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chim-chimchii · 3 years

Text

Encaptured (Jungkook)

Genre: Fluff

Note: A little fuckboy Jungkook for you all! I’m currently working on a social media au and I might just post the profiles so I can give you guys a sneak peek and to also motivate myself to work on it more! Let me know what you guys think! I also didn’t know how to end this so I apologize if it’s a crappy ending.

. . . . . . .

On Thursdays, the literary class met in the college library, and that was when Jungkook always had you look over his essays. Not only did he use that time to get his papers edited, but he also took this time to prod you about your weekend plans.

"So, are you going to accept my offer to take you to the movies this weekend?" Jungkook asked, resting his chin on his palm.

You glanced up from his essay. "Hm, not this week. I think I'm all booked." With a smirk directed towards him, you continued marking his paper.

"You said that last week." He mumbled with a playful pout.

"And last week, when I rejected you, you ended up taking that girl from your math class." You stated with a challenging stare.

Tongue in cheek, Jungkook chuckled, "Well, I couldn't let those tickets go to waste! I thought for sure you would have agreed." He continued trying to justify his playboy ways.

You scoffed and slid his paper over to him; red pen marks were scattered all over it. You thought that the edits you made to his essay would distract him from the current topic, but he pushed the assignment to the side.

"Y/n, when will you let me take you on a date?" Jungkook leaned in ever so slightly and smiled sweetly.

Your heart rate increased. His whole appearance changed with that one smile, and it was hard for you to hide the fact that it made you feel some way. Maybe it was time to give him a chance, and if it didn't work out, then he would finally stop bugging you.

"Okay." You finally answered after thinking it through. That one word took Jungkook by surprise.

"Okay? Are you saying, yes?"

Without making eye contact, you nodded and closed your notebook with a gentle smile.

"I'll pick you up at seven." Jungkook bit his lip to hide his smile and watched you leave the library.

. . . .

The sun was setting, and seven o clock was right around the corner. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror that hung by the door and nodded in approval of your outfit. You tried to remember the last time you got all dressed up for a date, and as you tried to place a moment, there was a knock at the door.

As you reached for the door, you hesitated. What if this was a one-time thing? What if he never spoke to you after tonight? Just because you turned his offers for a date down multiple times, it wasn't as if you didn't like Jungkook. You appreciated his presence in your boring literary class; you appreciated his jokes and stories. What if all he wanted was to add you to the list of girls he won over with his charms?

Your thoughts were interrupted again by a knock, but this time it was a lot softer. You took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob. Whatever his intentions were, you decided to accept this date, so you had to deal with the consequences.

Jungkook stood in the doorway with his hands buried in his pockets. His head was hung low as if he was half expecting you not to answer, but when you opened the door wider, he looked up.

You forgot to breathe upon seeing him. Instead of the cliche leather jacket he always wore, he wore a grey flannel over a white shirt. It wasn't THAT different from what he always wore but seeing him wear light-colored clothing suits him well. His demeanor was different, as well. A timid smile replaced the cocky smirk he always had on his face.

"Are you ready?" His voice came out lighter than usual; it took you a moment to remember this was Jungkook and not someone else.

"Yeah, let me just grab my bad." You left him by the door as you dashed back to your room to grab your purse.

. . . .

It was the little things that Jungkook did that made you weak in the knees. As the two of you walked to the theater, Jungkook rested his hand on the small of your back. He maneuvered you to the other side of him; it wasn't until his warmth left that you realized he was making sure you were closest to the buildings and away from the busy street.

Your eyes fixated on him, and it felt like the world was in slow motion, and you saw Junkook in a new light. You wanted nothing more, but to have this moment last forever. Forever didn't come because he glanced at you with that beautiful smile of his.

"Would you be upset if I told you I don't want to go to the movies anymore?"

The world resumed at its original speed, and your excitement disappeared.

"Oh? Did you want to take a rain check or something?" You tried not to sound too disappointed.

"No, no. I just don't think I can handle sitting next to you for two and a half hours and not talk to you."

You sighed in relief, which made Jungkook chuckle.

"I don't know what you've been told or what you heard about me, but I'm not cruel.

You raised your eyebrow at him and smirked. "I don't know, I've heard some pretty interesting things about you, Jungkook."

You gave him one last teasing look before walking ahead of him. Jungkook tsked before jogging to catch up to you.

"So, are you going to tell me what you heard so I can prove those accusations wrong?"

Together you waded through the crowded street, careful not to lost one another. If he took your hand, would you pull away or let him have that small victory?

"You haven't said what we're going to do now that we're not going to the movies."

His hand grazed yours. "You're changing the topic."

Seconds later, his hand rested on your shoulder to guide you towards the entrance of an arcade. It was full of other couples, groups of friends, and people wanting to have fun. The atmosphere brought a smile to your face. You didn't even realize Jungkook had left until he returned with a bag full of tokens.

"I'll let you choose the first game."

Dramatically, you rested your hand on your heart. "What a gentleman."

Jungkook threw his head back in defeat. "Whoever told you that I wasn't a gentleman needs to stop feeding you lies."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you don't really have the best reputation." You explained as you made your way over to the basketball game.

You glanced back at him to make sure he was following and found him chewing on his lip. Your statement bothered him. The two of you exchanged no other words until he was standing next to you.

"Is that why you always rejected me?" His eyes locked with yours, and you didn't dare look away.

Rather than lying, you nodded. "Yeah."

Jungkook was the one to break eye contact; it was clear he was upset. He fished for a token and inserted it into the machine to start the game.

As you watched him, you inhaled deeply and thought about everything. You didn't want to be the reason the date ended in ruins. You were honest about why you declined his offers, but now that you were here with him, you kept thinking how different things could have been if you had just agreed to date him the first time he asked.

Without thinking further, when Jungkook reached for another ball, you took it from him and aimed for the moving hoop.

"You can't blame me for being scared."

Jungkook opened his mouth to say something but stopped as he watched you throw the ball straight into the hoop. Another ball rolled towards you, but Jungkook grabbed it before you could.

"I wasn't blaming you. I was blaming myself." He missed the hoop and ticked his head to the side, slightly annoyed that he didn't score, but as the game ended, he had one of the highest scores.

Together you moved in the direction of another game.

"Why are you blaming yourself?"

He didn't say anything, and you were afraid he didn't hear you due to the increasing volume of everyone around you.

"Because I got careless with relationships and dating, and now that I want something serious, my reputation is ruining my chances.

The corners of your mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "It's your turn to pick a game."

You weren't ignoring what he had said; you just wanted to think about it for a moment longer.

The two of you wandered around the arcade and tried not to lose each other with the growing amount of people entering the building. Jungkook stopped in front of a photo booth and let out a small laugh.

"It isn't a game, but it seems like this is the only thing unoccupied."

"I think it'll be fun!" You linked his arm with yours and entered the small booth.

Jungkook sat silently next to you as you messed around with the photo settings. As you sat back, your shoulder brushed against his, and it made it obvious how close the two of you were. You couldn't help but think back to his previous comment about wanting to be in a serious relationship. Did he mean that he wanted to try and be in a serious relationship with you? You'd be lying if you said you didn't have feelings for him. The truth was, you had liked him all along, but you let the rumors about him cloud your judgment of his character.

The beeping of the timer caused you to snap out of your thoughts.

"Are you ready?" You glanced over at Jungkook, and to your surprise, he was already staring at you. The flash went off, signaling that the first picture was taken. Then the timer reset.

"Your chances aren't completely ruined, by the way."

The two of you looked away and to the camera, where you opted for a funny face. The camera went off.

"What do you mean?" Jungkook turned to you again.

"If you were this version of yourself all the time, you wouldn't have any trouble getting into a serious relationship, and any girl would be happy to be with you."

You stuck your tongue out at him as the camera snapped another picture.

"I don't want just any girl though--" He faced forward and held up a peace sign. "--I want you."

Your expression changed in an instant, and it was captured as the shutter sounded. "Jungkook."

He hesitated but looked your way as the last seconds of the timer counted down. You took his face into your hands and pressed your lips to his. The moment captured forever as the final flash of the camera washed over the two of you.

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lois-carroline · 3 years

Note

Can you write a jake and fem (mc) fic where hannah is saved but mc gets kidnapped by mwaf and jake saves her😜?

Kidnapped

• Episode 8 Spoiler

Hey, you guys may find something is not logical.👉🏻👈🏻 But still I hope you guys like it <3

___________________

I was sitting on the bed while hacking Hannah's cloud to find clues. My phone ringed in my hand, the caller ID shows 'Unknown'.

I recognised the person, it's Man Without Face. I sighed as I know he called me again to give empty threats.

I reluctantly attended the call and kept it in my ears. But this time, I heard a girl's voice. "Hello? Help me!" She said panicked.

I suddenly recognised the voice, it's Hannah! I heard her voice in the audio in which she had a conversation with Dr. Ulric Barret.

She spoke to me with full of panic in her voice. "Hannah!" I said after coming out of my thoughts. "How do you know me?" She asked with the same tone.

"We don't have time for that. First, calm down," I said as I tried my best not to panic. "Hannah, switch on the GPS in which phone you are talking to me, I will come soon there,"

I said as I took my car key and went to my car. "O-ok," she shuttered in panic. I tracked her phone, she is near Duskwood.

It will nearly take 2 hours to reach there from my place. "Hannah, don't worry, I promise I will save you," I said while driving.

She hummed in a weak voice. I heard a faint sound of a door opening on the other side. "He came!!" She panicked. "Calm down! End the call and remove it from call history, and go where you were before!" I shouted.

She understood and the call ended. I called Jake hurriedly, but he didn't answer. I tried again and again. But still, he didn't attend.

"Jake, attend the call!!!" I shouted, don't know what to do, I was driving as fast as I can. I must save her.

Should I inform my Duskwood friends? No, you should not MC. They will get worried, what if they took a wrong move?

I tried to speak to Jake, but he didn't attend my calls. After one and half hours, I arrived at Duskwood.

I drive the car to the place where the GPS showed. I came to that place, it is an old house. It looks big, but too old and damaged. There is also a bunker.

I slowly made my way inside the house, I saw a room. I entered the room hoping Hannah is there.

But to my surprise, I saw many raven feathers, Cleo's photo which took secretly in the woods, Hannah's photos which took in different places.

Looks like someone stalking her. Then I noticed the candles are lit.....LIT!! OMG! The man without face is somewhere near, he can come at any time!

I quickly went out of the room and made my way upstairs. I saw Hannah was tied to a chair, her eyes are blindfolded and her body is bruised so badly.

I quickly removed her blindfold, "It's me," I said. She recognised my voice, "quick, we should leave. He will come here at any time!" I said as I untied the ropes.

We ran down, Hannah tried her best to be fast as she is hurt badly. We were about to leave but we heard the front door open with the creaking sound.

Our eyes widened in shock, but quickly I made Hannah stand in a dark place and I stood opposite side of her. It is also a dark place.

I peeked a little, it is the Man Without Face, he is wearing his creepy mask. He peeked inside the room to which I first went.

He slowly made his way to where Hannah is hiding. OMG! Please don't get caught. I prayed, and that's when my phone rang.

I gasped as he made fast moves and attacked me, but I pressed the green button. The phone fell from my hand and landed on the ground.

I heard Hannah shout seeing the scene in front of her. The man without face is trying to choke me, his strong arms are pressing against my neck. I was trying to escape from him by scratching his mid-arm.

When he heard Hannah shout, he left me and about catching her. But I did my best to stop him, I buried my nails in his left arm with my right hand as my left hand and body pushing him against the opposite side.

I know I am not strong to stop him, "Hannah, run!" I said as I kicked my car key which fell down. She stood there terrified and shook her head as no. "WHAT THE HECK, HANNAH?! RUN!!" I yelled.

She understood that if she stayed here, we both will get caught. So she ran as tears flowing down her cheeks. The man without face slapped me on my cheek.

It is so hard that I fell down, he ran out to catch Hannah. The corner of my lip is bleeding, I remembered the phone. I turned towards it, the camera is facing me.

"Jake," I said as I tried to reach the phone. But the man without face came back angrily and kicked my tummy. "Aaaaaah!" I cried as I felt the pain. I held my tummy.

He grabbed my hair harshly and pulled me, I cried. "Jake," I whispered as everything went black when the man without face hit my head on the ground.

__________________

Jake's POV

I noticed that MC called me many times, she will never do that. I muted my phone 'cause no one will call me. I quickly called her.

When she attended, she didn't speak anything. But heard fast footsteps, and a girl shouts. Its Hannah! But what is happening there?!

I hacked her camera, but everything is black. So I turned on her back camera, I saw everything horizontally. I can only see their legs.

"Hannah, run!" I heard MC's Voice. And it looks like she is trying her best to stop another person, it's the man without face!

And there is a little silence and then "WHAT THE HECK, HANNAH?! RUN!!" MC yelled then I heard the footsteps which fainted slowly.

I heard a slapping sound and MC fell down, I can see her face now, her lips are bleeding! "MC!" I called but she didn't hear.

She turned at looked straight at the camera, "Jake," she said weakly as she tried to reach it. But suddenly he returned back and kicked her tummy!

She cried in pain, I felt my eyes become teary. "MC!" I said worriedly. He then harshly grabbed her hair which made her cry. He hit her head on the ground.

"Jake," she whispered which made my tears roll down my cheeks. She passed out after that, he dragged her upstairs.

I don't know what to do now, I was panicked now! My tears are rolling non-stop. I wiped my tears, and tracked her location.

She is in Duskwood, I am coming for you, MC.

____________________

MC's POV

I felt so weak, I can't move my hands or legs. I opened my eyes to see a weird place. I felt a sudden pain in my tummy where that bastard kicked me so hard.

My tears started to roll down my cheeks, because my whole body aches. I hope Hannah is safe now.

I heard the door creaking sound, that bastard entered with his creepy mask. I glared at him. He came near me with a knife.

He placed the knife on my jawline and slowly moved to my chin. "You want to die right?" He asked. His voice sounded creepy.

I didn't reply anything, I don't want to talk to this bastard. "Looks like you won't talk," he said as he injected something on my neck forcibly. It hurts.

Again everything went black.

____________________

Jake's POV

I tracked MC's phone and went to that place, it is an old house. It took near three hours to reach. I took a taser from my backpack for safety. I entered the old house slowly without making noise.

The first thing I saw is MC's phone which is in damaged condition. I saw a room there, but he dragged MC upstairs.

So I slowly made my way upstairs, when I was about to open the door. I felt someone is behind me, without wasting time I turned and used my taser on him.

After some seconds he fainted, I entered the room only to see MC without consciousness. I ran to her, "MC!" I said I removed her rope which tied her leg.

After removing her rope, I was kicked by her on my shoulder. I hissed in pain as I looked at her while sitting down.

"Don't touch me!" She shouted. "What are you doing? I am not the man without face!" I said as I went to untie her. "You think I can't recognise you without wearing that creepy mask?" She asked.

She is thinking that I am the man without face. I ignore her and untied her. She kept on punching my Shoulder, "what are you doing?!" I asked.

"W-wait, why is your voice different?" She asked. "Because I am not man without face!" I said to her again. "Then who are you?" She asked me.

"Who do you think?" I asked as I helped her to stand up.

___________________

MC's POV

"Who do you think?" The person asked me as he helped me to stand up. I looked at his eyes, and I only wanted to say one name. "Jake," I breathed.

He smiled. Is he Jake? He took the rope which he untied me and went to the door and tied a person.

I slowly peeked who is that, it's the man without face! He is unconscious now. After tying him Jake looked at me, "we should leave," he said.

I nodded, he came near me and put my hand around his shoulder, and helped me to walk.

_____________________

He brought me to a hospital. "Jake, what about him?" I asked him. "I already called the police and informed," he told.

I frowned "what if the police wanted to meet you?!" I asked. He smiled "I won't get caught easily," he said.

"Oh, you saw your sister?" I asked. "No," he shook his head. "Then why don't you leave now?" I asked. "Do you want me to leave?" He asked with a frown.

"I didn't mean that! I just wanted you to meet your sister, she is hurt badly," I explained. Before he could speak my phone rang.

Yes, I took my damaged phone from there. It's Jessy who is calling. "Hello?" I said. "MC! Hannah was found!!" She said happily.

"But...she is hurt," she said sadly. "Don't worry she will get well soon," I said. "That's all your reaction? Hannah is found!" She said again.

I chuckled. "Yes, yes. Where is she now? Which hospital?" I asked. She replied, it's the same hospital in which I was admitted.

"What is the room number?" I asked. "216," she said. Wow, what a Coincidence. I am in room no.214.

"Alright," I said and ended the call. "Jake, let's go and meet your sister," I said. "What?" He asked. "Yeah, are you willing to come? She is near our room. There will be their friends too," I asked.

He shook his head, "I can't meet them all," he said. I understood him. I nodded, "I am gonna go," I said. "Be safe," he said.

I rolled my eyes and went to Hannah's room with my patient dress. "Hello," I said. They were all shocked to see me.

They stood stunned looking at me there. There was an awkward silence in the room.

"MC?!" Jessy asked as she came to me and hugged me tightly. "Aahh!" I hissed in pain as she touched my wound.

"What happened to you?" She asked worriedly. They all came to me and hugged me-no hurting me by pressing my wounds everywhere.

"Guys, you are hurting me," I whined. "Sorry," they said. I chuckled and looked at Hannah who is shocked. "Do you guys know her?" She asked.

"Yes," Dan replied. "She is the one who saved me from him!" Hannah said. They all again looked at me.

"So, you are hurt by helping her!?" Richy asked. I nodded, "yeah, but if the man without face didn't enter, we sure would have escaped," I said.

"How did you escape?" She asked me. "That....," I dragged. They all looked at me waiting for an answer. "The person who you guys think 'creepy' helped me," I said.

"Hacker man?!" Dan asked. I nodded. "OMG, I thought he is a bad guy," Jessy said. "Alright guys, I am tired," I said.

They nodded. "Go and take rest," Lily said. I nodded. "Hey Cleo, will you bring me your handmade cake?" I asked as I saw Cleo.

They all chuckled. "What?" I asked. They shook their head. "I will," Cleo said. "MC, thanks," Hannah said. I smiled at her and went back to my room.

"Ja-" I entered as I started to call his name. But he is not there anymore! I saw a note on the table near the bed.

I took it in hand, "Hey MC, I am sorry I can't bid a proper goodbye to you. Don't worry we will meet again soon after I got free from my pursuers :)"

I felt my eyes become teary, but he said he will come back. I smiled and kept the paper with me.

______________________

A/N (Please Read!)

Hey guys, I wanted to inform you guys that the updates will be slow, 'cause I have to study📚📚. Don't worry, I will write the Requests who asked. But you should wait for it, because I am writing in order.

Also, one Request guys, if you guys asked request in any chapter except "A/N" please write again in A/N. Because I can't search for it in these many chapters. I hope you guys won't get mad 👉🏻👈🏻

#duskwood jake #duskwood fandom #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood #duskwood everbyte #everbyte studios #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake x player #duskwood man without a face #duskwood mc

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xbunnybunz · 3 years

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The terrible, you. (3/5) [Wolf Keum x Reader]

Summary: After Wolf Keum unwittingly rescues you from seedy men in the dead of night, he can't shake you from his side. After a while, he's not sure if he wants to.

Genres: Romance

Date: June 16, 2020

-----

You did not appear again the next day.

Wolf Keum had not been waiting for you to present yourself. He made sure to remind himself of that.

Yet, the endless chatter of the “girl looking for Wolf Keum” going around Ganghak was grating on his nerves and disallowed him to purge you from his mind.

As someone his classmates could barely bring themselves to look at, he was an awful popular point of contention. You had made a bigger mess than you could imagine.

“I’m telling you, she’s way too cute for him. I’ve seen her working at the flower shop by the underpass, and I don’t think she could be interested in him like that at all, ever. Too bad for him.”

As one of the strongest members of Yeongdeungpo, Wolf Keum’s personal business was always made public business in a matter of days, or in this case, hours. He had first looked upon this with irrational contempt, wondering why his name belonged in anybody’s mouth if they could barely utter a syllable in his presence. After a while, he realized that rumors, while spoken about for the sake of entertainment, could also serve to emphasize his power without much effort on his part.

It wasn’t much different now, though Wolf had to admit he had never been jabbed in the pride regarding his romantic life before. He had no idea it existed until now. It stirred his temper more than dumbfucks shit-talking his fights, and he reasoned that his irritability stemmed from the fact that these slobs would talk about just about anything. Still, he couldn’t settle things like he did back then. Not while he was under Donald Na’s system. It wasn’t as effective than beating the living shit out of anyone who looked at him funny, but it did allow time for his bruised knuckles to heal before the next beatdown.

His friend was quick to snatch the collar of the offender.

“What the hell did you say about Wolf? What do you know? Do I need to knock out your teeth so you think twice before yammering?”

The smaller student squirmed in the iron grip, sweating bullets and eyes darting about to find aid from his friends.

“I- I didn’t mean to! I mean, I wasn’t talking about Wolf Keum, the girl, she-”

“You weren’t talking about Wolf Keum?”

Wolf watched out of the corner of his eye, hands in his pockets, as the student was nearly hoisted from the floor from the collar.

“Who the hell were you talking about then? Geum Sa-Wol? You watch that shit, loser?”*

As the student became a blubbering mess, Wolf swept his eyes over the crowd in the hallway. All eyes were diverted. It was deafeningly silent, a silence that Wolf Keum craved for two reasons. One, it meant he could finally have a few goddamn seconds of peace without her face bouncing around in his head; and two, it meant that although students refused to look up, they were still very much listening.

“Hey man.”

Wolf placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and he could feel the trembling of the other student through his arm.

“Don’t sweat it.”

The smaller kid was set down, and Wolf had to keep himself from snarking at his pale face and wide eyes. Instead, he turned his chin up and offered a sickening smile, his glasses catching the gleam of the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling.

“I can’t waste time on shit-mouthed fuckers who can’t get the facts straight.”

Wolf reached out to scornfully dust off his wrinkled jacket, enjoying each flinch he induced when his hand landed too harshly or too quickly. He lowered his voice to a dangerous octave, a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins when he felt the room drop ten degrees in response.

“Her and I have nothing to do with each other, and definitely nothing to do with you. It’s best for us to keep it like that for your sake, don’t you think?”

He lowered his gaze to glower at the shorter student, who, trembling, swallowed thickly and nodded stiffly under his suffocating presence. Wolf remained rooted to the floor, asserting his pressure for a few more long seconds for good measure before giving him a shove.

“Now fuck off.”

He watched as the student took off, tripping over the air in his haste and plummeting into the unforgiving tiled floors with a splat.

Wolf regarded him with a derisive glance and moved to open the door to his classroom, and though it was someone else on the floor, all eyes were on him. He always reveled in the high of scaring someone shitless when he had an audience. Their deafening silence represented their resounding submission to him, but perhaps his most favorite part of all was the contrast of atmosphere immediately before and after he entered another room. The collective drop of shoulders, the perfectly synchronized sighs of relief and immediate whispers of disbelief flooded Wolf Keum with euphoria. It reminded him that his mere presence was enough to instill fear into the hearts of his peers, strong enough to demand subservience, and a testament to his self-made reputation.

It was exactly what he needed now after a long day of conflicting thoughts, which he shamefully had to admit, had made him restless. When he slid the door to his classroom open, he could almost hear the eyes moving from his back to his desk.

In all his years of accruing bloody knuckles and broken noses, he had never once been as stunned as he was in this one soundless and stagnant moment. A crowd had formed around his table, busybodies nosing about and phone cameras shuttering. The moment they heard the door fling open they scattered like roaches, throwing themselves back into their seats and trying hard to seem occupied as to not incur the wrath of Wolf Keum.

Piled high on his desk was an amalgamation of pinks and reds, wrapped delicacies placed upon gift boxes placed upon packages tied to little pink balloons. Wolf took this all in with as straight a face as he could muster, knowing everyone was more sensitive to his presence now than ever before. This included of course, eyebrows arching upwards and his jaw becoming slack.

No one could blame Wolf Keum for his reaction. They had in fact, reacted in the same exact manner- perhaps to a more notable extent. Even for a normal person, a love letter or a small baked treat would suffice as a proclamation of love. But for Wolf Keum, the gifts spread across his desk in a flashy show of affection were tenfold more surprising. It was incomprehensible to anyone that Wolf, the brute occupied with street violence and gang activity, would ever entertain the idea of liking someone, and even moreso shocking that someone could see past their terror and admire him- especially in such an ostentatious fashion.

This revelation was of course, made much more interesting because of the blatant denial that he had anything to do with a girl prior. Wolf knew this more than anyone and gathered his wits to press onward, feeling something strangely similar to adrenaline pulsing through his body and reddening his ears.

“W-Wolf…” His friend stuttered, raising a weak finger to point at the desk. “…What is that?”

Wolf skulked into the classroom, hands deep in his pockets and a snarl on his lips. He had an idea, but couldn’t formulate it into words. He settled for the next best thing.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know, dimwit? I’m looking now.”

“O-oh. Right.”

He approached the table with caution, cringing at the vivid colors and grotesque amount of home baked pastries and sweets. There was an assortment of red cosmos, pink tulips and white daises sitting upon everything, tied together neatly with a thick shiny ribbon pinning down a notecard.

Wolf considered knocking everything over in a fit of confused rage. He considered ordering his lackey to burn it in the incinerator. He considered many things, yet curiosity ate him alive and stopped him from uttering a single word.

He had thought about her all day, damn it all if denying it did anything. She had a strange manner to her that he couldn’t shake and he was enraged when she failed to show up again after gaining his attention. Though no, it hadn’t been directed at her- which was what infuriated him. For the first time in years, Wolf Keum had been disappointed in himself, perhaps for not being interesting enough to earn another visit, or strong enough to impress her beyond a single local market creampuff.

When she didn’t show up again as he had anticipated, he was overtaken by pesky attempts to explain it. He guessed she was shy, he guessed she was nervous, he guessed she came to her senses, he had guessed and guessed until it drove him up the wall and back down again. But even with his reputation and credibility on the line, even while being documented by a sea of students who undoubtedly would share this with friends later- now that just a breath of her existence was in front of him, he had to know- was she back after all? The adrenaline had now inched its way across his body and set his heart and mind aflame, temperatures soaring and burning their way across his cheeks.

“Bro, I can toss it for you-”

“Shut up for a second.”

Wolf ignored the other man, who wisely shut his trap. He was preoccupied with keeping his hand steady as he stiffly reached out for the notecard, a gleam overtaking his glasses. The gold foil note looked strangely out of place in his calloused and bandaged hands, but the name on the notecard was undoubtedly his.

Dear Wolf Keum, Yay!! You found my gifts!! I hope you can enjoy these snacks with all of your funny friends. The flowers are for you though. I picked them from the florist shop I work at myself. I hope you like them! (PS: Put them in carrot juice to make them last longer!) (PPS: or don’t… my boss tells me not to do that in the shop…)

He lowered the card and looked up with a deadpan glower, all the students who had been peering over their shoulders flinched and look back to the front.

He didn’t know what to feel. Wolf Keum was instinctively mad at everything. If the television didn’t work, he was mad. If he had forgotten an umbrella in the rain, he’d be mad and take someone else’s and still be mad. Any slight inconvenience to Wolf Keum was followed by inevitable punishment, and though he was inconvenienced now more than ever with your gifts tarnishing his title in both Ganghak High and the Union, in this moment he felt nothing more than exasperation.

A familiar pipsqueak shitstain voice sounded from the door.

“Woah, she really does like you! How?”

Wolf Keum grit his teeth and felt his hands ball into tight fists at his side, confusion igniting once again to erupt into a bitter and wild, barely contained rage. He was Wolf Keum. Why did he care? Why did he care what a shitty bread shuttle had to say?

He felt his temper raise to lick at the edges of his vision, something of the sort of beast he was used to encountering, but driven by something larger and much more foreign than he was used to. What was it that he, Wolf Keum, was so unfamiliar with? So unable to control?

A creep of red colored his neck, a dash ran across his face, and then he knew at once.

The amount of effort it took for him to sustain regular breathing was fucking bullshit. The way his fists were ready to swing yet ever trembling was fucking. Bullshit.

To onlookers, this Wolf Keum was the same as the Wolf Keum all the days before, face red with irritation, quaking fists itching for a brawl. He was thankful of this, but at the same time hated how he had to hide behind his title instead of living up to it.

Wolf Keum was insecure.

“You little bitch! I’ll rip out your tongue!”

A figure lunged at the smaller boy in the periphery of Wolf's vision, yet he paid it no mind. There was no satisfaction that came from the dull sound of crying and a fists cracking against a nose. Wolf settled into his chair with an aura that filled the room with a cold draft.

With his mood soured, everyone was suddenly reminded that Wolf Keum with gifts on his desk was in fact, still Wolf Keum.

The silence that surrounded the noisy beating did nothing to ease the atmosphere as the pink balloon bobbed softly in the air.

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #wolf keum #wolf keum x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #the terrible you

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

You parked on the side of an empty back road, careful not to stop in any spot that might be muddy. It hadn’t rained for a few days, but with the weather lately, you couldn’t be too careful. The last thing you needed was to have to call Erik and confess to him that you did indeed go out to the woods to take pictures and were now stuck in the mud and needed his help.

A small part of you felt guilty. His concern wasn’t completely unfounded. If he’d had gotten hurt working on a backdrop by himself, whether by falling off a ladder or being hit by a light, you would be hesitant about him doing it again. But each of you were your own person, right? Independent not codependent?

Okay, it was probably time to lay of the self-help books for a while. You took one modern philosophy class and it had been a downward spiral from there. Perhaps it was time to give the supernatural genre a try.

The trees smelled intoxicating. Mixed with the humidity in the air, it was the kind of scent that could outperform even the most expensive of perfumes. It was an aroma that surrounded you, engulfed you in its arms the further into the woods you went. The peaceful smile that pulled on the corners of your lips were automatic, involuntary. Not that you would fight if you could. Despite the rumors of wolves running around, you were comfortable here.

Deep within the forest, a wide, oval clearing full of browned wildflowers rested. Bits of green here and there tried to break through the foliage that had died during the harsh winter. Their odds of making it through might not have been great, but you admired their tenacity.

These clearings were common in the woods and yet, they were your favorite places to capture. From one angle, it could seem like you were lost in a fast labyrinth of Mother Nature. Another, a prairie that belonged to another region entirely. The possibilities were endless if you really thought about it. And each clearing, you’d discovered, was unique within itself. Its shape, the plants it held, the thickness of the grass. You knew you hadn’t found every one yet, but you were determined to someday. For now, though, you would have stick with this particular clearing that you had visited before, as it was close to the road for a quick getaway, should you need it.

Sliding the bags off your shoulder, you crouched down and dug through until you found your notebook. The pages were unlined, which allowed you to right down your thoughts and ideas at odd angles. To you, it gave the otherwise somewhat boring inside a more artistic aesthetic. The plain leather cover was soft in your hands, worn from the amount of use and abuse you’d put it through. It wasn’t exactly common for photographers to write out their ideas before shooting. Some drew out the scene they wanted to capture, trying out different angles in their imagination. Most didn’t do any sort of prep like this at all. But you preferred to write it out, especially since most of your ideas tended to come at the most inconvenient times. Scribbling down half-coherent words tended to be quicker than a sketch.

After a quick review of your latest ideas, you tossed the notebook down and turned on your camera. You took several test shots, adjusting each settling until you came to the look you were searching for. Long shots and close ups, you photographed nearly every square foot of that clearing in order to get that one picture. That one picture that took everyone’s breath away, that made them stop and tilt their head every which way in order to take the scene in at all possible viewpoints. You wanted to them to see the world the way you did.

So in tuned to what you were doing, you hadn’t noticed the pair of eyes watching you from the shadows. They gave off the faintest glow filled with curiosity as they hovered in the air. You snapped a few photos in their direction, still unaware of their presence, and then lowered the camera to look back on the shots. At first, when you clicked through the pictures, you didn’t notice the tiny amber dots that blended in with the foliage. But by the fourth picture, you stopped.

Never before had you been scared by this place. Then again, the only animals you’d ever encountered before were rabbits and deer and other mostly harmless critters. These did not look like the eyes of a friendly Disney sidekick. Ice ran down your spine. You couldn’t run. If it was a predator, that would only encourage it. So, you tried to remain as still as possible while lifting your eyes to the spot that the animal was hiding. Perhaps there was a chance that it wouldn’t sense your fear and would take your stare down as a reason to walk away.

No such luck.

The leaves under its paws rustled as it stepped forward into the sun.

A tannish wolf with a long black strip down its back revealed itself. But it didn’t look menacing. In fact, though you might have been fooling yourself, it seemed almost… curious? Confused? It was hard to read the expression since you couldn’t fully compare it to a human. With slow, thoughtful steps, it came closer. You tried to remain still, tried not to move. The strain was causing your legs to tremble slightly. Now, you felt tremendously stupid for not listening to Willa’s warning about wolves. Was this considered an ironic moment? You weren’t entirely sure since language arts had never been your strong suit.

Unable to keep you upright anymore, your legs gave out. At least you landed on your butt with your camera hanging safely around your neck. Your fingernails dug into the dirt next to you as the wolf came closer, still at that same cautious pace. Harder and harder, your heart pounded in your ears. The wolf paused for a few seconds before continuing on. Could it hear your terrified pulse? Silently, you said your goodbyes as the wolf erased all space between you. Its muzzle nudged your cheek, coming to a stop near your ear. It sniffed deeply, then jumped back.

Your eyes widened, somewhat relieved that it hadn’t pounced, but also confused. Why wasn’t it attacking? Why did it look spooked?

The wolf sat back, head tilting back and forth as it studied you. It made no threatening moves or sounds. The tips of its ears perked up and it let out a sound that was eerily similar to a scoff.

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” An odd thing to say out loud to an animal that couldn’t talk, but you blamed it on the shock of the whole situation.

The wolf responded with a short puff of air before lowering itself down to its stomach.

This was… surreal. All the other animals you’d ever encountered had either kept their distance or ran away at the slightest sound. And yet, here was this wolf, laying in front of you, not vicious or aggressive. It was almost… cute, in a way.

“You’re a strange creature,” you said out loud. The wolf apparently took that as a sign to come closer. Crawling on its stomach, it took came to the point where it was almost able to rest its head in your lap-

The shrill sound of your current favorite song ripped through the air. You gasped, jumping up to your feet and running to your bag where you desperately searched through the pockets until you found your phone. It was Willa.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”

“I, um,” you glanced at the wolf who had jumped up to its feet. “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed a little at her not-so-subtle hint. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You ended the call and looked up, meeting eyes with the wolf. It never broke contact and in turn, gave you a bit more bravery. Lifting up the camera, you snapped a single shot of the wolf. “I’ll be back.” A strange promise to make, but you said it anyway. You wanted another encounter with this mysterious creature. Gathering up your things, you hurried out of the clearing and back through the trees to your car, still sitting on the side of the road.

It took less than twenty minutes to make it back to the university. Back at the dorm, Willa was lying on her bed, scrolling through her phone mindlessly. She sat up as soon as you came through the door.

“Fun drive?” she asked.

You shrugged. “It was fine.”

“No exciting scenes to snap?”

Her tease made you roll your eyes. “No, not really. Now, come on. I thought you said you wanted to eat?”

Not missing a beat, Willa jumped up from the bed, snatched up her purse, and pulled you out of the room, contemplating out loud which signature pizza sounded good.

Minseok growled as he ran through the forest. How he could have possibly lost those three was beyond him. Being unable to find them now was even more stupefying. They were loud, how could he not know which direction to take? He had to be careful. This part of the forest was close to the back roads and Junmyeon was worried they were being spotted too often. If the three them weren’t paying attention-

Click. Click. Click.

Minseok brought himself to a halt at the strange sound. There wasn’t any sort of pattern to it, but there was an underlying shuttering that seemed vaguely familiar. Too curious to just ignore it, Minseok headed in the direction e suspected it came from. Once he found the answer, he’d go back to finding the others.

The sound led him to one of the many clearings in the woods. A person wandering around the area taking pictures seemed to be the source, a camera in their hands. You appeared to be alone. Odd since not many ventured out in the forest by themselves. The isolation didn’t seem to bother you, though as you carelessly went about your task.

Staying in the shadows, Minseok watched your back as you continued to photograph the nature around you. Something… something strange was tingling in his shoulders, like the muscle beneath the skin had fallen asleep. Without prompt from him, his paw moved forward. He should be leaving. Be gone before you spotted him. But he couldn’t do it. Something told him to wait.

That’s when you turned around. By the way you kept taking pictures, you hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t until you lowered the camera to review the film did you freeze. And you weren’t the only one.

Something in Minseok’s world snapped when he saw your face. His muscles contracted, shivered and ached.

Go! an inner voice urged. He tried to turn his body in the opposite direction of you, but failed. Not that way! He had no choice but to obey. So he stepped closer to you. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his own. In his chest, his heart accelerated. What was this? What was going on?

Slightly fighting each movement, Minseok broke out from the tree line and into the clearing. It was obvious you were frightened. And he was breaking all the rules by revealing himself. Logic could not win, however. He kept walking. Even after you fell backwards, he was only able to pause for a brief second. Your rapidly beating heart was loud in his own sensitive ears. But he wasn’t so sure that it was completely out of fear. He needed to be closer. So closer he went. The whiskers of his muzzle brushed against your cheek, sending a lightning bolt through his body. He took in your scent and reeled back.

You smelled human. You were human. But… there’s something different about you and he couldn’t fathom what it might be.

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” you said oddly.

Minseok laughed. Well, as much as he could with this ribcage and these vocal cords. Overwhelmed, he adjusted to a more comfortable position. The feeling in his chest was almost all consuming and it weighed him down. He’d seen plenty of humans on his runs, but this had never happened before. Was this something that would only happen because he was in his wolf form? Or would he still feel like this if he saw you on two legs?

With a glimmer in your eye, you sighed, “You’re a strange creature.”

Taking that as sign, he tested the waters and pulled himself across the grass with his front paws, closing the gap between you.

A song suddenly cut through the air and forced him to a stop before he could rest his head in your lap - an action that he was itching to try out. You jumped up with a gasp and ran to the bags resting at the bottom of a tree. Frantically, you searched the pockets until you found the source of the noise, answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” asked a female voice on the other end.

“I, um,” you glanced over him, making him jump to his feet. Will you tell your friend the truth? “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

He almost let out a sigh from relief. Talk of an overly friendly wolf would be bad, especially if it spread through town and more people ventured into the woods to try and encounter him.

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You hung up the call and met his eyes again. Impulsively, you took one last picture of him, which he didn’t shy away from. “I’ll be back,” you promised softly.

Minseok could no longer feel the ground beneath him. He just stood there, watching as you ran through the trees in the direction of the road. When his senses came back to him, he noticed a small brown square hidden among the tan grass. He went closer to inspect what the object was. It was a notebook.

It must be yours.

Scooping the leather-bound book in his mouth, he took off after you. Following your scent through the forest was easy – it stood out like a pink flower in a sea of green grass. But he wasn’t quick enough. He caught the sight of your tail lights far down the road. He would have to keep a hold of the notebook until he saw you again. You did say that you would be back.

Or you could track her down?

Minseok shook that thought away. How would he ever explain that without giving away his true nature?

Giving up for the time being, he turned around and decided to head back to the house. There was no way he could find the others now. And with you gone, the elated feeling disappeared, leaving him weighted as if he were being dragged down into the earth. Each step was anchored down. It took him much longer to get back to the farm house.

Several other members were scattered about the house, either working on their studies or clowning around. Your notebook tucked between his clothes and held close to his chest, he headed up to his room. After a quick shower, he got dressed once again and sat on the end of his bed. In his hands, he flipped the notebook over and over. He contemplated opening it. But that would be invading, wouldn’t it? But he wanted to find out about you.

So he pulled open the cover.

Inside, in the top right hand corner of the first page was your name. He smiled, saying it softly over and over. It felt… right on his lips. Your face hovered in his mind. It fit you so well, like a jacket tailored with perfection.

The nature of wolves was an odd kind. There was a constant urge to belong. To belong to a pack and then… to belong to a person.

Ever since he was young, he was told about how someday he find that special person whose soul was connected to his. Fate predetermined who that person would be and no one could ever fill the void that existed until that person came along. Ordinary humans would never experience that kind of feeling, that kind of love. The type of love for the wolf that could only be given by one person.

A mate.

Was that what you were? None of his brothers were mated. They were all free – some taking more advantage of the situation than others. Occasionally, they would joke about who would be first. Some thought it might be Yixing, given his soft heart and the genuine warmth he radiated. Others liked to joke that it would be Baekhyun or Jongin, the big serial daters of the pack. Minseok, though, had his money set on Jongdae. That wolf had barely been able to give in to the call of the pack when he first joined them all. He was verbally against the idea of mating, more so than anyone else. Opening up to people was not a strong suit of the younger wolf and Minseok couldn’t wait to see what kind of journey that would be once he was forced to.

Minseok would have been the last person on everyone’s mind for the mated list. Not for any malicious reasons, just because he didn’t venture out very much beyond school so the odds of meeting someone new were low. Or so he thought. He liked being out at the house, being home. He was the very definition of “homebody”. Ironic that he ended up meeting you out here.

Knock, knock, knock.

He looked up and quickly hid the notebook beneath his pillows, just in time before Junmyeon, the alpha, peaked his head in. “Minseok?”

“Yeah?”

Junmyeon looked back towards the hallway. “Yeah, he’s in here!” he yelled. “Tell Jongdae to stop worrying!”

Minseok laughed. Naturally, they leave him behind but then they get worried. He was the eldest, always looking after the others. And yet, oftentimes, it didn’t feel like that.

Where he thought that might be the end of the checkup, Junmyeon, instead, closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed beside him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Minseok nodded. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I saw the look on your face when you came in,” Junmyeon explained. “You looked troubled.”

The two of them weren’t the closet out of the whole pack. In fact, there were times where it was awkward between them, the role of the alpha and the role of eldest clashing at times. But other times, he was the best one to turn to.

“What do you know about the mating aspect of us?”

Junmyeon pursed his lips, thinking. “The mating aspect? Only the basics, really. That when you meet that one person, that’s it. And you’re supposed to live happily ever after.” He laughed at the cheesy line, releasing some of the tension.

Minseok couldn’t help but laugh along. It died out soon, though, as his mind went back to his current dilemma. “They always say you just know after one look. Do you think that’s right?”

“Yes, I do,” the alpha confirmed. “That’s all it takes. You feel it in here.” He tapped his chest, right about his heart. “Minseok? Why are you asking about this?”

He weighed his options. If this wasn’t what he thought it was and the others found out, he would never hear the end of it from them. But having someone validate his theory would ease some of the strain.

“I think I found her.”

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo series #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo supernatural au #untamed wolf universe #Catching Rain

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 41

The Jens and Ben had to head to their preplanned after parties alongside Orlando’s girlfriend, with tight hugs to you, both again stole a glance at the same ring on your finger they had admired earlier in the night without your having to show it off. Having shared the observation that a unique design like that made it all the more special and suited for your fated relationship. Liv from the group snuck to your side in the ride to your new place in the limo the four hobbits had arrived in with Viggo, David and Sean B.

Smiling widely she took your hand saying, “I am so excited. I know the house will just be perfect.”

“Will be one day hopefully.”

Orlando asked, “3 Million is pretty steep for you, right?”

“That’s just the average for the block, but it’s 1.5, got a good deal for it.” Your dad said.

Andy said, “Peter will be sad for missing out.”

“No problem, baby business is more important house isn’t moving. He can drop by later when it’s done.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Sean A said leaning forward to see the five story marvel the limo stopped at turning more heads with the group all taking turns spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Once out of the car you let go of your skirt to reach into your clutch bringing out the keys you held in the hand lowering to lift your skirt again leading the walk to the darkened front stoop. Excitedly Liv kept up with you smiling widely at the adventure luring smiles out from the others again who had noticed the extra bars added to the front entrance you unlocked to pass through the shadow finding the lock in the dark by thwacking your knuckle into the knob by mistake. Explaining the bars your dad said, “There are lawyers and some politicians who live on this block, they voted for the extra gates on the doors together. It’s a good neighborhood they just wanted extra security so people can’t pound on their doors I guess.”

Andy chucked saying, “That’s alright, heard a few lads back home who thought of gates too to keep their doorbell off limits.”

Billy, “Could also help with pets to keep them from running away down the steps.”

Your dad said, “There’s a buzzer for guests when it’s locked, which you could see-,” he said reaching over your head to find the light switch panel turning on both lighting up the stoop along with the main floor. Eyes shot from inside the mudroom to the again dark stoop at the bulb dying that had you giggle for its timing on its dying breath. “Perfect timing. Lazy bulb,”

Dominic said pointing at the buzzer panel lined in a silver frame, “Ooh, nice buzzer, shiny,” that the others could see in the light from the mudroom.

You smiled unlocking the next door, saying to yourself in easing them open, “I can imagine myself fighting these having to pee,” that earned chuckles from the others while this switch you managed to find turning the three lighting up the main open areas and what would be your study/library. Behind them the group closed the front doors and pooled into the front entrance blocking off the view of the cameras gathering on the sidewalk. “Ok, first off, mind the floors, Dad took out a few walls so there are a few uneven grooves where those were,”

Sean B asked eyeing the dent in the floor, “And that crater?”

Glancing from him to the dent and back again you said pointing up bringing the dimly lit chain to their focus as to why this area was the least lit, “Old tenant liked to hang things on the chandelier, it fell, but the chain and mount have been repaired just have to think of what to get to replace it.”

That had Liv saying, “You liked the chandelier in my study, it came as a set the other is just sitting up in my attic. It’s yours, housewarming gift.”

“Oh, thank you, gift,” you turned for the stairs lifting the box there, “Wedding present, before you can explore.”

Smiles spread through the group watching her open it and let out an excited squeal, “You bought me a typewriter!” Moving closer to wrap you in a tight hug, “Thank you, I love it,” her husband chuckled accepting it to settle it down back on the stairs adoring his wife’s new addition to her collection. “You are getting my chandelier, when are you back to Canada?”

“Tomorrow,” you said in her move back.

Your dad said, “I’ll be staying here though to mind the repairs.”

That had her smile at him, “Good, I will bring it for you at the apartment then.” Then she asked you, “What’s first?”

You pointed to the study, “This one over here is a sort of study or library, bit perfect for it once we get the shelves in.”

Viggo came in smiling wider imagining the long ended room stretching behind the stairs saying, “Perfect for a hiding spot for books.”

Out you went allowing everyone to have their own turn to envision it while you led the way across the floor past the stairs to the living room where more than a few took focus on the fireplace mantle shaped wonderfully. “This is gonna have carpet, in a sort of swoop shape right to the edge of the closet there. Up to this pretty wall with this detailed milky glass pane with the vines that go with the mantle carvings. Ooh, before the kitchen here’s my favorite guest bath,” you said crossing the floor pointing out a groove for them before they each took a turn in the black and cherry themed bathroom under the stairs then turned to head with you to the kitchen. “And there’s this other bath over here around the corner to the pantry,” each looking over the cabinets on the ground and counters without a top broken and split showing how someone had beaten into them.

Your dad said, “Used to have two rooms here we tore out, just shrank the place down absurdly. And over here we’re gonna add an island and move this counter and that whole wall outside the pantry and bathroom is going to have built in cabinets and cubbies for the dishes and spare appliances and whatnot. And maybe a built in for the dining area, bench possibly.”

“Oh and you should have seen it when the sun was out, this sunroom, just glows, new sunroof and needs some tile but leads to the patio. Helps to distract from the travesty that will be reborn into a kitchen.”

Sean A, “It’s not the worst I’ve seen, don’t be nervous about it.”

Elijah, “Where does this go?”

“To the basement,” you said with a smile, “I love these stairs. Just out of a castle.” You said and he smiled leading the way down the hall to the stairs lit by a switch you found and amusedly the others headed down as Liv kept close to your side wondering what the basement held as her mind was already reeling with love for all she’d seen so far.

Her smile doubled as you said tapping the chute door on the wall, “Laundry chute,” you heard the group excitedly exploring into the laundry room already after he turned on the light switch he was warned of to light the way by your dad.

Dominic was heard saying, “It’s got a kitchen!” already leading the swarm out through the floor relaxing you a bit you didn’t have to play guide down here.

“Oh I love these stairs,” she said and took notice of the chutes and gasped excitedly at the laundry room, “So much space, love this.” Out she went and smoothed her hand on the door to the apartment, “Love these doors.”

“Keeps nice and separate from the living space, and the garden entrance too.” Ignoring the patches on the walls tours of the kitchen and spare bath in silver and blue that led into the spare bedroom. Past the hall the bedroom was next to be explored with the open study lined with pillars. “This could be a sort of study area, like not a room but a room.”

Sean B, “Great for when you have kids to work here and let them run around.”

Billy, “Plus good to keep the little ‘uns from climbing into the fireplace at not being out of sight.”

Your dad said, “We’ve ordered glass doors for the fireplaces already to replace the old ones that were broken to help with that too.”

Orlando smiled saying, “Can we go up now? Gotta see more.”

You smiled and led the group back up hearing them turn off lights on the way with just flashes of cameras from one cameraman who’d climbed onto his car to see simple glances over the closed shutters covering the lower half of the windows. Back to the staircase on the main floor you led the way up to your dad’s floor to Ian’s saying, “Those shutters are a lovely touch. Adds to the privacy without barricading yourself in.”

“They might add to the castle touches a bit. Least for my take on them. This one’s dad’s floor.”

He flipped the switch lighting the main open area starting the tour in the wave shaped long bath/closet mixture feeding into a spare bedroom with the group eager to follow you again. “This would be the guest bed and bath.” Out of that crossing the floor was another fireplace containing open area, “Another living room, where my big tv is going.”

Another mini kitchen past the dividing wall similar to the one downstairs with a small room after for an office or hobby room, back past the staircase with exposed shelves was the impressive master bed and bath he had chosen.

Again those stairs called and up the group went to explore the three open rooms, two with sliding doors the other without any. Split by shared baths without a mini kitchen clearly could be the guest floor shaped in elegant curves around a rounded nook in the center of the back wall divided by a milky glass paned set of sliding doors.

“Oh there’s so much space,” Viggo said smiling at you, “guess this is for the babies?”

“I mean, if I had to pick I’d think that one would be a nursery, just has the best view and the one that way would be too close to the road and there’s a fire and police station.”

Liv, “Oh I get that, same as my place, gonna be interesting when babies come.”

Billy asked, “Let me guess, animals for the design?”

Awkwardly your grin crept out answering, “Peter Pan, actually, my mom had sketches for mine. Found this cool pirate ship chandelier for it. I haven’t said anything about this to Rich yet.”

Sean A shook his head, “Won’t hear it from us. I know my wife had it all planned long before we ever got engaged. And it is good to pick the room when you pick the home.”

Andy, “And you have a yard?”

“Small one, but we can always take the courtyard back to stretch it out some more the tiles are coming up anyways we’d need to replace them. But when these imaginary babies get older we’d have time at the ranch back in Texas too and the place in England has a decent back garden if we end up there when they get to school age.”

All the parents agreed that was a big thing for you as a cross continental couple who would be traveling often making your dad say, “Either way I’d be bunking in as stay home grandpa, so work travel won’t disturb that,”

You added, “And I was thinking for this room across here on this long wall for these built in bunk beds. Like stairs in between them all wood, surrounded by shelves and cubbies.”

Ian, “Twin beds?”

Your dad, “We mocked up a group of Queen sized beds, so not fully a kids room could also be for adult guests. Gonna have some added to my spare bedroom on my floor too in case family wants to drop in with all the munchkins.”

Ian smiled trying to picture them, “I can’t wait to see them.”

Elijah said, “I’m thinking by this layout your room is huge, like whole top floor.”

That had you giggle and lead the way up the final set of steps, “Not the whole floor, bigger than my bedroom now,”

You flipped on the light and the open floor plan had eyes traveling throughout from the mini kitchen they passed to get to what would be the study across from the open living room. The floor was worse up here with scuffs and dents between chipped planks and the damage to the bathroom had Liv gasp and cover her mouth in the horror scene and Dominic ask, “Did the old guy just like to party?”

Your dad answered, “Well he was a lawyer and he decided not to pay his rent and then decided to tear the wiring and pipes out of the wall and just broke everything he could on the way out through his eviction. Part of how the price got so low, all that had to be repaired and Jaqi picked new tiles for the counters, floors, new wood and carpet to go with the new cabinets and shelves that will be swapped after the flooring is done. They’re coming to tear it up in a few weeks, and by the time it’s all out the new flooring will be in and the wood will be piled in the garage for the woodwork. But we at least got these spacious tubs, showers and sinks replaced at least so far for the bathrooms. Not a full remodel after what I’ve manage to handle for Jaqi.”

Liv, “You have a garage?”

Your dad said, “On the other side of the yard, it’s got parts and supplies all in it now that will be cleared out when the repairs are done.”

“Which it doesn’t really need much since dad’s been sneaking here before I got to look at it and handled the plumbing and wiring, including the black brass fixtures I love. So not a full tear down job. And I’m glad he managed to find these huge tubs.”

Sean B said, “Nightmare,” along with David who added, “You lucked out, good move dad, because I have been there. Wanted to commit arson.”

Elijah, “What about the roof? My first three apartments had terrible roofs I had mold down my walls within a month each time, went house hunting and the realtor turned and I was up in the attic before they knew it, flashlight in hand scoping it out.”

Your dad answered, “New roof, brand new had to change out a beam and did that all at once to fix the dip and prevent the water damage before it started raining again. Another winter and the snow would have taken it out. But it’s been built up to a safe foundation for my little girl to start out on.”

Liv, “It is a great start, and I really do love the shutters you have that block out the bottom half. Helps to let the stars and light in. Have you thought on curtains yet?”

“Not really, I know I’d want to not have those sheer curtains, I love it for yours but they creep me out middle of the night,” earning a few chuckles from the group, “Especially under ac vents. Rich’s has these nice green ones he picked fabric for his mom to make for him she might help pick some fabric for me to make them. And that all goes in with the paint and wallpaper discussion.”

Orlando, “Well you’ve picked a great place to make your own. You can throw one hell of a party when it’s done.”

Dominic, “And I know the perfect painting for your wall downstairs.”

David, “And you should let Peter know and by the end of the week when the shelves are in you’ll have tons of stuff to fill them from Weta.” That had you giggle again.

Viggo, “I’m making you something, I’ll know it when I feel it.”

Billy asked, “Where’s your music room going to be?”

“Don’t know yet.”

Your dad said, “Either way the floors are all soundproof so wherever it goes will be perfect.”

David, “Soundproof would have been dangerous for me and my siblings. Our mother lived by crashes and distant muffled screams.”

You and your dad said, “We’ll hear it,”

David, “For now, we need to feed you, Hugh said he’d get us a table to celebrate Joe’s win.”

Your dad smiled saying, “You guys won things too.”

Sean B waved his hand, “We’re old news, have to celebrate your first win. Come on, let’s feed you.”

Lights were shut off all the way down and you locked up while Liv clung gladly to her box she settled on her lap unable to wait for the time she got home to find the right place in her home when she got there. While it needed work the project home had every one of them searching for what they could find to add to the shelving to come along with coating those walls desperately needing some paint.

Once at the place Hugh smiled giving you a hug, “Sorry, had a few interviews, but I am seeing your place next time I am back in town. When are you coming back from work?”

“Couple months, floors and shelving should be done by then leaving furniture and painting debacles.”

Hugh, “Just the basics, how big? Bed, bath, footage?” His eyes narrowing a bit to make it click in his imaginary home he was drafting for your personality.

“8 bed, 7 bath, 7500 square foot.”

“Wow,” he said, “Don’t hear that a lot out here, more than one story, right?”

“Yes, five including the basement.”

“Lot of stairs,” he replied in a chuckle.

“My apartment is five flights up, so it’s the same, but at least now everything around it is mine so if I’m tired I can sleep anywhere.”

He chuckled and Andy said, “Even has this cool gate at the front to keep people from the doorbell. Apparently there’s a lot of politicians and lawyers who voted for them.”

Hugh, “Voted?”

“Brownstones are historical styles and there are councils you have to consult on anything structural on the front, they picked the more classical wrought iron gate appearance matching the gates around the front walkways leading to the basement apartments.” Your dad answered gaining a nod while you all took your seats.

“Probably only close them when I’m not in New York, there’s a mud room behind that until you’re inside and that could only be hard to race my bladder on days I’ve been busy.”

Hugh said, “I can agree with that, especially after nights out and a long ride home, had many times one of my first apartments had to knock on the neighbor’s door to pop in on the way up.” He flashed a grin to the waitress that brought in a round of menus and he asked, “I saw on the news something about you and Keanu Reeves?”

“He lives next door in the apartments there, got home when our Landlord was waiting to show me the new place and he was being tailed I guess and they caught the introduction moment.”

Elijah, “Those shutters will certainly help with that in the future.”

Hugh glanced his way then to you as you said, “It has big front windows. And there are sectioned shutters inside that cover the lower half on one set and a second for the top so if I want light then I can still leave the top open and someone would have to stand on a car like a camera guy did tonight seeing us all heading in.”

“I love that,” he said, “Might have to borrow that idea.”

“I mean it’s not like I streak or go running around in my underwear but walking around and the front room is feet from the street it can get kinda awkward to catch someone’s eye.” Making the others chuckle, “I’d like to have curtains for night time but the place just glows when the top shutters are open, which we might have just caught it at the right time and it’s all shadows after that hour passes but for an hour it is perfect.”

Hugh, “I feel like that’s a realtor tactic, finding that window to trap you. Been browsing options for price ranges on what we might be able to rent and they all have a certain glow to each picture I’ve seen. But I’m glad you love it and I will be available to help often cuz I got chosen for The Boy From Oz on Broadway through the winter.”

“Oh that’s amazing,”

“Thank you,” he said with a massive grin, “I am excited about it, my last couple films did help.”

“They love a big name, no secret about that, I was a last minute tolerance out of desperation losing lead and understudy who only my teacher had been gunning for me they so badly wanted me to fail so they could find someone bigger who could draw in crowds. I will be getting a seat for the show when it’s out.”

“I can’t wait for your next show, wonder how you can top Chicago.” Next projects picked up and over the meal animatedly carrying on through to split rides home.

Face washed and changed to sweats again cuddled up to your dad’s side you slept trying to ignore the fact that Richard still hadn’t returned your message from the night before or the call you’d made to him earlier that morning. True you’d have to wake up early to catch your plane so you might miss his return call while you were in the air or jumping right back to work. And it did bother you to leave your dad here alone but he was dedicated to ensuring the new home would be taken care of while you were away, glaring the workers into line protecting his baby girl in your absence. Keeping everything in line on the most unpleasant tasks to handle that while he could to spare you that hassle until the day you had to take over when he had been drug kicking and screaming to the afterlife hopefully when you yourself were old and grey.

“So, I sort of bought a house,” came out of your lips and mouths dropped from your friends hearing about it and from the mention of spare bedrooms you could swore Lee was already wide eyed with pupils dilating to commence the begging.

Fully drained your pasta sat waiting for the sauce you were stirring to finish when your phone rang in a call from Richard luring a curious grin across your face. “Hey Richy Rich, busy day?”

After a calming exhale Richard steadied himself and said, “I am so terribly sorry I’ve been a bit distracted, but I swear I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”

“It’s ok,”

“I caught a glimpse of the award show, Joe have fun?”

“He did, so glad he won something for his acting to add to the wall.”

“That’s great, how was your break from work?”

“Good, um, Dad took me to the Brownstone, it’s really nice under the scuffs.”

“That’s great, so you want it then?”

“Yes, I um, I put 250k into it for a down payment.”

“Fantastic, so it’s not too much then?”

“1.5 mil, which is staggering, but I could always put funds from the box office pay into it whatever that will be, and Keanu Reeves apparently is our neighbor when it’s done. I helped dad pick the new flooring and sketched up new cabinets and shelves, old guy broke all that.”

“Can’t wait to see it, I know I’ll love it.” You could hear his anxious pause before he said, “While we’re on news, um, as far as real estate goes, I bought us a house too.”

“Another one?”

“Well, got a call from a buddy from my real estate days with a tip. I have a buyer for the old one, Chris has been helping me pack, why I was distracted. It really is perfect I know you’ll love it, I love having the three of us for Holidays but my place was kind of small. And this is going to sort of come out upside down, but Chris finished his degrees and now he’s been hired with a good place and he put funds down on a house of his own closer to Mum and Dad, but his roof caved in.”

“Oh, he okay?”

“Oh he wasn’t there, it was another deluge over a week and the beams gave out, some error on the build code, but he’s having that replaced. And I moved near Oxford to be by him in the first place so knowing he was close to finishing I have been looking at places close by too and with the funds coming in I was able to pick something more spacious. So I settled on the big place Mum has always wanted a tour of it and the owner I bought it from was be glad to be rid of it for people trying to buy it to tear it down for more flats. Moved in yesterday and while his place is being fixed up him and his girl are moving in until the new roof is built.”

“They’re moving in together now?”

“Yes, she’s already been talking to her doctor about some hormone shots for a baby. He’s picking a ring and they’re going to pick a date for a court ceremony to make everything official.”

“So what happens if she gets pregnant and they’re still at your place.”

“Our place, and it shouldn’t take long he was quoted a month to mend the damage, they know it’s our place and she’s not too fond of the size of it, shares your cleaning urges when she gets stressed. Their place is the same size as my old place. I really do know you’d love it, blue shingles and grey slate tiles outside, covered section on the drive right in front of the door. Two stories, tons of room, and,” he said pausing to wet his lips, “It’s got the perfect room for a nursery upstairs overlooking the back garden.”

That had your grin creep out, “I suppose we’ll have to trade pictures when you get here then.”

“Yes we will,” he hummed happily then asked, “There’s room for little ones in the brownstone?”

“8 bed 7 bath, 7500 ft, it’s got a small yard about the size of my apartment but we can always take trips to the ranch in Texas or out to England as they get bigger and need more space.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an 8 bedroom anything in New York before.”

“It is out there, as far as what we’re getting, I’ve seen 14 million for penthouses or town houses with no more than 4 beds and two are usually Murphy beds to share as office space. But it is going to be amazing, I do have to warn you I also found a room fit for a nursery.”

“Thank you, for doing that, I know we haven’t settled on a time frame for when babies might be coming but I do like that we have a place for them to have as their own. And eight bedrooms is so much room.”

“Some aren’t as spacious as they sound, and dad took out some walls on the main floor especially which just would have gouged the living space. So now we have room. But I have seen where we could do bunk beds, not like wobbly metal ones but where they are built against the wall with shelves around them for books and such, then there’s space to play. I did pick carpet for the bedrooms and the room I picked for your study.”

“I have a study?” He asked excitedly.

“Yes, it’s on the top floor, great lighting and we’re going to add shelves and a desk if you like that you can pick or armchairs for a sort of deflating zone for you if you need it. It has its own fireplace.”

“Perfection. What about you? No study for you?”

“There’s this little odd room on the main floor to the left as you walk in, runs behind the stairs, I thought it could be like our mini library,”

“Oh that’s fantastic.”

“Yes, not too big to entertain there but it’d be nice to hid in, stash some big armchairs and just cuddle up, maybe have a wardrobe for blankets and pillows.”

“That’d be amazing, and I truly love the carpet idea.”

“Good, I picked a sort of crème color, then we can have runners and rugs for halls. It’s got new ac and heating and fireplaces have all been repaired to be wood burning but winter, it’s gonna get chilly and I did not want door to roof wood floors, especially if we’re gonna have kids playing on it. I don’t really care if it gets stained in their rooms and we could always toss a rug on top of a designated play area anyways, something more colorful, the guys after the show were glad for a tour and I thought they might be iffy on carpet since most people are crazy over wood.”

“I love carpet, crème is a great choice, there’s something therapeutic about vacuuming, and wood floors things can just ghost around when you sweep it.”

“Exactly, oh, and dad talked about getting a puppy.” That had him chuckle, “He misses our old dog Jet. We’ll train it so it won’t destroy anything. Do you have a preference on paints or wallpapers?”

“Not particularly, I love the choices you picked for your apartment, you can choose what you like and I’ll love it.”

“I just know we’ll have to paint everything, there’s huge chunks of replaced drywall, he broke the counters and cabinets in the kitchen,” that had him scoff, “And he tore the damn cabinets off the wall, all of them,”

“Arsehole.”

“Exactly, and he tore out the pipes and wiring, smashed tile flooring and these beautiful milky glass panels that are in these half walls dividing the open living and dining areas.”

“There’s more than one dining area?”

“Yes, mini kitchens for our floor and dad’s and in the basement. Ooh, and we have laundry chutes! The basement steps are sort of dangerous for hamper hauling, you know those spiral staircases they have in old castles, all from this pretty wood, pretty but dangerous for hauling. Oh, and Dad’s going to add barn door gates to the stairs like at the big house at the ranch to add to the prep on munchkins.”

“I love it already. I am all for hurling dirty laundry into a hole in the wall to hide it from guests. And I do love those gates. Have you picked where furniture goes from our places?”

“No, not yet. I sort of want to see it when the floors are done, then when I get back I can help dad start to prime the walls so we won’t see the patches, ooh and Liv is gifting us the twin to her tree branch chandelier for the chain by the door, and also I found a pirate ship one for the nursery.”

“Pirate ship,” he chuckled out, “Sounds lovely, pirate theme then?”

“My mom had some Peter Pan sketches for mine, thought it might be a nice theme.”

“Now that will be phenomenal to build that up. Truly. We could double it here if you like, I absolutely love it.”

Sheepishly you smiled at your food you’d been taking sparing bites of between turns talking at your place on the floor in the living room glad he didn’t think this was weird to have planned this already. It wasn’t hard to find out why tears were threatening to fill your eyes, the tie to your mom you missed even without truly knowing her yourself, knowing that she would have given anything to have been here right now to plan a wedding and nursery with you to raise your babies in. “Thank you.”

“I absolutely understand, my mother is a formidable force in my life, who out of tradition will be insisting on a stuffed turtle in the room, anywhere, but there must be a turtle. And she could find the best curtain material for a Peter Pan theme with blankets galore.”

“My aunt makes these plushy pillows shaped like animals, we could have that in the story corner or something.”

“I love story corner idea, I can see Mum loading up on the classics now.”

“We have ample copies out at the ranch, still have mine, we could have a whole section of shelves for the kids sorted by age. And those time traveling tree house book series and the Junie B Jones series and Madeline and Suess, Giving Tree and that Sidewalk book.”

“And we have to add the Beatrix Potter books too to go with the Hobbit.”

“They will be getting their own illustrated copy for their room, it will be read often, trust me.” That had him chuckle deeply beaming with tears in is eyes planning all this. Wiping a tear away he heard you say, “We haven’t um, we haven’t talked about, for the wedding, last names. Liv was talking about how she did that for hers.”

“I have no qualms taking your last name,” he blurted out parting your lips, “Honestly I don’t they’ll still be part of my family and Chris’ kids can keep the name, your dad took your mum’s name and I would really love to do that for you. No one can say my name right anyways,” that had you giggle and wipe away your own tear.

“Richard Crispin Pearisiyiae?”

“Sounds flawless doesn’t it?” He said with a smile, “People get married all the time in the industry and I can keep my stage name. If they try to give me trouble for my passport I can hyphenate it for the pencil pushing jerks. I am not letting you give up that name, however chauvinist that hints to I love you and I won’t do that to you. It will never be something my family takes personally ever either, I swear that to you I’ve talked to my parents about it when I said I was going to propose.”

“You do realize your name is more vanilla than mine is, it’s a lot of vowels together.”

“I’m prepared, I’ve practiced signing it already,” that had you giggle again, “Primary school all over again full journal with hearts and all signing our names in hearts.”

“This new place of ours, how much work does it need?” You said with a smile trying not to focus on that tear drawing image of his thoughtful promise.

“Surprisingly all it needs is a water heater. It almost seems too good, I’ve been over every inch and had people to check the pipes and everything else. So far all I can find is this obnoxious bird nested on a corner of the back porch cover.”

“Well we can handle that, give them a nice little house,”

“So encourage it, fair plan,” he teased making you giggle again.

“Win them over, kill with kindness.”

“Ah, so end goal the bird is dead, I’m all in.”

Pt 42

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #House Tour #Back to Canada #Big Plans

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

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Ever heard of the song Mrs Jackson can you make that into hizzie! Love you work in the hizzie oneshot series like seriously I live to read those oneshot's.

[a/n: Thank you so much, I still feel like I struggle with their dynamic a bit. I also can’t explain why this song made me think of this type of one-shot, but I for sure got this energy from it.]

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts

Title: Miss Saltzman

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

Hope Mikaelson felt the cool edge of drywall push up against the wet of her back. Her legs ached, the apron digging into her stomach as she sat in the small corner of the business office. Different sticky notes in foreign writing littered the walls and a small fan hummed in the corner- but all it did was circulate hot air.

“This has officially been the worst day of my life.” She mumbled into her hands, tasting the salt of sweat against her lips.

The hotel was in the middle of its busiest season; with graduations and regular vacations to the large amusement park that sat thirty minutes from the coast. Every single room had been booked up to capacity and more than half of them called down to the kitchen with ridiculous requests that could be fulfilled with one easy trip to the grocery store.

Penelope worked an easy hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “You’re telling me. Room fifty-four keeps calling down for fresh strawberries because she saw another room with them, and you know Rick is too cheap for shit like that.”

“Rick is too cheap for everything.” Hope moved her hands and put her head against the wall behind her, letting the cool air hit her neck.

Ebony Creek sat at the end of a long city block packed with bakeries wafting with sweetness. There was a bookstore and a small local grocer. All of it was overshadowed by the large sandstone building with emerald awnings and fresh-cut roses.

The kitchen was located towards the back of the hotel, facing an alleyway where her coworkers would pull in heated breaths of nicotine. There was a cool breeze seeping in through the office, the door propped with a plastic bucket once used for large quantities of ice.

Three monotone rings echoed through the small space and Hope had to fight off a groan. Penelope sighed and grasped the phone from the hook. She listened silently for a moment, nodding as if the person on the other line could see her. “Yes ma’am, I’ll send her right up.”

There was a beat of silence after Penelope put the phone noisily back on the hook.

“Hope,”

“No”

“It’s room 237.”

Her breath caught, and it felt like lead in her throat. Hope had grown dreadful of the calls, and that very floor; but the guests there had a permanent stay in Ebony Creek. They paid a good sum of money to have keypads on the doors from the stairwell, to have a personal elevator that brought them to the fanciest rooms that were more like apartments. They rented month to month, and most of them nodded politely at the staff but never made use of them.

Most of them weren’t Elizabeth Saltzman.

She was a modern heiress with extreme taste when it came to extravagance. She enjoyed the post-modern art that hung on the walls of her hallway and deep gold crown moldings at the corners of her rented room.

Lizzie barely ordered anything from the kitchen; but with each phone call, she would request Hope. And each time Hope fixed her a vodka soda with barely any seltzer and bring that with her on a metal tray. Her hands would shake and the ice would clatter.

“Can’t refuse that,” Hope sounded out eventually, rubbing the sweat from her collarbone.

“No, I suppose not. Don’t take too long, alright? We can’t afford to be without you.”

Hope pulled herself to a standing position, not paying much mind to how her legs burned, or the good amount of wetness that built up behind her neck. She quietly mixed Lizzie her drink and pretended not to notice the cooks staring at her with curious eyes- despite knowing the weekly ritual by heart.

Hope set the crystal glass on a tray and walked through the double doors into the shocking coolness of the hallway. She could smell the chlorine of the indoor pool and hear the hum of the vending machines that were marked up in price when all you truly got in return were stale chips and out of date chocolate.

She got into the elevator that leads only to the second floor and found herself pulling out her hairpins with her free hand. The sweat had dried and her palm shook under the metal tray, the ice sounding like fairies that were robbed of their gold dust. All of this, she ignored too- all the way to room 237.

Hope schooled her shoulders, knocked three times (loud and sure of herself) before losing that nerve and stepping back like a timid child delivering cookies, or passing out pamphlets about the church of Christ.

Lizzie took her time answering the door, but when she did, Hope could swear she had to swallow her heart because the heiress would be able to hear her in a moment. She was dressed modestly in a nice blouse that cut too low and a pair of gray slacks. Hope knew from experience that the matching blazer would be slung against the back of one of the chairs in the room.

It was a rare occasion to see the woman smile, but each time the corner of her lip turned into something of a smirk, Hope’s legs would lose their feeling and her mind would run faster than any living creature could.

“Miss Saltzman, here’s your drink.” Hope balanced the tray and Lizzie took the glass as if it were a formality, and neither of them could fool one another, it was. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“You can come inside, let me grab a tip from my purse.”

The first time, nearly two summers ago, that Elizabeth Saltzman asked Hope to follow her into her room, she hesitated. The year before that she had delivered pizza’s and the golden rule was to always stay on the porch unless you wanted a knife in your back or a healthy dose of hoarders syndrome.

But it was a classy hotel, and there were cameras in nearly every hallway. Penelope had told her to always make sure the guest had everything they wanted; and if someone as powerful as Lizzie asked her to wait in the little area by the door in order to collect a tip, she would.

Hope tucked the metal tray under her arm and obliged.

Lizzie had the AC on and that seemed to do nothing to appease the intense burning across the skin of her cheeks. She felt the exhaustion of the day and the cool metal that pressed close to her side. More than anything, she felt the closed door against the skin of her back the second that they were locked away from the rest of the world.

A knee was between hers and the tray clattered to the carpet with a dull thud. Lizzie’s nails dug trails of acid across the back of her neck and their lips met with all exhaustion forgotten. Lizzie tasted like mint and bourbon.

“I had a rough day,” Hope said as the woman nipped slightly at her jawline, and then a little further down. “So if you can go a little easy on me-“

“I can have whoever wronged you fired on the spot.”

Hope scoffed; Lizzie wasn’t one for affection, not the ordinary kind and after a while, Hope realized that. She had fought hard to carve out a place in the city for herself and her brand. People found her brash and power-hungry, but her words were always calculated and both of them knew that it was a sign of how much she cared.

She found herself consumed by the woman in every aspect. How soft her movements were, how much she smelled of fresh-cut flowers, how she had just enough arousal built up inside of her to get her through the rest of her shift.

Lizzie led her to the small sofa that was a deep crimson and shuttered gold. She lifted Hope’s shirt above her head and took with it the scent of a kitchen, of freshly peeled garlic and sink water. She was being straddled and the coolness of the couch mingled with the heat of her skin.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Lizzie growled, soft like the purr of a motor, before unhooking Hope’s bra and throwing it to the corner of the room with her t-shirt. “It’s a shame that you’re trapped in that hot kitchen all day long. Aren’t you just begging for some kind of release?”

Hope was, in fact, close to biting her tongue to keep herself from whimpering requests. She writhed under Lizzie’s touch and let out a small gasp when the woman ran her tongue over her nipple delicately. She liked to tease, and part of Hope didn’t have the patience but knew never to rush her.

Lizzie palmed Hope’s other breast and kissed lightly down her stomach until she reached the waistband of her pants. Each movement felt like a new form of lava as energy pulsed through her. She lifted her legs, allowing the girl to pull her jeans down to her knees, taking her underwear with it.

Lizzie was attentive and tender, biting ever so slightly at Hope’s thighs as a wetness slowly formed between them. She moaned at the sensation, at the anticipation that overwhelmed her in every sense of nature.

“For fuck's sake,” She mumbled, biting down on the edge of her arm. The walls were the only expense that Ebony Creek didn’t double down on. They were thin and every single staff member took bets on which room was seeing the most action- Hope always knew it was 237.

“What was that?”

Lizzie’s breath was scalding against her center, and Hope wanted nothing more than to push herself further down the couch for any type of contact. “Please, Miss. Saltzman.”

Her southern manners were something prided in food service, and the same expectation carried to encounters like this. They weren’t on a first-name basis. Hope was the help even though sometimes it felt like the other way around, depending on who did the pleasuring.

Even with her quickness, Lizzie was gentle. She moved her tongue against the length of Hope’s sex, soothing the innate energy, if only for a moment before she got to work. Hope found her nails digging into the red fabric, leaving little crescents in the cushions. Her other hand guided Lizzie evenly, fingers laced into blonde hair.

“Holy shit,” Hope purred, waves of satisfaction rippling through her as Lizzie latched onto her clit.

She suddenly forgot all about the stress in the kitchen; the way seven meals had been sent back, and how room fifty-four wanted fresh strawberries that still needed to be defrosted from the furthest reaches of the freezer. The only thing that mattered was the skill of Lizzie’s tongue and the vodka soda that chilled on the table by the door.

Hope suddenly tensed, that build-up of pressure inside of her was releasing. She felt the tremors move through her body and bit down on the side of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Despite herself, she was successful in muffling the sounds of her own satisfaction.

Lizzie pulled away, clearly impressed with herself. A dumb and prideful smile sparkled against her lips, even as they met with Hope’s once more. Her palm was on Hopes collarbone, both of them could feel the strength of her heartbeat as it pounded close to her ribcage.

Hope could taste herself, masked with vanilla, on Lizzie’s lips.

“You always tip me the most,” Hope panted

“You work hard.” Lizzie frowned and then focused her stare back on Hope’s, those deep indigo eyes. “You deserve it.”

#lizzie saltzman #hope mikaelson #Hope x Lizzie #lizzie x hope #Hizzie fanfiction #hizzie #legacies fanfic #request

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hangjie · 5 years

Text

stand by me. [ five hargreeves ]

summary: the apocalypse is coming and five is doing everything he needs to do, even if one of which is confessing his feelings to reader

warnings: swearing (obv it’s five sis) and mentions of death

word count: 1,191

author’s note: okay so i finished tua and sIS ITS SO GOOD AND IM SO IN LOVE WITH FIVE (cough aidan) SHUSH IM 16 UGH I NEED S2 NOW (plus the soundtrack is so good HFJSKSKDJS). let’s say that five is around 18 physically and mentally here and that he didn’t get stuck in the future and managed to get back to the present instantly and reader also has powers (not part of the 43 tho) where she can see the past of people and can manipulate what ppl see. sucks af bc i haven’t written in so long hsndkskdk

(y/e/c) - your eye color

─── • ° *｡✧ ───

the world ends in 8 days.

the world ends in 6 days.

the world ends in 2 days.

i didn’t believe five at first when he told me about the apocalypse. i mean, who would? they said that the world was supposed to end in 2012, but here we are.

“what?” i laughed. “you can’t be serious, five. the world is not ending in two weeks.”

the boy in front of me glares at me before rolling his eyes. “i’m serious, (y/n)! i saw it with my own eyes.”

“then you must be blind because i’m not buying it.” i cross my arms around my chest before five takes my hand and places it in his. i fight off the urge to blush and i, fortunately, manage to.

five starts to pout and his green eyes lock with my (y/e/c) ones, pleading for me to use my powers to look into his past. i sigh loudly and mutter ‘fine’ quietly, the small corners of five’s lips curving up into a small smile.

i place my palm on top of his hand and close my eyes. i can feel his pulsing energy combining with mine. i can hear his ragged breathing and his heartbeat inside my chest.

everything starts to blur until i can see several crumbled buildings, ashes, and fire. i look around and my eyes widen when i notice that the ruins in front of me was where the umbrella academy once stood.

i approach to inspect what happened, but i notice a crying figure in front of what once was the umbrella academy. i walk closer and gasp again when i notice that it was five, kneeling in front of the dead body of his brother, luther.

in shock, i walk some steps backward before i trip on the ruin of a building. i groan and when i was about to stand up, i turn to my side and see the body of klaus.

i scream out loud and i turn to the other side to see allison and diego’s bodies. i frantically stand up and i run away from the scene, before going back to reality.

i gasp and open my eyes, letting go of five’s hand. i look at him in surprise and he smiles sadly. “now you believe me?”

i nod, speechless and five pulls me in for a comforting hug. i close my eyes, wrapping my arms tightly around his body.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i didn’t believe you at first,” i say, face buried in his neck. he rubs my back in comfort. “it’s okay. you didn’t know and it did sound fucking crazy at first.”

we stay in silence and in each other’s arms until five speaks up. “i’ll do everything i can to stop the apocalypse.” he pulls my closer to him if that even was possible and says, “i can’t lose you and my family.”

i smile as i feel my cheeks heat up. “i’m sure you will.”

it has been a week and a half since five first warned me and we haven’t seen each other since that day.

i can’t complain though because five’s busy trying to stop the apocalypse. i, on the other hand, have been doing all the things that i’ve wanted to do.

i sigh, looking around my bedroom. i pick up the picture frame on my bedside table and smile at the picture of five and i.

“smile for the camera, five!” i say, hooking my arm around five’s neck and holding up the camera in front of our faces.

before i can click the shutter button, he takes the camera from my hands. “(y/n), how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t like pictures? plus, why do you want to take a picture so badly?” he glares at me with a frown on his lips as i roll my eyes. “oh, stop being an asshole and just enjoy life for a moment!” i snatch it from his hands. “i wanted to capture this moment, okay? we don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”

“plus, you look cute today,” i mumble to myself mostly, but five catches it. he rolls his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips and a red tint spreading across his cheeks.

“i knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“shut your egotistical ass up!” i hit his shoulder with my free hand and pout. he chuckles and raises his hands in surrender. “okay, okay! jeez, so are we going to take this picture or what?”

i position the camera in front of us and i put my head on his shoulder. five tenses up at my action, but he relaxes and wraps his arm around my shoulder. i try to ignore my blush and stop my hands from shaking as i hold the camera up.

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3, smile!” i click the shutter button and the bright light from the camera captures our red cheeks and wide grins.

i feel my cheeks heat up from the thought, making me flop on my bed and groan out loud.

goddamn it. you’re hopeless, (y/n)!

i bury my face in my pillows and try to forget about fige for a while until i hear footsteps and a soft ‘shit!’ behind me. i thought it was nothing and that i was hearing things until i look up and see no one other than the skinny brunette boy that i know and love.

i jump in fright, falling off my bed in the process. i groan and mumble a ‘ow’ as i try to stand up despite the ache.

“(y/n)! are you okay?” five grabs my hands and helps me stand as i rub my head.

“holy fuck. what the hell, five?! what did i tell you about space jumping into my room? i—“

before i could finish what i was saying, five presses his lips against mine, shutting me up. i freeze in my tracks and my eyes widen.

it takes me a moment to realize what was happening and before i can kiss back, five pulls away. he looks at me with a panicked and an embarrassed expression.

“shit! i shouldn’t have done that. i–i . . . fuck. i hate feelings,” he apologizes, cursing under his breath. “i’m so sorry, (y/n). i just . . . i’ve liked you for so long and with the world ending, i just took this opportunity because what if i don’t have enough time or i—“ i cut him off by grabbing the collar of his shirt and placing my lips on his, shutting him up like what he did with me.

five hesitates, but i pull him closer to me, making him smile against my lips. we pull away from each other with smiles on our faces and red cheeks.

“well, that’s one thing off my ‘to do’ list,” five says, making me chuckle.

“just shut up and kiss me again, you loser.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” five smirks before pulling me into another kiss, appreciating each other’s presence for the mean time.

MASTERLIST

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deathbyvalentine · 6 years

Text

Original Prompts (TW: Suicidal Themes if you squint.)

Bad Guys Winning

Eliot wasn’t entirely sure when he had become the bad guy. It wasn’t something he had walked into with his eyes open. He hadn’t sewn skulls into his leotard, or perfected a manic laugh. In a lot of ways, if there had been any warning signs, it would have been easier. As it was... Well. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see a villain. But did anyone?

He pulled up his hood when he slunk into the street, though he was reasonably assured that his mask had concealed him well enough. But still, his fingers twitched to his hood every few seconds to make sure it sat in place. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the gazes of the passers by flickering to him, or lingering. Or if the cameras really were following him as he turned a corner. It wasn’t paranoia if everyone really was out to get you.

He didn’t stand out among the blacks and greys, even the sky matching the palette. He could have been anyone. But, as he reminded himself, he wasn’t. He was different. And right, most importantly. He was right. The rest of the world was wrong. If that made him the bad guy or delusional? So be it.

He turned into the alley twenty minutes later, jumping up and grabbing the fire escape, heaving himself up. He definitely didn’t have a permit for this. Nor Form 36A. This was not state sanctioned, sponsored or endorsed. The cargo in his backpack did not have their mandatory licence attached.

He reached the top of the building, just as the sun was setting in shades of grey. He pulled his bandanna up around his mouth, the bright scarlet as vivid as a wound, as real as one. The first person on the street looked up, caught by the movement. A muffled shout. There was no time to waste.

Even after all this time, his hands still shook. He discarded the spray cans, half empty, and the glitter spreading everywhere. He found the fireworks, and the lighter and spread them in a neat row, and the rest in circles. And then he lit them. The sky lit up in a hundred colours, splashing against the grey sky, splattering joy there. The city gasped, collectively, every person stopping to stare up at the colours many had never seen before. This is why he did it. That look of awe, that wonderstruck nature that the world needed now more than ever. Look! He wanted to shout. Magic exists and it exists in colour!

Just below the sound of bangs and howls, sirens began to scream.

Unrefined

She crouched in the corner of the room, half hidden by shadow, baring her less than white teeth. She had discarded her shoes and dress and ribbons, wearing only her thin pale shift. Her nurse stood in the doorway, unsure of if to approach or if to call the doctor. The doctor had been the week before, poking and prodding and prising her mouth open to peer deep inside. He had declared her healthy, spirited, in need of a husband as she gnashed her teeth at him.

Nobody could remember how it had started. They only noticed when it was too late. When she started shedding her clothes like a snake sheds its skin. When she walked into the garden when the stars were watching, her feet being drenched by the dew-ridden grass. When she discarded picking at salad and chocolate, to plunge her hands into the butcher’s display of meet, splattering her white gloves with blood.

They wouldn’t acknowledge it of course. Though they may be residing in the colonies, they were still British, and they would act as such. They stopped fighting her into her dresses when she left scores down her maid’s arms. They got the finest meat and insisted she still sat up at the table, even if she tore into her meal with her teeth and nails. They applied a lock to her door and studiously ignored the scratches in the wood the morning after.

She was changing in more than manner, her brother was sure. He could see moss growing on her hands. Her hair tangled with dirt and when she shook her head, leaves fell from it, rotted and half-torn. Her eyes were narrower and seemed to gleam like silent mirrors in moonlight. She was predatory in the slant of her shoulders and curve of her back. She was more animal than human and more spirit than animal.

Looking at this strange creature that was once his sister, he suddenly believed stories about wild women and witches, women who whispered to the soil and the soil that answered. Women who understood fire and earth and drowning. He woke in the night, drenched in sweat, convinced he had seen her running in the forest, her night gown the only light he could see. He clung to his books, his civilisation, his tidy house and manners and rules, even as she discarded them, leaving them strewn in her wake.

She was no more and no less beautiful than she was before. Her beauty wasn’t the point. It was an irrelevance next to her ancientness, her wildness, her growing roots. He was surprised every morning when she was still her room, pacing, caged. He did the right thing, in the end.

He smashed the windows for her, letting her out, letting her free, though he had no doubt that sooner or later she would have freed herself. There was no thanks, no goodbyes, no lingering looks. The last he saw of her as she streaked towards the darkening treeline was a single bloody footprint in the soft soft snow.

Undefined

He looked somehow blurred when he looked at him. Soft around the edges, like he was viewed through the lens of a summers day. If you blinked, he seemed to flicker to and fro a few inches, just enough to make you doubt what you were seeing. He was like no ghost Tobias had ever seen, but what else could he be? He was no angel. Angels didn’t come with a cold that condensed into pearls of moisture on your skin. His voice was not seductive or low, but sounded most like static, the words broken and corrupted.

He might have been handsome once. It was honestly hard to tell. There was evidence of a sharp jawline, of glowing skin, of bright eyes. But now it was difficult to look at him for too long without looking away. If you tried, you’d get a headache. This Tobias knew.

Touching him though, that was exciting. Your fingertips buzzed and thrummed. You could feel something like a pulse, though it was no stronger in his chest than anywhere else. It was vital but not alive. It was like hearing a hum in an abandoned power plant.

Tobias hadn’t asked him what he used to be. It seemed like asking would be crossing some sort of line, an unspoken etiquette. He didn’t ask where Tobias came from either, didn’t inquire about the lack of clothes in his closet or the mattress he had in place of a real bed. They asked nothing of each other, as if they knew there was no answers they could give.

He had a bruise, right in the center of his chest. It was a dark, vicious purple, though it sometimes seemed shot through with green, or black, or even white. Whenever your fingertips approached it, they skirted around the edge, like a magnet field protected the wound. He would watch Tobias’s hands through shuttered eyes, holding his breath, though through fear or anticipation nobody could tell. Maybe the answer lay there, underneath his insubstantial ribs, waiting to be gouged out.

He was never there in the morning, but he was more present during thunderstorms, agitated and frantic. His hands would find Tobias’s hair and tug, opening his mouth, and their lips would collide as the thunder clapped above them, even God giving a standing ovation. The mornings after, Tobias would wake, his sheets damp with sweat or rain or oil and a smell of electricity in the air.

Rainstorm/Unexpected Outcomes (Inspiration trope: Death and the Maiden)

She held her palms up to the rain, her laugh unbroken and loud, garnering several concerned glances from her friends. She could catch Her Death like this, barefooted and bare shouldered, her dress clinging to her hips. When she stepped inside, she dripped from the bottom of her dress to the tips of her hair. The rain showed no sign of abating, much to her delight. She slept best in rainstorms, the window left wide open to invite the wind in too. She would watch the good bumps raise up from her skin and shiver at each peal of thunder.

Tonight was no different. She stripped down to her bare skin and slipped between the sheets, still damp. She left the light in the room off, painting the space in a dark blue glow. It was summer after all, and the sky hadn’t yet been leeched of its light. She fell asleep easily and deeply, dreaming of nothing at all.

She awoke on the stroke of twelve of course. That is how these things work. There was no chiming bell, no far off church, no cuckoo. But she awoke just the same, alert and watchful. She did not start at the figure standing at the end of her bed. They were somehow familiar, as if they had met as a children, the memory long buried. They checked a pocket watch, hands covered by some black gloves. They tucked it in a pocket in their loose black coat. It had a hood casting shadows over their face. They were not wet. But the room was cold, and the window still hung wide open.

The silence lay between them, unobtrusively. But then they clicked their tongue, apparently deciding on something.

“Gabrielle. You have twenty four hours to catch me. After that time, I have twenty four hours to catch you. And you will not enjoy that I suspect. So I hope you are cleverer than you acted today.”

She sat up in bed, hair tousled like a mane. “Sorry, could we back up a minute? Who are you?”

“I’m your Death.” A crack of lightning lit up the sky and threw their face into sharp relief. Half their face was... Not missing. Skeletal. Dark, hollow eye socket, cheek that could carve glass, and teeth with nothing shielding them.

“Uh. Right. Okay.” “And today, you courted me. Usually I’d wait but... The Powers That Be couldn’t settle the matter, so decided to do it in the traditional way. Fair’s fair.” They shrugged, and there was a creaking sound. “One of us has to win. Game’s on. And I like winning.” Another crack of thunder and they were gone, only a tiny pile of sand marking where they stood.

Time could not be wasted. She searched in every cupboard, every cabinet, under every bed and in every wardrobe. There was no way she could win if it was a matter of finding Her Death. They could be hiding anywhere, anywhere at all. And it wasn’t fair, and of the first impression she had of them, they seemed fair. An idea struck them, half-formed.

Gabrielle dressed quickly, at first adding layers. Then she caught herself, thinking of how exactly one caught a death. There. Now the idea had solidified and crystallised. Boldly, she put on her most summery dress, ignoring shoes and gloves and coats. And she picked up her umbrella, and ventured outside.

The rain came down in droves, and her feet soon ached from standing on small stones in the street. But she knew each jab of pain brought her closer to winning in this competition. She walked and walked until she found an open field with nary a tree or lamppost within it. And she stood, opening her umbrella wide, challenging the sky to a duel she would lose.

She saw them lingering on the edge of the field, and knew she was winning.

She went to the bridge next, putting one foot in front of the other on the rails, as though she was a Parisian tight rope walker. The wind buffeted her this way and that, and whipped her umbrella right out of her hands, but she was undeterred. She saw them again, closer this time, but still not within touching distance. She knew it had to be three times. Three times her courage conquered all, three times she summoned them. This is how these things worked, after all.

So she knew what she had to do now. Once, as a child, she had hit her head whilst at the swimming pool and found herself dizzy and unable to do anything but gulp in mouth after mouth of tainted water until her father scooped her out, one armed and terrified. She had never learnt to swim.

She skirted around the edge of the bridge, half walking half sliding down the slop to get to the muddy riverbank. It looked almost in danger of reaching the grass around it, the water dark and dark and dark, its undercurrents being worn on it’s sleeve. She took a deep, deep breath. She did not want to die. She did want to win. As she raised her foot and closed her eyes, letting herself pitch forward -

A thin hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back, sending her tumbling back into the mud and grass and rain, but not the water. Her Death snarled, shaking their head furiously. “Fine. You’ve caught me. You win.”

Gabrielle’s mouth was slack and she blinked several times, her brain trying to catch up with what had just happened. “Why?” They shrugged a shoulder with too much nonchalance to be truly casual. They had turned their face away, showing that deadly side that Gabrielle longed to study in more detail. “You’re interesting to watch. I’ve been doing it a while now. I want to see how I catch you of my own accord. How it all plays out.”

Gabrielle struggled to her feet, mud sluicing off her, some remains staying splattered up her calves like a confession. “Okay. But we have to make a deal.”

Her Death raised an eyebrow. “Do we?” “You have to let me watch you too.” Gabrielle crossed her arms. “That’s fair.”

Her Death mulled this over, staring into the river as he did so. They stood like this for several long moments, the river rushing in to fill the silence. He finally nodded, jaw clenched tight. She put out her hand and he shook it.

“Tomorrow then.” “Tomorrow.” “The rain looks like it’s stopping.” They both peered upwards, letting the last drops fall on their upturned skin and bone.

Trial and Error

The King lounged on his throne, one hand twisted idly in his Consort’s hair. His eyes were not on the proceedings in front of him, but instead on the glittering rings on his fingers and the face of his lover. Lazily, he gestured at a servant for his wine glass to be refilled.

Below him, the Interloper knelt, hands bound with plain rope. His light blue skin was marred with navy-black marks from his captors. He kept his eyes downcast, but his shoulders were tight, tense. They couldn’t look more different, the brightness of the Seelie Court flashing around the Unseelie Interloper, chattering, gossiping, laughing while he sat in silence.

But then somewhere in the palace, a clock chimed one. And the Seelie were nothing if not observers of decorum. The King sat up, ignoring the resentful come-hither glance of his Consort. The Court settled too, wings fluttering shut, seats found, insects carefully stowed away. Silence fell. Nobody wanted to miss this.

A desk was brought before the King, and he placed upon it a pile of papers and a peacock quill, the inkwell waiting expectantly. “And so let the trial commence of the Interloper. He is charged with murder and treason.” To that, the creature on the floor snorted. The King raised an eyebrow, but ploughed on. “How do you plead?”

“Guilty.” He still didn’t lift his eyes, seemingly more interested in the intricate patterns in the tiled floor. His voice was steady. He could have been commenting on the weather.

The King blinked but recovered quickly, scrawling something down. “The Interloper pleads guilty. And how would you like your sentence to be settled?”

“Duel.”

This was to be expected. The King nodded, half to himself before clicking his fingers. “Bring this criminal a sword. And you darling - “ Here he turned to the Consort. “Could you fetch my Champion?”

The Champion was resplendent in her shining armour. It looked like it could have been made from shining stars. Her hair shone too, but more like the sun. She was tall and broad, her shoulders looking carved from stone. Her golden skin glittered. She was hard to look at for too long. She grinned and made a show of polishing her greatsword, the edge looking sharp enough to cut air.

The Interloper on the other hand could not have cut a more different figure. He was somewhat slight, his hair and eyes dark dark dark. His eyes glittered admittedly, but more like a beetle’s wings. The sword he had selected from the rack was a rapier, thin and whippy, and absolutely no match against the Champion’s armour.

The Rules were laid out clearly and both the Champion and the Interloper listened intently. The fight was to first blood. Fatalities were discouraged. There was to be no punching or kicking - they were in Court after all, and things were civilised here. The usual rules about biting and scratching also applied. The audience gave off the impression they had heard this thousands of times before. And, well, they had. The Rules had always been there and had never changed. They could have recited them in their sleep, if they ever slept.

The floor was cleared once more, and the King pulled his Consort close, whispering soothing and seductive words. But his eyes were on the floor, his breath just a little baited. This would be a wonderful victory over the Unseelie, he was sure. They had been waiting for this chance - a chance not to fight in war or siege, but one on one honourable combat. He nodded at the servant who rang the bell once, the sound carrying high and clear through the hall. So it began.

The Interloper stayed entirely still, much to the jeers of the crowd. The Champion eyed him warily. She had been expecting a glorious charge, a clash of metal and skill. Not this passive resistance. She didn’t like how he was watching her with those vile black eyes with no whites that that species all shared.

She walked forward with purpose, deciding to finish this honourably if not gloriously. Her first swing missed as he sidestepped it deftly, angling his shoulders so it looked near effortless. And the second. And the third. She couldn’t help but laugh. He was making himself look a coward.

It was the fifth swing when things started going wrong. As she lunged forward, he sidestepped but seized her shoulder, wrenching her forward. In her heavy armour, she over-balanced, hitting the floor with an ear splitting crash. In a moment, he was pulling her helmet from her as she tried to get up despite her aching bones.

And that’s when he bit her hand. A ripple of shock travelled around the room like a wave, an audible gasp coming from the Throne. People did not break rules here. Rules were what governed reality. Without them, they were nothing. Without them, they were chaotic, unthinking creatures who followed only instinct. Without them, they were Unseelie. Nobody had ever cheated before. Nobody.

He spat out blood onto the tiled floor, smiling at the vulgar splatter so stark against the white. He placed his blade against her throat, and she looked up at him, completely blue eyes wild with confusion and hurt, her hand cradled against her chest.

And then he broke another rule. He dropped his sword to the ground and left the grand hall. Nobody stopped him. The Champion struggled up to a sitting position, still in shock, still staring at the space where he was. For the first time, the Court didn’t have the last word. And for the first time (every cloud had a silver lining, she realised) she had a nemesis.

Selling Souls

The stall was old and rickety, seeming to sway a little in the wind. It sat unobtrusive in a quiet, dirty alley. It was odd, how it seemed so fragile but still gave off the impression of age. How had it not fallen apart?

It opened at eight o’clock every morning and shut at eight o’clock every night. It didn’t matter how many people were in the line, it never opened any earlier or closed any later. And people did queue. All the way out of the alley, to the street outside.

It was an odd business and the payment was odd to reflect it. They’d come with their hands full of bones, poetry, forgotten coins, sea-glass, acorns, mirrors, diaries, trinkets... Anything that meant something. Anything that hurt to give away. Money changed, faded away or burst. Memories didn’t. Nostalgia didn’t. Sentimentality didn’t.

When the shutter came up, the alley became a little lighter, the glow from the souls resting on people’s faces, making them look eerily pale. They were kept in something that looked like a shuttered lantern, or maybe an ancient birdcage. Either way, the light was allowed through and you could see it flutter against it’s confines as though a panicking bird.

Each soul looked the same until you touched it. A ball of blue tinted light, floating, anxious. It was a gamble of course - you never knew if it was exactly what you were looking for until after you bought it. And this place did not do returns.

New parents would come, hoping for a soul to be a night light, the glow to seep into their child’s skin and help them mirror the deceased. Widows would come and try and find lost lovers, buying again and again, hoping every time. Traders would come and give more and more of themselves away, hoping to swap with other seekers until they find the specific one they wanted. The shop attendant never asked what they were buying them for. They only ever said the price, and confirmed which soul the purchaser was pointing at.

Susanna preferred it that way. She didn’t want to explain herself to anyone. But her heart was at her throat this morning as she got into line, number five. Five chances someone might buy her brother’s soul before she did. Five people who might realise she’d cheated and allowed her brother to touch her fingertips.

Long Awaited Rain

She slipped into the dry riverbed, small clouds of dust puffing up around her feet. It hadn’t rained in three months, and the town was gasping for it. Every morning folk would peer up at the plain blue sky, and shake their head, tutting. Farmers despaired at dry fields and hot animals. Some people slept on their porch to escape the oppressive heat, risking coyotes and worse. The river had been dry for weeks now.

As she walked along the riverbed, she noticed things. Skeletons of dead fish or small mammals. Shopping carts and countless coins. Pet collars. Rings. So much trash. She had to pick her way across carefully to avoid sharp tin cans and ring pulls. Getting closer to the country however, the trash became less and less frequent. Instead, smooth stones shone, worn soft by the constant flow of the river.

When she got to a bend where the trees over hung, trailing leaves across non-existent water, she lay down. She stared up at the sky with its darkening clouds, the low rumble of thunder threatening, the hint of anxious wind in the air. She closed her eyes and waited. The banks would burst.

Jam and Tea

She loved the sound of metal on china, the soft clinking like a call to prayer, a ritual sound. Similarly she loved the ruffle of fabric, the click of heels against tiles, and the swoosh of pulling a glove off a hand. These noises were part of being a woman - they went into a box in your mind, instantly recognisable.

The maid bustled in, bringing jam, cream and scones to match the tea and sandwiches. Her eyes flickered curiously to the young man in the midst of all these flirtatious ladies, but she knew better than to ask. When she left, Lorenna locked the door behind her and clapped her hands together.

Toby was her dearest cousin. She had nursed a fondness for him since childhood, him being a few years older than her and therefore seeming impossibly worldly and wise to her. He was a shy creature, gentle and softly spoken, unlike all of the other men she knew who seemed to like nothing better than the sound of their own voices. She knew there was something different about him.

Then two things had happened. 1. His parents had died, tragically, of scarlet fever. 2. He came into a great deal of money with no parental guidance.

Toby had come to Lorenna in the night, wringing her hands. Her opportunity was finally here, she said. To live, truly live. Lorenna had been wildly confused and almost frightened at the look in her eyes. Then Toby had confessed that despite her bearing and designation, she was a woman. With her parents gone, she could move to America and live how she intended to live. Lorenna was shocked of course, but then sprang into action. She sent calling cards to her nearest friends, and requested their presence.

Now Toby stood in the middle of the room, shrugging off her waistcoat and shirt, discarded her trousers until she stood in just her undergarments. Eliza, gentle soul that she was (and truth be told had half been in love with the girl since they were teenagers) guided her into a corset, stockings.

Then the dress. Toby seemed half afraid to touch it, like it may fade into a dream into his hands. It was nothing extravagant, the usual affair in a light green, a few roses strewn across the bodice. But to Toby it could have been a coronation gown. Gail helped her into it, stepping back with a look of intense satisfaction when she was done.

Kitty handled the rouge, as she was more adept at it than the rest of them put together. Lorenna giggled that she was a witch. She could carve cheekbones out of nothing, make lips look ridiculously kissable, make anybody look elegant. Toby had never looked more like herself somehow by the end of it. There was nothing dramatic, Kitty hadn’t wanted to frightened her. But there was something in her mannerisms, her small smile. She was declared charming by the entire room, the ladies fluttering and fussing, excited at what their helpful natures had wrought.

Toby, for her part, looked in awe when she took a sip of her tea, and looked down to see the slight hint of lipstick left on the porcelain.

Hubris/Heroism (A Modern Argonauts AU)

Well, Herakles is the thug of course. If you couldn’t tell. Just look at those muscles. He does this job for fun, y’see. Likes a challenge, likes a chance to show off. Heard he could rip a lion apart with his bare hands. He’s not the brightest though. That’s what his boyfriend is for, Hylas. Never seen his hands be gentle except for with him.

Argus was our architect. Girl had an eye for designs I ain’t never seen before. She could look at a car and tell you how it worked, or look at a building and tell you how it was built. Head always in the clouds, mind always ticking over like a clock.

Tiphys was our navigation, bless their soul. On the young side, just seemed excited to be here. They were in awe of most of us - we were big you see, they were just starting out. I wondered a few times if they were cut out for this life. Time will tell I guess.

Zetes and Calais were our tricksters. Could fast talk like nobody’s business, always trying to outdo each other. One day, their shit was gonna get them killed, but right now I was glad they were on our side. If only so they annoyed us marginally less.

There were others of course - i pulled in everyone I knew for this job. Thieves and con men, fraudsters and magicians, priests and princes, anyone who knew how to fight, scheme, plan. We made quite an organisation between us. The other reason I pulled them in? Well, bodies to lose. Not all of us would get out of this alive. Many had tried to get the Golden Fleece. Every single one of them had failed.

It was in a secure vault, on a far off island, in a sky scraper that had more guards than doors in the damn building. It was quite a journey - no public planes fucking went there and we didn’t exactly have a key to get it. But I had confidence. It’d work. It’d have to.

Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. Hi, I’m Jason. And we’re going to pull off the biggest heist the world has ever seen.

#prompts #prose #original fiction #short stories #spilled ink prose

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celebratorypenguin · 7 years

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Fic: A Little Folding Of the Hands

Rating: PG-13 for language and MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS Genfic

Summary: Five movements and a coda about hands, men, friendship, love, death, and everything in between.

1. 1957: George, Paul, and Louise Harrison 2. 1962: John, George, and Astrid Kirchherr 3. 1976: John and Paul 4. 1995: Paul, George, and Ringo 5. 2002: Paul and Ringo Coda, 2030: Paul

Note about this story: Louise Harrison has been my spirit animal since I heard about her inviting George's poor bedraggled fans into the house for a cup of tea.

A Little Folding of the Hands

"A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest." --Proverbs 6:10

First Movement: 1957

One thing Louise could be certain of was that she'd be hearing music at her home before she even put her key in the lock.

George was mad for his guitar, cheap, sad little thing that it was, and for a long time the whole Harrison family had worried because George would spend days on end alone in his room, practicing until his poor fingers were worn raw.

Then he'd met Jim McCartney's oldest and the two boys couldn't have been more alike if they were peas in a pod. Always practicing, always trying to one-up each other, and becoming - if Louise said so herself, which she did - quite good at their music.

Today, she was surprised not to hear anything when she brought the shopping in. Paul's bicycle was leaning against a tree, so she knew the boys were together, but why was the house so still? Had they worked so hard they'd just nodded off? It wouldn't be the first time, Louise thought as she tiptoed up the stairs.

She tapped lightly on the bedroom door, then walked in to find both boys sound asleep. George lay on his back atop top the clean bedspread; Paul was curled up in a chair next to the bed, his arms looped around his shins. When Louise came closer, she noticed gauze bandages wrapped around the fingers of George's left hand.

"What in the world?" she whispered, leaning over to get a closer look. Sure enough, each fingertip was tidily bandaged. A spot of iodine stained the gauze on George's index finger. Louise leaned over her son and kissed him lightly on his warm forehead. He stirred but didn't wake, just nestled further into his pillow.

Louise turned to Paul. Her kindly heart ached to see how much he had grown in the months since his mother's passing, how his jeans hung a bit loosely on his slimming frame, how far his wrists were sticking out of his jacket. She shook her head. She always felt such pity for the McCartney boys, poor motherless lambs, raised by a kind father who meant well but was such a bloke when all's said and done. A boy needed his mum, but the world wasn't a fair place, that's for sure.

As if he could hear Louise's thoughts, Paul opened his eyes, blinking hard in the confusion of a sudden awakening in a strange place. He struggled to sit up - Louise suspected he'd been in that position for hours - and immediately cast an anxious glance at the bed. "Is he running a fever? Is his finger infected?" Paul asked breathlessly.

"He's resting," Louise said softly. "It's all right, Paul, he's fine, you did a wonderful job patching him up."

Paul blushed, but his wide-eyed gaze stayed on Louise as he whispered, "I do this for our Mike all the time." He paused, swallowing hard. "My mum was a nurse."

Louise heard how Paul's voice, stuck in that aching place between soprano and tenor, cracked a bit at the past tense. "Well, she'd be so proud of you today, I can tell you that. Now, up with you." She held her hand out to Paul and pulled him out of the chair. "Let's have the jacket, please. I'll let the sleeves out while you have a kip in Peter's bed."

Looking doubtful as he removed his jacket and handed it to Louise, Paul said, "My dad'll be expecting me home soon."

"He won't, not when I call him and say you've worn yourself out with worry. Now get into that bed, young man, and not another peep out of you until teatime."

Paul toed his shoes off before climbing into the twin bed opposite George's. Louise noted the state of his socks and tutted, but decided to leave that for another visit. She carefully tucked a blanket around Paul, who looked up at her with so much mother-hunger in his sad eyes that she sat down next to him and drew him into her arms. Paul hugged her tightly as she held on to him, rocking him back and forth, telling him what a good boy he was, what a good son, what a good friend, while ignoring the hot tears that dampened her shoulder.

When Paul's tears were spent, he lay back on the bed and covered his red, swollen eyes with his right arm. Louise cleared her throat, then took Paul's hand in hers. She opened the fingers, examining the nascent calluses and the ragged, bitten nails. "I used to do this with the children, when they were younger," she said softly as she pulled Paul's hand to her lips and gave the palm a gentle kiss. She folded his fingers again and whispered, "Keep it tight throughout the night."

Letting his fist drop to his chest, Paul nodded and turned his cheek into the pillow. Louise stroked the unkempt black hair for a moment, then went to check on George.

Compared to her other children, her youngest son, this long-legged, fine-boned colt of a boy, often seemed like a changeling to her. Louise wondered if Jim McCartney felt the same way about his Paul: if he knew, as she did, that both of these boys were destined for something far beyond the boundaries of working-class Liverpool.

Satisifed that George's face was cooler and he was sleeping peacefully, Louise gave his forehead a gentle kiss before walking to the doorway. She paused with her hand on the light switch, drinking in the sight of the two budding artists as they slept. Perhaps they would have happy dreams, perhaps they would even share the same dream where they drew energy from one another as their music swirled around them, enveloping the whole world in its charm.

She smiled at the mental image while shaking her head at her own lofty ambitions. All she really wanted was for them to be healthy and happy. As she turned out the light, Louise whispered a quiet, heartfelt prayer to Saint Cecilia to look after her beloved boys.

***

Second movement: 1962

It seemed impossible.

George knew, of course, what death was. It was something that happened to grandparents and soldiers, or in twin twists of cruel fate, to your mate's mum. Not to someone he knew as an equal.

Not to Stuart.

"Christ, he wasn't even twenty-two."

It wasn't the first time John had said that in the days since they had arrived back in Hamburg and received the terrible news, but George shuddered every time he heard John's raspy voice saying the words. To make matters worse, John was saying them to Astrid as he perched on the arm of her sofa.

"I know, John, I know," she said soothingly, patting him on the arm. She had invited them in, hugged them warmly, offered them strong coffee. She was consoling them.

George struggled to wrap his mind around it.

Astrid's face was pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles just as John's were. She was dressed in black from head to foot, just as John was. They were both mourners. George assumed that John would be more accustomed to grief while Astrid's misery would be more acute, but it seemed to be the other way around.

This visit had been a sudden impluse of John's, announced over a quiet breakfast. Brian had never met Stuart, and Ringo had only marginally known him, so they hadn't been expected to follow along. Paul, whose relationship with Stuart had been frosty at best - and George wasn't willing to hazard a guess about exactly why - had quietly requested that John "send his love" but didn't get out of his seat. After a morose silence fell on the group, George stood up and grabbed his jacket without a word of explanation. He accompanied John partly because he wanted to offer condolences to Astrid, but mostly because he was worried about what John might do in this state of mind.

It wasn't like any condolence call George had ever known. They didn't talk about Stuart, didn't trade stories, just sat and sipped their coffee as the afternoon sun warmed their faces. Out of the blue, John asked to see the garret where Stuart had been painting only days before. Astrid took John by the hand and led him up the stairs, George following on their heels. There was too much light streaming through the windows, making the dust motes sparkle through the faint, lingering haze of cigarette smoke.

Astrid stepped back and let John wander through the disordered, chaotic room full of art that would never be completed. George couldn't swear to the quality of the paintings. His preferences ran to John's art, as it did to John's music and nearly everything else about the man, but he had to admit that there was a certain raw energy in the clusters of colors.

John stood in pensive silence, his body utterly still. Even his hands, which were always fiddling with pencils, cigarettes, guitars, or girls, were limply clasped and motionless. George had never seen John so immobile. It was disconcerting.

He heard the faint click of a camera shutter and the sound of the film advance lever being cocked. From the corner of his eye he saw Astrid looking down the viewfiender of her ever-present Leica. She was photographing John as he mourned Stuart.

Christ, artists were weird.

John turned toward the camera, unsmiling, as Astrid took another photo. She pulled a chair up behind him and gently pressed his shoulders down. Unthinking, obedient, John slumped into the seat. He held his right hand loosely in his left and stared off into an empty corner. George couldn't fathom what John might be seeing, since he was half-blind without his glasses even when his eyes weren't dangerously full of tears. John made no movements when Astrid's camera clicked again in the heavy silence of the attic.

This time, George understood why Astrid wanted to capture this moment. Caustic, sarcastic, witty John had never seemed so vulnerable, so fragile. Suddenly nervous, George pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and opened his lighter. The smoke calmed George's anxiety somewhat, covering as it did the smells he would forever associate with Stuart: Jalousies and turpentine. He fleetingly wondered if Astrid would object but she smiled wistfully at him and motioned for him to stand behind John.

George stood directly behind the chair at first, then Astrid directed him to stand slightly off to the side. He wasn't sure if being in John's peripheral vision was the best thing to do, but John was a million miles away. George inched a little closer. He was startled to realize that John wasn't still after all, but trembling very slightly, struggling to control himself.

Carefully, George inched his hand along the back of the chair until it very lightly pressed against John's spine. Touching John Lennon was usually something one did at one's own peril, but George's desire to keep John sane was stronger than his instinct for self-preservation.

Astrid took a single photo at the moment George followed along John's line of sight. There was a footprint in the dust, a lonely reminder of the young man who had stood there. George was remembering Stuart in a series of mental snapshots when Astrid took a couple of steps closer until she was able to reach out and stroke John's hair. "He loved you, you know."

"Yeah," John said, almost choking on the word. He cleared his throat, then repeated, "Yeah." Rousing himself, he stood up and stretched, bumping his back against George's. It was as close to thanks as George was likely to get, so he let John rest there.

Astrid took another picture.

"I'm knackered," John said, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to rearrange his features. "We've got a show tonight, so we'd better..."

"Of course." Astrid walked them back downstairs. John gave her an awkward hug and then darted in the general direction of the Star Club, leaving George behind. He felt Astrid's hands grasp his, and he looked down to find her peering up into his face. Her eyes were haunted.

"You understand now. Life, and death." It wasn't a question, and George nodded because she was right. He wouldn't be able to put it into words, not yet, but he would muse on the ephemeral nature of life during the long walk back, during their sets at the Star Club, and into the night in the little room he shared with his friends.

***

3rd Movement: 1976

***

"Please hold for Mr. McCartney."

Those were the last words John wanted to hear. He prowled around his kitchen like a caged jaguar, tugging at the shaggy hair at his nape.

As if this hadn't been fucking hard enough, swallowing his pride to Do The Right Thing and track down Mr. Wings-At-The-Speed-Of-Sound, now he was on fucking hold?

"Come ON," John muttered into the phone. His bare feet slapped against the cold kitchen tile. Tea, there needed to be tea and lots of it, so he tucked the phone under one ear and fiddled with the tea canister. His hands were shaky with nerves and his fingers slipped on the lid, which popped off at the perfect angle to spray loose tea leaves all over the counter, the floor, and a very surprised cat. "Shit! Shit!"

It was, because that was how things always went for him, the precise moment at which Paul's world-weary voice crackled over the line. "Hello?"

"Shit!"

"Nice to hear your voice, too."

"No, not shit to talk to you, shit to spill the tea. Is tea bad for cats?" John asked as he swatted a dish towel at the leaves clinging to the disgruntled cat.

There was a moment of silence, then Paul spoke again. "Did you really call me in the middle of the night to ask a veterinary question? 'Cause I'm really only good for sheep. And dogs."

Wait, that had to be wrong. "Middle of the night?"

"It's..." John heard Paul fumbling around, probably to find his watch. "It's almost two in the morning here."

"In Texas? I thought you were two hours earlier."

"John, I'm in Copenhagen."

"There's a Copenhagen, Texas?" John gave up on cleaning the cat and instead grabbed a dustpan and started getting the tea off the floor.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." More noises, the rustling of sheets and a closing of a door. "Texas is in two months. I'm in the bathroom of our hotel in Copenhagen, DENMARK, trying to talk softly so I don't wake my wife at what is now definitely two in the morning."

John got a sudden mental image of Paul in a hotel bed with Linda clinging to his side, naked. It didn't do anything to lighten his mood.

"Denmark. Well, that explains why your answering service was so shirty when I called half an hour ago."

"I can't believe they put you through to the hotel," Paul sighed.

"You should fire them. Absolutely fire them." John started wiping the counter, spilling more tea on the floor. "Oh, fuck."

"Is this about the cat, or something more sinister?" Paul asked. His voice was thick with sleep and overuse.

It finally dawned on John why he had made the call in the first place, why he had spent half an hour on hold with various irritated secretaries. "No, nothing of either sort. I just wanted to say..." He trailed off, not having practiced being nice to Paul for the better part of a decade. "That is, I heard about your dad." There was no response. Grow a fucking pair, for God's sake, John told himself. He took a deep breath. Best to spit it out all at once. "I'm sorry, man. I know how much you loved each other."

Paul cleared his throat. "Yeah. I mean, thanks."

"He was a good guy," John said, wincing at how stupid he sounded. "I'm sorry, I should've come up with something better to say. It's just...I was on the phone with Ringo a while ago and he talked about it as if I should've known. And I should've known, Paul, why didn't I know?"

Another sigh. "It's not as if we've communicated a hell of a lot, lately, you and I."

John slumped to the floor and switched the phone to his other shoulder. The truth hurt. "I'm still sorry," he said quietly.

"And I'm still grateful." Even across three thousand miles of telephone wire, John could hear the ragged quality of Paul's breathing. "I'm always grateful to hear from you, but especially now."

As John opened his mouth to ask another question, he heard Paul put his hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm on the phone."

"At this hour?" Linda. "Paul, I need to pee."

John snickered. "Ah, a slice of married life."

"Shut it, Lennon." Paul uncovered the phone. "I'm letting Linda in and then I'm going on the balcony. Gimme a few seconds."

It occurred to John that he should pass along some sort of greeting to Linda, but he didn't want to press his luck. Instead, he went to check on Sean, who was sleeping soundly in his crib. Yoko was at a business meeting so John was alone with his son, his miracle baby who he loved more than his own life.

"Okay, I'm back," Paul said, breaking into John's train of thought.

"Just a moment, okay?" John tiptoed back to the kitchen. "Sorry. I was checking up on Sean and didn't want to wake him."

"How is he?" Paul asked, sounding as if he really wanted to know.

"He's amazing. Were you head over heels over your kids, too? Did you count their fingers over and over?"

"Still am, still do. All of the kids, all the time."

That was surely a dig about Julian, and on another day John might have taken the bait. Instead, he said, "I do that thing George's mum used to do, the kiss in the hand and 'keep it tight throughout the night.' Yoko thought I was mad, but I swear it helps him fall asleep."

Paul chuckled, low and warm. "I still do it to our Stella. I don't know why it works, but it does. I wish I'd thanked Louise for that." He sighed again. "Fucking cancer, eh? And you know George's dad has it now, too."

"No, I didn't," John said, not sure why he was shocked. He and George spoke even less than he and Paul, and much more acrimoniously when they did. "You're in touch with George?"

"Not often, but he phoned yesterday. Told me how much he'd miss Dad's custards, if you can believe it, then said we'd all meet again someday because death is just temporary, which I KNOW you will believe. He'd gotten the news from Ringo. And before you ask, Ringo told me he found out from Maureen because she still subscribes to the Liverpool Echo."

Frustrated, John banged his head against a cabinet. "Fuck, Paul, we couldn't have a more complicated communication system if we used fucking smoke signals."

"That's true." Paul hummed a fragment of a tune under his breath, which John knew was a sign that he was thinking. A moment later, Paul murmured, "I miss just being able to talk to you. To all of you. But mostly you."

GOD, ME TOO, John thought. "We should phone more often. And you should get your ass on a plane and come see me. Us. Me. Whoever."

He could imagine Paul's smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and took ten years off of him.

"Anyhow," John continued, "I really am sorry about your dad."

There was a moment in which John was sure he heard a sob, then Paul whispered, "Thank you, Johnny."

"You're welcome, Paulie." John swallowed against the rising lump in his throat. "Now get to bed, or you'll disappoint your adoring fans on the morrow."

"Can't have that. G'night, John, and thanks."

"Night, then." When John hung up the phone he realized that he'd twisted the cord into figure eights that would take Yoko half an hour to untangle, but he didn't care because he remembered what he'd wanted to say, what he would say the next time he talked to Paul.

"I owe your dad so much," John said to the ceiling, or to heaven. "Because he gave me you."

***

Fourth Movement: 1995

For being outside on such a gorgeous day in his own garden, George was remarkably tense.

At least, Ringo was remarking on it.

"George, relax, would you? We've already done the hardest bit. This shouldn't have you as...weirded out as it does."

Ringo was right. The "hardest bit" of the whole Anthology ordeal had been months ago, when they were in the studio, listening to John's disembodied voice on the demo tapes. Ringo had broken down more than once before they even started talking about which songs to use and how to arrange them. Paul had been pale but stoic, the only sign of his distress showing when his voice utterly shattered when he demonstrated the middle eight he'd written for "Free as a Bird."

George had done what he always did: played his heart out while keeping his head down and his mouth shut.

Now that they were finished with the project except for this one last little jam session on the lawn with ukuleles. It should be a piece of cake. And yet George had been puttering around the kitchen all morning, shooing Olivia and Dhani away as he tidied the room that really didn't need any tidying at all. Ringo had openly laughed at him when he realized George had re-strung three different ukuleles - "even our Paul can only play one at a time, you know" - and that contributed to the inexplicable anxiety George was feeling.

Even now, stretched out on the lush spring grass, George felt as if something should happen, something extraordinary. He just couldn't put his finger on what.

He looked over at Ringo, who was sitting tailor-fashion, tipping his face toward the sun with a giddy grin that made him look like the youngest instead of the eldest. Then there was Paul, all smiles as usual, but with graying hair and that look of unfathomable sadness in his wide eyes when he thought no one was watching.

Oh, Paul, thought George, they're always watching.

Only two cameras were on them, both at a respectful distance. An assistant came out with the three re-tuned ukuleles and fanned them out in front of Paul. Paul picked out a beauty and had his hand on a tuning peg to remove a string when he realized that it had been done for him already.

"Ta, George," Paul said, and for an instant he was the cool older kid on the bus, the boy as mad about guitars as George himself, not the aging hippie who would go to his grave burdened with so many regrets that he'd be reborn a dozen times before getting it right.

Maybe that's what was burdening George on this project, his own regret. Ringo had stayed friendly with everyone, Switzerland with long hair and peace signs. After years of painful (and yet, George had to admit, sometimes hilarious-in-a-schadenfreude-kind-of-way) public sniping, Paul and John had patched up the frayed cord of their friendship. But George had taken pains to alienate himself from Paul, possibly to keep from being hurt by him again, and his relationship with John had hit the skids over the "I, Me, Mine" book and had never recovered.

Would never recover, not in this life.

Oh, John.

He heard Paul tuning up. Music. Yes. George began to strum a few simple chords. Paul joined in, looking at George's hands for guidance while Ringo tapped out patterns on the rough denim of his jeans. It felt so right, yet so weird, to be together after so many years but with John's absence darkening the edges of the sunlit sky.

"Just a couple more minutes, guys, then we're done," said an assistant director.

All three men looked at each other.

Done.

Christ.

Paul's hands, usually so sure, skittered along the instrument and he stuttered to a stop. Ringo nudged his arm, but Paul just shook his head and laid the ukulele down carefully in the grass. "You play us one, George," he said softly, that LOOK in his eyes again, the one he tried to hide when he saw that the cameras were about to roll.

George started a gentle old song he'd heard his dad sing to his mum a lifetime ago. Paul smiled as he recognized the beginning of the old familiar tune, and chimed in with his gentlest voice. "Ain't she sweet?" he crooned.

Then there were harmonies, and Ringo stopped drumming on himself so he could listen. Paul flubbed a lyric, recovered with a self-deprecating grin, and ended on George's cue.

Ringo got sentimental on them when he thanked George for having them over, as if they had been a burden on him, and George lobbed a terrible joke that they didn't need to see one another for another forty years. He saw Ringo's shoulders slump a little, and the slight tremble of Paul's lips, and he hated himself.

Another flat tire on the Karmic wheel. Well done, Harrison.

The crew filed out quietly afterward, leaving the three of them alone. George heaved himself upright, dusted off his trousers, and sat down in the middle of the bench that had been behind them. He patted the empty spaces on either side.

Ringo, of course, came immediately and sat at George's right hand, leaning just a little against his arm. "You didn't really mean that forty years stuff, did you?"

"Nah." George's voice sounded rough even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "Tried to lighten the mood."

"Failed," Ringo said, but his smile was warm and forgiving.

Paul stood up slowly, picking up the ukulele and sitting with it on George's left. He began to remove the E-string. George stopped him with a gentle hand on Paul's wrist.

"Leave it," he whispered. Paul didn't answer, but his eyebrows went up. "For when you drop by," George continued.

Suddenly Paul's arms were around him, and Ringo's arms were around them both, and they were all holding onto one another for dear, dear life.

"Why does being an ex-Beatle have to be so complicated?" George murmured into Paul's hair.

"There's no such thing as an ex-Beatle, son," Ringo said in a suspiciously shaky tone. "Being a Beatle is something that sticks to you, like DNA."

"DNA doesn't--" George began, then he started to laugh, because a wise man had once said that if you love each other, it's all you need.

***

Fifth Movement: 2002

Some would say that it was too cold a November night for a couple of aging men to be sitting on a London balcony with only a flickering candle for warmth.

Ringo couldn't have disagreed more. There was no place he'd rather be after singing his final goodbye to George. He was in the perfect spot, looking out over the city that had been his home during the crazed Beatle years, sitting with the only other man on the planet who could possibly understand how he felt at the end of the concert. "God, the energy, the LOVE in that place," Ringo mused, sipping his soda. "And Dhani, man, what a trouper!"

Paul nodded. He followed Ringo's line of sight for a moment then turned his gaze back to him. "But can you imagine how much George would've cringed, being the center of that much attention?"

"He'd have fucking hated it," Ringo chuckled. He could see George in his mind's eye, making himself as small as possible as if he could hide from the crowd, shaking his head and making sarcastic comments at the outpourings of affection. Yet George had, in his way, been the most affectionate person Ringo had ever known, and Ringo would never, ever, get over this loss.

Paul took a long swallow of his champagne. His face had a drawn, pinched quality that worried Ringo. Sure, Paul had a pregnant wife - whom Barbara had instantly disliked, which was censure enough for Ringo - and his kids were unhappy with this second marriage, but Ringo knew it wasn't his domestic problems that weighed on Paul tonight.

When Paul lowered his head and sighed, Ringo saw a few rose petals were still clinging to his hair. "Here, lean over a bit, you've still got flowers in your barnet." Ringo plucked the petals out and put them on the little table. "It's like George didn't want to let you go."

To his horror, Ringo saw tears start to track their way down Paul's face. "Shit, Paul, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay," Paul gasped, his voice coming out in little hiccups. "I haven't been able to cry over him much, but I need to, I really NEED to."

"Ah, Paul, c'mere." Ringo opened his arms and let Paul sag against him. He knew that Paul hadn't been able to weep about John for a year after his murder, and that Paul had been struggling valiantly to hold himself together during all the rehearsals and hubbub surrounding the concert for George.

"I did love him, I always loved him, ever since we were kids together," Paul sobbed into Ringo's shoulder. "But I did such shitty things to him, to you, to John, and I didn't mean them, I was scared about losing the band and so I just started lashing out..."

"Ssh, ssh, I know. We all knew." Ringo patted Paul awkwardly on the back. "The shit we do is just the shit we do. It's not who we are. George sued me once, y'know, and I still loved HIM, and I know he loved all of us." That thought brought tears to Ringo's own eyes, which he didn't bother to wipe away. The art of existing became less unbearable when he allowed himself the luxury of expressing his grief, still scalpel-sharp a year after George had left this life. "Don't dwell on anything but the love. Remember all the times lately where you'd drop in at his house, and the two of you would grab ukuleles and sing all night? He loved when you did that, he told me so. He loved YOU, and he forgave you even when you couldn't forgive yourself. I promise he did, Paul. I promise."

A gust of winter wind blew across the balcony, scatting the rose petals that Ringo had placed on the table. He pulled away from Paul long enough to retrieve two of them. He held one out to Paul, whose fingers trembled as he touched it.

Ringo held the petal to his lips, then put it into the candle's flame. He looked over at Paul as the petal sizzled to ash. Paul mirrored Ringo's gesture but lingered over the flame as if reluctant to let go of this final connection to George. Ringo smelled the singing flesh and grasped Paul's hand, pulling it to safety and examining each finger for possible damage.

"Happens all the time," Paul said, unconcerned. "It's the calluses - I can't feel much on my fingertips."

"All the same, mate, that's not too bright an idea." Ringo relaxed his grip on Paul's hand and was pleasantly surprised that Paul didn't pull away.

Paul's eyes, dark and heavy, were focused on their joined hands. "Funny, I'd known George over fifty years but apart from bandaging his fingers when he practiced too long, I never really TOUCHED him until just that last day when I held his hand."

Ringo had heard the story before but he knew that Paul needed to tell it again.

"And he held mine," Paul continued, "and I could feel how weak he was, and oh GOD his hands were cold, they were so fucking cold..." Paul ran his thumb across the back of Ringo's hand. "He said he forgave me, and he asked my forgiveness, too, then we just talked about Liverpool and meeting John and stealing you away from Rory, and all the good parts of the madness." Paul's eyes met Ringo's, begging for absolution. "And there were good parts, weren't there?"

Not trusting his voice, Ringo just nodded and squeezed Paul's hand tightly. Ringo hated crying, hated that his nose was going red from tears and cold, but he made no move to go indoors or even to distance himself from Paul. It was just such a comfort to have this moment, this contact, painful though the reason was.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Paul managed a wobbly smile. "Look at us, crying like a pair of teenaged girls."

Ringo snorted a laugh. "Can you imagine what John would say if he could see us now?"

"'Christ, Macca, you're worse than the sodding fans.'" Paul mimicked John in a reedy voice that sent chills of memory up Ringo's spine even as it made him laugh from the heart.

"Very good impression, that," Ringo said, squeezing Paul's hand again. "But seriously, we've got to stop meeting like this."

Paul's face drained of color.

"What?" Ringo asked.

Paul opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was shaking, not with cold but with fear.

"We won't meet like this again," Paul said after taking a long, ragged breath, "because the next time a Beatle dies, it'll be you or me."

Fuck.

Desperate to re-route this conversation, Ringo quickly waggled his eyebrows and countered with, "Well, I sure hope it's you."

He expected a good-natured argument, but Paul simply tilted his head and looked at Ringo as if memorizing him. "I hope so, too," Paul whispered as he started to rock back and forth in the chair, his exhausted voice tearing through the cold night air. "I don't want to be...I CAN'T be the last one!" Just as Ringo was certain that his heart couldn't take any more, Paul spoke again, softly, pleading. "Ritchie, please, don't leave me all alone."

That plea broke the last strand of Ringo's reserve. He jumped out of his chair and knelt in front of Paul, taking Paul's trembling hands between his own and willing them to become strong and capable again. "It's okay," he murmured as he ran his thumbs over the fragile skin of Paul's wrists. "I won't leave you, Paulie," he murmured.

Paul looked at him, color returning to his pale face. "You'd better not," he said half-jokingly even though his voice was thick with tears. "'Cause if you leave me behind with Yoko, I swear to God I'll fucking end you."

There, that was Paul coming back to life. Ringo stood, his cold joints protesting loudly, and tugged Paul to his feet. He planned to make a big pot of tea to warm them up and he knew Barbara would insist that Paul stay the night. In the morning they would hug goodbye, and try not to think of what it would be like to be the Last Beatle.

***

Coda: 2030

"I'm old, not fucking deaf," Paul barked to the people who were whispering outside the door of his New Orleans hotel room. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, all performing variations on the same theme: Is it safe to leave him on his own, you know, after today?

Paul considered flinging the door open and telling his nearest and dearest to fuck the hell off, but moving from his comfortable chair was simply not going to happen. Not after today.

After today.

What a fucking, fucking awful bugger of a day.

The day that marked the last time a Beatle would play at another Beatle's funeral.

Ringo had died, unexpectedly but peacefully, in his sleep just a few days after his lavish 90th birthday party. Unlike John's and George's departures, which had been followed by quick cremations and private dispersals of their ashes, Ringo's was a far more showmanlike exit from this life. When Paul had first heard that Ringo was to have a full-on New Orleans jazz funeral with a service at the St. Louis Cathedral, his only thought was that Ringo would be sorry to miss the spectacle.

All along the streets people had lined up to say their farewells, to offer signs of peace and love, peace and love, as the black-clad band played "Just a Closer Walk With Thee" and "Didn't He Ramble" in lush, mournful harmonies. It had always been music that left the greatest imprint on Paul's soul, and today, with the last of his Beatle companions gone, music was all that gave him the courage to keep looking out of the limousine window and wave solemnly at the thousands of fans standing in the muggy July heat.

Paul had come close to tears twice: once as he got out of the limousine and bent over to accept a single red rose from a tiny girl whose spun-gold curls reminded him of Linda, and again when he stopped to pay his respects at Ringo's polished mahogany coffin.

"You promised not to do this to me," he had whispered as he patted Ringo's cold, stiff hand, "but I love you anyway."

Advancing age had long since robbed Paul's voice of sweetness but not of pathos, and he had gratefully accepted Barbara's invitation to sing "Let it Be" at the end of Ringo's service. Against the advice of his doctors, his family, and pretty much everyone in the world who had seen his arthritis-afflicted hands, he had given the grand piano his all. Every stroke of his gnarled fingers on the keyboard had sent spikes of pain through his entire body. Even so, he had been determined to do this last ritual, no matter what it did to his aching bones for the rest of the day.

This fucking, fucking awful shitfest of a day.

Now Ringo's body was on a plane back to England, and Paul was - finally - alone in his hotel room, longing for peace and quiet after the agonizing stress of the past week.

The room was silent where normally music or news would be playing. Paul had diligently avoided reading or watching any broadcasts since hearing of Ringo's death. He was holding his dignity together with the finest of threads, and the sight of the inevitable "Moptop Mourns!" and "And Then There Was One!" headlines would have snapped it like a soap bubble. As for hearing the Beatles songs that were surely crowding the airwaves, Paul knew that he would shatter into a million pieces before the middle eight.

In speaking of Ringo, Paul had chosen his words carefully and granted interviews only to a few trusted journalists. To this day (this godawful shitbucket of a day), fifty years after John's murder, Paul still feared being cornered in a moment of grief and sleeplessness and saying "the wrong thing" about a Beatle's passing.

Although that wouldn't be an issue anymore.

Well, fuck.

The pain, which had started in his hands and had been radiating all the way to his shoulders, was now in his back. His body finally, finally hurt more than his heart. With a heavy sigh, Paul worked his way out of the chair and began rummaging around in his flight bag for the medication that did precious little to comfort him anymore. The bottle was nowhere to be found.

Rolling his eyes, Paul shuffled to the door and flung it open to see who was sitting on Dad Guard. Sure enough, it was Mary. She looked up and gave her father a guilty little smile.

"My pills," Paul said. "They're not in my bag."

"I have them," Mary said softly. She pulled the bottle out of her handbag and dispensed a single pill into her father's palm.

He chuckled. "That's just to give me something to do while I wait to pass out from the pain." Mary dropped a second pill in his hand. "I didn't sleep last night and I'm too knackered to keep getting up every four hours. Just give me the bottle."

"Dad..."

"Mary..."

With a shaking hand, Mary passed him the bottle, then gazed at him with such terror in her dark eyes that Paul's next breath was ragged.

So, the McCartney brood thought he was planning to off himself.

"No, no," Paul whispered. "Mary, love, I'm not gonna..."

She launched herself into his arms and held him tightly around the waist. Paul stroked her long gray hair, breathing in the scent of his first-born the way he had when she was a baby.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Paul said as he lifted Mary's chin and looked deep into her eyes. "Your old Dad's body is hurting, that's all. I promise."

Mary nodded. She dropped a kiss on the back of Paul's hand, then caught herself mid-yawn. "I'm going to bed, then," she murmured.

"Good night, sweetie."

"Good night." Mary started to walk down the hall, then turned around again. "I'll see you in the morning, Daddy."

He smiled at her, understanding that he was making a vow to be there in the morning. "Absolutely."

After a searching gaze, Mary smiled back and went to her own room a few doors down. Paul swallowed his two pills dry, coughing slightly as the rough surface abraded his tired throat, then closed his door and went back to the big chair to rest.

He thought about checking his phone, but he knew that there would be a hundred "Are you okay" messages that he didn't trust himself to answer without a hefty dose of John's razor-sharp sarcasm.

Oh, Johnny.

He made a mental note to call Olivia in the morning. Years ago he had told her she was the only "Beatle Widow" he felt close to, and she had countered that the choice between her and Yoko surely couldn't have been all that hard. She had learned a lot from George, about patience and about facing the world with humor.

Oh, George, my little brother.

And poor Barbara, who had seen Ringo through thick and thin and loved him every minute of it, Paul would talk to her tomorrow as well. She had been composed and quiet at the service today, but Paul knew all too well the rush of fresh grief that came once the flurry of ceremonies was completed. Despite many rocky moments, Barbara had loved Ringo, had grounded him and helped him stay the cheerful, loving lad that the whole world was mourning.

Oh, Ritchie.

Paul wiped away a stray tear and leaned back in his chair, "closing his eyes for a minute" as he often did these days. The metallic air conditioner noises were lulling him into a doze when he suddenly recognized familiar scents that were so out of place here and now.

Sweet, heady pot. Sandalwood and garden soil. Expensive cologne and green vegetables.

His eyelids fluttered, only to be kept shut by a hummingbird wing of a touch. "Don't open your eyes, Paul, or we'll have to go," said the deep growl he'd heard just a few weeks before. Ringo. "We knew you'd be lonely, so we just wanted to let you know that we'll be waiting for you."

"We'll watch out for you, the same way you've always done for us and ours," George murmured, and Paul could feel George's feather-light fingers in his hair.

Senses alight, Paul tried to find John. At first there was nothing, then Paul felt a tiny, cool diamond of a spark on his wrist where an ethereal tear had fallen.

"Ah, Paulie, your poor hands," John lamented.

Even with his eyes closed Paul could visualize John's slim, strong, perfect hands. He winced at the idea of his misshapen talons alongside those elegant fingers.

"It'll be okay, you'll see. God is everywhere, Paul, and there's so much love. You'll be whole again when you're with us." George's voice was mild and encouraging.

Paul sighed and let himself sag deeper into the chair. "I want to go with you."

"No, you don't really, not yet," John said gently. "You're just tired. We should let you rest."

"But you'll come back? Sometimes?"

"Don't you know?" George asked, leaning so close that Paul could feel a ghostly hint of breath on his face. "We never left."

Paul nodded, his head heavy with the need to sleep. There was so much to say, but he was so tired, and he felt so protected and loved, that he could only smile and hope that his friends knew how deeply he felt for them.

Ringo pulled away, then George, but John lingered. Paul felt a warm sweetness brush across his palm, then his fingers were gently shaped into a firm grasp.

"Keep it tight throughout the night," John said, and Paul could hear the emotion behind the familiar words as he drifted, at long last, into painless sleep.

*** END ***

Thank you to everyone who reads this. While it was written in a dark place, there is eternal hope to find the light.

#Beatles fic

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