#nothing appealing they're DEAD who wants to be with someone all cold and dead

[elbiotipo]

There is literally nothing attractive about vampires, I never once understood the appeal.

[xhisokas-harleyx]

Your Hisoka headcanons were so good😭 and i completely agree with all of them- I wanted request something, u can ignore if u want. 🏃

I am just thinking of a scenario where Hisoka got hurt, by someone who 'cheated' in the fight maybe, and his first instinct was to go to his 'friend's place. And Reader helps him without hesitation, they're even worried and stuff. And he is just like "are they just so naive or dumb? Kind? What do they get from this? And tf is this feeling in my chest? A poison maybe-" Maybe hcs? Or an oneshot? Whatever you like to do. Have a good day or night!:)💛 damn i wrote too much lol sorry

This warms my heart. Thank you SO MUCH for your support!!! And no, you did not write too much! I love having my ego stroked ;) 😂 seriously tho I love hearing from you guys!

I love this prompt. I hope that I was able to bring this to life for you, please feel free to request more!

To be honest, I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I haven’t written in a long time and feel really rusty. I may rewrite it at some point, because I thought of a different way this could also go! At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 2880 (yeh, it’s a long one :o)

A little song inspiration I had:

As The World Caves In: Matt Maltese

Hisoka x Reader One-Shot: The Man Beneath the Monster

...

Well... this wasn't supposed to happen.

Currently, the jester of everyone's nightmares lay on the ground, golden eyes staring up at the dull night sky while shrapnel and debris etched patterns into his back, remnants of the attack he'd just barely survived. Hisoka didn't normally have much of a problem mowing through his opponents- but then again, they usually didn't possess the ability to play with their enemy's mind. It was insanely unfair, the way he'd been attacked, and while it had been an interesting battle to say the least, Hisoka had barely pulled through.

Admittedly, he was invigorated by the feeling of almost being beaten- save for the searing pain that inched its way through every nerve in his body. Hisoka wasn't usually so affected by pain in general- in fact, more often than not, it gave him a certain indescribable gratification. He tended to brush off the feeling of most wounds he obtained during battle, distracting himself with shuffling his cards or fantasizing about the next battle he'd be facing. Only this time, if he didn't get help, he wasn’t sure there would BE another battle.

Hisoka strained himself to sit up, and looked down at his body, analyzing just how much damage he'd sustained. A deep gash opened up his chest, revealing glimpses of the muscular content underneath, and it was oozing a lot of blood. His arms and legs were burned, and some of the skin was a little charred, which smelled just lovely against the night breeze.

This is going to be difficult to cover with Texture Surprise... he thought, forcing himself a bit angrily to his feet, when he heard the cracking of the joints in his left ankle, indications of a break. He needed medical attention, badly. His gash wasn't going to heal itself, and he would bleed to death within hours if it didn’t get bandaged.

But where could he go? Hospitals wouldn't dare take him- even though he was a hunter, most people wouldn't be caught within miles of him, let alone would provide him any remedy. In fact, most people thought the world would be better off if he were dead anyway.

Maybe they were right.

He chuckled a little at the thought, but as he tried to brush those creeping inner fears off, he soon realized that his normal detached approach wasn't going to work this time. Already, his legs were getting weaker, and his vision was getting a little darker by the second. In that moment of weakness, when he felt the most vulnerable, the magician was puzzled by the singular thought that came to his mind.

Y/N.

She was a girl he’d encountered more than a few times in his travels; not by accident, but through carefully orchestrated meetings he initiated himself. She was strong in his eyes, which was not a compliment that he offered freely, especially to someone who didn’t regularly seek out altercations to smash their enemies. She was strong in a different way- not because of her nen or battle tactics- but because of her resolve. He found it intriguing that she didn’t run at the sight of him (even when he popped up behind her in the park), and he liked that she wasn't afraid to tell him exactly where he could shove his cards, if warranted. Y/N was appealing to him in an indescribable way that made him continue to think up excuses to meet her ‘randomly’- but he could never put his finger on what it was that made her unique. However, through brief conversations and what he considered to be highlights of his travels, he’d gotten to know her only a little, but he hardly had enough contact with her to call her a ‘friend’.

It wasn't like she had any special sort of healing nen. She probably couldn't help him anyway. But if he did bleed out, and his last thought had to be of something...l it might as well be of her.

The pink-haired clown looked to the city up ahead in the distance- he was close to her house already. It didn't take him long to get there; Y/N lived on the outskirts of town in a small place away from most other homes.

It was a place he knew well, although he'd never been inside. He'd spent more than a few long nights watching the residence from the rooftop of a distant neighboring home as he denied his human emotions. He often watched her pack groceries, or try to figure out why her porch light wasn't working (which he certainly had nothing to do with), or watch TV on the couch all alone.

Hisoka quite liked those stupid romantic comedies that played late at night on the local channel. His only opportunity to watch them was through her window- and in his mind, he was sure that she left the subtitles on because she can somehow sense his presence. She usually fell asleep watching those, and missed the part where the hero gets the girl. He always watched that part with particular interest, but he can't figure out what makes the protagonists so special to each other. If there was a feeling that caused them to sacrifice so much for one another… he sure didn’t know what it could be.

But he's not a hero, so why would he know what that feels like?

As Hisoka reached her door and lifted his hand to the doorknob, not bothering to knock, a pang of what could only be anxiety ripped through him. It was well past 2 AM, and he knew she had things to do early in the morning. Their previous encounters had been abnormal, to say the least, complete with him teasing her and being a douchebag. He's been nothing but an annoyance to Y/N, so why would she help him?

As soon as he was about to pull his hand away, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled looking y/n in its place. Hisoka was bent over in pain, holding his chest, but as she startled him a little, he straightened up and put on his mask, acting complacent and confident. He wanted to say something smart and witty like he always does- that always helped to bat the pain away. But his lips wouldn't move- his tongue wouldn't function as he stared at her, unable to reach out in a way that normal humans seem to find so easy.

He felt frozen in that moment. He was normally so deliberately irreverent, but seeing the look on her face made his blood run cold.

Don’t let her see this weakness. It was a plea to himself.

But Hisoka had no choice. He was broken, and he needed her to fix him. He wasn’t used to depending on someone else to save his life, but now his life rested in the hands of someone who most likely despised him.

"...Hisoka." Y/N breathed, her eyes widening as she placed a hand over her open mouth. Only seconds passed before her delicate hands were pulling him inside the door without hesitation. She didn't bother to ask what happened, what kind of trouble he'd gotten into, or whether she would also be in danger. Instead, she sat him down on the couch, laying a pillow under his head for comfort, which he annoyingly refused to use until he absolutely couldn’t hold his head up any longer.

Hisoka was a bit dazed from the loss of blood, and the crimson river was flowing all over y/n's lightly colored couch. He was puzzled by the swiftness of her reaction, and he watched tepidly as she shuffled frantically through the drawers in the bathroom for something to heal him. Though he was on the brink of death, his default deflection of emotions still shone through, a reflex that he didn’t even mean to activate.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” He said with an impudent grin, watching as she began to work on his wounds. “It’s just a scratch. But I can see how badly you want to touch me…” Why was he like this? Here she was, giving up everything to help him (a criminal and the scum of the Earth),yet he can’t so much as even show her an iota of gratitude. He knows, but will never admit that it comes from his inner vulnerability; that fear of getting hurt by these things called emotions. She could just as easily let him bleed to death in front of her; he knows she has the capability to be stone cold. But she won’t… why?

Why?

Y/N could have easily let Hisoka’s false complacency hurt her. But she knows that what he cannot express in his words, his heart cannot truly hide. It was the way he was built, she told herself, and she pushed on through his antics because she wanted to see him safe again. Through the laceration in his tough exterior, she could not only see the flesh beneath, but a glimpse of the man he tried to hide using the monster that he assumed everyone saw.

But she was different.

The jester was confused by her silence. Normally, she would have retorted at his smugness, but right now, she didn’t even seem concerned with it as she began to fumble with cleaning his wounds. The alcohol seared his flesh just as the emotions boiling within him burned his heart. Why would she ever care to help him when he’s been nothing but rude and degrading to her? Could it be that she really can see through the detached front and overbearing persona? Impossible, he’s spent years building that reputation!

Suddenly, he became enthralled with the way Y/N’s eyes focused on threading the needle to sew up his gash. The way that those fingertips danced over his pale skin made him jolt unexpectedly at her touch, exhibiting a softness that Hisoka has never known before. In fact, he can’t even fathom someone wanting to touch him without the intention to hurt him in some way.

The details slowly became a blur in his depressed mental state- but he still analyzed every motion Y/N made.

Oddly, the promised sting of death had never scared Hisoka before; he did as he pleased, without care for his own life nor anyone else’s. But as his vision faded, and he watched her through the gaze of someone nearing death, he realized that he did not want to leave this world yet. He wanted to live- and maybe he wanted to discover and experience what he’d been missing in those movies he’d watched through her window.

With that, Hisoka’s heart began to beat faster.

Blood loss. That’s what it is… Hisoka thought; but he wasn’t stupid; only unwilling to admit that he was beginning to exhibit the same qualities he saw in the protagonists of those hopeless romantic flicks. He was unable to accept that the tightening in his chest was not just because of her stitches pulling his lacerated skin together.

“Are they dead? Did you kill them?” Her voice brought him out of the trance-like state he was in, and his golden eyes focused on her face. Her hands were covered in his blood (which in itself made him feel delightfully feverish), but his gash had been mended, the bleeding stopped for now. Once again, he didn’t say anything. It was unusual for the smug magician to keep his mouth shut.

“Because if you didn’t kill them, I’m going to.” A protective tone dripped into her voice, bewildering Hisoka again. That quality in her voice was both threatening and comforting, and the duality sent a chill up his spine. It inspired him to use his voice, though it had lost some of its signature modulation.

“You have that little faith in me…” A cough escaped his lips before he could smile as if nothing was bothering him at all. “Of course I killed them, my dear.” Somehow, calling her ‘dear’ no longer felt right; that was typically a placeholder, a default name to use for someone he had no connection with, and she seemed to be worthy of more than that now.

As Y/N suddenly dipped to her knees, Hisoka refrained from any lewd thoughts that he normally might have had in such a situation. That sensation in his chest was too distracting to allow this memory to be defiled with something he often indulged in fantasies of. She began to slide the high-heeled shoe off of his swollen foot to wrap it. She began to struggle with ripping the fabric she’d gathered to act as a cast for the bone.

Surely, she knows who I am. Why would she bother to help someone like me? What is she gaining? She knows that with the flip of a card, I could end her life. She’s not even protecting herself in any way. She’s leaving her guard down right in front of me.

Perhaps it was his dark desire to set fear into everyone he came across, or his distorted need to drive away anyone who might care for him, but his body suddenly acted on its own. By instinct, almost as if it were a test of her intention, a card spawned between his middle and index finger, which was right against her neck. With just a slight movement of his knuckles, he could spill her blood. His golden eyes analyzed the way she froze for a moment, and he believed that to be the end of this fragile trust between them. That was until she lifted the fabric she was holding, sliding it along the edge of the card, and cutting it to the perfect length.

“Thanks.” She spoke, beginning to wrap and set the ankle in place.

At that small motion, Hisoka’s discretionary eyes widened, and his lips fell open in surprise. Rather than interpreting his advance as an attack, she’d innocently taken it as an offer of his help. Was this a joke? Was she stupid enough to trust him, or was she bold enough to outsmart his games? Was Y/N this confident that he wouldn’t just kill her? This naive girl at his feet seemed to be the only person in this convoluted world who didn’t see him as a disgusting, heartless monster… and that warmed his icy heart.

“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. I know you’re graceful, but high heels are always a recipe for a broken ankle.” She offset the pain of wrapping those bones by talking to him all through the procedure, and it worked wonders. He scoffed, but by that time, Hisoka’s snide comments and emotion-killing thoughts had been expended. Somehow, she’d broken through the barrier that he’d spent so long building around himself.

Unable to ignore his whims anymore, Hisoka reached out to touch Y/N’s hair, the soft delicate strands pleasing his senses. It’s the only movement he can make now, his body weakened from the loss of blood. His gilded eyes were barely open, but they looked directly into hers with an unfamiliar realization. His hand travelled weakly down her face, caressing her cheek with the most delicate touch he could muster, and held her head in his large hand as she froze there. He wondered for a moment if she was afraid, or if something deeper that he cannot see calms her.

A small, genuine smile is all he could muster for her before his hand dropped to the side of the couch, the same couch he watched her curl up on most nights. For once, it’s not a smirk, and it’s not a smug smile- but something she has never seen before- a true smile with good intention behind it. His eyes closed, with uncertainty that they would open in the morning.

After she’d finished her work, she stood up, and looked down at him. The only remaining light in the room was the silent flicker of the television set in the background, which illuminated both of their faces.

“I need you to be alright, Hisoka,” She cooed, unable to know if he could still hear her. He didn’t know if she even realized how much he wanted to kill her right now, because the way her kindness was attacking his heart while his chest was already sliced open was something he should not excuse.

As Y/N’s final healing gesture, she bent over his body gracefully. He was taken off guard when he felt the feathery soft sensation of her lips on his forehead, the kiss of an angel on his clammy skin. As she went to pull away, however, she was startled by the lunge of Hisoka’s hand initiating a death grip on her wrist. He used the last bit of his strength to pull her lips into his, causing her to lose balance and be forced to brace on either side of the couch cushion below him. His lips were cold, but Y/N graciously returned the sensation, and boldly moved to embrace both sides of his face with her mending hands. Before she pulled away, and he passed out, she felt that same smile against her lips.

And in that moment, before he fades away, Hisoka realizes what he’s been missing.

Y/N.

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

Hmm... part two? I KNOW, it’s super freakin’ sappy. I could have taken a lighthearted approach to this (and maybe I will later), but I wanted to kind of challenge myself to write a more depth-driven version of Hisoka. Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew :0.

Anyway, let me know what you think, and once again thanks to anon for the request! Hope you all enjoyed!

Mac

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes : Reloaded

They're on a mission, chasing a lead in hopes of locating where The Shadow Company is situated.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Vlad the Janitor

Chapter 20 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

forgive the piccrew

Undying Admiration

Francine "France" Winters

Safe house 110197, Brazil

"Look at them two, you think we could do that too?" Soap asked France. They were both seated on Soap's side of the floor, the soft foam caught their asses as they crossed their legs while Soap spun around a water bottle.

"You and me? Sing and Dance? Never in a million years!" She denied looking at the poor guy's attempt to actually get her to like him. She thinks he already knew that she's already falling for him since day one. But she wanted to focus on other things at hand rather than distract herself with romance. Maybe if this was all over and he's still there, he'll finally get the answer he's looking for.

"Why not? I'm kinda okay with singing." He grinned. Francine giggled. Sure he is, his overconfidence was getting attractive for her. If they weren't soldiers in a war, they'd probably be making out again. What happened back at the Gulag was an impulse, she never saw it coming as she almost lost hope for his absence.

"Why don't you like… sing for me?" She dared her eyes stared intensely into Soap's eye-catching baby blue orbs. She made a mental note that staring for more than five seconds in those were already dangerous, so she always breaks it before the fifth.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, his voice was giving her ears a good time. Yes. She's falling for him. It felt like everything he does is attractive, but she shouldn't be too quick, life has taught her that the faster she falls in love, the faster they leave. So she had to test the guy's patience.

"Do what?" she asked as if she didn't know what he meant.

"Look me in the eyes then immediately break it as soon as I stare long enough…" His eyes squinted towards her as she evaded eye contact.

"I don't do that." She easily shrugged it off and got up.

"Well, good night. John. We have an early mission tomorrow." She got up as Soap trailed his eyes on her, the look of admiration was painted all across his face.

"Can you not look at me like that?!" She pleaded as her cheeks blushed. Her boyish appeal on the force always repelled attention and now this guy was admiring her for who she is and she felt happy.

"I won't do it if I get a good night's kiss." he pouted his wonderful lips. Lips she actually really wanted to taste again.

"Good Night John." She said as she closed the men's bedroom door and went to her bed.

~

When Price told her about a small recon mission, she never knew it was this small. The team only consisted of her and Ghost riding a rental truck to a village which was a few kilometers away from their safe house. The point person was an alleged nephew of a soldier that currently works for Shepherd. It was almost a dead lead but the intel being accessible enough was sort of worth it.

Rule of engagement is "Don't".

The village would most likely be unarmed, unprotected and peaceful. But Price advised to keep a side arm in case things go awry. It was a good call, and France noted to herself that she won't ever fire a shot for this mission as to not raise any sort of attention in addition to what Shepherd already gave them.

"Looks like it's time to go." Soap muttered as Ghost passed through them looking prepared.

Soap nodded goodbye to the man but he just continued walking.

"Maybe he had earphones on." he muttered as he pouted his lips. France softly reached for his cheek and shoved it sideways.

"In your dreams." She laughed as she waved goodbye.

"Every night." He winked as France made an almost disgusted face and followed Ghost. She was lucky enough that she quickly moved that Soap won't see her blushing cheeks.

France hoisted herself on the shotgun of the car and smiled at her partner, who looked serious. Without his mask, he was your average tough british soldier, and he looked like he wasn't in for some small talk while driving. France respected his privacy and trailed her eyes elsewhere, looking at the lush greenery and muddy tracks of tropical Brazil.

France wasn't a fan of quiet road trips, she tried humming to tunes from her playlist as the loud revving of the rental jeep overpowered her voice.

"Are you usually this quiet?" France asked, trying to break the silence between them.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" He replied, his eyes trailed on the road as it hit a bump. France actually felt shocked toward his reply and she started to worry about what she did wrong.

"You know you could always say no to Price's orders instead of regretting and wishing Roach would be here instead of me." She pouted, crossing her arms.

"Well that wasn't my case but now that you said it, maybe I should've asked for Roach instead!" He yelled. France couldn't help but shed a tear. She actually had no idea towards his hostility and the thought of not knowing any reason made her mad.

"Wow. Okay." she squirmed and unbuckled her seatbelt causing Ghost to slow down his driving.

"Where are you going? The village is still far from here!" he asked, France never bothered to talk to him as she simply walked away from the path.

Ghost immediately left the vehicle and followed her, catching her so she won't escape and run away.

"Why are you not replying?!" He asked, gripping her hands, restricting her movement. France used her strength to break free of his slightly weak grip and turned to him.

"You see now how it feels? To ignore someone without knowing why?!" She raised her voice. This seemed to make sense to Simon as he actually looked like he's sorry.

"I… " he sighed and looked at her, his eyes were lost and sad.

"I can't talk to you anymore… because I like you… but you've already set your eyes on someone else… so I just had to ignore you hoping that it'll make it less painful." he muttered. Complete silence filled the air.

France didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. It may be true that she already had eyes on a certain Scottish cutie, but telling him the truth all over again would leave such mental scars.

It took her long enough to say something that Ghost already invited her back to the car, and her silence may leave no meaning, but to Ghost it meant a lot, at least he knew that he no longer had a chance on her and would finally move on.

The village was like any other typical village, the elder's house would always be on the highest point and the two opted to ask the village elder first to gather clues.

One clue led to another as they visited each house looking for one Fabian Alvarez, a nephew of an alleged Shadow Company soldier. Only a few were able to speak fluent english and they decided to help, until such time that Fabian decided to show up.

He looked like a five year old kid, holding a rubber ball and he looked at France and Ghost awkwardly before hiding back into his house. Fabian was far too young to know about his uncle's whereabouts and the lead went cold once again.

The ride home was quiet. France didn't want to say anything as she can't. Her heart was like inside a washing machine, swirling around as she thought of how Ghost liked her while she's clearly liking someone else. It must've been hella awkward and painful to see on a daily basis. She felt that once, when her best friend got together with her high school crush and continued to stay together up to this day… She knew how he felt.

~

The moment they got back, she was actually greeted by Soap, who already had his hands wide open for a hug. As usual, France would ignore his gesture and it now felt that she was already helping out Ghost from the pain. But now, she's the one feeling restricted.

It pained her to not get near Soap and he's already starting to notice the indifference. She was actually surprised when he cornered her, just as soon as she stepped out of the shower.

Her cheeks flushed as the idea of her, only wrapped with a towel, stood in front of Soap. She felt really vulnerable in this position.

"What happened out there?" he looked angry but the tone of his voice sounded concerned.

"Nothing, it's just … A dead lead. A waste of time." She replied as she attempted to cross over him.

"And how does that warrant an indifferent approach toward me?" he quickly moved to block her again. She sighed at her actions. He was right. He didn't deserve this treatment, he needed to learn something about the truth.

"We had a little fight with your friend over there…" She muttered, her voice was low enough so he couldn't hear.

"Who, Ghost?" he inched his face closer and his face lit up like a curious bystander who overhears conversations on a daily basis.

"Yeah… It was an unpleasant exchange." She said vaguely.

"Well, it'll all be resolved soon. I guess you're too carried away that you didn't want to talk to me as well…" he chuckled and scratched the back of his head. That gesture always made France happy, he may not notice it but she loves the way his muscles twitch when he scratches his nape. She found it satisfying and hot.

"Yeah… I'll go change." She said, as she frowned as soon as they parted. She knew she had to tell him the specific reason and the events that occured today, but she felt that it would create a domino effect that would lead the team to be uncooperative.

During bedtime, Alex requested France to swap sleeping spaces, meaning that she had to lie down beside Soap. She couldn't find the courage to say no as it might ruin the reunion they both longed for after a very long time.

France swung the door open and found out that they were already asleep, except for Ghost who was once again missing. She used this opportunity to actually wake Soap up and let him be aware that she'll be sleeping beside him. She planned to make both men comfortable by spacing herself between them, by only showing affection to Soap while Ghost's not around, until such time that Ghost would accept the inevitable truth.

"John." She whispered, as Soap lazily opened his eyes and reached out for her, wrapping her in his arms.

"I really like you. A lot. I hope you'll be patient enough for me." She whispered again. She knew he wouldn't hear it but the idea of her actually expressing her thoughts to him, put her at ease, as she slowly closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, wrapped by the arms of the man whom she really admired.

Next Chapter : If I Remember Correctly

Notification Squad my Beloved

@ricinbach @whimsywispsblog @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @beemybee

[cherrystreet]

"should we just search romantic comedies on netflix and see what we find?" so, i totally come to you with every fic idea that pops into my head. but like, i reeeally need little snippets of the times harry and louis decide to put on netflix. like, after takeout arrives or for movie night with the lads or to pick a new show to watch because they just finished the office (us version this time). or even when they're bickering and get passive aggressive over what to watch for said movie night

This is a little different than what you wanted but that’s only because I don’t know how to write domestic pieces so I hope this is okay and ily xx

It didn’t start as a routine.

The first time it happened, it was a Tuesday night filled with too much homework, the October weather already too cold for Harry’s liking. The blinking cursor on a blank Word document seemed to be mocking him, laughing at his inability to form a cohesive thought after working nonstop for the past four hours. Eventually, he abandoned his endless string of papers, walking aimlessly around his apartment for the better part of an hour in an attempt to find something better than writing 5,000 words on Game Theory. Nothing jumped out at him, so he continued to shuffle around, sighing obnoxiously, until his roommate Sam hollered from the other room, “If you don’t cut it with those pathetic noises, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not even being loud,” he yelled back.

“Shut up and do your homework.”

“But my brain is fried–”

“Harry, enough.”

“Ugh.” He kicked off his shoes and slumped down onto the couch, staring at the clock as the minute hand steadily ticked forward. Somehow, watching time was more appealing than reopening up his laptop and forcing himself to write another word.

Sam was right. Absolutely pathetic.

“What should I do?” he asked after a few minutes, eyes nearly glazed over.

“The fuck should I know,” Sam replied, finally appearing around the corner. “Go down to the Hub.”

“It’s too cold out for that. And it’s raining.”

“Order some food.”

“I don’t have any money on me.”

“Watch a movie.”

“Nothing good is on.”

“How would you even know?! The TV is off!”

Harry shrugged. “Gimme your Netflix password. Maybe new stuff has been added.”

“Will you finally stop talking?”

“Maybe.”

Sam reached for the remote to the TV. “Thank God.”

 It took about 17 minutes of “Chopped” for Harry to send out a text to everyone he could think of, a simple Come over. Everyone’s here. He didn’t want to sit alone, just wanted to unwind with the company of some friends. Sam was clearly no help, just kept yelling from his bedroom to keep the volume down, that “some people actually take their classes seriously, Harry.” And saying that everyone was already gathered together wasn’t technically a lie. Sam was there. And his fish. And the cast of “The Office,” currently streaming from the main TV in the living room.

Whatever. Semantics. People would be there shortly. People to talk to him and not tell him to shut up.

Twenty minutes later, Louis was standing in front of Harry, sweatpants too big and glasses smudged.

“Shut up,” he said, tugging on his hoodie strings. “What is this?!”

So much for that, Harry thought. “What?”

“You said people were here. It’s just you.”

“Is that so bad?”

“If I wanted to spend the night doing nothing and listening to someone drone on and on about nothing, I’d put on a Bob Ross special.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Bob Ross is extremely talented…”

“Bob Ross is dead. And boring. And he never would have tricked me into coming here on a shitty Tuesday night under false pretenses.”

“I thought other people would show up!” He squished deeper into the couch cushions. “You gonna leave?”

Louis groaned and kicked Harry’s shoes out of the way as he climbed onto the couch beside him. “No. I came all the way here.”

“It’s, like, a nine minute walk…”

“Yeah, nine minutes in the wind and rain. You better have food as compensation. And why the fuck are you watching the British version of ‘The Office’? Why do you hate yourself? Give me the remote.”

Harry shook his head, standing up to grab snacks, wondering how constant abuse was the better alternative to staring idly at the wall.

The following Tuesday, Harry turned in his biochemistry assignment early, cracking his knuckles as soon as he his submit. It felt good to get rid of a week’s worth of studying, to not have to look at it anymore, and he slipped out of his jeans and into his most worn pair of pajama pants, the hole in the knee stretching with every wash. It didn’t take long for the couch to mold perfectly to his body, the apartment warm and quiet, Sam out for the evening. It was relaxing. It was welcoming. It was. Not what Harry wanted.

“Hey, I’ll order pizza,” he said through the phone’s receiver. “Dominos, if you want it.”

“I always want it,” Louis replied. “Cheap shot.”

“Pepperoni?”

“Ugh, Harry, can’t Steve Carell wait? We know what happens.”

“But it’s my favorite episode and I wanna watch you watch it.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“I’ve never seen you watch it, though. Lou, they have a fucking benefit for rabies. Rabies. I need to see your face when Michael donates a giant check to a disease that’s already been cured.”

“Oh my God,” Louis snorted, but Harry could tell he was wearing him down. “Alright, whatever, fine, but make sure it’s extra cheese with the pepperoni.”

 Seven days later, Harry did much less arm twisting, just casually mentioning they were up to the start of season five. Louis texted back, Don’t start without me. I’ll know if you’re lying.

Harry sucked in his cheeks, smile worming its way out, anyway. Wouldn’t dream of it.

The last Tuesday of the month, Louis was knocking on Harry’s door without bothering to ask if he was busy. Harry let him in graciously, snacks already on the coffee table and blankets on the arm of the couch.

And just like that, Tuesday became Harry’s favorite day of the week.

It’s been five months since Harry and Louis created their non-date date night, and they’ve gone through nearly everything on the Netflix list that moderately sparks their interest. Comedies, dramas, documentaries, musicals… They’ve watched them all, not too picky, hunkering down together to enjoy a casual night of TV. And neither one of them got bored of it, never asking to cut the night short or go out to do something else. Harry loves having the time to unwind, loves the fact that he has something so comfortable to count on, loves Louis’ company more than just about anything.

And that’s why he snaps when Louis doesn’t show up on Tuesday night in late March, the Netflix home screen nearly burned onto Harry’s retinas, waiting for Louis to walk through the door and pick the movie. He taps his fingers along his thighs, annoyed, wondering where the hell he could be. Nine o’clock comes and goes, as does ten o’clock, and by 11:30, “The Holiday” playing quietly in the background, Harry is less angry and more concerned that something horrible has happened. Louis doesn’t answer his phone the second time Harry calls him, or the third, but he does by the ninth, beyond irritated when he picks up.

“Harry, what the fuck,” he says, his voice tight. There’s a lot of background noise but Harry can’t figure out where he might be. “You had better be fucking dying.”

Harry skims his finger along the frayed edge of the blanket, suddenly embarrassed. “No, but, like, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at Ian’s. Is that why you called 100 times? Are you for real?”

“Why aren’t you here?” he says stupidly, his face hot. Who’s Ian? He hates him, regardless. “‘m watching Cameron Diaz try to seduce that hot British guy…”

“Jude Law?!”

“Yeah, him, and, like–”

“Harry, you called me nine times to talk to me about Jude Law.” It’s not a question.

“No,” he starts, “I didn’t. I called you nine times to ask why you stood me up.”

“Did we have plans?”

Harry looks down at his lap. “I mean, not verbal ones, but you always come here on Tuesdays and you’re not here now and–”

“Ian wanted to get a drink before he headed to Spain for the rest of the semester,” Louis says, cutting him off. “I didn’t think I needed to cancel a stupid friend hangout to do that. You’re kind of acting like a crazy boyfriend.”

“It’s not stupid and that’s not…” He starts to argue, but stops himself short, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he’s being irrationally angry and insane and, well, idiotically jealous, and now that Louis’ had to go ahead and say the B word, it’s ricocheting through his brain like live wire, sparking and hot. The thing is, they’re not boyfriends, because that’s not a line they’ve ever crossed, but just about everything they do - Tuesdays and otherwise - might argue that fact. They meet each other after class for coffee, they call each other on Sunday mornings, they spend school breaks at each other’s homes. Harry carries Louis’ backpack, Louis buys Harry dinner, they steal one another’s clothing… They share a fucking blanket on Harry’s Goddamn couch every single week, their knees brushing together, sending shocks up Harry’s spine, Harry unable to stop himself from stealing a series of unsubtle glances at Louis’ profile, his cheekbones, his lips. Fuck. His temple throbs and he does his best to swallow around the lump in his throat. Boyfriend. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Louis breathes through the phone for a beat too long. “I’m safe. I wasn’t kidnapped. I just… We’ll hang out later, alright?”

He doesn’t sound angry anymore, but Harry feels too antsy to keep talking. “Yeah, later. Bon voyage to Ian. I’ll see you this weekend or something.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Or something.”

Harry hangs up the phone with a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows every single one of them and wills himself to stop thinking about the fact that he’s gone and lost his mind over his best friend spending the night out with a guy who isn’t him. He should be here on this couch, thigh pressed up against Harry’s, and this is not the way it was supposed to go. None of it was.

He must doze off at some point, because the next thing he knows, there’s a bang on the door, followed by a tinny voice mumbling, “Please let me in. I’m tired and cold.”

Harry flicks on the hallway light and pulls open the door as quickly as his body will allow himself to, finding himself face to face with a pink-cheeked Louis. “Lou, it’s…” He looks over at the clock. “Two in the morning.”

Louis shrugs, worming his way inside. “Yeah, well. I’m two hours late for our date. Sorry about that. You still watching ‘The Holiday’?”

He bites back his smile, body feeling like it’s deflating. “Finished it earlier. Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?”

“That… Sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Harry snorts, closing the door behind him and follows Louis into the living room. Louis’ already making himself comfortable on the couch, yawning. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We haven’t checked out the horror genre in a while.”

“Yeah, for a reason.” He sits beside Louis, lets Louis drape his legs across his lap. Like a magnet, his hand immediately goes to grip Louis’ ankle. “I get nightmares.”

Louis looks up at him from under his lashes, blinking slower than usual, and it makes Harry’s stomach twist. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe it’s something else. “Big baby.”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking, thumb drawing circles across Louis’ skin. “That’s me.”

Neither of them say anything else, nor do they move, and Harry’s trying to find something to say that isn’t something clicked for me tonight, but Louis speaks first, licking his lips.

“Sorry I stood you up,” he says softly, grabbing for the remote and selecting the first title on the menu, not looking at Harry. “I was a dick about it.”

Harry shrugs, inching his way closer, watching the way the screen’s colors dances across Louis’ face. “It’s alright. Just missed you.”

He can actually hear Louis swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Louis nods, biting at his bottom lip. He’s nervous. Harry exhales once he notices. “Can I stay over tonight?”

Harry isn’t sure what the implications are behind his question, or why Louis’ bothering to ask when he’s never asked before - usually just passes out on the couch or on Harry’s bed, curling up into a ball on the edge of the mattress - but it’s clear something has changed, based on the way Louis is looking up at him. He’s never looked at Harry like that before.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, “Lou, whatever you want.”

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, doesn’t remember leaning in, but then there’s just breath between them, and then not even that, just skin on skin, warm and sweet and entirely too perfect. And Harry has no idea what’s playing on the screen in front of them, but it’s decidedly his new favorite film.

[ardalionandnatalia]

Ardalion and Natalia (X)

Katya is awakening now.

Katya just had a dream about the first time she and Kuzma came together.

She blinks as she wakes up and realizes she is not with Kuzma any longer.

Having entered the temple with her bundles of sheaves, herbs and flowers, Natalia is led to bathe and purify herself. She does so, and then seeks Katya in the woman's assigned chambers.

She sighs, feeling cold and sad as she remembered what had happened to her.

Had she really died, though, she wondered? She did not recall dying. She had only assumed she was dead after talking to Sam and the others.

She see Katya sleeping, now stirring. She kneels down beside her bedside and awaits for her to wake fully.

Katya: Natalia?

Folding her hands in her lap, Natalia poses still. Hearing her name uttered, she raises slightly, nearing Katya now, over her bed.

Natalia: Are you awake now? *gently draws back the covers and helps Katya sit up in bed*

Katya: yes, I am fine. Thank you for attending to me. What will happen next?

Natalia: *bows head in respectful deference, since Iole tasked her with serving Katya and preparing her for tomorrow* Iole and the other oracles are in the midst of final preparations and prayers to appeal for the forecast tomorrow. Iole has asked me to guide you through the final preparations you and I must undergo, since I am to be your companion when we traverse down into the inner core of the temple, beneath the ground. Today, you must be dressed and taught how to offer offerings to ensure you are answered.

Katya: I see. Thank you for guiding me. Are we heading out now to the core of the temple?

Natalia: No, not yet- we need to dress and prepare our garments before we are summoned by the oracles. It's not tomorrow yet. We have many things to do today. *offers Katya her hand, though wonders if Katya will be alarmed by her own boniness and claws. Ardalion's words still gnaw on her about bodies and such.*

Katya does not seem phased and takes her hand.

She is careful not to touch the claws, but does not seem to really care.

Natalia notices that Katya's forearms have some small scars on them from the years of working at the factory.

Surprised by her acceptance, Natalia glances down at their hands, and in the growing light of the sunlight shafting through, she notices the fine, pale scars lining and splotching Katya's arms. Natalia realizes Katya has lived a hard live and is determined to make this new life easier for her. She feels a swell of sympathy for the composed woman before her.*

Katya looks at her curiously, but does not indicate any other emotions otherwise.

Katya: You seem to be very curious about me.

Natalia: Let's go to the outer hall- we have better lighting, and we can prepare our garments and headdresses for tomorrow. I'll show you yours, as I'll be making it for you. Yes, you do elicit my curiosity- you're from another land, another people. I'm curious, especially since you are from the future, at least to me. You're two centuries beyond me. Come, let's go to the outer hall. The sun shining and there's a nice breeze.

Katya: Ardalion is also from my time and my country. I see you have been talking to him a lot. How do you find him...?

Natalia: I found him, along with another man, a man from England, who disappeared. Ardalion developed an altered form with powers, and we slain a trio of monsters together. He is a vain creature, fueled by the basest. I dislike him now and do not wish to speak to him. He is amusing with his ideas, he fancies himself some sort of philsopher, but he is like some upstart who thinks they're another Descartes or Prometheus because they read a few books or get promoted in their trades.

Katya: ...I see.

Katya bows her head.

Katya: You dislike Ardalion?

Natalia: I do- what of it? Let's focus on you and your goal here. Enough talk of him. Or the men here.

Katya: I don't truly dislike him. I still like him somewhat, to be honest. He is a charming man. My goal here is to see the vision to see my husband again, right? Well, this is related. My husband and Ardalion actually share my traits in common. Perhaps this is why I can't dislike Ardalion entirely, still, after all that has happened.

Natalia: Charming? I suppose he can be. But he's a lewd brute as well. Let's focus on your husband. And your baby.

I know what you mean, though. About not hating someone entirely. I and my mother... well.... it is complicated. She and I were as complex at the Gordian knot. And it seems we tied that knot between ourselves, equally at fault.

Katya's mouth tightens.

Katya: Indeed, things can be like that sometimes. Shall we progress with the ritual now? One more thing. Lewdness is not necessarily a bad thing. Or perhaps I'm wording it wrongfully.

Katya frowns.

Katya: I'm not good at expressing myself sometimes. I wasn't that well educated, unlike Ardalion and my husband.

Natalia: *nods, and leads Katya to a low-legged table, laden with a cloth, on top of which are bundles of herbs and fresh flowers, plus ripened wheat sheaves and fresh, supple sprigs* Education can only do so much- I too am educated, yet I fail at being gentle and kind. It's hard for me to make friends or be liked.

Katya: Emotional expression plays a large role in getting people to like you.

Natalia: It's better to be a better person, than have all the education in the world. Better to be enlightened, than scholarly.

Katya: There is nothing wrong with being scholarly though. *she frowns, hating herself for being a peasant*

Natalia: Yes, you are right. And I have a bad temper, as you might see in the future, Katya. You should be warned.

Katya: Enlightenment doesn't always come to the blind who have blind faith.

Natalia: Scholars can solve problems, but never themselves.

Katya: one must learn about the world with open eyes and not rely on blind faith as the uneducated are wont to do. My husband is a scholar.

Natalia: Perhaps. Enlightenment is a choice. Arrogance can barricade a person from choosing enlightenment. It demands humility at times. Then he is fortunate to have you, then.

Katya: and ignorance often means succumbing to drunkenness and abuse. I've seen it all.

Natalia: I lived among the educated- drunkenness and abuse are in all people.

Katya: You and I are from different cultures, different times. Where you come from, it seems like the women, in particular, act very differently. The way you talk about your mother...

Natalia: My mother, despite being the most educated and refined lady of the highest breeding, was a cruel soul. She was violent, too. She killed my father when he became blind after an accident.

Katya: It is not common where I come from for a woman to act like that.

Katya bites her lip again.

Natalia: Let's forget the past, and focus on what's before us. You want to see your husband and child again, do you not?

Katya: Yes.

Natalia: I am fortunate fate gave me another mother in Iole, though I respect her enough not to call her so.

Katya: I don't need a mother.

Natalia: Let me show your headdress, it's different from mine and the others.

Katya: I am glad you have found one though.

Natalia: But I do. So let's focus on our task at hand.

Katya: You like to talk back a lot, don't you?

Her tone is not angry or reproachful, merely curious. She's never talked with someone who replies like this before.

Natalia: Yes. What of it? Does it displease you that I do?

Katya: Most people I know would have just ended the conversation just then. No, it's just peculiar. And makes me wonder if I have angered you with my different opinions. I personally don't like talking back, so maybe that is why I thought for a while you were angry at me.

Natalia: *softens and lowers sharpened guard down* We are different, for sure, Katya. I hope I have not angered you, or given you offense. *grows thoughtful* I guess I talk back because I felt a need to talk back. Like if I didn't talk back, I'd have no power, and others could demean me, or overpower me. I like to voice what I think and feel, because for so long, I was forbidden to do so. Why do you dislike talking back? You are shy, I think?

Katya looks away.

Katya: I want to avoid conflict at all means. I don't mean to disturb you. Let's just go back to the task at hand.

Natalia: You should not be afraid, now that you're in this new world. You don't have to worry about the conflict being bold would have had in your life and world. *picks up the sheaves and supple, green sprigs to make Katya's headdress*

Katya doesn't respond. She doesn't quite appreciate Natalia lecturing her, however, and thinks that people should just agree to disagree. She dislikes the idea of talking back just for the sake of it, particularly to a stranger like Natalia.

Katya: Thank you for helping me out again.

Katya: *to herself* I'm bold in my own way. Who does this person think she is, lecturing me? She doesn't know anything about me and assumed I was even shy. If I wasn't bold, how would I not have made the connections I did with Galkin? I would not have gotten close to Kuzma if I was not bold, either. It took guts for me to find and approach him again, for me to start our relationship!

Natalia: *glances at Katya sideways and senses her inner annoyance. Natalia regrets her brash assumptions and how she paraded them before Katya. She attempts to reconcile*

Natalia: You

Katya thinks she'll never see Natalia again anyways, so what is the point of thinking so much about this?

Katya doesn't say anything and stares straight ahead.

Katya: Is something the matter?

Natalia: You're irked by what I said, are you not? I'm sorry. I assumed too much. In truth, I do not know you, so I can't understand you entirely, and what you do, and how you act.

Natalia: Forgive me.

Katya: I am not angry with you. Please proceed.

Katya closes her eyes, hiding a dismissive look away from Natalia.

Katya: *to herself* and this is why I usually don't have female friends. They assume too much and they think they can tell you all of these things on a first meeting.

Katya thinks it's a great irony that she was thrown into this mostly female world and the only two males here are Ardalion and Sam of all people.

Natalia: *opens her mouth as though she desires to pursues this matter further, but seeing Katya's dismissive look, feels piqued and meek. Hangs her head slightly, wanting to withdraw a bit. She has driven away yet another, and she regrets it was a newcomer as Katya is.*

Katya has not really given Natalia much thought as she thinks about Sam and how humorous he is.

Natalia: No, we have to prepare here. *grows a bit pensive. She senses Katya dislikes her company.* *bites her lip down, not wanting to fail Iole and vex Katya any further*

Katya: What do we do to prepare?

Natalia: *begins picking up the sheaves and sprigs, now bending the supple, tender sprigs into a U-shape, like a crown of sorts* We first need to make your headdress. Because you're a wife and mother, your headdress must be fashioned with ripened sheaves of wheat and corn, to symbolize your fruitfulness in life as a wife and mother. *holds up a golden sheave as she explains, the fine bristled head of the sheave glimmers slightly in the sunlight*

Katya: What if I was only a wife and not a mother? Then what?

Natalia: *places down Katya's designated headdress and picks up several flowers* Then your headdress would be of these- these flowers symbolize the woman before motherhood and marriage- she has not lived long into life, so she is like a flower.

Natalia: It's the same if you're wife and not a mother.

Katya: I see.

Natalia: But you're both, you're a wife and a mother.

Katya looks at Natalia for a while and is tempted to ask if she was married, but doesn't.

Katya feels that Natalia is indignant about this topic.

Katya: Yes, I am. I didn't know I would be, to be honest. But that's a topic for another day.

Natalia: Mine differs because I was never a wife, nor a mother.

Katya: I see. It is interesting. It must be liberating to never be a wife and mother.

Natalia: Yes, it was for the best. I'm not fit for either role. But let's return to yours. It will look very nice once I'm done.

Katya: especially since you seem very at peace with your choice, and the fact that you long to be mentored by a woman.

Natalia: Liberty only comes to those who can enjoy it despite their lives. I could be free as a mother and wife, or free as a woman on my own. A woman on her own can be just as oppressed.

Katya: Can I help you make the headdress?

Natalia: I'm sorry. I spoke too much. Let's focus on the task at hand, here. Almost finished- yes, please help me*notices her claws are tangled and tied in the delicate threads of the stripped sprig- holds out her hands to Katya to untangle and then re-tie the sheaves to the bent sprig*

Katya untangles and helps her to re-tie.

Katya: I never got along well with women, to be honest. I cannot imagine living here that long. I'm sorry about the comment I made about not wanting a mother when you clearly have alway wanted one. I spoke too soon.

Natalia: *looks thoughtfully at her, pauses for a moment before she speaks*

Katya: I just never felt the need to connect with any woman, to be honest. I've always had difficulties for some reason. I've always felt that women were judgmental, rude, and nitpicking.

Natalia: May I be honest with you, Katya?

Katya: And I admire people with strong goals who climb the social ladder. most women I knew and know are not like that. That is why I always felt the most comfortable with men. What do you want to say?

Natalia: Back in my life, when I lived as a human, I too never sought or even liked the company of women. They all seemed, as you say, just as you say- nitpicking, assumptive, meanly-minded, materialistic, and cruel creatures. All I saw were women like my mother, so many women like her. And my prioresses as well, who were no better than her. I met one girl who was a friend to me, but I lost her. Men were intelligient, they did things, they advance and moved the world in ways women were not allowed in my time. I wanted to join that world. I liked the company of men, like my father, Andrea, Signors Morosini and Di Petro, and even an unusal and unlikely friend in Calafado. I relished their company and took comfort in their understanding and acceptance.

Natalia: Even Calafado was kinder to me than my own mother.

Katya: I see.

Katya sighs and looks away. She was not expecting Natalia's life story.

She feels too tired and overwhelmed to have a proper conversation about these kind of things. She feels a bit guilty she hasn't been very open to talking more to Natalia, though.

Natalia: But I spoke too much now, I'm irritating you. See*holds up the headdress before Katya* It's finished now.

Katya feels that Natalia's personality is somewhat like Liza's--very acidic, critical and overly emotional. This somewhat disturbs her.

Katya decides to smile and take the headdress and forget all of this came up.

Katya: Thank you! This looks wonderful.

Natalia: *gestures for Katya to bow her head so she can crown the piece on her head*

Katya bows her head.

Natalia: *carefully secures the headdress between her ears and weaves a few strands of her light hair to fully latch the piece like a crown*

Katya: I bet this looks great on me. Thank you for your wonderful help, Natalia.

Natalia: Yes, you look fit now. Now for your robes.

Natalia: *ducks into another hall, speaks with another oracle, and is handed two folds of robes, one for herself, one for Katya*

Katya: What will you be doing to my robes?

Natalia: *gestures for her to stand in another hall where the sun is shining the least, so there is shade*

Natalia: We need to dress you now, in these special robes.

Natalia: *lies out Katya's robes on a lit patch of the mosaic floor, a white peplos with a red himation, the red symbolizing her marriage and motherhood*