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fluentmoviequoter · 30 days

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Better Off Without You

Part 2 of Better Off Without Me

Pairing: Victor Vale x fem!reader

Summary: Ten years after Victor pushed you away, you meet again. Your roles have been reversed, and Victor must work to show you that he wants you. First, he must deal with your reluctance to be near him.

Warnings: spoilers for Vicious, mentions/depictions of insecurity, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.9k+ words

A/N: Title from better of without me by Matt Hansen (Spotify link).

Picture from Pinterest

“Victor,” you coo. “C’mon, we have stuff to do. Wake up, sleepy head.”

“No.”

Victor reaches out and takes your hand as he answers, though he doesn’t move from your shared bed. His answer is precisely what you expect, and the peaceful look on his face seems… completely out of character and slightly concerning.

You wake quickly and sit up with a gasp. The darkness is your only constant, and the empty space beside you serves only as a reminder of what you have lost. Textbooks and diplomas line the bookshelf across the room yet your college memories only remind you of what could have been different.

Less than twenty miles away, Lockland stands sentinel, where gothic architecture meets country club. The idea saddens you because once, you sat in Lockland trying your hardest to get close to Victor Vale. And then he pushed you away.

You want to forget Victor. The promise that you made to stay close is one that you could easily break, that you should break. It would only take a moment to pack up what truly matters and leave it all behind. But the 22-year-old Victor in your mind makes you stay; the Victor that leaned in close in the library and wanted your attention is the one you try to remember. The questions you had the night he let you go – although he let you go the moment he met Angie – continue to plague your mind. Looking back, Victor gave you every sign you needed to see that he wasn’t interested, he would never pick you, and that the dream life you wanted was just that: a dream.

You must get out of bed and escape your memories, so you get dressed and leave. As your mind races, you don’t notice which direction you are walking.

✯✯✯✯✯

Ten years have changed a lot of things. Victor Vale is nothing like the kid he left behind a decade ago. Now that he is free from the chains of Eli Ever, and from prison, and in a position to get everything he has ever wanted, Victor finds himself stuck. Every night in prison, Victor thought of the things he would get when he got out: a shiny, materialistic reward waiting in his future. Even as his mind wavered between which would be more rewarding, a comfortable bed or a room of his own, there was one constant. Victor craved someone more than any of the things he thought of.

“Hey, didn’t you go to school at Lockland?” Sydney asks from the backseat.

Victor clears his mind of his daydream, of a past that led him to a different future, and hums.

“It’s, like, ten miles from here,” she adds.

“Too dangerous,” Victor answers quickly.

“Oh, yeah,” Sydney agrees sarcastically. “I’m sure the exact same security guards from the night you died are just waiting for you to show your face again.”

“Why the sudden interest in Lockland?”

“The kid has been in hotel rooms since we picked her up,” Mitch points out. “Surely a driveby in the middle of the night won’t hurt.”

Victor rolls his eyes; he is used to Sydney and Mitch teaming up against him (even Dol, when he’s around). He sighs but nods, and Mitch slows to turn toward Victor’s past.

✯✯✯✯✯

The only thing that has changed is the addition of one streetlight. In the minimal light, the stretch of sidewalk where you last saw Victor looks just as dismal as in your memories. A girl laughs on the other side of the tree, and you turn to walk away. Someone is blocking the path, and you freeze, unsure if you’re dreaming, time traveling, or incredibly unlucky.

Victor says your name and takes a step toward you. You match his step as you move back, keeping distance between you. The distance was his decision, he forced you back, yet he seems surprised by your movement.

“Vic, we…” Sydney begins, but she trails off when she sees Victor.

“You stayed close,” Victor says softly. “I thought that was just-“

“A trick to convince you to pick me instead of someone else?” you suggest as you remind him of what he said the last time you spoke. “But it doesn’t matter, right? If I don’t matter, which we both know I don’t, then where I live doesn’t matter either.”

“I-“

Victor can’t form a sentence and feels inadequate for once in his life. He looks at you and remembers what you used to be like. You were bright and open, and whatever light you used to have that you were kind enough to show Victor has been thoroughly put out. By him.

“I went to prison,” Victor says.

“I know,” you answer. You cross your arms as an added layer of defense, but your fight-or-flight responses are kicking in. You hate that you remember Victor knows all about those adrenal triggers.

“You said you’d stay close for me. If you meant that, my friends over there could use a safe place to stay, to lay low while everything blows over.”

Sydney and Mitch wave when you look over, and you fight the urge to ask Victor why he let other people trail along with him but was so against letting you in when he needed someone most.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you respond. “You don’t like me, Vic, so let’s just do what we do best and walk away from each other.”

As you and Victor continue staring at one another, you’re both feeling the same thing: reluctance. You want to be there for Victor, but he left once, and you know he will do it again; you invited him to get close once and have regretted it ever since. Victor, however, is only reluctant to stay with you for your safety. He has feelings for you, and they hit him with full force as he looks at the sadness in your eyes. The sadness and loneliness that he caused.

“Bye, Vic.”

You turn to leave, and Victor refuses to let you walk away once more. He has to do something before you are too far to reach. Again.

“I love you!” Victor calls.

The statement catches you, Victor, Sydney, and Mitch by surprise. You stop with your back to him and wonder if you really are dreaming. Victor doesn’t know where it came from, but he knows that it’s true. He may not even know what love truly is, but if he is going to find out with someone it is going to be you.

“I tried not to,” he adds. “I had to deal with Eli, and you were so close that it scared me. But don’t make me watch you walk away again, not without giving me a chance.”

“Stop,” you demand as you turn toward him. “You don’t get to walk back into my life after ten years and tell me that you love me. You broke me, Vic! I let you get close, I was desperate to keep you close, and you shattered everything I thought we had. I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again. You may think you love me, but I know you well enough to know that you don’t. Using me to get to the point that you need is not worth it, Vic. If you need help, say that, but don’t lie to me.”

“I lied to you once. And it wasn’t tonight.”

“Stop,” you repeat.

“I need you. You are the only thing I have ever needed.”

“Prison will make you think you need a lot of things.”

“Can you just, for a second, consider giving me a chance to show you that I am not the same as I was ten years ago.”

You chuckle, but there is nothing funny about losing Victor a second time. “I have no doubt about that… You have a week, and then, like it or not, one of us is walking away.”

Victor takes the chance, and as he follows you home, he decides to be selfish for once. He wants you, and he is going to get you. Of all the mistakes Victor has made in his life, two of them haunt him: not telling Angie how he felt, and letting you go. Now that he can admit that he loves you like he’s never loved anyone before, he wants you to be with him. A week isn’t much time, but Victor is going to use every moment to convince you and get what he wants.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake the following morning, you assume that running into Victor at Lockland was a dream. However, the noise that can only be described as chaotic coming from your kitchen makes you think differently. Mitch and Sydney are in your kitchen, and Mitch’s efforts to stay quiet are canceled out by Sydney’s excitement to be out of a hotel room (if only for a week).

“Sorry,” Victor mumbles as he walks behind you. “She doesn’t get out much.”

“Thanks to you,” Sydney adds quickly.

“It’s no problem,” you say softly. “I, uh- Do I want to know why you need to lay low?”

“Probably not,” Victor answers. “But if you ask, I’ll tell you.”

You move to the left to increase space between you and Victor as you shake your head. The reluctance from last night has strengthened, and you briefly consider locking yourself in your room until they leave.

Victor places a mug before you. “You still like it the same way?”

You nod and pull your favorite drink closer to you. Victor's actions and words align, but the stark contrast between the current Victor and the Victor that forced you to walk away years ago makes you hesitate.

“Most people say, ‘thank you.’ Since you’re cute, I’ll assume you thought it,” Victor says.

Hearing the exact words you said to him in Lockland makes you look up quickly. Victor has that look, the one that looks like he might smile, and you smile at him before looking back to your mug.

“I’ll assume it’s still a hard pass on the hugs, too,” you whisper.

“Maybe you’d be surprised.”

You decide not to ask, and as you focus on ignoring him (as much as you can sharing a living space, at least), Victor realizes that your roles have completely reversed. You and Victor have traded words, actions, and responsibilities down to the smallest detail of your relationship. It’s like a dance, and Victor is already confident in his new position, but he has to convince you to trust him to lead.

After Sydney and Mitch leave to get Dol from the hotel, you and Victor are left alone.

“Why’d you disappear?” Victor asks.

He breaks the silence, and your brows furrow at his question.

“I asked you in the library, before everything happened, and you never really answered.”

“It doesn’t matter, Vic.”

“You do matter,” Victor promises. He leans forward to look into your eyes; his are serious as he holds your attention and repeats, “You matter.”

“At some point, though, you have to admit that your life was probably better. That you were, I don’t know, better off without me,” you reply.

Eye contact with Victor has never been easy, and you used to have to work relentlessly for it. Now, he holds your eyes with conviction and something else you can’t place.

“You disappeared because you thought I didn’t need you? How did that-“

“Vic.” You stand and tear your eyes from his as you add, “We’ve got a few days until we go our separate ways. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Why can’t you see-“

“No!” you interrupt. “I saw ten years ago, and you blindsided me. I’m smarter now, Vic, and I am not losing you again. I gave you space once, and maybe I never should have stopped.”

Dol barks at your front door, and you return to your room. It was a mistake letting Victor this close, and you don’t know if you can trust anything he says.

✯✯✯✯✯

Something happens during Victor’s fourth day with you. When you exit your bedroom for breakfast, he catches your eyes over the table and gestures toward your back door. Despite your doubts, you follow him. In the privacy of your backyard, you wrap your arms around yourself and wait for Victor to speak.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

You shake your head, and Victor looks away.

“I didn’t want to disappear,” you admit. “I came to see you in the cafeteria one day, but Angie was there. You looked so happy that I couldn’t- didn’t want to interrupt. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Vic, and I gave you the room to do that.”

“I-“

“You loved Angie. I could see it. So, when I heard she died, I thought you might need a friend. I was wrong.”

“Look at me,” Victor requests. “I am not giving up on you again, but if you want us to leave, we will.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

You wipe your hands across your cheeks as Victor watches. He wants to reach out and offer the soft touches you used to give him, but your reluctance to let him in is something he can easily see.

“I have been hurting for ten years,” you whisper. “But I want it. I still want you, so badly, and I think I can trust you. I’ve been wrong before.”

Victor steps toward you, and when you don’t move back, he takes another step. When there are only inches between you, he holds your eyes with his again.

“I want you to be mine,” he murmurs as he raises his hand toward your shoulder. “Selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine.”

Sydney clears her throat in the doorway, and you and Victor look over simultaneously.

“Are you okay?” she asks Victor.

“I was better before you interrupted,” he replies. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you dying again? Do you have a fever or something? Because-“

“Syd, what is wrong with you?”

“You’re being… gross.”

“She sounds like you,” you murmur.

Victor takes a deep breath before asking Sydney to give him a minute.

“You have two days, Vale,” you say when he turns to you. “If you are willing to work as hard as I did, we’ll see where things go from there.”

“Tell me you can see it,” Victor asks.

“You’re not giving up on me again and unless I ask, you’re not walking away,” you reply. “I know. But I spent years fighting to get close to you. Besides, Sydney clearly thinks you have a parasite or something, so how am I supposed to know this is really you?”

Victor rolls his eyes and opens the back door. He follows you in, and when he sees your smile is back, he is glad he wasn’t dreaming when he saw you at Lockland a few nights ago.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m going to miss that mattress,” Mitch says as he packs his bag.

“Dol likes the yard,” Sydney agrees. “Back to hotels, I assume?”

Victor is still in the guest room, and you knock on the door before entering. He zips his bag and sits on the edge of the bed as you approach him.

“Did you mean what you said at Lockland?” you ask.

“Which time?”

“This one.”

“That I love you? Yeah. You’re one of the only things I needed- craved in prison.”

“Really?” you ask with a smile. “Because Mitch said you talked about getting a bed and a better toothbrush all the time.”

“In college, when you would talk to me, there was this light in your eyes,” Victor says. “I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

You reach out and smooth your hand over the shoulder of his trench coat. When he doesn’t move or comment on the touch, you step closer.

“Prison give you all the time and space you need?” you murmur.

“Something like that.”

“Have you reconsidered my offer?”

Victor looks up, and his almost smile returns. He clearly understands what you are referring to and moves his arms out.

“Test away.”

You step forward and hug him, and when Victor’s arms wrap around you, you believe him. Not what he said when Angie died, but everything he has said this week.

“Now that I’ve had one, we can’t stop,” you say against him. “So, I guess that means your hugs are addictive. We’ll have to test this further.”

Victor mumbles something, and you squeeze him. The initial reluctance you felt, the fear of being pushed away again, brought you closer to Victor than ever.

“You really love me?” you ask.

“I do. But-“

“You’re not perfect. I know; I’m not either. I don’t expect this to be easy, Vic. Surely you remember how hard I worked in college.”

“Seems like you’d get tired.”

“As if I could get tired of you,” you tease.

Victor pulls you into another hug and doesn’t move when the door opens. You push him away gently and see Sydney staring at Victor.

“Does this mean we’re staying?” she asks.

“It means I’m staying,” he answers with a shrug.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Syd,” you offer.

Sydney thanks you before watching Victor with her head cocked. “You’re weird,” she decides before she leaves.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Victor admits. “The night that Angie died, I had unfinished business with Eli. After dealing with that, though… I’m ready to get what I want.”

“That’s me?” you ask. Your faux surprise makes Victor groan until you add, “Does that mean you’re selfishly, thoughtlessly mine, too?”

Victor looks into your eyes and smiles. “Forever.”

#hanna writes✯#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious ve schwab #vicious #requests #fem!reader

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argylepiratewd · 6 months

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Hey! ❤️‍🩹 Reunited after a long time apart, for either Rinch or Ineffable Husbands, please, if it sparks anything. No worries if not. Thank you!❤️

Thank you! Ineffable Husbands reunion, spoilers for S2

He doesn't see Crowley again until the dust has settled and the world has gone back to its old day-to-day. So much has happened in one mere decade. So much has changed.

Truth be told, he's been avoiding Crowley. Minds are such silly old things, and his has been in quite a tizzy since the day they begged each other not to walk away and Crowley smashed his lips to his. Now, he's terrified.

The fear churning in his stomach and rattling about in his chest as he approaches the cottage is so different from the fear he's been mired in these past few years, however. It should pale in comparison to turning Heaven and Hell upside down and securing humanity's safety for eternity. And it's Crowley. He's never been truly afraid of Crowley.

But the pain that might come next—that's what scares him. He's longed for Crowley, ached for him for so long. Ever since he stepped into that lift, there's been a bleeding chasm where his heart once hung. If Crowley won't hear him out, at the very least...

Well. He'll survive. That much he knows. He's not all that certain about anything else.

He watches Crowley from the gate to the garden (on its east-facing side, he absently notes), while Crowley sets tomato plants in rich earth and lectures them on expectations. His hair is longer, red as ever, pulled up in a messy bun, and his sunglasses are nowhere to be seen. He wipes his sweaty forehead on his dirt-streaked arm, and for the trillionth time, Aziraphale is in awe of how utterly beautiful Crowley is.

But as he dries his brow, Crowley spots him and freezes.

Aziraphale has gone over this moment so many times, come up with more scripts for it than he could count. All of them evaporate into nothing. Instead, he gives Crowley a nervous wave and says, "Retirement suits you," his voice soft. "Hello."

"Angel," Crowley says, his gaze going unreadable. Aziraphale is so tempted to lose himself in those stunning yellow eyes. He refrains.

"Not anymore." Aziraphale smiles sheepishly. Before Crowley can get any horrible ideas of him falling or becoming mortal, Aziraphale hurries to clarify, waving his hands for emphasis every now and then as he speaks. "I don't know if you've been keeping up these past few years, but I might have, well, um. Destroyed the whole Heaven and Hell system a little bit a few months ago, so, angels and demons, there isn't really a distinction anymore, and..."

Crowley's eyes go wide. "Wait, wait—you what?"

The latch to the gate clicks open and Crowley rises to his feet, gaping and amused.

"I staged a coup," Aziraphale replies, "and I won. It's all over. Earth is safe, the humans are safe, and we are safe. Forever."

It takes a moment for him to register that we that slipped out and all of its implications. But Aziraphale holds his head high, waiting, his breath trapped in his chest, his hands twisting his ring, until Crowley opens the gate.

"You look like you need a drink," Crowley says, stepping back, inviting him in. "Or ten."

That sounds incredible. "Yes, I believe I do," Aziraphale says, and he follows Crowley through the garden, on the way to whatever happens next.

#aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens fic

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wario-speedwagon · 3 months

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i wanna hear abt whatever "the backflip failed to assert dominance" had going on

Haha, now that one is quite a silly name for what was a more serious, mystery story, with the title stupidly referencing what the plot twist is, hehe! Sadly, this wip was abandoned a long while ago as I didn't have clear ideas for what I wanted to do with the story to its end after a certain point, and I wanted to focus my creativity on the two WIPs I was still feeling inspired by (one of which was Pruny! :). However, I'm feeling generous, so I'll just copy/paste the whole unfinished draft below the cut for your own reading, maybe you'll still enjoy it!

It's very rough and clunky at parts, and rereading it for myself took some strength to not immediately change several lines to make it read less confusingly, but it was better than I remember it being! :) The next paragraphs will be spoiling the "twist" and what plot plans I had for it in case you wanna read it for yourself and come to your own conclusions first, so Spoilers in 3, 2, 1...

. . .

So this story takes place in 1993, the year Freddy's would end up dying. We follow the Scott Cawthon phone guy of the Utah location who has just doomed himself by hiring the infamous Dave Miller. Previously up to this point, DSAF 1 happened as normal with the gnarly ending (where Jack and Dave got away with murder and shut down Colorado), but when DSAF 2 happens, Dave arrives to Bakersfield as Jack never showed up, meaning Vegas was the last he ever saw of him. So Dave has been continuing his Freddy's closing mission one place at a time, though eventually losing his passion for it since he's alone again doing it.

However, the Scotts have gotten more and more cautious of Dave over the years and this one is especially proactive about watching Dave and preventing him from achieving his killing MO if at all possible. Killing time at work to cool off suspicions, Dave records some phone tape recordings (which are featured in and taken from Project: Save the Kiddins), then he checks out Scott's paperwork and sees an application by "Mike Schmidt" who seems suspiciously like an anonymous Old Sport, which excites Dave and inspires him to get his old Spring Bonnie as well as Sportsy's Spring Freddy suit too, now! (After all, he can't just kill the kids not suited up, can he?) Sadly though, it would turn out that this is actually the canon FNAF Mike Schmidt, who as you know is also a rotting anonymous zombie serial working at Freddy's...

Meanwhile, Scott, with Dave having left the premises, finally has some free time for himself and decides to fix the Happiest Day machine before having a "dream" (not realizing he's gone into it) and meets a puppet and some ghost children. And then the story leaves off with Scott feeling compelled to save the children's souls.

I didn't have enough draft written to make my subtle hints grow more obvious before revealing, but if you were somehow very smart enough to figure it out, this Scott is actually a Phonified Jack who springlocked himself (perhaps by backflipping, hence the dumb title hehe) on day one of DSAF 2 before he could ever reunite with Dave. That's why he was extra aware of Dave's danger and methods while also feeling drawn to saving the children in the Happiest Day machine :)

I'll almost certainly never return to this WIP, but it was fun revisiting it and even sharing it, so thanks for the opportunity! :D

Hurricane, Utah, 1993

Friday, XX/16/93

Model 51_1 was swamped in paperwork to work out like usual. As always, too many employees to replace, and thus too many positions to refill. Another dayshift spot to fill after another typical event, another nightguard they'd inevitably gone through, it was always the same sh- crap here. Over half a decade of it for this Scott, not that counting did anything to help his spirit any.

Spirit? No, at this rate, he probably didn't have one of those anymore. That’s assuming he ever had one to begin with. Freddy's was effective at killing those off in anyone who worked there.

Focus, Scott. Let's see what we got for today.

Sighing for impending boredom, he adjusted his gloves in preparation for a whole lot of handwriting and took the first packet.

Applicants. Alright, let’s see.

As often as they cycled through employees at Freddy's, new applicants were always found for him by means he didn’t want to know. Probably the cause of their staff being so chronically sketchy though.

Top sheet.

Randall Jade.

Applying for night guard. A-And dayguard, how convenient…

Experience: sex work, goose control… the latter might be a relevant skillset…

Phone no.: 1-800-8=D SEXY PHONE

Place of residence: Freddy's hopefully.

Well…the honesty was the opposite of professional, but Freddy's values rock bottom desperation in its applicants above all else. All in all, the programming in his head told him Jade was an ideal candidate for the position–uh, positions.

Next.

Dave Miller.

Oh.

Oh no.

Dave Miller.

Applying for dayshift worker.

Experience: ur mom.

Phone no.: 69

Place of residence: ur mom.

Scott felt like he had been marked next for a death sentence. That's essentially what Dave was, all Phone Guys knew it. Dave Miller was an open secret, a promise for destruction for whichever location he picked next. A blight on Freddy’s not even a crucifixion could solve.

The programming in his head told him Miller was an acceptable candidate for the position.

Next.

Scott's hand trembled as he continued to whittle down tonight’s stack of papers.

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

Monday, XX/19/1993

Dave had received an unsurprisingly quick response to his work application just a day after submitting. He was naturally hired. Freddy's only survived because it had no standards. But of course, Dave vowed that that would also be its downfall.

So he showed up for his umpteenth first day. He didn't bother finding the Phoney; both of them should know exactly what was up without fake formalities. They knew their place by now. Those guys were like a hive mind with their programming and company newsletters.

Yet as he entered the building, Scott of course was waiting there to meet him anyway. Dave walked past his trademarked Phone Guy greeting to go see how this place’s Saferoom had changed over the decade he’d been gone. Phoney sighed at being ignored; both of them knew it was better for his immediate safety if he left Dave alone to his devices. Dave had to admit, it was in some ways nice to have his reputation finally precede him.

Old Sport had disappeared after Vegas in 87, and once he finally learned he would no longer be following him around, Dave realized he was going to be alone again for a while. But of course, Sportsy would surely come back for him sooner or later?

But in the years of meantime, Dave had tired of the mocking charade he used to put up for the Phoneys. The end result was always the same anyway. It just wasn't fun anymore, and it certainly wasn't needed.

After all, Dave's score was still undefeated.

He was more wary than usual about trying something too soon, though. The Phone Guys these days are always on edge about him, and they're always the most paranoid in the beginning.

To prove his point, he could see this new Scott carefully watching him from afar right now in his periphery. There was something… distinct about this one though… off-putting in some way he couldn't yet pinpoint, but he had a boring week ahead to digest his thoughts.

The best Dave could come up with for now was that it felt like he knew something the other Phoneys didn't. Like he was “in the know.” Whatever that would mean.

Dave checked the Saferoom, but to his surprise, there weren't any springlock suits here. That…was definitely an unexpected wrench in his plan. He promptly went to go properly meet this Scott after all.

“Phone face. Where the fuck're the suits?”

“Ah, now that I would’ve told you during orientation; we had to get rid of those after the original five murders here back in the 80s. Y'know, to prevent any more scandals here after miraculously saving this location from going under. Higher ups are really attached to this first location for some reason.”

Dave was right ticked off. This Phoney smelled like bullshit.

“Freddy's is dying, Dave, and the company's had to… adapt.”

Dave now had weekend plans to visit Bakersfield.

Not dignifying Scott with a response of acknowledgement, Dave just marched off to the office to fuck around on the computer.

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

Tuesday, XX/20/93

Another boring day of not murdering children. Another day of ignoring Phoney’s paranoia.

Dave decided to explore the security office next to kill some time.

Scott of course noticed Dave’s detour. Seeing him in person again… it filled him with determination. A determination to… do something about him, certainly to stop his usual plan to shut down this location. He’d already gotten rid of the springlock suits last weekend, a crucial ingredient to Dave’s shenanigans that hopefully bought him more time.

He was personally familiar with what this “man” was capable of, and he wouldn’t have it occur under his watch. And certainly not if his hide depended on it.

…

Well shit.

“Rip in fuck, nerd.”

Dave kicked the dayguard’s nearly headless corpse aside to raid the office drawers for anything interesting.

Most of it was junk like tape, post it notes, pens… no scissors. Maybe he could just draw some dicks and post them around the–

Ah. A tape recorder. Those’re always fun to mess with.

He played the one that was currently inside.

“Hello? Hello, hello? I have a message for you... to help you get settled on your first night. Umm, I actually–"

Dave immediately paused it. He didn’t know why he expected anything other than the same old tiring Scott voice stuttering through some training script. As the years went on, that same voice only irritated him more and more.

But then Dave smiled with bored inspiration and pressed Record.

"Sorry. I just had to cut that asshole off. What a fuckin' nerd.

Anyway, good fuckin' going on landing a minimum wage job. Where you have to fend off gigantic felt-covered bastard animals who want to smack your neck and stuff you into a fuckin' bear suit.

That phone guy left some tips of his own to help you survive. But honestly, it didn't do him much good. Spoiler alert: he fuckin' died. What a nerd! So, good ole Davey's gonna give you some of his pre-recorded safety tips!

By the way, this place is totally fuckin' haunted, and that's on me. I sorta murdered a few dozen kids, back in the 80's and stuffed them into the robots out of pure spite for the company. Don't worry though: kids don't count as real people. I'll call ya tomorrow. And remember: you can't out-wrestle the bear, so don't even try."

Satisfied with a job well done, he hit Stop. It felt good to make a positive difference in the world sometimes. Ah, who was he kidding? He smirked thinking of the next nightguard they’d hire hearing this as they fended for their life.

…He was still bored, so heck, tape #2.

"uh, hello? Hello? uhh, well, if you're hearing this then you made it to day 2! um, congrats! U-uh, I won't talk quite as long this time–"

"Hey, how ya doin' man? It's me again: Big Dick Davey! Night 2, eh? Good job on not getting stuffed into a tacky fuckin' bear suit! Honestly, the night should be the exact same as last night was, just with slightly angrier robots who will try to rip your throat out twice as hard.”

He drifted onto a Foxy-related tangent. He had too many opinions to not share them.

“...Well, that's enough pretending that I care about your safety for this night. I'll call you tomorrow with more Freddy's-related bullshit trivia. See you on the meanside.”

Dave looked up at the clock. Seriously? Only 2:15?

Ugh, whatever, let’s just record another.

"Hello, hello! Hey, you're doin' great! Uh, most people–"

"Hey, yo, doggo, it's me, Davey. Wow, night 3. Incredible. See, if there's one thing I can do, it's give bad advice to future night guards.

By the way, since these messages are pre-recorded, I have no actual idea whether you're actually alive or not. Let's be honest, statistically, you probably died back on night 1.”

He looked down at the poor bastard on the ground behind him.

“Priceless. If you're still alive, worry not. To survive tonight, just do the same shit you did last night, but better.

Just don't dick around and you'll be fine. I'll speak to you tomorrow, dude.”

Dave was starting to get bored again, so he called it a day and stood up from the office chair.

Oh, right. He should probably let Scott know about that bozo on the ground. He considered just letting him be a fun surprise for Scott later, but he was still in the paranoia phase, so Dave would probably be blamed for murdering him if he didn’t report it. He missed that one Colorado Phone Guy, he was probably the most chill one he ever had the pleasure of fucking over.

It was also the Phone Guy he and Old Sport got to take down together.

Man he missed those fleeting days.

…

“Hey Phone-fuck, yer dayguard’s dead.” He thumb-pointed behind his shoulder toward the room he’d just come from.

“Oh godd-dang it, already?”

Scott grumpily walked over to the security office. Dave had to admit, this one was off-putting for sure, but he appreciated the laxer programming on the fake professionalism of this guy.

Though it made him uncannily human to him, and that circled back to off-putting.

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

Another night, another stack of papers for Scott motherhecking Cawthon.

He let out a stressed sigh.

Already he could expect to file another dead security guard. More applicants to reconsider already too. Jeebus, it was only the first night on the job, Randall!

Well, comparing the previously declined applicants against each other again, he– hey, wait a minute, there’s another new application that was submitted today.

Mike Schmidt

Applying for nightguard.

Experience: 20 years in night security, 10 years with Freddy’s.

Place of residence: Hurricane, Utah

H-How conveniently perfect. Although there was no Mike Schmidt in any of the company files despite such a history… He was one of those name-changers. …Whatever, taking their applicants at face value was the Freddy’s way. He of all people should know that better than anyone else.

The programming in his head told him Schmidt was a perfect candidate.

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

Wednesday, XX/20/93

Dave came in for day 3 of bored snooping around. Hell, maybe he should just start the killing already, just so he could move on from this extra depressing, windowless dump.

The Phone Guy learned surprisingly quickly not to interact with Dave if not necessary, but that still didn’t end his unusually keen hypervigilance on his movements throughout the building. Dave half considered just dismantling this Phone Guy early himself since his usual MO was already being derailed off tradition.

Not committed to any particular plan yet, Dave went to the kitchen to locate a knife or any sort of stabby paraphernalia for future reference. And to his severe chagrin, there wasn’t a single knife to be found in any of the drawers or counters. Not even any forks.

It was a good fuckin’ thing Dave was a creative thinker, and right now, he was using those creative juices to think of payback for that damn Phoney. Phone Guys were never this annoyingly proactive.

But what, did this guy really think Dave wouldn’t provide his own tools when the time comes? The more annoying Phoneys often had a knack for thinking they’re two steps ahead of his plans, but all those Phone Guys were long gone now. Dave grinned at the thought of that. Served those creeps right.

He found himself in the office. There was paperwork strewn about the desk. There was no reason not to rifle through it. At the top was an application that Scott seemed to have accepted based on the red pen marks circling him when the others seemed blank.

Mike Schmidt, huh?

The more Dave read and pondered his application, the more a hope unexpectedly began to flicker where his heart should be. This guy had quite a history with these restaurants…

He booted up the computer to check the employee file on him, and there was one. Opening it… it seemed to be created this morning? This was a good sign.

Mike Schmidt.

Age: ?? (Note: Avoided answering)

Residence: Hurricane, Utah

Employment history: 1993-current, Nightguard, Location #1

Note: Skin does not look healthy. Avoid physical contact in case of STD, we can’t afford such lawsuits like we used to. Mike doesn’t talk much either. Exercise caution around him.

Heart elated, Dave promptly headed off to the security room.

…

He hit Record.

“...Old Sport! Oh, how I've missed you! You came back. You always come back. Have you come back for me, old sport? Have you come back for ole Davey? I knew it, I just knew that you really loved me!

Look, I have to go, old sport. But, I'll be right back tomorrow night, okay? Stay alive, old sport. I'll speak to you again tomorrow, sportsy!"

And with that promise recorded, Dave excused himself from work early to start his drive to Bakersfield a couple days ahead of schedule.

And Scott was awe-struck to see Dave just run out like that. The programming screamed how wrong it was and urged him to drag him back here, but the programming also screamed at him to stay here on-site during working hours.

But most of all, his memories screamed that Dave was up to something disastrous. And this time, he would be at the receiving end of the catastrophe.

His programming faithfully corrected each and every one of the panicked swears he muttered as he paced back and forth.

Unable to calm down all the tension in his head, Scott looked for something to distract his mind from the impending dread.

There. Something. That da-dang machine over there.

It was always broken, and with no Dave to watch like a hawk right now, maybe finally fixing the poor thing would calm him down. Clearly no one else was going to do it so he might as well. He went to Parts and Service for a wrench.

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

A dream of being at his old Freddy’s job.

It was disorienting.

It probably wasn’t real.

Before long, he noticed a puppet standing there before him.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“W-What do you want? What’s going on?”

“The five children.

Ten years later and they still do not rest.”

“I… don’t understand.”

But that felt like a lie after he said it.

“Gabriel. Fritz. Susie. Jeremy. Cassidy.

They’re all still waiting for rest.”

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

Thursday, XX/21/93

Yesterday was strange. He’d had the strangest dream when he fell asleep against the machine he’d just fixed, and then he felt compelled to carry out even stranger errands for the puppet in that dream. But… it felt right to do it. Something about the robots seemed tame this morning.

-End WIP

#thanks so much for the ask! :D #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf fanfic

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weirdlyobsessedwithegos · 2 years

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A Lot More Than Static (3/3)

You’re the DA, out of the mirror for while, and now you hang out with Mark. What happens to you? (Part 1) (Part 2)

It’s been like two years, but I realized I should probably finish this before all of ISWM is out, so I have been working on this for a bit, and finally finished today. Contains nothing about ISWM, so no spoilers to be found here. Hope you enjoy!

You think there is some irony in your current situation.

A former lawyer, a former district attorney, going on a heist to steal some artifact.

Well, it has been decades, and people change you suppose.

Not that you’re really people any more, but, still.

It had been Mark’s idea to go on this heist, and you had agreed, cause frankly, you didn’t have anything better to do. He had asked you on a date earlier, but you hope this doesn’t count towards that.

Not that it wasn’t fun. Multiple timelines gives you opportunity to explore your powers even more without the constraint of time (you have a third arm now, neat.), and you get to see some new, and old, faces.

Illinois is a charmer like no other, Yancy not far behind with his singing and dancing. Magnum is a little scary at first, but mostly fun.

And then there’s the old ones.

Who boy, the old ones.

William, now Wilford, seems a lot more trigger happy now, and a lot less put together. Not that he was the most organized before, but at least he had his pants on.

Damien, no Darkiplier, is cunning with his words, charming you so you trust him. He has the wit of both the twins, but an underlying darkness two him that must come from the former house entity. He monologues like no other, and you still can’t help but think fondly of him, even though the undertone in your thoughts are bitter. Not that he is all put together either, as when you pop in while he is still applying his makeup in the mirror, his control of the void that warps you away doesn’t seem to be all there.

Which, is interesting to say the least.

After many attempts and timelines, you and Mark end up outside the museum again.

This time it seems that even Mark’s had enough for now, as he once more asks you out on a date.

Once more, you say yes.

So some time later, you find yourself in a restaurant with Mark. It starts out normal enough, (you think, you haven’t been on a date since the 80s), but then quickly teeters into strange territory.

Used to it by know, you just go with it.

It takes you down several strange paths, some with near death experiences, others with actual death experiences.

Some less unpleasant experiences happens, such as getting proposed to by Mark, that you quickly reject at first, the say yes to once just for shits and giggles. (Not that anything happens with that proposal really.)

And then, there’s him.

Again.

You sit down in the cinema, waiting for the movie to start, wondering what stort of horror movie this is going to be, and how it will turn out wrong for you somehow.

As the creaking of the void starts, you cover your mouth to hide a smirk, knowing what comes next.

Or rather, who.

As Dark appears standing in front of you, you give him a quick once over.

He’s in a different suit this time, a black one with a white shirt and dotted tie, and you can’t help but think that the white one looked better. Better contrast and all that.

The void is all consuming around you, and although it is not your void, the one that you were trapped in, its familiar enough that you can feel the twist of your power in the bottom of your spine trying to assimilate and control it.

This time around Dark seems a lot more angry, less controlled. (Darkiplier is such an odd name, and you had always been a sucker for nicknames, even before all this.)

Not that you mind that much at all.

He talks with his hands like he always have done, which is something that carried over from his old life. Your own life.

Both of your old lives.

The ringing is also there, perhaps a little more noticeable than last time, and his fracturing seems different. Less refined somehow.

He gives you choices, and you know which one to choose to get where he, and perhaps by some extension you, wants you to go.

He monologues at you like before, and not one to break someones stride, you let him talk without saying anything. You only shift ever so slightly in your feet, and then in your seat, as your power calms and finds it place back in you, instead of stretching out and letting Dark feel it like it wants to.

Dark monologue is only interrupted when he shifts and moves the two of you outside, and then he is tackled by Mark.

They scuffle, and somewhere in that, Mark drops a gun on the ground. It skitters over the asphalt in front of your feet just as Dark and Mark separate.

You pick up the gun, intending on throwing it away, but then they both start urging you to shoot the other.

Dark has masked himself, so now he and Mark looks identical.

Well, to the human eye they do.

Though some part of Mark is not human anymore, even less of Dark is (not that you’re one to talk), so the energy they give of is very different to the other.

Rolling your eyes at the drama of it all, you shoot Mark.

Dark doesn’t drop the act at once, instead giving you a hug and taking you to get ice cream, apologizing for you needing to kill someone.

You don’t say anything to that, knowing that is won’t stick, and it doesn’t really matter.

Sitting down, Dark finally drops the act as you look down on your bowl of ‘dairy based treats’. The air around the two of you turn grey and glitches, hovering the two of you on the edge of the void, and the normal world. Tingles goes up your spine as your powers notice what is happening.

“Oops, looks like you made the wrong choice.” He cracks his neck, glitching as you can almost hear the by now familiar creak. “But now, we’re going to be together, forever.” He grins, and not bothering to hide your own mouth, you return it.

This seems to bring him some pause.

“No.” The first words you have spoken throughout your whole meeting, and they’re firm. You lean your elbows on the table, interlocking your fingers and resting your head on them.

“You think you have all the say and power in this? You don’t.” You grin, and finally, finally, let your power seep out of you and into the air surrounding you.

You drag the two of you fully into the void now, not your void, no, that’s long gone, but something familiar enough.

“You know, being stuck in the mirror for 50 years does something to a person. The void seeps into you, no matter if you want it to or not. No matter if you were there by choice or not.” Dark has long since stopped grinning, jaw clenched tight.

“You think I forgot?” The table and treats between you disappear, and you lean back in your chair, crossing your legs. Dark stays in his chair, looking you over.

“It has been longer than 50 years.”

“Oh, I know that, just because I spent time in the void doesn’t mean I lost my mind in the living one.”

“But Mark only-”

“No but Mark’s, I’m here because what I did, he had nothing to do with me getting out.”

“So you’ve been out a lot longer?” You smirk, getting out of you chair to get closer to Dark, cupping his jaw in your hand, making him look up at you. Your chair sinks into the floor, gone in seconds.

“I never thought you would get slow with time Dark.” He wrenches his head loose from your grip, standing up, pushing his chair back, and it promptly disintegrates into a cloud of black smoke. (He had always been for theatrics when it was needed.) You take a step back, but still staying closer than what is polite.

“I am not, but when someone changes ones idea of how events happens, it makes take some time to.... adjust.” He gives you a once over, certainly noting how close you are, but doesn’t move from his spot as he clasps his hands behind his back. You snort, shaking your head.

“Always the one that had to have the last word, and I see that that hasn’t changed. But I have, as you can certainly tell. And though you have too, I’m more in control than you are I think.” Dark tilts his head, and you’re happy to talk now, for once.

“You see, though you were trust into three identities in one body, my body I might add, I soaked in the void for 50 years by myself, becoming a lot more than just static. And I’m only one being in one body. Not my original one, but still works a lot better than your current one.”

“So you’re not above taking a body either.”

“Well, mine was already empty, and a deliberate choice, not one made in panic.” Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you feel your anger rise, and some of his ringing supplemented by your own. Instead of letting it consume you, you will it down, opening your eyes to look at Dark with lot less harsh eyes.

It startles him, and for a second you see a flicker of something familiar in those eyes of his, and then they’re all black, hidden and less easy for you to read.

“Not that you were the one to start that whole shit show anyways.” You take a few steps back, looking down at yourself and dusting off imaginary nothing of your clothes.

Looking up at Dark once more, you find him watching you closely.

“What now then? Shall we struggle here and argue on who’s fault it all was, or stay civil enough to talk.” You shrug.

“Do what you wish, I for one is going back, and try to not get Mark shot this time.” With that, you give him a two finger salute, and then, with a flicker of your power, you’re gone, leaving Dark alone in the void.

A little stunned, it takes some time before a slow smirk grows over Dark’s face.

He had thought that the power he had felt lingering around you were a leftover consequence of being close to and involved in Actor’s games and foolery.

Turns out he was wrong, oh so very, very, wrong.

You had always been so much more exciting than people gave you credit for, and that seems to have not changed one tiny bit.

If anything, you had gotten even better.

He’s already looking forward to more, warping out of the void to follow and start making new, and better, plans.

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tirorah · 2 days

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PGSM (2003) Is a Story About Human Beings, and I LOVE It

Years ago, I attempted to watch the live-action Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon show, or PGSM for short. And I quit because it looked so silly I couldn't maintain my sense of disbelief.

I've learned not to judge a show by its looks since then. So, when I stumbled across a 20-second PGSM clip two weeks ago, I thought, "Shouldn't I give that another chance?" I'd heard a few interesting things about it, so I decided the answer was yes.

It took me a little while to adjust, sure. Some things still looked ridiculous to me. And yet, with every episode I became more and more emotionally invested. I started to see PGSM for what it truly was: an intricate tapestry of character-driven storytelling.

If you've read my other posts, you know I love characters more than anything. What I also love is an emphasis on narrative consequence and a willingness to explore new and/or interesting ideas, particularly when it's a new entry in an already-established franchise. And it just so happens that PGSM ticks all of these boxes!

In short, this show was made for me.

I'm not going to write about all of the clever things this show does because that would take far too many words. Here's my quick two cents: I think PGSM is excellent. It has flaws, and I think it only appeals to a certain type of viewer. But if you are that type of viewer, like I am, you're likely to be swept off your feet!

So yeah, I never thought I'd say this, but I love this show. It's by far the most fun I've ever had with Sailor Moon. And as is standard by now, I'm going to tell you why I feel that way under the cut.

First, I'll go over how PGSM manages to work at all. Then, I'll outline the theme; the central questions at the heart of the story. Finally, I'm going to illustrate just how well this show pulls off its primary goals---by examining the character arc of a certain old favourite of mine.

[FULL spoiler warning!]

[Word count: ~6,000]

New Kid on The Block

Ever since its inception, Sailor Moon has been an enduring presence in Japanese media and merchandising. Its presence has waxed and waned over the past decades, but it has nevertheless managed to remain incredibly successful. The original 90s manga spawned a concurrently running anime series, musicals, the Crystal anime series in the 2010s, and much more.

The fun effect of all these different versions is that each is its own thing. Even Crystal, which adheres much more closely to the manga than the 90s anime, is still different; a story can't be told the same way in every medium. This is why adaptations are difficult to do and are likely to piss off someone, regardless of intent or execution.

Smack-dab between the original and recent versions, a bold little beast emerged.

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon aired from October 2003 to September 2004. Unlike the versions before and since, it's a live-action tokusatsu superhero TV series, like Super Sentai--a show the manga also drew inspiration from. This again marks a significant change when it comes to storytelling possibilities.

PGSM faces several challenges on top of that. It only exists because the musicals were so successful, yet it has a shoestring-looking budget that makes some aspects of the show look underwhelming. The lead actors were young and inexperienced, so it can take a bit for everything to click performance-wise. Lastly, the characters tend to have their faces in full view during action scenes, rendering the use of stunt doubles difficult and therefore limiting choreographic possibilities.

And yet, under the stewardship of writer Kobayashi Yasuko and a ton of passionate and experienced staff, this show found a way to stand shoulder to shoulder with beloved works of the franchise.

Let's examine how.

Limitations, Genre and Theme

If I'd given you a rundown of the obstacles PGSM faced without my glowing praise attached, you'd probably think this show was sent out to die. Maybe it was, I don't know. Perhaps someone at Toei thought it would hoover up some merchandise sales before it fell off a cliff to its pyrotechnic death!

The amazing thing about PGSM is that it takes these challenges and turns them into its greatest strengths. This is a show that understands the constraints it has to operate within. It can't compete on action and special effects, so it hones in on something it can execute well and bring a unique twist to: characters and story.

Its best claim to fame, at least in the little discussion I saw of it, is how it reworks its characters to serve a brand-new spin on a familiar narrative. But I believe this description to be...insufficient. The changes made here go beyond adjusting and emphasising personality traits. This is a paradigm shift; a top-to-bottom overhaul and a tribute to Sailor Moon all at once.

While there's still an overarching story that involves protecting the world from evil and salvaging a doomed romance from a previous life, the real meat of PGSM lies in the rich inner lives of its cast. This shifts the genre to character-driven drama with a dash of soap opera.

As a result, those aforementioned inner lives are established, built upon, and allowed to emerge and clash naturally. All the while, the characters contend with a turbulent new reality which further affects their interpersonal relationships. That in turn shifts the theme to something much more personal: past life versus current life.

What does it mean for your identity to be reborn with memories from a past life? What do you do when that past life has a stranglehold on your current one? Are you doomed to repeat the mistakes of ages past?

And what effect do these challenges have on a person's psyche?

PGSM spends its 49-episode runtime exploring these questions to the fullest. I consider it a true ensemble work, as every major character is relevant to the story and drives it forward at some point. And because each of them is unique, we're shown a full spectrum of viewpoints that are informed by personality traits and emotional baggage.

So, yeah, it's really good. Really damn good.

In fact, to demonstrate just how in-depth and detailed the characterisation is, I'm going to spend the rest of this post analysing my favourite example of a PGSM character arc: the understated and expertly-paced struggles of one Kino Makoto.

Wood and Thunder

A core part of Makoto in every version is her dual nature--possessing both traditionally masculine and feminine characteristics--and how this clashes with societal expectations. With her curly hair and long skirt, she comes across like a typical sukeban (a delinquent girl) of the time. Her imposing height, incredible strength and fighting skills confirm that image.

In truth, the sukeban resemblance is exactly that and nothing more; her hair is naturally curly and her new school doesn't have a uniform in her size. She only uses her strength to protect others. Notably, she has a romantic heart and yearns for a place to belong, perhaps even a person she can belong with.

Absolutely none of that matters to society. Through no fault of her own, people only see one side to her and assume the other doesn't exist. Prejudice and ostracisation follow.

You might think this would cause Makoto to be ashamed of her more masculine traits, but that's not the case. She might feel embarrassed by them at times, or attempt to play up her feminine side to compensate, sure. But in the end, she embraces all of these characteristics and doesn't think it's wrong to be this way. People just refuse to see the feminine side that's openly on display.

So, here we have a character with a compelling set of characteristics that can be utilised in different ways. The approach taken is something that differs per version. But like all things Sailor Moon, Makoto is a product of her time; the sukeban aspect is particularly dated.

As an early 2000s show, PGSM had a chance at a fresh start with this concept. Suffice it to say I was very interested to see how it would update Makoto to a new millennium and modify her without erasing her core traits. What I got was far more than I bargained for.

Makoto's PGSM debut gives us an effective overview of her as a person that hits many familiar beats. She protects Usagi, returns Usagi's friendliness with her own, develops a crush on a guy, and kicks ass both in and out of Senshi guise. She had her heart broken by her senpai at her previous school, but she also felt like something was urging her to come here. Now she knows why: she had comrades to meet.

This looks like a mix of Makoto's introduction in the manga and 90s anime, adapted to modern times. But all that familiarity is distracting you from something. There's actually a big deviation here, and you can see that before she even does anything.

Take a good look at this picture. Obviously the sukeban influence was removed from her design, but that's not the most important detail here. Hopefully you'll notice what I didn't:

There are no rose earrings.

Everything spirals out from there. The Makoto from the 90s was open about her femininity, but the Makoto we meet in PGSM barely shows her feminine side at all. In fact, she takes great pains to hide it.

This affects her character on a fundamental level. When she first appears, she comes across as unusually withdrawn and stoic. As is typical of the character, she swiftly opens up to Usagi and that seems to be the end of aloof Makoto. But that feminine side doesn't surface. She still dresses in unisex clothes that lean more toward masculine than feminine.

Likewise, her flat may have a few plants and a neat kitchen, but they don't take centre stage. There's a skateboard and a hat collection (my beloved!) that are displayed at the entrance. A logical location, but that also means it's the first thing you see when you enter.

So, what gives? Here's the thing: the characters in PGSM are emotionally complex. Much work and care went into characterising all of them. Because of this, the characters feel like real people. They argue, make mistakes, agonise over things... Not to say this isn't the case in other versions, but PGSM takes it further and really emphasises how vulnerable--how tragically human--these characters can be.

That's what is being tied into here. Being mistaken for a tomboy, despite being openly feminine, is an external issue. But for PGSM's Makoto, the conflict is internal. She doesn't want to be seen as feminine. When exposed or questioned, she denies it despite being a terrible liar. If the questioning continues, she actually uses her tomboy image to refute it.

She does this because her feminine side makes her vulnerable. This Makoto has been burned so many times that she's developed abandonment issues. She's one bad experience away from yet another cocktail of intense sadness and deep-seated anger. Sometimes a mere reminder is enough to get her down, too.

No one wants to feel like that. She's learned the hard way that opening herself up to others puts her at risk. That's why she prefers to play these darker feelings close to her chest.

To demonstrate all of this, her debut episode shows us exactly how bad it can get. It puts her through an especially cruel combination of deception, humiliation and rejection, no punches pulled.

It's at this moment that Makoto has had enough. Taking this risk was a mistake and it should never be repeated. She slams the gate to her wounded heart shut and locks it tight. The walls of her inner fortress become that much higher.

Learning to lower those walls and make another try for happiness is Makoto's character arc in PGSM.

This is why she was shifted so much toward the tomboy archetype. By giving Makoto an emotional incentive to deny a part of herself, PGSM gives her a believable, deeply personal obstacle that can take her the entire show to overcome. She now has to engage with her abandonment issues in order to become the more balanced person we know she can be.

Her powers as Sailor Jupiter also connect to this: there's the explosive power of lightning on one end and the soothing aura of nature on the other. Two distinct halves that each bring their own benefits. But Makoto's starting point is pure lightning.

Multiple times throughout the show, we're shown that nature is trying to communicate with her. But because she starts out as a lightning bolt, she doesn't understand it at all. This is another avenue for self-improvement, and PGSM understands that too; it explicitly ties the awakening of a Senshi's full powers to overcoming a core character flaw.

So, given all of that, how does PGSM build on the devastation she suffered during her debut episode and the emotional consequences left in its wake?

I'm happy to report it does nothing for 24 episodes. Yes, really.

For half of the runtime, Makoto acts as the support of the group; often present, but never centre stage. Sure, she develops a dynamic with each of her new friends, and she even begins to show some of her feminine aspects as that trust grows. The more she does this, the more her affinity with nature subtly increases; she begins to use non-lightning attacks and comes ever so slightly closer to understanding what the wind and trees attempt to tell her.

But when it comes to the story, Makoto doesn't drive most of the events that occur at this point. She becomes involved, or agrees to go along with something, but rare is the instance where something happens directly because of her actions. She contributes, but she's never in the driver's seat. She's the one who helps others become better versions of themselves.

She develops, but she doesn't grow.

This delay is 100% intentional. A Makoto who's only giving, only protecting, is completely fine. There are no lingering issues she needs to deal with because they've been swept under the rug, tucked away behind the walls of her fortress. For all she reveals of herself during this time, her abandonment issues might as well not exist.

This is PGSM's devotion to character-driven storytelling and narrative consequence on full display. As Makoto ignores her emotional baggage, PGSM is likewise content to misdirect you away from it.

Cycle of Fear

It's not until episode 31 that Motoki--the most endearing turtle nerd to have ever lived--unwittingly pokes at Makoto's defences. Up until that moment, she'd first considered him an acquaintance and later a supportive friend. In other words: a safe coexistence.

The moment she realises he has a crush on her, that safety disappears and all her thoroughly-buried insecurities rush to the forefront. Her old stoicism slams into place as the mask we now know it to be and she does her best to avoid eye contact. As brash as she usually is, she now struggles with all her might to seem detached and logical. She has to; the alternative is revealing how anxious this situation makes her. Although Usagi, Ami and Rei have earned her trust, showing that most vulnerable side of herself is still a bridge too far.

She drags herself to the date (probably because Usagi wouldn't let her worm her way out of it) and spends the entire time being awkward in spite of Motoki's oblivious excitement. It's clear that her heart isn't in it, but in typical Makoto fashion, she places the needs of the kind, sensitive Motoki above her own and does her best to let the date die a natural death.

Then, a sudden connection!

Makoto is stunned at first. No one has ever said that to her. As Motoki continues to extol her virtues--half of which are about how incredibly nice she is--she lights up! Aww!

...Only for her insecurities to take over again after an offhand mention of parents by Motoki, because PGSM is a story about fallible human beings. She immediately attempts to leave and is only stopped by a nosey Luna. It's impossible for Motoki not to notice something's off at this point. Keen for clarity, he decides to confess his feelings when they're not surrounded by other people. Makoto rejects him--by denying her femininity.

This is a direct result of Makoto's actions in the first half of the show. When she started to open up to her friends, she could've taken it further and started to navigate her issues. Her friends could've helped her. Instead, she chose to pretend that there was nothing to fix.

Now here she is. Avoidance--her first line of defence--has failed. Her second wall, rationalisation, has also been bypassed. Emotionally cornered, she falls back on the same defence mechanism she used at the start: denial wrapped up in irrational beliefs and low self-esteem.

"I'm really strong and get into fights. People are scared of me. That means I'm actually not feminine at all and what you saw was an anomaly. And because I'm not feminine, I'm not dating material."

By maintaining her tomboy image and denying her feminine attributes, this reasoning allows her to pre-emptively sabotage any blossoming relationship for herself. While this might bring relief in the short term, it's also the very thing that keeps her from happiness. Makoto is the Senshi of courage, but here she demonstrates how afraid she truly is.

Motoki seems to recognise this on some level. To him, Makoto is a strong, confident person. But she's also reserved in a way, and now that the emotional mess underneath is being dragged into the light, it's clear she's like that for a reason. He sees her for who she truly is and he likes what he sees, but she's not in a good enough place, mentally, to see that too. So he does the only thing he can do: he gives her space. He reassures her that she is feminine and then leaves her be.

"Why?"

This is the question that has plagued her for years. Uttered by a young Makoto and echoed by her present self, this representation of her thoughts comes up whenever loss or rejection hits. What matters here is the context: for once, it's Makoto who did the rejecting. She's in control.

So then, why does this still happen?

This is one of the uncommon moments where PGSM engages in subtlety. We don't get a definitive answer here. Makoto asks, "Why?" but we don't know what that refers to in this moment. We have to infer that ourselves.

My reading is as follows: "I rejected him before he could reject me. I removed him from my life before I could lose him. So why does it hurt? Why do I feel sad?"

During the subsequent fight against a powerful Youma, the other Senshi are held up and she ends up cornered and alone. It's an all too familiar scenario. She flashes back to all of the people she's lost.

Motoki shows up too, but he's almost impossible to make out.

At that very moment, the wind picks up around her. She lets out a breath in awe, gazing up at the swaying branches as the wind seems to communicate something. And then she awakens. Although she still summons a lightning attack, it's now taken on a green colour, signifying a new equilibrium.

When the others ask her what triggered it, Makoto naturally tells them the lesson of this episode: that she had to acknowledge her feminine side and truly open herself up to being loved--

--Wha...?

Yeah, you're seeing that right. Makoto just learned the wrong lesson.

Needless to say, I was flabbergasted by this outcome. Deep down, as much as she wants to refute it, Makoto needs companionship, people to belong with. It's a core aspect of her character! It makes no sense for her to gain power from solitude.

However... If you think about it, why wouldn't this be her takeaway? She was alone and she made sure to sabotage her relationship with Motoki before it could go anywhere, so this is the only logical explanation, right? Her powers awakened, so the narrative is proving her correct as well.

Except no, the narrative is simply adhering to the consequences of her actions. By coming to the wrong conclusion, Makoto has once again delayed her growth.

For the next 13 (!) episodes, Makoto seems to be okay again. She easily slips back into her role of casual, friendly and supportive friend. But something's changed: Usagi, Ami and Rei have glimpsed Makoto's scars, and they're not content to let her ignore them.

They attempt to challenge her new outlook, but Makoto's resolve is ironclad. Even when she's forced to reveal her secret identity to Motoki, she still reiterates her rejection of him. What's worse, she now she has an extra defence: her duties as a Senshi. Although Motoki still carries a torch for her, he resigns himself to supporting her as best he can.

Still, despite her determination in this matter, Makoto herself has changed as well. There's conflict and pain present whenever she's forced to acknowledge her decisions. And ever since the start of episode 31, she can't help but look sombre whenever something reminds her of her parents. Somehow, despite her best efforts to repair the holes in her walls, some cracks have remained.

All of this comes to a head when Makoto's character arc collides with Minako's.

Diminishing The Self

Ever since the girls found out they were reborn after their past lives ended in disaster, they've been grappling with PGSM's theme more and more. With their past swiftly squeezing the life out of their present, each of them is forced to form an opinion: How much do their past lives affect their present lives? How much should it affect them in the first place? And what do you do?

Here's our spectrum: On one extreme we have Rei, who's become resentful of her past life and rejects it completely. She asserts that she is her own person and that her past life shouldn't dictate who she is and how she acts now. Makoto's stance is adding fuel to that fire. When Minako counters her coup with one of her own, Rei is kicked out and decides to fight on separately.

At the other extreme stands Minako. Diagnosed with a terminal illness that she has almost no hope of curing, she's completely rejected her present life and is devoted to completing the mission from her past life. She won't be around for much longer and she's determined to save the world as much as possible before she dies. She asserts authority over the Senshi for the sake of the mission.

Usagi and Ami fall between these two polar opposites. Usagi is the reincarnation of the Moon Princess and is literally anchored to the past life through her Silver Crystal. She can't deny that her current existence has been heavily shaped by the past. But she's also determined to prevent a repeat of the past, even if it's the hardest thing she's ever done. She works hard at controlling her emotions and is convinced she and Mamoru will succeed.

Ami's current circumstances don't seem to be shaped as much by her past life, so she's the most neutral out of all of them. But as someone who was turned to evil and emerged a changed person, it's hard to deny: Their lives have been affected by the past and it's necessary to acknowledge that. What to do with that information is something she doesn't have the answer to. She fights alongside Minako and Makoto, but stays in touch with Rei.

Makoto has been firmly in the 'this mission is paramount' camp from the start, but not to the extreme that Minako is. You see, Minako almost always chooses to refer to them by their Senshi monikers. Makoto doesn't; she and her three friends always refer to each other by their present life names, even during battle. This is a conscious change that establishes their current identities as distinct from their past selves.

But remember, Makoto came here because she was meant to. She was meant to meet her comrades. She was destined to be alone, so she could listen to nature and let it lead her to her true purpose in life.

So when Minako tells her she's so devoted to the mission that she will cast aside her life to complete it, Makoto can't help but be stirred. Finally, with Minako's help, she realises that the truth is even simpler than she thought: She's always been alone because her current life isn't what truly matters. She exists to carry out her duties, regardless of the personal cost.

This is the final piece of the puzzle for both her and us. Her shift to a tomboy archetype, her character arc and the theme of the show all combine here.

For years, Makoto has been haunted by something: "Why?" Why was she left to suffer all alone? Why was she abandoned over and over?

Then this Senshi business comes along, and with it comes a duty and moniker from a past life. For Usagi, this upheaval of her identity is upsetting. But for Makoto, it's a comfort. Being a Senshi gives her purpose, stability and even friends. For someone who's sorely lacked all of that for years, this development is nothing short of a godsend.

And so, from the very beginning, she took this newfound 'destiny' and ran with it. This was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she crafted her entire outlook around that. Heartbroken and expelled from school? That was just another way to get her to where she needed to be. Her powers awaken while she's dwelling on how she always ends up alone? Obviously that isolation was also intended.

From there, it's a hop, skip and a jump to what she's doing in this scene: discarding her current identity in favour of her past one. She perfectly expresses this by (in the next episode) copying Minako's statement: she might die, but "Jupiter won't disappear". Kino Makoto is a shell to house Sailor Jupiter, and shells are expendable.

This is Makoto at her most extreme. She's always downplayed her own importance and achievements, and now here she is, downplaying her very existence. No individual, only the greater good.

It doesn't even matter that Minako lied to them about her identity, illness and powers. Makoto understands by this point that a secret can be kept for good reasons; she's done it herself. If anything, Minako's deception and her ensuing burdens feed Makoto's view of her as a martyr and a leader.

By choosing to follow that example, Makoto joins Minako on the very extreme of the thematic (past life versus current life) spectrum. In turn, Minako gains the staunchest of allies--but she fails to realise how thoroughly Makoto has just been primed for the pinnacle of martyrdom.

A powerful Youma attacks. When Makoto, Ami and Luna wound it, Metalia possesses it, scaling its power beyond that of the Senshi to overcome. Minako can't transform. Ami and Luna have been knocked out of their Senshi forms and can't fight anymore.

Metalia is about to win. They're going to fail.

Makoto decides to fulfil her purpose. She grabs hold of the Youma and overloads herself with lightning, creating an explosion that annihilates them both.

Minako calls out to the person--not the Senshi--in front of her.

True Courage

Makoto wakes up in a hotel room, wounded but alive, watched over by Minako. The Youma threw her off at the last second, saving both of their lives. Makoto only laments her failure; she doesn't even seem to care that she almost died. In fact, she outright states that she was meant to be alone so that her possible death wouldn't make anyone sad.

Minako has been horrified by this entire ordeal and that feeling only grows with every sentence Makoto utters. When Makoto explains she was fulfilling her past life's mission, it hits Minako like a ton of bricks: this is her doing. By influencing Makoto in this direction, she almost had Makoto's blood on her hands.

She tries to sway Makoto from a repeat attempt, but is taken aback when Makoto unintentionally throws every single one of her own arguments back in her face. When she claims that her own situation is different, Makoto looks her squarely in the eyes and says, "A life's a life. They're all the same."

Minako doesn't deny it. She can't. How could anyone refuse such a simple, factual statement when it comes from someone as forthright as Makoto?

It proves impossible to change Makoto's mind, so she changes tactics. Rather than challenge Makoto's standpoint directly, she questions one of its cornerstones instead. She does so by revealing that Makoto had muttered Motoki's name in her sleep. Perhaps, she posits, Makoto is more tied to the present than she believes herself to be.

This succeeds in shaking Makoto's beliefs. Minako leaves her to her thoughts, victorious in a way, but her own conviction was caught in the crossfire. While Rei's insistence opened the way, she was also easy to dig in her heels against. Makoto, on the other hand, has fundamentally disproven Minako's views by agreeing with her. In that suicide attack, she saw first-hand the logical endpoint of her own ideology. She's more than a little disturbed.

It's the opening Artemis needs, even though he doesn't know it's there. When he subsequently shows her how much joy and comfort her songs bring to others, she finally realises what she's been missing in herself. Her current life does have value, her achievements do matter, and she shouldn't dismiss them so flippantly. She should love herself, love the person she is now.

In the following battle, she awakens her full powers and transforms. The Senshi are finally united for good.

Now that Minako has admitted to herself that she also resents the past life for what it's done to her, Makoto has become the new extreme on the thematic spectrum. However, Minako's revelation is forcing her to reconcile conflicting truths. She awakened because she was alone. But if Motoki's still on her mind like that, if he's still part of her life like that, then she's not alone. If she's not alone, then her reasoning is intrinsically flawed.

When she sees Motoki in a Youma-induced coma, the question of "Why?" returns for the final time. And then she sees him, clearly this time.

In that moment, she realises all of her beliefs were wrong. She didn't reject Motoki, she lost him through self-sabotage. Foiling a possible relationship didn't work; he'd cracked her armour before then. Their connection was gradually built up over the entire show and came cocooned in comfortable friendship, the only type of connection she did allow.

When that connection touched her heart and stirred something more, that was when she unlocked her full potential. He cares about her, the real her, not the skewed facade she puts on. She's not alone anymore. When she told herself that she was alone and always had been, and the wind rustled the leaves, that was nature calling her out on her self-deception.

But why did that self-deception even occur? She didn't need to draw this conclusion from the start, did she? Unfortunately, she did. That's the final, heartbreaking part: Being a Senshi was the ultimate coping mechanism.

There's a reason this shot is repeated multiple times:

Makoto was constantly looking back at the past, looking for answers. Because her abandonment issues went unresolved, that question of "Why?" was burning a hole in her. She was desperate for a reason, any reason, so she could understand. If her hardship and loneliness were predetermined and in service to this all-important duty, then being a Senshi justified her suffering. She craved that more than anything. No wonder she transformed without even questioning it.

And hey, if that duty meant she had to avoid the type of relationship that terrified her most of all, well... That was a happy coincidence, wasn't it?

Fortunately, for all the trouble her uncompromising, black-and-white outlook has brought her, that same determination also allows her to accept this new truth in an instant. She screwed up big-time, but as long as she lives and breathes, she can work to set things right.

She strokes Motoki's hand and runs off to join the fray--not to throw herself at the enemy through all her lifetimes, but to protect those who are dear to her now. After the fight, she looks at the turtle-shaped charm Motoki bought her and smiles, allowing herself to dream of the future for the first time.

Minako passes away the next episode, but she does so with no regrets. Although grief follows, that final unifying moment, jump-started by Makoto, was enough. Ami, Rei and Makoto head off to the finale together, as a true team, never losing sight of what's important to them.

PGSM is exceedingly compelling to me, and the structure of this character arc exemplifies why. Makoto learns the wrong lesson three times: when she first becomes Sailor Jupiter, when she awakens her full power, and when she embraces Minako's ideology to an unhealthy degree.

Not only does PGSM allow her to miss the mark so spectacularly, it also gives her the time to deny and then address her irrational beliefs in a plausible manner. Moreover, because she and Minako drive each other to unlearn their internalised misconceptions, Makoto gives both Minako and the story one of the last pushes they need.

The last we see of Makoto's new and improved self, in relation to romance, is her final encounter with Motoki in the show. She shows him she's attached his cute turtle charm to her wallet, out there for everyone to see. Motoki treats it with cautious optimism, then relief. It's a deliberate signal: Makoto is open to new possibilities now. Maybe they can try again. They laugh a little, sharing their first comfortable moment together in this context.

Sadly, likely due to a few cut episodes, this is the last we see of them. Makoto's character arc is definitely complete, but because the ending shows the Senshi alone before they meet up with Usagi again, her relationship status with Motoki is left ambiguous.

But not to worry! Due to the success of the show's DVD sales during its runtime, both a special prequel and sequel act were produced! The sequel act is a 1-hour movie that shows us where everyone ended up four years later.

In that time, Makoto has undergone a significant transformation. In the show, her dreams for the future were never even mentioned. But here, we find out she's studying floral design, something that she's obviously passionate about. Reaching for happiness indeed.

On the wardrobe side, she still owns unisex clothes (you see this when she charges off to the action portion of the movie), but otherwise her femininity is on full display. A blouse, an embroidered shirt, even a bright yellow skirt, it's all there. Not to mention the stunning dress she wears at Usagi's wedding. And to symbolise how full-circle we've come, she's even wearing earrings!

Her flat has likewise seen major changes. The skateboard and my beloved hats have been moved to make way for what appears to be storage (a fulfilling life can result in extra possessions!) and a picture of something nature-y on the wall. And the room is now filled with plants!

All of these differences stack up. The flat looks...filled, for lack of a better term. It started out rather sparse in her debut episode, but back then she'd just moved in and probably hadn't finished unpacking yet. However, even after she gained more possessions, there were parts that felt like they had just a little bit of empty space to them. Now the entire space is lavishly furnished!

Speaking of which, there's a large stuffed turtle on her sofa, indicating she and Motoki have pursued their relationship and now live together. This is later confirmed when she takes Motoki's car--which she had the keys for--to save Usagi and Mamoru.

At the very end of the epilogue, Motoki clumsily but earnestly asks Makoto for her hand in marriage. And Makoto, overwhelmed and overjoyed, accepts. She's the only version of the character to have achieved this.

It's immensely satisfying seeing a character brought so low, only for them to soar higher than ever before. This Makoto has undergone an immense personal journey. There's no telling what kinds of challenges she might need to overcome in the years to come, but she's already climbed this mountain. Perhaps there's nothing she can't do. And no matter what, she'll always have someone at her side. She'll never be alone again.

I love it. I love all of it. In fact, I'd go so far as to say this is my favourite take on Makoto in the franchise. She's the best, and PGSM is the best for treating her with the nuance and maturity she deserves! Bravo!

---

That's the end of this post! It was meant to be way shorter, but I suppose that was an exercise in futility. If you made it all the way here, thank you very much!

I know I just said PGSM was the best. This is a subjective statement. PGSM is far and away my favourite incarnation of Sailor Moon, but I hold to what I said at the start: Every version is different, and I think that's great. We all enjoy media differently; the more people that can find a version of Sailor Moon befitting their preferences, the better.

It just so happens that PGSM was made for me! And hey, if you've never watched it before, or you dropped it like I first did, maybe it's worth another try. You never know, it might just be your thing too.

Like a certain person once sang:

~Just like predictable movies and books are boring When life is a little bit off, it might be more fun~

#pretty guardian sailor moon #pgsm #kino makoto #makoto kino

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seddm · 2 years

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Would you please do a little something about Amphibia. I’ve always loved the way you put things in perspective :)

HUGE SPOILERS FOR AMPHIBIA'S FINALE BELOW ALSO MESSY POST I DIDN'T REALLY PROOFREAD KINDA WROTE IT AS A STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

I'm still in the middle of FEELING and THINKING and THINKING ABOUT HOW I FEEL, so my ideas might change in the following days; also, while I certainly have a lot of opinions, I didn't dedicate to this show the amount of time I dedicated to SVTFOE, so I don't feel as comfortable analyzing its themes and ideas inside out.

Anyway: the finale hurt. A lot. It's your classic "change happens" finale, which is something completely in line with the themes the show always had. Could they have gone for something different, keeping the dimensions connected, maybe in a partial way but still connected? Probably. By the end of the series, all notions of escapism surrounding the characters and their time in Amphibia had been solved and replaced by more mature and positive feelings, so I don't think keeping the possibility of Anne and Sprig being in contact would have undermined anything. It's just, evidently, not what Matt Braly wanted. What's wrong with this, beyond a more subjective and personal preference for perfectly happy endings goddamnit I wanted to smile fuck? The possibility, the risk of giving the idea that Amphibia, as a place, doesn't deserve its "agency", and that its role was over the moment Anne, Sasha and Marcy went back home. That it was little more than a dream, a fantasy that stops existing the moment the coming of age journey of the characters is over, and they can leave behind their fantasies.

-which clearly doesn't apply to this show. Amphibia is the main setting of the series, it's a second world to the characters, Sprig and Anne are the main characters and their separation was THE climax of the episode. Still, a possible interpretation given the decision to throw the "leaving behind some things" in the larger hat of "CHANGE AS A POSITIVE" of the show.

Earth and Amphibia being separated, probably forever (sure there's Terri with her portals, fans can dream and speculate, but the girls are OLD now compared to the target age for Disney products, their story as far as Amphibia goes is probably over even in the super unlikely possibility of any kind of spinoff or continuation or comic), hurts a lot. I'm livid. But there was also closure in it, a wonderful goodbye that can never be tainted. It'll forever hurt and I'll forever wish they went in the opposite direction, but that won't haunt me. I accept it.

What about the girls? Somehow, that's the part that hurt me the most, and many other viewers like me. And, in my opinion, that's harder to analyze. And to rationalize.

We get this scene giving us some exposition about what happened during the timeskip, and most of the problems stem from this. Did Marcy not physically visit the girls for almost a decade, or it's a "can't believe it's been ten years since our adventure in Amphibia ended!" kind of deal?

Does this line mean Marcy knew so little about the girls' lives for all this time, or it's just a way to allow Sasha to give the viewer some exposition?

If it's the former, then why does she know what Anne is doing? A rekindled and recent interest through social media? Or they did talk during all these years, maybe occasionally, the way a lot of real life friends do even when they're not as long distance as they are? I have no answers, I pray for some kind of Word of God Clarification™ from Matt Braly, but I wouldn't count on it since showrunners rarely like explaining stuff like that. But I can, maybe, analyze some of the issues that are currently hurting me, and possible "solutions".

The show takes place over less than a year, the timeskip lasts ten years. To us viewers, 99.9% of the life of the characters happened during that one year, but to the characters, if you were to imagine them as living people with their own agency, the years of the timeskip - highschool and college and beginning of adult life - clearly represented the majority of their lives. And this is the first layer of the issue, something that can affect every work of fiction, the irreconcilable difference between the viewers' perception of the events, and how the character in the work might reasonably act.

Second layer, the show gave us some incredibly tender moments between the three girls, especially in the last episodes, when they had fixed or come to terms with most of their personal issues, forgiving themselves and each other. This probably made their friendship look stronger than it was.

I use friendship with a very specific meaning in this context, because that's feels like what the show / writing was going for. By the end of their adventure their bond is incredibly strong, more than it has ever been, but as far as friendship goes, the ""problems"" they had before might still exist. Marcy certainly learned to pay more attention to how other are feelings, but that won't magically make Anne and Sasha interested into playing Dungeons & Dragons, and so on.

In a way, this scene told us what we saw in the timeskip.

This applies to Sprig, obviously, but also to the three girls.

Life lead them in different places, maybe different interests -they already had different interests to being with, but they still care about each other more than anything else, even if they might not have (it's an odd sentence I know but it's the best way I can put it) participated in a long time in any of the common rituals of friendship. This much is clear, this scene speaks volume (and that's why I uploaded it as a video, the voice acting and body language is important).

And Matt Braly tweets this

and says in multiple interviews things like

It really allowed me to think about how we grew apart, we grew back together, we grew apart again, and we found each other again. There’s this beauty in life of these relationships that ebb and flow. That’s what I wanted to bottle up. It’s tricky, though!

And at this point I, poor little viewer who was hoping for the three girls to be best friends forever always together often bought in bulk do not separate for the rest of their lives, am forced to let the two wolves inside me fight.

The one who's fucking sad and who can't believe these girls might have fallen out enough to barely talk for multiple years after everything they went through, after all the work and self improvement and shared experiences that forever changed them and who thinks this is all bullshit and that a five seconds long scene that could have easily been dialogue-less soured a whole show and three wonderful characters for me; And the one who tries to understand the intentions of the show. That friendships come in all form and shapes, that we have the perfection of Spranne, ending at an all times high with external circumstances separating them, and the imperfection of the Calamity Trio, three girls who would (did?) die for each other and drop anything and everything to help, but who still took different paths for a part of their lives. And that's normal, happens to a lot of people, friends can not see each other for years and still act like not even a day passed the next time they meet. But it's also jarring, because in the simple world of a cartoon one would have expected more. But that's also not permanent, the show ends with a promise of change to come, Anne's narration talks of things returning in your life, the very last image of the series is one of pure happiness. It's easy to imagine any number of scenarios leading to their relationship bringing once again on the table "the standard rituals of friendship", because the love and affection never left them for a single moment.

Which wolf is going to win? I have no idea. Likely the latter, in time, but it's painful. As anyone who followed me during SVTFOE times knows all too well, understanding the themes and intentions of the writers does very little to change the perception of execution, and the way something subjectively resonated with one's preferences and experiences. Also, an open ending is still open, no matter how positive the outlook might be, and that's fertile ground for the demon that is lack of closure and doubt.

I asked a friend who doesn't watch the show for a somewhat unbiased opinion, and they said

Yeah, I can definitely see how it seems uncontroversially positive from a detached point of view

I guess I'll latch onto that adverb as strongly as I can, at least while I eagerly wait for Matt to benevolently bestow on us, through tweets and interviews and AMAs, any minuscule crumble of Word of God that might bring some manner of comfort to our troubled souls. I don't know, something like "whoops my bad didn't realize Marcy and Sasha's lines would have came across as that bad haha it's not like they became strangers soon after coming back from Amphibia it was gradual they still have a group chat Marcy shares memes every day it's just been a while the avalanche of events from highschool to college to starting to work took them by surprise but now things can change, something new can always begin, they still have decades to be together who knows maybe they'll be roommates for the next five years haha".

A man can dream delude himself...

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #seddm answers #seddm ramblings

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aparticularbandit · 1 year

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Ratings system reflects that used on AO3:

G - General Audience - A kid could read this, but it doesn't mean they'd enjoy it.

T - Teen - Roughly PG-13.

M - Mature - What it says on the tin: This is a maturity call. Sometimes may be sexual content (non-explicit; fade-to-black), sometimes graphic violence, often we're just dealing with some literally dark themes here.

Where a fic is labeled as Mature, the reasoning will be included. Sexual content means definitely they make out but in vague-ish terms. Graphic sexual content means someone is literally touching boobies. It does not mean smut. I do not write smut. Either one can mean fade-to-black situations, but not always. Sometimes it's honestly just heavy making out, vague terms or not.

THERE ARE NO EXPLICIT FICS ON THIS BLOG. I do not write explicit sexual content. I do not write smut. All sexual situations eventually fade to black. Some just take longer than others. Triggers are not mentioned on this page but are found in the fic proper. Some chapters of fics are more triggering than others, etc.

Finding Family Universe:

Finding Family When America begins universe-hopping again to try and find her moms, she realizes that’s too much scope for her, and instead she finds Wanda. Post-DSMOM fix-it fic Wanda Maximoff & America Chavez; Wanda Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff variants; Wanda Maximoff & Agatha Harkness; Wendy Maximoff/America Chavez Rating: T until Part 5; M in Part 5 due to adult themes, violence, sexual content, and vague/implied nudity. Complete

The Finding Family Holiday Special! In which 616!Wanda hosts a New Year’s Eve party, and there are not nearly enough party shenanigans, but there’s a whole lot of talking. Goes between Parts Four and Five of Finding Family, so obviously contains spoilers for that. (Does show up in Finding Family tag in the proper place; this is just for separate reading purposes.) Post-DSMOM fix-it fic Wanda Maximoff & America Chavez; Wanda Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff variants; Wendy Maximoff/America Chavez Rating: T. Complete

Multiversal Variants Basically a What If…? for Finding Family - scenes that could have gone a different way than what happened in the fic, some with more drastic results than others. Wanda Maximoff & America Chavez; Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness Rating: M for graphic sexual content and nudity. Incomplete

The Thrall of Decades:

Kisses Through The Decades The world is full of various shades of grey - charcoal, smoke, silver, ash, pewter, steel, iron, and so on. For all the black and white, there is relatively little of that. Agnes’s hair trends as dark a grey as the world allows, but even it isn’t a pure black. The closest to that is the ribbon tied tight around her waist, accenting the narrowness of it, the hourglass shape of her. Wanda’s hands have found that waist far too many times to count at this point, if only to usher her out of the kitchen when she’s stayed - not past her welcome, because that sounds rude, but…well, past her welcome. Problem being, of course, that the more Wanda guides her by the waist out of the kitchen and through the back door, the more her hands find a proper place there. WandaVision; Five Times Kissed; Canon-Compliant Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness Rating: M for sexual content. Complete start here

The Thrall of Magic Being an accomplished witch is all about manipulation. Or love. But only a fool would fall in love with magic. (Agatha Harkness is a three hundred year old imbecile who has been in love with magic since she first felt its gentlest touch and who has forgotten that some magic can be just as manipulative as the one who twisted it.) WandaVision; Five Times Kissed; Canon-Compliant Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Rating: M for upcoming sexual content. Incomplete start here

The First Snowfall Wanda loses Agatha and finds her outside in the snow. WandaVision; Holiday Fic; Canon-Compliant Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness Rating: T.

Soulmates Universe: Rating: M for adult themes and graphic sexual content.

The Nature of Soulmates You remember the faintest flickering of flame. There’s a shimmer to it, soft, in the middle of your chest - a wholly lavender glow, threaded through with a deeper, darker violet, and when it flicks here and there, as flames are wont to do, the tips turn a thick, clotted black. If you concentrate just past the bright lavender in the center of it, you can almost make out the shape of an open hand, fingers that same inky blackness sketching webbing in your skin, and beyond that, the image of a face with features that you can’t make out, with haunted eyes with deep ashen bags beneath them, and with hair of a much warmer shade flickering, like flame, in a faint breeze that you cannot feel. For a moment, you consider that the face, though determined and sad, seems beautiful. Then you wake. Agatha Harkness/Reader Wanda Maximoff/Reader Soulmate AU Incomplete start here

Reader’s Previous Lives: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Agave (Agatha Harkness/Eve Fletcher) Stuff: Rating: M for adult themes, graphic sexual content, and nudity. Buddy, if you can't see Mrs. Fletcher, then you shouldn't be reading these.

A Beginning

Thunderstorms

Agatha Should Probably Take Eve on a Date

DATE TIME FINALLY WOO

THE MORNING AFTER WOO

Comfort

Worth

We Take A Break So Eve and Agatha Can Discuss Claire

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 1

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 2

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 3

Business Trip (Agatha)

Post-Business Trip (Agatha)

Ted Fucking Sucks

AGAVE DATE 2.0 - NOW WITH MORE ISSUES!

Handcuffs and Fireworks

Creepers Gonna Creep

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt.4

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 5

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 6

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt.7

Agatha/Cian Backstory Pt. 8

Agatha Buys A Birthday Present

Agatha Buys A Birthday Present Pt. 2

Christmas Traditions

A Sea Psalm for a Penitent Soul: Rating: M for adult themes.

Prelude Agnes was never supposed to exist. Even in those first few seconds, feeling your jaw move despite your trying to clench it shut, feeling it snap the bones of your concept of self while maintaining the physical presence of them, as Agnes calls Wanda hot stuff– You reach up to fiddle with your brooch except you don’t reach up to fiddle with your brooch no matter how much you try to make your arm move because Agnes doesn’t want to fiddle with your brooch so you can’t fiddle with your brooch. You scratch and claw at the imperceptible– You can’t even do that because whatever the essence of you is in this moment has no hands, has no mouth, cannot scream. Wanda’s grief weighs you with every nothing you have, your only anchor when waves of worth come to you, ripping them one by one until you remember how worthless you are. It’s hard to maintain panic when you realize that maybe this is what you deserve. Being the Prologue - the Framing Device - for a series meant to explore Agatha Harkness, who she is, who she was, and how she came to Westview.

Stanza One: Paved with Good Intentions When Agatha Harkness is barely ten years old, she witnesses the trial - and execution - of a woman who’d looked after her since she was a baby. As accusations from outsiders fly and as Agatha struggles with controlling her own dark magic, the world she knows and depends on is ripped out from under her.

Glass Onion Fam Fluff:

Birdie Dresses Claire Because someone has to get Claire out of all that beige, and who better than the fam’s fantastic fashionista? Rating: T for brief (non-sexual) nudity.

Essence Something in the center of Claire’s chest tightens. Maybe she was wrong. When he said people like us, he must have just thought she was gay, not like him. Maybe she shouldn’t have– He smiles. “Hey, Claire. Nice to finally meet you.” Then he leans up, brushes a hand through her too short hair, and, without hesitation, kisses her. It’s the first time she’s ever been kissed in her life. None of the others count, because they weren’t kissing her. This is the first one that does. Rating: T.

Happy? Birthday? Claire? Claire doesn’t want a birthday party and tells Birdie so. Rating: T.

Multichapter Fics:

Fragments of Color If the world is black and white, Agnes sticks out like a thorn-pricked thumb, blood pricking scarlet from skin otherwise drained of life, and Wanda aches to suck the venom from her veins, unaware that it would be useless to try. WandaVision rewrite Wanda Maximoff/Agatha Harkness; Wanda Maximoff/Vision Rating: T. Incomplete

Be Mine, Valentine The first time Claire Valentine laid eyes on Eve Mackie, she knew she was in love. Of course, the first time Claire saw Eve, she was all of six years old, a tiny little scrap of a thing in a body that didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable yet, in skin that didn’t feel quite so stretched thin. She wasn’t even Claire yet; sometimes she took her mother’s name out and tried it on the same way that you or I might pull out fine china for special occasions (or our most favorite hoodie on rainy days when we just want to crawl back into bed and cover our head), but it never fit just right. Over the years, Claire expected that Eve forgot about her. Forgot that they’d almost been married, forgot that she’d promised to be Mrs. Valentine. She tried to forget about her, too, just like she tried to be anyone other than Claire, to fit into the skin that her father sketched out for her. But the more she tried, the thinner it grew, until she felt like she was splitting. Then her parents died, and everything changed. Agave Stuff AU Claire Debella/Eve Fletcher Rating: Undetermined; likely T or above. start here

Stolen Agatha said that Wanda's spell was flawed. If she'd been a better witch, if she'd known her craft, then she could have created the boys - recreated Vision - separate from the spell that maintained the Hex. After everything, Wanda is willing to let Vision rest, but she wants her boys back. But when Wanda finishes the spell, there's something else missing: a certain nosy next-door neighbor who had become what she'd considered her best friend before everything fell apart. She won't let the spell be flawed this time. Everything will be perfect. Even Agnes. Canon-Compliant/Post-Canon to WandaVision; Ignores DSMOM. Slow burn, enemies to lovers Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Rating: M for adult themes, particularly regarding loss of bodily autonomy. start here

One-Shots:

don’t fret precious, i’m here / step away from the window / and go / back to sleep What if Wanda won? Post-DSMOM Wanda Maximoff & Billy Kaplan & Tommy Shepherd Rating: T.

Canon!Agatha Meets Pregnant!Eve Exactly what it says on the tin. Agatha Harkness/Eve Fletcher Rating: T.

Consumption Continuation of To Be Devoured. Agatha Harkness/Wanda Maximoff Rating: M for adult themes and non-sexual nudity.

Clubbing Amanda convinces Eve to go to a club for the first time, and Eve meets you. Eve Fletcher/Reader Rating: M for graphic sexual content.

Holiday Fics 2022:

Letters to Santa (Agave Edition) Rating: G.

Letters to Santa (Glass Onion Fam Edition) Rating: T.

Catching Snowflakes feat. Glass Onion Fam Rating: T.

The First Snowfall feat. Harximoff Rating: T.

To Be Devoured feat. Harximoff Rating: M for adult themes, graphic sexual content, and nudity.

Christmas Traditions feat. Agave Rating: T.

Agatha Has A Dream feat. Agave Rating: G.

Fulfilled Prompts:

Agnes/Agatha Angst Rating: M for adult themes.

Harximoff Angst + Roisa Angst Rating: T.

Glass Onion Fam Angst (THIS HAS SPOILERS) Rating: T.

Roisa Jealousy Rating: T.

Harximoff Jealousy (featuring Fietro) Rating: T.

Harximoff Jealousy (featuring Dennis) Rating: T.

Glass Onion Spoilers Fic:

Take A Sad Song and Make It Better Miles almost hit Duke when he left Andi’s place. He didn’t stay to make sure that Andi actually died. What if, in all of the attempts to get into the house, one of them heard the car still rumbling in the garage? What if Andi didn’t die? Glass Onion fix-it fic Rating: T. Incomplete start here

#musings #bandit does an update #bandit fic masterlist

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senseearlyje · 2 years

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Pastels - Jean x Eren Drabble

Content Warning: Spoilers for End of Manga, Implied Character Death. Set 10+ years after series ended.

During Armin’s last visit at Jean’s home, he brought a new item from Marley. Pastels, it read. It smelled of wax and old newspapers. “For your drawings,” Armin explained, smiling. “I saw this while passing a store the other day and I thought you might be able to make use of this. Since you get so many commissions, after all.”

“From friends, Armin,” Jean said, chuckling. “Connie and Reiner hardly count as so many.”

“It’s more than one!” Then they both laugh before moving onto discussions about the latest developments of the lives of their friends. Mikasa with her chicken farm; Connie with his tour around the world. Reiner almost burning down the new restaurant that Niccolo opened at the Braus’ ranch.

“Hey, Jean,” Armin began, a touch of shyness graces his movements. As if he’s suddenly 15 years younger, a cadet who was hesitant to speak his mind. “I know this is a rather forward request, but if you got the time in your busy schedule, then maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“…I can request a portrait of…someone if that will be alright?”

Ah, Jean thought. So that’s what this all was.

A month later, and the face of Eren Jeager is staring towards Jean from the white textured. sheets of his worn-out sketch pad. Baby-faced and not yet withdrawn; barely an adult at 18 years of age – almost 10 years from now. Oh, how time passed by. Jean doesn’t know if he got all the intricate details right, but all the pieces are there:

The course strands of a hair that has not yet to reach his shoulders, filled by half-used black pastel –

The well-angled jaw that somehow retained bits of its softness, drawn with strokes of a well-used brown –

The Pair of lips that were always chapped and red, marked by the reds and pinks –

And those stupidly-big eyes, as bright and green as the meadows of the home that Jean returned to –

Ah. Damn it. This isn’t the shade of green that Jean is trying to get at all. The pastel sticks of green, blue, and yellow are left with only a quarter of their original length, their paper wrappers gone. The image of Eren Yeager stands before him, as if he was still there among there, ready to make a come back with Jean’s retorts or say something incredibly but unintentionally sappy.

But at the same time, this doesn’t feel like Eren. This doesn’t look like Eren. Armin probably can’t even tell the difference; so would Mikasa. Memory is such a funny and unreliable thing sometimes. A decade is enough to turn a man’s first love to a haze of colors and shapes.

Shit. The eyes are now smudged, the drawing is ruined. No matter, Jean can do it again. He turns the pad in the next page, wipes his eyes with his arm, and gets back to sketching.

#jeanere #erejean #jean kirschstein #eren jeager #aot #practice

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uozlulu · 10 months

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Fic. Interview with the Vampire (AMC). The Roles We Act. R.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Armand, Daniel, Louis; Armand/Daniel Genre Horror/Vampire Rating R Word Count 2,348 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary Daniel explores the Théâtre des Vampires album and learns new details. For the I Can’t Wait for Season 2 event week 3: Outfits/Character Look. Warning(s) spoilers for Interview with the Vampire, spoilers for The Queen of the Damned, spoilers for The Vampire Armand, body horror, decapitation, murder, nudity, vivisection, blood drinking, sexual situations food consumption Notes When I saw IwtV Daily’s tweet, I immediately started brainstorming. I decided to do one fic per prompt and make them a series. I’m not sure I’d say I want all the little details to happen in the show, but the bigger things I want to happen were my inspirations for each fic.

The third week’s theme was Outfits and Character Looks. I decided to explore what Armand might have worn onstage, so I wrote out a couple of brief potential plays. I know that vampires can recover from decapitation if the head is reattached quickly, but I don’t know the exact details of how that works so I got creative. I didn’t go too deeply into Devil’s Minion in this fic because I think my fic May You Get What You Desire Is a Curse upon the Dead covers my thoughts on what I want to see from the ship in season 2 nicely. However, in terms of the ending of that fic, I’d rather that happen in a later season possibly if my theory that they could rearrange some plot points and do portions of QotD in the present rather than that past might be true. More on that theory next week since that’s one of the themes.

AO3 link

or read below

The Roles We Act

Sunlight filtered throughout the penthouse. Daniel sat at the ornate desk and ran a finger along the leather exterior of the album Armand threw at his feet a few days ago. The album was so old that it was hand bound and hand decorated with the words “Théâtre des Vampires” across the cover. Hitting the ground did the spine no favors, but all its aged pages remained intact and in place.

Daniel set his pen on his notepad and opened the cover of the album. He flipped a few pages to get a feel of the content and made note to research antique cameras and alternatives to silver in mirrors. The entire album was in French. At the bottom of each page, steady, perfectly aligned lettering logged the dates as if someone typed it with a modern font, but the strokes were evident. Daniel returned to the first page. It was a newspaper article from 1851.

Daniel opened his phone and took a photo of the article. A translation app spat out an approximation of the article in English. Théâtre des Vampires was the name of a previous theater that ran throughout the eighteenth century and closed during the Napoleon era. The elderly reviewer was skeptical that this troupe could live up to the spectacle and legend of the previous troupe, but found the troupe’s resemblance to the previous troupe impressive.

As Daniel delved deeper into the album, the more the penthouse seemed to slip away as the scenes depicted and described in the articles and advertisements played through his mind. The stage remained seemingly unchanged through the decades with the occasional floor and curtain replacement. Lights upgraded with each new technological advancement and the seating changed in style and number. Vampires and mortals mixed on stage. Most mortals became food onstage while others seemed to disappear to become food backstage, and a rare few became spectacle instead of food. Daniel made a note to ask how the troupe chose each category. The vampire troupe liked to rotate parts amongst its members and updated costumes in accordance with the audience’s notions of how vampires, doctors, lawyers, judges, and previous historical periods should appear.

In one early midnight matinee, two to three mortals selected from the audience took to the stage in opulent Classical Era costuming complete with giant powdered wigs. Two of the vampire troupe dressed as Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI joined the mortals. Armand entered the stage next. He wore a modest dark wig of human hair tied with an orange bow. His jacket was the same color of orange and his vest a darker shade, adorned with a yellow trim. His knee breeches were black as well as his shoes. His stockings and shirt were white. He unrolled a long scroll that hit the floor and continued rolling across the stage. “The people of France find you guilty of the following,” Armand said while looking towards the audience. “Crimes against wigs.”

Armand stepped aside while a mortal threw their wig at him. “Crimes against corsets.”

Marie Antoinette pulled a corset out of the top of her dress and threw it at Armand who sidestepped it to laughter from the audience.

“Crimes against bread.” Armand stepped aside as another mortal threw a loaf at him, allowing the bread to land somewhere in the audience. “And crimes against all taste.”

Louis XVI wiggled his ass in Armand direction and danced lewdly as the crowd laughed even harder.

Armand did not blink. “For these crimes, there can only be one punishment.” He rolled up his scroll and crossed the stage to stand at stage left. “Our people sentence you to death by guillotine!”

The audience roared in anticipation. Vampire assistants dressed entirely in black rolled a wooden guillotine onto the stage. The audience roared even louder. Armand’s fangs almost glinted in the stage lamps. He called out for the first mortal, who easily settled into the stocks. The mortal looked down at the basket below and blinked. “Where’s the prop?” they whispered earnestly.

The vampires did not answer. The blade dropped swiftly and the mortal’s head rolled into the basket. One of the assistants positioned the head so it could look at the crowd. The mortal’s eyes widened and blinked several times. Their mouth almost moved but there was no sound.

Another mortal onstage shrieked and tried to run. Armand grasped them quickly and walked them to the guillotine. “Now, my friend, you know your fate.” He guided the mortal into the stocks. “Give the people what they desire!”

The mortal tried to beg, but the blade was too swift and soon their head joined the basket. Again, a vampire assistant positioned the head so it faced the audience. Soon tears began to fall down the mortal’s cheeks. The audience applauded the seemingly life-like effect.

Now it was Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI’s turns. They pranced and gestured wildly, calling names and spitting on the guillotine. Then they both willingly took their positions under the blade for a double execution. The blade dropped and their heads fell into a fresh basket. Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI began to chant, causing some in the audience to shriek. The vampire assistants immediately picked up their heads, reattached them to their bodies swiftly, and offered them cups of vampire blood.

The vampire assistants began to chant while the audience quieted in anticipation. Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI drained their cups and immediately began to sing, their movements lewd and their lyrics saucy. The crowd hollered and cried for more as the royal duo exited stage right while Armand exited stage left and the curtain fell.

Daniel continued looking through the album. A series of vivisection plays recurred throughout the decades. The vampires took turns playing the roles of doctor and surgical team while one mortal played the patient. The examination wall rarely changed.

Armand took the stage in inter-war era stage makeup. He wore a white long-sleeved operating gown with a pocket under his left breast and band around his waist. His pants matched the gown. His curls peeked out from the corners of his white surgical cap. His shoes had spats on them. Some visitors giggled at the impractical footwear.

Vampire assistants dressed in black surgical gowns ushered a mortal onstage. The mortal wore a white hospital gown, taunting and teasing Armand and the vampires, exposing their legs, ass, and chest in little peeks as they danced about the stage. Finally, the mortal surrendered their hospital gown and stood completely naked onstage.

Armand placed gloves on his hands and a mask over his face before pulling it down to his chin so he could speak to the audience clearly. He approached the mortal and laid a hand on their arm. The mortal shouted at how cold Armand’s hand was, which elicited a few more giggles. “Tell me what plagues you,” Armand said.

The mortal always made up a clever little disease. Virginitis, a strange pain in a naughty place, or perhaps their heart was withering from a lack of sex.

Armand nodded and then proclaimed, “I think we’ll need to use the latest technology. Bring me the examining wall!”

The vampire assistants carried out a large wooden wall stained with blood and covered in chains. They secured the mortal in place, spread like the Vitruvian man. When Armand drew close, the mortal whispered, “Where is the prop torso?”

The audience roared in anticipation much too loud to hear the whisper.

Armand did not blink. He did not answer. He turned to the crowd and said, “My patient is in agony! We must look inside!”

The mortal blinked and then their eyes widened as they whispered, “No.” Then they cried out, “No!”

Armand adjusted his gloves so his nails poked through the fabric. His nails were long and swift, easily peeling flesh away without causing the mortal to lose too much blood. The mortal’s screams echoed through the theater. The audience leaned forward in anticipation.

Armand stripped away muscle and fat. He moved with exact precision. The mortal’s screams became pleas and sobs as the experience became almost too much for them to process.

“I see the problem now,” Armand said. He exposed the intestines. “It’s very clear.” He exposed the stomach, spleen, and liver. “Your organs are visible.” He exposed the heart and lungs. “No wonder you came to see me!”

Some people in the audience fainted. Vampire ushers spirited them away. Armand removed the gallbladder, spleen, liver, and appendix, tossing them at the audience who shrieked in delight and terror. When the mortal’s heart and lungs showed signs of weakening, Armand stepped away from the mortal. “I recommend a trip to the Riviera. Remember to take a coat against the chill.”

The audience applauded and took to their feet, amazed by such life-like and unthinkable costuming and effects. The curtains closed and the vampires devoured the mortal before they died.

Daniel’s mind lingered on the thought of a vivisected torso still pumping blood through its exposed heart and still drawing air through its exposed lungs. He made notes to ask if the vampires drank from those who fainted in the audience.

The sun made its way towards the horizon. Daniel kept flipping pages in the album and adding to his notes. The most popular and most frequent plays were vampire plays. The troupe donned costumes of all colors. They selected victims whose blood were likely delicious and plentiful or vampires that they deemed worthy of punishment much like Louis recounted in his recollections.

Daniel flipped another page and drew closer to the end of the album. This article was the only magazine article in the collection and the photo accompanying it reproduced at the highest quality. Armand stood on stage during a vampire play with his hair disheveled. His dark velvet clothes seemed centuries older than his audience might have realized. He held his victim tightly to him as the corpse stared up at the rafters unblinking. Daniel could not look away from the obvious glow in Armand’s eyes. He could not ignore how the stage lighting illuminated Armand’s fangs and how blood still clung to them, likely for effect.

Memories stirred within Daniel, stripping away the penthouse in Dubai and transporting him to volcanic ruins bathed in the light of the full moon. His bare ass settled on an overturned wall, cold and weathered. Orange eyes drew closer as Armand leaned over him, running his fangs along Daniel’s neck. Daniel shivered in his memory and in reality. Fangs sank into his flesh. Daniel’s bitten nails tried to grasp whatever skin he could touch, the coolness exciting him further. Armand pulled back, the moonlight illuminating his hair and his collarbone. A sharp nail ripped the veins at Armand’s wrist and he offered his blood to Daniel.

Daniel blinked and the memory dissipated before he could drink from Armand’s wrist. He sighed heavily and removed his glasses. He rubbed his face. Thirst gripped him. He was not sure how long it was since he last ate or drank. He lowered his hands, blinked, and then almost jumped.

Armand stood before him with a tray of tea. He wore loose flowing clothing that exposed his upper chest and neck but instead of black, his outfit was red like the sunset rather than blood. Armand’s eyes glowed in the dimming light as lamps turned on by themselves to compensate for the encroaching night. Daniel’s eyes followed the curves of Armand’s long nails as Armand set the tray down with little regard for the album.

“I though the Rashid act was over,” Daniel said.

Armand poured tea from a decorative pot and placed the teacup on the coaster beside Daniel. “It is, but you will forget to drink otherwise.”

Daniel took the cup. It was the same tea blend it always was, fragrant and spicy. His mind returned to the memory of the moonlit night amongst the ruins. Over the last few days, Daniel had similar dreams and daydreams that felt like memories. They were all set during his bender years and each seemed to feature a new, oftentimes exotic location. Daniel ran his tongue along his teeth and said, “I’ve been looking at the theater’s work. It’s very Grand Guignol.”

“Théâtre du Grand-Guignol was a poor imitation,” Armand said. “You should look at the final pages in the album.”

Daniel flipped the page to the final page spread. Advertisements like those that Louis described in his recollections took up one page and a newspaper article with a large photo in its center took up the other side. Daniel put his glasses on and peered at the grainy newspaper reproduction. “Is that…?”

“Claudia and her fledgling,” Armand said.

Daniel retrieved his magnify glass and looked closer. The stage right girl had a dark face with thick black hair to her shoulders. Her dress had an indiscernible pattern on it and her arms and legs were very light. Beside her was another girl, her face light and eyes too pale to register in the reproduced photo. Her dress was a solid color with a belt and buttons. Her arms and legs were dark. They both seemed alive in the photo. “Looks like they switched bodies. How’d you achieve that look?” Daniel asked.

“A sharp blade and surgical thread for effect,” Armand said. “I gave Claudia the adult body she desired. She could only curse me.”

Daniel looked up at him. “And then you left them to burn in the courtyard.”

Armand held his gaze. Never once did he blink. “As you heard in Louis’ account, we could not have murderers among us.”

“Spoken like a group of murderers,” Daniel murmured. “Does Louis know?”

“I do,” Louis said from near the doorway as he entered the room. He still wore only black. “A lot happened between Claudia’s death and when I met you as you will learn tonight.”

Daniel’s gaze shifted between the vampires. He glanced at the windows full of the night sky. He slowly closed the album. “When do you want to start?”

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2023 #my iwtv fanfics #iwtv fanfics #i can't wait for season 2 event #ids2 #iwtvs2

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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

Inner Conflict

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3586

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Some Angst, Some Fluff, Sam and Bucky being idiots, Mentions of PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression

A/N: Here’s Part Three to my FATWS Series, which I’m making a masterlist for that you can find Here.

Uh…it’s a little long, and I apologize for that. It doesn’t even encompass the whole second episode, only the first half, so a Part 3.5 will be coming out later today probably (it’s my day off work so I have all day to relax and write!) I tried not doing a line for line rewrite of the episode, but there are quotes from the show in here. Mostly it’s Reader’s thoughts and feelings towards what’s happening while conversations are going on around. Reader’s backstory is a bit more unfurled. It’s more action packed and more scene-for-scene of the episode than the previous two. Less emotions shared and less hurt/comfort type of thing, but that’ll be back in the next part probably along with more scenes not in the show. The next part I’m planning won’t be as long, it’ll mainly just be the Couples Therapy scene and a bit more angst with her and Sam and her and Bucky.

Because there’s four more episodes and I don’t know what’s going to happen in them, I’m kinda hesitant on spilling out exactly what is going on with the Reader and what her role was on the original team, but we’ll get there. Also, I wasn’t expecting to be writing multiple pieces for one episode, but if the other episodes are as packed as this one, prepare yourself for more parts than anticipated. We’re already on Part 3 and I’ve got Part 3.5 coming. Just bare with me as I don’t know what’s going to happen in future episodes! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

(Not beta’d so excuse any mistakes.)

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

Walking out of the shower, ruffling a towel through your hair to dry it off, you froze at the sound of the TV. A sigh left your lips. It’s all he’d been doing the last few days - watching the news. Keeping up with the tour for the new Captain America.

You peeked out of the small bedroom to find Bucky sitting on the floor, brow creased as he watched John Walker talk to the Good Morning America hostess.

“You shouldn’t be watching that.” You spoke up, leaning on the doorway, still patting your hair dry. He glanced over to you, taking in the towel wrapped around you, before looking back at the TV. Seeing you like that wasn’t anything new. “Buck, I’m serious. Brooding over it won’t make anything better.”

“What do you want me to do?”

You let out a sigh, shifting your feet and biting your lip as you thought about how to respond. “I-I haven’t figured it out yet. But obsessing over the new guy-”

“Aren’t you mad?”

You frowned at his question, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I told you already that I am.”

He tilted his head, which he did when he was confused, his eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you show it? Why aren’t you screaming or cursing or crying or something? You, of all people-”

“Because it won’t help anything, Buck.” You shook your head, pushing off the wall. “I want to. But if I let myself go down that road…” Dropping your gaze to the floor, you take a breath, collecting your thoughts. “This is such a complicated situation, James. I’m being contacted left and right for a statement on the new Captain. People trying to see my reaction. Senators trying to get me to meet with him. I can’t let myself snap. I can’t.”

He scowled. “They’re still bothering you?”

A dry chuckle escaped your lips and you nodded. “Makes me miss the days when no one knew who I was; when I was the behind-the-scenes seventh Avenger. But I made that choice to come out, and I have to deal with the consequences now. Blowing up will only-”

“Even though I never met him…he feels like a brother.”

That one statement stopped you in your tracks. Bucky’s head whipped back to the TV, his jaw ticking, his nose scrunching up.

“Did he really just say that?”

Bucky merely nodded, his chest heaving as he tried getting his breathing under control. “Feel like snapping now?”

You purse your lips as you held in the tears stinging your eyes. After composing yourself, you moved over and grabbed the remote, letting out a tiny sniffle as you did so. You tentatively touched Bucky’s shoulder, silently asking him if he needed anything from you. His response was to open his arms, so you quickly got down besides him to hold him.

“He is my brother, doll.”

“I know, Buck.” You pressed a soft kiss to his head, which rested against your bare shoulder.

Your bare knees are pressed harshly against the wooden panels of the floor, and you’re twisted awkwardly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. As long as he was comfortable, you would take the uncomfortable position. As long as he was being held, you would take the soreness it would leave. As long as you could help him be some sort of okay, you would take not being okay in this position.

You two sat like that for a few more moments before your phone buzzed. You gave a sigh, pulling back and holding his cheeks in either hand. He wasn’t crying, although he was on the verge of doing so. You’d seen him cry before, so you knew he didn’t mind. For you it was a different story.

Bucky had maybe seen you cry twice since the whole Blip thing went down. And one of them was over the phone, so he didn’t see it so much as he heard it. You didn’t let yourself cry in front of him. Or anyone, for that matter. It was a part of you. The only person you ever felt comfortable enough around to cry in front of…wasn’t there. And you couldn’t change that.

“We’ll figure it out.” You told him, nodding gently and letting a small, sad smile quirk the corners of your lips up. “Okay? We’ll figure it out.”

The clench in his jaw loosened as your fingers worked circles into the hinge, making him relax and nod back. You pressed a tender kiss to his forehead before standing up, moving across the room to where your phone was on the counter. You assumed it’d be another government official or news reporter, so you were slightly shocked to see ‘Sammy’ flashing up at you.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you read his message, a slight pout forming on your face.

“Doll?” Toned arms wrapped around you, warm and cool, his chin setting on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sam. He needs my help with something.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You turned in his arms, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

He shrugged, licking his lips. “You might need help.”

“Bucky, you can’t go if you’re just going to yell at him.”

“I won’t.”

You studied his features. He was lying, you knew that. Of course he was going to snap at Sam for giving up the shield. He was mad and they got on each others’ nerves every chance they could find, so of course he was going to.

But you still found yourself saying yes and telling him to go pack a bag. You were never able to say no to Steve and it seemed that got passed on. What a nuisance it was.

****************

And you were so right. It was the first thing he said once Sam came into view coming down the stairs.

“You shouldn’t have given up the shield, Sam.”

“James.” You squeezed the hand he was holding, voice pleading for him not to do this right now. He huffed, stepping back to let you greet Sam properly, giving the man a hug. “Hi, Sammy.”

“It’s been a while.” Sam commented, pulling back and holding you by the shoulders. “You look good. Not that you’ve ever looked otherwise.”

You gave him a small smile. “You do too.”

“Thanks for coming. I know it’s short notice, but-”

“It’s fine, Sam. Really.” You insist.

Sam nodded, before eyeing Bucky. “Did you have to bring him?”

“Samuel-”

“This is wrong.” Bucky cut in, staring Sam down, falling into step besides him as the man started heading outside.

“James-”

“Hey, hey. Look. I’m working, all right?”

You rolled your eyes as the two started arguing, stopping your stride to take a breather. You used to joke about babysitting them, but it didn’t feel like a joke anymore and you were getting tired of it. All the bickering for no reason. The contempt they held for one another. Steve made you promise that you would look out for them, and you were trying, but they weren’t making it easy.

When you joined them again, you raised an eyebrow at the direction the conversation turned. How the hell did they get from arguing about the shield to what a wizard is?

“Ahh! Haha! A sorcerer is a wizard without a hat!”

You gave Sam a look as he babbled about how he was right. “Sorcerer Mickey has a hat. Isn’t that, like, how he gets his powers and everything?”

Bucky grinned at you. “Thank you!”

“Excuse you!” Sam scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “We were having a conversation!”

“Yeah. A stupid conversation I just ended. Now I’m gonna be in the plane. Feel free to join me when you’re done being idiots.”

They both spluttered, but you were already walking away, leaving no room for arguments. As you loaded onto the plane, you spotted the Lieutenant whom Sam mentioned who had been helping him out with missions. Torres, you thought, remembering his name from a previous phone call with your friend.

“You Lieutenant Torres?” You asked, walking up to him.

He blinked, before his eyes widened, a grin appearing on his face. He seemed young, which you were perfectly okay with considering you’ve been working alongside old men for the past decade. It was always nice to work with a fresh face, which you found after you started working with Wanda and Peter.

The thought of the two youngest members made you falter, not having heard from either of them since Christmas almost six months prior, but you quickly recovered yourself, shaking away the worries you had for them.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N! I’m a huge fan! I’ve read all your files!”

Chuckling a little, you held out your hand. “Most of those are heavily classified.”

He ducked his head with a little blush, rubbing the back of his neck after shaking your hand. “I, uh, I might’ve…used connections.”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him, throwing him a wink. “I won’t tell. Can you tell me what’s going on? Sam didn’t exactly explain the situation.”

He nodded, getting into ‘work mode’, something you’ve seen in most military men, informing you of their recent missions and the group known as the Flag-Smashers and giving you a file on them. He was in the middle of telling you about his solo mission in Germany when your two fellas came in, sending each other small glares, but remaining quiet.

Bucky caught your eye and sent an apologetic look your way, to which you just smiled at before turning back to Torres.

“Well I’m glad you’re okay.” You told him once he was done.

“Oh yeah. It wasn’t that bad.”

You laughed and nodded. “I’m sure. You seem like a tough kid.”

He smiled, before looking around and jabbing his thumb behind his shoulder. “I-I’ve gotta go, but-”

“We can talk later.” You promised with a grin.

“Really?!”

“Of course! I have a feeling we’ll be working together more, and I like getting to know who’s gonna have my back.”

He beamed and nodded, walking backwards. “That’d be awesome! Talk to you later then!”

You giggled as he turned around and jogged off, pumping his fist in the air. You turned to a grinning Sam and nodded towards where Torres left. “I like him. Seems like a nice kid.”

“He is. Very energetic. A little reckless, but he’s got a good heart.”

You hummed, the smile falling from your face as you flipped through the file Torres gave you. “So…Munich?”

“Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry again for taking you away from the search, but-”

“Search is off.” You informed him quickly, not looking up. “Until further notice.”

The plane went quiet, before Sam cleared his throat. “So…no sign of Wanda yet, then?”

You shut the file, looking up at the men whose features were laced with concern. “I’m gonna go talk to the pilot. Behave while I’m gone. No pushing each other off the plane.”

“Doll?”

You were stopped by the hand that grabbed your wrist as you passed Bucky. You shot him another smile, knowing it wasn’t convincing enough for him, but it being the best one you had. “I’m okay. I’ve just gotta ask him some questions.”

************

Opening your mouth to stop him, you groaned when Bucky jumped out of the plane before you could speak. First Sam jumps without sharing the plan, then Bucky jumps without having a plan. Or a parachute. Or wings. Or anything.

Torres looked at you, but all you could do was shrug. “I dunno what to tell you, kid.”

“You’re not gonna do that, are you?”

“No.” You reassured him, shaking your head. “I’m gonna wait ‘til we land like a normal person and take my bike. I just have to pray that they’ll wait to do anything stupid until I get there.”

They didn’t wait. You’re pretty sure they didn’t even think about waiting. By the time you got to them, they were fighting - and losing, might you add - to six really strong people on top of two semi trucks.

Because why wouldn’t they?

Oh, oh. And on top of that, the fake was there, throwing the shield. The shield that didn’t belong to him. The shield that meant so much more than he would ever know.

“Hi, doll! Sorry we started the party without you!” Bucky shouted from where he was hanging off the edge, that close to the street and getting his head torn off by the tire.

“I’m so tired of babysitting you two, you know that?!”

“Oh! Sorry we’re such an inconvenience for you! Blame him! He jumped the gun!” Sam shouted, coming to fly next to you as you rolled up your sleeves, standing on your bike, using one hand to steer.

“Can I get a little help already?!”

“Sam-!”

“On it!”

Knowing that no matter how much they pissed each other off, Sam would make sure Bucky was okay and vice versa, you focused on getting to the top, where Walker and a buddy of his were struggling a little bit.

You climbed up to the roof of the semi no one was on, wincing when you heard your bike skidding across the pavement. There goes half your salary.

You couldn’t dwell on it for very long, considering one of the guys appeared in front of you. You recognized the fighting - the strength - and faltered, a memory resurfacing at a very bad time.

“C’mon, honey. You can do better than that.” Steve grinned at you, holding out a hand to help you up.

“Excuse me for not having super strength, Rogers.” You huffed out, taking it and letting him pull you up.

“You don’t need to be stronger than me. You just need to be smarter.”

“That’ll be easy.” You teased, stretching your arms before getting into your stance again. “You’re a dumbass sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, who chose to be friends with this dumbass?”

“Everyone needs a dumbass for a friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “So I’m your dumbass?”

“If you want.”

The grin he shot you made your heart skip a beat. “If you’ll have me.”

You blinked, but Steve wasn’t in front of you anymore and you weren’t in the gym in DC.

The guy caught the punch you distractedly threw and twisted your arm, making you cry out, kicking him in the back of the knee and flipping him over your shoulder.

You went to kick him again, but he caught your leg and threw you against the side of the other semi. You were able to grab onto where Bucky had ripped through the side, but you winced as the metal cut through your palm. Sam had just flown under the trucks, taking Buck with him, and you knew when a fight wasn’t worth it, so you quickly moved around the truck, letting Walker and his pal distract the Flag-Smashers, before letting yourself fall onto the side where the grass was.

You wanted to lay there, to catch your breath and curse yourself for getting distracted. You hadn’t had a flashback like that in a while. But you didn’t let yourself. You had to make sure the guys were okay.

Standing up made you cringe; you could feel the throbbing in your shoulder from where it was no doubt dislocated and your leg was aching, the muscle probably pulled when the guy threw you.

“Doll!” You turned, seeing Bucky and Sam sprinting towards you a few yards down the road. “Hey, hey.” Bucky immediately had his hands hovering over you, scanning your body. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, shoving his hands away. “I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

“I think I dislocated it.”

Sam frowned. “What the hell happened?”

You gave him a weird look, starting to limp across the field to where you noticed a side road earlier. “They were super soldiers, Sam. And we got our asses kicked.”

“Yeah, but you know how to fight a super soldier-”

“It’s been a while.”

“Bullshit.” Sam side stepped in front of you, making you stop. “What happened?”

“I-I just got distracted, okay?”

“Y/N. Look at me.” Bucky took your face between his palms, eyes worried. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. A tired sigh left your lips and you looked anywhere but his eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just hurting. My leg, I think I pulled it or something-”

“C’mere.” Bucky turned and crouched down, making you blink.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be walking. We don’t wanna make it worse.”

“But it’s just a strain, it won’t-”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get on the man’s back, Y/N.”

You bit your lip before sighing and carefully climbing on his back. He shifted you gently, making sure to hold your leg with caution, leaning his head into yours when you hooked your chin on his shoulder. “You-you don’t have to talk about what happened. Just-just know that when you do…I’ll be here, okay?”

You nodded, moving to press your nose against the column of his throat. “Okay.”

But you could never tell them. How could you? How could you tell the world’s longest POW that you were having nightmares? How could you complain to an Air Force vet who served two tours in Afghanistan and watched his best friend get blown out of the air that you were having flashbacks?

You weren’t sure if it was PTSD or anxiety or depression. Maybe all three. It didn’t matter, though, because you didn’t want to admit it. You wouldn’t admit it. No one thought the Blip messed you up that badly. No one thought Steve leaving did that much damage. And you were okay with that. You were okay with them thinking you were healing - that you were fine - because they needed to see that it could be done. That they could be fine, too. Especially the men walking, Sam teasing Bucky per usual.

It wasn’t until a horn honked that you allowed yourself to be pulled out of your thoughts. A scoff left you when you realized who it was, switching the side you were laying on so your cheek pressed up against the cool metal of his left shoulder, facing away from the jeep.

You tried ignoring the guy as he talked about working together and shit, taking a shuddering breath, making Bucky squeeze your uninjured thigh. There was no way you were working with him. You couldn’t. It’d be like betraying Steve and you didn’t need that on top of all the other things you were dealing with.

You couldn’t deny the need for a ride though. The airport was 20 miles away and you were hurting pretty bad. You suspected that was the reason the guys relented, Bucky tenderly setting you down in the jeep between him and Sam, careful of your injuries.

You stared at your lap as Walker and Sam talked shop. You understood where they were coming from, you were always able to see both sides of the coin, but it didn’t mean you were going to willingly work with him.

“I got mad respect for all of y’all, but you were kind of getting your asses kicked till we showed up.”

You scoffed at that, finally raising your eyes to meet Walker’s friend’s. “Like you were doing any better?”

Bucky reached over to grab her hand that was resting on her lap. “You know, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you.” Walker faced you, eyes raking down your form. Bucky shifted in his spot, but you ran your thumb over his knuckles before he could do or say anything stupid.

“Yeah. I know. My phone hasn’t stopped blowing up for a week. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Walker frowned. “If you just answered-”

“I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve been a little busy doing my job to blow smoke up your ass on national television. Sorry if my saving people’s lives has been an inconvenience for you, but some wannabe playing dress up isn’t my top priority.”

Walker’s brows furrowed and he was about to say something, when Bucky cut in, asking his friend who he was. You were already that close to jumping out of the jeep, when the guy, Hoskins, told you three that he went by ‘Battlestar’.

If the situation wasn’t so aggravating, you would’ve laughed when Bucky immediately told the driver to stop, opening the door before the car even stopped. “C’mere, doll.” He murmured, lifting you up into his arms bridal style, before walking off, tuning out Walker as he shouted after you two.

You pouted a little when you saw Sam still talking to the guy. “What’re they talking about, Buck?”

“Some nonsense about him not replacing Steve. Just trying to be the best Captain America he can.”

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest. “The best Captain America is Steve. He can never be Steve.”

“I know, doll.”

“Steve told me once that all he was trying to do was be a good man…it’ll always amaze me that he didn’t see he was the best.”

You missed the distraught look Bucky shot towards you, the look in his eyes almost heartbroken while you talked fondly about his best friend. The tortured scrunch to his features seemed to melt away at your next words, though, and he held you tighter as you curled into his hold.

“Just like it amazes me that you don’t know how important you are to me too, Buckaroo.”

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theunreliablewriter · 3 years

Text

When Love Collided

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

A Whole Lotta Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Black Widow Spoilers!, Mentions of fighting, Mention of killing, Mentions of near death experience, Cussing, Mention of Suffering/Trauma,

Request: hi !! i love your stories you're a really great writer and your stories made my day :>> could i request a yelena belova x reader story where r and yelena are pining over each other like idiots and r confesses to yelena and yelena is an awkward mess and yelena somehow brings up the courage to kiss r in response since she's in a total loss for words but they kind of just headbutt each other in panic- thank you !! :D

Author’s Note: Yes, this is the cheesiest title possible, but it fits, and this was such a cute request. Thank you so much for your sweet compliments, anon! I’m sorry, I know I said I was going to try to avoid spoilers for at least a week. I wish this was longer, so I apologize for that too. I hope I wrote our beloved Russian awkward enough, and that somebody enjoys! 💜

Together.

That is how it had always been since the night you were both dragged from the back of that dark, Godforsaken truck.

Over twenty years had now passed, and so much had happened and changed since then. But, there was one constant—one thing that had remained the same.

And that was your bond with Yelena Belova.

You grew up together as children. You trained together. You…you suffered together.

Usually, the Red Room forbid friendships as close as yours. They couldn’t risk you two choosing each other over the completion of a mission. Although neither of you ever allowed yourself to speak of it, you both lived in a constant fear that one day, you would be forced to fight each other. And only would it end, when just one of you remained.

But you two were too good to forbid. Even if it went against everything the Red Room believed, they had to allow your friendship because by permitting you two to remain together, it meant they had an unstoppable duo.

Years upon years upon is what you spent together. As you grew older and matured, even the worst of the Red Room’s conditioning couldn’t prevent your feelings for Yelena from doing the same. Several of those years were spent wanting more—wanting her.

No weapon, no fighting style, no mission—nothing—scared you. But, the risk of pushing Yelena away did. That was the lone risk you simply could not take. You couldn’t tell her the truth of her feelings and risk losing your partner, your ally, you best friend.

Despite how badly it hurt, you said nothing, making you spend so much time pining for her, wondering if she could ever somehow feel the same for you.

Little did you know that Yelena also spent her numerous sleepless nights aching for precisely the same answer.

While you two were left questioning, the Red Room got an answer to their decade old question: Would they come to regret the special exception they made for the sake of having such a powerful pair?

Yes.

Yes, they would regret it.

Your chains to Dreykov were both severed that day in Morocco, and, along with Natasha, Melina, and Alexei, you became a force to be reckoned with. The force that would finally bring the Red Room to a crashing end.

Now, a few months had passed since you and Yelena began the mission to free the world’s Widows from a dead man’s remaining chemical control.

While the task was worth every high and low, it was by no means simple. Dreykov’s hooks were so deep in many of the women that, more often than not, there was a fight just to get close enough to them for the antidote enter their system.

All of the fights had been messy and left you both with cuts, bruises, and pain, but it wasn’t until today when one was nearly deadly.

Your scouting had lead you to believe there were no more than three Widows occupying the same house. But, when you and Yelena entered, you quickly learned you could not have been more wrong.

It was an entire pack of Widows.

And your mistake nearly cost Yelena her life.

“I’m so sorry,” you said for what had to be the fiftieth time.

Despite needing your help to make it through the door of your shared hotel room, Yelena maintained her talent for sarcasm. “God, (Y/N), you’re almost making me regret you freeing me from that chokehold.”

Even now, she didn’t fail to make you laugh, but it didn’t last. “Seeing you nearly die is one thing, and knowing I am the reason…makes it that much worse.”

“You watched that location for a week. The same three were the only ones to ever come and go,” Yelena stated as you helped her settle onto the couch. “I would have thought no differently.”

With a single, reluctant nod, you hurried off to retrieve the first-aid kit that was so large it was practically a small duffel bag.

You were lost in your thoughts as you returned to the living room and got to work on cleaning and covering her wounds.

Countless worse case scenarios showed in your mind, all ending with Yelena being taken from you.

What if she actually was, someday? What if you were taken from her? Would you be able to live with the fact of her never knowing the truth? Would you be able to rest in peace knowing, after everything you had been through together, you never had the nerve to tell her?

As Yelena went on about the night’s television “being shit,” you could only reach a single answer.

No.

No, you wouldn’t be able to.

“It’s fucking nine o’ clock on a Friday night,” Yelena ranting. “You would think they’d show at least one decent show or mov-“

You couldn’t help it. You could no longer hold it in; you had for too long. So, you couldn’t stop yourself from finally abruptly announcing, “I love you.”

The blonde immediately turned her attention away from the tv. The surprise was written all over her face and was unmissable in her eyes. Her accent was so thick when she said a quiet “What?” that most wouldn’t have been able to understand her.

“I love you…Yelena. I have for a long time.”

Each second she just started at you felt like a year, leaving you to question if a heart truly could beat out of a chest.

“W-when…why did you…” Yelena stammered for words. “How did you decide that?”

“‘How’? I don’t think I can explain ‘how,’” you replied with an incredulous chuckle.

“D-do you… Are you sure you want to?”

If you had been a third party watching this moment, you knew you’d be laughing hysterically at how blatantly awkward your best friend—the calm, cool, collected, ruthless ex-assassin—was currently being.

You glanced down at the roll of bandages in your hands as you told her, with a voice filled with momentary humor, “I’m pretty sure.”

What felt like eons of silence passed, making you feel like your worst fear had happened—you scared her off with the truth.

You breathed in a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, after deciding you were going to ask her to forget you ever said anything.

Knowing you would have to do it like ripping off a bandaid, to meet her gaze, you shot your head up…only to have it collide with her face.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Yelena said flatly, clutching the nose you had just head-butted.

“What did you do?” I asked laughing.

“I was trying- I was going to… Oh, shit, fuck it.”

Your laughter was cut off because before you had another chance to blink, Yelena swiftly closed the space between the two of you. It took your brain a second to realize what had happened—to realize her lips were gently attached to yours.

Her hands rose to hold your face, making you further melt into her touch, as the kiss deepened.

It would be impossible to count the number of times you had imagined this very moment, but no daydream ever got it right. Never could you have known her lips would be this soft and fit so perfectly with yours.

Above, never would you have imagined her only reason for pulling away, would be to say, “I can’t remember I time when I didn’t love you.”

| Masterlist |

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #black widow #yelena belova x you #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova fluff #mcu #marvel #Yelena belova fanfic #yelena belova x y/n

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

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