e like flies chased honey. being around this one was refreshing, to say the least.

the arc trooper was amused by what was going on, but the difference between this one and the others was that he wasn’t letting his emotions take over. he kept his composure and was quiet, the only thing breaking the stoicism was a smirk and the occasional light shaking of his shoulders. crappemm was gonna stick around this one.

“please tell me this is really happening and i’m not hallucinating.” the lavender man was so caught up in enjoying the lack of cackling from beside him that he almost missed the words directed to him from the man in blue.

“well vod,” crappemm set a hand on the arc’s shoulder with a grin, “i’m happy to report that this is actually happening in real time.”

the arc sighed in relief. “thank you. i didn’t think i was capable of thinking of something this bloody crazy but it’s nice to be sure. the name’s echo.” echo extended a hand toward him and the other happily accepted it.

“crappemm.” they fall into an easy, comfortable silence as they enjoy the generals that were still going at it.

“look! you got a lieutenant?”

“sure.”

“the lieutenant’s name?”

“tomorrow.”

anakin was flabbergasted. he might as well ask one of your men for his name if you weren’t going to tell him. then again, what reason did you have to not tell him right then? “you’re not going to tell me today?”

“i’m telling you today.”

“then go ahead, tell me.”

“tomorrow.”

“what time?”

“what time what?” anakin was beginning to talk you into circles, which is something no one has ever been able to do the entire time you’ve played this game with your men. you weren’t supposed to be the one asking questions, that was his part in this!

“what time tomorrow are you going to tell me who your lieutenant is?”

ah, that’s what he meant. “now listen, who is not the lieutenant.”

your fellow general threw his arms up in frustration barely contained. “i’ll break your arm if you say who’s your commander one more time! i wanna know, what’s the lieutenant’s name?”

“what’s my captain’s name!”

“i don’t know!”

“sergeant!”

you can tell it’s getting harder for some of the men to not give in to the urge to shriek and guffaw and cackle and roll on the ground holding their sides. sithspit, it’s getting hard for you to keep a straight face through all of this.

nearby, commander who shakes his head at the captain of the five-oh-first. “i thought you said your general would get it, rex.” the tease was evident in his voice and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to know just how much he was taking pride in his jetti’s ability to fuck with “the hero with no fear” so profoundly.

rex shrugged noncommittally. “i thought he would’ve understood by now too, but i guess not.”

who chortled and patted rex’s shoulder almost in sympathy (a vod that didn’t know who as well as he did would have thought so, but not rex). he playfully pushed the hand away and refocused his attention to his general.

“so if i were going down the chain of command, the first one i’d give orders to would be who?”

“now that’s the first thing you’ve said right since i got here!” you don’t even acknowledge the fact he said this as a question because he was right! finally!

anakin didn’t seem to like your reply. that was made clear when he shouted, almost at the top of his lungs, “i don’t even know what i’m talking about!”

there were a few snorts of laughter from all sides and some of yours were smart enough to make some sort of noise to cover them up. if anakin caught on now, the whole thing would be screwed.

“all you gotta do is give the orders to the commander!”

“and who’s going to act on the orders?”

“naturally.” you think he’s starting to get it but you aren’t sure. he’s getting closer though, which is a relief as much as it is bringing an end to the prank.

“look! when i have to give a command, somebody’s gonna have to act on it! who carries out the order?!” wait a minute, never mind. he was still oblivious. if kit didn’t like this video he was going to have your ass for being late. you’ve gotta at least try to help the poor guy now that your ass is on the line (you’ve never had to do this before, usually whatever general gets too exasperated to keep it going as long as anakin has).

“naturally.”

“naturally?” he asks once again.

“naturally.” you confirm.

he ponders this for a moment before continuing, “so i should expect my order to be carried out by naturally.”

“no, you don’t! it gets done by who!”

“naturally.”

“that’s different.”

he was using naturally as a name instead of a state of being, a description, which is what you were trying to get through his head. however, it was having the opposite effect.

jort has never heard this particular turn of events and he was thinking that after today, there would be a shiny named naturally that would make his way into the affections of question company. he honestly couldn’t wait for the day and told ba and hardcase the same. they nodded and ba had thrown out the number designation of a shiny that had been weaseling his way into his good side as a good candidate for the name before returning their attention to the fiasco that was their generals.

“that’s what i said!”

“you’re not saying that!”

“i give the command to naturally!”

“you give the command to who!”

“naturally.”

“that’s it.”

“that’s what i said!”

how much longer was this going to last? kit said he needed you for something time-sensitive and you had to set time aside for the mishaps that you knew would always happen when you went to do important stuff. you were a magnet for weird shit happening and this conversation is a symbol of said weird shit.

with a deep breath, you continue. “listen. you ask me.”

anakin’s reply was quick and certain. where did he get the confidence to talk like he knew what he was talking about? probably an obi-wan thing. “i give the order to naturally.”

‘ugh, not this again!’ “no you don’t, you give it to who!”

“i give the order to who?”

“naturally.”

“same as you!” it’s not the same context but it seems that anakin is too busy trying to wrap his mind around this insanity to put the pieces together.

“okay,” anakin continues, “i give the order to who and whoever goes and passes the order to what! what sends it down to i don’t know, and i don’t know passed the information to tomorrow!! perfect flow of command!”

you nod, encouraging him to keep going.

“now let’s say i need some recon done before we make a plan of attack.” anakin’s trying to analyze the shitshow you threw in front of him as logically as he can with the budding headache. “i give an order to because! why? i don’t know, and i don’t kriffing care!”

that last bit was unexpected. “what’d you say?”

“i said, ‘i don’t kriffing care!’”

“oh, he’s our best sniper.”

anakin let out a yell of anger and bafflement you’d never heard from him before. you turned toward the laat/i waiting patiently for you to board and climbed in, sending a trickster’s smile to the men you were leaving behind.

your friend had clearly given up, his head almost dropping from his inability to comprehend whatever it was you were going on about. he’d figure out their names on his own since you weren’t going to be of any help.

while en route to where kit had wanted you to meet him, you received a holocomm from a mirthful general kenobi who could barely contain his laughter. he must have seen the holo of his former padawan you reasoned. he promised to not share it with other generals as long as you found another way to bring anakin down a couple pegs next time you saw him.

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acraftedmistake · 3 years

Text

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 14

HAHAAA BACK IN BUSINESS BABY!

Hope you enjoy this one!!

Jesse sat against the broken column by the shrine’s entrance, a breeze brushing against his face. He brought his eyes up, looking at the clear blue sky through the ravine’s crack and listening to the faint conversations coming from inside the shrine. There was nothing for him here.

No answers to Lukas’ whereabouts, nothing about what The Awakening was planning next, the only thing these past few gatherings have given him was discomfort.

Nell was usually the one to talk him into attending each Gathering, but she was sick today. This was his first time coming here alone, and hopefully his last. Being by himself made him even more aware of how everything felt… Off. Whenever members saw him walk in, they’d stop by his seat to say hi and talk about what’s going on, if he was enjoying his visits, simple small talk. However, something everyone seemed too comfortable with was how close they’d get to him. Jesse was never too big on people being near or putting their hands on him, the only exceptions being a quick handshake, a pat on the back from his friends, or Aiden messing with his hair to annoy him. Those were harmless and only lasted a moment. But whenever Jesse would step into the shrine, he'd see a few people’s faces light up as they’d walk over to him with arms open wide, ready to hug him as if they were best friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. They’d pull him close, place their hand on his shoulder as they spoke about their day, and refused to loosen their grip even when he asked. Some people would look genuinely hurt when he pulled away.

There would be nights where these Awakening individuals, Nell included, would spot Jesse on the streets. Those were the worst days. The way they’d look at him with big, bright smiles that stretched from ear to ear, walking up to him and asking if he was coming to this week’s Gathering made him feel terrible. He didn’t want to keep coming, he already felt like he was betraying his own friends, but he was afraid of how the members would react if he refused to return.

He knew the members meant well and were just trying to be nice, at least, that’s what he believed, but they’re all so unaware of how horrible their leaders actually are.

“No, they aren’t called ‘leaders’,” He remembered Nell telling him before one of the Gatherings, “they’re Visions! They look after us.”

Brenner and Mahlon, the ‘Visions’, the individuals who preached about helping others, the individuals who gave guidance to their members and offered their support during trying times were the same individuals who unleashed their horrific lava creation onto the world. They were the same people who took away lives and watched the world burn with no remorse.

They were terrible.

Jesse had watched the older, white haired Vision--the man who had screamed vile curses at him and his friends--happily play with children outside of the shrine. He’d sit on the grass and tell them stories about The Awakening and The Hero after the Gatherings were over. It was so surreal to witness.

The Visions might’ve fooled these misguided people, but they haven’t fooled Jesse. He was waiting for someone, the leaders, Cecil, anyone to slip up and reveal their next scheme, but nothing’s happened yet. If they haven’t hinted at anything these past few weeks who knows how long it’ll take them. Jesse can’t keep coming here forever. Aiden and Olivia had questioned why he’s been leaving the house more often, and who the blonde woman greeting him every now and then was. He knew the excuses: “I just need to clear my head” and “Someone I kinda know” will only last him so long.

Today was going to be his last visit. There was nothing for him here.

“Is all well?” Jesse heard an older man ask. He brought his head up. Standing over him was one of the Visions. Mahlon. The Vision’s head was tilted down slightly, his foggy eye focused more on the broken column rather than the boy below.

“Yeah--Yes, Vision… Sir.” When Jesse spoke the Vision lowered his head more, ‘staring’ more in the direction from where Jesse’s voice came.

“No need to be so formal.” The old man chuckled, “You can call me by my name.” Mahlon said as he sat besides Jesse.

“You’re Jesse, if I remember correctly? Our newest member?” Mahlon asked.

“Right.” Jesse said through gritted teeth, his body stiff as a board. He tried to lean away from Mahlon. Just the thought of being associated with these people made him sick.

“And how are you liking it here?” Mahlon spoke gently, his voice was slightly hoarse.

Jesse answered with a lie, “It’s nice here.” He was afraid of locking eyes with Mahlon. He was half expecting the man’s blindness to be another deceiving trick, but anytime Jesse glanced at him, he saw a genuine look of curiosity on Mahlon’s face, like he wanted to hear more.

The mixture of Mahlon’s pleasant expression and Jesse’s fear of upsetting him prompted him to keep lying. He lied about the new friends he’s made here, how each Gathering had connected with him, and how much their words meant to him. As he kept lying, Mahlon kept smiling. Jesse couldn’t take his eyes off of Mahlon’s burn scar. Most of the old man’s face had been taken over by this fleshy-pink scar that stretched from the bottom left of his face all the way to the top right in a somewhat diagonal manner. The only remaining visible parts of his white, porcelain skin was a small portion where his right eye was, his mouth--where his long, thin white beard covered bits of the scar--and the upper left part of his forehead. Jesse had also noticed that only one of Mahlon’s eyes could open properly while the left one was melted shut. Jesse, admittingly, felt terrible that he couldn’t take his attention away from Mahlon’s distortions. It’s disrespectful--well, it’s not like the old man would ever know where he’s staring, but it was disrespectful nonetheless. The only other feature that would occasionally distract Jesse from the face was Mahlon’s long, white hair which flowed like a candle’s fire in the wind.

Jesse’s kind words sparked a rambling from the old man. Mahlon began talking about everyone’s first visit, how their family welcomes anyone with open arms, the variety of celebrations they’ll have throughout the year to look forward to… These were more words to ‘help’ Jesse feel more ‘comfortable’ here, no doubt. As Mahlon spoke, he’d gesture with his hands. The long sleeves of his robe would flow along with his movements. His attire was similar to Brenner’s. Both wore robes that were a deep shade of red. The ends of the sleeves and the bottom of the robe itself were aligned with a golden yellow. Unlike Brenner’s, however, where the bottom of his robe--and the collar around his neck--had a small, triangle slit, Mahlon had none. Instead, he had a hood that was quite difficult to spot due to his thick hair covering it. Another element Mahlon’s robe had that Brenner lacked was a thick, V-shaped golden line around his waist that could be mistaken as a belt. If Jesse really concentrated on the golden parts of the robe he could make out a variety of tiny symbols--mostly being odd shapes and dashes--on them. Their color was only slightly darker than the yellow they were sewn into, making them easy to miss.

In all honesty, the robe was elegant. It was clear so much time and effort was put into making sure this wonderful robe fit this horrible man. Someone so vile doesn’t deserve to wear something so graceful.

“So what is troubling you?” Mahlon asked. “If you’ve been enjoying your time here, then why sit out here all alone?”

“How’d you even know I was out here?” Jesse tilted his head slowly, curious and a little disturbed.

“Cecil, the lad. He told me.”

Cecil. Of course. What else has he been telling the Visions? He’s probably been keeping them updated every time Jesse so much as scratched his head, but now wasn’t the time to get upset. Jesse needed to make an excuse. Any excuse, as long as it was believable.

“I’ve been...” Jesse swallowed, “Thinking about a friend I lost.”

That was meant to be a lie, but it struck Jesse that it’s been nearly a year since Lukas had gone missing. He started to feel queasy.

Mahlon’s smile faded and was replaced by a look of sorrow, “I see.” He said in a whisper.

There was a moment of silence. Jesse hugged his knees, and Mahlon faced forward and stroked his beard.

Mahlon turned to Jesse again and spoke carefully, “I’m terribly sorry about your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Jesse had to force his next words out, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I may,” Mahlon said, “I had also lost someone close to me.”

“You did?” The sinking feeling in Jesse’s stomach grew.

“Yes, he was our Sense before you came along.” Mahlon began, “He had been a wonderful friend of mine since I was a boy, and I fondly remember the excitement I felt when I heard the news that he had been selected as my and Brenner’s Sense. We were all overjoyed. Even after our ceremony, where we were expected to remain resilient leaders, it truly felt like nothing had changed between us. We were three friends who worked together and achieved our dreams. Frankly, the whole experience felt like a dream.” He let out a pleasant laugh as he rested his head on his hands. “Antonin and Brenner made the last ten years of being a Vision possibly the greatest years of my life.” There was a sparkle of joy in Mahlon’s eye, “You’d be surprised how short a decade feels when you’re my age. Oh, it all went by so fast.”

Mahlon’s mouth twitched and he let out a sigh, “And perhaps I should have been wiser; spend an extra few minutes talking to him during breakfast, join him when he was training with Brenner, ramble with him in the library for a moment longer. I was so certain time was on my side. I truly thought that nothing bad could have ever happened to him.”

Jesse listened to Mahlon, and how his voice would get lower the longer he went on. It'd crack and shake at certain points of his recollection, and that bit of light in his eye began to fade. A part of Jesse wanted to feel bad, the other wondered just how blind Mahlon was.

Antonin, this ‘wonderful’ man, surely couldn’t have been the same man who was running towards Jesse and his friends the night they were fighting the lava beast. The image of the man’s black hair flying in the air as he was rushing to them, his sword held high, his red cloak torn, and nothing but hatred in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder at them under the smoke-filled sky was fresh in Jesse’s mind. Maybe Mahlon never saw this horrible side of his friend. Maybe he refused to see it.

And then there was that word, “Sense”. Jesse had heard Radar mention the word in the past when referencing The Awakening, he’s also heard that word in passing conversations in the shrine. He remembered Nell telling him all about their ‘community’ one day before a Gathering started, and they soon got on the topic of Cecil. “...He’s also a leader,” Nell had said, “...but he mostly protects the Visions. He’s like their own personal guard.” Jesse could hardly contain his disbelief. He couldn’t believe someone like Cecil was now another leader of the Awakening.

‘What a downgrade.’ Jesse thought to himself. To think the Awakening’s past Sense--a broad madman who was dead set on killing Jesse’s friends when the world was falling apart--had been replaced by some skinny, sickly pale blondie who used to flee from a fight when things became a little overwhelming. Even Cecil’s attire felt less-than compared to the Visions’ and Antonin’s. His red cloak went a bit past his waste and had a golden collar with a small, yellow button keeping the cloak together. There were no fancy symbols on it either--at least none which Jesse could see. It was jarring to see such an uptight, boastful man wear something so… Plain.

“Oh look at me, acting like he’s died long ago.” Mahlon chuckled sadly, “It’s only been a year; minutes for me.”

“You’re a fine boy,” Mahlon fixed his posture and faced Jesse’s direction again, “I’m absolutely certain your friend was just as wonderful a person as you.”

“Thank--” Jesse quickly hid his voice crack with a cough, “Thank you. He was… He was the best.”

“Our bodies may die on this earth,” Mahlon slowly rose, “but our spirits live on in The Hero’s hands.” Mahlon offered his hand to Jesse, “Will you be joining our Gathering today?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Olivia woke up. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She did remember talking with Jess about what happened last night. They were on the bed, both worried about what was happening and about each other. Guess she just… dozed off. She felt well rested at least, that’s always important. What time was it though?

She sat up and ran her hand through her tangled hair before getting out of bed. Olivia dragged her feet across the guest room’s floor to the window and opened the curtains just a sliver. She peaked through the crack, hoping to see the sun and get a vague idea of what hour it was, but instead she was greeted with light gray clouds completely covering the sky. She didn’t see anyone roaming the streets, so hopefully it was still morning. That’s technically evening for Aiden and the others, isn’t it?

She still wasn’t used to this time difference. She didn’t want to get used to it. Her sleep schedule was already weird enough, she could only imagine how horrific it would get if she got adjusted to the hours here. And being active at night… The idea didn’t sound appealing to her at all. She thought back to the times she pulled all-nighters on projects, getting headaches from the bright redstone lamps shining down on her because the Sun had set and needing to leave the comfort of her own home and storm over to the nearest cave to find whatever material she ran out of before mobs would hunt her down. Those nights were the most infuriating, and she shuddered at the thought of living every single day like that. That’d be a life full of inconveniences.

“Hm…” Olivia looked around the guest room. Where was Jess? She would’ve definitely spotted him by now, or he would’ve given her a loud ‘Good Morning!’ from behind that’d always scare the socks off of her back when they used to live in the treehouse together.

The only place she could think of was downstairs. Maybe he’s having breakfast already.

Olivia quietly left her room, making sure to open and close the door carefully so she wouldn’t awaken anyone nearby. As she made her way down the stairs, she heard a faint conversation grow louder.

When she finally reached the end, she peeked over the wall and saw Jess and Aiden sitting together on the couch working on the flint and steel. They still didn’t seem too thrilled with each other, but it was much better than the anger and shouting from last night.

“Morning guys.” Olivia said as she began walking over.

Jess waved at her, “Morning!”

Aiden gave her a stiff “Hey.”, while he continued to focus on the tool.

“Is that the appropriate thing to say?” She asked Aiden, “Can I say ‘Good Morning’? Or do you have a special phrase for this specific time?” She sat down beside Jess, sinking into the couch cushion.

“ ‘Morning’’s uncommon, but it’s fine.” Aiden replied, “Most people usually say ‘Good day’ or somethin’ like that.”

She nodded then leaned closer to the table where the items and notes were placed, “Any progress?” She shifted around, trying to get a bit more comfortable, but felt grainy, sand-like particles stuck to her feet. She glanced at the floor to see redstone powder scattered everywhere. It clinged onto the ends of the couch and got stuck in between the cracks of the wooden boards. That powder was an uncomfortable feeling on the feet and a pain to clean up.

“It was kinda rocky at first, but we’ve figured out the notes with Radar’s help!” Jess started. While he wanted to show Olivia what they’ve accomplished, Aiden was still holding onto the flint and steel with one hand, and reading a page of notes in the other, so he decided to let Aiden be. “We coated the fire striker with redstone powder. It actually stuck to the metal pretty well, but we’re still being careful whenever we place it down. We also figured out we need to make this weird mish-mash of a gold and netherrack base? Mold? Something to fit the flint in--” Jess went on to describe their plans on how they were going to create a mold out of such odd materials when suddenly Aiden interrupted.

“Olivia,” He finally spoke up, “I--I’m sorry about last night.” He gripped the flint and steel so tightly he was afraid it was going to break. “I should’ve controlled myself better--I shouldn’t have told Jesse about you. I shouldn’t have even mentioned you.” He shot up from the couch and was fidgeting with the tool now. He kept running his free hand through his hair, not caring about the red powder getting tangled up with the strands. “I put you and Jess in danger when I just wanted to help. I know--” He swallowed, “I know you’re not from this universe, you’re not really my friends, but I still want to protect you. I wanna help get you outta this mess I started.”

Olivia stopped and stared at him for a moment, surprised by this sudden apology. She slowly clasped her hands together and blinked. “Aiden…” She said quietly, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” She didn’t realize how comforting that apology was. Even if the situation was looming over them, things felt a little better.

“We’ll figure a way out of this together.” Jess added in. “And uh…” He glanced at Olivia then at Aiden, “Yeah, I’m sorry about how I acted yesterday too.”

“No, you two don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Aiden pointed at Jess as he placed the tool on top of the papers.

“But I could’ve handled things better.” Jess mumbled and went silent for a moment. “Aiden, I know you want to protect us, but we’re able to help. We don’t need to be locked in here and supervised like children. We’ve saved the world--multiple worlds--multiple times. We can help! Heck, I’m the mayor of an entire town!” He exclaimed.

“I sometimes forget about that unfortunate fact.” Olivia commented, a little smirk on her face.

Jess turned around with his eyebrows raised high. He actually looks a bit offended by her joke. “And what do you mean by ‘unfortunate’?”

“Like I could forget the time you tried to decorate Beacon Town with lava-falls for Halloween.” She kept that playful but devious expression on. She propped one leg up and rested her arm on her knee, “You nearly burnt down a good third of the buildings.”

“I put it out!” Jess felt his face turn a light shade of pink. “Plus I was following Ivor’s advice! So the Halloween Incident was technically his fault!”

“Oh sure, blame the senior citizen.” Olivia chuckled. Aiden snickered along. Jess turned even more red as he tried to think of a witty comeback, but all he could do was give her a light shove then turn away, folding his arms and pouting like a little kid as he struggled to hold back his own laughter.

“Alright, but seriously.” Aiden was finally relaxed, “I was just worked up when I said that. We can take you two outta the house and wherever you need to be as long as you hide your faces well enough.” He went to the kitchen, “I’m gonna make myself some coffee. You two want any?” He looked back at Jess and Olivia.

“Yes please!” Olivia said.

Jess shook his head, “I’m alright, thanks though.”

Aiden took out a small saucepan and placed it under the sink. He turned the faucet on and kept an eye on the water’s level.

“Actually…” Jess perked up, “Speaking of lava, what did that lava monster you guys fought look like? I’ve been thinking about it ever since you’ve brought it up.”

“Now that you mention it,” Olivia said, patting down her frizzy hair, “I’ve been pretty interested as well.”

“Oh jeez.” Aiden sighed as he turned off the water and brought the pan to the stove. He turned the heat to medium high, the knob making faint clicking sounds with each number he passed. “Man, we could only stare at that thing for a couple of seconds or our eyes would’ve melted off.” As the water slowly began to heat up, Aiden turned to a higher cabinet and swung it open.

“I knew it had a couple of eyes and a bunch of arms.” He pushed aside a few items and stopped when he spotted a small, crinkled, light blue bag.

“How many?” Olivia asked.

“Hero if I know.” Aiden let out a laugh, “More than five. It’d drag itself around with them, one arm would merge into another, and then when that thing brought one of it’s limbs back into the air--” He raised one of his arms over his head attempting to recreate the motion, “--you could see the arm split up into two or three more. And when it’s claws would hit the ground it’d send rocks and magma flying everywhere.” He splayed his fingers out, “I know a good chunk of forests burnt down, and some houses in nearby towns too, unfortunately. The library almost got hit too!” He explained while he opened and closed multiple drawers, trying to look for something.

“And the sound. Sweet Hero, the sound. It’s one of those things I’ll probably never forget. I sometimes hear it in my dreams.” He finally spotted what he was searching for--a tablespoon--and closed the drawer. He opened his bag of coffee, scooped up a hefty spoonful of powder, and added it into the pan, getting a bit of the powder on the kitchen counter. “So it’d start off real low, right? Almost sounds like a rumble, but then it’d open it’s mouth more and more until it’d let out this roar that left us deaf for nearly a minute!” He added a few more tablespoons into the water and began mixing the contents together, “Hadrian told us the sound was enough to shake the buildings, and that it’s body was so bright they thought it was day! He and Mevia used to travel the world a ton and they told us they’ve never seen anything like that creature before.”

“That’s insane.” Olivia’s eyes were wide. “That thing sounds just as dangerous as Ivor’s Witherstorm.”

“Tell me about it.” Jess was thinking about what such a beast would look like. Multiple eyes, a giant mouth, enough strength to shake the earth with each step it took. He could only imagine how horrendous the damage must’ve been, the smoke that filled the air with the fires it caused, the ashes flying everywhere, it was probably hot enough to melt a person’s skin off if they were unfortunate enough to stand too close.

“Now,” Aiden said as he tossed the tablespoon into the sink, “how bout that Witherstorm of yours? What was that like?”

Jess thought it was only fair to share their tale now. He went into detail about how the Witherstorm happened in the first place, how it kept following them and destroying everything in it’s path, how they had to travel across the world to create a weapon strong enough to destroy it, only for that plan to fail and leading to Jess having to kill it from the inside. This soon led to Jess going off about Ivor and The Order of the Stone, the Ender Dragon, and how Jess and his friends discovered the truth about them. Every now and then when Jess would mention the names of people he’s met, he’d ask Aiden if he’s ever interacted with them in this universe. Aiden needed their physical appearance to be described to get a good idea of them, but most of his answers were usually: “Don’t know them.” or a “I think we might’ve met ‘em?”. The only names Aiden seemed familiar with were Isa, Harper, and Otto. There was a big maybe on Gabriel and Soren.

“Hadrian and Mevia might’ve known them, honestly.” Aiden said at one point, “They’ve met a ton of people when they were ramblers.”

As Jess and Olivia kept going back and forth talking about the Admins, White Pumpkin, and everything else they’ve experienced, Aiden would listen along and chime in with similar situations he and his friends went through. His reactions were definitely mixed when he learned about their Cassie Rose and what she’s done. There’d be points where all he could do was laugh over how bizarre the situation sounded, and other instances where he couldn’t react at all because of how… Unstable Jess and Olivia’s Cassie Rose seemed. Aiden eventually came back into the living room with two cups of fresh, hot coffee in his hands. He sat beside Jess and placed one of the cups on the table for Olivia. She gave him a quiet thank you as they both continued to listen to Jess’ stories.

Jess was sharing his experiences out of order, but he was finally telling Aiden about Hadrian and Mevia. How they ran these twisted games and how he thought Lukas and Petra were killed right before his eyes--when suddenly Aiden jerked forward and choked on his coffee.

He hurriedly placed his cup down--spilling a bit of his drink--and broke into a coughing fit. Jess patted his back a couple of times to try and help him.

“You--your friends with Lukas in your universe?” Aiden asked between coughs.

“Yeah,” Jess answered, “I thought we--” He froze. Oh no. They never… Did they never tell Aiden that they knew Lukas in their universe? Or maybe they did--but did they never mention that they were all friends?

“And he’s alive?” Aiden said, his voice a touch raspy from the strain.

“Yes--absolutely! He’s still in one piece! We met cause of the Witherstorm and got real close throughout all those adventures.” Jess was speaking so fast, “Argh, I’m sorry, I thought I told you this.” How could he forget to tell Aiden something as major as this? Especially after Aiden had told him all about the struggles he and his friends went through after their Lukas went missing.

“No, don’t be. I probably--” Aiden stopped to cough again, “I probably forgot. I sorta remember you mentioning I kinda sucked in your universe.” He grinned. There was a sad look in his eyes. “But are Lukas and I… Are we friends there?”

Jess didn’t answer for a second. In that second he thought back to Sky City; the hatred and disgust in Lukas’ eyes whenever he had to face or even acknowledge Aiden. He thought about the many letters their Aiden had sent over that Lukas threw away. He remembered Lukas’ curious expression contorting to pure anger when Jess had mentioned Aiden wanting redemption. He doesn’t--

“Oh, absolutely!” Olivia lied. “Sure you guys hit a couple of rough patches here and there, especially after the whole Sky City incident, but you two made up!”

Jess went along, “You two live pretty far away from each other, but I know you and Lukas like to hang out at this one restaurant at least once a month to catch up.”

“The Shulker Spices?” Olivia made up the restaurant’s name on the spot.

Jess snapped his finger, “Yeah, that one! Great stuff.”

“That’s good to hear… That’s probably the best thing I’ve heard in a while.” The soft smile on Aiden’s face faltered for a moment. Sure, he looked relieved, but Jess felt terrible. He hated flat out lying like this, but there was no way he was going to crush Aiden with the truth, and it’s not like he’ll ever know. They did the right thing. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Aiden’s body loosened and he let out a long sigh. “It’s been rough ever since he went missing.” He admitted, “Jess, you got a lotta good things back in your universe. Your friends are all still there, you’ve been able to take down any problems comin’ at you… I bet the people there must love ya.”

“But… Your friends love you too, don’t they?” Jess asked, gently placing his hand on Aiden’s back.

“Yeah--I didn’t mean to--of course they do!” Aiden quickly lifted his head back up, “And… You know…” His face got a little red, “I love ‘em too.”

Aiden went to grab his coffee to have another sip, “But you two need to get back to your universe. Once Rose comes back we can finish that flint and steel and get you two home.”

“Cassie’s still gone?” Olivia sounded concerned.

“She’ll be alright.” Aiden said, gesturing with his mug. “I know she can handle herself in extreme places like the Nether, but if she doesn’t come back by the end of tomorrow, we’ll have to hunt her down.”

The three sat on the couch, motionless for a minute, and couldn’t really think of anything else to talk about, so Jess and Olivia decided to finally make themselves breakfast. Jess helped himself to a couple of eggs; preparing a pan to scramble them in while Olivia mostly searched throughout the kitchen for ideas. She didn’t know what she was craving, she just knew she was hungry. As she scanned the contents of the pantry, something struck her.

“Sort of on the topic of questions, or--well, things about other universes…” She fumbled with her words as she reached inside to grab a small container of oatmeal, “I was wondering if there’d be anyway to, uh, see my place of death--my grave. If--if I have one.” She immediately held her breath after asking that question. She knew this was undoubtedly a personal thing to ask, but she’s been wanting to know for some time. She didn’t know when to ask before, and--and this felt like her only chance. She glanced at Aiden to see if he had heard her. He was staring right back at her, frozen in place with his coffee inches away from his face. His mouth was stuck open like he was in disbelief over what Olivia had just asked. Olivia even caught a glimpse of Jess being just as off guard by her question.

“I--We don’t--” Olivia stammered. She quickly turned away from the boys and tried to hide her face behind the pantry door, “We don’t have to! I understand if you don’t want to!” She said, “It might be dangerous to go outside anyways, I don’t mind if you describe it instead--”

“Is that what you wanna do?” Aiden asked, the energy of his voice absent compared to what it sounded like minutes ago. He set his cup aside and headed to the kitchen. To Olivia.

“Only if you think it’s safe.” Olivia’s voice was shaky. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have asked.

“If we go together,” Jess spoke up, “and hide ourselves, we should be alright.” He wanted to try and be supportive, but even he wasn’t too sure about this.

“Right.” Aiden said, focusing on Olivia. He folded his arms, “We’d have to do it soon. Today might be your only chance. If that’s where you want to go, I’ll take you there.”

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm olivia #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm mahlon #APWHNPMCSMWASAMCSM #UH super quick rambles but thank u to all the people who have been patient with this story!!#i was always real used to makin chapters like 10.000 words or more . especially when i was in the zone #and i always tried to put some big ol event to make things interesting #that i kinda gave myself this weird pressure that every chapter HAD to be like that or it'd be boring #or if i didn't reach this certain word amount i'd 'failed'#n writing just kinda became intimidating and i didn't know how to approach it for a while #things got better after some time gfdsfesdfgsf #just took some time to move away from those stupid standards i had set up for myself rip #but now!!!!!#writing again!!!!#thank u for tuning into tags and hope u enjoy story!!

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

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The Clones As Hamilton Quotes:

A/N: @soclonely thank you for your clever series of “The Clones As...” that inspired me to create my own. I added a few more lovable boys to this list. :) This was so much fun to do. Hope you guys enjoy!

Rex- “Let me tell you what I wish I’d known, when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who lies, who tells your story.”

Hevy- “You could never back down, you never learned to take your time.”

Echo- “I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.”

Fives- “Why do you always say what you believe? Every proclamation guarantees free ammunition for your enemies.”

Jesse- “Hey yo I’m just like my country; I’m young, scrappy, and hungry, and I’m not throwing away my shot.”

Kix- “And if there’s a reason I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died, I’m willing to wait for it.”

Tup- “Even now I lie awake, knowing history has its eyes on me.”

Dogma- “If you stand for nothing, what’ll you fall for?”

Hardcase- “If they tell my story, I am either gonna die on the battlefield in glory or rise up.”

Coric- “Ask anybody why we living fast, and we laugh, reach for a flask; we have to make this moment last, that’s plenty.”

Keeli- “Just stay alive. That would be enough.”

Bly- “We dream of a brand new start. But we dream in the dark for the most part.”

99- “What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me.”

Cody- “I’m with you, but the situation is fraught. You’ve got to be carefully taught; if you talk, you’re gonna get shot.”

Waxer and Boil- “You will come of age with our young nation. We’ll bleed and fight for you. We’ll make it right for you.”

Wolffe- “I’m laughing in the face of casualties and sorrow, for the first time I’m thinking past tomorrow.”

Sinker and Boost- “How does a ragtag volunteer army in need of a shower somehow defeat a global superpower?”

Fox- “Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. History obliterates; in every picture it paints, it paints me in all my mistakes.”

Alpha-17- “When you got skin in the game you stay in the game. But you don’t get a win unless you play in the game. Oh, you get love for it, you get hate for it, you get nothin’ if you wait for it, wait for it, wait...”

Hunter- “Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.”

Wrecker- “I wish there was a war, then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for.”

Tech- “Why do you assume you’re the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Crosshair- “Talk less. Smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for. You wanna get ahead? Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.”

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #the bad batch #clone force 99 #Hamilton #the clones as #part 1/3 #I thoroughly hurt myself with these angsty quotes🙃#but I loved this?!#let me know what you guys think!#do you think the quotes are fitting?#I put way too much effort into things XD #it’s a lil thing

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cosmiceverafter · 4 years

Text

Game, Set & Match

Chapter 4 of the Legend series.

Read on AO3

Summary: The group hangs out together at the Wild Pony.

I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated! I returned to work, and life has been crazy. But I'm excited to continue the Belmanes' story, as well as have background Malex flirting. Because why not?

Enjoy!

Isobel hadn't felt this excited for a Saturday night, in what felt like years.

A few of them were going to have a casual night at the Wild Pony, and to her utmost delight, Gregory agreed to join in.

She couldn't figure out what to wear, which wasn't the norm for her. Isobel had already gone through several outfits. The evidence was the volcanic pile on her bedroom floor.

Was she going for a chic widow? Or a sultry alien?

Isobel shook her head as she stared at her disheveled reflection in the mirror, "You need to get a grip here."

Truthfully, she was nervous—it had been a long time since she had been around someone she had liked. And the last time didn't go so well. She had to keep reminding herself that Gregory was nothing like Noah.

Finally, she just decided to keep it casual with a dark blue v-neck shirt and her jeans with the knee holes. They made her ass look good. Her hair was down in loose curls, with light makeup.

The final touch was her brown boots.

That'll have to do, she thought, as she put on her nude lipstick.

When she felt confident enough, she was on her way.

As she entered the Wild Pony, her body was tingling with a thrill of anticipation.

Isobel needed to tell herself it was just a guy, an old "friend," but her heart knew better.

Her boots stuck to the floor as she stepped foot into the dive bar. Yet, instead of disgusting her, it grounded her. She desperately needed it as she saw the boys standing up against the bar with their drinks.

Including Gregory.

Her heart began pounding, and she took a deep breath.

She could hear Michael narrating a story, and Alex and Gregory joined in with laughter. Isobel couldn't spot Forrest anywhere. She couldn't help but wonder if there was trouble in paradise.

"Hi, boys," she called out.

They all turned to look at her, and Gregory's face broke out into a slow grin. It was breathtaking.

Michael and Alex said hi, Alex even greeted her with a hug, which she loved.

Gregory hung back slightly. Was there a chance he was as nervous as she was? "Hey there, Evans."

"Well, hello to you, too." Their eyes lingered on each other, and the background noise began to fade away. She shook her head and asked them, "So what are we all drinking?"

They held their drinks up, and Michael went on another tangent she wasn't tracking. Something about the service being slow and that he could do a better job...yada, yada, yada. She was too busy staring at how damn good Gregory looked tonight.

He had a black shirt on with a jean jacket and dark, tight jeans. Gregory also wore a long silver necklace with a turquoise pendant that she assumed he got from the reservation. She wanted to grab it to pull him towards her, just to make sure he smelled as good as he looked. His hair was messy, and Isobel couldn't help her mind from wandering at the thought of her fingers running through it. Tugging. Pulling.

The man was gorgeous. The Manes family had issues, but their style wasn't one of them.

Alex was wearing his black leather jacket and a white tee, and she couldn't help but smirk at the way Michael's eyes kept lingering on his former love.

Some things never change.

The sexual tension surrounding the air of the bar was thick enough to slice a knife through.

Isobel moved in closer to Gregory, and he momentarily looked startled as he bit his lip, which caused her to forget how to breathe.

What was air anyway? She felt like she was in high school again.

"So," Gregory cleared his throat with an alluring yet soft smile. "I owe you that drink. What'll it be?"

"Hm...How about we all take a shot?"

Alex laughed, looking at Gregory, "Only one, though, my brother here would be under a table if he has more than that."

"He's not kidding," Gregory agreed, looking slightly embarrassed. "But, I think I can handle one."

"Good to know, then we won't have to carry you out of here," she said with a wink.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind that, Iz," Michael replied, wiggling his eyebrows and giving her a soft nudge.

Gregory flushed, and Isobel glared at Michael. Of course, he would do that. That was usually her role. Usually, she wouldn't mind the exposure, but being around Gregory was so different.

Before things got too awkward, she saw Max walk in. She had convinced her brother to come out for one drink. The poor alien had been down-and-out since Liz had skipped town. She knew they were having a hard time, and there were problems to be solved, but sometimes you just needed to let loose and not worry so much about the future. And her brother was long overdue in that department.

Max walked up to them and waved.

"Surprised you showed up," Michael smirked.

"Be nice," Alex muttered as he pushed his shoulder into Michael's. Michael froze and stared at Alex's face. The two of them and their feelings were so apparent that Isobel wanted to tell them to just go in the back room already.

Isobel hugged her brother, "Shot?"

"Yea, what the hell. Why not?" Max said solemnly. He looked over at Gregory, "Hey man, how are you?"

Gregory was polite as ever as they exchanged pleasantries, and Isobel felt happiness spread throughout her body. Gregory fitted right in with the group.

As the bartender poured their tequila, Isobel turned to Alex, "So where's Forrest tonight?"

Michael stiffened and faced the bar. Alex's eyes glanced over Michael's back, "He is out of town for business."

Max looked at Michael, failing at not being overly obvious. She had a thing or two to teach her brother about being discrete.

She nodded and played it cool, "Nice, well, we're glad you could join us!"

Alex smiled, "Of course. Wouldn't miss it. You're my crew."

Isobel took note of Michael's lips, which were now forming into a small smile, and she felt suddenly felt at ease. She liked Forrest, she did. He was a superb guy, a diamond in the rough desert even. But she wanted Michael and Alex to find their way back to each other. You could feel their love; it was palpable.

She truly believed they were meant to be together. Forrest would understand that. How could he not?

Besides, Alex didn't look too upset that his significant other wasn't there. Maybe there was hope for these two cosmic fools yet.

"That or the fact there's absolutely nothing else to do in this hellhole town," Michael retorted with a shake of his curls.

Count on her other brother to say the wrong thing at the perfect moment.

"Amen to that," Max murmured in agreement as he reached for the shot glass.

She moaned internally.

Was she the only alien with game?

Alex just shrugged, pulling his gaze away from Michael as he took a sip of his drink.

"He speaks the truth," Gregory replied as Michael turned to hit their glasses together. "This town is somethin' else."

"That it certainly is," Michael sneered, shaking his head. "Something vile and disturbed."

"Okay, okay, enough of that," Isobel exclaimed as she pointed towards the tequila. She was going to have to be the ringleader of what fun meant. "Let's move on to bigger and more delicious things."

As they held out their shot glasses together, Alex suggested, "What do we cheers to?"

"How about new chapters?" Isobel responded as her eyes flickered to Gregory, who was already staring at her.

That sentiment would apply to all of them. "To new chapters!" they collectively said.

Isobel was eager to see what that meant for them all.

***

As the night went on, Gregory felt himself relax more. He had been so damn uptight when he had first arrived at the Wild Pony. It hadn't helped when Isobel had walked in looking the way she had.

The girl was breathtakingly beautiful, and he had to remind himself to stop staring. He didn't want to be creepy, but damn, it was hard to look away.

They were all having so much fun, even Isobel's brother Max. Something was going on with the guy because he had looked miserable. Now he just looked drunk.

"I mean, we all make mistakes," Max said as he weaved slightly. "I mean, that's what it means to be human, right?"

"Absolutely," Gregory replied, "especially people like my father."

"Oh yea, that man was full of mistakes, wasn't he?" Max froze and grimaced, "Sorry...um, may he rest in peace."

Gregory laughed without humor, "No, you don't need to add on that tagline, Max. He doesn't deserve it."

"Okay, good," Max sighed as he patted Gregory's back, "Just an observation, but Jesse was an absolute dick."

Now Gregory laughed for real, "You'd be correct with that observation, my friend."

He couldn't help but only halfway listen to Max Evans. Gregory didn't want to talk about his father; he was much too busy watching Isobel leaning over the pool table.

The way her ass looked in those jeans of hers.

Damn...

She was a freaking goddess, and the alcohol was lowering his control. His innermost desires were rising to the surface.

Finally, Isobel made her way over, and he couldn't ignore how he felt at watching her hips sway in that way.

She leaned in closely, really close to the point they were touching. Her gaze was a look of pure lust, "You're up." Gregory couldn't help but take a glance down at his pants. When she giggled slightly, he was nonplussed as he breathed in the smell of her. Gregory knew it was weird to think, but she smelled like fresh rain and lavender.

Billiards. She meant the game.

He had to get a handle on himself before he did something foolish, like kiss her in front of everyone on top off the pool table—something he desperately wanted to do. All night it had been on his mind...her soft lips upon his.

Gregory's mind started spinning, and it wasn't because of the tequila. "I'll be back. It's my turn," he told Max, who was now drinking the water that Isobel handed him.

Michael laughed, "What a lightweight."

"I think I'm about there as well," Alex replied as he sat in the tall chair, his cue stick falling into him.

"I'm disappointed, Manes. We have a game to win!" Michael teased as he watched Alex. "And besides, I thought it was your brother who couldn't handle the alcohol, not you."

"Well, I can handle a few shots, but I definitely cannot keep up with you," Alex exclaimed as he took a large sip of his water.

Michael grinned slowly, his eyes slowly moving up and down Alex's body, "We both know that's not true."

Gregory's eyebrows shot up in surprise even though he knew he shouldn't be. Of course, Michael would flirt with his little brother. After all, this was Michael Guerin, the man who was still madly in love with Alex.

Alex hesitated before returning the smile, "Okay, well, as far as liquor goes."

"Mmhmm. Okay, then," Michael responded as he licked his lips, humor slowly morphing into something else entirely. Gregory felt a bit embarrassed as if he were invading their private moment. Thank goodness for Isobel.

"Alright, alright, you two...we get it, now Greg, let's win this game so Michael can finally get off of that high horse of his." He nodded and tried to focus on the game. But that focus evaporated as soon as Isobel walked around the table. She leaned down to whisper in his ear, "If you win this for us, I'll cook you dinner."

Oh my—she was flirting with him. Isobel wanted a real date with him, and God, did he want one with her.

No pressure.

Now it was his turn to attempt flirting, "Oh really? Is that so?"

Isobel nodded and gazed into his eyes. She licked her full lips, and Gregory couldn't help but weave into the table like a spellbound idiot. "And I'll have you know that I don't cook for just anybody either."

Shakily, he breathed out as he moved closer, "Message received, Evans." And since he was probably making a fool of himself already, he decided to add, "This won't be the same kind of date that was promised to Jake Mulligan though, right?"

Now it was Isobel's turn to be affected; her hand went onto the table to steady herself. But then she regained her perfect composure, "Greg, this will be nothing like that. I can promise you that."

Score.

"Thank you, Evans. That's the confirmation I needed to hear." Gregory turned to take the shot with confidence, sinking the ball instantly into the pocket.

Game, set, and match.

#belmanes #malex #my fic

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slasher-party · 4 years

Text

Leslie Vernon’s Secret 2021 Short Film: Wait For It

J: Calling all Leslie Vernonites! This info is MUST KNOW for all fans of the Glen Echo slasher! So even if you already know about this project, please consider reading & sharing so more fans can get excited about this! (This is a post I’ve been REALLY excited to make for a while, so I really hope you enjoy and spread the news!) Lace your boots up, kiddies; this is gonna be a looong post. I’m putting every step of my discovery path in here. That way you have access to all my sources:

We begin our journey on YouTube back in July. I was fooling around, watching some Leslie content, and was recommended Joebizz34's 1/6 Behind The Mask Leslie Vernon custom figure video (tip: bold words from this point forward are most likely links). I thought it was super cool! And it had about 1k views. A small plug! But I scrolled down into the comments... and spotted a familiar face.

‘Nathan?!’ I thought to myself. Was this his actual YouTube account? That singular like is my own, by the way. So odds are, Joebizz34 himself hasn’t even seen this comment (or doesn’t realize who this is). Step One: Investigating Nathan’s Channel A natural skeptic, I assumed this was a fan account and set out to prove myself wrong. (Here’s the link: Nathan Baesel) At the beginning of all of this, this was the main task I was attempting to accomplish.

Pulling up his page, there isn’t much to look at. Just a clip from an old movie and a short video of someone who clearly isn’t Nathan Baesel. He also only has a handful of followers, but that didn’t deter me and I decided to look deeper.

Popping over to his own subscriptions, another familiar face jumped out at me:

Ben Pace! Who you might recognize as the man who played Doug in Behind the Mask!

Double-checking this page as well, this is definitely his channel.

And Leslie/Nathan fangirls will find a particular little treat in this pinned video of his, Hello Jogger:

youtube

Absolutely fantastic, the both of them.

So this is a good sign, but Ben doesn’t follow him back, and I couldn’t find any interaction between them with this account. So this isn’t definitive proof. Step Two: the 197 MPH Promo Going back to his channel, I checked out the first video he had up... with only 15 views on it.

Now, this guy I didn’t recognize. So I jumped in to see if I could figure out who it was, and low-and-behold, you’re looking at David J. Stieve, the writer of Behind the Mask. And that man in the back? In the stripes? Well, check out the video yourself and you’ll see:

youtube

Now, there’s a lot to unpack here. Keep in mind - I was just trying to figure out whether or not this was Nathan’s actual YouTube channel for fun. Now I’m going nuts cause there’s apparently some short-film set in the Behind the Mask universe that I haven’t heard about?! At this point, I can’t say for sure this is Nathan’s actual YouTube account, but I can definitely confirm that that is Nathan in the video, and this main guy is David Stieve, the writer of Behind the Mask. (Also, can I just say, I live for Nathan’s sass? He’s just the best, guys.) But my goal had changed. Now I needed to find out what this Wait for It project was all about. Step Three: Discovering Wait for It I jumped on over to IMDB and there it is: Wait for It (2021)

Check out that unnamed boy. That’s right, folks. You’re looking at a secret Behind the Mask project. (That little bit of trivia that says they’re linked was actually added by me. Sorry for the bad wording - I tried to fix it but IMDB wouldn’t let me, so, what can I do.) Now, talk about being hard to find! Without my addition, there’s nothing that points to this having anything to do with Leslie. Even with Nathan & David’s involvement. I checked Twitter today, and there are only a few tweets (with the #WaitForIt tag) that refer to this project and not Hamilton. David hasn’t said anything about it, Nathan hasn’t said anything about it. That I saw. I did an advanced search but if I accidentally misspelled something and they have mentioned it, please let me know. From this tweet:

I was able to find the IndieGogo for the project:

Which was closed a long time ago, with only 36 backers, where B4TM got roughly 300. One can only assume it was an exposure issue, but it doesn’t seem like they really advertised it. However, I wasn’t a Vernonite back in 2017, so I can’t really say that for sure. The last update was from 2018, which stated that things were in motion for the project:

But then again, the last update on the B4TM Indiegogo is outdated, stating issue #6 is in production when I have it sitting on my desk right now. So who knows where this project lies. It could be even further along than the update suggests, and after all, the IMDB does say 2021. One last update I found poking around the official B4TM Facebook page:

Now, this is a little strange. You have the Behind the Mask crew here, and given the title of the page this is posted on, one would assume this “screening” is for Behind the Mask. But looking at the date, and the now-familiar-to-us posters on the table, that might not be the case.

So, does that mean this short film is finished and unreleased? Does that mean we see Taylor and crew in the film? Or are they there to support the creators? I’m leaning toward the latter. A streaming party was also an incentive for backing the Wait for It fundraiser. I’m lead to believe they premiered a rough-cut of the short film, and that’s what we’re looking at in this photo. That may also be where the technical data on IMDB is pulled from, but that rough cut isn’t available to us, and the finished project isn’t either. If it is I can’t find it, otherwise it’d be part of this post. I also did check the collector’s edition Blu-ray (which I’ve yet to get myself but I do want it for the incentive of extended/deleted scenes, the interviews, and the movie commentary), but Wait for It was not listed as part of the bonus features. Now, this interview has the most information about the project’s details out of everything out there I’ve seen so far. It’s an audio-only over the phone interview a horror channel did with David Stieve back in 2017.

youtube

For details on what Wait for It is about, and how it fits into the Leslie universe, it would be better to listen to this interview than for me to write it all out.

Step Four: What now?

Well, I realized that I might have found something that maybe a lot of people don’t know about, but they should. So, I’m putting this together! While we can’t back the project monetarily anymore, we can support it, the creator, and the Leslie Universe by spreading as much awareness about it as possible. With that said, this is all the information I’ve found, with the links included. Poke around and see if you turn up anything else! And if this project is available somewhere, even as a rough cut (but so long as it’s posted legally), please do share! I love Leslie, I love Taylor, and I love what the Behind the Mask universe stands for. I love David Stieve’s mindset, and if I won the lottery tomorrow, I would immediately call him up and tell him any Leslie projects he had planned were now completely funded. I’m really just that passionate about this franchise.

Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you found out something new, or you at least now have a post with all the information about Wait for It gathered in one place. Like I mentioned at the beginning, please consider sharing so all the Vernonites know about it! As always, much love to all of you, and the Slasher community! XOXO, Mod Jess

#Leslie Vernon #Behind the Mask #Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon #Slashers #Horror #YES #I've finally put all of it in one place!!#I love this crew so so so much aaaaagh #It's Leslie's Time Now

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overdrivels · 4 years

Text

Deleted TWtaH Scenes

[Original opening sequence for chapter 1]

The kitchen once held no less than twenty cooks at a time back in its hay-day at peak hours, and at least four during downtimes.

Now, there was no need for that many cooks, however. There were less agents this time, less funds which meant less provisions, and a dejected look inside the nearest fridge yielded even less ingredients that can contribute to a coherent dish.

The only fitting solution was the age-old family-friendly Overwatch (and Blackwatch, of course) version of Russian roulette: the "Surprise Menu".

The small pot of translucent slop bubbled gently by its lonesome atop a gleaming stove meant for the meals of thirty agents of varying tastes.

A ‘ping’ notified you that an order was placed. A quick glance at the name (Agent McCree) already had your hands grabbing for cabinet doors and bowls.

McCree always ordered from the regular menu, even when it contained things that he would leave untouched (like the octopus salad four days ago) or when it would have nothing he liked to eat (he leaves everything half eaten those days, except the bread—he usually asks for seconds regardless of the type).

The previous Commander Gabriel Reyes had forced him to choke down anything that was being served on the "Surprise Menu" that day for being a little shit. Jesse McCree can now eat anything, but the grimace on his face made it clear he would rather not.

Soldier 76’s ratio of “Surprise Menu” to “regular menu” was fairly even. He would take the tray and disappear for several short minutes before returning the tray, completely devoid of any traces of food. You were never sure if he ate all of it or if he has just eaten a little and chucked the rest, though a check of the base's garbage disposals just made you then wonder if he actually flushed the food down a toilet somewhere.

"Thanks, it was good," he would say when returning his tray. Only ever compliments. "Better than sewer rats," he had once said. Though, he did once admit the chicken was too spicy in one of your dishes.

D.Va bristled at the suggestion and demanded for more spice immediately after.

You endeavored to warn 76 of spicy dishes on the Surprise Menu and to find ways of adding more flavor to those of D.Va's.

The plastic tray echoed a finality against the window counter that bounced off the far away kitchen walls and rung in your ears.

You flip through the worn list hanging by the refrigerator nearest you.

Foods must be similar in portion.

Foods must be similar in consistency.

Foods of different color cannot be next to each other.

Foods of different temperatures cannot be next to each other—

You didn't even hear the doors to the cafeteria swing open.

Favorites (at least one for every meal):

Curry with soft beans (ABSOLUTELY no hard solids, no half-cooked beans. Chili is not acceptable substitute!!) Potatoes (plain) Extra short grain rice (extra water) Basmati rice (normal water)

**When cooking rice, wash four times (taste is noticeable otherwise)

A ‘ding’ of the overhead monitor alerted you that someone had placed an order.

Zenyatta did not eat, and Genji's limit was a cup of tea half the size of his fist and a sweet, but they enjoyed sitting near the kitchen window to speak with flashes of your hands and the clinking dishes set in front of them, but never for them.

[Deleted scene of Chef fighting back against Talon]

The video plays.

A team of six sweeps through the cafeteria, and immediately, he sees the issue which has the team swarming the kitchen door and the service window.

The lights were on.

Even though he knows of your fate, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear grasping at his chest. They split up into two teams. One checks the window–they signal to the other team around the corner, and they signal back, guns at the ready.

He can see them count down with each wave of their hand.

One.

Two.

Three–

Hanzo expected that when it happened, you’d walk out daintily, the same way you put down a tray noiselessly, the same way your fingers touch the marble service window, the same way you touch your fingertips together when in thought, the same way you gesture–all soft flourishes and curling fingers.

But no.

You stride out through the double doors like a storm, head ducked down to avoid any deviant bullets, armed with only a large soup ladle made to handle a meal fit for five and a deep furrow in your brow with a scowl to match.

And then you begin to swing. Not wildly, but small, precise sweeps of little circles and sharp flicks of the wrist that cleanly disarm the shocked Talon operatives before slamming the underside of their chins. Even he has to give a sympathetic wince when their teeth clack together, or even worse, when they don’t.

Up close, he can see you still wear your chef’s uniform, all white and emblazoned with the Overwatch logo right on the sleeves of your upper arms.

You only had three of them; the other three take their shots through the window.

He sees you reach back with your free hand inside the doors, and immediately, a metal door comes slamming down behind the window. The Talon operatives jerk back, lest they get their arms caught.

He’d never admit it, but he swears that his hair has just become a bit greyer after watching the surveillance video.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v1]

The meal is delectable, but he doesn't taste it. Countless experiences with chasing spirits and tobacco did not come without a price.

Even so, he makes a show picking at his food with enthusiasm. Just enough to show interest but not overly flatter and be taken for a fool.

[Filler]

“Cœur d’Artichaut.” The man flips the card elegantly between his long, thick fingers. “A leaf for everyone. A bit of love for everyone. Sounds good, no? Everyone deserves a bit of love."

He then holds the card still and places a gentle kiss on it, letting it cover his lips as he murmurs, "But what that means is to give and give and give until you’ve nothing left.”

The man takes a moment to pull out a pack of cigarettes and lights himself one, silently offering one to the disguised McCree. Not one to turn down such an offer, McCree takes one for himself, leaning into the flame when the chef holds the lighter to him, his dark hand cupping around the flame and McCree’s face. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that he can't be sure isn't because he's being polite. McCree just hopes the heat doesn’t affect the hardlight contours of his disguise.

A plume of smoke gushes from the chef’s mouth. The grey wisps caress his sharp cheekbones and winds itself around his head, allowing only his lighter eyes to shine through. It reminds McCree of a mythical creature.

"It iz a chef’s responsibility to take care of their customers. Cook ze best food for them. Love them with all our being. We chefs exist for them.” A bitter quirk of his lips accompanies the change in his tone. “We die for them. Their bodies are built on the meals we make, and so we must give as much as we can to help our customers face another day. This, of course, includes love."

"I see ‘love’ is a running theme with this restaurant. Could you tell me what you mean by ‘love’?" McCree raises his tablet and pen.

Just when he’s about to interrupt the silence with another inquiry, Richard takes another drag of his cigarette and stares out into the distance.

"Love,” he begins. “No greater form of love than to nourish another's body and soul. It can be as simple as a prayer or as complicated as picking out ingredients and cooking them in a way that is appropriate for that customer and that one customer only. There are many ways to love and show love. But to give and give and give love but not receive, even the greatest of lakes will run out. Love is an ingredient. Love,” he stresses with a wave of his hand, “iz not infinite."

"But love isn't an ingredient you can put on food, is it, sir?"

The chef's eyes slide over, fixing itself onto McCree's face for a moment, so piercing that he's sure he can see through the disguise. It sends shivers up and down his spine. He’s being measured, judged, like a fish on the chopping block.Mercifully, Richard looks away, letting the smoke rise out from between his teeth. Something like a laugh makes the smoke stutter.

"It is the food. It is the effort. The thought.”

“And so you plan on carrying on the ideals of the previous CEO?”

Richard barks a laugh.

“Of course not. That foolish, naiive child."

“Could you explain?”

“Mm. A naive, desperate people-pleaser. That sort of love means little. People like that ought to have more self-respect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a chef doing their best, is there?”

Richard waves his hand dismissively. “Of course there isn’t. But doing one’s best to satisfy their customer’s paletes is different from being a doormat.”

[Filler]

"That child does not understand that love can flow in many directions."

[Filler]

"I am here to restore the balance and clean up ze mess my...protégé...has made."

"Hm. So long as my protégé remains a child, then this toy will remain in my possession."

[Filler]

"Even chefs must eat."

[Filler]

"Do parents not give their lives for their children? It iz an obvious conclusion."

Protests and bitter memories that illustrate the contrary almost make it out of McCree's mouth. Instead he swallows them down and replaces them with a, "Of course. There's no parent who wouldn't."

No other lie has ever burned his tongue so.

[Filler]

“I hope this interview has been…enlightening…" There's something about the way that word is said that puts his nerves on edge.

"Oh, it has. Thanks very much for your time."

Richard scoffs, snuffing out the last of his cigarette against the heel of his hand. Tough son of a bitch. No wonder he and Reyes got along so well. The butt makes its way into a pocket instead of on the ground and Chef Richard opens the back door.

Over his shoulder, he calls, "Please do come again in the future. I look forward to reading your article. As thanks, we will have...surprise meatloaf waiting.”

McCree’s shoulders draw back tight and he fights every instinct to not stiffen and turn around. Instead, he keeps walking, a wry and defeated smile on his face.

“Oh, and tell that child that one should not preach about love if without having experienced it in full."

The smugness could not be any less evident, and the door slams shut, allowing the threat to linger in McCree's ears.

Sonnavabitch.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v2]

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he thinks he may know one or two. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

And that’s how he finds himself here, sitting in the very back of Cœur d’Artichaut, bathed in the afternoon sun with his laptop, pouring a tiny pitcher of espresso into his coffee. He never understood fancy places and their need for so much extra silverware and fine china when the food he’s eating is the size of a well-used soap bar.

At least it tastes better than one.

Glazing across the restaurant, he sees the person he’s supposed to thank, still talking to the General Manager, Argus.

With half the cup in his stomach, he puts his hands to keys and types.

‘Chef Richard Sauveterre, a chef of renown fame whose name is given reverence, not in written word, but through the mouths of those he has fed,’ the first few lines of his draft reads.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown, the remainder cascading down in a neat waterfall down his neck. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now the CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut. The heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone, is their motto.’

McCree pauses for a moment, licking at the scab on his lip, searching for the next words and filling himself with another deep sip of coffee when he can’t find them.

“Pardon the wait, monsieur Morricone.”

“Not at all, Chef.” McCree gets up from his chair and extends his hand. “I’m just glad you made time in your busy schedule for me.”

“Likewise.”

McCree was bracing for it, but the weight behind the chef’s handshake still catches him off-guard. It’s just one strong up-down motion with a firmness that softens as they let go, but it’s that immediate contact, that sheer presence that puts him off-kilter and reminds him that this man is not only a cook but also a world champion fencer who could give some of the lower and mid-tier members of Blackwatch a run for their money in terms of reflexes and sharp wit. It is not only his hands, but Chef Richard makes sure to lock eyes with him, pinning him down. While Gabe would look for weaknesses to be exploited, Chef Richard is looking for gaps to be filled.

At least Richard doesn’t greet him the way he greets Reyes: with more kisses on each cheek than should be necessary. Though he may have to attribute that distance to his current disguise.

McCree begins his usual spiel: who he supposedly is (Joel Morricone, freelance writer, likes long walks on the beach and freshly roasted coffee), why he’s writing this (following up on a previous article he wrote about the restaurant ousting their CEO), and a few general compliments to loosen up his interviewee.

In the midst of all that, Argus brings over Richard’s coffee and replaces McCree’s. Her movements are quiet and unobtrusive, befitting of a high class restaurant like this. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s forgiven him for having written an article about them firing their CEO, but he knows better. She definitely debated turning him away at the door when he tried to come in ten minutes ago.

In return, Richard gives a brief summary of who he is and his accomplishments, factually and without embellishments as though he were talking about someone else. The names of awards and institutions he gives are fancy and long and would probably be more impressive if McCree actually knew them, but all he can do is nod and ask probing questions that makes him sound like he actually knows more than he does.

If McCree didn’t know his history any better, he would have missed that the man glossed over the fact he led Overwatch’s kitchens for a good portion of its existence.

Past the initial niceties, McCree begins digging into the real reason for his interview.

“Prior to this position, do you mind telling me what you were doing and why did you come here instead?”

“I came because I saw some article about a former employee of mine leaving behind unfinished business.”

“And where did you come from?”

“My mother’s womb, where else?” he says dryly, and McCree damn near types that down.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.”

Richard smiles. “No.”

“O--kay. Let me remind you that this interview is confidential and you will be the first to review the contents before public—”

“I am aware.” Then he pauses as if reconsidering, his smile growing wider with a glint in his eye that makes McCree want to squirm in his chair. “If you must know, I was anchored.”

“Anchored?”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and McCree’s brain is working overtime trying to decipher his words and not let it show on his face.

Anchored. Tied down somewhere. Somewhere that you nor anyone else have been able to reach. McCree goes through all the iterations of what that could mean and he lands on either ‘prison’ or ‘out so far in the boonies that technology couldn’t reach him’. Either one is possible with this man.

“Right, next question.” He clears his throat. “Now that you’re here as the new CEO of Cœur d’Artichaut, what is going to be your strategy for the restaurant going forward and your current impressions of things so far?”

Richard’s eyes flit once between McCree’s disguised face and his own cup of coffee. There is a semblance of bitter fondness that lingers in the corner of his lips that is quickly covered by the rim of his cup. For the first time since this interview started, his demeanor shifts. McCree can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s no longer talking to Richard, a professional chef, but Richard, a person.

“Avoir un cœur d’artichaut.”

“Pardon?”

“‘I have the heart of an artichoke’. I love everyone who eats my meals, for everyone who has eaten my meals has a piece of my heart.” He sips at his coffee for a moment too long, . “This restaurant’s motto, ‘cœur d'artichaut, une feuille pour tout le monde’, iz something I had said a lot in the past.”

“So the restaurant’s namesake is from you?”

“The saying is not mine alone, but that seems to be so.” There’s a bitter twist to his lips like he wished it weren’t. “As for the direction of the restaurant, a lot of effort has been put already and I will not change what does not need changing.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“Yes. ‘Do it your own way.’”

“That’s it?”

“Did you expect a heartwarming speech?”

“Well, I was expecting something a little more personal?”

“Personal things should be told to the person in question, yes? And not to a...” Richard looks him up and down, real slow and deliberate. A shiver runs through McCree’s spine--the look would make a lesser person shrink in their seats and the way he says his next word would evaporate them from existence. “...mere reporter?”

McCree manages a grin. He’s seen scarier. “You’re right, you’re right. So if you don’t plan on changing the restaurant or giving any words, any menu changes?”

“I’d take away those awful pancakes,” he exclaims with a toothy grin and a flap of his hand, and McCree can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t have to guess as Richard continues. “This menu is like a baby imitating their parents. Too many recipes similar to mine, not original enough.”

“Oh?” McCree puts his hands to his keyboard again. Food seems to be the way to get this man to open up. “I’ve seen raving reviews for ‘em—”

“Bah. Shitty taste buds. Zis thick piece o’ dough cannot be called, eh, pancake. Babies will choke and the elderly will die of malnutrition, zis--non, non, non. Zis is something only someone with bad tastes could like. But ze compote! ‘Ave you tried it? That is the only thing that makes it menu-worthy.”

The rambling critique of your menu goes on and on and Richard’s accent only gets thicker as his excitement pours out in unstoppable waves. As disparaging as though remarks are, McCree can’t help but get the sense that Richard right now is like a proud father, and he wonders how he can convey that to you in his article.

“A chef must always think of their customers. This menu is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections.”

“Humans can eat most anything and survive, but it is a miserable existence. Gladden the senses, bring people together. Our dishes are made with love, but that love must come from somewhere. No chef can provide it all without having received any, and I will continue that mission here.”

[Filler]

“Please, stay for lunch. I do not wish to host a guest without showing proper hospitality.”

McCree suspects he’d probably be murdered if he does agree if not by Richard then by your own staff who already hold a grudge against him for having written an article about your forceful resignation without their consent. (A scoop is a scoop, and it made Richard come back to Gibraltar, so all’s well that ends well.)

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I think you’ve shown me plenty.”

“It will be on the house.”

“Really, I’ll come by another day. Lots left to do.”

McCree pulls out a handle from his bag and presses a button, the rest of the cane materializing as he uses it to get up. Chef Richard is right there beside him with a hand hovering over his elbow.

[Filler]

“The next time you come we will have our specialty for you prepared: Surprise Meatloaf. Oh, and no need to be concerned; insurance will handle both the trucks you and your friends destroyed.”

McCree turns around but the door clicks shut behind him, the heavy wooden door now much more threatening than before.

He grins wildly to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

That sonnavabitch.

[Deleted Scene of Reaper encountering Chef]

"Hello, dishwasher."

You turn and gasp at the stranger in the kitchen. “What the f—ATHE–!!”

The man explodes into a tidal wave of mist, and your mouth is covered with one large hand, claws digging to your face, the rest of your body held immobile by the darkness. “Now, now. No need for that, dishwasher.”

Dish–!!?

Paralyzing fear courses through you like lightning. You struggle to free yourself from the confines of...whatever it is that is holding you. You need to alert everyone. You need to get free. A threatening squeeze of your body--your spine pops a little and your recently healed injuries protest the rough treatment--and the bone mask in your face makes you pause for a moment.

“Now, be good; don’t call for help. I’m just here for a house visit.”

He removes his hand slowly.

“A house visit?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like it to be, brain buzzing with fright.

The mist detangles itself from your limbs cautiously, ready to strike and immobilize you against if you were to make a stray move. The blood rushes back into your head and brings spots to your eyes, drumming in your ears and making you more nauseated than you would've liked.

While you're busy trying to reorientate your body, the part-mist, part-man glides slowly around the kitchen, looking around. You can see him pause at some of the injuries the kitchen sustained during the Talon attack.

"Pity. That baker, Woo, really liked this countertop. She'd have a fit if she saw this."

Stunned, you stare at the wandering mist figure. "You know this kitchen, you know Patisserie Woo?"

He turns his mask toward you, and you’re sure that he’s raising an eyebrow behind it. The response, 'Obviously,' exudes from every fiber of his body. .

"Wait, who are you…?”

“Take a guess.”

You narrow your eyes, curling your fingers around your lips in thought. Someone who knows your past. Someone who knows you since you were a dishwasher. The chefs in this kitchen didn’t exactly have a high turnover, but there were very few people who knew you throughout your journey up the ranks. A man who first knew you as a dishwasher and called you such.

"Omar? Frederick? Johnny?"

“Try again.”

The fear and wariness ebbs away as the threat of death evaporates.

You search your memory. There's nothing familiar about this man except the way he stands, arms crossed and staring down at you. If you squint, you could almost overlap a memory with this figure.

“Come on, now. You picked up everything in this kitchen pretty quick. You can’t even figure this out for yourself?”

It hovers over the edge of your memory, just out of reach. Think, who is this person acting like? You’ve seen this behavior before.

The voice becomes soft, endearing almost as he utters, “Come on, dishwasher. You’re smarter than this.”

The image of a man, leaning against one of the counters during the lull between service, watching you attempt a new recipe with calculating eyes. You almost expect Head Chef Richard to appear behind him and slap him on this shoulder, watch them both get up and give each other a brotherly hug.

Your eyes widen.

"Gabriel.” Your mentor's voice and yours overlap in a breathy whisper. "Comman, commander Gabriel Reyes."

There's a hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “There we go, always knew you were a clever little thing, but I go by 'Reaper', now."

A slight flush goes through your cheeks, forcing out the icy sheen of fear that lingered in your veins. Even now, despite being on opposite teams, it is nice to be praised by the former Commander. However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted when you remember that this is Reaper--the Talon higher-up whom the recalled Overwatch were on the look-out for.

"What are you doing here?"

"House-visit," he repeats. You're not quite sure what that even means. "You're not supposed to be there."

Confused, you ask, "Be...where?"

Commander Reyes--Reaper--sweeps his arms out, gesturing at the kitchen in its entirety. "Here. You weren't supposed to be here that night."

Talon. The attack. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth and other protectively against your middle. Your wounds ache at the mention and quickened pulse.

“They were supposed to lure you out," he continues. "Leave the path open so that Talon can use the passage,” he rumbles.

"But I came back..."

"Right. Now I came to give you some information."

"Why would you do that...?"

He shrugs. "Because I'm feeling generous, maybe?"

A small laugh escapes the fingers covering your mouth. That can't possibly be true, but then again, he is--or was--Gabriel Reyes.

"You don’t trust me?"

It’s hard to trust someone who looks like the Grim Reaper come to life.

"I do," you say distantly. "Because I trust Command Reyes. And…” You hesitate. “And, you know, the Head Chef…he really loved you."

"That man loves everyone,” he scoffs. “Don’t bring him into this. Anyway," --he waves his hand around-- "don't you wonder about the attack that night?"

"Yes. Like how they were able to find the passage. It's only supposed to be known to kitchen personnel--wait." Something clicks in your head. "Were you the one who led everyone here?"

Reaper exhales something between a growl and a huff. "No, but someone in your little organization’s turned traitor."

The world got absorbed into a vortex, and you suddenly feel like you're free-falling or sinking or just dying. You can't breathe, you can't hear, couldn't think, not when reality decides to take an unexpected vacation.

You force out a shuddering laugh that sounds grating even to your own ears. "What do you mean 'turned traitor'? There's, there's no one who knows that would ever..."

You sink down to the ground, reality righting itself and your limbs feel like a ton of bricks or that you've been hit by them. It didn't really matter. You're trying to get your brain to function, to think. But the shock of his words were too much. You trust--trusted--everyone at your restaurant.

But...then...

“Turned traitor on you and your organization."

You clench your fists and bring them to your mouth.

"Reaper on premise! Reaper on premise! Repeat, Reaper is on the premise!"

"Took them long enough,” Reaper says at the exact same time you order, “Athena! Cancel the alert!"

"Command overridden. Reaper on premise!"

You give the man a weary look and he returns it with a shrug.

"Can I offer you a meal before you go?”

He laughs. “I don’t think you can make anything fast enough. Those Overwatch brats will be here soon."

You’re already walking to one of the refrigerators while he speaks and pull out a lunch box that was meant for Agent McCree before his mission, but given the circumstances, you’re sure it wouldn’t matter much. You can just make a new one anyway.

"Here you are."

He takes one look at the name written on it and tosses it right back at you.

"Give it to the brat. I don’t take sloppy seconds.”

You don’t even have a chance to retort before he disappears into a puff of smoke, slipping in beneath the door from which he came.

The kitchen doors burst open, Agent Soldier: 76 at the helm. And not a moment too soon.

“Kitchen personnel only!” you say, reflexively.

“Where’s Reaper?"

The other agents are spread out, alert, but some are looking around the place like it’s a tourist attraction. You cringe.

"I didn’t notice anyone here."

His sweeping gaze falls on you, and you’re suddenly an insect that’s been pinned, unable to escape from the piercing gaze of the ex-Overwatch Commander.

"Talk, Chef.” Nothing in his stance bodes any hint of compromise.

You know he doesn’t believe you. Not when you’re standing there with McCree’s lunch in your hands, wrapped and with no dishes around.

[Original scene of Hanzo’s first break-in into the kitchen]

He drops down from the top of the doors, only to freeze when you round the corner.

The words tumble out of his mouth ungracefully. “You’re a person.”

“Get out.”

The biting intensity in your voice is challenging enough for him to forget exactly who he is speaking to.

“I go where I wish.”

It’s the wrong answer.

He sees your eyes flash. In an instant, you’re trying to man-handle him out. Hands clumsily fisted into his gi, twisting, tugging, hips down and bearing weight against his bulk. However, you’re no match for a trained assassin. His reaction is too immediate. He has you on the ground, straddling your hips, pinning both your arms to your back with a hand, his other hand bracing himself on the floor by your head.

You try to buck him off relentlessly, like an animal.

“GET OUT!”

He grits his teeth, and presses tighter against your hands. Your breath comes out in a wheeze, and in the back of his mind, he’s aware that you will have trouble breathing.

“I do not take orders from a mere chef!” he barks.

You seize in his hold.

For a bone-chilling moment, he thinks he may have gone too far in his technique. His grip slackens just a margin.

You twist violently. He gets unseated just long enough for you to aim a knee up at him. He blocks it, and you are scrambling off the ground, hand reaching for something. Anything.

A ladle—you hold it out in front of you, the rounded end pointed squarely at his chest.

“Get. Out.”

He furrows his brow, aware that he’s all teeth and spitting fire. “Is that all you can say?”

“Agent Hanzo, you are forbidden here, get out.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

It’s Satya who stops the fight from the door, well within the boundaries of the rules set.

“Going into the kitchen is against Overwatch policy,” she recites coldly.

He can see you’re still ready to fight even though you are horrible outmatched. If he really wanted to, you’d be dead in an instant.

But those burning eyes promise him something more than a poorly attempted beatdown should he push the matter.

With a huff, he leaves.

She gives him a disapproving look, which he shakes off, angered.

[Filler]

The next day, he’s only mildly horrified to find two turrets stationed outside the kitchen doors, and is suddenly paranoid that there are many more waiting where they cannot be seen.

Hanzo does not know if it's you who ordered them or if the architect had done it off her own free will. (If he has to guess, you had explicitly requested it.)

The architect is extraordinarily good at her job--able to merely look at a building and understand the structure and blind spots even if she doesn’t fully appreciate the depth of this part of her skillset.

He could swear they’re all looking at him--glaring, even--ready to teach him a lesson for his transgressions.

It prickles at him.

[Alternate shopping scene with Chef and Hanzo]

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you'd be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn't have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn't hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you'd both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you'd like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that--something closer to home--or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it's the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn't help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don't decide soon, I'll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It's a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn't have to make fun of you.

“I'm really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you've seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

[Filler]

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.”

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands--it’s also very warm and very large--and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you--he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides--the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We...we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world--it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if--.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really--I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[Deleted interrogation scene between Chef and others]

The facts were laid bare before him once more in the morning when Hanzo speaks to Winston, Soldier, McCree, and a holovideo of yourself and Ana.

It is almost like a trial, the image of your listless face, turned away from the monitor, sits on the central terminal of the meeting room for everyone to see and judge. It's the first time Hanzo had seen you since you were carried out of the Cellar by Soldier--the Cellar which has been opened up by order of Winston and interconnected with Athena's systems, yet the secrecy of it's entire contents remained mysterious by effort of the Junkers and the AI herself. It may be a small comfort to you to know that not everything was defiled, but he doesn't know just how much you knew about the state of your kitchen.

But today's meeting wasn't about that.

You were told to deliver the facts of what you've been doing and your dealings for Overwatch. You did so, slumped in your bed without care for appearances or the usual politeness that came with your service, answers flat and pointed. Normally, this type of disrespect and blatant disregard for manners would earn his ire, but instead, it makes him uneasy.

It is not the look of an injured person on the sliver of your face, but your whole body told the story of someone who has given up after a long, harrowing effort.

You confirmed that you owned a restaurant, the card of which sat on Hanzo's scant dresser. It explained the service, the food, the aesthetic. It seemed so painfully obvious that Hanzo wondered why he never saw the connection before.

When questioned about the previous head chef, you admitted you didn't know where he was. You should have set off for France, but you knew he wouldn't go there. Some personal issues that you never understood and no one wanted to question.

You distantly confessed the amounts you've given Overwatch, the methods for contacting donors, and the sloppy way you went about verifying them. Even sloppier were your attempts to make the transactions seem legitimate and the lengths you went through to protect Overwatch, the donors, and your customers from the potential fallout.

All throughout, you refused to look at them or give excuses, only clinical facts and simple 'yes' and 'no's.

"Anything else?" you ask wearily.

"No, we will let you know if we require further information. You have given us enough for now. Please get a good rest," Winston says.

Nodding at them, you lean back into your pillows, and let out a bone-rattling sigh. Mercifully, the screen turns off

There is a deafening silence that follows.

They have been given a lot of information to digest and Hanzo, long grown out of the habit of writing down thoughts during a meeting, finds himself wishing that he had if only to organize the chaos that you’ve thrusted upon them.

It is an incredible tale, regardless of the number of times he had to hear it. The amount of danger, sacrifice, and sheer naivety involved

"The donors can claim ignorance then."

"It was well planned." Even Ana sounds slightly impressed, toying with the string of her teabag. "If the auditors checked, only Chef would take the blame." A smirk comes over her face. "Ah, doesn't that sound familiar, hm, Jack?"

The man grumbles something unintelligible.

"What's that, Jack? I did not quite hear you."

"The restaurant workers are just as guilty. They are accomplices." Ana rolls her eyes at Soldier's obvious diversion but allows it to proceed by sipping on her drink.

“The way it’s set up, only Chef handles the finances. On paper, as far as the other two go, they can say they didn't know about the operation...”

[Filler]

It's not safe for them to continue sending the money especially not after they had their run-in with the auditors. It wouldn't take long for an investigation to find both the restaurant and Overwatch guilty of money-laundering.

What is the best thing to do?

Hanzo's brows furrows, painfully tight as he rummages through his mind for the correct answer.

He is not well-versed in Gibraltar law and even less so with financial laws involving a charity like yours.

"It's smarter this way."

"Though how they plan on covering the gap is beyond me. The timing is too convenient and matches the auditors' investigation too well."

"Wouldn't it be weirder for them to stop?"

#my writing #twtah #deleted scenes #some of them were rewritten to hell and back #i thought about posting a compilation fic on AO3 with this but they're not long enough for me to feel like they should be up there #happy 2021

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