#the fucking WILDEST ONE TO WRITE NOT GONNA LIE

[conniesanchor]

conniesanchor three hundred followers celebration <3

characters

jj maybank

conrad fisher

tim bradford

tasm peter

stefan salvatore

james potter

remus lupin

surius black

tropes

enemies to lovers

fake dating

friends to lovers

grumpy x sunshine

mutual pining

forbidden love

second chance romance

brothers best friend

college lovers

bf/gf

dialogue

“can you turn the heat on? im getting cold.”

“im gonna fix you right up, okay?”

“as cute as you look, i need my sweater back.”

“does it hurt when i so this?”

“come here, hold my hand.”

“you are everything.”

“are you jealous?”

“come lie down with me.”

“drink this and don't argue with me.”

“i might have had a few shots.”

“please just let me take care of you.”

“your stitches ripped.”

“i think i love you.”

“how'd you sleep?”

“don't hide your scars. they're beautiful.”

“do you trust me?”

“youre so cute.” “what?” “i said you look dumb, fuck you.”

“we can just stay in bed all day.”

“who did this to you?”

bonus asks

🍀- ship: give me one fact about yourself, your preferred partners gender, and preferred universe (tv show/movie) you like.

🐛- moodboard: give me a topic and i will create a moodboard on it.

🌿- you are in love: give me a character + a taylor swift song, and i will write a blurb on it.

rules

no smut

please be kind. i will get to all of your requests, i promise.

this will run from today (august seventh) to a week from today (august fourteenth). THAT DOESN'T MEAN I WONT FINISH OFF THE REQUESTS YOU JUST HAVE TO BE PATIENT.

that's it! thank you all so much for three hundred, i love you guys forever.

completed fics

wildest dreams- spencer reid

you're cute. what? i said you look dumb. fuck you- jj maybank.

[foreverrandomwritings]

First off, love the new theme babes.

Second off, for the fanfic asks: 8, 10, 16, 19, 23

Third off: 😘

First off: thank you. I have a case of Emily Prentiss brain rot that just won’t go away🧠☠️

Second off:Thank you for the ask sugar❣️

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

I currently have way to fucking many WIP’s; Actions Speak Louder Than Words, Coast to Coast, Controversially Young Girlfriend, a Stiles Stilinski series, an ACOTAR series and a couple requests that I have gotten recently. I have more series that I’m going to start but haven’t actually written anything for yet.

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

That would be my Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!Reader Hands Oneshot. I did not imagine in my wildest dreams that it would get over like 100 notes, It’s now sitting at 885 notes.

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

Not gonna lie sometimes I start with the titles and then work around that idea. Other times I’m in the middle of writing and the idea will strike me. On my Stiles fic I just posted last Wednesday I originally named it Adventures In Sleep and posted it as such before renaming it Treehouse Therapy.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Coast to Coast Javy “Coyote” Machado x OC!Stella

But she wasn’t sure she would be able to do what he asked of her. If she could fight the shadows of the past. She accepted the task anyway. Not wanting to disappoint the man who had been so patient and understanding of her. She prepared herself to look into the nightmares she had buried away.

23.How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

I’m actually pretty fucking good at this. I hate reading chapters that are to long so I take that into mind when I’m writing. I try to cap them at like 4,500 words. Though I don’t think anything I’ve written has even gone over that. I also try to think of TV shows I’ve watched and how they end each episode.

Third off: she looks so god damn pretty in that it makes me sick😩

[shirogane-oushirou]

8,6,7,5,3, and 9 for whichever f/o you're feeling right now! (for the spicy asks)

i forgot i had that ask game in my queue. screaming crying sobbing. i don't know why this is making me nervous, i'm CONSTANTLY in nsft post tags blabbering on about how i want to give my otter man a brain-melting orgasm to cure him of his Conditions... ;;;

answering these for ren bc he's the one i'm most... in tune with? i COULD answer some spicy asks about some of the others (mars is a good runner-up), but i've never put as much thought into this side of a relationship as i have with ren. SO!!!

whether i ramble on with details nobody needs to know or i just give a-few-words-long answers is up to fate. 🙏🏻 (edit post-writing: ......you wanna guess which option fate went with? 😩 i'm so sorry in advance kjNKJN)

3: Is the sex between you and your f/o usually sensual? Passionate? Animalistic?

more sensual and passionate, if i have to pick among those options.

r!ren's much more passionate from the start, since he isn't forcing himself to play a role and can just be open with his affections. he's the kind of guy to quickly go from a light kiss while we watch something to Full Throttle if he's given the OK kjndfkjn.

doc!ren starts out playful and sensual, and he has more control wrt things like light affection staying light, but as things heat up the mask starts to slip and the passion comes out in him as well.

but, with both rens, we're also very silly. like, he's intentionally being a goof the entire time (see: that one post about an f/o saying "shoot your goo!" when you're about to cum), and if his hands get shaky while he's trying to put on a condom, that isn't gonna ruin the mood... if anything i'd be like, "oh no, he's failing to put the condom on... oooh he's struggling so hard... 💕" and then offer to help with my own shaky hands kjsndkjn. like this is us when something silly happens or we have trouble with something stupid:

5: Do you and your f/o prefer having sex in the dark or with the lights open?

lights on! he wants to be able to see everything... not only in the "i love your body" sense (which is also true), but in the "i want to see every facial reaction so i can figure out what works for you and what doesn't" sense.... whether he's doc!ren or r!ren, he has a mind for study, close examination, and analysis.

and -i- want to see his every reaction bc he's handsome and cute and veeery expressive :3 i wanna see him Fucking Lose It in full hd quality.

6: What was the most embarrassing thing to happen between you and your f/o before, during, and/or after sex?

i can't think of anything in particular that's truly embarrassing tbh. i think there are also things that both of us could feel embarrassed about individually that the other would find endearing, but i don't really count that... :/

idk, it just isn't something i've put much thought into in spite of the fact that something would inevitably happen at some point!

7: Any favourite positions?

nothing too creative! we both enjoy missionary, cowgirl, pretzel dip, and reverse spooning, and he in particular loves giving and receiving oral so face sitting + kneeling at the edge of the bed... really anything that's face-to-face and as close as possible.

and if i'm not up for anything on my end, i'm usually more than happy for us to sit or lie next to each other while i help get him off (often a good chance for some fun power play, teasing, etc) or give him JOI if i'm not up for anything physical at all (ALSO a good chance for power play and teasing lol). he understands that we have VASTLY different "batteries", so even if i'm just sitting next to him while he takes care of things himself, to him that just means we're sitting close and spending time together, yippee~!!

8: Any favourite places (ex. bedroom, kitchen, on a desk, against the wall  etc)?

honestly, if it were up to him, i think he'd be up for just about anywhere, and in my wildest dreams i'd also be up for more creative use of space... but because of my pain and health issues, the best places are the bed and sofa ;;; kissing elsewhere for a bit would be okay, but once things really start to get going we need to get somewhere soft and cushioned lmao.

9: Any kinks and/or fetishes?

OKAYYYY. the Big Question. so. i imagine us, when we start discussing the possibility of sex, sharing our most searched "tags" as a starting point to see what we have in common, figure out if one of us is squicked by one of the other's kinks and need to avoid it, etc. the most relevant kinks are:

femdom (no shit lol, we VERY quickly figure out we're a perfectly matched sub top and dom bottom/service dom)

light bondage (nothing too intense, just a "hands tied to the bedposts, blindfold over the eyes" every now and again kind of deal)

edging (gotta make my boy sooooo desperate~)

body worship (self explanatory)

scent (i can't decide if ren's like... a scent guy or a MY PERSON'S SCENT guy... but he loves to bury his head in my hair and neck, especially if we're doing our ro's-battery-is-empty sessions and he just wants to lean into me.)

sound (to complement his scent Thing i guess ksjdkjn voices are a huge things for me, and i think moaning is super cute, and uh. welp...!! he's good at it!!)

i'm not gonna lie, i think it'd be hot as fuck to fuck doc!ren in gloves and his labcoat KJNJLJNKSJM i have a thing for hands and labcoats so the double whammy would knock me out cold.

aaand i simply enjoy seeing my lovely boyfriend blissed the fuck out ^^ my cocktail of being ace, what i can feel, how often i feel it, etc. is a little fucked, but even when everything is at its lowest possible levels, i'd still get some indescribable Thing out of helping push ren to his limits, watching him completely lose it, and enjoying as he comes down from the high. it'd make me feel good to see him feel good, even if the source of that good feeling is different for both of us. 💕

[mithrilhearts]

For the writer asks, all questions with a 2 in them, please. :-)

Alright, okay, holy shit lmao this is gonna be a big one. AND I AM UP FOR THE CHALLENGE!! Thank you Fizzy!!

Throwing this under the cut as there are a LOT of questions.

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

I already answered this one here!

12. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

I think every writer loves feedback. All we want to do is yell about our stories with people - that being said, not everyone has the time to leave a comment and I understand that. However, I feel engagement is super important to keep a fandom alive. I try not to get stuck on that though - I feel like I get a decent amount of feedback, and then there's some fics that receive little to none. It's just how things are. Feedback encourages me to work faster on certain pieces, and a lack of engagement makes me feel like I can be slower on others.

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Yes. I use various headcanons, phrases and themes throughout my stories. It's how you know they're mine I guess lol - I always include blueberries in some fashion, I always describe Bilbo's hazel eyes meeting Thorin's blues, fireflies and freedom, etc. I love fluff, hurt/comfort, etc. So I like to stick to my wheelhouse and use styles/phrases I know that work.

21. Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

idk @sunnyrosewritesstuff, would I?

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I won't do reader inserts, or change from 3rd person pov. Those aren't my wheelhouse and I feel uncomfortable trying to do those. As for tropes, pregnancy fics, love triangles, a/b/o, and I'm sure some others, they just aren't really what I'm looking for as a writer.

23. Best writing advice for other writers?

Don't compare yourself to other writers - no one does a fic just like you. You may have a similar concept, but no fic is exactly the same because no author is exactly the same. Also, stats do not determine what is a good or a bad fic. Do not obsess over them, they mean NOTHING.

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

See above and reverse it.

25. What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Probably my TRSB fic from 2022, Between Vices & Virtues. It's a 40k multichapter I worked very hard on over the course of 2-3 months and it just feels like it didn't do as well as I'd hoped. I love it anyway :) which is what matters.

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Where The Shadows Lie, definitely. It's a crackshit fic, as I call it. But Fuck Thy Neighbor is creeping up on that list as my very fun rom-com fic lol

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

The planning and actual writing is my favorite part. My least favorite part is the summary/tags/title lol honestly, my bane!

28. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

Some days are better than others. Some days I write 0 words, others I can pump out nearing 3k. It depends on my mood.

29. What’s your revision or editing process like?

I go through my chapter/fic with spelling/grammar in mind. Then once all that is done, I read it aloud (most of the time) to check for flow and what not to make sure it sounds right to my own ears. It's pretty simple, but time-consuming.

32. Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

I love so many writers???? But the first three that came to mind were @i-did-not-mean-to @sunnyrosewritesstuff and @ahufflepuffhobbit

42. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

So, I am a very slow reader. But the last thing I was working on reading was a WIP by @theladygreiwolf, already, I definitely recommend it, but it's not ready yet 👀

52. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes. I try to respond to as many comments as possible - I do this because I like to engage with other people about xyz story. I also want people to know how much I appreciate that they took the time to leave a comment, it's the least I can do in return!

62. Thoughts on cliffhangers?

I love cliffhangers. I use them now and again in my own works!

72. What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Chronological 99% of the time. I think there was (1) whole case where I wrote the end of a chapter and then went back to do the beginning. I was in the mood to write that content, and it had to come out or I'd explode.

[djcarnationsblog]

🤡✍🎢❌🏆📈🤗

that's alot but- y'know

Yeah Ik bitch <3

1.What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

uuuh, there are quite a few, I will say, one in particular though?

It'd probably have to be the interactions between Dazai and Mael, I'm not gonna lie. My boi fuels the urge to diss the hell out of Dazai in the most creative ways, it's wonderful. This one in particular is between Chuuya and Mael talking about Dazai.

' “Oh my God, he never does that.” Chuuya hummed, more astonished than he thought he’d ever feel. “He doesn��t?” Mael asked. “Nah, he usually stays the night.”

“Hmm…” Chuuya placed a hand over Mael’s head, who took to placing his chin against his shoulder, comfortably caging the brunette’s head. “Good riddance, then.”

“You know he’ll come back, right Mael?”

“...”

“I literally can’t get rid of that man, no matter how much I try.”

“...He better get utterly fucked by an Ostrich before then-”

“Oh my God??? Language, you vile piece of shit.”

“Heh.” '

2.Do you have a beta reader?

Yup! My sis @djbeatz

That, and we tend to beta read my oneshots simultaneously and side by side, and that only causes either a lot of chaos, or a lot of thoughtful conversations between each other. Either or tbh.

3.Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Literally any crack related fics, but if we're going BSD specifically? Liquor Store Blues, that one is just chaos incarnate-

4.What’s a trope you will never write?

Yandere x anything

I just don't vibe with the yandere concept, tbh. No hate, I'm just real unsettled, and even if I did, I wouldn't write any characters who would even fit such a role, so that's just a no-go for me XD

5.What’s your most popular fic?

Good question, if we're talking about comparing all the fandoms I've written for, three so far, it'd be one of my Undertale fics, which I now wish I did better, called Songs of Grief.

I kinda hate it now, tho. The writing was terrible, pacing wasn't good at all, fuck it all XD.

6.How many fics do you have?

Uh-apparently 43....Jesus-

7.What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Ooooh, that's a bit tough. For me personally though??

Learn from experienced authors I guess. I like to go on YT and look up many aspects about writing as a whole to keep in mind for the future, especially from authors and writers who have been doing it for years. Things such as pacing, good and bad tropes, how to write certain scenes, how to appeal to the audience.

That, and I emphasize on the pacing part. Pacing in a story is really damn important to me, both as a fic writer and reader. I want to see a story that flows smoothly with the genre it works with. Like if you want slow burn, depending on how slow, make it take LONG, make your readers really wait for that one sweet, satisfying moment they've all been waiting for, then keep that grip on them and make them wonder, what's going to happen next? But again, don't take too long, your readers might become uninterested half-way through if it's too slow and just leave.

Or if you want a fast-paced story, quick and enjoyable all the same. Don't be so fast that it feels like your skipping major developments to get to the next scene, that's just choppy and completely turns off the reader's desire to keep reading, because then it feels inexperienced, amateur, not worth their time. You want it fast, not too fast, but still.

That's pretty much what I think at least XD. My advice ain't obsolete, so don't take it as universal! Just one option of the many out there!

[cantbelieveyouregone]

My brain has been whirling with vague self-reflective stuff for the past like three days - partially because it's the end of the year, partially brought on by reading a bunch of Danganronpa and The Sexy Brutale fanfic for some reason (that is, it making me think for some reason, not me reading it for some reason; I'm not ashamed of that). Don't really have anywhere to put the thoughts, but they won't shut up, so I'm putting them here.

It's been a weird year. It's been one year that's felt like three. Partially that's because it was my last year of uni, which was a bit of a shitshow at various points. Spent a good deal of this academic year recovering from nearly burning out just to survive third year, after top surgery stitching came partially out on one side of my chest but I still had to do all my uni work. I don't recommend doing four university modules and a part-time teaching assistant job at once while you have a literal hole in your chest, folks. And then my honours project was full force from the get-go, brought on by me being a perfectionist and feeling an obligation to prove to the uni and to myself that I wasn't burnt out. By the end of uni, I was basically just a pile of ashes atop an 18k-word dissertation.

Then I dealt with the wildest shit of trying to get an industry job. Recruiters tried their best, but they all just kind of tugged their collars and averted their eyes when I said I'd prefer to stay local or work remote. But one of my friends already got a job at a game company and had been there part-time, going full-time once uni was over, and he knew I was looking, so he referred me. Long-story-short, I got the job - getting the call about it on my birthday, no less - and moved out of my parents' place and into a flat with said friend.

If my impostor syndrome was strong before I had a job, it's only gotten worse since I started working. I've described it as feeling like I'm just learning the alphabet while my coworkers discover new areas of calculus. "Gotten really into the letter X lately, you should try it sometime." It's just not even felt real, like I'm gonna wake up and be collapsed on my computer desk with my dissertation filled with spaces from where my head found itself falling on the keyboard.

I have not figured out how to balance work and life yet. Not by a long shot. I want to take up both physical and creative hobbies, but I'm also someone who needs a lot of down time or his brain holds itself at gunpoint, ready to explode. As I once wrote in a rambling note to myself, "I want to scream and cry and paint and write and fight and punch and create art from the bones of my own that I break let the blood be the ink so you know that I feel." I have so much love in my heart for the things I do, but fuck if I ever have the energy to do them. Maybe I'll get better at figuring it out next year, but I'm sure not there yet.

There isn't any real satisfying conclusion to this rant. I've not written songs or stories in who knows how long, I want to pick up a pencil or a paintbrush again, I want to create and feel the release of pressure from my skull before it implodes. But I'm not really willing to talk to many people in real life about this endless irritation, like an itch which has proven impossible to scratch. Asking for advice requires asking, and there's still a lot of my teenage instinct to hide any sign of suffering - no matter how little or how mundane - until I physically can't anymore. Which I guess goes to show how it's going when I'm writing this, huh?

I guess I'll just finish the rant with yet another clip of writing from a ramble in my phone's notes, which I wrote over two years ago but has kept ringing in my ears every day since.

Inertia is my nemesis. If I could get started, I could keep started, I could get going, I could keep going.

Here I lie.

To myself? Or did I just stop moving?

[enderprtl]

chasing down the devil part three

we are Not Done (there’s one more part too), here is part 3 of me and @betweenlands​‘s shadow au fic (by the wonderful @mine-sara-sp​) for reason you shouldn’t piss off the shadow-vex

p.t 1// p.t 2 

WARNINGS FOR FIC: BODY HORROR, ANOTHER BIG ASS FUCKING FIGHT, BLINDNESS (APEX CAN’T SEE). 

iii.

Scar’s shadow and Paladin stood in eerie silence over Apex’s sleeping form, both heads tilted in curiosity at the aggressive shadow (who was currently out cold).

Paladin kicked him with their foot. “He’s strange.” 

Scar’s shadow just hummed in response - its partner had come back with nasty wounds, the magnum opus being a gouge in the center of the shadow. Paladin, of course, had found it hilarious, sticking a shadowy hand through the hole, giggling wildly as the two shadow-vex conversed. The knight had begged them to be able to go see Apex, wanting to see if the shadowy arm Avarice had described was still there. 

It wasn’t.

Paladin kicked Apex again with their foot, backing up quickly as Apex stirred. Paladin giggled. “He’s waking up! Keloid, look!” 

Apex dragged himself up off the ground, head snapping towards the sound of Paladin giggling, lip already curled into a snarl. “Keloid. Move closer so I can kill you.” He still couldn’t see - the visor wasn’t exactly organic, it wasn’t going to grow back onto his face.

He could feel Keloid’s cold glare in response. “Why? I could easily crush you here. You cannot see.” 

Paladin giggled softly, skipping across the room, dragging their fingers across the gouges in the wood. “Did you do this?” 

Keloid stared down Paladin with disappointment, and Paladin’s grin fell into a soft pout - he went and stood behind a decaying statue, blending in with the shine of the room. 

Apex pushed himself up further, onto his knees, standing shakily without his sight as he tilted his head to the side, tried to pinpoint where exactly Keloid - Scar’s shadow, it had to be - was. He took a step forward, pounded one fist against his battered chest.

“I can still move. You aren’t safe.”

Keloid laughed - not a garbled or glitchy sound, but something soft, real, like Scar’s loud, jovial laugh from a room miles away. It stepped forward, using a hand to hold Apex’s jaw firm, making him face it eyes on.

“You have no weapons, you have no eyes. You are useless, android.” it said, voice a glitchy and droning sound.

Paladin smirked from their hiding spot. “What did you do to Avarice?” They climbed up the statue and sat criss-cross atop it, leaning forward.

Apex tilted his head towards the sound of Paladin’s voice, twisted his face into a grin. “Move a little closer and I’ll give you a demonstration.” He grabbed at the hand he knew was somewhere near his face and held onto Keloid’s arm with as tight a grip as he could muster. “Unless you wanna volunteer, shadow-vex?”

Keloid let out a low growl, only to compose itself. It wasn’t going to act a fool, not like Avarice; it tightened its grip on his jaw, another free arm holding up his right arm, gripping it with malice. Its voice was still soft, emotionless. “It came out of this one, did it not?” 

Paladin kept giggling, their head rolling back with a loud laugh that bounced around the room and grated against Apex’s ears. “I want to see him do it! Keloid, make him do it!” They tilted their head and pouted, wide yellow eyes going wider. 

Apex gritted his teeth, curled his free hand into a fist, tried to step closer to Keloid. He couldn’t see anything - his vision was filled with yellow light and pretty much nothing else - but he knew generally where the shadow-vex’s body mass was, now. “Why d’you want to know? Cub’s shadow is the bruiser out of you two, do you really think you’re going to survive this fight?” He spat towards the ground, doing his best to glare up at Keloid without actually having eyes.

Paladin giggled, jumping down from their little seat and skipping over to stand right besides Keloid - they looked over the dull and blurred yellow outlines of Apex’s eyes before drawing closer to him. “Oh, don’t underestimate Keloid! It looks harmless, but it could kill you in a sundry of ways!” They poked his cheek, voice too cheerful and bright, and he lunged at them - a bit too slowly, though, his hands caught nothing but empty air.

“So can I,” he snarled. 

Paladin cackled, a cheerful, almost terrifying laugh - it bounced off walls, it rang in Apex’s ears… and it was infectious. He felt the ends of his lips pull up into a smile, fought back hard against the urge to laugh and instead curled his grin wider and angrier.

He lunged again, wrestling out of Keloid’s loosened grip as he smashed directly into Paladin, grabbed them by the shoulders. “You wanted to see what I can do, huh?” 

Paladin grinned. “You fight dirty.” They tilted their head back, then smashed the bridge of their helmet into his face. “So I think I will too.”

Apex felt his nose break, saw stars against the yellow background of noise on his blind eyes, and something in him snapped again - he started laughing, a low, garbled chuckle as he wiped his face off, as his jaw distorted out of place. “All right. My turn.”

He pulled Paladin closer, yanking them forward by one arm as he raised his right arm again - felt it distort and crack, a new limb clawing out of his shoulder as his ordinary arm hung uselessly by his side - and slammed one shadowy fist into their face, knocking them flat on the ground.

Paladin spat something yellow, the shit-eating grin growing wider on their face. They reached up and brought down their visor, whistling softly. “Whoops.” 

Something yanked Apex right off Paladin and slammed him into a wall - the thick, glitchy growling coming from it confirmed what he suspected, Keloid had ambushed him. He rubbed his head, pushed himself up off the ground once more, tried to figure out where the two enemy shadows were in the haze.

"This is what I mean. Your precious little Paladin really can't fight someone who's blind and wounded on their lonesome? Gotta help them out?" Back to his feet. One shaky step forward. "Trophy got a little rusty all locked away with nothing to fight? Pathetic."

He took a deep breath in, then roared again, as loud as he possibly could - felt his mouth open further than it should’ve been able to, teeth where there should have been none, he was screaming at the top of his lungs with a thousand voices in chorus - "COWARDS!”

Keloid snarled, baring every fang in its wide mouth and swung at Apex, talons extended in a flurry of blows, going at his strange arm, every blow getting more aggressive than the last. 

Paladin giggled wildly, “Keep going!” They scrambled on top of a pile of rotting metals, watching the fight from a fair distance. They pulled their visor up, wide yellow eyes watching the shadow-vex claw at armor and shadow. Each hit made them erupt in a flurry of cheers and wild laughter, metal clinking against metal as they clapped, their grin growing unnaturally wide. 

Apex was getting sick of that stupid laugh. His vision was still gone, but… just faintly, in his haze of anger, he could make out a fuzzy grey shape among the blinding yellow. A bit of a stretch away... it had to be them.

"Shut UP," he growled, pivoting on his heels and lunging at the distant shape. Keloid's claws came down on his back as he turned - leaving a scar behind, he was sure it'd hurt when he wasn't totally enraged - but he slipped away from the shadow-vex and barreled towards the wavering grey silhouette of Paladin.

Paladin laughed, and stood up, boots sinking into the pile of metal underneath them. They pulled out a thin, shining yellow blade and raised it up, waiting patiently. As Apex’s form barreled closer, they stuck just a sliver of tongue out, and brought the blade down slashing into his chest. 

He didn't flinch. Didn't even pause anywhere but internally to register the pain of yet another wound on his body. He probably should've died by now, but that wasn't going to stop him - Apex was running on nothing but spite and rage and pure energy at this point.

He grabbed Paladin's sword-hand with his shadowy arm, let out another roar as he tightened his grip, aimed their arm back, and forced their stupid glinting sword into their chest point-first, pushed it right through their armor. "Shouldn't have done that.”

Paladin cried out in pain, eyes narrowing as the blade dug deeper, then looked up, smiling. Claws dug into Apex's back as Keloid once again grabbed him by the shadowy arm and pulled him off Paladin, throwing him into a pile of metal. 

It was getting harder and harder to stand up again, but that's what Apex did - slowly, shakily. "I told you. As long as I can still move, you aren't safe." The wound across his chest hurt even more than he'd thought it would now that he was actually bothering to register the pain - he wobbled on his feet, but managed to stay upright.

Paladin pulled the blade out of their chest as their grin fell quickly into a pout. Keloid growled and stepped forward… and then stopped short. 

It paused, stared over the wounded shadow, at the thousands of gold scratches on grey and black. Fragile. Glass-like. A stained glass picture of a bird, two bright yellow gems for eyes, its wings broken off from abuse and wear. Keloid hunched over, picking up Apex gently. It tilted its head curiously, and began to leave the room. Paladin stared in shock, hands now on their hips, “What are you doing? Keloid? Keloid!” 

Keloid ignored the knight, walking out of the room. Paladin ran out, following the shadow-vex, eyebrows knitted, eyes locked on Apex’s blind ones. 

Apex, for his part, was not enjoying this one bit. He struggled weakly against the vague shadowy blob holding him, trying to escape Keloid’s grasp - unfortunately, though, while it was holding him gently, this was still a firm grip, and every single motion he made was starting to hurt. He scrabbled at the ground with his shadowy hand, trying to pull himself away, but Keloid just kept moving. And frankly, he was too exhausted to ask where it was taking him or why.

Keloid slammed a free arm onto a button and a door clicked open, pistons creaking as the entryway slid open. Paladin walked in and groaned - this was their vault. The room with their diamonds, their gold, emeralds. All of their shiny things. Keloid placed Apex down with uncanny gentleness. “Be nice,” it said, looking over towards Paladin.

Apex was not feeling nice. The second his feet touched the ground of the new room, he lunged at Paladin again, lurching somewhat unsteadily on the new terrain. He didn’t have the energy left to actually say anything, but the snarl he made was a fairly obvious declaration of his intentions. As far as he was concerned, he’d been moved to a new arena - and he was still going to kick the snot out of Paladin, make them regret messing with him.

Paladin wasn’t in a good mood, either. Keloid put the shadow that’d stabbed them in their room, and told them to “be nice”? They weren’t in the mood to be nice, no, they wanted this shadow out of their room. The piles of gems began to rumble as they backed up from the charging shadow. Their pout fell even further - they weren’t acting anymore, they wanted this stupid shadow gone. 

Paladin backed up against one wall as piles of gems started to shift around them and the gold chandelier began to sway in circles. They were angry; angry at Keloid, angry at Apex, angry at everything and everyone that wasn’t them. Paladin wailed, their foot slamming into the ground. “It’s not fair!”

Two dozen emeralds flew through the air, somehow reacting to Paladin’s explosive tantrum. One sliced right past Apex’s cheek - he couldn’t see these projectiles, and another one hit him blunt-side first in the stomach. Still, he stumbled forward, even as another emerald caught his shadowy arm in its elbow, ripped through so hard that it dissipated.

Paladin was outright frowning now; Apex had made them ruin perfectly good emeralds. They stomped forward, every step closer to Apex making more and more gems bounce higher into the air. They grabbed him by the collar, spitting in his face as they yelled at him. 

“You’re ruining everything!”

Gems got pushed back in waves like a shockwave tearing through the room, pushing gems and statues up against the wall and spinning the chandelier in circles. Apex just gritted his teeth, grabbed Paladin by the helmet with one hand and slammed his fist into their face. “You’re going to regret taunting me,” he spat back. “I don’t lose my quarry.”

Paladin pushed Apex back into a pile of gems with surprising force. The diamonds and emeralds were sharp - they poked small holes into Apex’s back, and he winced in discomfort. Meanwhile, Paladin stormed forward, teeth bared, their cheerful nature completely diminished. They reared back, winding up to to punch Apex in the jaw, only for a claw to pick them up and set them aside. 

Keloid, looking quite distressed, came over and scooped up Apex and threw him over its shoulder - Apex struggled again, but he was in a pretty inconvenient place and couldn’t quite reach any weak points.

Unbothered by Apex’s squirming, the shadow-vex left the room, sighing as it looked over the damage caused by the two shadows. It clambered up even more stairs before coming to another door. When it opened, Apex could hear birds chirping, and the sound of flowing water. He was set down in lush green grass. “Don’t break anything,” Keloid grumbled.

And it left.

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ���one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider��s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

[semischarmed]

Cocktease

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes...” mused a deceased Harland as he eyed a future acquisition.

The specter licked it’s lips in greedy anticipation, taking note of the sun-glazed man in front of him building a substantial fort in the sand.

Beautiful curves baked in golden sunset outlined the man’s every muscle. Harland gawked as he followed every bend and bump of the man, committing his form to memory. He continued to hover his intangible mass near his future skin. The man’s hair was jet-black, and gently spiked from ocean water. The man’s muscles moved expertly beneath his skin, revealing their strength. This was a body sculpted through years of work, hard-earned and built for power. Unable to control himself further, Harland began to caress the man’s body from behind, causing him to jolt in a shiver.

“You alright there, Marco?” A small petite woman waved from afar.

“Y-yeah, just a breeze.. Sorry for the scare Val!” He shouted back, reassuringly as he shook off the odd sensations.

This only prompted Harland to continue further, deeper. Harland was as ruthless of a businessman as he was effective. In his day he was never one to compromise. He loved a good, dirty fight. He relished in the struggle. A vessel of this much resistance was made for him. This time around, he dug his spectral fingers into Marco’s golden arms, causing a slight ripple in its muscled flesh. He watched in glee as he traced the outline of those forearms, causing the fine hairs he dragged his intangible hand through to glow briefly and settle white. Property of Harland.

Marco meanwhile went from small jolts to a slight convulsion, as he felt something inherently wrong penetrate him. There was something otherworldly to the sensation he had just felt. Moments later a stream of vile, negative emotions flooded him, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. 

Marco knew something was wrong. These were not the bright, sunny laughter he normally gave off. They were cruel, callous laughs which sent chills down his spine. He had no idea his body could even make these sounds. He glanced at his biceps and recoiled in shock as he viewed stray muscles writhing and moving on their own. Marco felt an enhanced sensation in his arms, like an increased awareness in his control of them yet by that very same sensation was an unnatural numbness to them. By all accounts, they were his arms but something was off. These appendages attached to him could hardly qualify as his arms. There was something not-Marco to them that his brain couldn’t quite resolve. Every movement he felt was unnatural, like he had to actively focus on moving every single muscle just to get his arms to move the way he desired.

Marco began to worry in his head, as more and more of his body began to follow in the same feeling. He ran through the day’s events, trying in vain to discern what could have caused these sensations. Then, his legs buckled and he collapsed into the very fort he had built earlier. 

In sweat and sand, in struggle and sun, Marco began to convulse on the ground. His desperation unseen by others, shielded by the pile he excavated to make the fort.

He thrashed and shook vigorously, as more unfamiliar sensations flooded him.

The feeling was moving throughout him. It was unmistakably living. And it was drawing closer to his head. 

A stream of drool left Marco’s mouth, as his shaking quickened. Veins bulged in his face and throughout his body as seconds later, his eyes began to roll back.

“F-Fuck!!” He shouted. 

“Mmmm yes, ‘Fuck’ indeed” an elderly voice inside him spoke.

“What the-“

“Pleasure to finally meet you... I’m Harland”

——

Marco grasped his head in pain. “W-what the fuck do you want?! 

“The answer to that question should be quite obvious.” Marco’s own lips spoke this time. His pained expression loosened and all visible struggle drained from it, as Harland commandeered Marco’s pretty face as his own. A hand still half-controlled by Marco shook in place until it eventually relented and caressed his face in rough unnatural motions. “I want this”. 

“GET OUT” Marco shouted in protest. His body shook violently in one swift motion before settling.

In a brief instance, Marco again found full control of his body. He let out one sigh of relief before passing out. 

——

Stirred awake by the sound of gently rolling waves and the vibration in his pocket, Marco awoke from a nap that had gone for far too long.

He viewed his phone, taking note of the hours lost in slumber. A new text from Val. 

“Today was fun, had a client booked. Was gonna wake you up but you looked way too cute like that. Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe no giant sandcastles next time ;)”

He laughed gently as he spoke to himself “Damn, quarantine has really done a number on your stamina, eh Marco?”. He continued to slowly get up from the hole he had created himself- stopping every few moments as if to anticipate another fight for his body, despite writing off the entire event as a dream. “Must have dozed off or something.” He kept repeating rationalizations to himself, chalking the whole thing up to an illusion born of fatigue. Yet somehow deep down, he knew it was all too real. Something foreign, something unnatural was still there with him. Still Inside. 

All reservations aside, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have occurred since waking up and Marco began to even slightly believe his own little lie.

“Of course it was just a dream”.

As soon as Marco began to truly relax himself, his body shook into rigid, unnatural poses, defiantly showing its owner his error.

He attempted to get his bearings, grasping at whatever he could, only to catch loose sand with his arms. In the midst of Marco’s writhing, a toothy sneer pulled itself from his lips.

Harland spoke using Marco as his mouthpiece. “You didn’t seriously think I would just leave all of this?”

Marco’s own struggling hands began to grope and fondle his body.

“Don’t worry, having me inside will a whale of a time- you’ll see” he spoke, trailing of in a moan as his fingers circled sensually around his nipples. “Being my new body will make you successful beyond your wildest dreams”

Marco felt an odd warmth build inside him. 

“Get the hell out of me!” He shouted in desperation. 

In that moment, he was hit with a tremor of earthshattering pleasure- burst from deep within his abs, pulsing and delivering into the rest him. His arms splayed out, his hips swung into unnatural angles, as he was forced to ride the wave. In the aftershocks from the initial burst, his limbs couldn’t help but twitch slightly in unprompted delight. Marco had never felt anything like that before. His body couldn’t help but leak a little precum in anticipation. 

“Some propriety is called for, young man. At least try to hide it.”

Embarrassed by the small stain that now appeared on his underwear, Marco began to shout back. 

“Shut u-sh-shit… oh shit… holy shit holy shit” attention was immediately drawn to the second tremor inside himself. Once the second wave hit, he could only manage to barely contain an unprompted moan in his throat. 

Marco tried to readjust himself, to acquaint himself with the pleasurable feelings and fight Harland’s onslaught on his senses. Instead, the pulses were getting quicker, stronger.

His abs were in pain, body sore, veins engorged. Muscles strained from their fleshy confine as they involuntarily contracted and relaxed in rapid succession from the increasing frequency of the pulses.

Marco laid in the ground shaking, riled up in pent up fury and ecstasy, expecting sweet, sweet release- only to be met with disappointment as his body, the very body he worked so hard to sculpt, betrayed its master. There would be no respite from the onslaught of pressure inside him. In fevered, labored breaths he cried out to his tormentor. “J-Just do it…. ah ah a-Holy shit. Take me. FUCK. We’re so close… please”.

Marco’s head hung back while his mouth contorted into a pained expression. The corners of his mouth twitched in place as the Harland new face took on a dark, lecherous expression.

“No, you were made to please me! You’re not getting a drop of this!” In that instance, something inside Marco’s body clicked into place.

This was it, Harland could see himself begin to manifest through his newly-acquired Marco-template. Marco’s eyes took on an evil, soulless demeanor. His hair began to flush white before settling into a dark gray color between Marco’s and Harland’s. All along his body, similar changes had occurred, cementing this new flesh as not-quite Marco and not-quite Harland. 

Of course, the mind was a vastly different matter. Marco was no more- his body only the template from which Harland had fashioned his new corporeal form. Harland devoured his mind, connecting the new body to its sole owner.

Marco was no more- for he was now fully Harland incarnate. Lewd fingers began to explore the body they were attached to, tracing over Marco’s biceps, his shoulders, and his thick neck. His fingers continued to drag themselves among raw other crevices in his body, before gliding down his abs, down the treasure trail and landing gently around his cock. Harland scooped the bit of precum still on Marco’s dick from earlier.

The newly-minted man let out a smug, venomous smile, as he sucked his new fingers clean. 

“Quite a delicious partnership”.

…

Though his mind no longer existed, Marco’s body was still pent up in lust and pressure, still attempting to shake and still yearning for that sweet release. With Harland in command, it was subjugated to stillness. Marco’s body continued with build in near-orgasmic heat and pleasure, further amplified by Harland’s mental fortitude. 

But even Harland himself could not deprive this new virile body for too long. His hand went back in and quickly grabbed his engorged cock.

With closed eyes, he gave it a light, sensual tug, nodding in approval as he let out a short moan.

“We’re at the home stretch, bud”.

Another tug. This time, with a slight roughness. There was no hesitation to it- this was now his body after all, he knew how to please it best. 

“You-this flesh was built for me, you just didn’t know it….and as for myself, I was built to control this to rule you… sorry I took so long to get home. You must have been so lonely building up all that muscle, sculpting all this without me inside to wear it” Harland stated as his free hand began to caress random parts of his body. The tugs began to quicken and his eyes fluttered in sheer delight.

“One final piece…” he moaned

…

In a quick jolt, Harland stopped dead in his tracks. Cum rapidly pooled over his hand, but he paid no mind to it.

He muttered but one word to cut the silence.

“Incompatible.”

In a flurry of feathers and a burst of red light, the two men finally realized their true form:

April Fools!

---

Note: Not actually a huge fan of the fried chicken company in question.

[borathae]

Genre: Smut 

Gender: not specified

Warnings: this is not your normal smut, this is porn, hardcore porn if I’m being honest lmaoao you have been warned, also most of them are sub!Bangtan

a/n: Not gonna lie anal is one of my biggest kinks, it really is and I may have fucking lived out my wildest fantasies with those reactions so you have been warned jajfjas

Namjoon

Loves giving it more than receiving it. He tried getting penetrated and it was enjoyable, however it was more of a one-time thing for him. You know? He could live without getting his ass stuffed. However fucking someone elses ass? Holy shit, yes!! First of all the visuals. Your ass jiggling as he bounces you on his cock. Honestly Namjoon has wet dreams about it. The sounds. Your skin connecting with his in harsh thrusts. Wow holy shit can he put those sweet, sweet sounds on his next mixtape? The sensation. Your tight hole squeezing so deliciously around his length, the wetness of the lube, your hot walls around him. It is literally paradise for Namjoon. Probably also the type of guy to tell you to wear a vibrating buttplug, he keeps the remote of course. Just imagine you and him in the supermarket shopping for fruits and veggies and then Namjoon just pressing the button and watching you struggle to keep your cool. Yeah, this shit happens a lot more often than you would like to mhmhm.

Seokjin

Prefers other sexual acts over anal sex. He doesn’t really enjoy the sensation of receiving it. And also isn’t really a big fan of penetrating his partner anally. But(t) listen this doesn’t mean that he doesn’t enjoy anything anal. He is a total sucker for anything oral and hand stuff. Rimjobs. That man goes crazy for them. Especially if he is the one riding his partners face. He is a different man once he is writhing on that tongue, head thrown back and the most sinful noises leaving his parted lips. Also if he is the one eating that ass he is all for getting smothered by those cheeks. Honestly probably buries his face even deeper in your ass just so he could choke on you. Also holy shit prostate stimulation with your fingers, Seokjin will literally scream your name.

Yoongi

Boy is all for getting his ass stuffed no joke. He isn't wiggling his lil booty for no reason that man is showing off what he has to offer and he wants you to fucking make use of his best ASSet. Just imagine him walking around at home with nothing on than a long sweater and tight briefs, accidentally dropping something in front of you so he can bend over and wiggle his booty. Yeah, that’s his way of asking for the roughest ass fuck you have to offer. And holy shit he would be so loud and nasty. "Deeper, harder, faster!" "Holy shit rip me apart!" Yes! Fuck yes! I'm so full!" “Don’t stop! Fuck, fuck don’t stop!” He couldn't be stopped, the dirty words would spill out of him nonstop, especially when you grab his hair and twist it roughly. Also he is such a slut for overstimulation, he'd need at least three orgasms to feel satisfied and he'd want them hard and explosive. Anal sex is when Min Yoongi can finally live out all his darkest, nastiest fantasies. Probably owns a vast variety of toys, including a fucking machine because again Yoongi is a needy little boy for anal penetration. I need water after writing that holy shit fjadj 

Hoseok

Likes penetrating his partner, but has tried getting penetrated before and thoroughly enjoyed that as well. So if he does the penetrating he wants to be in control. Fast thrusts, hard spanks, angry grunts. Be ready to get some bruises on your hips too because this man will grab you hard just so you wouldn’t be able to wiggle away from his ruthless thrusts. Hoseok turns into a whole animal when he is fucking your ass. Also creampies. He'd be such a sucker for filling your ass with his cum then pull out and watch you try and squeeze all of it out. Or holy shit even better he’d fill your ass with his cum and then use it as lube to finger your ass until you are shaking from your orgasm. If he is the one getting fucked he'd be such a commanding power bottom, arching his back all seductively as he yelps orders. Would most definitely leave nail marks all over your back from clawing onto you as you drilled your cock into his hole, and he’d be cocky about it, like the audacity.

Jimin

A total sucker for anal. No joke is anal a lifestyle? Because Jimin is living it. Buttplugs, anal dildos, anal vibrators, anal hooks, anal spreaders. He tried it all in every shape and size (and enjoyed every single thing like fuck). Probably watches anal porn religiously, the more hardcore the better, like Jimin sees someone getting a whole foot stuck up their ass and he is cumming all over his hands. Also the type to enjoy getting spanked on his perky butt when he is wearing nothing but knee-high stockings and with a metal buttplug in his hole, all spread out on his dom(em)s lap. Also okay the type of guy to honestly enjoy bleaching his asshole just because he thinks it looks so much prettier like this (and somehow the tingly sting that comes with it always manages to make him hard, Jimin is still asking himself if something was wrong with him. No hunty you’re just kinky and we all love it). Also if you're into that, the type of guy to send you naughty videos of him fingering his ass or trying out the new toy you send him.

Taehyung

Equally enjoys penetrating and getting penetrated cause he is a freak. And a freak he indeed is. Has his own anal toy drawer and an entire box filled with different anal lubes. Also holy shit he just knows so much. Douching expert 101 and somehow he manages to make the whole experience so enjoyable one forgets this isn’t even the main act. Also anal fingering, tongue fucking (and because I am a hoe for it) anal fisting with black latex gloves. He is so ready to get elbow deep up his partners ass and better be the one getting an entire arm stuck up his ass. Just imagine the noises he would make, gargling and choking, high whimpers, begs to go even deeper. (Probably called himself your booty puppet once and made you laugh so hard you actually snorted). Also listen duality. He is the biggest dom when he is the one fucking your ass, but turns into the neediest sub when he is the one getting his ass fucked. I want to jump of a cliff, why am I hurting myself so much?

Jungkook

Most definitely the type of man, who rather takes the dick than do the penetrating. Good boy in the making. He'd make the prettiest of noises. He'd arch his back the most sensually. He'd moan your name most perfectly. Getting fucked in the ass brings out Jungkooks inner pornstar and boy oh boy you are in for one delicious performance. The type of guy to really enjoy wearing a buttplug throughout the day because he loves the feeling of being stuffed (also wants to be a good, stretched out boy for you at all times). He also religiously likes to get his asshole waxed (and if you're into it) the type to ask you to do it for him. Y'all know the kind of waxing pornos that end with the guy getting his ass fingered? Yeah Jungkook would be so into that. Also gloves, latex especially, he loves the feeling of them. Also the type of guy to want his ass spanked, whipped and bruised when he is getting fucked. The harder the spanks the harder he gets, the deeper your cock goes the higher his moans become. LISTEN I literally need a minute. 

[johnkrrasinski]

illicit affair;

full masterlist

Pairings: Professor!Andy Barber x female!reader (AU) 

Word count: 2,898

Warning: SMUT!!!! fingering, blowjob (male receiving), dirty talk. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: you had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though. 

a/n: this one’s written for @stargazingfangirl18​ and @navybrat817​‘s shameless hoes for chris writing challenge. i picked the prompt “your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind.” hope you like it! leave a like and comment. enjoy! 

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There he goes again, captivating the entire room with that dashing suit and tie, making it difficult for you to breathe. Andy Barber was the professor of your criminal law class. To say he was attractive would be an understatement. The man is the living embodiment of every girl’s wildest dreams. When you first took the class, with the hopes of becoming a social worker, you didn’t expect it to be this challenging. You were confident in your own work ethic and in being a fast learner. No major was too onerous for you to ace.

Until Andy Barber walked into the class on that first day and you realized he was going to teach you for the entire semester.

You had never had a man spellbinding you this badly before. You had a few crushes here and there, but not once did they make you feel the way Andy Barber does. And you knew that it was inappropriate to lust after your professor but, it wasn’t a crime if he is a divorcé and the whole class could relate, right?

It wasn’t only wrong but it was also cruel and unfair that he succeeded in making you lose every bit of your focus whenever he was around. No matter how hard you try to pay attention to what he is lecturing about, your mind would always drift away to nasty places that you shouldn’t even be thinking about visiting. No matter how hard you try to simply open your laptop and type away the vital points that you would need to memorize for final exams, you just couldn’t. It’s like you were paralyzed by his magnetism and oh, how well did he do it.

Like how you currently had a pen stuck between your teeth as if you were fellating it because you were imagining what it would be like to have those plump lips of his on yours and so your pen had to take the beating.

You didn’t know whether he noticed you at all from where you were sitting, you always choose to sit in the middle row, where you could still see things clearly on the board but you didn’t have to feel so exposed because sitting on the front row means everyone who sat behind you could see every movement you make and you would have to deal with the uneasiness of the proximity between you and your professor gave you and you had no wish to make it worse for yourself.

It wasn’t only that he was insanely good-looking but he was also a gentleman. He always charmed the class with his humorous comments and witty jokes while he was doing a lecture or simply when he called out a student who fell asleep. He always made himself available for his students who were confused about the subject or needed guidance on some complex topics. He always greeted the class with a warm smile and he always tried to understand the struggles of being a college student.

You had lost count on how many filthy dreams you had about this man, and how many daydreams you had lost yourself in during his class or simply when you were wide awake. He truly got you on a chokehold. A part of you would sometimes wonder, how could anyone divorce this man? If he were your husband, you would feel like the luckiest woman on earth. You wouldn’t ask for anything else in life.

“Any question…?” He ended today’s session by allowing the students to raise their hands if they needed some enlightenment.

Several students raised their hands and presented their questions and he answered them all eloquently. When there was no more question asked, he dismissed the class and all of the students got out of their seats and exited the room. You were still stuck amidst of your fantasy where Professor Barber was devouring you like you were the last tasty meal on earth and he hadn’t been fed for a month. The thought of his mouth lapping your juices as his beard creating delicious friction on your inner thigh alone was enough to soak your panties.  

You didn’t realize that the class was over until everyone had left and your professor called out your name. There were only the two of you now in the room.

“Y/N? Y/N! Class is dismissed.” He shook you out of your daydream with the gentleness of his voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, sir I was- I’m gonna leave now.”

“Are you alright? You zoned out a little there.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just- I… I was thinking… of… finals. Yeah, I was thinking of finals.”

“If you need a brief tutor, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no! It’s fine, really, I’ll manage. Have a good day sir.” You hurriedly pack up your laptop and stationery and you immediately ran for the door. But you were abruptly stopped by his voice that had slightly shifted its tone.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Miss Y/L/N, do you have a minute?”

Oh shit. This is it. This is where he is going to interrogate you for always being absentminded throughout his entire session and you are probably going to say something really idiotic and you are going to embarrass yourself or you might even spill your own secrets and he is going to get you suspended and then-

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Come here, have a seat.” He pulled a chair from one of the tables and placed it across his seat.

You nervously approached him and sat down as your hands trembled because if there’s another word to describe Andy Barber, it would be intimidating. His charisma isn’t only appealing but could also conquer his interlocutors.

“I’ve noticed that your grades have been slipping lately, why is that?”

“I just- I don’t know, maybe I’ve been really tired, sir. College can be really stressful.”

“I understand. But what puzzles me is that I did some background check on you and your grades in other subjects are doing really well. In fact, you had kept a solid 4.0 GPA for two years in a row now. So, what is the problem here, y/n?”

You gulped. Fucking hell, how the hell were you supposed to answer that? “Oh, don’t worry, it’s simply you being so ridiculously hot that you have been distracting me every time you’re lecturing. Maybe, I don’t know, if you could just bend me over on your desk and make me your girlfriend, that might help me take my mind off you.”

“I just- I’ve had a lot in my mind, sir, and it’s just- this subject is really hard,” you spoke meekly. “I promise, I will work really hard on my finals, sir. I won’t let you down.” You hoped that it was convincing enough so that you could carry on with your day and not sit here like a scared mouse.

“Final starts in two weeks,” he reminded you. “How are you going to convince me that you could wrap an entire semester within only two weeks when you have other courses demanding equal attention, y/n?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask a friend to help me study. I’ll do whatever it takes to pass the test, sir. I give you my word.” Goddamnit, what the hell was he doing to you? Of course, you weren’t going to ask for anybody’s help, you were always the one who was giving help to your fellow classmates instead of needing one. Now you were just making silly excuses to get you out.

His brows furrowed. You knew he wasn’t going to buy your answer so easily. Andy took his job very seriously and it disappointed him to the extreme when one of his students wasn’t doing well in his course. It made him feel like he didn’t do enough in educating these young people. So when one of his students didn’t fulfil his expectations, he was going to address it and solve the problem together.

There was a silence that lingered between the two of you until he broke it off, “how far are you willing to go to pass this class, y/n?”

“Anything sir, I-, I care about my grades. I know I don’t show it enough but I won’t fail you this time.”

“Anything?” Suddenly, the expression on his face transitioned into something impish.

“Yeah, anything at all, sir.”

“How about I offer you a proposition?” His tone was sultry.

“You do something for me, and I’ll make sure you get an A+ on your test. You don’t have to worry about failing.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Instead of giving you a direct answer, he stood up from his seat and sat on the edge of the table. His hands were folded on his propped up thigh.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, y/n and I want an honest answer. No bullshit or the deal is off.”

You were taken aback by the word that he just used. It wasn’t very in-character of him to cuss, especially in front of a student. You didn’t know if he was a completely different man outside of the university, so this was certainly something you weren’t used to.

“O-okay…”

“Why are you failing in my class, y/n?”

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. Your lips quivered as tears began brimming in your eyes. You were scared of telling him the truth but you knew if you lie again, he would see right through you and you would end up failing his class for real and there will be no second chance. You refused to retake the same course next semester when you could be getting closer to getting your degree.

You drooped your head down in defeat. The eye contact was overwhelming you and you sucked it up and gathered every last bit of dignity you had in you to give him an answer.

“I… I’m attracted to you, sir.”

He nodded. What you didn’t see was a wicked smirk forming on his lips, as if he knew what he was going to hear when he made you confess. “Go on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about- about making love to you, sir.” you stuttered your words. You cringed at your own words. There was no way to unring the bell now. You just humiliated yourself in front of the person whose attention you wanted the most. He disclosed your dirtiest secrets and this was going to be your doom.

“Good girl. Now, we better not stall any longer, yeah? I’ve got another class in twenty minutes.” He sat back on the chair and ordered, “get on your knees.”

“Wh… What?”

“You heard me. On your knees, I won’t tell you anymore.” his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know what was happening but you were excited. You got on your feet and before you could even take a step, he stopped you. “No, no. Crawl.”

You stared at him incredulously as if he had just told you a joke. But you did what you were told to anyway, fearing that you would disappoint him before the act could even begin. You got on your knees with your hands on the floor and crawled to between his spread knees.

You waited for his next instruction with your hands on your thighs as your head hung low. “Take off my pants.”

Without further delay, you undid the zip of his pants and pulled the waistband down along with his boxer briefs, just enough to let his enormous cock spring free. “Good girl. You listen well. Now… you know what to do.” He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and leaned back on the headrest nonchalantly whilst still maintaining his gaze on you.

Shit, you always fantasized about him using your body but you weren’t actually experienced. Yes, you’ve had a few casual hookups now and then, but it was nothing like this. Your professor who seemed to really enjoy turning you into a puddle by simply commanding you around like his own personal sex slave.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t act like you haven't watched porn.”

You start by doing what you had learned from a few pornographic videos which is by stroking him with your hand and then you wrap your lips around his shaft. The taste of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva made you moan. His hand then went to grab a fistful of your hair to push you forward until his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Ah, fuck. That’s better.” Then he took the wheel from there, using your hair as leverage to guide you up and down at a moderate pace. He grunted as he threw his head back against the headrest. “Shit, that’s good. Keep going, baby.” A part of you was a tad elated when he praised you for something you had very little experience in. The ecstatic look on his face amplified the dampness in your panties, your body begging for more. He kept using your face to get himself off and you felt him convulsed in your mouth. He quickened his motion and then released deep inside your throat.  

A few seconds later, he pulled himself out after his cum painted your trachea. “Get up and bend on the table,” you did what he says and pressed your cheek on the wooden surface. “Who knew a 4.0 GPA student like you would be such a dirty slut? You might fool everyone but you can’t fool me, baby.”

He lifted the hem of your plaid skirt and smacked your buttocks with both of his hands, leaving a fiery red handprint on your buttcheeks. You yelped as it echoed on the walls. He pushed aside the crotch of your underwear, and he inserted two of his fingers inside soaked holes, scissoring you wide open for him. You moaned in pleasure as you gripped the edge of the table.

“Fucking slut. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me?” You didn’t answer as you continued to cry out. He smacked your left bum once more, “answer me!”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” You stammered between your ragged breathing.

“Is this why you can’t get your shit together? ‘Cause you keep fantasizing about my fingers buried deep in your needy cunt?”

“Yes sir…” your voice quaked.

“Extra points for honesty.” He retreated his fingers and replaced it with his cock. The unwarned intrusion sent a jolt through your body. You squealed in shock as you closed your eyes, trying to adjust yourself to his size. “Ah fuck, you’re so tight.” His hand went to your hair once more and grabbed a fistful of it as he began driving his hips forward. The friction in your G-spot sent electricity through your veins.

He didn’t waste any time by picking up the pace as he lifted your head and brought it closer to his, making you look up to him. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this how you imagined?” He kept thrusting brutally in between his foul words. “yes… Sir. You feel so good around me.” He pecked a brief kiss on your lips and kept pounding you like an animal.

A few more violent strikes and you clenched around him, pushing him to the edge along with you. “Cum baby, show me what a dirty whore you are.” You shut your eyes as you felt the tightening coil in your belly and then it burst, your orgasm dripping all over your thighs. Andy was so close to his climax and a few more deep-seated thrusts, he reached his own and he ejaculated deep inside your womb.

You tried to regain control over your breathing with Andy still engulfed in you. A few minutes later, you both came down from your highs as Andy pulled himself out of you. He put his pants back on and threw himself back on the chair. You stood up on your wobbly legs as you felt your panties squelch with both yours and Andy’s cum blended.

You straighten your rumpled skirt and shirt, as Andy did so with his tie. “You should go, don’t you have another class?”

“I do, but… Did I pass the test, sir?” you batted your lashes at him. The fear and agitation that were there ten minutes ago had dissolved.  

He chuckled at your coquettish remark. He stood up from his chair and closed the distance between you. “Yes sweetheart, you passed the test.”

You beamed as you bit your lip once more. “If you got another test for me, I wouldn’t mind…” you spoke timidly.

“You really are something, aren’t you?”

You shrugged, “I’ve got layers, sir.”

He looked at his watch and realized that he only had five minutes left for his next session. “You are dismissed… For now. I’ve got more lessons that I’d like to teach you, baby.” He winked at you and pecked your lips.

“I’ll be looking forward to our next class, sir.” You packed up your bags and exited to the hall. Looks like you just bent every rule of the university, but you had no doubt in mind that you would do it over and over and over again for your favourite professor.

[blushy-tigerrr]

Rich Man’s World

c!quackity x gender neutral reader

summary: Las Nevadas was the paradise of very few. On the outside, it was beautiful in the strangest way. People travelled there to let off some steam. They needed an escape from all of the stress of the SMP, and they used gambling as their escape. The leader of this whole idea was none other than Quackity, who was arguably one of the richest men on the server because of this place... or so they thought.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: angst; cursing; mentions of migraines, taking pills; sad ending

based on: money, money, money by abba

a/n: this is my submission for @okpunz ‘s writing comp! super excited to be participating in my first one of these

---

Y/N sighed in exhaustion, throwing their apron on the bar with muted anger. They sat down at the bar with a huff, putting their head in their hands. It was just another day of waiting tables at this godforsaken place, and they were at the end of their wits. The start of another migraine began to creep into their skull, making them wince. Migraines have become a regular thing for them after work, and that really didn’t make this god awful job any easier to deal with.

Y/N fished a bottle of ibuprofen out of their bag with a shaky hand. They walked around to the other side of the bar and filled up a cup of water. They looked out onto the casino floor, taking in the massive amount of trash strewn out across the floor. Knowing that they were the only one left here to be cleaning all of this up made them feel even more woozy. They winced at a piercing shock of pain in their head, gripping onto the edge of the bar with one hand. A few tears of frustration and pain threatened to spill from their eyes. Y/N sniffed, wiping the tears away quickly before anyone could catch them. They quickly tossed the pills into their mouth, washing them down with a long sip of cool water.

“Y/N! Mi amor!” The familiar upbeat voice rang in Y/N’s ears, causing another shock of pain. They cringed again, trying to hold back the pained expression on their face. Quackity. Their boss. Their lover. Someone that they used to call their best friend. Now… it’s a bit complicated. Did he piss them off to no end? Every single fucking day. Did they still love him? “Hey, babe! Another crazy night in Las Nevadas, hm?” Quackity’s lively voice startled them out of their thoughts before they could even answer themselves. Quackity wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist, planting a sloppy kiss on their cheek.

“Sure is, hon...” Y/N mumbled, still trying to balance themselves on the bar. Quackity began rambling about all of the bets he had won tonight, but the words fell on deaf ears as Y/N began to zone out. That question hadn’t left their mind. They did love him… didn’t they? He may be an asshole sometimes, but they did still love him. Right?

“Alright, I’m just gonna go count up the earnings for tonight, and then you’ll get your pay. Okay, amor?” Quackity grabbed Y/N’s hand, placing a gentle kiss on the top of it. Y/N halfheartedly smiled at him as he made his way back to his secluded office.

Y/N sighed heavily, making their way back around to the front of the bar. They slumped down into the chair, laying their head on their arms resting on the bar. Their massive headache only fueled the extreme emotions filling their chest.

Anger was the most prominent. Y/N worked all night and all day so them and Quackity could pay their bills, but there never seemed to be a single penny left for them. They would spend nearly their entire paycheck on the bills that needed to be paid off. Meanwhile, Quackity could somehow buy himself so many luxuries with what he earned from gambling. It never made sense to them. Why wouldn’t he contribute some of his earnings to things that actually needed it? He wanted to brag so much about being a breadwinner of the household, so why didn’t he act like it?

Suspicion was next to arise. Quackity never told them just how much he was earning. It’s not just that. They were the only person not to know. If anyone else asked him, he’d go on and on about just how rich he was and how much he made every night. With Y/N though, he never said. It made them wonder what he was hiding. Why would he feel the need to hide it? The thought came into their mind. What if he wasn’t paying them as much as he should? What if that was the reason for his secrets?

Guilt followed that thought soon after. Why on Earth would Quackity ever do that to them? He loved Y/N. He would never lie to them about something like that.

…Right?

The sound of heavy footsteps awoke Y/N from their thoughts. Quackity slid their paycheck on the bar to them with a smirk. Y/N gave a small smile back. They went to open the envelope and paused.

“Hey… Quackity. Can I ask you something?” They managed out nervously. He met their gaze, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Sure, babe! Shoot.” He answered, pulling up a chair to sit next to them. Y/N twiddled with their fingers, nervous that they might not like the answer.

“So… why don’t you ever tell me how much you make a night?” They asked bluntly. Quackity sat next to them, stunned. He was not expecting that question, and the expression on his face said that to Y/N right away.

“Uh… well, you see, I-I don’t really discuss earnings with anyone, actually! Just something I like to… y’know, keep to myself.” He responded, scratching the back of his neck. Y/N noticed that. That action plus the fact that he wouldn’t make eye contact told them all they needed to know.

“You’re lying to me.” They stated, staring at him with cold eyes. Quackity’s head shot up to meet their gaze, his face turning slightly pink at the accusation. “You know you’re lying to me. Don’t look at me like that.” They spat at him, their anger starting to show itself.

“Woah, what is going on? I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this!” Quackity retorted, matching their piercing tone. Y/N scoffed at him, shaking their head.

“Oh, you don’t? You think I don’t know how you brag to all of your friends about how much money you make each night? I live in the same fucking house as you. I hear everything you say.” Y/N wasn’t yelling. Their tone stayed quiet, and that’s what scared Quackity so much. “It’s constant. The bragging. It never stops until I’m around. ‘Money, money, money!’ That’s all I ever hear anymore, but you’re not telling me! What makes you not trust me?”

“What do you… of course I trust you! I just… I don’t know, it feels weird to talk about it with you because you work here, Y/N!” Quackity shouted, standing up from his chair. Y/N stood up as well, not about to be overshadowed by him.

“Oh, so you can’t tell me, but you can tell Sapnap? Karl? They work here too, y’know, and yet, you’ll brag to them about how ‘it’s a rich man’s world’! What makes me so different? What are you hiding from me, Quackity?” Y/N pleaded. They wanted him to tell the truth. They so desperately wanted some hope that he was still the man they fell in love with so long ago. However, Quackity averted his eyes, staring down at the ground. Y/N threw their hands in the air, exasperated. “Y’know, in my wildest dreams, I had a plan. I would get a wealthy man. I thought I’d never have to work at all. I’d fool around, have a ball, but no. That’s not my life. It’s yours. While I work out here all night and day, and who pays our bills, Quackity? Me. I do, with my paycheck that barely covers it all. While you go out and spend whatever you’re making on frivolous things!”

“Okay, fine! You want the truth? I give you the fucking truth!” Quackity exclaimed, pointing a finger in Y/N’s face. “Maybe I don’t talk to you about my money because I don’t want to admit that I’m going fucking bankrupt, okay? I spent all the money I made on stupid shit or I lost bets and gambled it all away! Okay? I-I didn’t tell anyone about this! I’ve lied to everyone, and I regret it. I regret not being honest. There’s your truth.” Quackity sat back down in a chair, head in his hands. Y/N stared at him, teeth clenched.

“I can’t do this anymore.” They whispered, barely audible. Quackity looked up at them, his eyes pleading them not to go. “I-I can’t just let you lie to me for so long and get away with it.”

“Y/N, please, don’t go. Love, I’m nothing without you!” Quackity begged, grabbing Y/N’s arm gently. They pulled away, refusing to look at him.

“That’s too fucking bad.” Y/N retorted. They picked up their bag, paycheck, and apron. Y/N shoved the apron into Quackity’s hands. “You don’t need me here. It’s a rich man’s world, after all, isn’t it?” Y/N stared blankly at the man they wished they didn’t love. “I quit this shitshow, and I’m moving out tomorrow. We’re over.” Y/N walked briskly out of the casino, tears threatening to spill down their cheeks.

Quackity didn’t bother following them. He knew there was no fixing what he had done. He stared at the apron in his hands. The one that belonged to them. Y/N, the one who supported Quackity through everything. They were his ray of sunshine through the clouds. They were the one thing keeping him going. Now, they’re nothing but a memory. Hot tears spilled out of his eyes as he let out a scream of frustration and pain, letting himself sink onto his knees. “All the things I could do if I had a little money…” He whimpered. He held Y/N’s apron close to his chest, not ready to let go of the love he had lost.

‘It’s a rich man’s world.’

[hope-to-hell]

This is my entry for @its--fandom--darling ‘s celebration challenge. My prompt was “kenopsia – n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet”. And here we are. Kenopsia (the way home). August Walker. Angst, brief violence, blood, and gore, minor character death, gross misuse of canon. You can’t go home again.

It’s either very late or very early, and in twenty-seven hours August Walker is going to die. It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last; there are half a dozen airports and rocky shores around the globe that are the last known sightings of Agent Walker, or whatever other names he’s answered to; he changes identities like other men change suits, and mostly he doesn’t mind it.

August Walker is the closest to his real name and the one he’s had the longest; recruitment into the CIA gave him stability and resources beyond his wildest dreams. And so he’s stayed, but twenty-seven hours from now he will disappear and all that’s left will be a pile of charred bones and the remnants of a helicopter rusting in a river valley. With him die all his secrets, all the machinations of a rogue agent, and he’ll rise somewhere (someone) else.

And if a fling from the past turned up and called him Michael one day when the mustache was still sitting strangely on his face, all his curls cropped into shape and his back broader than ever before, if he agreed to meet her in the alley and left her in pieces, well, that’s just the way it goes sometimes. No attachments, no regrets. That’s the job.

It’s like this. He’s not nice, not kind, not even good. Not really. He takes the direct path and if it’s right through your ribcage then so be it. Every life he lives is another stepping stone on the path to his impossible goal, whatever that is (the manifesto is close but it isn’t quite right; it’s what August Walker would write but what he wants is something wilder, the eye of the storm rendered eternal and everywhere death and ruin and then he can finally fucking rest).

(There’s an airstrip out in the middle of nowhere, co-opted from the parking lot of a vast abandoned strip mall; weeds grow through cracks in the asphalt and it’s two days’ hike to the safe house and the place where Michael’s ashes lie buried in the earth with all his discarded notebooks and sketches, and leading away are the ghosts of footprints from when John took his leave. Two days back and when he got there the little plane was waiting)

And when he flies coach because agents fly coach, Walker, suck it up and enjoy your twelve dollar beer, he hits the tarmac at two a.m. but he is wired beyond wired, all the pieces falling into place and it’s still four hours til he puts on his suit and pretends he isn’t gonna kill Ethan Hunt the first chance he gets. So what he does is find a pretty young thing and defiles her in the airport restroom, wishing he could run the risk of leaving anything of himself behind.

Wishes and horses, his reflection tells him; he pushes the anonymous girl’s head down and stares into his own eyes when he comes (Kashmir is still forever away and he’s already thinking about who he’s going to be next).

If the timeline makes no sense, that’s the point. Little of what he does makes sense either, not from the outside. It just seems cold and hard and cruel and in the empty airport his feet are thudding on thin carpet. He’ll meet Sloane and play the Hammer again, one last time. He’ll hope for a chance to drag Hunt til all the meat wears off his bones, but if the chance doesn’t come then it is what it is.

And now.

This is the last time, in a house where the rightful occupants are rotting in a shallow grave, where Solomon Lane changes the plan again and August is compensating as best he can. And in the silent spaces between words the house creaks as wind whips through the gaps in its walls; he doesn’t care about poisoning the water, not really. It’s just a stepping stone and whether it works or not he’s already got one foot in his new skin.

All of this is vanity on Solomon’s part, the last gasps of a man who knows he can’t get away, not this time, so he might as well try to get his vengeance on the way out. August doesn’t understand it, can’t understand hating one person enough to sacrifice guaranteed success in the name of twisting the knife just that little bit more.

(August hates Hunt but that doesn’t count. He senses the hypocrisy in some dark corner of his mind but squashes it down under the weight of “for the greater good.” He hates Hunt even more when he fucks the plan and suddenly August is raw and screaming and oh this is going to be a problem)

And he survives. It doesn’t matter how, because that’s not the point. The point is that August dies alone and in pain, and he crawls away with all his limbs like shards of glass and his face— his face. The surgeon sets him right, in the abandoned hospital with rats in the corridors and drips of water plip plip plip like the worst kind of torture, and when his face is healed enough to hide himself he departs, leaving a trail of bodies once again. It’s a shame; the doctor and his team were good and useful, but they saw his face. And not just the one hiding under fresh skin still pink and soft. They saw the crawling filthy core of him when he babbled in his delirium, when fever nudged him to the brink of what the fall failed to achieve.

It’s all a pity, but it’s just the job.

And even though the scars have been revised they’re still not gone, so he grows his curls and he grows his beard, and he slips into a new skin once again. He misses August just a little, misses all the resources at his disposal, even the pain of biting his tongue when his leash is pulled just that little bit too tight.

(It’s all lies, every word they said; in the corridors after hours he heard the night janitor's footsteps and once it was someone new, someone with knives and teeth who shed his mop and bucket like an old skin and thrust the blade at August’s ribs. It was a challenge, and a message. You work too slowly.

We must be close.

Not close enough, little man. Tch. Spent too long in that human suit.)

The lie was, what? Forgiveness? Rest? For him? No rest, not for him, because he binds the threads of fate with such deft hands. They promise him rest with their snakes’ tongues but they lie. And so he’s stayed in August so much longer than he should have, because August is strength and power and cruelty in this world; he is the Hammer and in his tread the flames of Hell spring forth.

(You like it)

When he fell in the before time, before Michael, before John, before all the rest, when he fell—

when he fell—

He felt the tatters of his wings

(Were they wings? Couldn’t be. It was only his scapulae ejected from his back, the force of a miles-long fall that should have rendered him paste, but come on. It’s him)

And he said, in short, fuck this. I quit.

(You’ll never quit)

When they meted out his punishment there was compassion in their eyes; they said you cannot quit but we will give you the worthiest of tasks. They said come home when your work is done. They said the door will be open and we will welcome you. We will salve your feet and hear the tales of all your triumphs. And maybe they meant it, but that doesn’t make it less of a lie because

(He shrugs on a sweater and Walt falls into place; he’ll try a little of the stern but gentle and maybe it’ll help. Maybe he’ll find the balance point, the place where all his many threads come together, the place where he can stand on one foot and command the whole of fate)

because nothing is going to work, not really; the more he grasps at fate, the more he binds its threads, the more it slips away from him. He walks these dark roads after hours hoping for a crossroads message; he knows the streetlights blink and hum but these ears of his can’t quite hear. Nor can these eyes of his see the many-colored nimbuses of light that follow close behind. And if he feels their whispers it’s only the prickling of instinct at his back; he is imprisoned and alone in this body that never fits quite right, that rubs against his creeping crawling face and all the tatters of who he was meant to be.

He walks, and thinks, and though he doesn’t sleep he dreams of falling.

[gummy-dummy]

Warnings: sentimental, Bakugo being Bakugo, a lot of swearing, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, self monologue, mentions of bullying, Todoroki x Midoriya. (If you think something needs to be added please tell me)

Inspired by a Taylor Swift song (Wildest Dreams/TaylorSwift)

Thanks to my Cydy @cydxcyanide for helping me with grammatical errors and for always reading everything I write, thank you, love.

Bakugo's unrequired love for Midoriya Izuku

WILDEST DREAMS

Say you'll remember me...

It was really funny, to be honest, to think that I became the cliche of the bully who is in love with his victim. A fucking comedic moment if you ask me.

I noticed I had feelings for Deku as a child, but obviously, my little brain didn't recognize it that way. My belly felt full of something inexplicable. I thought it was bad. I wish I never had believed that. It's truly stupid that I realized in my second year at UA that I was in love with my childhood best friend/victim. I had hoped that the feelings would never come back, but they did. It happened at the worst moment; the moment I noticed that Deku was falling for Icyhot. It hurt, but what more can I say? I wasn't in any position to ask for anything. Then, the stupid Todoroki started to look interested. With those sparkling eyes that look at Izuku like he was the most handsome man in the world, and he was, the most adorable-faced guy he ever has seen. I'm sure that he also noted how Deku has 4 symmetrical freckles on each cheek, how his eyes seem to be always sparkling for something exciting. He probably noticed how he rambled about heroes to analyze every move he could use to be the best hero in history. How his hands moved so quick that you almost didn't think he was writing. It looked like he was scribbling really hard, but if you were to take a peek at his notes the letters were perfect, with beautiful writing. He always had pretty handwriting and I never said that to him.

It's not like I didn't have the courage to say something, I was prepared to say it, I was on my way to tell him I loved him, that I adored him, but that I knew I didn't deserve him at all. I just wanted to lift this hard pain that settled on my heart at our second year. As I walk around the corner to his room I see them, fucking Icyhot with his hands on Izuku's cheeks, mumbling something that made Deku blush and smile. The green-haired guy just nodded and gave in to a slow kiss, I felt everything fall around me. It felt like it was the end of the world, with electricity trying to get out of my arms. This is what Kaminari's quirk must feel like.

Even when I didn't want to watch anymore, I couldn't keep my eyes off of them. I wish that it was me. The one to hug his waist closer, to deepen the kiss even more, the one who felt his two strong arms wrap on his neck. I wanted it so much that I couldn't escape what karma wanted me to see. I deserve every moment of this. I have to suffer everything I did to him. I've apologized to him a lot of times before, always with the want of just close the space between us and kiss, but no. The universe didn't want us together cause I don't deserve him at all.

The only thing that made me stop watching was when the two of them separated with a quick peck and noticed my presence, what was I supposed to say?

"Could you two get into a fucking room? I don't want to watch nasty stuff here in the open, tch." Wow, even when I'm about to cry I can be cruel as fuck. I just start to walk away from them, toward to the kitchen. It was a bad idea to head to the kitchen. Karma wanted to punch me in the face again. Only Mina was there, alone eating a snack. The only person who knew I was in love with Izuku. Fuck it's Izuku now, not Midoriya, not Deku, just Izuku roaming through my heart even when I don't want it. Mina just gave me a sad look. I suppose the two love birds are on their way to the living room. I look, and yes, they're walking to the sofa with their hands in a tight grip, and sparkles in their eyes. I went to get water and just started crying, not loud, trying to be the least noticeable possible. I just felt Mina's arms wrapping around me in a comforting embrace.

In our third year the two were a couple in the eyes of everyone. It wasn't rare to see them out and about with their hands joined and every time the season changed Icyhot would change his side, to get to the most comfortable temperature for his boyfriend. We are all actually pretty good friends. I mastered the art of looking like I don't give a fuck about them kissing or cooing sweet nothings to each other. All that while my heart was breaking. Well, by this time, the pieces were breaking, my heart just being almost dust.

Soon enough it was our first year out of UA. I was working at the same agency as the love birds, well, the fiance's now. They're about to get married and apparently they want me to be one of the best men. I just couldn't accept. I used the same excuse for not making it to the wedding. I had to go to America for a job. It wasn't a lie, the agency we three started with Kirishima and Uraraka was at the top. We wanted to open more offices around the world, so I took the job of traveling to America and doing everything. It would take me a couple of years to get everything done which was my opportunity to stop being a masochist little shit and let them be happy in their obliviousness of my feelings.

Everything was fine, until I apparently talked a lot with Todoroki when we had a "couple" of beers. It was like 3 months before the wedding. My flight was booked the same day, an hour before the start of the wedding, because I told Todoroki that I've always been in love with Izuku, that I didn't deserve him, so I did nothing about it. Just accepted my self-imposed exile to America, so they could be happy and I could stop hurting. He didn't look mad, not even a little angry. He just said, "I know, I noticed at the end of the second year".

So maybe I wasn't that good at hiding it, or maybe Icyhot noticed because I acted exactly the same as him before confessing to Izuku. He said he didn't hate me at all. That he still wanted me as his best man, for him and Izuku but I can't handle this anymore.

"Actually, you should tell him"

"What? are you crazy? you're about to get married to him and you want me to confess my love for him?"

"Yeah, you deserve to get rid of that pain on your shoulders. I know you well enough to know you will never let go if you don't. Also, Izuku would want to know you were his childhood crush you know?"

"Why are you so open to this?"

"Because I love you both, in different forms but I do. You deserve your redemption and Izu deserves to know"

And that's how at the last second I ended up meeting with Izuku. Todoroki just nodded and went out the door. I knew this was the last time I would be seeing one of my best friends and the man I've loved so many years.

"Shoto told me that you wanted to talk? its anything serious? If is something about the agency I'm gonna take care of everything. If you need help there you just need to let us kn-"

"Izuku" I stopped his rambling with his given name and a smile, the first time I have smiled at him in years, hell, even since we were 5 o 6 maybe. He looked surprised.

"Yeah sorry"

"This may be shocking to you, but I never hated you"

I took a deep breath like it was the last of my life and said "I've been in love with you since our second year at UA, maybe even earlier. I need to apologize again for everything. I will never forget how you left all the pain I caused you behind and let us be friends again. I needed to say it. Icyhot says I would never get over it if I don't and I'm so sorry-"

"Katsuki" I just stop rambling and look at him, his eyes showing affection, but not even close to what they look like for Toforoki.

"It's okay, you don't need to apologize. I can't say that I noticed because I didn't. I'm sorry you had to suffer all of these years. If I had known things would have been different. I would've been more careful"

"Nah it's okay. You both love each other and I'm actually happy for you two. My only regret is that as kids we never got to practice 'husband kisses'," I say with a laugh, and Izuku smiles at me.

I don't know what the fuck he is doing getting closer to me. With one hand he took my face and gave me a gentle peck on my lips. I felt my heart drop to the fucking floor and then he smiled.

"I couldn't let you go with regrets Kacchan" We hear a low chuckle and turn around to see Todoroki leaning on the wall behind him smiling.

"Wha- I'm so sorry, I can't I couldn't I'm so-" Izuku just started giggling while Todoroki came closer to us and gave me an awkward hug.

"It's okay. He was your childhood crush, I couldn't let you go without the opportunity of getting a kiss from him. I don't want you to go away with regrets"

But the time is running out and I need to get on a plane. I made a promise to come back to our friends, and a promise I made with myself that I would come back when I'm ready. Ready to be a true friend and an honorary best man.

Say you'll see me again, Even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

[sparrowmoth]

*smashes through a wall* TODAY... it has been exactly One Whole Year since I showed up five years late with Starbucks and posted the first chapter of my first fic for Descendants as a total stranger to this fandom. At the time, I was pretty sure I was throwing that fic to the void, since my bet was that even if there was any fandom presence, y’all would have clicked up years ago and that’d be that.

BUT how lovely to be proven wrong! This community has been nothing short of warm and welcoming from the very first day. I’ve met so many kind and talented people, and in the space of a year, I’ve created more for pure passion than I’ve ever done at any point in my life previous. The wildest thing about that is 2020 turned out to be a year that, by all rights, should have been one of the worst...

And it was. But it also wasn’t. Because for all the bad days, there was always this fandom to turn to, and as dramatic as it may sound, there have been many, many days this past year that it’s been the one thing fuelling my will to keep on keeping on. Be that because one of my favourite authors just posted something I was excitedly awaiting or because someone told my story was their favourite...

I hope you know fandom matters, that your presence here matters. I used to be one of those people who bought into the lie that it was a waste of time to put so much energy into creating something that you’ll “never get anything out of” (read: you won’t get paid so it has no value in our capitalist hellscape).

It’s true, you’re gonna “work” a lot of “unpaid hours” if you’re active in fandom. It’s true, you could always be writing or drawing original content instead. It’s true that those things are important and you shouldn’t give up on dreams of creating a world that, one day, someone will love as much as we love others.

But make no mistake: fandom is important. It’s not a waste of your time.

I’ve been writing my entire life. It’s something I committed to as a kid, when I didn’t even know “fanfiction” was a word, and yet... guess what I started out writing? Yeah. Really fucking surreal fanfiction about Rudolph (yes, that one lol) and other cartoon characters whose worlds I wanted to be apart of. I did write some original stories about sentient dogs and magical adventures, but...

My roots are in fanfiction. And I lost sight of that as early as 16, because I was too embarrassed to stand up for it. Coming back now and then always felt like a secret until I got involved in this fandom. I’m proud of the work I’ve done here and I’m proud to acknowledge the friends I’ve made here and I’m proud of y’all who helped build this community and then kept it open for latecomers like me.

I have this fandom to thank for the fact that 2020 didn’t manage to destroy me, and the fact that I’m a better, more confident writer today than I was a year ago. I have this fandom to thank for the nights I couldn’t fall asleep until I read a fluff fic and the nights I refused to sleep until I finished reading that 2 AM update.

I have individual people to thank for all that, too, but I don’t want them to feel like they have to read this whole long rambly love letter post, so I won’t be tagging them. I think (I hope!) they all know who they are by now, anyway. ;)

Thank you to everyone who makes this fandom what it is, whether we’re friends or not, whether we ship the same ships or not, whatever the case may be... this fandom has my heart. I love you guys, I love your work, and I love your energy.

I can’t imagine a world in which I hadn’t hit post on that fic a year ago today.

Here’s to another year of fandom and to all you lovely folks who are apart of it.

[nieladasdenani]

Thank you, @tv-taught-me-how-to-flail for the prompt:

I could go for some warrior nun angst if you’re up for it (preferably one with a happy ending though) something like it’s the finale battle and Ava tricks the nuns and locks them in a cell cuz she doesn’t want any members of her new found family to get die in the battle, and she says her last goodbyes 😢 Would love of there was some avatrice thrown in there too 😉 

So, I’m going to try. I’m not sure if I can write angst, though. I’m also not sure Ava would deliberately plan to lock them and leave them to self-sacrifice. It would be an impulse by fear on the moment. I hope it meets your expectations. You can read it on AO3 if you rather.

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

This is wrong. Nothing is going as Ava thought it would be going. She has been training so hard since the Vatican, she shouldn’t be feeling so defeated already, she shouldn’t be defeated, period. Of course, she wasn’t expecting it to be easy, but this feels like losing. This feels like failing. Like she failed. All she can think about is that she failed and her family is going to die because of it.

She can see Mary, badass Mary, running out of ammo. Sweet Camila panting, scared. Scary Lilith roaring and lashing out. Perfect Beatrice dividing her attention between her own fights and covering Ava’s back. Because she’s frozen in place, Ava is. She promised she was going to be the last Warrior Nun, and she’s going to keep this promise. She’s keeping this promise without letting any of her sisters died. So, she straightens up, looks around. They’ve been cornered inside a sort of closed plaza, surrounded by four walls and the only entrance has been blocked with debris. Adriel is on the other side, Ava sent him flying with a potent burst of the Halo when she saw he had Lilith by the neck.

He told Ava all about how he was going to kill her sisters one by one in front of her. “Starting with the hellhound”, he had said. He’s been whispering about it in her dreams, too. For weeks. Weeks of her waking with screams and panic attacks. Weeks of them talking about those dreams and planing accordingly. And yet, it’s all wrong. But she’s going to fix this. She will not let him kill them. She’s on borrowed time, anyway.

The horde of possessed is almost completely contained, now. But Ava thinks it’s enough to have her sisters occupied while she goes and finishes this. She levitates and uses enough of the Halo to slow the advance of the enemies. She knows she can’t stop them for long, just a moment to tell her final goodbye. They’re all looking at her now, confused, a mixture of frowns that range from bewildered to outraged.

“Ava?” It’s Beatrice, of course. “What’s going on?”

“I... I love you guys. I never thought, even in my wildest dreams, that I would live such an adventure or have a family. And you gave me this.”

“What the fuck are you talking about” Mary’s never been good at feeling out of the loop.

“I promised I was going to be the last Warrior Nun. And I’m going to finish this.”

“Ava, no”

"I’m not gonna let him kill you!”

“Why are you like this? Get your skinny ass down here, so we can contain the possessed and go send your daddy back to hell” Ava scrunches her face at Mary.

“Ew! He’s not my daddy!”

“Are you sure? Because you’re kind of making want to kill you right now”

“Would you both stop? Ava, please. You are not going to go by yourself. That was not the plan.” Beatrice is starting to look pissed.

“That's actually the exact opposite of the plan” Camila says, huffing a little.

“The most important part of the plan is where neither of you die!”

“The most important part of the plan is: trust your team”, ok now she’s officially angry then. But Ava softens.

“I trust my team. But I love my family more.”

“You said you promised to be the last. That doesn’t have to mean you die.”

“Hey, maybe I can beat him by myself.”

“You can, but there’s no need to risk it when you can have back-up. You do not need to do this alone, Ava.”

“He promised he would make me watch him kill you. I won’t allow it, Beatrice!”

“And I promised you that you’d never be alone again!”

Ava can feel her hold on the possessed weakening. So she has to end this. She can feel tears starting to run down her cheeks. She looks at them, one by one.

“I love you.” And she phases through the wall leaving behind a symphony of yells and curses. She takes a moment to compose herself, before going in search for Adriel. 

She finds him lying in the ground. If she took a moment she’d see he looks like he can’t even stand up. But she’s blinded by fear. And he can sense this.

“Well, did you finally decide to be a worthy Warrior, then, child?”

“Shut up. I decided I’m going to send you back to hell!” And he has the audacity of laughing.

“Please. We both know how this is going to end. I’m going to rip my Halo from your back, and I’m going to claim my rightful place as master of the world, while you lie there dying slowly and alone.”

“Big talk for a dude who’s not even standing.”

“I could kill you without the use of my limbs!”

“Like the Black Knight?” And he looks so confused, it would be funny. “Monty Python? Oh, wait. You could not know about it... Wait! Was it a real event?”

“Silence! You’ve overstayed your welcome, Warrior Nun. It’s my time now!” In a flash he’s in her space. Her reflex is to swipe her sword at him, which is a testament of the long training sessions with Lilith, and Beatrice and Mary and Camila. They spar for a while. But she’s starting to get worried that her sisters are going to burst out at any moment. And that’s the only opening Adriel needs.

He sweeps her off her feet, and she lays hard on the ground, face first, so he has the chance to press a knee on her back. She’s expecting him to reach a hand, like he did on his tomb, but he’s fumbling for something. And then she feels the cut and heat of divinium on her skin. She barely can avoid screaming.

“It’s over child. Thank you for following my instructions so well. You thought you were helping them? You thought this would spare them? Did you think at all?” She is screaming now, and crying, because it hurts, and she’s alone.

There’s a thunk and thump, and then a very distinctive snort followed by a:

“She never thinks.” And Ava may be delirious because that sounds like Lilith.

“Ava!” And that sounds like Beatrice. And the hand helping her turn and cupping her cheek feels like Beatrice, too. “Ava?” But she doesn’t want to open her eyes, because it will be devastating to realize she’s dying alone on the ground.

“The wound is a little deep, and she’s bleeding a lot. But I can patch it temporarily while we finish here and get to safety.” Her brain is conjuring images of Camila at her back.

Then she’s been lifted of the ground, and now she frowns because, sure, she has a very vivid imagination, product of twelve years of emotional abuse while paralyzed in a bed, but never this vivid. And never as violent as actually feeling someone smack her hard on the back of the head. 

“Ow!”

“You stupid, stupid girl. If you think this is all the repercussion you’re going to get for being the dumbest Warrior Nun ever, you’re even more stupid than I’ve just stated.”

“Mary, I don’t believe it’s the time for this.” Even in her dreams Beatrice comes to her defense.

“And I don’t believe hitting her in the head will help make her less stupid.” Ok, so now Ava opens her eyes, because that was definitely Lilith adding insults to the growing pile.

“What?...”

“Oh hey, stupid! Are you done being a drama queen?”

“Mary...” Beatrice sounds tired when she sighs the gunslinger’s name. Then she’s cupping Ava’s face: “Ava? Can you look at me, please?” Of course she does, she always wants to look at Beatrice. “I think she needs a second to recover.”

“Whats’... How...?”

“Did you really think we were going to let you run off like a self-sacrificing martyr?” And wow, ok, Camila has a bite.

“You also forgot I can open portals.” Oh, that’s right. Lilith can open portals, she’s also been training and exploring her new powers. It’s actually one of the ways they’ve bonded a lot.

“But, we were overrun by the possessed”

“Yes, Ava. The plan shifted. But we still had it under control. And if you have stopped to listen to us for a second you would have realized that we were containing the threat of the possessed to then be able to face Adriel together properly.”

“Oh.” Yes, Beatrice is definitely angry at her.

“Yes, oh. Now quit the drama and finish the dude.” There’s what Ava could only describe as an evil laugh coming from Adriel who’s still on the ground, panting.

“You think you children can defeat me? Areala, who was an actual Warrior could only hide me away on a tomb.”

“You said that like she sent you on a cruise, dumbass.” It’s Mary.

“I said that as someone who can escape again, fool.”

“We know we can kill you.” Beatrice.

“And we know we can’t contain you here.” Camila.

“We also know who’s eager to get their hands on you.” Lilith, who then turns to Ava: “Ready?” And yeah. She’s ready to send this demon back to hell. Literally.

“Yeah. Ready” Ava picks her sword with a pained grimace. And before she can take the couple of steps that separate her from Adriel, she feels a strong, delicate hand on her shoulder, so she turns to Beatrice.

“Remember, spend as much Halo energy as possible without depleting it completely. We want it’s signal to be muted, but not enough to put you at risk.” She nods, and proceeds to lift her sword over her head to strike.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t kill me!”

“Like they said, we know. But we can hurt you before we gift you away.”

She summons as much as the Halo power as she dares before striking him down. His pained screams fill the open space around them, but she keeps the sword in him until she starts to feel weak. Then she stops, and stumbles back into strong arms that hold her up. That’s when Lilith comes forward and looks at him like he’s a bug she just crushed under her boot and is disgusted to have to clean it up. She lifts her claws, and he flinches, it’s so satisfying to see. But she doesn’t strike as he expects, she opens a huge portal and after a couple of seconds of nothing, they hear a deafening roar, the thunderous approach until the imposing form of the Tarask appears through the portal.

Adriel chokes out a whimpering “No” catching the full attention of the monster, who promptly drags him through the closing portal. Lilith sags into the calm that follows, but Mary is there, ready to assist her.

“All right. You freaks good to go?”

“Mary, I don’t appreciate you calling them that” Breatice is truly a saint.

“Oh, but they love it. Right, Satan?”

“Fuck off.”

“Lilith, language!” But Camila sounds suspiciously like holding back a smile. They bicker the whole way to the van. Beatrice half carrying Ava, and Mary supporting Lilith, leaving Camila to load their weapons inside and start the vehicle.

Mary deposites Lilith in the passenger seat. while she herself takes the cargo section for herself stating that “I’m too old for this shit. Need to stretch my legs.” Leaving Ava and Beatrice in the back seat.

Ava is exhausted and she’s ready to let the darkness take her for a while. But Beatrice is caressing her face and speaking... Oh, right, she should listen.

“Ava? Are you listening?”

“Yeah”

“I know you’re tired, but I need to do quick check, all right?”

“Yeah”

“Good. Tell me what hurts.”

“Everything”

“Right. Tell me what hurts the most, then”

“Uh, my back? My head, too. My face... because I’m so cute.”

There’s a collection of groans from the front and the back, but Beatrice is smiling down at her, and that’s really all that matter.

“We’ll be back home in about two hours, so you can have some rest. But I want you to be properly tended to in the infermary when we arrive. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” But the ma’am morphs into a yawn and it looses all the cool, filtry effect she was going for.

“Please, don’t ever do that again.” Beatrice whispers and suddenly the air is heavy inside the van.

“I’m sorry. I just... He had Lilith, right how he said he would. I...”

“You allowed him get inside your head.” Lilith interrupts. “Which was what he wanted. He knew that was his best shot at getting the Halo.”

“That’s why you talked to us about them and we worked on it, remember?” Oh, good. At least Camila is back at being sweet.

“So, we need to work on your panic attacks and traumas, kid. Get ready for that.” And Ava actually whines at Mary’s words, because that doesn’t sound like fun.

“Not right away, though. First we heal and rest.” God, she loves Beatrice.

“And kid?” She didn’t realize she closed her eyes, until Mary calls out to her. So she opens them and twist her neck a little to look at her pearing from the back. “We love you, too. You know that right? You’re our family, too.”

Aw man, she’s all emotional again. She just wanted to be a badass like the rest of them. She feels Beatrice nod, and turns to see Lilith doing the same from the front seat. Camila is smiling at her through the rearview mirror: “It’s true, Ava.” Camila has such a pretty smile. But Beatrice has the prettiest smile. Beatrice has the prettiest everything.

“Rest now.” Beatrice says as she bends to place a tender kiss to Ava’s forehead. But then whispers in her ear: “I think you have the prettiest everything, too.” And she has the sexiest smirk painted on her lips, so Ava can’t seem to be able to respond. Just a flicker of a thought right before exhaustion claims her:

Wait, did I say that out loud?