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forthehpfanboys · 4 years ago

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Two Years

Pair: Fred Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You got back to Diagon Alley after the war and desperately wanna talk to him and explain why you were basically non-existent during the war. But is Fred ready to talk to you?

Warnings: Swearing.

Notes: Reader is Draco's Cousin! Hope you enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

Complicated couldn’t even begin to describe your relationship with the Weasley’s.

For to start, you were related to the Malfoys which automatically meant it was rocky. You were Draco’s cousin. Your family didn’t believe in the same ideology as Lucius and Narcissa, leading to family feuds being normal during literally any time of the year. Your family didn’t exactly want the attention of the Malfoys or the Dark Lord once the war reared its ugly head, so your family fled to America, dragging you with them. They wanted to get as far from the war as possible.

And two, well, you were Fred’s partner before the war broke out. Since your family was absolutely dedicated to being hidden, you lost communication with him when your family decided to just get up and go. You didn’t even have time to tell him goodbye or really anyone and it hurt. You knew you hurt him too and no matter how you begged, your parents wouldn’t let you see him, let alone send him a letter. Owls couldn’t travel across whole seas and you were basically in lock down, even if you were a grown adult.

You stayed up most nights because of nightmares. You’d wake up in a cold sweat more times than you could count on both hands. After these tear jerking visions from hell, you’d usually climb from your bedroom window to the room, gazing out at the moon like a love struck teenager, hoping maybe even praying Fred was gazing at the moon at the same time you were.. Most nights he actually was.

During the war, Fred had come into a.. Complication. He ended up fracturing his leg, resulting in a cane and physical therapy. George took up fixing and running the shop with Ron while he was borderline trapped between surviving at the Burrow and physical therapy.

Fred spent most of his free time sketching out ideas of products to tire his mind long enough to ignore the stupid nightmares and gazing out the window, hoping you’d apperate across the field and come comfort him, but you never came. Everyone in the Burrow avoided mentioning your name around Fred, anyway.

When the time came, Fred went straight back to work with his twin, spewing out ideas about different treats, potions, trinkets, anything and everything he came up with while bed ridden and they both got to work quickly.

It was nice, relaxing, normal again. Everything was normal to Fred but a piece of him was missing. You were across the world and you held a piece of his heart and he hated you never gave it back.

No matter how badly he missed you or longed for you to hold his hand, he wasn’t ready to face you when you entered their shop. He literally wasn’t ready to face you. He turned around when the bell went off, ready to say the shop wasn’t open yet but dropped the box he was holding. He ignored the sound of shattering glass and immediately booked it back into the room, where he nearly knocked over his brother.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, swiftly setting the box he was holding down on the shelf. “Are you going into another attack? Do you need to go upsta-” He was silenced when Fred's hand covered his mouth.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out, causing George's eyebrows to furrow before his eyes grew wide. Fred moved his hand, using it to slowly shut the storage room door, making sure to turn the handle so it shut silently. The separation allowed the twins to whisper to each other in peace.

“Isn't that-”

“Yeah.”

“Then why-”

“Because I’m not ready.”

“..You’re not ready? Blimey, Fred, it’s been 2 years since he left.” George ran a hand down his face, the other landing on his hip sassily. “What do you mean you're not ready? You always talked about how you missed him but now you aren't ready?”

“You wouldn’t understand-”

“Don’t even give me that, Freddie. Talk to me.” George smiled, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. “I know you're older by like, 1/4 a second, but you don’t have to be a rock. Come on, don’t bottle it up.”

Fred let out a sigh, his eyes casting downward before he let out the smallest of chuckles. His hand came to rub the back of his neck.

“Fine.”

George almost squealed with joy when his brother decided to open up to him. He wanted to clap his hands and jump around like a child, but opted for not compromising their position.

Fred went on to tell George about how you left, how you didn’t even leave a note, how he didn’t know how to ask if you two were still together and if you loved him anymore. George has already known all of this, causing his face to melt into an unamused expression.

“.. You realize you're being ridiculous, right?”

“Gee, thanks George. I will most definitely come back to you when I have emotional turmoil.”

“No, no, mate, listen.” George wrapped his arm around his older brother's shoulder, gently guiding him away from the wall. “Listen, ok? You’re such a top notch guy, not as handsome as me,” George smiled wider when his brother snorted, “but you’re trying! So why not at least talk to the bloke, yeah? You guys were snogging before he left, so why not try to snog after?”

“I just told you why I can’t.”

“Who are you and what did you do with Fredrick Weasley?” George put the back of his hand across his forehead, being the dramatic shit he is.

“Don’t call me that, you prat-”

“I thought I knew you! Confidence was your middle name! Frederick Confident Gideon Weasley!” The youngest twin only became cockier when the older one groaned and covered his face. “Oh, Frederick, where did you go?” He wrapped his free arm tighter around his brother and dragged him out the door, ignoring his protests and grabby hands reaching to hold onto the door frame.

“George, wait!” Fred’s hushed whisper floated in the air, completely ignored by the other red-head.

“Fredrick! Where did you go, Freddie?!” He called out, knowing damn well you were still in the shop. Neither of the twins heard the shops bell ring a second tie, indication your departure.

“George?” Your voice echoed in the closed shop, leading George to dramatically turn to his brother and smirk at him. “Is that you?”

“Why yes, my dear friend! How are you?” George let go of his twin, allowing him to scurry off to the side and hide behind one of their many filled shelves. You walked up to him just after Fred hid, much to his delight and George’s dismay. George’s smile faltered ever so slightly when he took in your appearance.

Your hair was a nest fit for Scabbers, the bags under your eyes would need to be checked with baggage at any muggle airport and your clothes. Not that there was anything wrong with a hoodie and sweatpants, but it was summer for fucks sake. He could see the sweat across his brow and wondered if he should turn the AC on.

“I’m as well as I can be, I guess..” You fiddled with a stray strand hanging from your hoodie. George noted the fraying hand made thumb holes and his eyebrow raised in confusion. “I um-” You ran a hand through your hair, “I wanted to talk to Fred, do you know where he is?” While your eyes were darting across the top level of the shop, George’s eyes flashed to his brother.

The shop owner shot his brother a glare when he shook his head back and forth fast enough to make anyone dizzy.

“Um, no.. I haven't.” George grumbled out, his hands going to his pockets. He looked down at the floor deciding it would be better than the disappointed expression on your face. “Um, do you want me to give him a message for something?”

“No, yeah, if that’s ok?” You went back to fiddling with the stray thread. You didn’t notice Fred peaking at you through the products lined on the shelves. “Just um- Could you tell him I’m sorry for me? I’m sure he’ll know what I mean..”

“Yeah, sure thing, (Y/n/n). Anything for you.” George ran a hand through his hair after you turned on your heel and mumbled a thank you before exiting the shop. “You owe me.” The red-head turned to his identical and sighed when he saw the longing expression. “Merlin’s left tit, you’re fucked, mate.”

“I should’ve-” Fred hit his forehead against the wood of one of the shelves, a yell of frustration leaving his throat.

“Say it.” “..You were right. I should’ve talked to him.”

“Damn right I was. Now, go get your bloke before he cries in the street or worse, goes to Malfoy for romantic help.” George faked a shudder at the idea. George watched his brother turn, slamming his back into the shelf and slide to the floor. “Ok, Fred, seriously, this is getting kind of sad.”

“I can’t go talk to him, George!” Fred was pulling at his own ginger locks, his knees coming up to his chest. “I- No, I can’t.”

“Do you want me to do it?” George’s voice was soft. He plopped himself on the dusty floor right next to his brother. “I can talk to him as you? See what all of this is about?”

“I don’t know, Georgie..” Fred’s voice was softer than his twins. He looked at his brother with a hopeless expression and glossy eyes. George figured from this it would be best to tackle the problem tomorrow so he just pulled his brother into his side and held him for a good while.

The next day was easier for Fred. The store was bustling, as it was Monday, morning and all the happy customers provided a great distraction. He took over the register while George focused more on the floor work: answering customer questions, restocking shelves. It was a lot for two twins to handle, but they managed, especially when Ginny or Ron offered their free days to come down and help.

Fred had just finished closing the drawer, handing a youngster his change back when the bell above the shop's door caught his attention. He shifted on his feet when Draco was practically dragging you into the shop wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The red-head was starting to wonder if you were ok.

“(Y/n)!” George yanked you into a hug before you could even blink, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles that left Fred absolutely yearning to have you by his side again.

“Hey Geo!” You briefly hugged him back before pulling away, causing his attention to shift to your cousin.

“Malfoy.” George looked the blonde up and down. He’d throw hands if he had too, even in his own shop.

“Hey, be nice. He’s on our side now.” You punched the tall suited man lightly in the arm before shoving your hands in your pockets.

“It’s unfortunate but true. Most birds did appreciate my bad boy ages.” Draco ran a hand dramatically through his hair while George snorted. “But that isn’t why we’re here. Is your brother around?”

“He’s at the til, why?”

“I’m just here to make sure (Y/n) actually talks to him like he promised too.” Draco put a hand on your back and gently pushed you forward. “But how is business, Weasley?”

While George went on to talk about statistics and boring old shit, you slowly walked over to the red-head who was trying to distract himself by restocking some of the knickknacks in the class case beneath the counter. You cleared your throat, clearly scaring him. He let out a squeak and hit his head on the underside of the glass case.

“I-I’m sorry, Freddie! Are you ok?” you asked, your hands awkwardly fidgeting in front of you as the male stood up and rubbed the back of his head. You bit your lip, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and check his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He had his eyes squinted so tight he could see stars flashing behind his lids. He couldn’t look at you yet. You’d looked like a kicked puppy yesterday when you left and it pained him so much.

“Did, um.. Did you get my message from Geo?” You were fiddling with the string again. Fred opened his eyes slowly, nodding to you while he played with the product in his hand.

“I.. Look, I don’t wanna beat around the bush, but I-”

“I already know.” Fred spoke up quickly, louder than intended. “I know, it’s fine.”

“S.. So it’s fine then?” You looked around, a tiny bit confused. Fred wasn’t one for jumping to conclusions, but it seemed his legs weren’t tired yet.

“Yeah.”

“So, I just wanna be sure we’re on the same page, you know my family dragged me to America?”

“Uh-”

“And basically put me under house arrest so I couldn’t see you or message you or leave or really live? And I haven’t forgotten you and my feelings for you haven’t changed and Godric, Fred, I miss you so much.” Tears pricked your tired eyes as you glanced at him. You cleared your throat over the awkward silence you felt was your fault. Fred was replaying your words like a record stuttering on a player and the bloke was still confused.

“.. Come again?” The red-head blinked stupidly, subconsciously leaning over the counter. Maybe he wasn’t hearing you right over the noise of the shop. You couldn’t help but release a borderline silent chuckle that bubbled into your throat.

“I still love you, Freddie bear.” You twiddled with your fingers, your eyes glancing down to his lips before looking back into his sparkling eyes.

“You do?” The co-owner was trying to keep his joy nestled deep down in his chest.

You nodded your head.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Wha- Ah! FRED-”

The male had all but jumped over the glass counter, dramatically picking you up by your waist and slamming his lips to yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, while your hands gripped to his shoulders like your life depended on it. You immediately fell under the spell of his kiss and didn’t even hear your cousin and your boyfriend's twin brother whooping/gagging.

Fred soon set you down, his usual cocky grin spread across his face until his knee buckled. The strain of his dumb ass jumping over the counter and picking you off your feet like you were a feather was finally catching up with him.

“Ah, ow, ow.” Fred groaned out, bending over to hold his right knee. You put a hand on his shoulder, worry etched across his face. “Ah, so um.. I should probably explain-”

“We both have a lot to explain, Freddie. Two years is a lot of time to be apart.”

#fred weasley x male reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #hp imagine #hp x male reader #male reader #george weasley #draco malfoy #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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hateswifi · 5 years ago

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Rising from the Ashes: Of Icecream and Teleportaion

So this is Part Three here is to my Master List and Part Two. Enjoy!!

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Now it is Sunday, the week after the gala and her parents' death, she had been staying in different friend's houses to keep suspicion lower. Today was the funeral she was wearing the typical white mask to keep away germs and or hide part of a face, grey contacts to cover her beautiful blues, a wavy black wig that went to her shoulders, and a traditional long white cheongsam with black accents. White is the color of mourning in Chinese culture and she wanted to respect her heritage.

She had learned Mandarin while training to become the guardian with Master Fu. She would speak Mandarin to change herself even more due to the fact nobody but her closest friends knew of her ability to speak it no one will hopefully suspect her. She got dressed quickly and heads to the church.

She sat closer to the back and realized her class was decent enough to show up to pay their respects. The funeral was very moving and she just couldn't believe they were gone. Adrien, Gami, Luka, and Chlo couldn't sit with her due to the fact it would raise too much suspicion. She missed not having anyone to lean on, but when she was supposed to be dead then she had to play dead.

After the burial, they were told to go to Chloe's hotel for refreshments. She saw everyone from afar but did not engage unless they engaged her first. Lila approached her at the hotel with a sneer and glare.

"You're not supposed to wear white at a funeral that's disrespectful," Lila stated, Adrien must have seen the queen of lies approaching Marinette, so he started heading her way.

"I'm sorry I don't speak French," Marinette answered in a sweet voice in perfect Mandarin. "And stop talking about stuff you don't know you lying snake. White is a traditional mourning color in Chinese culture, which you would know if you weren't uncultured swine."

By now Adrien reached them and translated for Mar, "She says she only speaks Mandarin and that white is a traditional mourning color."

"I know what she said Adrihoney," Lila cooed, grabbing his arm. "I speak fluent Mandarin after I lived there for part of my childhood."

"You hear the Buginette? She speaks fluent Mandarin! I would love to see her reaction if she really knew what you said," Adrien laughed after he finished speaking in Mandarin.

"Stop, Adrien. I don't want to break character. Right now I'm a stranger named, Bridgette mourning the death of her aunt, uncle, and cousin," Marinette replied still in Mandarin.

"Are you going to join in the conversation Lila?" Adrien asked, smugly looking at the lost Italian girl.

"Umm.. I. I just can't believe she's gone!" Lila cried louder, getting more people's attention. "I know she was my bully, but I did not want her to die."

"Seriously, at my funeral? I haven't even been dead two weeks and she's already making my 'death' about her," Marinette whispered to Adrien in Mandarin.

"Liars, am I right," Adrien answered.

"I suggest you two stop before one of the relatives hears it," Kagami said joining in on the whisper fest while they all spoke Mandarin.

"She was not a bully; she just didn't put up with your bull!" Chlo said, joining the circle of people surrounding "poor sad Lila".

"Guys, not the place to do this," Luka said, hushing everyone down. "Keep your lies at school. I have a feeling if these people hear you talking trash, especially over people they just lost, it will be more ugly than your sausage looking hair."

After that everything was calmer except for glares thrown by Alya and Lila. No one bothered her much after that and she could mourn in peace, it would be the last time she would be in Paris for a while so she left to go on a stroll.

The morning after Chloe went to school and left Marinette to herself. By lunchtime, she had everything her friends had gotten from her will and finished packing. She would be leaving when all her friends got to the hotel via the horse miraculous and Kaalki. She would let the miraculous take her wherever fate brought her.

She got dressed up as Bridgette again with the black hair, mask, and grey contacts. For clothes, she wore a blue sweater that looked braided with a black skater skirt and white converse her hair was just down. She had borrowed some of Chloe’s clothes this past week after she insisted Marinette didn’t waste money on clothes. Chloe and Gami were kind and gave Marinette some clothes to be worn after she left.

She strolls around, sees her old home burnt to ashes after it collapsed. She sees her old school still in session and decides to head to André’s ice-cream.

“Hello young lady,” André said looking at her.

Mar nodded in response not wanting to speak French just in case someone heard but didn’t want to speak Mandarin.

“I see almond for his lips and skin, mint for his piercing green eyes, and dark chocolate for his dark past and black hair,” André foretold looking at the almost familiar girl. “Are you Ladybug?”

“Thank you, but I guess it doesn’t matter, I'm leaving soon anyway,” Marinette answered, sticking out her hand, which he shook, then she looked through her purse. “I’m Ladybug hero of Paris. How much for the ice-cream?”

“Free of charge for all of Paris’ heroes. May I ask why you’re leaving?” André asked, wiping his hands.

“My house burned down,” she started but he interrupted.

“They couldn’t find the daughter’s body, well your body, because you were at the gala as Ladybug,” he realized.

“I lost my parents. There’s no family here for me. I already graduated and Paris is saved. How was I going to explain that I’m alive?” Marinette asked, taking a scoop of ice-cream. “And I feel like I need a new start, ya know? Everyone here thinks I’m a bully because of a liar. I have trauma from the akumas. One of the reasons I stayed was for my parents, but they’re gone now so why not?”

“Well I wish you the best of luck, Ladybug,” André said with a sad smile.

“Thank you, Monsieur André,” Marinette said before looking at her ice-cream and thought about her mysterious future love.

She walks to the park by the school and starts sketching under one of the trees. She sat quietly sketching till she heard the bell from her friend’s school. She decides to go back to Chloe’s hotel to meet her friends, but as she’s leaving the park Lila and her posse saw her.

“Bridgette? What are you still doing here?” Lila asked, approaching Bridgette as an animal approaches its prey.

“The funeral was only yesterday you sausage-hair freak. I’m catching a flight home tonight,” Marinette answered, in Mandarin.

“Awww she said she wanted to apologize for what Luka said,” Lila cooed and got others to do the same.

“That’s not what she said,” Adrien said, stepping in again. “She said the funeral was only yesterday; she’s flying out tonight, but wanted to see some of Paris before she left.”

“I can confirm that what Adrien translated is true,” Kagami confirmed, kissing Adrien on her cheek.

“Ummm... why’d you put your crusty lips on my boyfriend’s cheek?” Lila asked, in disbelief.

“Why are you questioning my actions towards my boyfriend?” Kagami asked, looking at Lila’s shocked face, while she wrapped her hand around his arm. “He told you he had a girlfriend and that she wasn’t you.”

“But… Adrihoney you’ve been with me for six months!! Why would you cheat on me?” Lila cried into the closest person’s shoulder.

“I’ve been dating since Marinette set us up years ago because we were best friends,” Adrien agreed with Kagami kissing the top of her head.

Lila got angry and stormed off followed by her posse; they were trying to calm her down. One of her lies had been exposed and Marinette couldn’t be happier that she witnessed it. They continue to speak in Mandarin as they were leaving because some of her former classmates were in the park.

“So I have everything packed, well the little number of items I have and some of the clothes Chloe and you, Kagamigave to me along with the Miracle Box," Marinette explained as they walked towards the hotel.

"That's it? I can't believe you're leaving," Kagami said. Adrien and Kagami were just holding hands now after leaving the park. The couple wasn’t big on public displays of affection with paparazzi always around. She just wanted to help him by trying to get rid of Lila's clingy nature.

"I guess everyone thinks I'm dead and I don't want to go around as Bridgette all the time," she sighed, looking at the almost ominous-looking hotel as if she was walking to her doom instead of a new beginning.

"It's okay Buginette I understand and we'll support you any way possible. We'll be here when you want our help if you need it of course. We'll still be best friends because we are family and nothing can break that," Adrien said.

"Of course, no one could replace you guys because you're the only family I have left,” Marinette said as they hugged now standing in the lobby. Marinette then leaves out the entrance because she can't go upstairs as Bridgette. She transforms into Ladybug and jumps onto Chloe's balcony, where she can see her friends already waiting inside. She signs sadly and drops her transformation as she enters the room she had grown accustomed to.

"Hey, guys I'm ready to go," she said, sadly looking at them.

"Why don't we eat dinner before you go? You never know what time it's going to be when you get there. Better safe than sorry, right?" Chloe said.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m not going to be gone that long though. Whatever country I end up in Master Fu promised to get me correct papers to live there. I’ll maybe be back at the end of the week,” Marinette said, taking off her wig and contacts and put them in her backpack.

“Steak and Frites for our last meal together for a while?” Chloe asked as she looked to call her butler.

“Yes that sounds great,” they agreed as the put on an anime. After they finished eating, Marinette now stands before them transformed as Mare with her suitcase and backpack ready to go through.

“Goodbye, you guys. I’ll call you by the end of the week. I want you to know it was an honor working with you and no one will ever be able to replace you,” Marinette said, hugging her friends. “I’ll miss you.”

“Why can’t you stay till after Christmas?” Luka asked.

“It’s only two weeks away,” Kagami finished.

“Well I don’t want to be a burden and the sooner I get settled he better,” Marinette said, turning her back on her friends as tears start rolling down her cheeks. “Full Forth”

She turns to look at her friends one last time. They’re crying and hugging each other. She stares for a moment before backing in the portal.

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Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong

#ml new life au #damianette #batfam #maribat #lila salt #marinette x damian #ml salt fic #ml x dc #wifiwrites

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codenamesazanka · 5 years ago

Note

Mr. Compress can't speak for some reason and tries to pass on a message to his comrades through MIME.

oh my god

Prompt: MIME

Setting: After de-arming Overhaul but before Gigantomachia

Words: 1000 exactly! according to google docs

Notes: Thank you for waiting! I’m so sorry

He had to admit, it was a rather admirable quirk. Many uses for the stage, and many uses for mischief - as the little rat had done.

The League was making short work of a loanshark’s office; Atsuhiro himself taking care of a man who he had discovered cowering behind a desk. He was about to conjure a filing cabinet atop of the man when his target took a exaggeratedly deep, shaky breath in, opened his mouth and—

“Shigaraki! Behind you!”

Only that was his voice, his smooth tenor, coming out of foreign lips, and falling upon familiar ears. His leader jerked and twisted, hand lashing out to land death on an attacker… Except that it was Twice behind him. Thankfully Shigaraki reacted fast enough to only jab Twice in the eyes with two fingers (and thankfully also mildly at that).

In the betrayal-tinted confusion that followed, the pseudo-ventriloquist escaped, and with him, Atsuhiro’s voice.

“Don’t give him it, he can’t talk—”

Shigaraki snatched up the phone. “Giran. We need a name. Daikoun Finances in Nagano, man with a quirk that can steal voices.”

Sounds of shuffling papers from the other end of the line. “Poor guy. Do I even wanna know why Japan’s Top Villains are looking for him?”

“It’s none of your business,” Twice snapped, leaning against Shigaraki to speak closer. “We’re gonna hunt him down cuz he’s got Mr. Compress’ voice!”

“What, as collateral for a loan?” Giran chuckled. Tasteless. Atsuhiro gave a thumbs down. His allies agreed, if their cricket silence was anything to go by.

“Ah, here we go. Yamamura Tarou. 27, lives alone at 16-732 Kanacho, works at…” A pause. “Guessing you guys know where already. No luck there?”

”They’re no help at all!” Toga said, smiling slightly. “Everyone’s dead.”

“Pity.”

“Got a picture you can send?” Shigaraki asked. “If he ditched his place already, we’ll have to take to the streets.”

“Unfortunately, no. Not a selfie guy, Yamamura. I’ll ask around, give a call if I get a hint of his whereabouts, how’s that?”

“Go do that.” Shigaraki hung up, and turned to look at him. Atsuhito tipped his hat.

“Mr. Compress, can you remember what the guy looks like?”

It was no surprise that Twice was a decent artist; in a way those clones of his were art, requiring perfect visual memory.

Atsuhiro stroked at his chin, his movements quick and short.

“He has a sharp chin!”

“A beard.”

Atsuhiro nodded at his leader. Good, but not quite. He tapped his chin, and repeated his earlier movements.

“A sharp chin and a beard.”

“No, no, a chin beard, right? Oh! Those are called goatees!”

Pleased, Atsuhiro pointed at Toga, then clapped.

“Yay! My win again! You’re falling way behind, Shuuichi.”

“We’re not keeping score! This isn’t a game.”

“Aw, don’t you like games?”

Beside Atsuhiro, on their little makeshift stage, was Twice. With a piece of paper pinned to the wall of their latest hideout, they were attempting forensic sketching. It was going well enough, if slow - to be expected when the descriptions had to be acted out.

“A goatee, that’s handsome,” Twice said as he shaded. “This guy’s ugly as fuck!”

Indeed he was, this Yamamura, and the picture captured it fairly well. Still…

“…he’s fat? He’s round.”

“…His entire being…”

“His aura?”

There we go! From Spinner, to whom Atsuhiro gave a thankful nod. Then he reset to his default pose, a neutral expression, before twisting his face into a scowl, glaring at the audience, hunching his shoulders.

“His aura is mean!”

“That’s it?” Spinner asked. “He was a loanshark’s lackey, of course he would be a thug.”

Oh, in the right direction, but not yet. A thug, true, but more specifically, a yankee— No, not the right word. A punk? More like a…

The metaphorical lightbulb lighted up, and Atsuhiro composed himself.

He tilted his chin up, all arrogant; he raised his arms, made peace signs with both his hands, turned them sideways; then he took a step forward, moving to the beat of an inaudible yo, yo, yo—

The effect was immediate. Toga shrieked, Twice yelled and cheered, while Spinner, in pure disbelief, shouted out the answer: “Gangsta?” Even Shigaraki was staring, eyes widened in surprise.

—and this was, of course, also the perfect time for the last member of the League to grace them with his presence. The door opened and revealed Dabi, who halted his entrance as he took in the scene before him. His gaze moved from the rowdy youngsters on the sofa; to the portrait and to the pencil in Twice’s hand; and finally to Atsuhiro, still frozen in the ‘gangsta’ pose.

“…I am not gonna be a part of this,” Dabi said flatly.

The door slammed shut.

Embarrassing? Perhaps. But a successful performance nevertheless. Twice finished the picture of Yamamura with his wispy goatee and wannabe tough guy demeanor, and Toga found the little rat later the same day.

There he was, on the dirty ground of a quiet alleyway, pale and terrified, blood soaking his oversized clothing, the stab wound on his side incapacitating but slow to bleed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me. Please…”

Shigaraki sounded almost bored in his reply. “Just give back Mr. Compress’ voice and I won’t kill you.”

Yamamura immediately blew an unnaturally strong puff of air at Atsuhiro. The smell of it made him reel back, saying— finally, his voice— saying, “What disgusting breath.”

The relief was collective and palpable; even the thief. How misguided, for in the next moment Shigaraki stepped aside, allowing Atsuhiro to be front and center.

Fear was back in Yamamura, who looked pleadingly to Shigaraki. “W-wait, you said… I gave his voice back, you said you wouldn’t…”

“He did say that, didn’t he? Shigaraki Tomura said he won’t kill you.” Atsuhiro said, enjoying the vibrations in his throat, the words forming on his tongue and lips. And so he relished his next words.

“My dear leader never said I wouldn’t.”

#holioc #Atsuhiro Sako #League of Villains #Mr. Compress #fanfiction #asked #answered #prompt #Sako Atsuhiro #nalslastworkingbraincell #bnha #mha #enjoy???#i...#me attempting humor #:/

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hopetofantasy · 5 years ago

Text

‘Soft, sweet lips’

Part 2: "Your turn now"

Part 3: “Thank you”

A VDS FIC - PART 1 (fluff)

“We’re not playing David Bowie!”

Jens whined, staring intently at Sander, who was already scrolling through the playlist of his favorite artist.

“You don’t have any say in this, bro. His car, his rules, his playlist.” Robbe turned around in the passenger’s seat with a huge grin on his face. “Just be happy that he wanted to do this.” “Like he wouldn’t do anything for you if you asked him to. He’d probably spray an even bigger graffiti mural on the frikking cathedral, if you pouted long enough.” Moyo joked. He was sitting right next to Aaron, who was already fast asleep. Jens hated the backseat. It felt too crammed, especially with the sleepy friend drooling on his shoulder.

This road trip wasn’t his idea. But he needed some fun time with his friends. Relaxing. No thinking. Because everything was too complicated these days. He desperately needed to get away. “You know, Jens, you’re just jealous I got this from my parents for succeeding my first college year. I bet you didn’t expect to be picked up in a brand new car, did you?” Sander replied with unnerving enthusiasm. He gave a red cheeked Robbe a fast peck on the lips.

Jens looked down with an heavy feeling in his heart.

He didn’t like the way they were so lovey dovey all the time. It made him feel lonely. He wanted someone to stand by his side. Especially lately. That’s why the last comment stung a little bit harder. He knew Sander’s parents were rich. He knew his home life improved greatly since Robbe came into his life. Robbe was Sander’s rock, Sander’s mom knew that.

Robbe didn’t knew what was happening with Jens nowadays.

How his home was only getting worse. How his parents would never be able to buy something like a car. Their yelling was getting louder and louder every evening. Sleep was starting to be a problem. Especially because his little sister kept crawling into his bed with the saddest face he ever saw.

And then she would ask the same question over and over again.

“Are mommy and daddy getting divorced, Jens?”

It broke his heart every damn time.

He didn’t want to think about that now. He shook his head to clear the thoughts.

Jens wanted to be happy. So he put on a fake smile and grabbed Moyo by his wrist. This startled his friend for a second.

“Yo, bro, did you bring the weed?”

“Yeah, ofcourse, I’m not an idiot.” Moyo replied. He pulled out the bag and started rolling. Meanwhile, Sander and Robbe were bickering about which highway was the fastest to take. Apparently they were going to a lake somewhere. Sander’s parents knew someone who knew someone. Which meant they could go to a lake house in the Netherlands without any reservations or payment.

Suddenly, Moyo looked up at Jens with an uneasy smile. Like he felt that Jens needed a good conversation with a friend instead of some weed. Maybe he was used to reading his mother’s vibes and developed a sixth sense for mood-swings.

“You ok, bro?”

Jens sighed. He took the rolled joint out of Moyo’s hands and lit it up. “I am now.”

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

The sun was already setting when they arrived at the lake house. Five hours later. The Waze app told them it should have took only two hours, but hey, it was Sander at the wheel. He knew all of the fastest routes in the Netherlands, he exclaimed. He’d already been there multiple times, right? What could go wrong?

“So now we know!” Aaron cried out loudly, while trying to pull himself out of the crowded backseat. Multiple bags of booze fell out of the car with him. The one on top made a loud clinking sound. “Know what?” Jens asked. He checked the bag where the sound came from. Thank god, no jenever bottles were broken.

“What a terrible driver Sander is.” Moyo laughed, with tears in his eyes. “You suck, man, I’m sorry for the examinator who gave you your driver’s license. He’s probably wondering right now what he unleashed on the world, by letting you drive.” “Hey hey hey,” Sander laughed. “The man was just too scared, he didn’t dare to withhold my license or I would've driven him into a tree, okay?!”

Moyo was slapping his hand on Sander’s back, laughing out loud. They seemed to get along pretty well these days. They appeared to have the same, weird dark humor. Which was unexpected. He never knew Moyo had this totally different side to him, a softer side, until he surprised the boys a while back with his speech about bipolarity.

But hey, at least Robbe couldn’t have been happier with this development. He was floating on cloud nine the last couple of months. Which Jens liked. He liked it a lot. A huge weight seemed to be lifted off the smaller boy’s shoulders. He was happier now.

Robbe used to be so closed off all the time. Not communicating. Not acknowledging his own struggles. It was so difficult to get through to his best friend at times. Even when he knew that Robbe was struggling with something, he didn’t know how to pull it out of him.

Now it was the other way around. But, did Robbe notice?

“Broerrrs, huddle together!” Robbe cried out.

“We have three rooms in there. I guess Sander and I get one for ourselves.” His cheeks were starting to flush crimson red. “Since we... ehm... since we will -” “Yeah yeah, no need to explain, we KNOW.” Aaron sighed and rolled his eyes. They were all used to the couple’s public displays of affection. They almost barged into the bathroom during their session at a party. Thank god Sander was able to close the door within the millisecond. No need to repeat that, no thanks.

“But who will have his own room?” “Rock paper scissors?” Moyo proposed. “Sounds good to me!”

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

Well at least he will get a good night’s sleep. Alone, Jens thought, while looking down at his half empty jenever bottle.

He was sitting at the very end of the campfire. The boys were all huddled on the other side. Moyo was telling the story about how he tried to kiss Noor at the Christmas party, which didn’t exactly end the way he wanted.

Robbe was laughing along with his memories. He knew how Noor was wired. When Moyo made his move, Noor straight up laughed in his face while listing all the things she'd rather do before she would ever kiss Moyo.

One even involved kissing Britt.

Which still made Jens chuckle.

Aaron was listening intently to every word Moyo said, like he was learning the expertise in how to pick up chicks. He’s such a dork, honestly. But you know, you can’t dislike him. It’s just how Aaron was. Dork and all.

Sander, on the other hand, was much more peculiar. He was sitting the closest to Jens. Silently sketching some lines, which looked vaguely like the bike tunnel in white light? Jens couldn’t figure out what was so important about a tunnel .

Every now and then, his mind wandered back to this strange boy with the bleach blond hair and black combat boots.

You know, when his face was relaxed, he could see why Robbe fell for Sander. He wasn’t ugly. Plus he had a muscular body. Not that Jens thought about a boy’s abs or the way that made him feel. It was purely out of curiosity, ofcourse. Like why his best friend would fall for a boy. Jens could never imagine falling in love with a boy. Boys were different than girls. More muscled, more rough. More complicated?

He shook his head to rummage his thoughts. He was drifting away slowly, getting more and more drunk and high on the beat of music. Wait, what music? His hazy brain registered the song coming from the other side of the cabin. He didn’t know they had neighbors. Nobody told him about the other cabins. Why didn’t anyone tell him? He wanted to party as well.

Jens stood up with the bottle in his hand. Maybe the other people wanted to party with him. This group was getting boring anyways. The couple was slowly kissing while slipping away towards the cabin and the other two were laying on the ground looking at the stars. High as a truck. Jens rolled his eyes.

He stumbled towards the music. Why was walking suddenly so difficult? Walking didn’t use to be so difficult, right? One, two, three. Come on, Jens! One, two, three, four.

Dancing on the beat, Jens slowly stepped closer to the other cabins. He recognized the song. He heard the laughter of a boy, teasing the other two boys by the choice of their music. “Come on, this is what you call music?” “Well, I’m sorry, we don’t all have the same taste in underground bands like you do, Luc. Please spare us some popular music.”

The boy laughed loudly. His soft curls were bouncing off his head. Jens' heart stood still for a second. Then the cute boy looked up and saw Jens staring at them.

“Guys, I think we have a visitor.”

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

“So Jens-from-Belgium, what do you think of us so far? Were we very welcoming to a drunk stranger like you?” Kes asked while passing on his joint to Jayden. Lucas was looking at Jens, like he was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Jens laughed and looked down. An hour had a passed since he met these guys. He was feeling much better. Still a bit high, even though he was pretty sure the booze was already wearing off. So why did he still feel this way?

He felt Lucas’ eyes on him. Some deep soulful eyes. Beautiful eyes. He didn’t dare to look inside them. But he still wanted to.

“Well, you all seem pretty awesome. Maybe we should all hang out tomorrow, get to know each other better?” The last part of the sentence was directed towards Lucas. The mysterious boy with the bouncy curls.

He really liked this boy. He was different. Jens felt something stir inside him. He was nervous. He was feeling a bit queasy even. What if Lucas said no?

“Yeah sure. Tomorrow.” Jayden answered instead. “But tonight, I think I'm going to go off to bed.” Kes was nodding along. “Yeah same. Luc, are you coming?”

Lucas was still looking at Jens with an intense stare. He shook his head, without saying anything. Kes didn’t seem surprised by his simple reaction and walked away.

“So you’re not going with your friends?” Jens asked nervously. Lucas shook his head again and sat a bit closer to Jens.

“Didn’t feel like it,” he muttered. “it's always the same thing with the guys. Drugs, booze, partying, girls. Sometimes I just want to sit, relax and enjoy the stars. Enjoy the music. Enjoy some good company.” His cheeks started to flush a little.

Jens didn’t know how to answer this statement. He felt the exact same way. He wanted to talk, wanted to reveal his life. To this boy, to ease his pain. He wanted substance. But, instead of answering, he looked down.

“You seem different,” Lucas remarked. “You’re not like the others. You’re not boring. You are you.”

Jens looked up to the beautiful boy again. He was pleasantly surprised. Did Lucas just gave him a compliment? He seemed to be flirting with Jens, but he wasn’t sure. It was making him agitated and he didn’t know why.

“Well, I try. I don’t think I’m myself right now. I’m just...,” his voice faltered a little. His eyes felt teary. “Lost and lonely, I guess.”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah...”

He waited for an answer, while looking down again. Maybe he went too far. He never opened up his soul like this before. Maybe the boy would think he was a weirdo. A loner. A loser.

Then he heard a sound. Lucas seemed to be nudging even closer to Jens. He heard him sigh deeply. Like he knew. Jens felt an arm coming around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He didn’t want to hug this total stranger.

But he did.

So he let himself go and fell into the much needed hug. It was so nice and comforting. They fitted perfectly together like puzzle pieces. Lucas touched his hair. Brushing it away slowly. A warm breath on his neck. He felt his heart beating against Lucas’ chest. The sound was growing louder by the minute.

Thump, thump, thump.

Jens’ mouth felt like a desert. His hands were clammy. The butterflies in his stomach were twirling at record speed. He felt a hand caressing his cheek, nudging him to look up. The Dutch boy smiled a little. His eyes were blue windows, filled with only softness.

“Aren’t we all?”

He pulled him closer, noses slightly touching each other.

A hitched breath.

A heartbeat.

And then there were only pink lips.

Soft, sweet lips.

#wtfock #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #van der stoffels #skam nl #skam belgium #wtfock skam #jens #wtfock jens #skam nl lucas #wtfock fic #skam remakes #skam theories #skamverse #skam universe

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raywritesthings · 4 years ago

Text

Bird in a Storm 13/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Carly Diggle, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Malcolm Merlyn Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

If there was one thing Carly hated the most about closing, it was taking the trash out back. And not just for the smell.

The back of the building let out into a darkened alley with no street lamps. It reeked of garbage thanks to all the times the truck just simply hadn’t shown up, and was usually populated by all her smoking coworkers during a rush.

This late, the alley was empty. Or so she’d thought.

Just as she heaved the bags up and over to throw in the dumpster, she felt the barrel of a gun press into her side. Carly froze.

“Who’s inside the restaurant?”

“My- my manager. Couple customers.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, I have a son.”

“Give me your tips,” the mugger growled.

“He’s not even ten years old, father shot on the job. I’m all he has, I swear to you,” Carly continued as she slowly reached into her apron for the money. Her mace was in her purse hanging from a peg in the back of the restaurant.

“Give me the money!”

Her hand closed around the bills, shaking in fear and anger. Didn’t anyone in this town have compassion? Pity at the least? “I’m begging you. It’s for his lunches in the cafeteria. They don’t give him food if he’s in debt.”

“You think I give a shit? Give me the money!” The gun pressed hard enough into her back that she thought it might bruise.

Carly took her hand out of her apron.

Whack!

Suddenly the gun left her back and she heard a thud of someone hitting the ground behind her. She whirled around, backing up several steps.

Her attacker was on the ground with a woman all in black standing over him. She carried a long stick which she’d clearly used to knock him out and wore a mask over her face.

“How- how did you?”

The masked woman looked up at her and gave a nod but no answer before running down the alley and out to the street. Carly stood there gaping a few moments after.

Had that really just happened? And to her? Sure she’d been grabbed earlier last winter by that military whacko who knew John, but this was something else.

The man on the ground gave a groan of pain, and Carly hurried back inside. She quickly explained to her manager, and the other woman agreed to phone the police.

John had stopped by in the time she’d been outside, it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t staying too far away even if their sort of date hadn’t worked out. A.J. needed a good role model.

Her brother-in-law stood from the booth he was waiting at and came over. “Everything alright, Carly?”

“For the most part. The police are gonna be here in a little while. This guy out back tried to jump me.”

John’s fists clenched at his sides. “Where is he?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get in trouble over this. Anyway he’s already hurting pretty bad. There was this woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was all in black except her hair. A blonde. And she wore this mask. I guess she must be some other vigilante?” Carly shrugged. “Least the guy’s still breathing.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” John frowned. “She say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t even know how she knew to be there. I mean I’ve been hearing things about a woman — wasn’t sure if they were true. But I’m so glad it is.”

Getting mugged tonight wouldn’t have been the end of her world. But it would have been a setback she would have struggled to come back from for a long time, even if she’d borrowed from John for a time. Now she didn’t have to. She had her own money and her pride along with it.

If that’s what these vigilantes wanted to be about, she couldn’t say she’d complain about it.

---

John didn’t get home until after the police had left with Carly’s statement and her would-be attacker. They’d asked her to come in the next morning to describe the woman who’d saved her to a sketch artist as well, so he’d be taking her there. Just as well, since he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about his success in finally taking down Deadshot with Oliver’s help. Lyla had been mad as all hell at him for showing up until the Hood had kept what had ended up being a setup by Lawton from turning too ugly. Then she’d just pretended to be mad, though John was pretty sure he could still tell the difference.

In the present, he placed a call to Oliver to update him on the situation. “I’ll be late getting to the house tomorrow. Have to help Carly with something. Police matter.”

“Is she okay?” His friend asked.

“Fine. But she wouldn’t have been if that Woman hadn’t shown up tonight. She’s definitely real, Oliver. Carly’s giving them a description tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. “See if you can sit in on it. I don’t know if this Woman’s done enough to get her sketch on the news.”

They both knew busting up the odd small crime here or there didn’t drive up ratings. Then again, perhaps the novelty of a woman being the one doing so might be enough to pique media interest.

“You think it’s time to step in?”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admitted, and he sounded discomfited to do so. “She’s not the Savior, she doesn’t look to be doing this for her own gain… I’m not sure what to make of her or how to find her except to get lucky and spot her out some night.”

“Well, luck be a lady,” John remarked. “And ladies tend to be mysterious.”

Oliver snorted, then said, “Keep me updated about the police sketch.”

“Alright.” He hung up and eased himself back up out of his chair. If he was going to the precinct tomorrow, he wanted to have some research already done to see if he could pick up on anything else they might be talking about regarding this Woman.

He went looking through some recent reports out of the Glades. Just as Raisa, Detective Lance and Carly now said, there were rumors growing about a woman in black. Taking on gang bangers, putting a stop to a rash of bus hijackings...the more he read, the more it sounded familiar.

John went through each of his suits, digging deep into the pockets until he came across a folded piece of paper. The list Laurel had written up for Oliver weeks ago.

It was almost identical.

He sat back on his bed, hand running down his face. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was a damning coincidence at the very least. And what was he going to do if it was more than a coincidence?

He’d warned Oliver that the problems in this city were many and varied, that people wanted to see more than some billionaires getting knocked down a few pegs. Laurel had warned him, too. Now it seemed she — or someone — had taken matters into her own hands. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree.

That was the trouble that came in signing up for this kind of crusade; it was a slippery slope. How did he support Oliver while condemning Laurel? The key, he supposed, was in learning what her motivations were. If she was even the one doing this.

One thing was certain: there was no way he could suggest the Woman and Laurel were the same person to Oliver unless he had real evidence or a confirmation. It would only start another argument otherwise, judging by how fiercely protective he’d become of his mother. So he was going to have to confront her on his own.

He kept his suspicions to himself while he sat in a chair at the precinct with Carly. The sketch artist drew up a picture of a beautiful blonde in a black mask. It didn’t look just like Laurel, but it didn’t not look like her at the same time. Still, no reason for him to voice his concerns just yet. Especially when doing so would paint a big target right back over Oliver, and himself by extension.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove Carly back to her apartment, still unsure how to address the news he’d intended to give her last night. Eventually, he said, “There was an Op the other night. The Feds. And, uh… they got him.”

“Him?”

“Andy’s killer.”

He heard Carly turn her head and chanced meeting her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in custody now.” Lyla had held him back from doing something he knew he’d probably regret, as much as his anger was telling him Deadshot should be dead in the ground for good just like his brother. “He was wanted for a lot of stuff by the government. Sensitive stuff. So there’s not really gonna be a trial or anything, but I wanted you to know.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside her building. Carly didn’t get out right away.

“Were you there?”

John nodded.

“Thank you.” She leaned across the seats and hugged him. “I don’t know what I’ll tell A.J., or when, but… I’ll sleep better, knowing he’s getting what he deserves.”

John swallowed down the little of his disappointment that remained. If Carly was satisfied, then that would have to be enough.

She got out, and he continued through the neighborhood to his next stop. He’d have to hope she was in.

John knocked on the door of Laurel’s place but received no answer. Soft music from around the back drew his attention, so he circled around to the small yard.

Laurel was crouched beside a very rough-looking bike, looking to be struggling with a tuneup. She sat back with an exhale.

“Roy, great, I could really use some help—” Laurel stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry, not Roy,” he said unnecessarily. “But I might still be able to lend a hand.”

Laurel stood rather than keep working, wiping her hands off on a towel that had seen better days. In the tank top she wore, John could definitely tell she had truly dedicated herself to the training Oliver had mentioned she’d picked up.

“Is Oliver okay?”

“He’s fine. Was glad to get your tip on Rasmus.”

Laurel nodded.

“Surprised you didn’t just take care of him yourself,” he added casually, watching her freeze for a crucial instant. John nodded to the bike. “Is the Woman gonna be spotted on this any time soon?”

Laurel hung her head for a moment, then leaned over to switch off the music playing from her phone sitting on the ground.

“Okay, great. Everyone knows I’m a vigilante. I guess Oliver has a better handle on the whole ‘secret’ thing,” she muttered as she straightened up.

“There’s a reason he acts the way he does in public,” John pointed out. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Laurel. Of course you’d be doing this.” He took a step closer, looking out to make sure they truly were alone. “What I have to ask is, why didn’t you say anything?” Did she really not want them to know? And was it because she wasn’t interested in working with them or some other kind of reason?

“How do you think Oliver would react if he knew?”

John grimaced. “Not well.”

Laurel nodded. “Exactly.”

“But, him finding out you decided to take on the problems you pointed out might make him decide to take them on himself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.” She heaved a sigh. “Since doing this, I’ve realized just how much it is, and expecting one person to tackle it all would be impossible. Oliver has his mission, and I get why. If that’s what he needs to do to absolve himself of survivor’s guilt over his father, he needs to do it. And it does help the city.”

John frowned, unable to deny her point. He was privy to just how overwhelmed Oliver got at times. Expecting him to do it all was an unfair burden.

“It’s the only way left I have to help, too,” Laurel added. “Isn’t that why you work with him?”

“Yeah, but I work with him. However he would react, he’s going to find out eventually, Laurel.”

“I know,” she admitted, looking down. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. You got the same look in your eyes when you talk about going out there that he does.” He wasn’t sure he understood it fully, how two otherwise civilians could decide to throw all caution to the winds night after night in an effort to clean up the streets. Maybe it really wasn’t about the training; maybe it was just about the person. “If he asks, I have to tell him.”

“I understand.” She at least didn’t look angry with him, merely resigned. So there they were.

John bent down towards her toolbox. “This wrench will work better for what you’re doing.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“So who all knows? This Roy?”

“Yeah. My old trainer, Ted. And you. That’s really it, but you know, not great for that number to keep going up.”

“From what I can tell, it only keeps going up. Secrets always get out.”

“Maybe. That’s a risk I knew going in, I guess.”

“Have you thought about what happens when your father might be forced to arrest you some day?”

“He’ll have to catch me first. And it can’t hurt worse than a rubber bullet, so.” She shrugged. “Believe me, John, I’ve thought of all the reasons not to do this. You don’t need to walk me back through it.”

“Guess I can’t help trying.” He turned and began walking back to the street. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.”

John still hadn’t decided if he was going to wait for Oliver to bring up the topic or if he was going to just get to the point on his own by the time he reached the base. But then it didn’t really seem to matter when his partner of sorts was already gearing up for a serious brawl.

“Felicity thinks she has a hit on Walter,” Oliver said the minute John cleared the steps, hope in his eyes for the first time in a while when it came to talking about his stepfather. “There’s a large sum in Dominic Alonzo’s account that’s dated the same night of the abduction. If we can get to him, we might have a lead on what happened.”

Faced with Oliver’s rare optimism, John just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Telling him about Laurel would only throw him off of what they were working on now, and the information on Walter wasn’t getting any more recent. They needed to act as fast as possible if they had even a prayer of finding him alive.

So John held his tongue and told himself what Laurel was no doubt telling herself: Oliver would just have to understand.

---

Tommy stood by his father’s bed, fingering the vial in his pocket. According to the woman who’d called herself Athena the other night, the contents of this vial were all that could save his father from death or from life as a vegetable. But could he risk it?

He didn’t have a way of verifying her word or her identity. But she had at least shown him her face. That was more than the Hood had done. If she wanted to poison his father, she likely could have snuck into the hospital and done it herself, considering how she had slipped past the mansion’s security team with ease.

Visiting hours were almost over, which meant that he needed to choose. What did he have to lose? He knew, active as his dad had always been, he would hate spending the rest of his days on life support, stuck decaying in a hospital bed. And Tommy did not want to pull the plug until he had tried everything.

So, with a look to the door to ensure he wasn’t about to get walked in on by a nurse, he took out the vial and added the liquid inside to the IV feeding down into his father’s arm. Tommy watched the liquid slowly descend and disappear beneath the paper tape covering the needle. He held his breath for as long as physically possible. Watching, waiting.

No change.

He deflated, even as he reminded himself that Athena had said it would take time. He needed to let the vial’s contents work through his dad’s system before he decided if this had been a waste of time and hope.

For now, he returned to his new office inside Merlyn Global. He both loathed and craved being in this place at the same time; this was where he had nearly lost his father. Yet that same night had shown him just how much his father loved him, that he had fought and even killed to keep Tommy safe.

If this mysterious cure worked and he had the chance to speak with his dad again, Tommy knew he would apologize for ever assuming his father hadn’t cared. They had grown a lot closer in the time before his father’s injury, and he wanted that to continue. He wanted to understand him. Perhaps this Athena, if she was sticking around, could help him.

With one call on the special phone he had been given, it was not long until the very woman he had been thinking of entered his office. “Very elegant,” she remarked.

“That’s down to my father’s good taste,” Tommy said. “I gave him what you told me to about an hour ago. How long?”

“It is not an exact science. I am confident he will show signs of improvement before the night is over. Now,” Athena said, walking further into the room. “What is truly on your mind?”

Tommy smirked to himself. Was he really that obvious?

“This wall,” he answered, walking up to it. He revealed the panel of buttons hidden under a piece of artwork. “It’s false. My father was keeping something behind here, but I didn’t see what. I also didn’t see what code he put in.”

“I have been trained in code breaking,” Athena said. “But I do not think it will be necessary in this case. You are your father’s son, Thomas. You know him better than those who think they have seen his true face. What drives him?”

That was an easy question after the speech his dad had given shortly before the attack that had landed him in a hospital bed in Starling General. Which could leave only two dates, though Tommy quickly dismissed the birthday. Neither of them had felt much reason to celebrate that milestone, not without her there with them. It was the death date that he entered in on the panel instead.

1-0-0-3-9-3

The light turned green for a moment, and the wall slid aside.

What waited behind the wall caused him to back up with a startled cry. It couldn’t be real.

But the evidence remained before him. A black suit with a head covering, a quiver of black arrows and a bow. The copycat archer’s armaments and more were in his father’s possession.

“His uniform,” Athena said with warmth and reverence. “I knew he would keep it close.”

“His? He’s — he can’t be,” Tommy insisted, even as his mind went to the two Triad men his father had fought and killed without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you your father belonged to an ancient order,” Athena repeated. “It is one based on the oldest form of justice known to man: evil must be replaced by death.”

“But the- that’s — he took hostages!” None of those people to his knowledge had been criminals, not even of the embezzlement kind.

“And were any of those hostages harmed?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Your father waited to engage the Hood until after the hostages had been sent back to the authorities, according to the reports I have read. Their only purpose was to draw this vigilante out.”

“But… why? Why do any of it?” He just couldn’t seem to grasp that his father had taken on that crazy vigilante at Christmas.

“Your father has been attempting to retrieve Starling City from the brink of decay. Crime, corruption and apathy rule its citizens. Even the attempts of the local relief efforts have failed to improve its citizenry. Your mother learned this the hard way.”

Tommy swallowed. Yes, he could agree that Starling City was a festering pile of shit most days, and the Glades most of all. Something should have been done about it a long time ago. But the idea of taking that knowledge and acting upon it with violence in return, was that really the way?

The Hood seemed to think so, he supposed. And Laurel believed that particular killer was a hero. There were rumors of others beating the snot out of these gangbangers and robbers. Was his father’s old form of justice really so far removed from their society when they were letting Robin Hood and his ilk roam free?

“You said you had knowledge of his plans,” Tommy began slowly. “What were they?”

“There is a phenomenon referred to by your National Park Service as ‘natural fire’, she explained, walking away from the secret room and instead turning to the windows overlooking the city. Tommy followed. “In order to revitalize nature and the lives of those creatures who dwell in such places, humanity allows these fires to burn away the parts of the forest filled with debris and detritus. They then flourish anew. So too will the Glades in your father’s vision.” Her eyes were fixed on that part of the city, which always stood out as an ugly mar beyond the tall, pristine buildings and clean streets of downtown.

“He wants to… burn them?”

Athena’s lips quirked. “Not quite. But a similar act of nature will do the job.”

If the copycat archer’s suit — his father’s suit — wasn’t standing in a case behind him, he would think she was making this up. But there was evidence to back up her claim. His father had closed his mother’s clinic after how many years of increasing crime in the Glades — why now unless he knew something was coming?

“These aren’t trees or animals, though. There are people down there. Families, children.” Laurel, he thought to himself.

“People who have chosen lives of crime and substance abuse. You have multiple stories in your culture’s religious tract of various peoples being punished for the actions of the collective evil. Is this not so different?”

“Nobody’s even sure those things really happened. They’re stories or warnings. I don’t know.” He hadn’t really done the whole Sunday School thing after his mother died. “Look, the Glades are beyond saving. The Hood and anyone else who thinks so are just delaying the inevitable. But this isn’t the answer.” He backed away, leaving the office and placing his head in his hands as he rode down in the elevator.

Was this really what his father wanted? Tommy wouldn’t know, not until his dad healed enough to ask. All he had was Athena’s word, and the matter-of-face way she spoke of this unnerved him.

He needed to get out of here, needed to think, needed — a friend.

He didn’t have very many of those. And after their last conversation, would Oliver even want to see him? But he didn’t know who else to turn to.

Tommy jumped in his car and traveled the familiar route to the club. Inside, he asked around for his friend, avoiding Thea’s busboy friend, and learned Oliver had been around but had gone down to his private office as per usual.

Tommy had never been to that part of the building himself. Oliver had been a much more private person upon returning from the island, and he had always gotten the impression that he was not exactly welcome. But after the attack on the club by that deranged firefighter where Oliver had gotten lost in the building, Tommy had had a copy of each of the door keys made for himself to make sure that he could get to his friend in an emergency if need be.

So he went around to the outside of the club and the back door he had never used. It took a few moments for him to find the right key, but he turned it in the lock and entered.

“Ollie?”

The room was dark, which likely meant no one was in. Tommy searched around for the light switch on the wall.

“I could really use some— advice,” he finished, the last word dropping almost soundlessly from his lips as the lights came on, suddenly illuminating the space.

The room was sectioned off into smaller areas, one with what looked like a mat like the kind the gym teachers put down when they were practicing tumbling in grade school. Other workout gear was around there as well. Then another section was made up of a table with computer monitors and other technology.

Tommy’s eyes, however, were fixed on the last section. A table upon which stood a row of arrows not unlike what was waiting back in his father’s office, but tipped in green. The Hood’s arrows.

Oliver was the Hood.

He wanted to reject the evidence before him, and yet it was all too obvious now that it was staring him in the face. Why would the Hood have been around in the middle of the day to rescue them from those thugs? Oliver had killed them himself, then made up the story. Why was Oliver always making excuses to be somewhere else, leaving his mother and sister behind to worry? Because he was out there in the streets hunting his chosen prey. Why would Laurel have fallen for him so completely? Because it was the man she loved.

And he had left her to fall, Tommy realized, his shock disappearing in a flash of anger. Oliver had been the one to lure her onto that roof, get her shot at, taken her away while Tommy had searched and worried — probably to this very place.

She knew. Laurel had known Oliver’s secret from at least then on, and kept it from Tommy. They both had. It was the two of them as always, shutting him out. How could he have ever dared to think Laurel even cared about him, when she would throw her own career and life away for Oliver’s sake, even after all he had done and become? They deserved each other, and it was a vicious thought. He almost wished his shot hadn’t missed the green-clad archer that night in his father’s office — that night Oliver, his own friend, didn’t save his father. He’d been lying this whole time to Tommy, pretending to be a sympathetic ear all the while never telling him the role he had played.

He needed to leave. If Oliver discovered him here, what would he do? Was Tommy allowed to know, or would he be silenced? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know his own best friend anymore. The man he’d thought of as a brother had truly died out at sea, and a monster had taken his face.

Tommy sat in his car, having no idea where he could go. His friends had all betrayed him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about what Athena had told him. He needed guidance, yet there was no one in his life who could provide it.

His phone range. And Tommy answered it with a weary, “What?”

“Thomas Merlyn? This is Dr. Adams from Starling General.”

He sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Is my father okay?”

“He is. He’s doing better than we truthfully expected. He seems to be responding to some stimuli. We think it would be helpful for you to come in and sit with him, at least for a little while. Coma patients respond best to family and loved ones.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It had worked. The miracle liquid Athena had given him had worked. Or was working. He raced to the hospital and up to his father’s room, heart in his throat.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyes were just barely open. Tommy was ushered into the chair at his bedside, and he took hold of his father’s hand. “It’s me, dad. It’s Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. You need to be, cause we have stuff to talk about, alright? Stuff to do. I know- I know everything now. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay when we can talk.”

Very slightly at first, and then more rapidly, his dad’s eyelids fluttered. The hand Tommy held squeezed his fingers.

Grateful tears sprang to his eyes. “He’s really there. Oh, thank God.”

He stayed another hour, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the company and the house, old forgotten childhood memories. His father never quite managed to fully open his eyes. Eventually, the doctors decided it would be best to leave him to rest some more and asked Tommy to come back in the morning.

“I’ll be here first thing, dad. We can talk then, okay?”

Getting back into his car where he’d crookedly parked it in the garage, Tommy wiped at his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No matter what shocking things he had learned today, he had meant what he had said to his father; it would be okay now that he was getting better. Tommy could talk to him, reason with him about just what this whole plan was and if it was truly necessary. They could work it out together as father and son.

If nothing else, he had his family.

---

Moira wished she had her family here at home with her, but life seemed to find its ways to make that impossible.

Oliver kept incredibly late hours thanks to the club he was running out in the Glades. She worried about him and knew that hiring Mr. Diggle to protect him especially as he traveled in and out of that neighborhood had been the right call.

Then there was Walter. At times, she didn’t know how she kept breathing let alone kept up her day-to-day obligations and appearances all the whole fretting over where he was, what he might be thinking. Horrid as it was, sometimes she had to force herself to stop thinking about his situation in order to just make it through the next board meeting or the next meal.

Thea was home tonight at least, though she’d been staying out rather late as often as not. It had begun shortly after she had started the community service at CNRI. Moira suspected a boy might be involved, but considering how little she had done to curb Oliver’s dalliances with the opposite sex, she couldn’t reasonably do so to Thea.

Were things different, she might have been worried about all the time her children were spending in the Glades and how to make sure they were not there once Unidac completed its work. But that had been one less worry on her mind for the last month now, even if the attack at Merlyn Global had not ended precisely with the result she had wanted.

Best not to think about that, either, Moira reminded herself. She and Thea were both relaxing in the sitting room after dinner, the television on low for something to look at more than anything.

The front door opened, and two sets of footsteps indicated her son and his bodyguard had finally arrived home. Moira looked up as they entered the sitting room, but whatever wry remark had come to mind died on her lips at the sight of both their expressions. She stood. “Oliver?”

“Mom. Thea.” His voice, normally quite steady and strong these days, barely carried. “There’s um, something we need to talk about. About Walter.”

Beside her on the couch, Thea perked up, but Moira felt frozen.

Mr. Diggle spoke next. “I reached out to some contacts I have in the FBI on Oliver’s behalf a while ago to see what they might be able to turn up for the case. The thing is, they’ve gotten word back.”

“No.” It took her a moment to realize she had been the one to speak. “No, it can’t be.”

“Did- did they find a body?” Thea asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“He’s gone, Thea. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Moira repeated. Oliver stepped towards her but she got up and moved back. She couldn’t allow him to comfort her. That comfort would make it real when it obviously wasn’t. There was a mistake or a misunderstanding of some kind. She knew Walter was alive, had to be, because of her deal with Malcolm. And yet, could she really trust Malcolm to begin with?

Her first impulse was to leave, to seek out someone, something to set the record straight on what had to be an error. But who could? Malcolm could not answer to anything, and she had no way of her own to contact his associate. No one at Merlyn Global would either. Malcolm had always kept everything separate from the company, and Tommy of all people was running it. Tommy had no idea of the things his father had done.

No, as far as she or anyone else knew, this was the truth.

Standing as she was, Moira instead retreated up to her room to get away from her children and their stricken looks. She knew they thought she was crumbling. Well, she wasn’t. Or couldn’t. Not until she had had a moment to think. How could this be happening?

Had Malcolm’s people killed Walter once he had fallen into the coma and been unavailable to command them? Or had her husband been dead all this time? Either way, she was a widow once again, and the blame lay at the same man’s feet.

The blood pounded in her ears as one thought echoed through Moira’s head: no more. She was done being the victim, standing by as her family was picked off one by one. Malcolm slept in a hospital bed, utterly helpless. Why hadn’t they followed through? Why shouldn’t they?

Part of her had been afraid, but what did she have to fear now? Another part of her had thought leaving him to his fate in the hospital was enough. After all, without Malcolm in charge, she could put the Undertaking off indefinitely under the presumption that they should wait for his recovery. The rest of Tempest would have fallen in line. But it was not enough to scupper his plans now. Oh no; Moira had promised Malcolm what would come were he to harm her family, and Moira, at least, was a woman of her word.

She got out the phone she used for these sorts of discrete communications and dialed the number Frank had given her to arrange for the contract hit at the award ceremony. She waited three rings before it was picked up.

“Jade Dragon, how can we be of service?” A woman’s lightly accented voice spoke.

“Yes, I placed an order about a month ago that was never completed. I’m asking for it to be done now.”

She had waited too long to save her family from Malcolm’s madness, but Moira would protect what she had left and avert his horrific vision for the city in one fell swoop, the way she should have done years ago. For Robert, and now for Walter.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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kimjongdaely · 5 years ago

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The Art of Sin [Chapter 1]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

“Damn, if you don’t slow the fuck down, you’re going to crash.” Jongin calls as Jongdae gets out of his car. “I like fast, but that’s a death wish, man.”

“Live fast, die young.” Jongdae answers with a laugh. “It’s the only way to live.”

Jongin snorts, slapping his back harder than he needed to. “You’re a damn hypocrite.”

Jongdae shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “No idea what you’re talking about. You gonna go now?” Jongdae asks, swiping his hair out of his eyes as the night air cools him down. “To, like, some chick’s place?”

Jongin flashes Jongdae a grin, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. Jongdae sighs, heading back towards the garage where his tattoo parlor is. “Well, fuck you.”

“Aw come on.” Jongin wraps an arm around Jongdae’s neck, giving it a firm squeeze. “You can find any chick you want, if you weren’t so picky.”

Jongdae slaps Jongin’s hand away, although his only reaction is a laugh. “I know damn well I can fuck any girl I want. But that’s ugly, and I don’t like it.”

“Right.” Chanyeol says, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he leans against the doorway to the garage. “He only goes for the gorgeous ones. Be too picky, and you’ll end up with nothing, Dae.”

Jongdae throws his head back, a loud laugh echoing through the night. “Nothing? Please, I own this place.”

“Self-proclaimed.” Jongin scoffs. “I’m the King of the Streets.”

“Nah.” Jongdae grins. “Your inflated ego doesn’t allow you to hear all the people cheering my name during the races.”

Chanyeol throws his cigarette on the floor, stepping on it. “You’re both pretty, girls. Now, are you going to give me a tattoo or what?”

“I never agreed to this.” You groan, though you let your friend pull you along.

“Sorry? I can’t hear you.” She answers with a mischievous grin. “I thought you said you wanted it.”

“Once.” You answer with a loud whine. “When I was drunk!”

“Come on.” She urges, swinging your arm around like a child would. “It’s your birthday! Getting a tattoo would be so cool.”

“I don’t do well with pain though.” You wince at the thought, now regretting ever saying it on a drunk whim. She never lets go of things like this, especially when she has that glint in her eyes. You know her way too well. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Stop shitting me.”

She snickers, holding her arm out as if she’s presenting something amazing. “Viola, EXO Customs!”

You take a good look at the place she’s pointing at. The garage looks pretty run down, but sturdy. At least it doesn’t seem like it’ll collapse on you. You wrinkle your nose at your friend, feeling skeptical—well, more so than before. “There? It looks like shit.”

“Shut up.” She pulls you along again. “It’s the best around. Very famous. Tons of hot guys. You’ll love it, I promise.”

Entering the garage, you find it surprisingly hot, despite the ACs blasting cold air. And damn, she was right. The receptionist flashes you the cutest smile you’ve ever seen, though his face is anything but cute. He’s hot; really, really hot.

Which is probably why the AC feels even more nonexistent right now.

"Welcome!” The man greets. “I’m Byun. Got a car for repair?”

“No actually,” your friend pushes you forward a little, a wide grin on her face. “My friend’s here for a tattoo.”

“Oh, great!” He smiles, pointing into the garage. “The tattoo parlor’s in the back. The one with a glass door.”

“Thanks!” She says with a wink, voice higher than normal. You roll your eyes. Ugh, she’s trying way too hard.

You walk past several people who are working on repairing cars, the sounds of machines whirring and metal clanging. Some of them are under the cars, but the others are equally as handsome as the receptionist. It’s quite intimidating, actually. You would never voluntarily walk into a garage like this alone.

You friend knocks on the glass door. You can’t see inside since the binds are down. “Um, hello?”

There’s a loud yelp that comes, the steady zapping sound of a tattoo gun. After a moment, it goes quiet. The door opens.

The man that greets you is stunning. His golden hair is half swept up, lazy in a way like he just wanted it out of his eyes, wearing a black tank top and ripped jeans. He makes your heart stop, your breath hitch. The others were attractive, but he’s on a whole different level. And all sorts of alarms are blaring in your mind.

He smiles, eyes lingering on you as he holds the door open. “Hello ladies. Here for a tattoo?”

Your friend nods enthusiastically, but you can’t even tear your eyes off his face. A man walks out from the room, face sweaty and pale, clutching his bandaged arm.

The handsome man, slaps the other guy on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Make sure not to infect that, ok? Come again if you want another one.”

“Sure, Chen.” The man lets out a small smile. “See ya.”

The man named Chen turns back to you and your friend, stepping aside to let you two in.

You finally snap out of your daze when your friend begins to push you in, and the reality settles in, making you panic. “Uh, wait. Are we really doing this?”

“Getting cold feet?” Chen chuckles as he sits down, patting the chair in front of him. “You sure about this?”

“Come on.” Your friend whispers in your ear. “Getting a tattoo is awesome, but getting a tattoo from a hot guy? That’s a once in a lifetime chance, girl.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, but lie down on the chair nonetheless, feeling your heart pound anxiously. “Um...this is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He answers. “Some places hurt more than others. Where are you thinking?”

“Um, collarbone, maybe?”

“Maybe? You sound very unsure.” He smiles, raising a brow at you. “A tattoo’s serious, you know? It’ll be more painful to remove, so make sure you’re absolutely certain about this.”

“Look, I’m going to be honest here.” You start with a sigh. “I don’t know where I want it or what it’s going to look like, but I do want a tattoo.” You look pointedly at him, almost challenging. “You’re a professional, right? Can you help me figure out what I want?”

He stares at you for a moment before he throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that lights up the room, that sounds like a laugh an angel would have. “You’re interesting.”

He moves to sit at his desk, grabbing a piece of paper and pen before scribbling furiously. “Collarbone, right? Something big or small?”

“Small.” You answer.

“Colored?”

“I prefer black and white.”

He has a grin on his face when he swirls around again, presenting a sketch he quickly made. It’s beautiful though, the line-work a little rough and sketchy but it’s beautiful. It’s hard to believe he did this in less than five minutes.

“A butterfly?” You ask, tracing the delicate pattern of its wings.

Chen leans down, brushing a strand of stray hair out of your face, his eyes shining with mirth. “Yeah.”

Next Chapter

The Art of Sin Mini Masterlist

EXO Customs Collab Masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Please check out the collab masterlist and read the other authors’ fics too, because we all put a lot of effort into it! Thanks~

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @suhoerections @kpop---scenarios @skjdln @yeoldontknow @kyungseokie

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

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suicidalcatz · 5 years ago

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DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 5

AN: Hello frens! Are you having a nice sunday? In this chapter we exchange some texts. But also we make fun of Josh just because. In the next chapter, things get complicated between the three of you... I hope you’ll like it. Please feel free to comment or send me prompts!

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4

Masterlist : here

Chapter five : New number, who dis ?

Packing never made me feel weird before. It was friday afternoon so a majority of students were going home or, like me, to their parents' place for the week end. Most of the time I'd stay in my dorm with Mandy because we had so much homework there was no point coming home at all. I already knew for a fact that I'll be locked up in my room all week end painting, drawing, and cutting paper, but I promised I'd see them since it has been a while. My parents' cooking and comfy house usually made me impatient but not this time. I knew the boys were staying on campus because they lived far away, and it gave me mixed feelings. Part of me longed for Jake, and the feeling of his touch on my wrist was still so vivid I sometimes got the impression his hand was still here. On the other hand, he and Josh were big family guys, and seeing them missing their home so much while I was reluctant to see mine made me feel like a spoiled brat. That's why instead of calling to tell my parents I wasn't coming home this week end either, I went home to enjoy every bit of it.

My mom had already made my favorite dish, and dad was excitedly chatting about this new movie he saw on tv the other day. It felt good, I could allow myself to relax a little, take a bath, hang out with some friends for an hour or two after finishing an assignment.

Sitting at my desk, I dropped the pen and stretched my back, falling back onto the chair and looking at my work. I did good this week, so the teacher didn't make me redo any of my assignments, which was very fortunate because I still had a flyer design to create. I unfolded that one Jake gave to me and took a look at all the infos, preparing a draft of my first idea. Why they didn't let the Illustration department do the visual com design was a mystery. By the look of it I bet it was the Music and Architecture dudes who made it. There was a bunch of band names thrown in the middle, what looked like a pixelled stock image of a Santa hat in a corner, « with beer ! » in a really ugly comic bubble in another, and the worst was that they though Comic Sans was an acceptable font choice. Unbelievable. That's why we can't let Architecture dudes do anything.

Creating a decent design took me a solid two hours, which was way faster than I planned. Getting up, I studied it from a distance, looking for flaws. It wasn't the best I could've done but it was pretty cool and not printed with neon yellow paper. For now, I'll rest my head for a bit and see if I can sketch the few more ideas I came up with later on. Feeling proud of my work, I took a picture to send it to Jake. It was dark and quiet outside, and one glance at the clock confirmed my thoughts on how late it was already. Biting my lower lip, I struggled. Maybe he was sleeping.

I never texted him since he gave me his number. I mean he gave it to me so we could talk about the flyers, right ? I would've been uneasy using it for another reason. Pondering whether of not I should maybe wake him up, I started pacing in my room, tidying and touching things, stuff I did when I was nervous. My arm still had some black marker on it, faded shapes and symbols vaguely resembling numbers, like an old letter with smudged ink and discolored paper. At first I didn't wanted to wash it off. Mandy and I got so excited by it we cheered together right after school, and classmates seemed intrigued by it. The cold weather didn't allow me to show too much skin so it could look like a tattoo, or a hot guy gave me his number (which was technically true). It could look like I just wrote it myself, but it was totally lame so I didn't want to think about it. Although I really enjoyed that empowering feeling of being someone's interest, at least a little, I scrubbed it hard the same evening. I didn't know if Josh was aware of it and couldn't raise suspicion in case he wasn't. It looked like we were doing something bad, and maybe we were, I had no clue. Guys had that weird rule regarding friends dating brothers and according to Netflix romcoms I was walking on thin fucking ice so I wasn't taking any risks. To be honest I don't think Josh would mind us talking but Jake seemed like a secretive guys so if he told Josh then I'll talk about it and otherwise, I won't. I'll just go with the flow and follow his lead on this, it was safer.

It was almost 2AM when I sent the pic and left my room to get a nice cup of tea/coffee after all these efforts. By the time I got back I had one new message.

« Hi to you too »

I felt my heart jump a little when I saw his name at the top of the screen, and his first text made me smile. I got so pumped by all these design ideas that I forgot to tell him it was me. The picture made it clear enough, though, but maybe it was a bit rude of me. Taking a sip of hot tea/coffee before putting the mug on the night table, I sat on the bed, eyes still on my phone, thinking of an answer. It took me maybe too long because I kept on rereading it to be sure I wouldn't embarrass myself with a typo.

« Hi, sorry. So what do you think ? »

The phone was threwn on the blankets and I turned on the tv to make me think of something else than his future reply. Saying that I was confident would be half-true. The design was good or so I thought so, but then again tastes were all too subjectives and art was tricky. He had all the right to hate it, I wouldn't take it personally (well at least not a hundred percent...). Idly watching a re-run of some old sitcom, I continued to quietly empty my cup and switch channels without really paying attention when I heard my phone buzz and let everything down to grab it.

« I got to admit you were right, our flyers sucked, this one looks fantastic »

And maybe my cheeks started turning pink. Compliments on my art meant a lot, more than those on my personnality or physic. It was really rewarding to have someone enjoy something you created from your own hands. It felt better than any other flattery, so the reply came naturally.

« I'm so glad you like it. I had a few more ideas in stock just in case »

His next message came so fast this time that I didn't even put down my phone yet when I felt it vibrate in my palm.

« Thank you for this, I really appreciate it. I'll owe you one. »

His sweet personality made a smile spread across my face. I took the flyer in my hand again, studying it. The number of bands playing this day was surprisingly high. Some of them I knew because I either heard people talk about it, or knew the guys playing. One especially because they kept rehearsing their rap lyrics in the dorms for everybody to enjoy, which I didn't since they started loudly singing at three in the morning and ignored all my complaints about the noise of their boombox. But most of the bands, no, I didn't know. I continued watching intently the names of the bands playing as if I'll have an epiphany and guess which was Jake's. Giving up, I took my phone again to tap.

« Don't sweat it, I'm glad to help. So... which one are you... ? »

Again, the reply was faster than the first texts we exchanged, despite the late hour.

« You mean the band ? Guess you'll have to come and find out »

I raised an amused eyebrow at this. Getting cocky, aren't we ?

« Alright then, Mister Mysterious, I'll wait and see. »

« You won't regret it. », replied Jake, and for some reason my face started heating up again.

We didn't speak for several minutes, I didn't know what to say now that the topic was closed, and I had nothing to add to it. Switching channels and drinking tea/coffee didn't gave me much help either, at this hour it was either old re-runs, or tv shopping. My eyes looked at the digital alarm clock, and it was almost three in the morning. That's how I knew what to write next.

« I just thought about it, but didn't I wake you up ? »

He was fast as ever again this time, probably wide awake and without anything to do.

« No, don't worry. Rehearsing with my brothers. I'm taking a break until Sam and Josh stop arguing and find a compromise for the new song. Our friend Danny's being the peace keeper once again, I left him alone on the battlefield and went out for a smoke. »

The war metaphor made me chuckle lightly, causing my imagination to run wild. The thought went through my mind that I couldn't believe they would argue, but since they were brothers it was normal I guess, even if they seemed pretty close. Close enough to form a band together at least. I never saw Josh angry, but he had a very vivid temperament, so it wasn't really much of a surprise either. My mind wandered a bit, and I briefly wondered how Jake looked in a heated argument. Probably hot, but also intimidating. He had that kind of quiet aura that seemed like it could become suddenly agitated, like a spotless watercourse that got troubled by the rain or rocks that ricocheted on it. I couldn't explain it, but it was how my limited knowledge of him perceived it.

My phone buzzed again, and this time it was a picture that made me snort in the ugliest way possible. It was a very unflattering close up of a moody and clearly unamused Josh who looked like he was in the middle of scolding Jake for doing whatever he did that got him upset. More of it came, one after the other, for my greatest amusement, and by looking at them in order I could see his actions and movements, like a flipbook of ugly pictures of an angry Josh wearing a colorful dyed t shirt and ample pants that I assumed were his pajamas. The last one got me shaking with laughter, poor Josh looked awful, in a middle of what I assumed was a menacing speech for Jake to stop his bullshit, with an eye half closed and his mouth stuck the weirdest twist of the lips humanly possible. I saved this one as blackmail material, might be helpful in the future.

I didn't even know what to respond to that, they all radiated such chaotic energy it was splendid. Jake was quicker, and sent me a text this time, saying Josh threw his slipper at his face and that he was lucky he hadn't had the tambourine in his hands at that moment.

« I guess rehearsal is over for today, hopefully they'll make up their minds about the song tomorrow. Thanks again for the flyers, see you on monday, we'll print them. »

I never knew I'd be that impatient to go back to school before meeting him.

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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sirius-archive · 6 years ago

Text

Chaos Theory Part 10

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader, George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Drug mention, swearing

Word Count: 7732 (fuck me)

A/N: Right, guys. 7,732 words is the longest fic I’ve ever written. I can’t even rn...I’m so tired and I’ve been working like so hard on this chapter and Young gods I’ve stocked up on tequila and vodka lol so after the next two chapters are released I can have a fucking Fiesta !! Just an FYI things are gonna start getting darker now. Also, I know Luke is supposed to look different for everyone but I think I’ve deserved using a gif of Noah Centineo bc he’s so cute and i love him sm, and given that I’ve written about Luke’s birthday, I think he should claim the header for now. Anyway, here we go. Happy B’day Lukey :)

This chapter is dedicated to my sister, Mariana ‘Maia/Maui’ Tori - I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you always. RIP belle fiore 🥀 1996 - 2004

Chapter 10:

***

Friday, December 18th

***

The strange parcel arrives late at night with no return address.

You recognise the signature style all too quickly and your stomach curls in on itself, heart shuddering and throat constricting like a straw.

After weeks of silence, the mysterious sender is back again and it looks like they’ve upgraded from creepy photo to mysterious box.

It’s sitting on your bed like a plain, Pandora’s box, inviting you to open it and unleash a tempest of chaos. You approach it slowly, hesitantly, icy blood gushing through your crystallised veins like Antarctic waters travelling down the deltas of a cold-blooded monster. A part of you needs to see this; it could be clues, a lead, something that could aid you in this impossible investigation. But the other part of you is wary, perhaps even a little afraid, because you’re not sure if you’re prepared to face whatever is in this box.

Either way, you find yourself standing in front of it, peering down at the familiar scrawl written across the top, and you slice the string holding it together, gripping the lid and squeezing your eyes shut so you can muster up every single ounce of your Gryffindor courage, tearing the lid off and-

You gasp.

***

Thursday, December 10th

***

Unsurprisingly, news about the Yule Ball spread quicker than a wildfire, tangling the school in a sticky web of rumours and gossip.

It’s all Parvati, Padma and Lavender can talk about after your weekly Howler meeting, much to the dismay of Dean Thomas, who sits on the fringe of their conversation, looking equal parts exasperated and nervous while the girls whisper and giggle beside him.

You can’t exactly blame them. The Yule Ball at Hogwarts is combining two of the most whimsical events and squeezing them into one night. Celebrating Christmas while dressing up and dancing with your date? Of course, all the girls would be excited; it’s an excuse to dress up and spend the night with people you care about.

The boys, however, do not share the girl’s enthusiasm for the Ball. Flustered and nervous, a lot of the boys at Hogwarts have had difficulty approaching the subject of dates, since according to tradition, it’s their responsibility to find one.

Harry had been shocked when McGonagall told him that he would have to find a dancing partner after Transfiguration earlier today. As a Champion, he had no choice in the matter, which meant that if he didn’t find a partner soon, he’d risk embarrassing himself in front of the entire school.

Ron, too, was starting to grow anxious about who he would ask to the ball, and Hermione had become impatient with him. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her; she was the most obvious choice to ask, yet Ron continued to allow his obliviousness blind him from what’s right in front of him. Hermione had been tempted to slap both Ron and Harry around the head and point out that they didn’t have to look very far, but you had stopped her before she could. While it would be enjoyable to go with Harry, you were hoping to be asked by someone else...

A touch of worry pricks your chest. What if you don’t get asked by anyone? That was a possibility you hadn’t really considered, given that you had been clinging hopefully to the prospect of being asked by Cedric.

Though to be fair, both you and Cedric have been so caught up in school work and...extracurricular activities, you hadn’t even had an opportunity to talk to one another, let alone arrange a date. Still, you supposed that there was still just over a week until the Ball...plenty of time to arrange a date...

“-hoping for a new camera for Christmas, mine is looking a little shabby, though Noah says that’s okay as long as it functions properly,” Colin Creevey says, excitedly, rambling at a million miles per hour, “He doesn’t really talk that much, does he? But he takes really good photos. I wonder if he could take a photo of me and Dennis with Harry? That would be awesome! Though I do feel a bit sorry for him, I heard that his sister-”

Your mind drifts again, eyes travelling past Colin and spotting Dean in the distance. He waves you over desperately, a pleasing expression written across his face.

“-isn’t that sad? She was always really nice to me so when Professor Dumbledore announced that she had died last year, I was really quite shocked. Nice of Professor Dumbledore to pay his respects to her, eh? He’s such a great Headmaster, he’s made Dennis and I feel at ease-”

“-That reminds me!” You interrupt, hurriedly, “I have to quickly speak to Dean about...something that Professor Dumbledore wanted so I’ll just-”

“Oh, yeah?” Colin asks, cheeks dimpled and eyes wide, “That’s so cool! Dean is such a great artist, he’s going to go far. Hey, I wonder if Harry has seen any of his work. Maybe I should ask Dean to sketch a picture of me and Harry together? Do you think Harry would like that for Christmas? You’d know best, you and Harry are basically-”

“-Yeah, that’s great,” you interrupt, hastily, already walking away from Colin, “See you Colin!”

Colin waves cheerily at you and plods away, approaching Juniper and Daisy and launching into a rambling lecture. You bite your lip, guilt plucking your chest. He really is a sweet boy, little Colin Creevey, who has idolised Harry since Colin arrived at Hogwarts. Leaving him feels mean, but you have a feeling that he could chat to you about everything and nothing for hours on end and still not tire out.

Ignoring your guilt and Colin’s excited voice that carries across the room, you approach Dean, who looks grateful at your arrival.

“Excited for the ball?” You tease, arching a coy eyebrow and Dean sighs.

“I can’t concentrate with the girls gossiping beside me,” Dean groans, rubbing soothing circles into his temples.

You shrug, sliding onto his desk and toying subconsciously with a loose fabric on your skirt, “You got to admit though, it is pretty exciting. Rumour has it that Celestine Warbeck is going to perform.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Pretty sure that’s still just a rumour.”

You give an exaggerated sigh, as though severely disappointed by this news, “Yeah. But it’d be nice though, right?”

Dean grins, “Oh boy, if that were true, I would be way more excited for this ball thingy.”

“I think everyone would be.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for the girls to be more excited than they already are.”

“Oh trust me, you’d be surprised.”

Dean snorts, studying you for a moment, his dark eyes glittering amicably, “I don’t suppose anyone’s asked you yet, have they?”

This time, it’s your turn to snort, “Oh, please Dean. I’ve been getting offers left, right and centre. I practically had to sneak my way here to avoid being swarmed by them all...” you pause for comedic effect, “...not.”

Dean chuckles, rolling his quill between his fingers, “Well, if you don’t get asked soon - which, I mean, you totally will get asked I’m not saying you’re not - I mean-you're pretty so I’m sure you’ll get offers - not that I think you’re pretty because - I mean - we’re just good friends - but I don’t think you’re ugly - you’re definitely not ugly I can tell you that right now - I mean -”

You raise your brows expectantly at him, smirking as you watch Dean sputter and stumble over his words. After another few seconds of spluttering, you finally decide to intervene, amused by his awkwardness.

“Dean Thomas, are you trying to ask me to the Ball?”

Dean averts his gaze, staring at his quill. The conversation beside you has gone quiet, the three girls pausing mid-sentence to eavesdrop on your conversation. Dean exhales a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes,” he mumbles, “I’m asking you to the ball. But as friends!” He adds, briskly, shooting a look at the girls giggling beside him, “And as a...um...Plan B...”

You smile warmly at him, his offer and awkwardness endearing. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you give him a subtle wink and beam at him.

“I would be honoured to have you as my Plan B.”

A burst of girlish giggles bubble into the air around you, cutting off Dean’s relieved chortles. Parvati and Lavender are both red-faced, hands clamped across their lips in a failed attempt to muffle their giggles. Padma, however, is grinning teasingly, glancing between you and Dean.

“Aw,” she gushes, reaching out to ruffle both yours and Deans hair, “You guys would be so cute together.”

“As friends,” you add, hastily, “Dean is my good ol’ pal and the best back up plan I’ve ever had.”

Dean clutches his chest through his shirt, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You frown at him, though you can’t stop the grin stretching across your lips, “I think you need to find yourself some new friends, then.”

Dean shrugs, “I suppose I do.”

As Padma and Dean begin to chat amongst themselves, you allow your gaze to drift away from their conversation, spotting Noah in the corner of the room. He’s bent over a desk, staring intensely at some photos, hands pressed flat against the desk in front of him. His aviator's jacket is too big for him; it swamps around his tall and lithe form almost drowning him in leather and wool.

You make your way towards him and lean against the desk, peering down at the photos in front of him.

They’re scenic landscapes snapped from various spots around Hogwarts, though they look incredibly different, enhanced even, as though you’re looking at places you take for granted through a different lens. There’s a photo of the Whomping Willow, the Courtyard, Hagrid’s hut and an excitable Fang. Noahs even made Blast-Ended Skrewts look more interesting than ugly killing machines.

“You’re a really good photographer, you know,” you murmur, smiling down at Noah’s photos.

“These are nothing,” Noah mutters, apathetically, “The camera that Maia gave me could make these photos look like they were taken by six-year-olds mucking around with a cheap Kodak.”

You bite your lip, ignoring the obvious Muggle reference (what in Merlin’s name is a Kodak anyway?) and consider Noah carefully, “I’m sorry about your camera.”

Noah shrugs, “It’s not the camera that I’m worried about...”

You think about resting a comforting hand on his, but decide against it.

“I’m sorry about Maia, too.”

Noah swallows thickly and turns away. He’s silent for a long time, and you’re afraid you may have overstepped your boundaries when Noah rasps a reply.

“What is it that they say? Time will heal the scars,” he whispers, as though trying to convince himself that it’s true.

You chew the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment, before carefully stringing your next words together.

“What was Maia like?” You ask, warily, “I only met her twice and she seemed really nice...”

A ghost of a smile plays across Noah’s lips, “She was...funny, she’d make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. And she could be feisty, Christ, she was feisty, and so bloody bossy. I guess that’s why she was the Hufflepuff and I was the Slytherin because she was happy and free-spirited and she...” Noah bites his lip, as though stifling a laugh, “...she used to cry whenever she listened to Cat Stevens. And she had this thing about collars - they always had to be folded back otherwise they’d annoy her. And photos, she loved photos but she couldn’t take one to save her life. They’d always come out blurry or dark or off centre and she’d always laugh...”

Noah pauses in thought, as though sinking into sepia-stained memories. He allows himself a tiny smile, “Maia always said that I’d be the photographer in the family. That was what she wanted for me. She was going to be a teacher and I was going to be a famous photographer.”

Noah blinks and averts his gaze, turning away from you.

“You were the first person who said that to me, you know,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “That night when Dumbledore...” he trails off, blinking hard. He turns back to you, black eyes shimmering with something you don’t quite recognise, and he’s close enough for you notice for the first time that he has a scar knitted into his left eyebrow, “Everyone else thinks I’m a weirdo or that I ki-“

Noah suddenly cuts himself off, as though in realisation. His expression flickers, anger suddenly shadowing his face, and he turns to glare angrily at you.

“Don’t- Don’t do that!” he snaps, pointing a shaky finger at you, and you frown at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Make me tell you things about...” he blinks, black eyes glinting dangerously, “...about Maia and me and-and make it seem like you care when you don’t! You’re-you’re just like everyone else, like Delores and-and Malfoy and her stupid boyfriend and everyone who didn’t give a shit about Maia when she was alive!”

You try to reach out and pat him but before you can even touch him, Noah flinches, as though he’s expecting you to hit him. Red stains his cheeks in shame as he backs away from you, a distant touch of fear creeping into his eyes. He retreats hurriedly, nearly stumbling out of the door, and you try to follow him when someone catches your wrist.

You glance behind you, finding Troy’s wrist gently pulling you back. He looks both worried and sympathetic as he releases your wrist, fiddling with the paintbrush behind his ear.

“He needs space,” Troy explains, “Space and time. Noah strikes me as the kind of person who likes to keep things bottled up.”

You nod in understanding, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “Do you know who Delores is? Noah mentioned her just now...”

Troy hesitates, as though unsure whether it's his place to say. He concedes after a moment of silent deliberation, “Delores is Noah’s mother. Maia told me about her. They have a...troubled relationship-”

“His mother is a junkie who cares more about her current boyfriend and getting high than she does about her own kids,” Daisy drawls, bluntly, suddenly appearing at your side, “Maia used to ask me to keep an eye on him, make sure the other kids don’t bully him because he gets enough of that from home.”

“Oh...” you murmur, slowly.

“Yeah,” Troy says, staring at his feet.

An uncomfortable silence passes between the three of you as you stand in a circle, processing what had just happened. Daisy leaves as abruptly as she came, stalking across the room to Juniper’s side. Troy has his hands in his pockets, rubbing his shoes together before he smiles and nods at something behind you.

“I think you have a little visitor,” Troy beams. You spin around and grin, crouching down to welcome Nightshade into your arms.

“What are you doing here, B?” You coo, kissing Nightshade on her head. She rubs herself against your leg, tail curling in the air and she purrs and meows at you.

You scratch her ear, fingers grazing against her collar before you spot something folded inside her bell. Frowning, you carefully pull away a small piece of paper and you unfold it, nervously, hoping with all your might it isn’t related to the photo pinned to your investigation board and you stare down at it, taking in the familiar writing and you-

You smile, bite your lip, watching as dozens of tiny, red hearts shudder to life and flutter off the page like butterflies in the spring. You watch as they spell out words in mid air, tracing around invisible letters until they form a coherent sentence that reads, in unmistakable cursive writing;

Will you go to the Ball with me?

You laugh, recognising the style of it all, knowing the only person who is capable at something so sweet and romantic is-

“Will you go to the Ball with me?”

Cedric Diggory.

The heart butterflies scatter, fluttering away as though being carried away in a summer breeze. Cedric standing at the end of the hallway, grinning broadly at you. He strides toward you in smooth movements, one arm bent behind his back, beaming brightly, his blue eyes never straying from yours. A tiny laugh of disbelief slips from your lips as you smile, gazing lovingly at him until he stops right in front of you.

Cedric stretches out the arm bent behind his back, brandishing a cupcake with a giant, red love heart planted on top, holding it to his face as he awaits your answer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, swept away by the dramatics, “Are-are you bribing me with food?”

Cedric chuckles lightly, “I knew that this would be the driving force that would compel you to come with me.”

“You must really want me as your date,” you murmur, a simpering smile curling graciously across your lips.

“More than anything,” Cedric whispers, gazing at you longingly. His blue eyes sparkle like sunlight dancing off the ocean. He’s absolutely mesmerising...

“Okay,” you giggle, suddenly giddy, “I’ll come with you to the Ball.”

Cedric sweeps you into his arms and twirls you around in a hug. You shriek a laugh as he lifts you off your feet, hands buried in his hair as he spins you before placing you gently on your feet. He grins goofily, eyes narrowing on your lips, hungry for a kiss you are all too willing to give him, and you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck, guiding his lips onto yours until-

“Ahem.”

Troy clears his throat.

Cedric reluctantly pulls away from you as you crane your neck, suddenly remembering that Troy is there.

“I’ll...give you guys some privacy,” Troy mumbles, cheeks pink. He steps back into the Newsroom and closes the door and you turn back to Cedric.

“So...” you start, slowly, “Are we going to...?” You nod at the cupcake still in Cedric's hand. Cedric laughs.

“Oh,” He says, “Right.”

Nightshade meows, gazing up at Cedric with large, green eyes, staring at the cupcake longingly.

“I guess you deserve a treat or two,” Cedric says, crouching down to feed a piece of cupcake. She eats from his hand, carefully licking the tiny crumbs from his palm as Cedric strokes her head.

You beam at Cedric as you watch him affectionately scratch Nightshade, heart swelling like a balloon, suddenly understanding the excitement surrounding the Yule Ball and making a mental note to tell Dean that you won’t need a Plan B anymore...

***

Thursday December 17th

***

You wake up early on the morning of Luke’s birthday, grinning from ear-to-ear.

As per the usual birthday tradition, you had picked out the most ugliest Christmas sweater you could find - complete with itchy wool and an unflattering turtleneck collar - and had wrapped it in embarrassingly bright wrapping paper. You can just imagine Luke’s face when he unwraps it; contorting in both disgust and amusement but holding it to his chest.

The rules were that he had to wear the sweater all day for the entire day, no excuses. Last year, McGonagall had been so unimpressed, she had nearly begged Luke to burn the sweater to a crisp and had threatened to send him to detention for the day if he didn’t.

But that wasn’t the only birthday tradition the Arden siblings had amongst themselves.

They also had to bake the worst tasting birthday cake with whatever they could find and dare each other to eat it. Once, you had baked a cake during the holidays using eggs, tomato sauce, flour, mushrooms, oats, sugar, spearmint and hot sauce and saved it for Luke’s birthday. When you had dared Luke to eat a slice, Luke, never one to turn down a challenge, had devoured the entire thing. He had then spent the next hour bent over a toilet bowl but, really, that was his own doing. You had only dared him to eat one slice, not the whole damn thing.

This year was no different; you have to keep to the Arden tradition and bake a disgusting cake. The problem is, you don’t know where the kitchens are. Last year, you had made it ahead of time and had preserved it using a cooking charm (perhaps that was why Luke reacted so...violently to it) but this year, you had been more preoccupied and less organised.

You make your way down to the Common Room, wondering how you’re going to sneak into the boy's dormitory and steal the Marauders Map when you suddenly run into a tall and firm figure.

“Woah,” you gasp under your breath, staggering backwards. A strong arm catches you by your arm before you can fall flat on your ass.

“Sorry,” George Weasley snickers, “I didn’t see you there; you’re kind of tiny, (Y/N). You’re definitely a tripping hazard.”

You scowl at him and rearrange your clothes, ironing your skirt with the palms of your hands.

“Anyone tell you you’re a class A asshole?”

“On many occasions, actually,” George grins, then shrugs, “Sticks and stones.”

“Whatever works for you,” you snip, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips, “Anyway, what are you doing here so early?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” says Fred, sauntering toward you.

“I’m baking a cake for Luke,” you explain, grinning, “It’s his birthday and we usually bake each other really disgusting cakes and get each other terrible gifts. It’s kind of an Arden thing.”

Fred and George exchange a mischievous glance.

“Sounds like you need to head to the kitchens,” Fred smirks down at you,

“You guys know where it is?” You ask, hopefully, and Fred nods.

“Ready for a private tour?” George asks, grinning devilishly, his eyes shimmering and a thrill courses through you.

You beam at him.

***

The kitchens look like they’ve just crawled out of Hermione’s worst nightmares.

House-elves are everywhere; bustling around the large kitchens, looking harried but content as they buzz around the room. They work around you, occasionally rushing up to you to offer you various sweets and treats, practically imploring you with round orbs to enjoy their homemade delicacies.

You’ve learned that it’s better just to accept the cakes and cookies instead of politely declining, and you enjoy the ones you’ve gathered with Fred and George as you sit in front of a large oven, watching Luke’s cake swell inside of the cake tin.

“I’m surprised it’s actually baking,” George observes, nodding at the oven, “Are we sure that’s even a cake in there?”

“If it has flour, egg, milk and sugar, then it’s a cake,” you state, biting into a cookie and moaning in delight, “These cookies are to die for.”

“Right?” Fred marvels in agreement, “I mean, they’re not as good as Mums but they’re still pretty darn good.”

Your eyes flutter closed and a smile stretches across your lips as you chew languidly on another cookie, savouring the sweet flavour as it oozes onto your tongue. You hum in delight again as you begin licking chocolate off the tips of your fingers.

You open your eyes and catch George watching you with a strange expression on his face. He boldly maintains eye contact, something unfamiliar flashing in his pupils.

Fred glances between the two of you, intrigued, “I’m going to go take some of these to Lee,” he announces, standing and stretching.

You break away from George and watch him as he leaves.

“That was odd,” You note, frowning as the portrait door closes shut.

“Fred is a bit of an oddity anyway,” George shrugs, sliding closer to you, “How’s that cake going?”

You peer through the glass, studying the cake, “Honestly? I don’t know, though I want it to burn so I guess another twenty minutes or so.”

You turn back to George, whose scoffing down an incredible amount of cookies.

“So, you excited for the Ball?” He asks through a mouthful of cookies.

You grin uncontrollably, “Yeah, I am.”

“Found anyone to go with?”

“Yeah,” You slide your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’m going with Cedric.”

George stops cramming cookies into his mouth and swallows, forcing a strained smile onto his lips.

“Oh. That’s...good.”

You shrug meekly, trying not to appear as giddy as you feel, “Yeah. Are you going with anyone?”

“Uh-Harper Shacklebolt.”

You nearly choke on your laughter, “What?! You managed to convince Harper Shacklebolt to leave the Newsroom?”

George flashes a devilish grin, “Well, it wasn’t that hard. I just had to turn up the old Weasley twin charm and she was practically falling for me.”

You roll your eyes, chortling at George’s confidence, “Huh, interesting. Well, you might have some competition. Did you know Harper has a pen pal?”

“Is that so?” George arches an eyebrow, intrigued, “And who would that be?”

“Someone with the initials ‘O.W.’, which could only be-”

“Oliver Wood,” George’s lips break into a smirk, chortles slipping from his lips, “I can’t see that lasting too long. They’re both stubborn and passionate about other things. Wasn’t Harper and Luke a thing for a while?”

You bark a laugh, “Ha. Luke and Harper? Harper is so out of Luke’s league, he’d probably have to pinch his dick to make sure he isn’t dreaming.”

George laughs at that, and the sound travels through you, glowing in your chest and probing your own laughter to spill from your lips.

“Must have just been some silly rumours,” George shrugs, “By the way, I think his cake is burning.”

You turn back to the oven as smoke begins to bleed through the cracks in the oven, filling the air with a horrid, acrid smell.

“Yup, that would be about right,” You chortle, grinning, “He’s going to love it.”

***

Luke is on his way to the library when you spot him.

He’s pacing down the hallway, moving quickly, and you nearly have to break into a sprint just to catch up with him. It’s a little uncharacteristic, given that he usually saunters lazily but in a businesslike manner. Casual, but cool and composed.

Today, he’s in a rush, taking long, deliberate strides and not giving you a chance to catch your breath as you struggle to catch up to him.

He rounds the corner, and you’re about to call out to him when someone else beats you to it, cutting you off with a thick, smokey accent.

“I vas beginning to zink you vere going to flake on me, Lukas!”

Kazimir Volkov strolls up to him, smirk like a sharp dash across his lips. He looks impressive and menacing, but Luke isn’t afraid.

Kaz stops right in front of Luke, eyes flashing with something both dangerous and alluring, as though he’s trying to assert his dominance but is also trying to seduce Luke into relaxation.

Luke stops, glancing around furtively. When he’s certain that no one is looking, Luke’s composure relaxes, steel melting off his shoulders like mercury. He greets Kaz like an old friend, nodding at him and flashing a charming smile. Curious, you press yourself against the wall, peeking out from behind it.

Luke leans forward, speaking in an undertone.

“I thought we agreed to talk in Russian?”

Kaz’s smirk broadens, “Why, you don’t vant anyone knowing zat Hogvart’s Golden Boy is up to no good?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke snips, a little impatiently, “I mean, it’s more about my sister than anything. If she knew…”

“She’d understand,” Kaz murmurs, then shrugs, “But if zat’s what you vant...”

Luke and Kaz begin covering in Russian, speaking rapidly. You furrow your brows, straining to listen to their conversation, but you never learnt Russian and they’re speaking too fast for you to pick up on any familiar sounding words.

Two words pop out from their conversation; you only recognise them because they are repeated by both Kaz and Luke; krov' Niks

Krov Niks…? What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Sighing, you’re just about to leave when Kaz suddenly retrieves something from the inside of his Durmstrang robes. You squint, leaning forward, spotting a small vial with black, glittering liquid inside. It resembles melted obsidian; sunlight bounces off small flecks of silver and gold.

Luke takes the vial and pockets it, nodding at Kaz in gratitude.

You flatten your back against the wall, thinking fast. What kind of potion could Luke possibly want that he couldn’t brew himself? What is he up to? And why does he have to keep it a secret when you’ve never let any secrets stand between the two of you–?

“Lulu!”

You jump, startled by Luke’s surprised voice, a fleeting look of panic flitting across his face. Your mouth flaps open, searching desperately for a good excuse, momentarily forgetting about the gifts in your hand until Luke’s gaze drops to them.

“Oh!” You bleat, nervously, “Oh I was…looking for you because I – uh – it’s your birthday and I wanted to give you your birthday presents…”

“Oh,” Luke says, biting his lip nervously, “Thanks.”

You hand him his sweater and cake and iron your clammy hands on your skirt, “Happy Birthday.”

Luke balances his presents on one hand and ruffles your hair with the other, “Thanks, (Y/N). I can’t wait to try what delicious, home-baked cake you conjured up for me this year.”

“Fred and George helped me whip it up,” you smirk, teasingly.

“Ah,” Luke nods, mirroring your smirk, “Well, then, it’ll be a masterpiece.”

Luke lassos you into a one-armed hug, pulling you to his chest, and for a moment, you forget about that strange vial in Luke’s pocket.

***

Friday, December 18th

***

The last day of term ends with a gruelling test on Antidotes in Potions.

Fortunately, you had studied hard for this test; it was hard to do anything other than study when your best friend is Hermione Granger. But your hard work paid off in the end, earning you full marks from a somewhat sour Snape.

“I see you’ve proven to be worth more than just a pretty face,” Snape has grumbled, peering down into your cauldron after class, “All that time spent with Granger must have rubbed off on you.”

You had screwed your jaw shut in an effort to stop yourself from snapping back at Snape, knowing that your marks and House Points were worth more than any retort you could have possibly sassed back.

“Actually, Professor,” you grit, through a clenched jaw, “I was wondering if you could tell me about a Potion that…looks black with silver and gold speckles in it?”

Professor Snape frowns, evidently in thought. After a moment of silence, Snape speaks in his usual, oily tone, “Nyx’s blood. It’s a difficult potion to brew, used as both a narcotic and a healing potion. It also happens to be illegal in the United Kingdom.” Snape arches a thin, black eyebrow in suspicion, “Why would you want to know about Nyx’s blood?”

“Um…” you begin, cursing yourself for not stringing a proper excuse together, “Um, I–”

“Severus!” Hisses a sharp, accented voice from behind you. Snape’s black eyes travel past you and you follow his line of sight, finding Karkaroff at the end of it. Karkaroff glances between you and Snape.

“You may leave, Arden,” Snape drawls, sourly, dismissing you with a scowl. You nod, slinging your book bag over your shoulder and rushing out of the dungeons, exhaling a sigh of relief.

As they promised, Ron, Harry and Hermione are waiting outside for you.

“So, what did Snape want?” Ron pries, softly patting the top of your head.

“Oh, nothing,” you sigh, “He just wanted to have a word with me about my Potion.”

“How did you think you went with that?” Ron asks, considering you curiously. You shrug.

“Well, I followed everything as per the instructions but it’s Snape so I’m not sure.”

You glance at Harry, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet for most of the day.

“How did you think you went, Harry?” You ask, loud enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

“I botched it,” Harry confesses, though he doesn’t seem too worried about it at all, “I don’t really care, though.”

“Well you should,” Hermione chides, loftily, “Potions is a core subject in our curriculum. If we don’t pass Potions, we lose a huge percentage of our end of year scores.”

“Which means Snape will look bad enough for Dumbledore to finally fire the git,” Ron mutters in your ear, grinning. You snort a laugh and nudge him in the ribs, earning a yelp of surprise.

“You’re trouble, Ronald Weasley,” you murmur back, snickering.

“Arden!”

You pause, Ron, Harry and Hermione stilling, too. A familiar prickle of agitation threads itself beneath your skin as you recognise the familiar voice and wheel around to face him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” you practically spit, watching as Draco, Crabbe and Goyle saunter towards you. He’s sneering, but there is an indisputable touch of worry in his eyes.

“You,” Draco snips, “Alone without your little guard dogs to defend you.”

His cold, pale eyes dart between Ron and Harry. Ron steps forward.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Ron snarls, darkly, stretching out a protective arm as if to shield you.

“Funny, I didn’t realise you were her keeper,” Draco snaps, venomously, “Are you really that poor you have to start working for your friends, Weasel?”

Crabbe and Goyle snigger gleefully. You roll your eyes and tap Ron’s arm gently.

“I’ll be fine,” you coo, reassuring both Ron and Harry. They nod in unison.

“I’ll take your book bag,” Hermione offers, and you hand her your bag gratefully, “We’ll see you at dinner.”

You nod and watch them leave, forcing a soft smile onto your lips when Harry glances back at you over his shoulder. You turn back to Malfoy moments later, glowering at him.

“Okay, you’ve got me,” you snip, harshly, “Now, tell me what it is that you want?”

Draco glances behind him at Crabbe and Goyle and flaps a dismissive hand at them, silently shooing them off. They stump away, pushing past other students and knocking frightened First Years aside.

When he’s sure it’s just the two of you, Draco, takes a few steps toward you, bowing his head so he can catch your eyes, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“If it has something to do with Noah Underwood, I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, sternly, “The guy is going through enough as it is, he doesn’t need you to keep snooping around like he’s some sort of criminal-”

“-Will you go to the Ball with me?”

Your lashes flutter rapidly as you blink at Draco once, twice, again. His cheeks are beginning to flush an interesting shade of pink.

“What?”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Don’t make me ask you again, Arden, you heard me.”

You stare at him quizzically, bemused by his request. Why would Draco want to ask you to the Ball? Was this a prank? A joke? A trick question or a weird way to humiliate you? You frown at him, thinking hard, raking your eyes across every inch of his face and scrutinising him carefully in the low, flickering lights of the dungeons, mind sprinting through a million theories at once until-

Laughter bubbles up your throat on impulse and spills from your lips, echoing through the Dungeons.

Draco blinks, taken aback.

“Very funny, Malfoy,” you chortle, sighing, and Draco glowers at you.

“This isn’t a joke, Arden!” Draco snaps, angrily.

Your laughter dies on the tip of your tongue when you realise he’s serious and you scoff in cold indignation.

“Why would I want to go to the Ball with you, Draco?” You spit, coldly, venom dripping from your words, “You seem to relish in bullying me and my friends, particularly Harry. So give me one good reason why I should even consider coming with you when all you are is a jealous, spoilt and arrogant bully with a chip on his shoulder.”

Draco’s eyes glimmer like light bouncing off the tip of a blade. He opens his mouth then closes it, working around words he doesn’t want to say, doesn’t want to give a voice to, before he works his jaw and flares his nostrils and twists his lips into a frown.

“Never mind,” he snarls, bitterly, “I shouldn’t have bothered asking someone who parades around Potter like some loyal, little bitch.”

Before you can give him an angry retort, Draco storms away, fists clenched at his sides as though he wants to smash something.

Who are you kidding? You want to smash something.

Perplexed and incensed, you march out of the Dungeons and make your way toward the Great Hall for dinner, wondering what the fuck just happened.

***

After dinner with Hermione, the pair of you wander back to the common room, in which you explain everything that had happened with Malfoy earlier. Hermione had struggled to contain her gleeful giggles as she listened, which was as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

“Malfoy fancies you, (Y/N),” she manages through a bout of giggles, “That’s why he asked you. He’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“Oh don’t be so silly!” You dismiss her with a slap to her shoulder, “Malfoy was probably just mucking around.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” you snip, warmth creeping up your neck and spilling across your cheeks, “But Draco Malfoy does not fancy me!”

Hermione bites down on a grin, swallowing the rest of her giggles and slinging an arm across your shoulders, “Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

You and Hermione reach the portrait of the Fat Lady and find her laughing boisterously with her friend, Violet. They both look rather tipsy in their tinsel crowns, faces flushed and words slurred.

“Fairy Lights,” you utter, speaking loudly so that she can hear you over Violet’s loud cackles.

“Aren’t they jus - hic - Magical,” the Fat Lady sighs, and you and Hermione exchanged an amused look as she swings open, admitting you into the common room.

You and Hermione climb through the portrait hole, entering the dim common room and spotting Harry, Ron and Ginny sitting by the fire.

“There they are!” Hermione says, pointing at the two snickering boys and an irritated-looking Ginny.

“Why weren’t you two at Dinner?” You ask, curiously dropping into a seat beside Harry. The two boys don’t seem to hear you, your voice drowned out by their laughter.

“Because - oh shut it, you two - because they both just got rejected by girls they asked to the Ball!” Ginny snaps, shooting a particularly nasty look to Ron and Harry.

You snort a laugh, slapping a hand across your mouth to smother your giggles as Ron glares at Ginny.

“Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” Ron grumbles, sourly, cheeks red beneath his freckles.

“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” Hermione snips, smirking bitterly, a touch of sardonic insolence in her tone, “Eloise Midgen starting to look a great deal prettier now isn’t she? Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone somewhere who’ll have you, it serves you right for being so snotty.”

Usually, Ron would snap back with something snappy. But Hermione’s snide remark seems to slide off Ron, who’s staring at the two of you as though a certain realisation had just dawned on him.

“Hermione, (Y/N), you’re both girls-”

“-Oh well spotted,” Hermione barks, coldly.

“You guys can come with us! Hermione can come with me and (Y/N) can go with-“

“I can’t,” you and Hermione both snap at the same time. You both exchange a glance.

“Why not?” Ron says, impatiently, “Look, Harry and I are going to look really stupid if we don’t find partners - especially Harry-“

“I - we - can’t come with you,” Hermione interrupts, blushing furiously, “Because we - I - am already going with someone!”

“No you’re not!” Ron says, scandalously, “You only said that to get rid of Neville!”

“How dare you, Ron?!” Hermione seethes, her eyes glinting dangerously, “How dare you think that, just because it takes you three years to notice, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!”

Ron gaped at her in disbelief, before his shock melted into a grin.

“Ok, Fine, you’re a girl we get it. Now will you come with us?”

Hermione springs to her feet, fists shaking at her sides, “I told you already that I’m going with someone else, and if that’s so hard to believe I suggest that you get over yourself!”

Hermione storms away angrily, stomping up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

“Now look what you’ve done!” You snap, glowering at Ron, “She wasn’t lying!”

Ron shakes his head, “Who is she going with then?”

You fold your arms across your chest, glaring at Ron angrily, “She obviously doesn’t want you to know, so I’m not going to tell you.”

Ron rolls his eyes and sighs, “This is getting stupid, Ginny can go with Harry and (Y/N) can come with me-”

“-No, Ron, weren’t you listening?” You snip, icily, “I’m already going with someone.”

You leap to your feet and march toward the winding staircase, intent on pursuing Hermione.

“Wait!” Harry calls out and you pause, wheeling around to face him, “Who-who are you going with?”

You hesitate, biting down on your bottom lip hard before unfurling it, “Cedric. I’m going with Cedric Diggory.”

Not waiting to see their reaction at this news, you spin around and scale the winding staircase, an uncomfortable warmth soaking your cheeks. Why did Ron have to be such a giant prat? He could be so incredibly mean to Hermione at times and completely oblivious to everything around him.

You come to a stop outside of your dorm and knock gently, cracking your knuckles against the wood of the doors.

“Hermione? Can I come in?” You ask, softly, carefully.

“You’d better,” says Hermione’s voice from behind the door, all traces of her anger having already left her voice, “There’s-there’s something here for you...”

Frowning, you pull open the door, spotting Hermione standing in front of your bed.

“Why? What is it-?”

You pause, your words forming an uncomfortable lump in the middle of your throat.

A strange box is sitting on your bed, practically screaming trouble.

“Someone must have brought it up here,” Hermione deduces, studying the box carefully, “It would have taken at least three owls to send it...”

You recognise the signature style all too quickly and your stomach curls in on itself, heart shuddering and throat constricting like a straw.

After weeks of silence, the mysterious sender is back again and it looks like they’ve upgraded from creepy photo to mysterious box.

You gasp.

Oh.

“What is it?” Hermione asks, mincing hurriedly to your side.

“Oh,” she gasps, “Let’s-Let’s take it out.”

You do, pulling it from the box and holding it out in front of you. Hermione gasps again, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighs, lips breaking into a smile.

You couldn’t agree more.

The dress is dripping with soft flowers and thin, curling vines, like gold veins running beneath ivory skin. The tulle cascades in soft waves to the floor, flowing through your arms like water. It’s elegant, dainty, feminine and incredibly expensive.

Hurrying to the full-length mirror, you hold the dress to your body, admiring how the style compliments your complexion. White diamonds wink at you from the centre of the dozens of flowers planted on the fabric.

“There’s a note, too!” Hermione exclaims, handing you a folded piece of parchment. You carefully take the letter from her outstretched hand, unfolding it with a smile.

My Dearest Belle Fiore,

Your mother once said that you were the ‘fiore of her life’, and she was right. You were the fiore of her life, and I have watched you blossom into the beautiful rose you are today. I couldn’t be more proud of the young woman you have become, and I will always be proud of you until my dying breath.

I know your mother would want you to wear this to your first ball; it was her wedding dress. But now, it’s yours, and I’ll know you’ll treasure it as much as the beloved bracelet she bestowed to you.

I wish I could see you in it but, unfortunately, the Prophet demands my time and energy. But I know you will be the most beautiful fiore in the entire garden, with or without this dress.

I love you now and always,

Papa

You blink through tears, clutching the letter tightly in your hands.

Your mother had worn this dress; her hair had flowed over it, her skin had warmed the delicate fabric and her wild and boundless heart - that heart that could swallow the world - had hummed beneath it like a hummingbird in her chest.

You clutch the dress a little tighter, embracing it, feeling a new kind of warmth gush through you like butterbeer and sunlight. Its as though your mother is hugging you back, holding you to her chest so you can listen to her hummingbird heart one last time.

In that moment, it’s as though your mother is alive again.

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @theseusscamandcr @depressed-octopods-art @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12 @randomfangirl117 @asofslytherin @seunlight @thebesteleganttrashyouseen @elsie2018 @polkadotfairyposts @hylianhighlander @dracosdoves @siriuswitches @bernadineisreborn @lousimusician @randomoutsiders @smolldork @danidomm @xrosegoldwolfx @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood @reimiwritrs @tchalland @lucifersnipnips @ notorious-fiction @peppermintspecks @sleep-i-ness @reducto-bitch

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rulesofthebeneath · 6 years ago

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how bout a dance: part 10

<AN> Hey friends! Just a quick ??warning?? for this chapter, it gets like lowkey suggestive at the end. nothing explicit, probably still even pg-13, just letting you guys know. thanks. credit: @euphonyinestetica. tag: @pixelburied, @witchiegirl, @lilmissperfectlyimperfect, @itsbrindleybinch, @aidenzhous, @catlady0911, @ravenclawpokegirl25, @ylevolenahs, @awkwardalbatros, @hufflepvnk

</AN>

Tech week. Hell week. The week that made even the most experienced directors, actors and technicians tremble in fear. Ajay hadn’t gotten much sleep (any sleep, if he was being completely honest with himself) the previous night, so on Monday morning he was already running on fumes. He had a tumbler (that really more closely resembled a bucket) full of coffee, and it wasn’t even his first of the day when he got to the theatre at eight am.

His only saving grace was Emily, the stage manager who was criminally peppy for a Monday morning. She didn’t have to start calling cues from the booth yet, so she was at the table in the house with him to discuss lighting and sound options. He stifled a giant yawn behind his hand as he waited for everyone to arrive.

“Ajay,” Emily said suddenly, nearly making him jump.

“Yeah?”

“I have a crazy story for you.”

This had become kind of a thing, with him and Emily exchanging bizarre stories while they waited for the actors and techs to set up. There was little else for them to do, and Emily’s latest story about her dog chasing her cat around with a laser pointer had had him in stitches during the previous rehearsal, so he wasn’t complaining.

She was just about to start talking when one of the junior lighting techs walked up, a slightly guilty look on his face. Emily saw him out of the corner of her eye, and before he could even say anything she sighed.

“Sorry, Ajay, I’ll tell you in a second.” Then she followed the tech up to the booth.

Left alone again, Ajay took out his phone and looked through last night’s text conversation with Grace. He smiled to himself as he scrolled through the memes she sent and his increasingly exasperated replies, the link she’d sent him to a song she claimed reminded her of him (and maybe he’d listened to it all night, but nobody had to know), and a litany of cheesy pickup lines that he’d insisted were the worst things he’d ever heard. His favorite conversation, though, was one that they had at three a.m. He hadn’t ever gone to sleep that night but she’d evidently woken up in the middle of the night and texted him.

Grace: hey, so for when we’re together in like five weeks you should probably know that i’m allergic to daisies

Ajay: I’ll keep that in mind. So what are your favorite flowers, now that daisies have lost their position at the top?

Grace: hmmm… why do you wanna know?

Ajay: No reason.

Ajay: Not like I’m planning something or anything.

Ajay: Not at all.

Ajay: Just want to know. Random trivia.

Grace: you’re a terrible liar

Ajay: But you knew that already. So, favorite flowers?

Grace: lilacs

Ajay: Classy. I’m more of a blue hyacinth guy.

Grace: i don’t even know what that is

Grace: oh also. there’s a new restaurant near my apt that we should go to sometime

Ajay: Five weeks!

Grace: five weeks!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ajay: Get some sleep. You need to be functional in the morning.

Grace: i could say the same to you

Ajay: Goodnight, Grace.

Grace: ugh goodnight

Something about that little exchange never failed to make him smile. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been thinking of him when she woke up in the middle of the night, or maybe it was just that she felt comfortable enough with him to text him in the early morning, when they both should’ve been asleep. Maybe it was because her telling him about her favorite flowers made this whole thing much more concrete.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Emily sitting down next to him again.

“So, you had a story?”

“Oh, I have the best story.”

For the next five minutes while actors and techs slowly made their way into the theatre, she regaled him with the story of her girlfriend's nearly disastrous attempt at a proposal, which involved the aforementioned pet dog nearly eating the engagement ring, the fire alarm going off after a failed attempt at a romantic dinner, and an ugly encounter with a bitter neighbor who had been trying to take a nap at the time of the fire alarm.

Ajay didn't think he'd ever laughed so hard in his life.

"But did you say yes, though?"

"Duh, of course! How could I not marry a woman who went through all that just for me?”

“That’s adorable,” he said a little too loudly, still laughing. He calmed himself down significantly before saying, “I wish you the best. That’s really exciting.” He gave her a sincere smile.

“Thanks, Ajay!”

He turned slightly to give her a quick congratulatory hug, then sat back in his seat to survey the nearly completed scenery.

It was really admirable, all the work the techs had done to get the set ready. The scrim was especially good, and it looked even better in the stage lights. The props had all been set out and looked lovely. He was starting to sketch out a few transitions off the top of his head when a group of actors walked past him. Among them, Grace.

She looked ethereal as always, but the thing about her that most distracted him as she walked past was the stony expression on her face and her refusal to look at him. He was bewildered, and convinced himself that he must’ve just been seeing things. He shook his head and returned to his work. By the time 8:45 am came around, the cast and crew were all gathered onstage.

“Okay! Good morning everyone!” Ajay called, standing up. He noted that Grace still wasn’t looking at him, but let it go. There were more important things to worry about right then. He cordoned off a section of his mind to worry about her in the background and turned his thoughts back to the day ahead.

He quickly delegated, working up the schedule of run-throughs on the fly and making sure Emily told him when to move on from different scenes to keep them on schedule. For some reason, he felt Grace’s eyes on him whenever he turned to talk to Emily. As soon as he looked around at the group of actors again, though, Grace’s gaze moved away from him. It was unsettling, and Ajay didn’t like it at all. He resolved that he’d try to get to the bottom of this during the lunch break.

“Anyways,” he said, pulling himself off whatever tangent about transitions that he had been on, “Let’s set up for the prologue.”

At his words, the cast and crew dispersed. Several cast members retreated to the house to watch and work on lines, and the rest save for Grace, Kevin, Kaylie and Jackson retreated backstage to prepare for their entrances. Grace smiled at Kevin—Ajay’s stomach twisted—as they settled down in the car. She leaned a head on his chest and they clasped hands. Just like Ajay had directed.

“Great. Jackson, Kaylie, you ready?”

Two confirmations sounded from backstage. Ajay signaled for everyone to start, and after a small delay the lights went down on the stage and the prerecorded track started. They didn’t have the luxury of an orchestra in such a small space, but they had a really good recording. Ajay was a bit nervous about that, but convinced himself that it would be fine. After thirty seconds of the prologue music, a strong riff signaled Kaylie’s intro and the start of “Picture Show.”

They made it through the first few bars before the scrim started to roll down too soon, covering Grace and Kevin in the car. It was the first of what felt like a million holds that Ajay had to call before they were done with the complex scene almost three hours later. Everyone was exhausted, Ajay included, but he pressed on into Scene One. Grace was the only lead still onstage.

She was behind the bar, leaning on it slightly from the side at the top of the scene. The short and simple scene ran fairly smoothly, but he had to call one hold for lighting and two more for a telephone ring sound effect. The music at the end of the scene started on time, surprising both him and Grace, who forgot to come in at the right time. Even when he stopped the scene and told her to restart from a certain line, she wouldn’t look at him.

At a snail’s pace, the rest of the morning passed. By 12:30, everyone was starving and restless. As soon as Ajay dismissed them for lunch, he noticed Grace fleeing to her dressing room. He wanted to follow her, but Emily pulled him aside for a litany of questions surrounding the next few scenes and certain cues. Once ten minutes had passed, he gently reminded her that the ten-hour work day maximum applied to the techs too, and that they all needed to have their well-deserved break.

Finally free to slip off, Ajay successfully made his way to Grace’s dressing room undisturbed. The door was cracked slightly open, so he knocked and waited. When he heard no response, he gently pushed the door open a couple of inches.

“Grace?”

He heard a noncommittal grunt from inside the room, and took that as permission to go in. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

She was sitting at her vanity in a rolling chair, head in her hands, but her blank expression didn’t betray any of her feelings. He sat down in an old velvet armchair in the opposite corner of the small room to give her a little space.

“Grace, what’s wrong? You wouldn’t look at me all rehearsal. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Grace.”

He waited a few seconds.

“Grace, if you won’t tell me what’s wrong then I can’t fix it. Communication, remember?”

She groaned into her hands, then turned to face him. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding controlling or manipulative or paranoid.”

He relaxed into the chair. At least that was a start.

“Just tell me what’s going on, and I promise I’ll understand that you don’t mean to be any of those things.”

She sighed, but nodded. “It’s just that, before rehearsal started, Kevin came up to me and asked me if I thought you and Emily were a couple. I said I didn’t, but then he pointed out how you were laughing at something she was saying, and then you hugged her and called her adorable, and I don’t know. I just overthought. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I can see what you were thinking. And I’ll explain what was going on, but only once I tell you one thing that’s really important.”

“Okay?”

He stretched out a foot and pulled her rolling chair towards where he was seated in the armchair. He took both of her hands, and despite himself he noticed the color flooding her cheeks.

“Grace, if this is going to work, you need to trust me.”

She tried to interrupt him, but he squeezed one of her hands and she fell silent again. He looked directly into her eyes.

“I know that it’s a sore spot, and I know that there’s a little more insecurity because we aren’t really together yet, and I know you’re afraid of being cheated on again. I am too. But if we want this to work, both of us need to trust each other, okay? That means that you don’t get scared when I talk to Emily, and I won’t get jealous when you kiss Kevin onstage. Deal?”

She broke eye contact with him and readjusted her hands within his grip.

“I didn’t even think about that,” she admitted.

“Well, don’t. Because I trust you, and anyways this show needs a believable romance between the leads.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh, then looked back up at him. “Okay. Yeah. I trust you.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Because I really wanted to tell you the story Emily told me.”

They passed the rest of the lunch hour in Grace’s dressing room, Ajay making her laugh with Emily’s proposal story and Grace telling him a few stories of her own, including an awkward run-in between Mayleen and the landlord when their shower had broken. Ajay sensed that she was getting more and more relaxed in his presence, that they were slowly but surely making their way back to how it had been. And that gave him hope that their relationship would really work out this time, more than anything that either of them had said or promised.

Tech week crawled by like he expected it to: painstakingly and stressfully. There were more than a few places where tension, exhaustion and frustration made things excessively difficult, and Ajay had had to yell at people more often than he’d have liked, but he lived for the lunches in the calmness of Grace’s dressing room. He lived for her bright laugh and all the sunshine in her eyes, and he lived for her light touches and the shy glances they’d share for moments before looking away.

Breaking into dress week, the days got shorter but also more tiring. Grace, looking gorgeous in a burgundy dress and red wig, took every opportunity she could to flick a corner of her skirt in his direction or sway her hips a little more when she knew he was watching her. As much as he hated to admit it, she was very successful in distracting him. More than a couple times, he had to forcibly tear his eyes away from her to refocus on the scene at large.

Once, when she was wearing this tiny white slip for a more romantic scene between her and Kevin (he wanted to both kill and profusely thank the costume designer), she noticed his eyes on her and shot him a wink. Ajay, completely caught off guard, had an extremely hard time keeping his thoughts in order. He pulled her behind the set, the only semi-private place he could think of, once rehearsal was over.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, breathless from the singing and dancing, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Why the hell would you do that to me?”

“Do what?” Her voice was downright coy, he hated it and couldn’t get enough all at the same time.

“The thing with the… slip… and the wink…” he tried to say, flustered.

“Oh.” She laughed, and it was a glorious sound. “I was messing with you. Looks like it worked.”

“Yeah, it worked,” he whispered, voice suddenly husky. He leaned forward, his lips only half an inch from hers, putting his hands on her waist.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” she teased, one eyebrow raised.

He couldn’t handle it anymore and closed the short distance between them. He swept his tongue lightly along her bottom lip, ignoring the waxy taste of her lipstick. She moaned softly against his mouth, her back arching to draw him in closer. After a few seconds of the pure bliss of having her so close, he finally pulled away from her with a gentle nip.

“And that’s just a preview,” he said breathlessly, watching with delight as her cheeks turned pink and her eyes went dark. He got his revenge with a wink of his own and then turned to walk away, wiping the red lipstick off his mouth with his sleeve.

This, he thought as he left the theatre and stepped out into the brisk night air, is going to be torture.

#hbad part 10 #ajay #ajay x mc #hssca fanfic #ajay bhandari #ella i owe u my life #YEET #my fanfic #hbad

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arcticmaggie · 6 years ago

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Movie Night

Y/N (not so) secretly hates scary movies and Harry (not so) secretly loves Y/N.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: okay so this is a cute angsty but also fluffy one shot!! idk i was debating whether or not to post this one but whatever might as well make other ppl clench their heart over soft Harry. ALSO he’s like an american in this oof like i didn’t know how school works over in the uk so like aha america wooh. okay enjoy! pls feedback is amazing! IF THERE’S ERRORS I’M SORRY

“It’s my turn to pick! You made me suffer through Dear John last week.”

“How dare you disrespect Amanda Seyfried like that.”

It's a Friday night and Y/N finds herself back at Harry’s flat with a half empty pizza box on her lap and a grumpy expression on her face. Harry loves to tease her about her fondness over cheesy dramatic romances that carry elements that she will never come across in her own love life. She hates it. Especially because whenever they watch these movies, he never actually pays attention to it, choosing to play with her hair or hands instead. Which she actually wouldn't mind if it weren't for the fact that it was so distracting that she misses about half of the movie as well.

So she's grumpy and upset that Harry is sat beside her chewing on a pizza slice while searching through Netflix with disregard to how mean he was being (not really, she's just dramatic) as he keeps his free hand at her thigh, rubbing it softly and absentmindedly.

“It's not like my turn counted. You didn't even watch the movie,” she quips in, a frown still sketched on her face as she sees him completely skip over the romantic comedy genre.

He replies with a full mouth, “then consider us even. Since you’ll be too scared to pay attention to this either.”

Her frown of upset turns into a frown of confusion as she wonders what he means. But she sees him click down once more and begins to scroll through the horror genre, ominous thumbnails flashing up, making her heart begin to thump a bit heavier than usual.

She hates scary movies. She hates being scared in general. Harry knows it as well because she's found herself, more often than not, calling him in the middle of the night to comfort her because there was a noise in the kitchen and she could have sworn she saw a shadow pass by her closed bedroom door.

She whips her head towards him and sees the slyest smirk settled on his lips and she wants to smack it right off. She won't let him win this round. She needs to show her dominance in this friendship (who is she kidding, she'll do and listen to anything he says).

“I don't know what you're talking about, I love scary movies.” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth at that. She gives a weak push against his shoulder at his response.

“So you’ll love me if I put on The Conjuring tonight?” he asks, both eyebrows raised as he readies his thumb on the play button. His smug face makes Y/N want to attack him and refuse to watch a film of terror, but she won't give in yet.

A wide and obviously exaggerated smile spreads on her lips and she nods curtly, “Yup.”

She really doesn't know why she went along and did this though because Harry presses down on the remote control and the movie begins to play and Y/N knows she's fucked for the rest of the week.

And she proves herself correct as the movie reaches the third act and she finds herself wrapped around Harry’s figure. She had thought she saw a hand reach for her at her end of the couch so she pushed the pizza box off her and onto the ground, quickly scooted on top of his lap, and tucked her legs inside the blanket wrapped around them. Her head isn't turned towards Harry but she just knows he's smirking in amusement behind her from her sudden, but not surprising, actions. So with the arm that’s wrapped around his back, she lifts her hand and flicks the back of his neck.

“Ouch! What the heck, Y/N?”

“Oh hush, you already know why I hate you right now.” Y/N quips back as her eyebrows furrow with irritation, only multiplying more when a jumpscare occurs on screen and her heart skips a massive beat. She can't endure it anymore, so she turns her head and tucks her face into his neck, Harry quickly reacting and extending his neck out a bit so she can get more space.

She grumbles against his skin, “Why are you so keen on scary movies? Do you not realize it's only going to make me bother you even more with calls in the middle of the night?”

He lets out a small exhale through his nose as he softly laughs at her grumpiness. “You never bother me,” he lets out quietly, provoking a warm blush to rise in his cheeks, thanking the heavens that the lights are turned off so that it's not noticeable.

He likes to think he isn't so obvious about his feelings towards her. Even though everyone in their friend group always comments about how exhausting it is to see how absolutely infatuated he is with her yet he doesn't do anything about it. But Y/N is pretty good at missing signals and this ditziness of hers gives him more passes than he's deserved.

Like how he's constantly using his free time from his job to text her, call her, or hang out with her. Or like how he always says yes to her when she asks for a ride to her campus for her afternoon lectures because her car’s A/C doesn't work but his does, even if it means being late coming back from lunch to work. Or like how he never approves of any of the guys she mentions she's found cute or has ever asked her out. Or how whenever she sleeps over (or vise versa), he rolls over in bed and pulls her into his arms, rubbing his nose against her cheek with a dopey grin until she wakes up with a wrinkled nose from the sensation, rasping out, “Good morning, my sweet girl.”

Or like in this present occasion, how he always chooses a horror movie to watch after he feels like she hasn't been affectionate enough with him in the past two weeks. Because he knows that she always ends up in his lap, quivering under his gentle hands combing through her hair, comforting her and protecting her from the scary monster on the telly.

He feels a tiny bit guilty using her fear as a method of affection but her shampoo always leaves such a sweet mango scent in her hair and he can't help but inhale and forget all about it. And it's not like she ever complains about being in his arms. Which makes him giddy thinking about it but he pushes his hopes down. She seems comfortable enough being just friends, he doesn't think she's ever going to want more (this thought leaves a small sting in his chest and he tightens his arms around her a bit more).

They stay like this for the rest of the movie, his hand running small circles on her back and her hand running her fingers through his curls. As the TV turns almost completely black as the end credits roll, the room gets darker and Y/N shivers a bit.

Harry wants to coo at her.

“It's just a movie, Y/N. You're safe here with me. Nothing will ever get past my hold on you.” She doesn't respond right away, breathing softly against his neck as she tries to calm herself down.

It doesn't really work though because although she does start to forget about what she saw on the TV beforehand, she starts thinking about what he just said. You're safe here with me, he told her, nothing will ever get past my hold on you. That seemed like a recurring event in their movie nights. He always chooses a movie that will insinuate contact. Like how the previous time he chose a movie, he chose My Sister’s Keeper, Y/N burying herself into his chest with sobs escaping her mouth throughout it all.

She gets an idea why he does so, but this idea brings her cheeks to a flaming color and she internally shakes her head in denial. It's been too long that she keeps this hope inside of Harry possibly feeling what she wants him to feel for her. Since her freshman year of college when she came crying to him about how she was too dumb to be enrolled and that she should just drop out and get a job instead of wasting money on something she won't accomplish. And he pulled her into his chest and let her ugly sob against him for what seemed like hours, letting her muster out all that she possibly could before he began to whisper soft declarations of the pride he holds in seeing her challenge herself, not giving in to what everyone has told her she is, raising a middle finger to those who doubted her willpower.

Ever since then, she's found a new place in her heart for him that no boy has ever proven to be a worthy contestant for, even though she's tried so hard to find someone to do so. Because while Harry’s always been a blunt and straightforward kind of guy, he's never confirmed that her hopes were true and she'd rather not go through the embarrassment of waiting for him to come around only to find him fall for another girl in the end. So she's tried moving on, but even Harry can clearly see with every guy she meets, none of them are of real interest to Y/N, because not a single one of them is Harry.

They can't compare to the way he makes her feel. The way he embraces her when she's sad. The way he makes himself the little spoon when it's him who's brooding. The way she stays up alone sometimes, contemplating what would happen if she called him and told him how she felt. And then crying with his contact popped up on her phone screen because she spent 10 minutes staring at it but lacked the courage to risk their friendship and press the call button. The way that he always tries to make her happy but she knows this is the one thing that he will never comply to.

So her idea of why Harry chooses these movies is dismissed from her brain.

But still… she is curious as to why.

So she musters up a few seconds of courage to clear her throat timidly and raise her lips away from his skin to talk clearly, whispering out, “Why do you always choose movies that end up with us touching each other?”

And, oh god, she squeezes her eyes shut tight and buries her head right back into the crook of his neck because that was not how she wanted to word her question. She can feel Harry go a bit frigid and she scolds herself on the inside.

“What… do you mean?” he asks into the open space of the living room, the tone of his voice letting Y/N know he was just as flustered with her query as she was.

She thinks about how to reword herself and not accidentally embarrass herself even further, quipping up again, “Like… with every movie you pick, you always end up having me in your arms. And it's often enough for you to know what movies will make me do this, and you pick them anyways… So why?”

Harry gulps quietly as he goes into panic. Suddenly, the fear of her not enjoying this physical contact they always hold invades his mind and he tries very hard to seem cool and collected as he asks back, “Do you want me to stop?”

She's quick to react, eyes widening and head retracting back to hold eye contact with him, one hand reaching over to rest at his jaw. “I don't mind at all! I--I like it. It's, um, it's nice and comforting. I just kind of want to know what goes through your head when you do so.”

She can see how stunned he is now, truly, and she almost wobbles her bottom lips in awe at how absolutely adorable he looks with this facial expression. But she can also tell that he's feeling a bit embarrassed, and although it does make her heart skip a beat from the insinuation of why he’s possibly feeling embarrassed, she really doesn't want him to be uncomfortable with her questioning. So she tucks her head back into him, not as close as last time, but enough to lay her head on his shoulder, and moves her hand away from his face, leaving it against his clothed chest, giving him time to think.

He stays silent after this, just for a little while. He's blushing up a storm and his heart is now pounding very heavily and he's sure that she can feel it (she can, and it makes hers start pounding as well). He doesn't know how to respond without revealing his true feelings. Because really, there's no other explanation other then oh yanno, Y/N, it's because I’ve been madly and deeply in love with you since senior year of high school when you ditched your movie date with Evan Davis, the star player of the football team, to attend our movie session because, as you said, no boy was going to keep you from me and my mom’s hot pockets.

So it takes him a while to come to the conclusion that fuck, he really doesn't have any other option but to say what he's been feeling for 3 years now. A long overdue confession, which he can blame on the both of them. Him because he's so scared of rejection and a broken friendship, but also her because seriously, how has she not seen the signs?

He hasn't even been laid since the day he realized he's in love with her! Y/N knows it, and she knows how many girls throw themselves at him whenever they decide to stroll through her campus on nice sunny days, so she must also know there's a reason on his behalf of why the only girl he's ever gotten close to is her.

God, this is going to end in heartbreak, he tells himself because here he is, about to confess his feelings to the girl of his dreams who has been constantly showing interest to every other boy but himself. It's a recipe for disaster.

But he still musters up the courage, he mentally pushes himself off the cliff and blurts out all in one breath, “I’mkindasortareallyinlovewithyouandhavingyouinmyarmscompensatesforwhatIcan’teverhavesothat’swhyIalwaystrytomakeyoufallintomyholdI’msorry.”

And Y/N catches it. She catches it all because his mouth is almost touching her ear and her Psych professor also talks in a super human speed so she's adapted to quick explanations. But she doesn't say anything. She's too in shock to react in any way possible but to exhale through her nose against his bare skin like as if she was holding her breath this entire time.

He's in love with her. He actually reciprocates her feelings. Oh my god, she repeats over and over in her head. Tightening the grip she has on his shirt, she tries to formulate a response. But Harry is quicker.

With the softest and quietest voice he has ever mustered, he lets out, “I’m sorry.”

Y/N tries to stop him but there's no words coming out of her mouth. After a few more seconds of silence, Harry continues.

“I’m--I’m so sorry. I--” he's struggling so hard to not get choked up on his words. She's in his arms, frozen from the confession, and he can't stop the ache in his heart already forming a permanent residence. He's at least grateful that she's still facing away from him so he's not feeling much humiliation as tears fill up in his eyes.

“I shouldn't have fallen in love. You’re just so beautiful and---and brave and tough to break and kind and gentle and so precious. I mean how… how could I have not have fallen for you, yanno? And I’m just---” his voice cracks at the word just and he stops himself to recollect his thoughts and swallow down the sob that's threatening to spill.

He inhales and exhales shakily as he squeezes his eyes shut to stop his crying because at this point, a few tears have actually escaped. “I’m sorry I ruined this for us. I was selfish and now you won't even say anything and it hurts but I understand. I’m sorry,” he finishes off with the sorry whispered into the dark room.

He's, yet again, met with silence. It only hurts him more. He figures he should take Y/N home, hoping she'll at least silently comply and let him drive her back, so she can process this new information and he can curl up in his bed sheets and release all this hurt that's physically piling up and aching in his chest.

So he slightly moves his body in his seat to signify that he wants to get up, and he expects Y/N to slip off of his lap to let him. But instead, he’s greeted with her face retracting from his neck and now boring her teary eyes into his as she's inches away from him, letting her weight sink him down to keep him in place.

His eyes widen in surprise, which only accentuate the glossiness of his own crying eyes.

It breaks Y/N’s heart.

She tried so hard to stop him in his heart warming and heart wrenching explanation but she physically couldn't use her vocal chords. So she sat there in silence, tearing up from the words he spoke. He thinks I don't love him back is all that runs through her brain throughout the entirety of his speech and the silence afterwards. And she hates it.

And she hates that he accepted her silence as rejection because him trying to move away from here clearly shows he doesn't believe in her loving him back and can't bare it. So she quickly responded to his shuffling with pulling away from his shoulder, visually showing him all her emotions, her heart breaking as she see his.

The hand that was fisting his shirt is released as she brings it up to cup his cheek, Harry automatically leaning into it. The way his eyes are glossed over and his eyebrows are pulled down in confusion and discontent, yet still he gives in to her comforting touch, makes her begin to tear up once more. And this time, a meek whimper comes out of her lips.

This relief in finally making a noise makes her begin to actually cry.

It scares Harry a bit with the burst in sobs, especially since she squeezes her eyes shut and drops her head forward to lean her forehead against his. The close proximity to her face makes him tense up, but because of how awful it was to see her crying up close over him. He feels like he did a disservice to her, not letting her live out a perfect friendship without him going and ruining it. And that's what makes him close his eyes and cry as well, leaving them both as crying messes clinging onto each other in the moonlit living room.

Y/N tries so hard to recollect herself because she realizes after a minute of crying with Harry, she still hasn't said a single word. She imagines that's why he's crying as well; he thinks she's crying over hurting his feelings.

So she tries to sniff in all of her snot (she doesn't doubt she looks completely disgusting right now), and lets her mouth fall agape. She doesn't know how to relay all her emotions and feelings out right away, so she starts off with gasping out, “I’m sorry.”

But once these two words leave her mouth, she can't seem to stop uttering them. Traces of I’m sorry’s are left as she leans her head back, letting the free hand, that isn't already cupping his check, run through the front of his hair soothingly.

She's able to calm her cries into soft hiccups and sees Harry do the same as well, except he doesn't seem too keen on opening his eyes and facing reality just yet.

Y/N hates it so much.

So she whispers out, “Look at me, Harry.”

He slowly flutters his eyes open, first looking down into their laps before slowly trailing his eyes up to bore into hers, sadness leaking out of his facial expression.

She stays silent as she examines his soft face, already feeling her chin wobble in exasperation to burst into tears again. But she holds herself back because for the first time in a while, it's Y/N whose taking care of Harry. Sweet sweet Harry who she's been so in love with for so many years. And who apparently has been in love with her as well, after all this time.

She runs her hand through his hair once more before breaking into a soft smile at his angelic state of heartbreak. Only Harry would be able to look so beautiful after crying his heart out.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” she begins, holding up her front and shakes her head when he opens his mouth to begin talking as well.

“No, sh, let me speak,” she continues, “I am so so sorry for not noticing. For being too stupid to not clearly pick up the signs about your feelings for me. Because, Jesus, Harry, I always had an inkling that it was the truth but I was too stubborn to fully believe in it. To believe that you would--you would love me--like that.”

Y/N can feel herself lose her composure with every word she utters, examining her own naive and ignorant past self who refused to see the signs and possibly stalled a wonderful relationship.

A tear slips out from her right eye and Harry is quick to reach up and wipe it away. Y/N melts and quickly places her hand over his to keep his touch there before he could pull away. This time it's Y/N leaning into his touch and she feels her heart clench. She doesn't know how to continue without fully breaking down again so she turns her head to press her lips against his palm, giving herself time to think.

But the feeling of his skin against her lips is too much, too real of a moment, too much of a reality check that this night could have been avoided if she just admitted her feelings for him right from the start. If she wouldn't have wimped out and just made it clear that it was him that she wanted, him and no one else. She could have been in his arms kissing more than just his palm for over 3 years now, if she just upped and blurted it out.

So she doesn't wait any longer. She gives his palm one last peck before moving her head back into its original position and clearly iterates, “I’m so in love with you Harry. Since freshman year of college, I’ve wanted to be your girlfriend. I've wanted to know how your lips would feel like against mine for so long, and I’m sorry for not getting the courage to find out for myself. I’m sorry I waited this long to do this.”

And she leans in and kisses him.

Fireworks don't go off outside, an indie pop song doesn't begin to play in the background, no applause or cheers are heard from an audience. But Harry lets out a small noise of surprise before quickly responding with both his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her in to get as much of her close to him like as if this were a dream and if he were to let go, he'd wake up and never experience it again. And that makes all the fireworks go off in Y/N’s stomach while the main chorus of Sweet Disposition plays in her head, her inner self screaming with joy.

They run out of air to breath, their crying session making them too exhausted to explode into fiery and passionate kisses. But even as they pull away to catch their breath, they're both gasping in relief, feeling a big grin to break out onto their faces right after, reiterating the word finally to themselves.

Y/N drops her head back down to touch foreheads, closing her eyes in peace and harmony. She's never felt so exhausted yet so ecstatic at the same time like this before. She finally has him. 5 years of friendship and they've finally reached their happy ending in their friends to lovers trope. If there were an actual person reading their love story, Y/N thinks, they must be so exasperated and worn out from their idiotic naivety.

Really, it was stupid to Y/N. It took them this long to finally be happy. She shakes her head at herself a bit and feels Harry open his mouth to break the silence.

“So me crying was all it took for you to finally come around?” Harry lets out, evoking a small giggle from Y/N’s mouth as she playfully rolls her eyes. Guess he realized it just as well.

“You know I’m a sucker for romantic dramas.”

#harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #1d fic #ok idk what else to tag #senior year sucks and fries my brain #also im craving enchiladas rn #ok cool

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gentlemanmendes · 6 years ago

Text

Beauty behind the Madness | 21|

Previous chapters can be found in my masterlist under beauty behind the madness sorry tumblrs being a bitch so I have to give you guys the link making the post look ugly but here ya go https://gentlemanmendes.tumblr.com/post/154438057583/masterlist

21:

Arleigh had that look on her face for the past three hours, the look when she wanted to say something and with all her might was holding it back. Her face always contoured with her brows knitting together, her nose scrunching up, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she bit down on her cheeks as if that would stop her from talking. It's small things like this, when I know what each of her gestures and expression mean, that hurts the most. All this pointless stuff I spent six years learning about Arleigh was suddenly pointless. It's like I wasted six years on studying her for absolutely nothing.

I throw my car keys and room key on the table as I attempt to busy myself by emptying my pockets even though I know they are already empty. Arleigh seems to have the same idea, after she puts down her art journal and pencils that I had gifted her with earlier before shuffling through her bag helplessly. Neither of us had said much all afternoon but I figured it was because Arleigh was feeling as tired as I was. I had never liked driving long distances, I always felt like they dragged on pointlessly, and have driven way too much in the past twenty four hours for my liking but to see the reaction on Arleigh's face today, I would do it all over without hesitation for her.

After she had finished drawing Arleigh had met me out on the steps in front of the museum, the art journal and pencils packed away rightly under her arm. I wanted to ask her to look at the picture but it seemed too personal, like I would be stepping over a line, and decided against it. We agreed to get some lunch, stopping at a cafe we bought coffee and sandwiches before making our way down to a lake where again Arleigh pulled out her journal and began sketching the landscape in front of us. It had been a good afternoon, and although deadly silent between us, I found myself feeling whole and content all while doing nothing.

"I'm going to shower." Arleigh mumbles hesitantly after she has gathered the things she needed to take with her into the bathroom. Frowning to herself she pauses for a moment biting down on her lip as if contemplating whether to say something else or not. I want to tell her that it's okay and that she can say whatever she wants but I can't bring myself to speak. She seems to think better of it as she shakes her head to herself, as if dismissing the thought, before continuing into the bathroom. From the mirror in front of me I watch as Arleigh puts her belongings down on the floor before looking into the mirror above the sink. Her frown had grown deeper if that was even possible, and she seemed to have grown frustrated with her reflection. Her attention diverted to the empty sink that she was leaning against, her body hunched over as if in pain.

"Are you okay?" I ask hoping I don't sound too intrusive. I've learned many things about Arleigh but the most important was to give her space when she wasn't in the best of moods, if I had learned this a few years earlier we would have had a lot less problems between us.

"Yeah I'm fine." She mumbled shrugging me off just as I knew she would. As if on instinct I roll my eyes only to remember that she has every right to shrug me off, we aren't together any more and she has no reason to trust me. Moving towards my backpack to get changed into something more comfortable to sleep in I'm surprised when I hear Arleigh's voice behind me, loud and clear. "No actually, I'm not fine and it's all your fault!" Her tone was harsh and filled with accusation. Shock had overcome me, was I hearing things? Arleigh had never been one to be so abrupt and straight to the point.

When I turned around sure enough Arleigh is standing there glaring up at me and she doesn't look pleased, if anything she looks as though she had been slowly bottling up all this tension and now she was about to explode. As much as I wanted to defend myself, tell her she was wrong, or even explain what had really happened that night I can't bring myself to utter a word. I can't say anything because I know that nothing would justify my actions that night. For a while I thought this wouldn't happen, that she wouldn't bring up that night, but I knew I was only lying to myself. How could she not bring it up? She was in rehab for over three months because of me.

***

Pacing through my bedroom I can't help wonder if this was possibly the stupidest thing I had ever done, yesterday morning throwing a party seemed like a great idea but after the fight with Arleigh the last thing I'm in the mood for is to party. The loud music is causing the house to shake, my floorboards vibrating from the beat beneath me, making me positive that the neighbours are going to call and complain. Again I look out the window and although Arleigh's bedroom light is obviously on I can't see her because she has closed her blinds. Was she really going to be this petty over a stupid argument we had last night? Judging by the lights on downstairs I'm assuming Mr Axle is home, hopefully the loud music and annoying teens are irritating him.

My door swings open causing my head to snap in that direction ready to tell the next two people who thought they could have sex in my room to fuck off but to my surprise it's just Mitch who seems to be incredibly pissed off by something, a bottle of cheap beer in his hand as he steps into my room slamming the door behind him.

"Dude are you seriously still sulking over Arleigh?" He takes my silence as answer enough before shouting loudly for me to get over it. It was easy for him to say, he didn't know what it was like to care about anyone or anything other than himself. Sure he has his reasons for being a selfish asshole but he doesn't have to force his actions on the rest of us. So what if I'm whipped for Arleigh, she has been my best friend since I was twelve, we see each other every day and do everything together, it would be weird for me to not have her around and if we break up things would never be the same, I didn't want to loose that.

"Arleigh's not even here," Mitch began as he started dragging me towards my bedroom door and back out into the party. "Just have some fun tonight and talk to her in the morning when she's finally over her little tantrum."

Unwillingly I allow Mitch to pull me out of my room and down the stars into the chaos that has taken over my home. In a way he is right, I'm throwing this great party and am choosing to sit up in my room sulking about something Arleigh will most likely get over by tomorrow. We make our way to the lounge room where Mitch instructs Andy to go get me a drink which he grudgingly obliges to, I figure the only reason he got up was because the drink was for me and if it had been for Mitch he would have not moved from his spot.

For the corner of my eye I see Mitch nods his head at someone to come over towards us before he makes room on the couch between us. Sure enough Layla takes the empty spot and says hi to me. Yesterday I had only flirted with her a little in class because I was mad at Arleigh and in a way I was hoping the news would find its way back to Arleigh, not by Mitch blurting it out the way he did but maybe by one of Layla's bitchy friends telling people about it until Arleigh eventually found out. Now looking back at it that has to be one of the dumbest ideas I have ever come up with. The fact that Mitch had been all for it should have been a sign that it was a bad idea.

Layla had been talking for a good ten minutes but I had just been giving her nods and one worded mumble response as I tried to drown her out by focusing on my drink. She was practically on top of me shouting into my ear just so she could be heard over the loud music. Right now I'm starting to understand why Arleigh hates parties so much and always disappeared off to somewhere quieter and lonelier. Mitch always suggested it was because she was boring but I know understood it was because parties are way to hectic when you are not in the right mood, which Arleigh never seemed to be in.

How the hell was I supposed to tell this girl that I wasn't into her at all? She's hot and unlike most girls in our class she isn't a bitch, but she just simply isn't my type. Maybe for a good fuck I would call her up but I have a girlfriend, even if that girlfriend had dumped me earlier today. Again I have to remind myself of what Mitch had said 'talk to her in the morning when she's finally over her little tantrum.' Arleigh just needed her space right now, first thing in the morning I will go over and sort things out with her and make sure Mitch isn't there to screw it up.

For a long time I felt like I could get through the rest of tonight by drinking and only half heartedly listening to Layla until she said 'I heard you and Areligh broke up.' I try not to choke on the liquid in my mouth at her abrupt statement.

"We just had a disagreement, it's nothing big." I shrug her off and take a swing from the beer Mitch had given me a few minutes earlier making it my third drink in less that an hour. If Arleigh was here she would tell me to slow down and be careful.

Looking around I notice pairs of eyes on me and Layla whispering with their friends. Did everyone know about the fight Arleigh and I had. We were the only couple that had lasted as long as we have, naturally as soon a something happens between us people start jumping to conclusions. Is that seriously all people care about?

Mitch had disappeared into the kitchen to get us both another dink but now I'm doubting if that is a good idea. My head is beginning to feel light and I know I should slow down on my drinking but I don't. I know that if Arleigh was here she would be scowling at me for consuming so much alcohol in such a short period of time which for some reason only makes me want to drink more.

"Look who I found wondering around." Mitch yelled loudly at me as he approached with two cups in his hand. For a moment I'm confused until I see Arleigh trailing behind him like a lost puppy, looking completely uncomfortable and out of place with her surroundings. Without giving it a second thought I jump off of the couch in surprise causing Layla to fall back onto the person who had taken Mitch's place but when a forbidding look flashes across Arleigh's features I realise that my sudden movement made me look guilty.

Arleigh lets out a huff before diverting her attention anywhere but at me. I notice the plastic cup in her hand and have no doubt that Mitch had somehow convinced her to drink. My gaze shifts to Mitch who seems to be enjoying the tension between me and Arleigh. He stays stationed by her side making me wonder why; is he up to something? Knowing Mitch the answer is yes.

He holds his hand out and gestured for me to take my drink, stumbling forward slightly I manage to get my drink off of Mitch. Whether I was supposed to catch the eye roll Arleigh had given me due to the fact that it was obvious I've had too much to drink I'm not sure but she seems less that impressed.

Now that Mitch's hand is free he takes the opportunity to slither his arm around the small of Arleigh's back pulling her in closer to to his side. Although I can't hear what he said I watch his lips move as he practically emphasises each word "Wanna go somewhere a little more quite?" With one last glare in my direction Arleigh gives one firm nod of her head before leading the way to the front yard. Without even giving it a second thought I follow hot on their trail, over my dead body am I going to leave Arleigh alone with Mitch for a split second.

There are a few people out front but not many, someone running around the front lawn in his underwear with his shirt tied around his neck loosely like a cape his friends cheering him on. Arleigh is leaning against the railing Mitch right beside her too close for my liking. It's not that I'm jealous, if it were anyone else I probably would be jealous, it's just that Mitch is trouble not to mention his favourite thing to do is taunt Arleigh. For some reason though I can't help but feel that right now he is trying to get a rise out of me and not Arleigh. If Arleigh is uncomfortable she is is trying hard not to show it, but she forgets that I know her better than she knows herself. Just by her simple body language; how stiff she is as if focusing on keeping her body still will distract her from Mitch's hand slipping into the back pocket of her jeans, how she is holding her head high trying to seem strong and proud when I know she wants nothing more than to cower away in fear and discomfort. But I can't do anything unless she says something. Right now this is her choice and I have to sit here and watch it all play out.

"Now that you and Shawn are over how about you and I get a little friendly." Mitch taunts loudly enough for me to hear, dipping his face into the crock of her neck. At this I feel my heart rate rise and think of a million and one ways I could get Mitch away from Arleigh, my favourite option being to break his arm. "We could go up into his bedroom and get busy, what do you say?"

"Fuck off!" I yell out at him causing his attention to snap toward me in surprise, pure amusement clear on his face.

"That's not fare, I slept with Layla and am sharing her with you why can't I have Arleigh now." At this I know Arleigh is only going along with this on purpose to get a rise out of me, before I had assumed just as much but this made it obvious. There is no world where Arleigh would have ever allowed any one to discredit her like Mitch just had, epically Mitch.

I can't help but stare at Arleigh in disbelief. Is this really the same girl that I have known all this time? Is this really what it has come to? She is willing to let Mitch be all over her in some sort of payback.

"Arleigh?" I question waiting for her to snap back into her senses and shove Mitch off but she doesn't do anything instead she just stares at me blankly. At this I feel anger towards her. Just how far was she willing to go to make her point? Would she take Mitch up on his offer and go up to my room with him? "So you won't have sex with me after six years being by your side but you will have sex with Mitch, the asshole who you find disgusting. You know what fuck you!"

Betrayal grows deep inside me, fuelling the flames of my burning anger. Not with Mitch, I would have expected nothing less from him, but from Arleigh. I couldn't even form into words how much this hurt. After all I have put up with for her and she was just going to run into Mitch's arms so easily, or should I say other body parts.

"No Shawn, fuck you!" She yelled back stepping out of Mitch's grip and right in front of me. "I came here to apologise for over reacting today only to be proved right. You need to get over yourself." She threw the liquid in her cup at me taking me by surprise, the alcohol now sinking into my shirt quicker than her words did. "and think again if you think I would sink as low as sleeping with Mitch."

"Fuck off bitch!" Mitch cursed her out only to have her flip him off as she turned away to make her way down the stairs. Mitch grabbed onto Arleigh forearm to stop her only to have her slap him in response.

"You're a pig, a drunk, and will forever be alone. You pretend to be this person who doesn't give a shit about anything but deep down you are so insecure that you figure if you make others fear you they won't point out your insecurities and for a long time I did just that because I didn't want to announce to you just how pathetic everyone thinks you are." For the first time in all the years I have known Mitch he stayed quite taking me by surprise. His eye stayed glued to Arleigh. Arleigh's gaze skipped past me to the door behind me causing me to turn around only to find Andy and Jonnie standing in the door way. I'm not sure how long they've been standing there but my guess is barley a minute. They must have only heard Arleigh go off on Mitch which would explain the shock on their faces.

Seeming satisfied with herself, Arleigh turned and left this time everyone too shocked to stop her.

***

I want to respond but I can't, I have no right to. I'm guilty. I knew someone would eventually call me out on it but I had been living in denial, that maybe I could live the rest of my days without ever having to hear someone bring it up. The last person I had expected to bring it up was Arleigh, she had been playing the part of not wanting to talk about it too well. I figured that like me, the memory of that night constantly replayed in her mind but she wasn't ready to confront the matter yet. I didn't know if I would ever be ready to confront the matter but right now it seemed I didn't have a choice.

Arleigh's attention turned to the ground and she whispered "You just ran." It seemed as if she were in disbelief as she said it aloud, as if she wasn't sure if what had happened that night was all real or just her imagination."You didn't visit me at the hospital, in rehab, or even when I came home. You just ignored me as if six years meant nothing to you." I couldn't help but suddenly feel as if every muscle in my body had been frozen as if forbidden by fear to move.

When I didn't respond Arleigh's gaze lifted from the old carpet of the motel room to meet my gaze, her eyes are filled with tears that threatened to fall at any given moment.

"Why?" The desperation clear in her tone. "I know we had a fight and broke up but I thought you would at least visit." Now the tears were falling as her tone began to grow harsh with frustration. "Why?" She yelled.

Confusion settled once the shock had warn off. Arleigh wasn't bringing up that night. She wasn't mad about that, she was mad that I hadn't visited her. That didn't make sense. She had gotten a restraining order against me. If she wanted me to come see her maybe she should have made that a little clearer.

"Why? Just please tell me why." She was practically begging as she sobbed standing in front of me. She was desperate. I didn't understand why of all things that had happened this was the reason she was so worked up but for the question she was asking I had an answer, one that I couldn't be held accountable for.

"You got a restraining order against me Arleigh, if I got anywhere within a hundred meters of you I would get in serious trouble, what did you expect?" I shot back in defence.

"I didn't do that!" She yelled tangling her fingers in the roots of her hair as she tugged gently on them, her habit of frustration. "Why do you think suddenly all the charges were dropped? It was my dad, as soon as I fond out what was happening I told the nurses in the centre everything."

I suppose that does make sense as to why everything was dropped so suddenly, my guess had originally been that Mr Axle didn't have the money for it all. I'm sure that old hag would have loved to have seen me behind bars even before everything that happened and that night would have been the perfect opportunity.

Arleigh closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as if trying to calm herself down.

"You still ran." It was as if she wanted me to admit to being guilty for more than just what had happened. Hadn't I suffered through enough these past few months. She was right I did run I should have stayed with her and made sure she was okay but that was a little difficult with her insane father yelling at us.

"What was I supposed to do?" I raise my voice a little. Nothing has changed with Arleigh, she is the same stubborn person who refuses to listen to anyone else's argument if it doesn't agree with her's.

"No shawn you don't get to play the victim. On that night I lost everything but what was worse was the fact that I had lost you. The only person who had ever stood by my side, been my best friend and then learned to love me; the only person that I felt safe enough around to let my guards down, the first person in a long time to show me they cared. I told you when my mum died that I lost both my parents but not long after I met you, and for a long time that was enough to fill the void I hadn't even realised had formed inside me. But then you left, you just decided you didn't want me in your life, and I know that's my fault because I pushed you away and I told you that I didn't want to be around you because I was scared that you would choose first and I thought it would make it easier if I decided but it didn't. And then when I was in hospital I thought you were going to come and visit me , even after what I had said earlier that day, if you loved me you still would have come but you didn't and I realised that even if I pushed you away you still chose not to come, you chose you didn't want me anymore and I want to know why."

Her words sting like salt in a deeply cut wound that took a hold over my whole body. I never thought of it like that but now it seemed to make sense. While I had my family Alriegh had been alone, I knew that much already but I forgot that just like she had been around me I had always been around her. The thought never crossed my mind that Arleigh may be missing me as much as I was missing her. I remember seeing her sad and lost the first few times I had spotted her when they had moved in but then never around me. Alreigh just said that I had filled a void for her. For a long time I had distracted her of the fact that she was alone without even being aware of it. Having me being ripped out of her life must have been ten times more torturous than how she had been taken away from me. I still saw both my parents daily, my sister, and my friends. No one had stopped loving me after what I had done but Arleigh had lost the last person who loved her, or so she thought she did. I want to tell her that I haven't stopped thinking about her, that not a day goes by when I don't regret that night, that after all that has happened I only learned that I couldn't stop loving her no matter how many times my friends told me to get over it because it was a stupid high school relationship that was never meant to last. But I can't find the words, I would never know how to say the things I want to say to her the most.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs

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blame-canada · 8 years ago

Text

Tempt a Demon, Pay the Price

Craig Tucker was not religious in any sense of the term, but money was money, and Eric Cartman was convincing. Becoming a cheesy sideshow of a falsified church was not his idea of a good time, but a wild encounter he’d never have expected might turn that around.

Hey guys so uhhh I definitely wrote this. Imp Tweek x Youth Pastor Craig has kind of exploded and I wanted to join in on the fun but since drawing isn’t really my thing, I figured writing would have to do. I actually like this one despite it being cracky so hopefully you guys do too! Link to AO3 here! Here’s some uhh, yeah. Some of this. Special thanks to Phone Destroyer for gifting us these ridiculous AUs.

Note: alternatively titled ‘The Gayte To Hell.’ I loved myself too much to actually go through with it, sorry.

Performing fake exorcisms and reading off the same script twice a week in a rotation of four major themes was not how Craig expected his adolescence to go. Surely, he thought, there would be one or two summer flings which would end in melodramatic heartbreak, and a few obsessions to cycle through in ridiculous phases he’d insist were not phases. Yet here he was, stuck in the sweltering heat of a church’s atrium, fanning himself with a promotional pamphlet and doodling in his notebook that was supposed to be filled with notes. It wasn’t; it was filled with more doodles.

“And Butters, I want to hear those bells next time, got it? The bells are important. Everyone loves the bells!”

“U-uh, yes Eric, sir,” Butters stuttered, and Craig huffed as he rolled his eyes. He could have been getting drunk at Clyde’s right now. He could have been stuffed in a closet with someone hot right now. He could have been losing his virginity right now. Those were fantasies, though, and right now, Craig liked money, and he liked cheating people out of said money. Cartman’s undeniably for-profit church fit that bill, and so here he stayed, seventeen and devoted to a God he did not believe in.

Truthfully, Craig had never set foot in a church in his life when Cartman made the initial offer. ‘We’ll be making bank, Craig!’ Cartman had insisted, and though Craig knew those words meant absolutely nothing positive when considering their history, he was feeling particularly moody and impulsive that afternoon, and something as idiotic as falsifying an entire church for cash definitely fulfilled the primal teenaged urge to do something reckless. Most kids scribbled on walls or did drugs to rebel. South Park kids started wars and Ponzi schemes.

Every couple of weeks or so Eric Cartman would make them gather ‘round in the atrium of the church to discuss any changes to the routine and make sure everything was in working order. It meant inspecting the fog machines and the motorized furniture, which was the best part, and listening to Cartman gripe about having lost a negligible fraction of money in the past week, which was the worst part. Any moment now and it’d be Craig’s turn to get yelled at. Wonderful.

“Craig, I’m thinking your routine is getting a little stale,” he sneered, a hand to his chin in what he probably thought looked scheming when it just looked stupid, and Craig shrugged at him. “Maybe we should amp up the bullshit, you know, make it cheesier.”

Craig snorted. “How do you get cheesier than, ‘open your heart to salvation!’?” He imitated the bad kind-of Southern accent he usually did with the opening line of his act, and Cartman scrunched up his face in an ugly frown.

“I don’t know, asshole, just play it up! Get more fog machines, fuck! Your job is to be convincing.” He was scowling, which was always a terrible expression on him, which made the whole conversation suddenly amusing.

“We both know I’m a terrible actor,” he countered. He crossed his arms and hoped Cartman’s face would start turning purple.

“You’ve been doing this for over a year and you’ve gotten much better than when you started. Figure it out,” Cartman insisted, an accusatory finger jabbed in his direction. Craig flipped him off and sighed as he leaned forward into his notebook. There wasn’t much more to the meeting, and he wanted to finish his sketch of a dragon. It was pretty messed up, and he was probably going to take a picture of it to post on twitter. He had the handle baddragons and he used it to post pictures of poorly drawn dragon sketches on the corners of his papers. He got a lot of angry DMs looking for the dildos of a common name. He thought it was a pretty good joke.

Cartman wrapped up the meeting five minutes later, and dictated that Craig check all the door locks this time before leaving. The building was a dump, but it was the foundation on which they’d built their lies, and they needed a church for people to come to if they wanted to continue making incredible amounts of money. This month was funded by donations to a non-existent homeless shelter for kids with cancer, and it was astounding that none of the churchgoers bothered to look up the organization they claimed was real and just dumped their cash in the collection buckets. Tithe had been taken to a whole new level, and it was as ugly and stupid as the dragons on his troll twitter account.

The church sometimes felt creepy at night, and that was especially true when no one else was there with him. His colleagues had escaped as soon as Cartman had ended his spiel about the importance of proper fog machine use (to embellish the mysterious effect they were looking for). Craig was supposed to be removing the evil spirits from the souls of their planted audience members. Obviously, this meant there had to be smoke coming from the walls. The regulars ate the shit up, and it was frankly embarrassing that they’d refused to catch on. Humanity was such a waste.

He was halfway through blowing out all the over-the-top candelabras at the altar when a creaking sound squeaked underneath his feet. Craig shuffled his weight between legs to try to trigger it again, but he felt nothing out of the ordinary in the flooring that could have caused the squeaking in the first place, and he shrugged and moved on.

A few moments later the floor did it again, and this time Craig turned around to look for a source of the sound. The church was so dimly lit he could hardly see a thing, but what he could see looked normal. He was about to turn around and return to his candle-snuffing when the floor did it again, but this time louder, and it sounded more like a groan than a creak.

Craig tensed. He refused to die in some fucked up church when he didn’t even believe in God in the first place. Absolutely not. He carefully shifted the candle extinguisher to brandish it like a baton should he need to strike a threat. He waited.

A rush of hot air flew through the building and put out the remaining candles one by one, and at the same time, the ground below him began to shake. Craig bent his knees in a defensive stance to keep his balance. From the floorboards came what started as a groan and turned into a wail, which turned into screaming that made his ears feel like they were bleeding and felt like claws gouging at the flesh of them at the same time. In his surprise, he dropped the extinguisher, and brought both palms up to his ears to try to drown out the cries. It sounded like thousands of horrified voices moments before death, and even though Craig couldn’t care less about that part, it must have had some sort of magic to it because his eyes welled up with tears that he couldn’t control or understand.

From the place in the floor that the screaming exploded grew a light, warm and orange which turned to a blinding yellow the louder the voices cried. His hands weren’t helping, and he was resisting the urge to scratch at his ears in an attempt to stop the horrid sounds. The light and sound disappeared for one blissful second where Craig thought it might be over, but as soon as the silence in the air began to ring, an explosion burst from the floorboards in the center of the aisle.

Craig choked on a gasp and hacked as he backed away as quickly as he could without falling. His back pressed against his podium, and he watched as the cheap wooden floor panels splintered and broke apart to leave room for a hole split right through the earth that glowed an angry red-orange, like the flames of a fire. Never in all his life had he ever felt so compelled to talk to God.

He was about to start awkwardly reciting lines he’d learned in his pseudo-studies when out of the hole popped a ragged, fiercely clawed hand, which spread its pointed tips to dig itself into the wood. Craig shrieked, and any semblance of confidence or security fled from him at such a supernatural sight. The hand braced itself, and it pushed down with all its might to make the slab of wood collapse under its weight and heave to the surface a body curled inward.

Craig covered his mouth to prevent his panicked gasping for air from making sounds. In front of him, in front of the hole that undoubtedly led to Hell (which Craig had not believed in until personally witnessing its existence just now), was what looked like a boy.

At first glance he seemed normal, but from his back spread two huge crimson wings, leathery like a bat’s, and Craig spotted two matching horns sprouting from within messy golden locks of hair. The wings grew larger as they unfolded, and soon they were easily surpassing the width of the aisle, splayed fully out. Behind him a tail like a rat’s swung back and forth like a dog’s, a telltale spade at the end of it twitching. “A demon,” Craig whispered, and he yelped when the creature’s head shot up to meet his gaze with piercing cat’s eye pupils in fiery yellow irises.

“An imp, actually,” he said, and with each flap of his lips Craig saw canines sharp as daggers lining his gums. He gulped, his throat suddenly feeling dry as a desert, and the demon boy tilted his head slowly, carefully.

“You’re not like the others,” he said, and it took a few moments for Craig to compose himself before he realized the boy was staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m not really a pastor!” Craig held his hands up in the air as though it might help prove his innocence. His gut twisted and he fought the urge to vomit with all his being. The ground was still screaming, and he was finding himself drawn to staring at it instead of the demon in front of him.

“Oh yeah, s-sorry about that, hang on,” the boy said, and with a snap, the hole was gone and the screeches were completely silenced. Craig looked up into his intense eyes again and found that even with the gate to hell closed, there was still a sound that surrounded him, almost like a low chanting or hum that represented his raw energy. He stood up straight, and that was when Craig realized that the second half of his body was not human, but furry and cloven hooved. Dear God.

He tilted his head again, and leaned on the pitchfork Craig hadn’t noticed he had. “You say you’re not a servant to the Lord?”

“I-I honestly don’t even know what that means,” Craig said quickly. “I don’t even believe! Well, okay, now I might, but. Before that, no. I do this for money!”

The demon nodded. “I knew that much, and that’s why I came here to drag you to Hell. I don’t know, though…” He trailed off, and raised a clawed finger to press it to his lower lip in thought. “Y-you’re pretty cute, nnh, for a human.” He twitched to the left and frowned.

Craig stuttered, lost for words or what to say really, but when he did finally speak, it was not at all what he wanted to say. “You too!” he exclaimed, and he covered his mouth immediately afterwards as though it could rescind his statement. What an embarrassment.

The demon boy chuckled. The sound was melodic and shook with the humming of his energy so that it reverberated in the church’s echoey chambers, and it was beautiful. Craig wasn’t sure if he was supposed to find it beautiful. Demons were supposed to be the worst, after all, according to his made-up scripture. Craig was supposed to be banishing demons. This one seemed pretty okay, though, and even though Craig was shaking so badly he felt like he might fall apart at the seams, he wasn’t all that threatening. That is, if he could get past the teeth and claws and wings, and horns, and hooves. He was particularly fixated on the cherry-red appendages sticking out of his back.

“Y-you like them?” the demon asked, and he made one flapping motion with his wings for good measure. The wind of it brushed Craig’s hair back and nearly ripped his hat clean off. Luckily he was still crouched against his podium, or else he probably would have stumbled from the wind force.

“Who are you?” Craig finally asked. The demon’s head tilted even further to the side in a way that made Craig think it must hurt his neck, but he seemed content.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he started, “but I like you, so I’m Tweek.” He smiled, and it would have been sweet if he didn’t have terrifyingly sharp fangs taunting him behind his lips. The demon boy named Tweek was pretty, Craig would admit, with high cheekbones and elongated features that made him look lanky but somehow beautiful, like a dancer. His eyes were proving just as incredibly sharp as the first time he met them, and they danced on their own with their own fires. He was fascinating to look at, and Craig was mesmerized. The way Tweek giggled made Craig think he’d been caught staring.

“So...yeah. Hell, I guess. You really shouldn’t do this, y-you know,” Tweek lectured, gesturing at the church. “The only reason I can come in here is that your church is so illegitimate, you have no protective worship energy surrounding it. None of you believe at all. I-isn’t that sad, t-to just, not believe in something?” He frowned slightly. “It seems lonely. If I was allowed to like God, I probably would. He seems nice.”

Craig shook his head. “Okay, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what’s happening. Am I dreaming? What the fuck did I take?” he asked, and Tweek laughed at him again.

“You didn’t take anything. You just fucked up and I’m here to make you pay.”

“Oh, good,” Craig mumbled. “I always wanted to become a martyr.”

“I don’t think this counts as martyrdom. You’re not even religious. You’re just a shitty person.” Tweek looked surprised, his cat eyes blinking slowly. “You don’t want to make your case before I toss you in, then?” Tweek stepped forward, his wings rising to glide over the pews. The closer he got, the grander they became, until Craig was so enamored with them that he wanted to reach out and pet just one finger on the skin that webbed Tweek’s wings together.

“I don't really have a case. I know this is wrong.” Craig shrugged. He was starting to feel more comfortable, and his shaking had been reduced to adrenaline-fueled tremors. Now that he looked closer, Tweek seemed to be shaking slightly too. “Are you afraid of me too?” he asked, but he instantly regretted it the moment Tweek snorted at him.

“N-no,” he smirked, “I just shake. God made me wrong so Satan took me instead. He’s very, ngh,” Tweek twitched violently mid-sentence, “nice! You'd like him, I think. Most do. Let's go!” Tweek snapped and the hole in the ground reappeared, squealing at full-force.

“You want me to get in that?” Craig yelled over the cries, and Tweek gave him a confused look.

“W-well, you don't really have a choice.”

“No?” Craig asked, and Tweek shook his head. Craig rubbed his hands together and did what he did best: scam his way through a tight spot. “You're a devil, right?” Tweek nodded slowly. “Wouldn't the more devilish thing to do be to… I dunno, defy your orders and steal me away for yourself?” Craig crossed his fingers behind his back.

Tweek’s eyes practically glowed. “Wow, would you really let me do that?” Craig nodded, very subtly as he was still very uncertain, but he did. “That sounds fun!” He shrieked and the high pitch of his voice rattled the windows and pierced Craig’s brain like an instant migraine. “O-oh, sorry. I forget you're so fragile.” He looked sheepish, which was not a description Craig thought he would ever give a demon. Then again, Craig hadn't believed in demons until one quite literally showed up in front of him.

“You still have to get in, though,” Tweek said, frowning. “I can fly but I don't want to fly out of here in such a small town. Satan doesn't like when we’re spotted. I want to teleport a little ways out. Is that okay?”

“No,” Craig said, his stomach flipping again at the sight of the flames beneath the floorboards. “But I guess I have no choice.”

“Nope!” Tweek said cheerfully, and Craig sighed.

“Okay,” he said, feeling as though he'd either horribly regret or fondly recall his decision, “take me away, demon boy.”

“I'm an imp,” Tweek corrected, but Craig rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, imp boy. Let's go.”

His stomach erupted into butterflies at the excited gleam in Tweek’s eyes as he held out a clawed hand for him to take. Craig slowly placed his palm in his, and the pad of his hand was surprisingly soft to the touch. It was warm, but not clammy, and Craig relaxed into his hold as he was tugged gently forward. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he muttered, but Tweek gave him a reassuring smile that was much gentler without the deadly fangs poking out of his lips.

“I won't hurt you,” Tweek said, and somehow, for some idiotic reason, Craig believed him. For a moment he recalled his family, his friends, and his coworkers who would find his notebook discarded and the floors ripped to shreds without any idea of what had transpired, but something about the imp holding his hand made him less worried about the life he was likely abandoning for a long time.

Tweek led him forward and he gulped, staring down into the flames that screamed. “They won't burn you,” Tweek said, “they’re just warm.” Craig still feared them. After a moment to collect himself, he nodded, giving Tweek permission to lead him in.

“So, are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” Tweek asked, grinning, and Craig choked on his spit before he was pulled forward and began a free-fall through a wormhole leading to God knew where.

When they resurfaced it was in a dark shack in a town Craig didn't recognize, and Tweek had the same grin in place as when they hopped through the portal the first time, and Craig had to wonder just how familiar he was with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and how much it was going to relate to the hours of sex they would undoubtedly be having in the very near, very enticing future.

THE END

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onstagesport · 7 years ago

Text

Color My World Chapter 1/ 2

I may be taking a hiatus from Ao3, but I still want to share this. I did a lot of research for this and also am ignoring the passage of time (aka It’s 1903 but they haven’t aged)

Crutchie supposed that he just didn’t ‘get’ art. He enjoyed sketches and even some paintings, but he couldn’t really distinguish them from each other unless the content was really memorable. Most of the time, it wasn’t. But that was okay, he just didn’t ‘get’ art.

He liked Jack’s art, though! Everything Jack showed him, even the paintings he thought were kind of ugly though he never said that out loud. Jack was usually so secretive about his art that if he shared it, he either knew it was ugly and didn’t care or he was especially proud of it. Either way, Crutchie voicing his opinion would do no good.

After a stressful day of selling, all Crutchie wanted to do was go up to the penthouse and unwind with Jack. The headline had been crappy, and his leg hurt more than usual but he refused to play it up for sympathy. That would make him just as bad as all the others who faked their limps.

He struggled up the ladder to the rooftop, pulling himself up rung by rung and holding his crutch under his chin. If he dropped it from all the way up here and it fell to the ground, he might never get it back. That would be the cherry on top of his day.

“Hey, Crutchie! Heard you coming!” Jack appeared above him with a jovial laugh, ready to lend a helping hand.

“I can do it,” Crutchie glowered. Jack had seen him do it before.

“I know,” Jack promised with a smile. “But how’s about I take your crutch and then you don’t have to worry about it, huh?”

Crutchie frowned up at him but allowed him to take the crutch up to the penthouse for him. He took several more seconds to climb, but eventually he got there. Jack was waiting for him at the top of the ladder and he held out the crutch with fanfare. Crutchie had to smile at that. Jack could brighten even his gloomiest day.

They settled in and Jack returned to what he had been doing before Crutchie arrived. Unsurprisingly, he was sketching on some rolls of paper that Miss Medda probably provided.

“What are those?” Crutchie asked curiously, pointing to the sticks Jack was using to sketch. They were shorter than Jack’s pencils and wrapped in paper, so they couldn’t be the coal sticks he occasionally used.

Jack turned to him, beaming.

“Just got them today,” he nodded, proudly handing over the box. “For a nickel.”

Crutchie nodded as he read the box.

‘Crayola Gold Medal Eight Colors School Crayons Binney & Smith Co.’

“A nickel?” he repeated, looking up at Jack.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, saw them in a shop and figured ‘you know, I deserve something nice.’”

Crutchie snorted, shaking his head at Jack.

“What? You think I don’t deserve something nice?” Jack pouted, placing a hand over his heart. “That hurts, Crutchie.”

“What I think is I think you got conned.”

Jack huffed out a laugh and held up the eighth crayon that was missing from the box to show that he had gotten what he paid for. Crutchie turned the box over in his hands to see if there was any more information about crayons.

“Can you pass me the green one?” Jack asked, holding out his for an exchange.

“Sure thing,” Crutchie nodded. He picked one from the case and passed it to Jack. “What’re you drawing?”

Jack didn’t respond, but instead gave Crutchie a slightly confused look for a moment. Crutchie somehow felt very small. He wasn’t used to feeling like that with Jack.

“What?” he asked, his eyes darting to the ladder. He knew that he wouldn’t need to escape from Jack, but there was a fleeting moment of panic.

“Sorry. Did I say ‘brown?’ I meant green,” Jack corrected, handing the crayon back.

Now, Crutchie looked at him in confusion.

“No, you said green. …Like the grass,” he confirmed.

Jack side eyed Crutchie. Whatever this joke was, he sure was committing to it. He asked for the box back and Crutchie willingly handed it over. Jack plucked out a crayon that was almost the exact same color.

“Green, like the grass,” he repeated. Crutchie stared between the two crayons, trying to see how either was more grass-like than the other.

“Can you not see colors?” Jack inquired. Crutchie knew he didn’t mean to be, but after the day he had, that rubbed him the wrong way.

“I see colors,” he grumbled. He didn’t need a messed up leg and messed up eyes. He continued a little more quietly. “They just all look the same.”

Jack stared at Crutchie in awe like he was some kind of exotic exhibit in a zoo. Crutchie grabbed for his crutch. Even though going inside would be loud and grating, it was better than sitting here and getting silently made fun of by his best friend.

“Hey. Hey, where you going?” Jack asked, sitting up straighter as Crutchie got to his feet.

“You’re looking at me weird,” Crutchie defended.

“Sorry, I never knew nobody who couldn’t see colors,” Jack explained, rolling up the papers so he could stand too.

“I didn’t know I couldn’t see colors!” Crutchie burst. He had a limp and he couldn’t see right. If he lost his hearing, the guys would think he was an absolute goldmine for garnering sympathy buyers.

Jack reached out to him, carefully touching his shoulders and starting to bring him in for a hug. It was too hot for that and Crutchie shook him away.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jack smiled at him. “It ain’t a big deal.” An idea struck him. “You know, I bet we ask Davey and he would be able to tell you a ton of people who can’t see colors. Inventors, scientists, millionaires…”

Crutchie perked up a bit. Not only about the fact that there might be other people like him, but at the mention of Davey. He hurried to the discarded box of crayons and picked it up. He drew two and stared at them for a long time.

“Davey’s eyes are blue,” he stated decisively, holding them both up when he couldn’t choose between them. Jack laughed, but it was almost endearing enough that Crutchie didn’t mind. He took one of the crayons out of Crutchie’s hand.

“Davey’s eyes are blue,” he confirmed, smiling. “This is purple.”

Crutchie wanted to argue that they were exactly the same color but Jack was the one of them who saw colors right. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to be good-natured. He shouldn’t be surprised something else was wrong with him.

“I guess I’ll just have to believe you,” Crutchie dramatically sighed in Jack’s direction, sitting back down. Jack smiled at him.

“You’re not leaving?” he teased, settling in beside him. Crutchie shrugged like he hadn’t made up his mind to stay.

“What were you drawing anyway?” Crutchie asked, looking around for what Jack could have been referencing on the roof that required green.

Jack sank into himself a little, modest.

“I never used crayon before, so I was just doing some little test doodles,” he brushed off the question. Crutchie stared at him insistently, silently probing for more. “And I like to draw people I know when I doodle, okay?”

Crutchie scrunched his face in confusion. “And you needed green? Why?” He had a theory but it was probably stupid so he kept it to himself. He didn’t want Jack to laugh at him for asking if the boys with darker skin or darker hair could be green.

Almost sheepishly, Jack reached over and unrolled the paper he had been using. “Now, like I said I never used them before so it’s not that good and I didn’t finish, but…here.”

He showed Crutchie a half-finished portrait. The lines were kind of flaky but they were still definitely outlining his own face.

“Is this me?” he asked, looking up at Jack again, smiling. Jack nodded. “Why did you need green?” He looked down at his beige clothes. “Do I wear a lot of green?”

Jack laughed again and shook his head.

“Your eyes are green,” he shrugged.

“Oh.” Crutchie frowned before falling silent. That was the second thing he had learned about himself in the span of half an hour.

“Hey,” Jack nudged him. “You ain’t upset about this, right?”

Crutchie shrugged despondently, “I can’t see colors, Jack.”

“So what? Huh? Blink can’t see out of one eye at all,” he pointed out.

“How many things are wrong with me?” Crutchie demanded. “Is…Is my arm gonna fall off tomorrow?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. Granted, he didn’t know that for sure but it seemed unlikely. “And if it did, I’d carry your papes for you if you want. Any of us would.”

Crutchie slumped with a sigh. That was true. He wouldn’t want the help, of course, but it was good to know that they would be there if he ever did.

He reached over Jack’s lap and grabbed the box of crayons. He idly flipped through them as though shifting them would magically allow him to see their true colors.

“Hey, is that why you thought I got conned?” Jack asked suddenly.

“It looks like you only got three colors for a nickel,” Crutchie explained.

He dumped all of them out into his hand and separated them. Blue and purple were together. Green and brown were together. Yellow, slightly darker yellow, black and weird brownish-gray were all their own colors.

“Okay, I guess you got five colors,” Crutchie corrected.

“Penny a color, just like a pape,” Jack laughed.

“Oh! Speaking of papes, the headlines today?” Crutchie changed the topic to complain about the papers. Anything except him. “The most exciting thing was the pope getting sick again.”

Jack laughed but agreed. “And we’ve been reporting on his health for two weeks. There’s only so much interest for ‘the voice of God might be dying? No, for real this time.’”

They dissolved into laughter, and Jack soon started sketching again while Crutchie continued talking about his day, trying his hardest to be cheerful and forget about his weird eyes. They kept on like that until it was about time for dinner, signaled by Jack’s growling stomach. Before they descended, Jack showed Crutchie the finished portrait. Crutchie nodded at it.

“It looks just like me,” he praised. Or at least the version of him that he saw when he caught his reflection. But Jack could have colored him different from real life and he never would have known.

With that, they descended the ladder. Jack went down first and Crutchie followed after.

“You won’t tell any of the guys about me not seeing colors, right?” Crutchie asked when they were halfway down the fire escape.

“Not if you don’t want them to know,” Jack promised, rumpling Crutchie’s hair. “Now, c’mon. Else Henry’ll eat everything before we even get there.”

#crutchie morris #jack kelly #newsies fic #newsies #color blind crutchie #my writing

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victimofthemusic · 8 years ago

Text

Music, Cars and Pizza, Of Course (With M&M’s)-A Princess Diaries Fic

Hi guys! It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything on here and for that, I’m sorry. My life has been hectic and I’ve been taking some time off from writing, but I’m slowly getting back into again. I’ve got a few things in the works, but I decided to take a detour from my usual and I’ve become OBSESSED with the Princess Diaries and I’ve been marathoning the movie and now I’m reading the series, which is great by the way! Hopefully you guys like this and let me know what you think! :)

Summary:

"Like a date?"

"No, not a date, just music, cars-"

"Will it include pizza?"

"Of course, pizza's a given."

"With M&M's?'

"Of course."

"Well, then I'm in."

A simple 'what if' Mia had realized her mistake of ditching Michael for Josh and that apology pizza came a little sooner.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mia fluttered nervously around her room, digging through her dressers, flipping through her closet, trying to find something, anything to wear that wouldn't make her look like an asparagus like the current fashion faux pas she was wearing. Which, she supposed, was a shame considering she always liked this top on her. Now, however, all she’d see when she looked at it was a gangly green vegetable.

Her mother was watching her, with thinly veiled amusement, from her position on the love seat, pretending to sketch. However, Mia hadn't heard the scratching of her pencil across the page of her sketch book in last fifteen minutes.

She pretended not to notice.

“I guess I’ll just wear my blue suit.” Mia sighed, digging said swim suit out from underneath a pile of clothes that had been flung haphazardly from her dresser not five minutes ago, in her haste to find something that didn’t remind her of one of the main food groups.

“Are you nervous about the beach party?” Her mother asked after a beat of silence.

Mia opened her mouth to answer, when her eyes landed on a picture taped to her dresser mirror. It was taken last year, at her fifteenth birthday party. Her mom had been away for the weekend, an art dealer that had just opened a new museum in LA had fallen in love with a line of her mother’s paintings and had begged her to come out for opening night of the new exhibit that now housed Helen’s paintings. Helen had initially refused, but Mia knew how much her mother’s art meant to her and after much persuading and an offer for Mia to stay at the Moscovitz’s for the weekend, Helen took the offered trip to LA, but not after promising Mia something special for her birthday.

Mia was just expecting a quiet weekend with Lilly, helping her edit her TV show or make flyers to plaster around school concerning her passion about a new cause. And when she got tired of that, she’d wander down to Michael’s room, and help him write a new song for his band or watch an old black and white film with him, the only person, beside her mother, who shared her affection for old films.

However, when she crossed over the threshold of the Moscovitz’s townhouse that Friday evening, she was greeted with streamers and balloons and a ‘Happy Birthday Mia!’ banner strung across the fireplace in the living room. Lilly was standing next to a smirking Michael and had rushed over to give Mia a hug, guiding Mia further into the living room. The lights had been dimmed, music was playing from the state of the art stereo system and the kitchen had been transformed into a small buffet with a small birthday cake nestled in the middle amidst all the snacks and soda.

Michael had invited his band and Lilly had invited their friends from choir and Mia had found herself at a loss for words, incredibly touched by her friends kindness.

Lilly, who among her many other hobbies, dabbled in photography and had snapped a picture of Mia and Michael, nestled together on the couch while Michael was trying (without much success) to teach Mia how to play guitar. Neither one of them had been paying much attention to anyone, let alone a sleuthing Lilly armed with a camera. It was taken a few minutes before Michael had given Mia her birthday present, a silver chain bracelet with a dainty silver charm in the shape of a guitar pick on it. He said he’d found in the antique store next to the garage and when he’d saw it, he thought of her. Mia, incredibly touched, had never taken the bracelet off.

Lilly had given her a copy of the picture the week after and Mia had shifted a few pictures around on her dresser and it now hung proudly in the center of all of her photos, where she could see it every day. Usually, when she looked at Michael’s warm smile, the smile he always wore before he started that slow, deep laugh that only occurred when he was genuinely amused by something—and Mia attempting a G Chord on the guitar? Definitely cause for such laugher—filled her with such a warmth that sometimes, she forget that she was invisible.

Now, when she remembered the look of disappointment in Michael’s eyes when she told him she was going to the beach party with Josh instead of spending time with Michael on their date that wasn't a date—with just music, cars and of course, pizza (with M&M’s) that was a complete given—she was filled with nothing but guilt.

Her mother cleared her throat and Mia remembered that her mother had asked her a question and usually, when one asks you a question, you generally have to respond with an answer.

“No,” She found herself saying, “I’m not nervous, more excited, I think.”

Mia bit her lip, smiling shyly at her mom, “I think I might actually get my first, real kiss tonight.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting in a way that made Mia suddenly nervous, “Oh? Who from?”

Mia shifted, her cheeks turning a bright red, “Josh Bryant.”

Her mother’s eyes hardened, narrowing into slits, “That Backstreet Boy clone who you’ve had a crush on forever?” she demanded, pursing her lips.

It was never a good sign, when Helen Thermopolis pursed her lips.

“He’s not a Backstreet Boy clone,” Mia sniffed defensively, “he’s a…a sailor.” she added lamely.

“I thought he was never nice to you.” Helen added, her eyes suddenly filling with concern. Mia shifted, suddenly very uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. Instead of meeting her mother’s eyes, she pretended to be looking for something amongst the mess on her dresser.

“Well, I don’t know, he is now.” Mia said softly, but the answer sounded weak, unsure, even to her own ears.

After Mia had floated back down from Cloud 9 and after Josh’s voice had faded from her mind, where it had been playing him asking her to the beach party on a constant loop, Mia’s insecurities had reared their ugly head. The truth was, Josh had never been nice to her. He’d never even spared her a second glance before her whole Extreme Princess Makeover, unless it was to join in on the teasing that was often lead by his equally as snotty girlfriend, Lana.

So she had been curious where the sudden change of heart had come from, especially when just the day before, he’d been swapping spit with Lana and ignoring her very existence. She had wondered, for a brief moment, if all of this wasn't just some publicity stunt, to be linked with the newly discovered princess.

She had dismissed those thoughts, thinking that she was just being insecure, that it was okay Josh had a change of heart and that maybe, her little makeover had just made him realize what he’d been missing out all along.

Doubt, once again, filled her mind and eyeing the bracelet that Michael had given her that, for the first time she had been given it, was laying innocently in her jewelry box, the silver glinting in the fading after noon sun, she wondered, not for the first time in the last few days, if she was making the right choice.

“Mia? Honey, you better hurry up and change if you want to make it in time for your bus, Joe should be here in a few minutes to take you to school.”

Her mother’s voice brought Mia out of her thoughts and nodding absentmindedly, she hurried into the bathroom and changed into her blue bathing suit, that, once Mia had looked into the mirror to make sure she looked okay, deiced that it didn’t make her look like one of the major food groups.

It made her look like a Smurf.

~~~~~~~~~~

Josh, Mia had decided, was one of the most boring people she had ever met.

She had been in his presence for all of an hour and the only topics of conversation Josh seemed to be well versed in was boating, hair gel and talking about his ex-girlfriend, Lana.

Mia was miserable, to say the least and had never wanted an evening to come to an end quicker more than this one. She didn’t think she could last another five minutes in his company, let alone anther three or four hours or until Josh decided he wanted to leave.

And to make matters worse, whenever Josh or one of his buddies cracked some lame joke, all she could picture was what Michael would say to such asinine comments and thinking of Michael only made the guilt weigh heavier in her stomach. She wondered what he was doing right now, if he had continued with band practice, if he was working on her ‘Stang with all the concentration and careful preciseness he gave to his music or if he was at home, writing or watching a movie.

Or maybe, he found someone else to spend his Saturday night with, maybe the pretty blonde band groupie that was always hanging around the garage, flirting with Michael in between songs or cornering him after practice, when he’d start to work on her ‘Stang.

The thought made Mia hurt in a way that she had never felt before. Her heart physically ached at the thought of Michael being with someone else, of sharing his new music with somebody else. That had always been their thing and the thought of it not being their thing anymore, made tears spring to her eyes and her guilt worsen.

And it was in that moment, when she was slow dancing on a beach, underneath the moon light with sound of the waves crashing in the distance with Josh Bryant, something she’d only dreamed of doing for the last year, that she was with the wrong guy.

The thought made her stop so suddenly that Josh ended up stepping on her foot, but she didn’t even feel it. Her sudden stop interrupted Josh’s story of Lana and the first Christmas they had spent together and while it was such a riveting story, it was one Mia didn’t care to stick around for.

“Mia? What—“

“I have to go.” Mia said abruptly and that was all the explanation she gave a rather confused and annoyed Josh Bryant before she made a mad dash to her bag, digging through her belongings until she found the slim silver cellphone that Joe had given her before letting her board the bus.

“I don’t trust this over-gelled Backstreet Boy clone,” he explained gruffly when he handed it to her.

Mia, too stunned that Joe even knew who the Backstreet Boys were, didn’t even protest when he pressed it into her hand and through her shock, she heard him tell her to press one and it would dial his number and to call him if she needed him.

Pressing one, the phone automatically dialed Joe’s number and he answered on the first ring.

“Joe? It’s Mia, can you pick me up? There’s some place I need to be.”

~~~~~

Mia shifted nervously outside Doc’s garage, the warm pizza box tipping precariously in her grasp and with quick reflexes she didn’t know she possessed, she saved her peace offering/apology pizza from becoming a new welcome mat.

The bay doors were closed, which she expected this late at night and if it wasn’t for the faint guitar strumming she could hear coming from the inside, she would've thought that no one was here.

She knocked on the metal doors and cringed at the loud sound breaking the silence of the neighborhood around her. When the clanging died down, she could hear a pause in the guitar strumming and a beat of silence, then the metal door rose slowly, squeaking loudly on the tracks and if it wasn't for the pizza box in Mia’s hand, she would've covered her ears.

They stopped about half way, enough for someone to duck under and Mia didn’t have enough time to work herself up into a proper panic before a familiar head of dark hair popped out from underneath the door and then Michael was standing in front of her, arms crossed and unwavering stare in place.

“Hi,” Mia said, giving him a small, unsure smile.

Michael didn’t reply, so Mia took that as a sign to continue.

“Look, I’m probably the last person you wanna see right now,” she began quietly, “but I came here to apologize for choosing to go to the beach party with Josh instead of being here, with you,” she looked down at the pizza box, suddenly feeling very exposed underneath Michael’s gaze, “Josh is, well, Josh is a total idiot and the shallow end of a kiddie pool has more depth than he does and it wasn't until after his sixth story about Lana, that I realized that I had made a mistake. If I’m being honest, I knew I made a mistake the minute I accepted his offer. I got so caught up in the fact that Josh Bryant wanted to take me on a date, that Josh Bryant might want to kiss me—“

Had Mia paid attention, she would've noticed the way Michael’s jaw clenched at the latter admission, but she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of the pizza in her hands.

“—and I chose to ignore the fact that up until two days ago, the only reason Josh Bryant even knew I existed was because his girlfriend loves to make me the butt end of her jokes.” Mia scoffed, rolling her eyes, but Michael didn’t miss the hurt in her voice and not for the first time, anger rose at the thought of anyone teasing her.

“I know I hurt you,” Mia said, risking a glance up at him from underneath her lashes, “but I’m hoping, that even though I showed up late and it took me longer than it should have, your offer for music, cars and pizza still stands,” glancing down at her still full hands, she offered the pizza box out to Michael, “I brought the pizza.” she said lamely, giving him a sheepish smile.

“You forgot the M&M’s.” He said after a minute of silence, before turning and ducking underneath the garage door.

Mia’s shoulders sagged in relief and she waved Joe away, who was waiting patiently by the limo and with a simple nod, he got into the driver’s seat and drove away, but not before Mia caught the little smile on his face.

Mia took Michael’s statement as an offer for her to follow him and being very, very careful, she ducked underneath the garage doors and offered the pizza to a waiting Micael, who set the pizza on an oil drum so he could close the bay doors with a loud clang that made Mia jump.

“Sorry,” he said, giving her an apologetic smile before he grabbed the pizza and made his way over to one of the couches where he set up camp, his acoustic guitar leaning up against the couch and an open notebook laying out on the coffee table. He closed it before she could see what was in it, shoving it off to the side before setting the pizza down where his notebook had been.

He opened the box and huffed out a laugh at the Sorry that was written out on top of the otherwise plain cheese pizza in different colored M&M’s.

“I didn’t forget.” Mia said softly, giving him a small smile.

Michael smiled back, shaking his head, “You’re something else, Thermopolis.”

Mia flushed bright red, but there was no denying the small smile on her lips or the flutter her heart gave when he gave her a smile like that.

Michael managed to scrounge up some paper plates and napkins and, after snagging a couple of sodas out of the fridge Doc kept just outside of his office for his employees, he sat back down on the couch next to Mia. He offered her one of the sodas and a plate, which she accepted with a grateful smile. She didn’t hesitate to open up the pizza box and after a few seconds of deliberation on what slice she wanted, Michael watching in fond amusement, she picked one and took a bite, not even bothering to scrape off the M&M’s, she was that hungry.

“What, Josh didn’t feed you?” Michael asked, picking his own piece and taking a bite. The question came out innocent enough, but Mia could hear the mocking underneath the attempted casualness of his tone.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, setting her slice of pizza down on her plate, shaking her head, she said, “No, um, I took the bus with everyone else and I wasn’t there long enough to hit the snack table.”

Michael hmm’d, chewing his pizza thoughtfully, but didn’t add anything else to the conversation.

They sat in silence and Mia couldn't help but feel a little awkward. She wasn’t sure if Michael had completely forgiven her yet and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't sure if he would. And Mia could understand, really, if she was in his shoes and Michael had canceled their date that wasn’t a date, to hang out with someone else, she’d be a little hurt too.

He deserves better, she thought to herself.

Because, if Mia was also being honest with herself, she had always cared about Michael a little more than just a ‘he’s-my-best-friends-older-brother-so-by-extention-I-have-to-care-about-him’ sort of way. She’d known Michael as long as she’d known Lilly and while Mia loved Lilly dearly—really, she did, there wasn't a thing on this earth Mia wouldn’t do for her best friend—she could be a bit, well, much sometimes. Lilly was Mia’s opposite in every way and sometimes, Lilly could be a bit harsh with her criticism of Mia. Mia knew that she meant well, she was always trying to protect Mia from the cruelty of some of their classmates and encourage her to stand up to other people and not be so concerned about what other people think of her. But still, sometimes, her critiques hurt.

And Michael, bless him, never hesitated to come to Mia’s defense where Lilly was concerned. Michael was a lot like Mia, quiet and reserved and it wasn’t unusual for Michael to stay locked up in his room all day, working on his music or reading or down in the Moscovitzs’ garage, music blasting and tinkering around with his parent’s cars. When Lilly got too much to handle, Mia wouldn't hesitate to wander down to the garage and hangout with Michael. Michael, quiet and reserved Michael, had a way of making shy, awkward Mia, open up and feel normal, for once in her life. He never rolled his eyes in annoyance when Mia went off on one of her rants when she got excited over a new book she’d read or a new movie she’d watched with her mother. They shared common interests in music and books and movies and Michael always had this way of making her laugh, with his quick wit and dry and sarcastic remarks that could render even Lilly speechless. He always exuded a calm and collected demeanor and it always soothed Mia’s often frazzled nerves and one look or one smile from him and it could make Mia forget about whatever hurtful remark one of her fellow classmates said about her.

He’s always been more than just her best friend’s older brother to her and maybe it was selfish, knowing she’d hurt him so badly, but she didn’t want to lose him.

“I can practically hear you thinking from over here, princess,” Michael said, his tone teasing. She looked up from her pizza—which other than the one bite she’d taken almost ten minutes prior, had remained untouched—to see Michael gazing at her from underneath his dark fringe. Behind the teasing, she could see genuine concern swimming in those unfathomably dark brown eyes. After all she had done to him, he was concerned about her.

Her

He really, really deserves better.

“Michael, I—“She started, but stopped. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say, but looking down at her pizza, she suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Didn’t you promise me music?” Mia asked instead, standing up so abruptly she almost knocked over her soda and if it wasn't for Michael’s quick reflexes, it would've ended up all over the half eaten pizza. She blushed bright red, hurrying over to the stereo system in the corner of the room, flipping through the stacks of CD’s Doc’s had to offer. She chose a CD at random and put it in the CD player, the Red Hot Chilli Peppers filling the silent garage. She pretended to be engrossed in the back of Def Leppard’s Greatest Hits album when she heard Michael get up from the couch and make his way over to her.

He plucked the CD out of her hands, setting it down on the table where the other ones were scattered, ignoring Mia’s protest.

“You hate Def Leppard.” He said in response to her protests, leaning casually against the table, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You don’t know that.” Mia sniffed, picking the CD back up.

Michael rolled his eyes, taking it away from her, again, “I do, because every time Felix puts this CD in when you’re here, you scrunch your nose up and start rubbing your temples, like you have a headache.”

“And here I thought you were supposed to be working on my car, not studying me.” Mia quipped, giving him a teasing smile.

If Mia didn’t know any better, she would've swore Michael’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, but it was hard to tell in the shadowed lighting of the garage.

“Speaking of your car, I uh, finished it for you.” Michael said, changing the subject, pushing himself off of the table and walking over to where her ‘Stang was parked. Mia followed, excitement building in her stomach at the thought of driving the beautiful car her mother had worked so hard to get for her. Two of her best paintings, which Mia knew she could sell for a pretty penny, had been traded in order for Mia to have the car of dreams.

Michael lifted the hood and began explaining what all he’d done, things Mia had absolutely no grasp or concept of, but she listened with rapt attention, following his finger as he pointed out each section of the car that had been either rebuilt, repaired or tweaked in order for her car to purr like Fat Louie when you scratched at a spot just behind his ears.

She was at a loss for words and once again, she was struck by just how perfect Michael Moscovitz was. And how stupid she was not realize it sooner.

“—and when I test drove it, I noticed it was slipping a bit in third, so I had to take the transmission out and dig around with a flash light in order to find what was wrong and it turns out it was just something loose—“

He glanced up during his explanation, dark eyes glittering with pride and excitement and that’s when Mia knew. Like really knew.

She was in love with Michael Moscovitz.

And it was there, in the middle of Doc’s garage, bent under the hood of her ‘Stang, that she kissed Michael Moscovitz.

The guy she loved

It didn’t last longer than five seconds, maybe, but in those five seconds, she felt it. The warmth of his lips, slightly chapped from biting them when he was really concentrating, the stubble on his cheek from not shaving recently and the way her heart fluttered at all of these sensations hitting her at once.

She pulled away, looking anywhere but at him, surprised at her actions and mortified that she practically assaulted him, because her actions couldn’t of been wanted. This was Michael, Lilly’s older brother, her best friend.

SHE JUST KISSED HER BEST FRIEND’S OLDER BROTH—

“Mia.” Michael breathed, bringing her out of her momentary panic and when she glanced up at him shyly, he simply stared at her, dumbfounded before his expression melted into something else. His eyes, dark with something Mia couldn't name, glanced down to her lips and before Mia could even blink, let alone think, Michael was kissing her.

Kissing.

Her.

His lips were warm and pressed firmly to hers, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks, tilting her head slightly to the left and oh. Gently, his lips began to move against hers, encouraging Mia to follow his lead and she did, chasing his lips with a fervor that warmed her from the inside out. Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids, igniting a heat that settled low in her belly, her cheeks flushing and just like in the old movies, she felt her foot slowly rise and this was it, her first, real, foot popping kiss.

Michael pulled away slowly, thumbs brushing against her cheeks and when Mia opened her eyes, slightly dazed, Michael was staring down at her with a look of wonder on his face, that if her cheeks could, they’d be flushing redder than they already were.

“Why me?” he murmured, brushing back a stray tendril of her newly straightened hair, tucking it behind her ear.

There were so many ways she could answer that question, but none of them felt right. This was Michael, who she’d known forever, who stood up for her against his own sister when she thought she was out of line, who helped Mia forget about her tormentors with a well timed joke, who let her escape his sister wrath and hang out in his room or the garage with him, who took time out of his day, every day, to get her dream car running for her. Michael, who never treated her any differently after the whole princess thing came to light. Michael, who cared about her, even when she was just plain old Mia, with frizzy curls and glasses and clumsy beyond belief.

“Because you saw me when I was invisible.” She answered softly, truthfully.

“You’re the only one who hasn't treated me any differently because of the whole princess thing. You liked me before the hair and the makeup and the contacts, before I was, well, y’know, pretty.”

“You’ve always been pretty.” Michael whispered, dark eyes earnest.

Mia blushed, looking down at Michael’s t-shirt, playing absentmindedly with a loose thread.

“I know this whole princess thing is intimidating,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “but it doesn't have to change anything. I’m still clumsy and awkward Mia. I’m still me. Except, now I have balls to attend and a country to rule.”

Michael smiled, “Josh looks better in a tux, maybe you should reconsider before it’s took late.”

Mia shook her head, giving him a soft smile, “I don’t know, I think my boyfriend might have an issue with that.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Michael asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Mia’s cheeks went up in flames, “Is that okay?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Michael murmured, his dark eyes flickering over her face, settling on her lips, “will there be pizza at these balls?”

Mia smiled, “Of course, pizza’s a given.”

Michael grinned back, pulling her closer to him so she was cradled in his arms, “Then I guess you have yourself a date, princess.”

p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Helvetica; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000; min-height: 17.0px} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Helvetica; -webkit-text-stroke: #000000} span.s1 {font-kerning: none}

And he sealed it with a kiss.

~~~~~

I hope you guys liked it and as always, if you have any suggestions for future stories, want to give me feedback or just come say hi, my inbox is always open! I promise to return soon with something new! Much love :)

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