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#when I first saw this story a couple days ago I was enraged to read that not only were they denied medical care they were also suspended

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

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Bad Dreams - Bucky Barnes x Avenger (f)reader

Summary: You and Bucky are adjusting to civilian life after the Blip, some nights he needs you more then he realizes.

Warning: bit o angst, soft Bucky, fluff

Masterlist

It had been a long fucking five years alone, sure you had Nat and Steve around at the Avengers Facility. But no matter how much time you spent with them doing whatever to keep your mind busy, at the end of the day, you were undoubtedly alone. You liked it that way at one point in your complicated life as an Avenger, but after the blip, you absolutely despised it.

No one had expected what would have happened to be so terrible and tragic, or it to even go the way that it did. You had never even heard of Thanos or what the fuck kind of weirdass monsters could exist from other parts of the galaxy until they showed up knocking. How rude huh.

Life was peaceful before hand, well for the most part; you were an Avenger, someone who was part of the team. A conjurer of flame and ash, a Phoenix held within that was not afraid to use your power, and you used it well.

Then as per usual, shit went down and low and behold you met the one and only James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s old friend with the metal arm and troubling history. Not to mention a face to die for, or at least one that would cause a bit of a chaotic scuffle between your two friends. They clearly had other priorities apart from yours at the time which was keep Steve out of jail, don’t burn anyone, and refrain from flirting with his 90 something year old friend. You tried your best in most of those areas. Most of them.

Nonetheless, you fell hard and fast for the blue eyed man, and him the same for you, his feisty little firecracker with a heart as big and bright as a dragons. So when he went to Wakanda to lie low and get some much needed help. You followed.

With a heartfelt goodbye and a lasting kiss, he went under for a couple long weeks until Shuri and her expert team of scientists were able to fix what those bastards at Hydra had done to him.

For a short yet blessedly peaceful amount of time did you and your dark haired lover live safely within the Wakandan borders. In a small and beautiful little village by a lake, a hut all your own to shelter you from the heat and rain that poured hard onto the earth, and most wonderfully of all you had Bucky.

Life was simple for the first time in a long time, you spent the days helping out the locals and teaching the children how to properly swing a stick in defense, you know completely normal leisure activities. Spending the evenings making a big fire to tell stories under and cook the best food in Wakanda.

And the nights? You spent those wrapped up in Bucky’s arm, although most times you would be the big spoon which he loved more then anything in the whole world. Telling you it’s not just because you’re naturally warm, but that he’s been admittedly a bit touch starved from the years alone and lost. And for that you would always hold him closer.

Then that fateful day came crashing into your lives like a waterfall against rock, your friends had shown up claiming some being called Thanos was coming to take a stone out of Vision’s head. Yeah that was a new one.

The battle wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either, you were able to save many lives by scorching the beasts that pursed onward. Letting whips of flame slash hard against the enemy with great skill and force from your bending. Then the world seemed to still, and the wind swayed the trees oddly.

Then HE came, the Titan from another world, he threw down all in his path without an ounce of mercy or remorse. You and Wanda were so close, so damn close to stopping him, but then he threw you back with the whole force of the gauntlet and a moment later Vision was dead.

Your head was bleeding and a fresh scar had marked your jaw in a bloody red slash from the impact. Though your mind didn’t have time to register nor care as Thanos abruptly disappeared into oblivion, leaving a confused Thor in his wake. Much like the rest of the Avengers.

Then to your horror, one by one, your friends began to turn to ash and dust. Gone. You raced for Bucky nearby, praying to who’d ever listen to spare him or you for that matter. You just needed ten more seconds and then you could have held him one last time, touched his precious skin, ran your fingers through his long dark locks.

Looked into his ocean blue eyes, but no, the universe laughed as you gasped in panic, then it snickered as you screamed. Cheering you on as you sobbed in a cyclone of your own fire until the ground was scorched to shriveled dry earth. And no more tears could fall, your throat raw and heart broken in two.

Your world was gone, a memory forever kept locked inside your heart and soul. He was gone, he was your world, Bucky made your life better and you his.

For the coming months you were a mess, an angry and frustrated wreck of a person. Functioning by sheer will power and Natasha to keep you afloat in your new dreary little world of nothingness. You envied Steve for his ability to keep most of his shit together, and where almost enraged by Tony who had everything still intact. Pepper and a child on the way, how cruel the universe appeared.

You would wake up in the middle of the night sweating, your heart racing a mile a minute and usually part of the wall behind you would be burnt and blackened. You never set fire to anything thank god, but fuck, your heart hurt so much.

You wanted to scream most days, but as one year rolled into two and then three, the dull dreary ache in your body subdued to a tiny flicker of sadness. It became almost nonexistent during the day as you went about Avenger business, only to burn hot and angry at night.

You wanted to move on and forget, but you couldn’t, he was too important. They all didn’t deserve to go like that, none of them. And so another year passed, then it was year five since the blip, more months passed on. Until out of nowhere something or perhaps someone miraculous lit the way into a new sense of hope.

Resulting in the return of everyone who had been lost before, including your Bucky. And from that moment after the battle, when at long last you had finally found him, you knew life would never be the same.

——

Rain pours relentlessly from outside your apartment window, a rhythmic pitter patter near your bedside that aids in keeping you asleep and unbothered for the time being. No sooner do you reach the climax of your dream that consists of you being chased by a giant monarch butterfly with no weapon but a sandbox plastic shovel, do you wake. Strange dream.

All your senses flooding back into you as you feel for your lover in the darkness, your eyes still closed as you do so. Your hand slides across the crinkled bedsheets to no avail, the spot next to you is undeniably empty and rather cold.

oh, Bucky.

Cracking one eye open you glance at the alarm clock where it reads 1:10am in big red letters, illuminating the nightstand that it sits on. You take in a deep breath and roll onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, this has become a reoccurring event with Bucky in the following months since his return.

In Wakanda things were different, it was like a nice prolonged vacation away from all your problems and responsibilities of the world. Now, you two have an apartment somewhere in New York City all your own. Bucky goes to therapy and does his best to integrate back into his new role as a civilian while you work as an Avenger part time. The other half used for being a supporting loving girlfriend to Bucky and a hacker on the side for extra cash in the bank.

You get it though, he’s adjusting the best he’s able to manage right now, and even when he swears the nightmares are gone for good. You know him too well to believe that shit, you can see it in his eyes, he may have been a master assassin at one point. Now he’s with a skilled and almost equally as weathered Avenger who’s seen her share of people really going through it.

It’s not like you were doing any better, you’d wake up screaming in the dead of night from another nightmare involving losing Bucky again. That only lasted for a month or so, but still, it sucked and hurt every damn time. So you get it, nightmares can be a bitch.

Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you yawn into the darkness and take a moment to listen to the sound of the rain. It’s peaceful and calm, and though you’d like nothing more then to roll over and fall back into the dark comfortable void of sleep. You long to see Bucky again, even if you saw him not even two hours ago.

Pulling the blanket off of your body, you slowly sit up and face the blurry window that overlooks the glowing city, well more so the park close by. Pushing some hair out of your face, you stand and take a brief moment to stretch before letting your right hand emit a beautiful blue flame.

It proptly lights up the dark room into a shadowed yet still visible one, with a lazy proud smile, you move for the opened bedroom door. Your flame lights the way down the hall until you wander past the tiny kitchen and stop in your living room to the sound of heavy breathing coming from the far end.

You give a lopsided smirk to no one in particular as you pad over to the man who’s sweaty and shirtless on the wooden apartment floor in nothing but his boxers and a single blanket that’s not covering much. Well he sure looks like a hot mess, your hot mess that is.

He gives you an apologetic glance before staring tiredly back at the nearby wall. You extinguish your flame and gently nudge his leg with your sock, “How’s the floor?” You ask with a tinge of humor to lighten the mood.

He lets out a breathy laugh before looking back up at you, “Solid.” Quips Bucky in reference to the hard floor and perhaps his take on the makeshift bed, always one for a bit of humor huh.

Chuckling you crouch down to better meet his shadowed gaze, “I guess so,” You mutter with a shrug, “....afraid I might burn you in my sleep?”

Shaking his head, he gifts you the flash of a smile, “No. Not this time Y/N.”

You smile back before sitting down next to him, you look down at his hand before reaching out to take it without any resistance, “I know it’s the nightmares Bucky.” You whisper softly, your eyes sincere and true, “You don’t have to hold it all in okay, I don’t.....I don’t want you to do that.”

Letting out a reluctant sigh, Bucky frowns, “I know Y/N....I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I just love you too much to see you hurting. I’ve missed you for what feels like a hundred goddamn years and I don’t want you to slip away from me..” You add with a sad smile, “Never again.”

Squeezing your hand gently, Bucky nods, “You’re not going to lose me okay. I promise you that much alright. I love you Y/N.” And he means every word.

“That’s good then. Can you at least tell me something to ease your mind from what’s bothering you?” You ask with a hopeful smile, “Please. Remember what the therapist talked about with speaking your thoughts and feelings....it’s like emptying a treasure chest or some shit.”

“Right.” Laughs Bucky, “Can’t say you’re going to find any gold in here.”

“Shut up I don’t care.” You muse with a shrug, “I’m here to listen.”

“As the lady wishes.” Retorts Bucky with a half-assed bow that caused you to break out into a small smile at his cheekiness.

“Wait.” You pause.

“What?”

“Can we sit on the couch for this I wanna lay next to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky fakes his annoyance as you patiently await his answer, “Fine.” He confirms, quickly standing up and taking you with him, “But you gotta lay on me I’m kinda cold now.”

Bucky falls onto the large comfortable couch with a dramatic huff as he pulls you onto his shirtless body, “Weren’t you just all sweaty?” You wonder with a raised brow as he quickly wraps his arms around your waist.

“Yep.”

“Gross.”

Bucky chuckles, “Well you’re making me talk about my feelings.”

“That’s because you won’t talk about them with your actual therapist.” You sass back.

“I hate it when you’re right.” Mutters Bucky into your cheek as you snicker at his adorably dramatic self.

“I think your brain short circuited and misplaced the word hate for absolutely love and adore.”

“Maybe.” Adds Bucky as he steals a sweet kiss, “I’m still working through things you know.”

“Okay smartass. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

His chest rises as he takes a deep heavy sigh, he stares out the nearby window that keeps the rainy city from being bothersome. You can’t completely see his face due to the darkened room, but you’re close enough to see the way his face turns into a frown.

Suddenly you think maybe you shouldn’t have bugged him to speak about his nightmares. Until he purses his lips together and glances those big beautiful blue eyes down at you, the flash of a smile revealing itself in a split second.

To give him a bit more confidence and perhaps to calm his nerves, do you reach a hand up to gently caress his stubbled cheek, “Was it the Starks again?” You whisper softly in question, knowing how much it still haunts him. Among all the others.

Closing his eyes, he leans into your touch, “Not this time.” Mutters Bucky before taking that hand in his as he rests his head against the couches puffy arm. “Someone else.....Someone who got in the way. Wrong place wrong time.”

“oh.” Slips from your mouth quietly, you’re not sure what else to say, but you’re still hoping he’ll speak a little more about it. “Do they have anything to do with your list?”

It’s a shot in the dark, but you’re well aware of Bucky’s goal to make amends with his past and the people tied with it, maybe someone might be linked to it by chance.

Bucky takes another weighted breath, you can just sense how terrible he feels about this person. “Bucky take your time, it’s okay I’m right here.”

Looking for a positive sign you watch as he closes his eyes once again before moving his head a little bit so that it rests against yours, “I know....it’s just, difficult.”

“Always is.”

“Yeah.”

Kissing your forehead, his flesh arm wraps around your waist as he makes himself more comfortable before continuing, “I was in some government building at night.....tasked with eliminating some special high end target. I finished the mission in under a minute, but uh....there was a civilian who saw everything.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” Mumbles Bucky against your skin as he takes a moment to gather himself, soon he shifts underneath you once more before letting out a soft breath, “I shot him.”

A bang of sadness washes over you in that brief second and then a sparking anger for what Hydra had forced him to do. You keep silent and wait for Bucky to continue on with his story.

“That guy I killed. He um....he uh, he didn’t deserve that....but I had to.” Bucky’s voice is shaky as he puts his words together, “And you know what’s the worst about this?”

“I’d like not to imagine it but I know you should tell me.”

“You remember Yori?”

“Of course, he takes us to that great sushi place sometimes.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he hugs you tighter against his bare chest for some kind of comfort, his voice nothing but a regretful whisper, “I killed his son.”

Your eyes soften as he reveals who this mystery civilian was, “Damn.”

“Out of all the people in this world and I meet the man who’s son I murdered for Hydra.”

“That’s almost a sick joke.”

“I know. God I’m so fucked up.”

“No.” You protest softly while he hides his face in your neck, “I know you’ve heard this a thousand times but that wasn’t you. It wasn’t the real James Buchanan Barnes alright, you didn’t have a choice. Those fuckers took that away from you.”

“I know Y/N, but I still did it.”

“Bucky look at me.” You ask kindly, to your genuine surprise he lifts his head from your neck to look into your determined gaze, “You’re not the only one here who was manipulated and had their freedom taken from them by Hydra. I’ve done terrible things too, but you know what? We were never truly ourselves then, they molded us into their weapons and now.....they can never touch us again. You understand me?”

Tears whell up in Bucky’s shimmering eyes at your truthfully honest words, he had temporarily forgotten that you were once an unwilling participant in Hydra’s mind stone experimentations many years ago.

“I understand....” Mutters Bucky as he swallows hard, “what would I be without you?”

Giving him a small tearful smile, you gently wipe away a stray tear from his cheek, “A little bit more alone I’d say.”

“You’re a hundred times braver then me you know that? I couldn’t image five years without you and these fucking nightmares.” Admits Bucky as he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck, “I’d go insane.”

Appreciating this close proximity and his heartfelt confession, you smile into the darkness, “I think I did. Thing is about shitty situations like that....life moves on and finds a way. I have you now, I thought I would lose you forever.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too.”

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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magnhild · 3 years

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the misconceptions and mis-framing of penny’s death

i hesitated to make this post here for a good while; partially because i didn’t want to right when people’s emotions were heightened from the finale, partially because i’m sure some people are going to argue with me here and i’m not looking for a debate- if you don’t agree, please just scroll past.

i’ve made a large number of posts of penny’s death on twitter before, but some were based on my own heightened emotions, and they were all scattered over the course of a couple of weeks, so i’m making this psot to kind of gather all of those thoughts together, the most important ones, at least.

a quick disclaimer before we start- don’t mistake this as all being ‘oh you must just not really care that much about penny’. it couldn’t be more untrue. penny is a comfort character of mine, and a kin to boot. her second death was also the only in the show to really impact me, seeing as i watched v1-3 within a couple of days and didn’t give myself enough time to get attatched to any characters (and i just didn’t personally care for clover all that much). so, please don’t assuming this is coming from a place of not caring- it’s coming from the opposite.

i’ve tried my very hardest to look at what people are saying when they call her death inherintly bad writing, and honestly, i can easily see the validity to some of their points. there were a lot of flaws in the scene.

it felt very rushed and blown-over, but then again, the entire episode did, and i have to wonder if it was done on purpose to emulate the chaos of war- you usually don’t get time to process anything. i mean, in rwby’s case, cinder was winning a fight, half of the characters that would’ve moured her were in the void, and the other half was in another kingdom. that left jaune, who had to focus on fighting cinder. it’s the same as when ruby wasn’t given time to mourn yang.

it also was weird to kill her off two episodes and probably only, like, 10-15 in-show minutes, after she’d been saved from death by gaining a human body. i think it would’ve happened anyway, given the many death flags she had, but i’d have expected- and liked- for them to wait a little longer. it would’ve been nice to see her adjust to having a human body, that’s for sure.

and i can fully agree that framing suicide as a good thing is not...a good thing. but, that brings me to the first point when i say ‘misconception’. because, penny’s dead wasn’t suicide at all. and i have no idea why people would frame it that way it the first place.

first of all, if we’re going to start labelling sacrifices as suicides, we’re going to have to say the same about pyrrha, vernal, and probably yang even though she didn’t actually die (but she thought she would). but being killed in a battle while protecting people...is sacrifice. penny asking jaune to kill her quicker, so that she could make sure the powers went to winter, was sacrifice. it also meant that she didn’t have to die slowly and painfully instead. penny was not suicidal. she has never been suicidal. to be suicidal is to want to die. penny never wanted to die- she only ever believed that it was her only choice to save the people she cared about and the city she was assigned to protect. in penny’s situation, i imagine you’d have a hard time finding another way out of all the siuations she’s been in too. it honestly feels like people are only calling it suicide instead of sacrifice to frame the scene as worse than it was, and that rubs me the wrong way.

and now you’re probably wondering, ‘but blaire, if she’d let jaune save her, she wouldn’t have died’. except that everyone who thinks that is missing one critical factor- she would have died anyway.

cinder’s blow was a killing one. from the moment she struck, she was already starting to steal the maiden’s power. a little longer, and she probably would have. but the one thing a lot of people seem to miss is that, even though jaune was there, he would not have been able to save her. firstly, his aura would have been extremely low at that point, considering we see it shatter in this episode; he probably would not have had enough to fill another person. he maybe could’ve sealed the wound a little before his aura would have broken, and then cinder would’ve just kept going with no problem.

but, even if he somehow had been able to- his aura recharges pretty quickly, after all- another critical factor is that there literally wasn’t time. penny said so herself. as i mentioned earlier, cinder was winning the fight agaisnt weiss. and we’ve seen how long it takes for jaune to heal someone. with weiss, he was lucky; there were several other people there to protect him and weiss while he did his work. with penny, there was only weiss. the moment cinder saw jaune healing her, that would’ve been it. with both of them defenselss, she probably would have killed jaune on the spot, given that weiss never would have been able to stop her on her own, and continued to take penny’s power. jaune or not, penny would have died. because penny didn’t kill herself, jaune didn’t kill her, cinder killed her. this was a murder.

bu then, what was all that about penny finally making her own choice? was it not to die?

no. of course it wasn’t. how i ever believed that myself at one point baffles me, because the more i look back, the more it’s very obvious that it wasn’t the case. it’s almost funny, actually, because my current self would’ve called myself from two weeks ago stupid for believeing such a thing.

as i mentioned, penny has never wanted to die. and, in this case, it wasn’t even that she felt she had to for the greator good; she was dying anyway. her choice had nothing to do with death. her choice was who to pass the winter maiden’s power onto. because, if jaune hadn’t used his sword and severe’d cinder’s connection, the power very likely would have gone to cinder instead. she’d have the relics and both the fall and winter powers, and she’d have been near-unstoppable otherwise.

even the wiki editors somehow saw this more clearly than i did, but like i said, it’s actually pretty obvious. once you get the weird idea that penny was suicidal out of your head, it’s clear to see that the choice she was talking about was to choose winter. and it’s a damn good thing she did, because winter probably would have died otherwise, and the evacuees would’ve been left defensless agaisnt the grimm- penny wouldn’t have been able to save them, as we’ve established.

the last thing that everyone should consider is that we literally have no idea what could happen next. it’s hard to write this off as anything when we don’t know what effect it will have on the story and characters, or- though it’s a stretch- if penny will even stay dead. she is, after all, based off a character who dies and is ressurected on a frequent basis. it was the same case with pyrrha and clover’s deaths; both were dismissed as bad writing based purely on assumptions, only for the auidence to find out later that both deaths actually served pretty reasonable purposes; pyrrhas’s to set the stakes and give all of the character’s a reason to keep fighting, and clover’s to demonstrate how loyal-to-a-fault the aceops were, and that ironwood had no problem sacrificing his own men.

in the end, to call this a good writing choice is probably a stretch. but, it wasn’t a bad one either. there were just too many factors that weren’t considered, or were misunderstood, and the aformentioned rushed feeling of the episode probably did not help with picking all this out. these are realizations it took me days and even weeks to come to. what’s instead important is to look at the situation from as many different angles as possible, and to keep in mind that we can’t really say anything for certain about the consequences of the event. nuance is important! espeiclaly in media critisism!

i genuinely hoped this has opened people’s eyes, even if they already didn’t consider it bad writing. seeing crwby, and this show, undermined so drastically, has been pretty hard for me to see, especially when some people are using it to call crwby morally wrong. i’ve even seen people say it was transphobic, because penny was trans-coded, while totally dismissing may, a canonically trans character. and i know that crwby are getting death threats again, which is bitterly disappointing and enraging. stop. and stop enabling this behaviour.

also, if you’ve read over all of this and still don’t personally like the decision, that’s fine and understandable. i can easily see why people still wouldn’t. but i think it’s important to remember that not liking a writing deicsion doesn’t necceserily make it a bad one. kind of like how me not liking any of star wars doesn’t make it a bad franchise.

thanks for reading, and please remember to just...be nice. and if you’re still mourning penny’s death, which is understandable, remember to look after your mental health! she would want you to!

#rwby #rwby essay #rwby analysis #rwby v8 #blaire rambles #my writing #penny polendina #rwby voume 8 #tw penny's death #tw character death #tw suicide

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pepperpills · 3 years

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The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey guys, thanks everyone who has been reading this series, it was fun writting this story, but as i said a couple of chapters ago, it has come to an end. I am currently writting a new Heis x Reader story, focusing more on wordbuilding and their relationship. I guess The Harvest, as my first try on this, has been a great experience and I hope the next one turns out better. That being said, please enjoy this piece and I will see you all later on a new begginning, thanks!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord Part III - The Hunt Part IV - Soft Torture Part V - Cry Baby

Part VI - The Encounter

It wasn’t a particular sunny day, but the weather was cooler than usual. It was enough for Karl to decide to work outside, once the heat inside the factory was overwhelming his sweaty body. He was shirtless, but still had his hat and spectacles on to protect him from the sun and the light.

Heisenberg was in the middle of something. Ever since you two inaugurated the new wing, he has been working to the bone on a new project. You understood he was trying a new set of armour to make the Soldats tougher. Unfortunately, for you, this was a task you couldn’t help him with. It was still on project, but he was already trying to find the material and that was why he had been searching the factory’s yard all morning, coming and going, absolutely focused.

You were getting bored, though. Once you couldn’t adventure the factory by your own anymore – neither wanted to, having in mind what happened last time –, you chose to sunbath at the yard in the early hours. It was still kind of chilly, because no matter what, the Village was always like that, and you obviously didn’t have any bikinis, once you really didn’t need a set living where you lived. In that manner, you bathed in your panties, wearing no bra.

You gave Karl a major distraction, because of this. First, he was jealous of your boobs exposed like that, but you managed to convince him no one could see you, once the factory was only accessible by the bridge and it was a considerable walk from the allowed parts of the Village. He chilled, but something in his pants was feeling encaged.

Not long after, you got bored. Then an idea crossed your mind causing you to smile. You quickly went to the bedroom to change, grab a few things and then went to the kitchen. Karl had been so long under the sun that he might as well be thirsty. Considering that, you prepared a juice with lots of ice, leaving the building to meet him outside caring a glass of it.

“Hey, Karl.” You called him, his body half inside one of the tanks. “What about a quick break?” You offered, rising the glass once he looked at you.

His countenance showed interest. His mouth was indeed dry, almost causing him chapped lips. Heisenberg walked towards you, the scene glowing in your eyes. The man’s chest was shiny with the sweat. Without his shirt, you had a great view of his body, enjoying the sight of his strong arms. Karl was a Renascence painting for you and the thought of it made you smile, which only invited him nearer.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He said, taking the glass you offered him.

He drank it almost entirely at once, causing some drops to roll down his bearded chin. When he was done, you came closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, not being able to resist a stupid idea that came through your mind. Heisenberg was a bit confused, but accepted your approach, placing his free hand on your hips. Instead of kissing him, you licked his chin, retracing the juice line. He wasn’t expecting it. You finished with a kiss, looking for his tongue, willing to make yours dance with his inside your mouths.

“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” Karl laughed when you let his lips go.

“Just some.” You shrugged, smirking back at him. “But I will let you work for now, I know you’re busy.” Now he had a sorrow expression, your kiss had awakened something in him, but you were right, he needed to find at least one metal piece to try on the model.

“It is okay, I will meet you later.” You comforted him, playing with ones of his rebel hair locks.

“I will make it up to you, Y/N.” Karl promised, pressing you harder against his chest, not wanting to let you go.

“No need to, just be there.” You planted a soft kiss on his lips to which he couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok, I will be, kitten.” Heisenberg kissed you once more, eager to taste you, he was intense.

After a couple more kisses, you managed to soften his grip around your hips and he decided that if he could finish the work earlier, it meant more time with you. With that in mind, he returned to the tank. You excused yourself, telling him you were going out to hunt to try the improvements you made on your bow.

You started walking towards the forest behind the factory. As soon as you reached the firsts trees, you noticed a change in the lighting. Clouds were now hiding the sun, bringing in new winds. You puffed, your plans of a cooler hunt probably spoiled because of this change of weather. Neither way, you were already there.

You took your usual path, going down to the stream. Not long after you noticed the absence of Lycans in the surroundings. You use to listen to their roars and sometimes even footsteps, but this time the only sound heard was the birds chanting. An odd atmosphere took over the forest, making you a bit tense.

Maybe they were occupied somewhere else, you thought that they could be on a hunt of their own, chasing a poor villager. This didn’t relax you, though. You kept looking around, searching for Lycans and other animals.

This happened half way to the stream, so fast you weren’t able to process the entire thing. You got distracted with a noise coming from your right, you looked over a fallen trunk, but saw nothing but a mild movement on a bush. It could be the wind, but you wouldn’t take your chances on a silly thought.

The aura was so tense you were about to make up your mind on coming back to the factory, leaving the hunt for another day, scared again of the creatures of the forest. You didn’t have time to decide, though. On your left, a wet thud caused you to jump. Your attention rapidly turned to the source of it.

A body had just fallen from one of the tree’s highest branches. For all you knew, that was a Moroaica, judging by its clothes and grey skin. This wasn’t the work of a Lycan. They would only eat other creatures when they didn’t have a different flesh and, before opting for this alternative, they would feast on the Village’s cattle. This must be something difference.

Only to confirm your suspicions, the culprit land in front of you. It came out of nowhere. Well, from one of the branches above your body. You instinctively screamed, not even noticing it, even though it was pretty loud. This thing wasn’t like anything you have ever seen in your life, but it resembled a lost tale from the cabins.

The story was about a pale creature, one that inhabits the dark, but would go out of its hiding places to hunt when starving. It was described to have sharp fangs for teeth and a blood thirst. On the folk’s tale, the thing wouldn’t have much reason, it would only know two things: the hunger and the instinct of reproduction.

However, this one, standing in front of you, had a human malice written in its red injected eyes, a beauty in its traces. It smirked at your thunderstruck face, feasting on your fear before feasting on your blood. The creature, which resembled a woman, approached your form elegantly, not rushing, having everything under its control.

She extended a hand full of sharp claws to your cheekbone, putting away a hair lock. She dug one claw into your skin, causing the red liquid to flow. Then she licked the blood from her nail, moaning to your sweet taste.

“You are too pretty to spoil.” She made up her mind, giving you a Cheshire cat smile.

The next movement was a blur to your human perception. You believe the thing attacked you, because you remember feeling your back meeting the soil with a thud. She was on top of you, pressing fangs on your neck. You passed out, regaining a faint consciousness some time later when you were being cared on someone’s shoulder when, before passing out again, your sensitive nostrils perceived a scent of oil.

-x-

Karl was worried out of his mind when he found you. He thought he heard your scream, but it was really the Lycan’s roars responding to it that enlightened the situation to him. He had just found the perfect metal piece when it happened, leaving the factory in a rush, panting already, only thinking of bringing his hammer that flew to his hand as he passed through the grid.

He used the Lycan’s flair to find you. No sign of whatever made that to you, it was only your body lying cold on the dead grass. He almost panicked, imagining you were forever lost. The relief the man felt to feel a weak blow of air on his hand when he placed it close to your nose was indescribable.

Heisenberg didn’t think twice before putting you over his shoulder, his hammer being held by his other hand, and take you back to the factory, cursing himself he let your go earlier, thinking he should have joined you or, at least, sent an escort of dogs with you.

You didn’t wake up for a long time. He laid you on his bed, watching as your chest went up and down with your breathing, this being the only thing that calmed his nerves down a little. But not so much later, he had to leave for a while, afraid he would throw everything metallic on the room.

He put on a real tantrum on a room nearby, not knowing the noises came to you on dreams as much as his enraged screams. Karl almost lost it there, turning himself into a beast on the sight of you hurt. Managing to stop only so he could really analyse your situation.

It was bad, but how bad he wasn’t sure. After being somewhat calmer, Karl quickly noticed the marks on your neck. He wasn’t a moron, specially when being “raised” with Alcina, he knew it was a bloodsucker’s doing. However, Lady Dimitrescu would never do such a messy job and it was even less probable that she would adventure herself on his area. No, it had to be a foreign.

Heisenberg would gladly chase this beast, swearing to tear it apart with his own teeth if it pleased him, but he couldn’t just leave you on your own. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding your hand on his, focusing on the warmth on your skin. He stood like that for ours, after cleaning your wounds, on the verge of tears. At some point, he rested his head on your shoulder, near your soon-to-be new scar.

“C’mon, buttercup, wake up.” Karl whispered in your ear.

His hot breath was gently calling you out of a paralysis state. Your eyes started to open, your lips unglued, but a fever was commanding your body, making you feel restless. Heisenberg noticed your minor movements, his heart beat accelerating at the sight of your awakening.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cursed, but a smiled formed on his lips. “Fuck, doll, what a scare you gave me!” Karl held your hand tighter.

“Karl…” You started. “I don’t feel so well.” You told him, seeing that perfect smile faint.

“I know.” He agreed. “I guess I know what it is.” An unpleasant expression formed on his brow. “Wait here.”

Karl didn’t wait until you responded, knowing you wouldn’t let him leave the room, but he had to test something and he really believed it would make you feel better. For fucks sake! It was the only way to make you cure. He went down the factory, to a part of it you didn’t yet know, but was going to get used to soon enough. He grabbed a bag of liquid and left, heading to the kitchen.

He poured the liquid in a glass and came back to you. You were now sat, trembling like crazy, wrapped by the blanket, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the cold. Seeing this, he didn’t mind sitting down on the chair again, extending the glass to you.

“Here, drink it.” He told you.

“What is it?” You asked, but the strong scent didn’t leave any doubts, you were just playing dumb.

“I guess you know what it is, Y/N.” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you hungry?” In response your stomach rumbled, making the man smirk.

“I-I can’t.” You sounded disgusted.

“You have to, kitten. It will make you feel better.” He took your hand on his, passing you the glass and guiding it to your lips.

You opened up just a little, resisting your new instincts, but as soon as the smell got more intense being that close to your nostrils, you gave up and drank it voraciously. The iron flavour making you salivate as the liquid calmed you down, stopping the trembling, washing away your fever, more potent than any medicine. When you emptied the glass, you proceeded to lick every last drop of blood reminiscent.

“That is a wild kitten.” Karl mocked, relieved at your reaction.

“Karl, what happened to me?” You wondered, not sure if he could answer.

Before telling you, he got into bed, taking off the blanket that was hiding your form. His fingers reached your marks, the sore region aching with the contact, causing him to retreat his digits. He sighed.

“You are not human anymore, Y/N.” Heisenberg told you, heavily.

“What?” You voice was a lot lower than your expected. You looked down to your lap.

“You encountered a thing back in the forest, right?” You only nodded. “Well, that thing bit you and… Well, transformed you.” He clarified.

“I feel… Better.” You moved your hands, stretching the fingers. “I mean, it hurts, but somehow I am more disposed.”

“You know…” Karl started, setting himself against the headboard, pulling you to rest in between his legs, your head resting on his chest as he played with your hair. “It isn’t ideal, but at least, now we can be together for a long time.” He kissed the top of your head and glanced down at you, care written all over his grey abysms.

“Forever?” You softly asked.

“Forever, kitten, forever.” Karl answered.

THE END.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

“Forget what I said,

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left.”

- Falling, Harry Styles

A/N: the long anticipated third installment of “that angsty threesome story.” this shit hurted y’all. that’s all i’m gonna say. hope you enjoy :)

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring masterlist

word count: 13k

content: A N G S T, drunk sad!harry, melancholic relationship flashbacks, and Niall being an amazing friend. oh and lots of pining pain

preview:

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons.

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.”

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution.

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence.

or Harry and Y/N breakup after the incident and the next two months are the worst either of them have ever known

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It’s poetically ironic, if you ask him, and he felt like the universe was playing a cruel game at his expense. Though it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.

The length of time that had passed was coincidentally parallel to how much time he had spent sitting on his couch that dreaded Saturday morning— which had been two hours and thirteen minutes— wringing his hands, boiling in his regret, and waiting for her to come out of their bedroom with a verdict on their relationship.

When Y/N had finally surfaced from her hiding spot, she had barely acknowledged him other than a few one-worded, snipped answers to his questions. She was headed out, she’d said, and that she would return later. Her path had been straight for the front door and the body language and aura she had displayed from the frame of their room door to the frame of the front door had been enough to clearly communicate a simple message: Don’t come after me.

He had followed her to the edge of the corridor that led to the exit, but he knew better than to chase her once she was out of the door. He remained put and watched her walk out without so much as a glance back.

She needed time, he had assured himself. Y/N needed a chance to cool off on her own and smothering her would do nothing but dig him further into the hole he was already neck-deep in.

In hindsight, Harry should have gone after her. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, or maybe it wouldn’t have at all, but all he’s aware of now is that he’d never know.

The minute she got back, a few hours later when the sun had just finished dipping over the stretch of forest that extended beyond the balcony of their apartment, he could immediately tell he had to prepare for the worst.

From the second Harry had met Y/N, he had always been able to read her. It’s something he prided himself in and something he always admired about the connection they shared— that it had been instant. It had been one of those rare pockets in life when he met someone and clicked with them automatically, so effortlessly that it was almost fictional. He’d always been a hopeless romantic and he had his mother and sister to thank for that; growing up with two women who constantly fed him stories about true love and the importance of emotions had molded his relationships down to the very core. And through that characteristic, which had been engraved within the man he had grown into, was how he and Y/N so easily came to be.

Harry had been able to read the nervous excitement she was wading through on their first date, watching her with fond amusement as she had contemplated the menu, trying to pass as nonchalant but being betrayed by the obvious cinch in her brows.

He had been able to read the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, eyes absorbing her features like the pages of a novel. He had picked up on the metaphors she depicted in the form of wine-swollen lips twitching with longing anticipation. He had picked up on the similes that translated into her slowly dilating pupils, the glittering specks of color that shimmered in the depths of her irises dancing with anxious enthusiasm as his face drew closer to her’s. He had picked up on the analogies that painted themselves onto the warm, supple skin of her cheeks as he cupped the side of her face with the palm of his large hand, fingers tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear as he thumbed over the faint smile lines chesiling themselves into existence along the edges of her mouth, her action thick with enamored awe.

He had been able to read just how taken Y/N was with him the first time they had slept together. It was certain in how she had clung to the bare, sweaty muscles of his shoulders as her nails clawed memories along the soft sides of his torso, her head dangling over the edge of the kitchen island to allow him the intimate comfort of pressing hot, wet moans to the searing skin of her throat. He had whined and shuddered as he’d spread her open over the cold marble surface, fogging it with the heat of their conjoined bodies, the air tinged with the scent of desperate sex and blurbs of orgasm-drunken praises that to this day he can feel burn his lungs. Barely coherent mumbles of “God, been needing you for the longest time now.” and “Fuck, you’re an absolute dream.” and he had even made himself susceptible to some of his deepest vulnerabilities, confessing how quickly and dangerously he was falling for her in a breathless little whimper of, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Tiny zaps of invisible electricity had passed through her fingertips and into the flexing tendons of his back, revealing that she was just as scared and jittery and needy and absolutely whipped for him as he was for her. He had never been able to read her better than at that intense, emotion-packed moment, and he knows he’ll cherish that wordless instance of assurance for as long as he lives.

The only other occasion that competes is the first time Harry had known Y/N loved him. They had planned to go bar-hopping with their friends but, in a spur of laziness and utter disinterest, had decided to stay back. The night had been filled with board games and hot chocolate and half-burnt quesadillas because Harry had bought a new panini press that he didn’t quite yet know how to work. He knew she loved him when he beat her at CandyLand for the third time in a row and in a whirlwind of victory dancing, he had knocked the coffee table with his knee and ended up with cooled cocoa all over his striped pajama pants rather than in his belly.

He knew she loved him because she wasn’t upset that she’d have to help get the stain out and she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten marshmallow goo on the carpet and she wasn’t angry that his silliness had ended with her favorite vase rolling across the ground. All Y/N had been focused on was Harry and that ridiculous wide-toothed grin of his, her own lips nestling into an endeared smile as he giggled out of sheer shock at his ruined pants, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back against the couch cushions. Through teary, delight-blurred vision he saw her staring at him with this doe-like gaze, her eyes soft and glossier than he’d ever seen them, a tender laugh evident on her cheeks. Her eyebrows had been slightly furrowed with a type of disbelieving wonder at the utter moron she had chosen to share her heart with, but specifically at how she loved him all the more for it.

That’s when Harry had read that she loved him and she had confirmed it with words about ten minutes later as they both sat on their knees against the ground, scrubbing at the mess he’d made and sharing soft little snickers under their breath.

In the end, all of these milestone moments in their relationship had all funneled through his mind the minute Y/N had walked back into the living room on that forsaken day, hours later. They all sped past the inside of his eyelids every time he blinked, each one dissipating with each step she drew closer. She had stood before him as he sat forward tensely on the couch, forearms propped on his knees as he grasped his knuckles nervously, though they had stopped cracking ages ago.

It all flashed back to him like a film on fast-forward and it was because for the first time ever, he wasn’t able to read her face and it fucking terrified him.

Y/N’s eyes were the first factor that had given away the impending end. Even at the darkest of times, Harry could always count on Y/N’s eyes for support. They had always held a permanent admiring warmth towards him, even beneath clouds of rage or annoyance or worry. They had been empty that day.

Her lips had been etched into a emotionally-detached straight line, though the corners dipped down ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were void of any wrinkle, groove, or lifting that would suggest even a smidge of sensitivity and somehow her cheeks seemed more sunken in, as if the last couple of hours had aged her years.

Y/N had approached him with her hands cradling each other before her stomach, footsteps heavy against the carpeted ground, muffled yet somehow loud. She’d taken a seat before him on the glass coffee table, knees pressed together tightly and unintentionally brushing his as she settled her hands into the crease between her inner thighs, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world was using her back as shelf, the flyaway hairs that had fallen from her ponytail kissing along her jaw and caressing her temples almost apologetically, as if trying to comfort her for what was next.

Y/N hadn’t spoken a single word before Harry was already breaking down.

It wasn’t dramatic or spontaneous like the break-up scenes in the rom coms he often fancied; it was quiet and concise. The hot tears streamed down his cheekbones and followed the slope of his sharp jaw, squeezing out of his tear ducts and rolling along the bridge of his nose, itching the very tip, to which his instincts responded by spurring him into wiping away the water with the front of his shoulder.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her out of self-hatred and shame— how could he be as selfish as to cry when everything that was about to unfold had been solely of his doing. He knew he didn’t deserve the best outcome, but he had hoped for it. Prayed that she could find it in her tattered heart to grace him with the option to rebuild what he had so recklessly torn down. He didn’t deserve it and he’d felt like he never would, but he had promised himself he would try and earn it if she gave him the chance.

But that was just the hopeless romantic in him flaring up again. Reality was sharper and much icier.

Harry had taken in a deep, trembling inhale, feeling it cut his lungs and tug at the pit of his stomach. He’d released it in stuttery spurts through his nose, back muscles contracting with dread. He found it in himself to uncoil one of his index fingers, gently grazing the curve of Y/N’s right knee with the bed of his nail.

She’d tensed up momentarily, toes curling into the rug below her feet, but didn’t shed him away. It was the first time he’d touched her since last night and though it made her feel sick to her stomach, she figured she’d allow it as a parting gift.

The air stood still for a few elongated seconds that seemed to drag out for an eternity. Finally, one of them spoke up.

“Y/N...” Harry had choked on the singular word, swallowing thickly in an attempt to recuperate.

The syllables seemed to lodge in his throat, outright refusing to emerge, likely due to the fact that he spent the day soundlessly moping to himself. He forced them out anyways in a low croak.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“I know.”

Harry had cleared his throat softly, mind treading through his jumbled thoughts to try and sew together a worthy sentence, the pad of his forefinger tracing down the visible threads of Y/N’s worn jeans.

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

Though it’s the truth, it sounds feeble and pathetic. His words had then started tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or rhythm but simply in an attempt to communicate his rawest emotions.

“That’s not an excuse or anything, but I just want to make sure that you know. And if I knew all of this was going to happen, I would’ve never brought it up in the first place. You’re important to me— I hope that all the time we’ve spent together shows that— and to lose you over something like this…” Harry pauses, choking up at the sheer notion of having to let her go. He continues his speech slowly to avoid another mishap, though it quivers nonetheless. “To lose you over something that was so stupid on my part would tear me to shreds, Y/N. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There’s nothing I can do now except apologize until my voice gives out and pray that you give me the chance to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it and I know that the damage I’ve done could be beyond repair, but I also know that I will spend every second trying to mend it if you allow me to. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I know we’re young and that it sounds dramatic and I’ve been told a billion times over that I love too deeply for my own good but I don’t care because I know it’s the truth. Without even the slightest bit of doubt.”

His words had echoed across the walls of the flat, the dim buttery light of the single lamp in the living room casting their seated shadows over the creme surfaces. The dark silhouettes of their bodies seemed to absorb his message, picking it right out of the air and engulfing it into the ominous shade.

All that could be heard was Y/N’s faint breathing as she processed his confession and the occasional sniffle on his part. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds— Harry had counted. A frail distraction, but a distraction either way.

A deep inhale had cut off his mental stopwatch and he could tell Y/N had cried recently before arriving because the air had to force itself through her stuffy nose. His index finger had twitched anxiously against her knee. He found himself counting again, this time the target had been the thin lines of the rug beneath the reinforced glass of the coffee table. He hadn't known it then, but his urge to count whatever he could to pass the time had been the start of what would later develop into a coping mechanism.

“I don’t know what to say.”

It had only been a day but Harry had missed the sound of her voice more than he’d ever care to admit. She was talking to him rather than at him and it was enough to halt the fresh flood of tears that had been gathering across the glossy sheen of his irises. It was a victory, no matter how small.

The sentence she spoke, however, was a whole new battle he had to face within itself.

The words hurt, but luckily, they didn’t cut. There were dozens of harsher possibilities of what could’ve come out of her mouth and that makes him thankful for what he’d received.

Harry had shifted in his seat, pulling the sleeve of his old Greenbay Packers sweatshirt over his free hand and tucking his arm across his stomach. His other hand remained on Y/N’s leg as non-intrusively as possible. “Is there anything you want to get out? Anything at all? I want to hear it no matter how bad you think it is. I deserve it as much as you deserve to express your feelings.”

He hadn’t noticed when, but at some point he had absentmindedly tilted his head up to look at her. What brought it into clear attention was when she did the same and their eyes met.

Y/N’s expression had crushed the oxygen from Harry’s lungs.

He had hoped it would be different after everything he had said. That her eyes would hold some form of love within them, even if it was shrouded with sadness and disappointment. He had aimed to draw an ounce of forgiveness from her that he could cling onto and expand; he had aimed for redemption.

Instead, her eyes held the same barren gaze that she had doted when she had walked in— vacant acceptance.

Her own speech had confirmed his worst fears.

“I don’t know if we have a future together. All I know is that right now, I feel like I could never forgive you for what you did. Watching you treat someone you barely knew the way you treat me made me feel like what we have isn’t real. Sex can be something both meaningless and meaningful and the lines between those two is finer than most people think. And even though I know in my heart that you’re telling the truth about not feeling anything towards her, I just can’t let it go. I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that you called her what you call me. That you kissed, touched, and held her the same way you do me. You made her feel the same way you make me feel. And the whole time, I was sitting there watching you do it, begging you not to and trying to communicate to you that you were crossing the line and you didn’t even notice.”

Y/N had lifted her hand from her lap, running the back of her wrist across her cheeks messily. Harry could see the tears sparkling on her lashes and he felt like his chest cavity was going to collapse in on itself.

When she had spoken again, her voice was tight and packed with all of the pain she’d been holding onto since the incident happened.

“You took all of the private little things that had built our relationship and shared them with someone else just to get your dick wet.” She releases a short spurt of a laugh, miserable and humorless, her palms smacking down against her thighs as she shrugs her shoulders for emphasis. “Intimacy is the most important factor of genuine love and you went and tossed it around like it was nothing. We’ll never be able to regain that; not in the way we had it before. I don’t know if I could ever trust you with it again. I shared myself with you because I love you— we opened up to each other in that way because we worked up to it. And now that you so carelessly let yourself have it with someone else, I’m too disappointed and hurt and fucking terrified to let you see me vulnerable like that again.”

Y/N had locked her eyes with Harry’s and his heart had shattered into a million shards.

They had been swollen and bloodshot, tiny red veins webbing across the dull white, scraping at her irises and relentlessly chipping the color from them. There was no twinkle left whatsoever; the specks that normally decorated around her pupils had completely defused, disappearing into the murky sea of the muted shade behind them.

“You broke my fucking heart, Harry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you pick up the pieces.”

He had never heard her say his name like that, so dismal and void of emotion. He’d never felt more unworthy of love than at that moment and he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He’d fucked up and now he had no choice but to marinate in it for the rest of his days.

The process of separating was painfully fast.

As it turns out, when she had left the morning after everything had happened, she had gone to visit Niall.

Niall had been the mutual friend that had introduced Harry and Y/N in the first place so, naturally, Y/N’s first instinct had been to seek his counsel. She had kept the details of the breakup to herself but from how distraught she had seemed when Niall had opened the door to his flat, his hair sticking up at weird angles and his eyes crusted over with sleep, he had known it was not on good terms. She had stood there with dried trails of tears staining her cheeks as her entire body shook like a leaf and the second he had opened his arms caringly, she immediately collapsed into them, violent sobs wracking her body unapologetically.

The Irish lad was as big-hearted and supportive as friends came and it was seen in how he offered her the spare room in his apartment that was normally occupied as a home gym.

“I haven’t had a roomie since I was twenty but as long as y’don’t leave your dirty underwear in the living room, I think we’ll get along just swell.”

With Niall’s help, Y/N had finished moving out by the end of that same week.

They did the brunt of the job while Harry was busy at work, though there was an awkward instance when he unexpectedly came home early on the last day of moving.

Luckily enough, Niall had been the one retrieving the last couple of items so Y/N was saved from the ordeal.

The two men had contemplated each other, Niall standing with the cardboard box tucked beneath his arm while Harry stood parallel to him stiffly, keys grasped tightly in his fist. Harry didn’t know how much Niall knew of what had happened, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth, so he had remained silent until the blue-eyed boy finally spoke up first.

“Mate, I don’t know what happened between you two or why, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this torn up before.”

Harry had sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in forlorn agreement at Niall’s comment. This was Y/N’s indirect way of telling him that the reason behind their breakup was meant to be kept a secret amongst their friend group. It was one last act of kindness towards him on her part because both of them knew that if word got out on what had happened, everyone would likely turn on Harry and shun him out. Y/N didn’t want that for him— despite everything, she found herself genuinely wishing him the best because she still loved him. A part of her always would, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it.

The last thing she needed was to cling onto bitterness and make him suffer; it would be counterproductive considering her end goal was to move on. The whole situation would stay hidden and hopefully everything would eventually blow over.

Avoiding each other proved trickier than expected in the beginning, but it gradually became routine amidst their everyday lives.

Y/N avoided grocery shopping at Harry’s favorite market and he proceeded to change the coffee shop he went to every morning before work, well aware that it was the one she fancied the most due to the specific brand of creamer they carried. Y/N insisted on the second closest movie theatre whenever she went out with her friends for a film, knowing that Harry liked the one closest to Niall’s apartment because it was smaller, more homey, and did free refills on popcorn and drinks. Harry started frequenting the gas station near the twenty-four hour gym instead of the one near Y/N’s place of work and started doing his early morning jogs at the park on the opposite side of town, which wasn’t too bad considering it was only about a ten minute drive. Y/N stopped going to art museums all together— they were mainly Harry’s thing, either way.

When it came down to their friends, they did the best they could. Whenever there would be a plan to go out for lunch, dinner, drinking, or any other event, they made sure to invite one and not the other, alternating turns. It kept the situation fair, though birthday parties were much more complicated. Staying on opposite ends of the club or flat would have to do.

No one ever questioned the breakup too thoroughly, thankfully. All Y/N told them was that it ended really badly and that what was best was that they stayed clear of each other. Harry stuck to whatever he learned Y/N had said, brushing off the occasional curiosity thrown his way with a tired, “I’d rather not talk about it, yeah?”

They were grateful to all of their friends for not pushing for details too much and respecting their privacy. Family members were harder to shake off, but both managed to keep things under wraps with the right amount of sternness.

///

Three weeks and four days had gone by, according to Harry’s calendar, and things were remaining seemingly civil. That is, until Harry had a bit too much to drink on the fifth day and ended up drunk calling Y/N as he sat on the floor of his kitchen, eating from what he was sure was an expired box of Cheerios while counting floor tiles and wondering why the fuck he even liked tequila in the first place.

The phone had rung three times and then the line abruptly cut off, sending Harry right to voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N! Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone right now, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

His eyes had immediately begun to water as her voice crackled through the speaker of his phone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard it and he hates that he had almost forgotten its gentle trill. The bright chime of her words were so different than the last time he’d heard her speak— her tone was easy and good-natured rather than dismal and hurt and he missed when she would regard him that way. Now, it was directed at a random person on the other end of her phone line who she might not even know and for some reason, that made his stomach twist.

The Cheerios had started to taste funny so he opened the cabinet across from his spot on the ground and chucked them in the bin. He had then leaned back against the wall of the kitchen island, head repeatedly thunking against the polished hardwood as he redialed her number and waited, tiny hiccups plucking at his vocal chords and shuddering his shoulders without consent.

This time, it had rang only once before cutting off, meaning that she knew it was him and that she was actively delicining.

But Harry’s stubborn and insistent— which admittedly are some of his worst traits— and the fact that he had been shit-faced had fueled these characteristics. He’d continued to call her another four times before the line was finally picked up.

His voice had filled with enamored relief as he quickly sat up, a weak smile starting to spread his cracked lips. “Y/N, hi, I—”

“Harry, you gotta cut this shit out, man.”

It wasn’t Y/N. The person speaking had a much deeper voice with a smooth, raspy undercurrent covered in a heavy Irish accent. Their tone held a stern yet concerned edge.

“This isn’t good for either of you. You’ve got to try and move on, H.”

It was Niall and he was on Y/N’s phone and Harry could feel himself about to vomit.

He had forced himself to speak, clutching his stomach with one hand as if it would keep the bile from rising. His words came out slurred and numb, tongue feeling heavy and unbelievably large in his mouth. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s asleep and you should be, too. It’s three in the morning.”

Harry’s brows had cinched down angrily over his lashes. Somehow, in his muddled brain, he was able to form a coherent train of thought about the current situation. If Y/N was asleep, that meant her phone had probably been on a nightstand beside her bed or splayed across her duvet or even on the floor considering she had a habit of twisting and turning too much. If Niall had picked it up, it meant he had to be in close proximity to her. It meant he had been in her room, possibly in her bed...

Harry’s throat burned as acid rose from his stomach.

“I wanna talk to—”

He was cut off by the alcohol he’d had earlier resurfacing and splattering across the off-white kitchen tiles he’d been counting.

The spluttering noises filtered through the phone crystal clear, much to his friend’s disgust.

“Jesus, Harry, just get yourself together, will you?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Niall’s voice had come through again, gentler and less annoyed. “Do you need me to come over and help?”

“No.” Harry had blurted out with panic evident in his demeanor. He’d wiped at his soiled mouth with the sleeve of his black Nike jumper, staring hollowly as the mess before him traveled across the cracks of his floor. An all too familiar swelling had started to fill his tear ducts. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.”

Apparently, it had been the third time he’d drunk-called in the span of two weeks, though he didn’t remember the first two times. He did remember this third time though— the stench stuck to his sweatshirt for a while.

///

The next month that followed that cursed Friday night had been significantly better for Harry.

He went out with friends and actually had fun more times than not, as long as he didn’t let his mind wander to what Y/N could be doing since she wasn’t with the group. Slowly but surely, he began to mend.

The movies had always been his and Y/N’s favorite date idea so the first couple of times he’d gone out to see a film after the breakup had been tough, but he’d powered through the rough patches. Their favored seats at the very back of the cinema had gradually just become exactly that— seats. He was eventually able to enter a theatre without even as much as a glance to the last row. When Harry would go out to eat, he relearned not to order in excess anymore since he wouldn’t be needing those extra fries or two extra beef tacos or those couple buffalo wings she used to pick at religiously. Going out for drinks was easier on his wallet now that he could drink both of the two-for-one Happy Hour shots, the only issue being that sometimes he’d forget and order the next round while he had a perfectly untouched whiskey shot right there. He had sworn off tequila— he could still feel the way it had seared his throat, somehow manifesting an aftertaste of honeyed cereal.

Niall usually went out with the rest of the gang, but not as much as he used to and that bothered Harry extremely— bothered him to the point where he’d get the overwhelming urge to tear his hair out if he allowed himself to amble in his head too much. He hated being the jealous type, especially when he was no longer entitled to it. Especially not when Niall was such a nice best friend, willingly present for him on the nights where things went downhill and he needed someone to pick him off the ground— literally— and tell him that he would be alright.

The days Niall missed out were spent with Y/N and it wasn’t a secret. Harry had heard about how much closer they’d gotten recently through conversations that would happen across the other side of the booth, when his friends thought he wasn’t paying attention or that he was too sloshed to be properly present. He wasn’t, though. He was hyper-aware of every anecdote and syllable exchanged and it would make his mouth go sour.

One night, he had drummed up enough courage to ask Niall outright about Y/N. They’d been out bowling and the Irish brunette had been standing off to the side waiting his turn, sipping on a pint and cackling his ass off every time Adam rolled the ball into the sideline gutters.

Harry had been standing next to him for a while, leaning back against the machine that redispensed the bowling balls, taking tiny gulps of his third white rum margarita. The liquor filled his tummy with a certain type of empty warmth that numbed his better judgement and before he could talk himself out of it, the words were escaping his lips in a low, sheepish tone.

“How’s Y/N?”

Niall had paused mid-sip, his entire body going rigid for a second as he kept the rim of his large glass perched at his lips. He had then pulled back from his beer, licking the froth off his Cupid’s Bow and craning his neck to acknowledge the green-eyed boy directly.

“She’s doin’ good. Treading through the bills and tryin’ t’fill the rest with thrills, like we all do.”

Despite the light nature of his response, Niall’s accent had been heavier and Harry’s not sure if it was due to the alcohol or the tension-packed subject of conversation. Probably both.

Harry had nodded his head slowly— casually— and taken an ice cube into his mouth, cracking it with his teeth in the way Y/N used to scold him for. He had stared intently at the condensation gathering around the tips of his warm fingers for a few heartbeats before looking back up at Niall with aching curiosity.

“Is she happy?”

The Irish bloke had opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking over what he had been about to say. That teeny fraction of time filled Harry with enough nerve-grating suspense to that he was sure he’d pop a blood vessel.

Niall had cleared his throat softly, sighing tiredly through his nose. “She’s better than she was right after the split.”

Harry hates that Y/N’s doing better. He knows how petty and selfish it comes off, but he can’t help it. If she’s doing better without him, it means she might never need him again— it means he’s replaceable to her. He can hardly fathom that thought without the backs of his eyes prickling.

Harry had swallowed thickly, nose stinging and jaw clenching. “Is she seeing anyone?”

Niall tilted his cup against his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the beer, grateful for its help in making this talk way easier. He’d given Harry a sympathetic slink of his head. “I don’t think that’s the type of question you should be asking, Har. One day, you might not like the answer you get.”

Harry’s fingers had tightened around the stout cylindrical glass in his grasp, rings biting into his skin. His voice came out strained but unwavering. “Is she?”

His friend’s blue eyes had flitted across different points of his face, sussing out Harry’s attitude and whether he could be convinced to back down on this specific topic.

When it was obvious he wouldn’t budge, Niall sighed heavily once again, this time through his lips. “She’s not, no.”

Harry can’t quite place a name to the flood of emotions that had crashed into him like a tidal wave. The closest he can relate the experience to is breaking the surface of an ocean of suffocating uninformed doubt, instead filling his lungs with illogical optimism and stunned relief.

There was hope for them, even if the sliver was fine as a hair.

Harry had found himself drawing closer to Niall, eyes doe-like and pleading, the neon lights of the bowling alley washing his face out with bright purples and drunken blues. “I wanna see her.”

“You can’t.” The objection had been quick and authoritative, causing Harry to blink as if he’d just been smacked between the eyes.

“Why?” It was a stupid question— he knew why. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of them.

“Because you’re only going to set yourself back. And even though you might not be thinking of the consequences it could have, I am, and I’m not going to let you hurt her or yourself more than you already have.”

And that’s when Harry realized that Niall knew. He’d heard the whole story.

The guilt-ridden young man had broken eye contact, looking down at his scuffed heeled boots. “You know.”

“She told me a while back.” Niall’s confirmation had hung across Harry’s shoulders like a lead jacket. “You fucked up, mate. Bad.”

A weak, remorseful, “I know.” was all he could muster.

“She knows you didn’t mean it, but I don’t know if you can come back from this, H.”

Harry repeated his previous phrase, but this time, it had been heavy with a form of undignified recognition. He was slowly coming to terms with the crushing possibility that he might never get her back.

He’d downed the last of his drink, feeling it reluctantly settle into his stomach. He had then locked gazes with Niall once again, his own conflicted and needy, which in turn caused his friend’s to mold into one of deep worry and pity.

“Will you just...Will you tell her that I love her so much. That I love her to the point where it’s pathetic. And that I’m so fucking sorry. That a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of her and that I’d give fucking anything to earn her trust again...And that I found her Sherpa jumper under the bed and washed it in case she wants it back.”

Niall had snorted lightly, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s ability to be so unintentionally pure even under the most stressful circumstances. He’d tossed an arm across the jade-eyed boy’s loaded shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was very obviously needed.

The reluctance had melted out of Harry in less than a breath, his arms wrapping around Niall’s torso, face pressing into the shorter man’s broad left shoulder. The tears he was holding back were evident in his quaking voice. “I miss her.”

Niall had remained silent for a while, not wanting to push any more boundaries.

He had made due with running his palm across the expanse of Harry’s back in soothing circles, only speaking up when he felt his mate’s tears seeping into his knitted sweater.

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah? You’re gonna get through this.”

Niall wasn’t entirely sure if his words were the truth. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for his best friend, so he comforted him to the best of his ability and prayed that whatever happened in the couple’s future would bring them closure.

Harry had gotten home that night feeling deflated and more regretful than ever. The emotional exhaustion had fused into his muscles and joints and he’d ended up collapsing on the couch, too depleted to take the walk down the corridor that led to his bedroom.

His sleep was restless and worthless, as it tended to be of late, but it beat having to sulk consciously. The pain was less sharp and his sorrows were covered in a hazy fog that somehow made everything bearable. He slept well into the afternoon and awoke with a mean kink in his neck and a dull thumping in the back of his skull— karma, obviously, for his lack of self-care and shitty drinking habits. Nothing coffee couldn’t fix.

///

As it turns out, Niall had struggled some to pass on Harry’s message to the intended party.

Y/N had been sitting on the couch when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, snuggled cozily in a Friends blanket Niall had gotten last Christmas in a game of White Elephant. She had been so focused on an episode of Master Chef that she hadn’t even heard him unlock the door.

Y/N had momentarily glanced away from her show when she saw Niall enter the living room through her peripheral vision, watching as he toed off his rusty brown Clarks boots, kicking them into the corner beside the television stand. “How was bowling?”

“It was good! Mitch beat me by two points but, frankly, I think he cheated while I went to refill my pint.”

Y/N had scoffed in amusement, taking a sip of the chamomile tea in her Mickey Mouse mug, shaking her head distractedly. “Can you even cheat in bowling?”

Niall had shrugged his navy blue peacoat of his shoulders, draping it over the backrest of the worn recliner that was perpendicular to the couch she was currently inhabiting. He’d arched his eyebrows challengingly. “Obviously there has to be a way ‘cause I never lose. And especially never to Mitch and his shitty hand-eye coordination.”

Y/N had set down her mug in the small hole created by her crossed legs, the warmth of the drink radiating through the ceramic cup and seeping through her cloud-patterned pajama pants, heating her inner thighs soothingly. Her expression had then matched up to his, brows raised tauntingly. “Or maybe you were just off your game.”

Niall had slumped into the old recliner, sighing heavily as it creaked and extended. The Irish bloke had snuggled deeper into the cushioning of the seat, absentmindedly wiggling his toes in their rainbow polka-dotted socks before giving his housemate a pointed look. “Maybe you should shut up and go back to watching random people make squash noodles.”

“Actually, it’s eggplant ravioli.”

“Actually, that sounds like arse.”

A round of bubbly laughter had belted out of Y/N and it had been contagious, the same type of giggling escaping from Niall’s lips. Then, comfortable silence had fallen over the two as they centered their attention back onto the cooking show.

Niall hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic. There was no real proper segway into conversations about exes— he didn’t want to upset Y/N with the sudden intrusion on her healing process. But he had made a promise to Harry.

Aside from the obvious negative factors, mentioning him would also give Niall insight into how she was currently feeling about the entire situation. He’d be able to accurately gauge what her emotions had resolved on the matter and therefore be able to give Harry a solid response on whether he had any chance left for reconciliation. He’d be able to confidently tell him whether hanging on was worth it or if letting go was the best choice.

Though Niall and Y/N had been living together for almost two months, she hadn’t started opening up to him fully about the breakup until three weeks in. And even with the whole story laid out bare for him to examine, Y/N shared very little of her mending path with him until they were five weeks in. For a while, her version of “opening up” was simply telling him what had occurred and he’d had to fill in the rest of the mental and emotional blanks himself.

It had not been hard to come to the conclusion that she had been feeling like utter shit right after it happened— insecurity was awfully present as well as the haunting weight of thinking she wasn’t enough. Though Harry had put those worries to rest the day they had separated, they still lingered in her subconscious, constantly poking and prodding and picking at the membrane of recovery she had developed around her heart.

Y/N had felt numb for days after she had ended things. Boiling anger had created a buffer for the pain that was dwelling just under the surface and it had powered her for about three weeks. Then, at four in the morning on a random Thursday, her real emotions had burst through the fine cracks that had been webbing themselves into that unstable wall of rage.

She’d had a dream about him that was actually a memory. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the scene as it had been one of many alike— they had been cuddling on the couch. But for some reason, it cracked something inside her.

It had been scarily vivid to the point where she could feel the ridges of Harry’s finger pads tenderly passing over the skin of her exposed arm as she had laid between his legs, her head nestled into his strong chest, ear drums thumping with the sound of his relaxed heartbeat. She could feel his breathing, pectoral muscles rising and falling with penetrating inhales that had fallen into rhythm with her own. There had been faint movement above her and a sudden warmth had erupted across her forehead, his lips flushing caringly between her brows. The heated glow had washed down her temples and nose like syrup, vignetting her mind with a feathery, sleepy haze. It dripped over her tingling cheeks and buzzing ears, running down her neck and infusing into her chest, calming her from the inside out. He had whispered something unintelligible against her skin, his deep voice warbled as if he was talking underwater. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, the mellow, pleasant tone of his voice was enough to lull her. She had never felt happier, more fulfilled, and more at peace than at that moment.

Harry had always been the one factor that could drown out the static of her troubles with the simplest caress of his touch. He could make any problem sink away just by cupping her jaw and thumbing over her cheekbones. Could make the end of the world creak to a stop just by knitting his mouth to her’s. Could melt away any obstacle by brushing his palm over the dip of her spine. He had always been there, and at the time, it had felt like he always would be. Through that assured remedy of relief, she had been able to live her life one step at a time, bracing even the worst moments with a clear mind and strengthened energy, all because he stood behind her— with his warm hands and consoling aura— every inch of the way.

Y/N didn’t have that anymore and though she pushed it down and claimed it didn’t phase her, she was falling apart inside.

It was only a matter of time before it came rushing out all at once.

She had jerked awake from the dream as if she’d been stabbed, face wet with tears, her pillowcase dampened to the point where she would have to replace it. The breakdown that followed hadn’t included any screaming or slamming or stomping; it had been quiet and concise, much like Harry’s on the day she had left.

She’d laid on her side, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees to her chest, drawing into her body as if it could keep all of her feelings from spilling out. Heavy tears had swelled her already bloodshot eyes, her entire face stinging as fresh sheens of water washed down the dried saltiness of the ones prior. Her nose had run so badly she’d had to resort to using an old t-shirt as a tissue. The sounds that had escaped her were low and broken— cracked, stuttery whimpers with no real words behind them. The noises were just another outlet for the aching to seep out; her eyes just weren’t enough.

Her back had hunched over as she constricted into herself even further, burying her face into her sopping pillow, feeling hot tears soak into the saturated fabric. She could barely breathe that way and it helped calm her down some— no air meant no sobbing. No sobbing meant she was on the way to picking the pieces back up to put herself together again.

It took her awhile to come to her bearings. Her body had stopped shaking but the tears didn’t seem to want to go away. It irritated her that she couldn’t control this— she hated not being able to do anything other than just drown in it.

Without meaning to, she had released a gut-wrenching growl of frustration that tapered off into another round of heart-breaking sobbing. Her stomach throbbed, the pain so deep it was almost palpable.

Y/N had hoped the pillow would muffle it enough not to wake Niall, unaware that he was already up. He’d awoken on his own, making a trip to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He’d been sipping at it slowly, mind still stuck in a meaningless dream, when the sudden noise had echoed down the hall that led to Y/N’s room.

Niall rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, irises grey with sleep. He had blinked a few times, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass down carefully onto the marble counter, trying to limit any sound interference as his ears strained to listen for any more crying. He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t imagining it in a half-unconscious stupor.

But no, it was very much real. If he focused enough, he could just barely hear the soft sobbing coming from his friend’s bedroom. He had a good guess on what it was about.

He’d stood still for a moment, mulling over what he should do. His first instinct had been to go in and comfort her, but with more thought, he wondered if it would be better not to meddle in her grieving out of respect for her privacy. He knows that if he were crying over a bad breakup, he’d want to be left alone. But he also knows that shouldering a burden like the one she’d faced could put anyone in a really dark place; he wasn’t just going to stand around and let her crash and burn.

Niall had wandered down the corridor attentively, footsteps light as to not startle Y/N. He’d turned to knob to the door with immense care, pushing it open with his shoulder and peeking in.

The crying had stopped abruptly, which gave away that she knew he was there. He couldn’t see much in the dark room— the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the curtains didn’t do much for the fact that he was lacking his glasses— but he could see the silhouette of Y/N’s body curled up under the duvet, trembling ever so slightly with the effort of keeping in her sobbing.

Her housemate had cleared his throat to get rid of the gravel in his dormant voice, as well as to fully alert her of his presence. His words had still come out in a raspy croak, but at least they were understandable. “You alright in here?”

Y/N had sniffled feverishly, desperate to put out a collected facade. She hated when people saw her so vulnerable without her anticipating it.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.”

Her voice had cracked near the end of her response, giving away that she wasn’t good at all. The air had been silent for a moment, then Niall’s muddled footsteps thudded against the thick carpet.

Y/N could feel him standing behind her, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, the soft scent of his ocean-scented deodorant tickling her itching nose. “Are you sure?”

There had been no response other than the comforter tightening around her frame. Her hair was splayed across her face in a wild, matted mess, keeping him from being able to read her features.

Niall had sighed heavily and then the bed had dipped with his weight, sheets shifting and springs squeaking as he settled into place beside her, swinging his legs up onto the mattress.

More silence followed, Y/N refusing to budge. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this considering he was still friends with Harry; she didn’t want to split him down the middle or force him to take care of her alongside her ex. She knew Niall too well, certain that he had been offering help to Harry, too. She’d heard him answer the array of drunken phone calls on her behalf so she wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma. She’d heard him leaving the house at unintelligible hours only to return smelling like Harry’s favorite vanilla cinnamon candle. She’d even found one of Harry’s t-shirts (which she had gotten him herself) in the laundry basket, which had probably been lent to Niall after an alcohol-related accident.

Niall was too kind for his own good— too caring. Y/N had learned a lot about him in the time they had lived together and the one characteristic that stood out more than anything was his savior complex— his default setting to provide love and assurance to anyone that needed it, no matter the stress it put on himself. She didn’t want to take unfair advantage of that.

Her friend’s voice had torn her out of her guilt trip, loaded with adamant concern. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this room until I know you’re genuinely better so stop being stubborn and let me help.”

She’d jerked suddenly when she felt his large hand coast up her back. His touch was gentle and nurturing, squeezing her shoulder expectantly. It wasn’t hard for her to let go into him.

Y/N had turned towards Niall, hand ducking out from beneath the duvet cocoon she’d swaddled herself in, moving her hair out of her splotchy face. Their eyes had locked and she’d immediately felt the remaining anguish flush out of her system.

The look on his face was so kind and protective and it made her feel safer than she had in the last couple of weeks. Even in the limited lighting, she could see his eyes were glossy with the genuine desire to help her heal, inviting her to share her problems with him, silently promising that they could shoulder the weight of it together. She didn’t have to fight this on her own.

Y/N had spent the rest of the night in Niall’s arms, crying into his chest and utterly drenching his Eagles t-shirt, though he didn’t complain once. He had kept his lips pressed to the top of her head, running his warm palm up and down her shuddering back and telling her that she shouldn’t bottle up her feelings— that it didn’t make her weak to show them, that openly sorting through them with someone else would make it less scary, and most importantly, that it was “okay not to be okay all the time.”

For the next month or so, Y/N and Niall’s heart-to-hearts had been a real breakthrough for her. All of her undealt fear and self-doubt no longer badgered her anymore— it was almost all gone. She hadn’t felt this emotionally liberated since before the split and she could feel the shards of her heart welding themselves back together, ushering her into a more healthy, serene state of mind. She was on the road to her old self again and the relief it brought was otherworldly.

It could be seen physically, too. The bags under her eyes had faded and her face carried a certain rejuvenated glow that it had lacked for weeks. Her smile and laughter were buoyant and loud again, not hindered by any inner conflict anymore whatsoever. When she went out with her friends, she didn’t find herself mentally checking out in the middle of conversations or movies or drinks like she had plenty of times before. She actively participated and engaged in events instead of just going through the motions and it felt so fucking good to get a taste of actual joy for the first time in so long. Things were looking up, and though she still had that hole in her chest that only Harry could fill, she was learning to deal with it in a beneficial and independent manner. It was okay not to be okay all the time.

///

All of these instances had scattered across Niall’s eyes, whirling around in his skull as he sat back in the old recliner, trying to decide if he should pass on Harry’s bowling alley message onto Y/N. He knew she was doing way better, but he didn’t know if hearing from Harry would break her all over again. He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want the sheer sound of his name to send her into a self-destructive spiral for the rest of her life— she had to learn to cope with him being mentioned regularly because it was bound to start happening again. People couldn’t walk on eggshells around both of them forever.

And Niall also needed to know where she stood on her relationship to the British boy— whether she was willing to give it another shot or whether it was best to tell Harry to move on completely. They were adults, after all, so questions needed to be answered and ties needed to be either tightened or severed for good.

“Harry was there.”

“I know, Niall. That’s the reason I wasn’t.”

Her tone had taken him by surprise. It had been jokeful and amused, holding no obvious resentment he could detect. It’d been a good start to the Ex Talk, if Niall had ever seen one, as long as it didn’t turn into her using humor as a deflecting mechanism.

“He asked about you.”

Y/N’s hands had tightened around her mug, crossed legs shifting her weight. She had broken away from the television screen, meeting Niall’s cautiously hesitant gaze. Her eyes had held an emotion that he couldn’t quite place— it was mostly blank, but it held a smidge of something he could only think to refer to as pained curiosity.

When she’d spoken again, it had been soft and fragile. “What’d he say?”

Niall had leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping onto his parted knees as his fingers sifted together, chin resting on his knuckles. His voice had been as cautious and hesitant as the look in his sky blue irises. “He said to tell you that he misses you and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’d do anything to earn your trust again, that a day doesn’t go by that he doesn’t think about you, and that he loves you so much ‘to the point where it’s pathetic.’ His exact words.”

Y/N had been quiet for a while afterward, the TV droning on in the background with chefs running around kitchens, cursing about food burning and incorrect ingredients. Niall hadn’t pushed her on an answer; he’d simply sat back with his hands flat across his belly, allowing her all the time she needed to process the speech.

When she finally spoke up again, her voice had been taut, strained by the heaviness of the message she’d received. “Anything else?”

Niall had intentionally left the lightest part of the conversation for the end, hoping it would provide her with some form of ease, as minimal as it would be. “Yeah, he said you left your Sherpa jumper at his place and was wondering if you wanted it back. If I were you, I’d say yes. Fleece sweaters are fuck-you-in-the-arse expensive.”

His comment had the intended affect, his heart fluttering with relief as he watched Y/N’s face break into a huge grin, eyes crinkling as airy laughter bounced all around her. Some of the tension in her body remained, but most of it had dissipated out. A fraction is better than none.

Y/N had managed to talk through her giggles. “Yeah, I think I would like my sweater back, actually.”

“Great!” Niall had clapped his hands together once, head wobbling in a jerky shake for silly emphasis. He’d pushed his palms against the armrests of the recliner, catapulting himself onto his feet and pointing at Y/N playfully. “I’ll get that sorted for you, then. Now, if you need me, I’m gonna be in my room, passed out on my bed for the next twelve hours, neck-deep in a beer coma. Feel free to check if I’m breathing every now and then, yeah? Got a dentist appointment next week that I’d hate to be dead for.”

Y/N had sat on Harry’s words for the next week or so. They hadn’t spurred her into a meltdown (as she’s sure Niall had worried they would), but they did loiter in the back of her mind, keeping her awake past appropriate hours by playing her heart strings like a violin.

There was one part of the message specifically that took up a chunk of her sleep more than the others, scattering inside her head and running along the crevices of her brain, the meaning behind it stirring the pit of her stomach into a hollowed frenzy: I love you so much to the point where it’s pathetic.

That one measly sentence carried so much baggage to unpack.

Harry’s choice of words were transparent on how he was dealing in the aftermath of the split.

Y/N knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was— it had been obvious in the way he had put her on a pedestal for the entirety of their relationship, constantly showering her with all different types of affection to let her know how much he cherished her. It ranged from the simplest gestures— like keeping her favorite chocolates stocked inside the pantry at all times— to extravagant actions— like randomly buying her an expensive necklace she’d stared at for a bit too long at the mall. He was always aware of her, always going out of his way to show her how much he loved her, and she had never felt more appreciated than when she was with him.

When it came to expressing that love verbally, Harry only ever connected it to words that carried positive connotations. Words like, “truly,” “madly,” “deeply,” “immensely,” “entirely,” and “wholeheartedly.” He wanted her to know that when he thought of her, any negativity was immediately expelled from his mind; she could always make him happy, no matter what.

This being taken into consideration, one can understand why Y/N had been utterly baffled when Niall had told her that he’d referred to his love for her as “pathetic.” It gave her insight into just how hard he was taking the breakup— hard enough to the point where he was so desperate to get her back that he felt pathetic. This told her that he loved her so much he was willing to admit that it was sad and pitiful, especially since he was a grown man, and especially because they’d been split for just over two months. That span of time is long enough for a person to at least start moving on; long enough for someone to sever themselves from that stage of hopelessly clinging to what once was and to look forward to what the future could bring.

But instead, Harry had allowed himself to regress back into a lapse of needy pining, pleading with Niall— and in public, no less— to tell her that he missed her so much it was embarrassing; that he cared for her to the extent that it was humiliating; that he loved her to the point where it was miserable. He wanted her to know that what he had done had been tearing at him nonstop since it happened, that it would likely haunt him for years to come, and that he would never forgive himself for it.

All of these confessions weren’t any different than what he had told her the day they had broken up— they were the same bullets he’d hit when he was sitting before her, teary-eyed and distressed, begging her to give him another chance. However, for a reason unbeknownst to her, they penetrated deeper this time, slamming her square in the chest like someone had punched through her ribs, squeezing her heart with their fist.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally let go of the splintering anger she’d been clutching onto from that day, which had likely blinded her from absorbing the rawness behind Harry’s apology. Maybe it was that she’d had weeks to work through all of her jumbled emotions, finally untangling herself from the bitterness that had been clouding her mind for what felt like ages. Maybe it was just the simple notion that she fucking missed him— missed him more than her pride would ever let her admit.

Missed the way his nose would scrunch up in distaste when he didn’t agree with something, the way the edges of his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, missed his boyish giggling and how it would go up in pitch when he laughed too hard. She missed the way his dimples would carve into his cheeks when he smirked, the way the little mole under the left corner of his lips would jolt with the slightest motion of his mouth, and the way his large, warm hands would feel as he would knot their fingers together, his thumb caressing over the tops of her knuckles.

Y/N missed the way her head would sink into his chest when she would hug him, his arms cradling her against his body while he played with the ends of her hair. She missed the small group of freckles at the base of his neck— missed tracing them with her lips while he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into spontaneous giggles at the feathery sensation. She missed the way he smelled, like mandarin shampoo and musky, spiced deodorant and his ocean salt cologne and that stupid fucking candle.

Y/N had remained on the fence for a few days about what to do, mentally jotting down the pros and cons of reaching out to Harry to make amends. The defining moment had been the day she’d gotten her sweater back.

///

Niall had gone out with Harry to see a movie, returning home with the Sherpa jumper hung across one of his forearms, tucked into his elbow. He’d held it out for her between his thumbs and index fingers, flapping it back and forth triumphantly, eyebrows arched with dramatic glee as a huge goofy grin buckled his cheeks. “Look at what we have here, then!”

He’d tossed it towards her on his way to the kitchen, belting out a cocky, “You’re welcome!” over his shoulder before disappearing behind the archway.

The minute Y/N had caught the hoodie in her arms, the scent hit her like a bus. It invaded her nostrils without permission, sending a sharp ache through her chest.

It was perfectly faint since Harry’s smell never tended to be overpowering— he had a very light hand when it came to cologne, well aware that too much could be agitating. That being said, the brand he used was potent even when dispensed in small amounts, so it’s salty sea aroma usually lasted through a couple of washes. He had probably nonchalantly chucked the jumper into the laundry with his clothes, which had resulted in the smell being strung through every single thread of the fabric.

Beneath the initial layer of his cologne laid the softer scent of the vanilla cinnamon candle that she knew too well. It was tender and homey, just the right ratio of sugar and spice, its cozy undercurrent enveloping her in familiarity.

It launched her into a round of fleeting flashbacks.

The fractions in time consisted of a winter day spent snuggled on the sofa under thick blankets, half-empty mugs of hot cocoa discarded on the coffee table and a Netflix show drawling on aimlessly in the background. Not a single soul had paid attention to the screen; Y/N was too busy straddling Harry’s lap, planting wet, sloppy kisses down his throat as he dangled his head over the side of the armrest, hands gripping her hips needily as she rocked against the bulge in his sweatpants, a dreamy, pleasure-drunken smile adorning his swollen lips. Low hisses and weak whimpers had resonated from deep in his chest, rolling off his tongue as his mouth had absentmindedly fallen open at the warmth growing between her thighs. Her fingers had twisted into the loose curls along the back of his skull while she’d gasped his name all breathy and whiney along the underside of his jaw, working herself against him at a desperate pace, his palms trailing underneath her pajama bottoms to grope at her ass.

Harry’s voice had been distant and echoey in the memory, but it made her cheeks sizzle nonetheless. “God, I love you so fucking much. Could spend the rest of my life between your thighs...Could spend the rest of it anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Another flashback had shuffled forward like a deck of cards. This one was of a foggy, rainy evening spent napping soundly in their bed, limbs tangled messily with their bodies half-naked, her heated lips pressed to the lulled pulse that throbbed beneath Harry’s flushed neck. His hand had been petting over her mussed up hair, mouth pressed lovingly to the ridges between her brows, smoothing them out in order to defuse whatever was troubling her in her dreams.

She’d awoken, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep, her mind partially conscious as she had taken in a long inhale, blowing it out through her nose. Harry had run the pad of his thumb over her lashes gently, helping her get rid of the blurriness that had taken her under. She had blinked up at him drowsily, a watery smile spreading her buzzing lips. Harry hadn’t said a single word and he didn’t have to— he’d just stared down at her over the tops of his lightly colored cheeks, the right edge of his mouth flicking upwards in endearment, his bright jade irises glossy with fondness. He didn’t have to say a single word because his expression silently told her everything she needed to know.

Y/N had snapped out of the memories in the blink of an eye, a sudden tickling sensation bristling down her cheeks. She’d reached up to touch her face in confusion, the tips of her fingers coming back wet, the water glinting cruelly under the dim lighting of the living room. Her brows had furrowed in objection, both at her tears and at being so abruptly yanked out of moments in her life when she had been the happiest. Her body reacted out of instinct, desperately searching for a trace of him to clasp onto, her hands fumbling to bring the flouncy material of the sweater to her nose.

She’d taken a saturated breath in, the pleasant odor hugging her trembling frame and kissing her heart. The tears had then started flowing freely across her waterline and down the bridge of her nose. They had seeped into the fleece hoodie and she’d immediately jerked back from it, not wanting the treasured item to suffer the same fate as most of her pillowcases. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her have to wash it— she refused to let the comforting aroma leave her.

Y/N spent the next three days in that jumper, only taking it off to shower. She wore it religiously, taking it to work, to the superstore when she went grocery shopping with Niall, to lunch with a friend, to a doctor's appointment she barely paid attention to, and even to bed. In the span of seventy-two hours, she had developed an addiction to the scent that was woven into the fluffy article of clothing, needing to have it around her at all times in order to function properly.

It was sad, really. It was just a smell and she knew it would eventually fade away, but she just couldn’t help herself from wanting to be wrapped in it every second of the day. It reminded her of a time in her life when everything seemed flawless— where there wasn’t a gaping hole in the center of her chest that could only be filled by the one person who had accidentally hurt her beyond compare.

Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the flood of memories that the stupid hoodie had fished out from the corner of her subconscious, where she had shoved them with the intent of never looking back. They loitered her dreams, broadcasting over the inside of her eyelids for hours on end, dissolving away when her alarm blared beside her ear, leaving her with a hollow feeling toiling at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how long she could deal with it, but her sanity was starting to wear thin, cautioning her that she had to do something or else she’d go absolutely mad.

On the night of the fourth day, Y/N finally cracked.

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It is currently 11:43 PM, meaning that in a meer seventeen minutes, it would be two months and fourteen days since the split.

Harry is laying in bed, as far away from his digital clock as possible, watching a random Christmas movie that Netflix had recommended, one hand buried in a bowl of kettle corn that he’d already refilled twice as the other holds his phone an acceptable distance above his face.

The movie is cliche, if he’s being honest; something about Santa Claus dying and passing on the torch to his dead-beat son that didn’t want it, so it ended up going to his overly-perky younger sister instead. The twist was supposed to be that a woman had never been Santa Claus, but he could see that ending coming from a mile away, what with her natural ability to get along with kids and the fact that she dressed like a literal Elf on the Shelf. It’s heart-warming in the way that all Christmas films are and it had the witty humor one would expect it to, alongside a cute furry animal sidekick that people couldn’t help falling in love with.

But it just didn’t really impress him. The message is sweet, the execution could’ve been better.

Yet, he only deemed it fair that he finish the movie. He’s already three-fourths of the way done and though the intended surprise was obvious, he might as well see it through.

In the middle of the climax scene where the young woman was putting on the Santa suit for the first time, his phone dings with a chime he hadn’t heard in too long— two months, thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-four minutes, to be exact.

Harry had been so startled he’d dropped his phone on his face.

“Ow! Fucking hell!”

He sits up in one quick, stiff motion, the hand knuckle-deep in the popcorn bowl flying up and knocking the dish upside down, the sticky kernels rolling across his disheveled duvet. The sleek black device falls into his lap, nose pulsing in pain as it had taken most of the heat, his caramel-coated hand rubbing messily along his flannel pajama pants to try and get rid of the stickiness. He then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to stifle some of the stinging, bumbling to get his smartphone into the palm of his clean hand.

The screen lights up with a text message and Harry blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it in some type of pain-induced hallucination.

But no, the message is very much real and it’s authenticity sends him into a dull stupor for a minute. He comes back to when the phone vibrates with another ring, alerting him for the second and last time that the person he wanted to talk to the most had actually reached out to him; it was in his best interest not to keep her waiting.

Y/N: Hey, are you free to talk tomorrow?

#siac #Sharing Isn’t Always Caring #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles angst #angst #harry styles fic #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb

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criminalminds4days · 3 years

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Family Matters | Chapter 10: Believer

Hello everyone!

I apologize for my lack of posting. I have barely survived midterms and I have found myself with a writers block once more. I am hopefully going to be able to give myself a little break between the end of the semester and after finals and the beginning of my summer courses. Thankfully I only have 2 summer classes so hopefully that will make it easier to post.

I have some announcements coming up soon and I will hopefully finish writing the missing chapters for this story and only have to post and edit. So far, I have not been able to edit anymore so I apologize for any grammatical error.

I really hope you are enjoying reading the story because I had a really great time writing it. Hope you have a great weekend!

I apologize for constant flashbacks but they are important to the plot, I promise!

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 10: Believer

"Very well, this seems like a good start." She said as she finished reading his confession. She moved towards the camera and turned it off, signaling that she would be taking the paper and would adhere to her part of the deal.

"What is she doing?" Spencer whispered to Emily. "Without a video confession, the written one can be considered coerced. We would be back at square one."

"There is the surveillance camera, genius."

"Of course she has a backup plan." He looked at the black camera, smiling at the knowledge.

"Now tell me, who left you, was it, mom or dad?"

"My dad." She readjusted in her seat. "How many victims did you kill total. We've found five, but it seems to me that is a low number for someone as angry as you."

"Fifteen, some of them are lost in the desert, some are by the arches, they should be found fairly soon." He shrugged and continued to look at her. "Why did he leave?"

"My mother got pregnant when she was young. It was a mistake, they didn't love each other. They married because of me, so it was only a matter of time before they broke, and break they did." She fought the urge to look back, hoping that nobody aside from Hotch would review the security tape. "Did you kill your father?"

"First one. He's in the arches, his favorite place in the world."

"Did your mom not accept his apology?"

"Well, he didn't really apologize until I had a gun to his head, but my mother was always kind, so she forgave him."

"Why did you kill him then?"

"I didn't forgive him." He winked at her. "Did you look for him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"That's your fourth question."

"I don't care, I want to know."

"He is dead. As dead as can be." She said out loud for the first time. "I hired a private investigator and found he crashed his car two years after he left us."

"Karma is a bitch."

"Why keep killing if you got rid of him?"

"For the same reason, you joined the FBI." He smiled at her, "to show my dad that he wasn't gonna dictate my life. That I was not going to let him be my end goal."

"It seems to me he is. You tracked him down, killed him. For some that might be enough. But you never got closure so you decided to pray on people who made mistakes. Where did you find them?"

"I worked at a counselors office."

"Well, that is rather obvious now. Maybe you should have gotten some help yourself." She stood, ready to leave the room, "hope you enjoy prison." She turned to exit the room.

"My final question, if you had found him, what would you have said?"

"I don't know." She responded.

"Bullshit."

"Well, I couldn't ask him why he left because I already know that, so I don't really know what I would have said." She turned to him, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him trousers weren't his thing." He stood, the handcuffs falling from his hands as his smile grew wider. "You should really be more careful with what you leave laying here, doctor."She reached for her gun but everything happened so fast she had no time to fire it. He seemed to run into the wall, only this one was not as hard as it seemed and a giant chunk collapsed as he made his way through, and just like that he had exited the station. Prentiss and Reid rushed in and through the now giant hole in the station but the man was nowhere to be found. Lucas Heavensbee had just vanished on her watch.

"Fuck!" She yelled and made her way to the office, the team was now making their way to the interrogation room but stopped in their tracks as they saw her approach. "I need access to the security cameras, now." She moved towards the security office and asked for the feed of the last couple of weeks to be played, there she found there were about three days missing. "He planned this, and someone helped him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard played us!" She rushed out and into an SUV, driving directly to his house that was now under surveillance. She looked around, looking for anything that would indicate he had been there. It was fast to spot it, he had managed to slide through the police cars and left a note for her.

I just wanted to make sure you knew this had nothing to do with you doctor, but I simply can't let my father win. I am sure we will hear from each other, and then we can converse from one orphan to another. Until then.

She was ready to show the note to them, as Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid made their way through the house. The note was still crumpled in her hand, but as the local police entered she decided against it. The two agents were the best people she had ever met, she knew it since the moment she joined the FBI, and she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the whole situation, but there were some things she couldn't get past. This man had killed fifteen people and kidnapped so many more and he had slipped right through her fingers. He had made a fool of her, and she would be damned if she didn't catch him. Telling Emily and Spencer would worry them, and they would be on her case about it becoming an obsession, just like she had done after their first case.

One year ago (I think?)

Her leg bounced as she drove with the social worker and two of her co-workers. This was her first big assignment, and she wasn't sure she would measure up. It was also important to note that while Emily and she tended to get along well, Spencer and she hadn't spoken almost at all since the sweater incident.

"Should I introduce you as FBI agents?"

"No, I think it's best if we come as social workers, there is less hostility." Prentiss' said as she gave both Reid and her their fake badges. She placed her FBI ID inside her bag and took a deep breath, it was a simple mission, they would be in and out.

Never, and I mean never, say something will be easy, as this almost assures you that is not the case. The social worker, whose name was Daisy, had been shot and was now dead. They had become trapped in the middle of a war between the cult leaders and the local police. It's as if the universe wished to remind her just how much bad luck she could have.

She heard them talking to the FBI, and food had been delivered so she assumed they had implanted microphones. Now they had to find a way to communicate with them and let them know what they had concluded.

"Which one of you is it?" The man said as he pointed a gun at them.

"Are we playing tag?" She asked stupidly, earning a glare from her partners.

"Do you think this is a joke? Which one of you is the FBI agent?" She turned to look at the woman and man, trying her hardest not to freak out.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous.

"I will ask you one more time, and if none of you tell me I will not hesitate to shoot all three of you. Which one is the FBI agent?"

She saw Emily stir and knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save her. "I am." She said before either of them could stop her. "I'm the FBI agent. Though I'm fairly new so I don't really have that many secrets to tell. I was barely cleared to be on the field. If you really think about it, I'm not very helpful, so I think maybe if you let it slide I could-" she felt a fist connect with her right cheekbone, silencing her.

"Take her to the back." He instructed one of the men. She gave one last reassuring glance to her teammates, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw them.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the door to the room she was in opened and Ben came in. You would think that having a name like Benjamin wouldn't exactly command respect, but she wasn't one to judge cults.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told your men to lock me here." He slapped her across the face.

"Who sent you?"

"My boss?" Her response was received with another slap.

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"I think that you need to feel powerful because a part of you knows you're not enough." She spoke hoping her team could hear part of their discovery, even if she was receiving punches from the man as she continued. "You think you can get away with stuff because you prayed on the week, but deep down you know that there are people here who could stand up to you, and if they did you would be done for." She felt a warm liquid fall from her lips as he continued to beat her. "I know you pray on young girls. You're nothing more than a pedophile that uses the bible as a way to manipulate women to give their children to you." As she fell he started kicking her and she tried to avoid making noise, but the pain was too much. "This is nothing, I've dealt with worse." She spoke, hoping they would understand. "I've dealt with much worse, this is nothing."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man said, enraged at her defiance.

"Nobody, just the one person that knows you better than you know yourself." That earned her the hardest hit, and she knew she wouldn't be conscious for much longer, she had to let them know. "Your suicide won't work, there are people that are skeptical and you know it. This isn't about God, or even your preferences, this is about you Ben, and how you are so terrified to go back to prison you are willing to kill your followers to avoid it, because you know they would see right through your act, you are nothing but a coward." The last kick took place and the man left the room. "Don't change the plan, I'm okay." She whispered, hoping they could hear her, wishing that even if she died right then and there, they could save the people trapped in this church.

When she woke, a woman was there tending her wounds. "Be careful, I think you might have some broken ribs."

"Don't tell Ben, he might come and finish me off" she joked, but the woman gave her a pointed look as if letting her know that was a possibility. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of hours. They will come and get you for the ceremony, use you as an example."

"That's okay, I've always wanted to be one of those."

"This is not a joke girl, he's dangerous."

"I know. The trick is to have nothing to lose."

"Well, I have a daughter."

"Ben's wife, right?" The woman flinched at the mention. "You're not okay with that, are you?" And then, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "You made the call, didn't you?" Before the woman could confirm her suspicion, a man entered and pulled her up, not worrying if her body ached, and took her to the church. She used the door frame to help her stabilize herself and took in the sight before her. It was still light, but with the time she lost she couldn't be sure how much time they actually had left. Emily and her locked eyes and she approached, her eyes full of worry, but her facial expression was one of pure anger and hatred. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?"

"How could you lie to us?" She asked, and as the men made their way to the front, her tone didn't change, but her questions did. "Are you crazy? Why would you do such a stupid thing? They could have killed you."

"I know, but it was either me or all three of us. Besides, I'm fine. We need you and Reid on the inside."

"This is reckless behavior."

"I know, but you were about to do the same."

"I have experience."

"Exactly, I can be a scapegoat."

"You are the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"I know, it's a gift. Now listen, I think there are mics, in the food, and if I'm right, I think I have been able to feed some information to the team, but we need to figure out when this massive suicide will take place."

Emily nodded and gave her an apologetic look before shoving her harshly. She fought the urge not to wince but it was almost impossible with her broken ribs. "You are a disgrace to this country, and I hope whoever you work for knows that they will not get away with it."

Ben looked over and stared at her, and despite her pain and the fear of another beating, she stared him down, letting him know that he would not get the best of her. She was gonna save as many people as possible and he could suck it. He was just another man who thought they were invisible because they weren't afraid to beat you up.

Spencer observed the interaction and the defiance she had amazed him. Despite the bruises and the swelling of her eye, not once did she lower her gaze or show any sign of weakness. Never in his life had he felt so attracted to someone as he did right then and there, but now was not the time to daydream of your coworkers, especially when they could be on the verge of dying.

As the day progressed, she continued to look for ways to tell the team, finally resorting to using the window to write a message. When she was younger she used to huff into a window to create fog and used it to write, so she did the same, letting the team know she could possibly convince some people to exit and they could come in after.

"What are you doing?" The woman from earlier spoke as she entered the room.

"If I'm gonna die, I might as well go doing something I like. Fog drawings." She said and covered her work. "Listen, don't ask me how I know this, but the FBI might strike tonight and if they do, he's not gonna cooperate, we need to get as many people as possible out."

"No, I can't do that."

"Please, I know you're scared, I'm terrified right now. I might have peed my pants earlier today, but that's not the point. The point is we need to save as many people as possible. Please help me get them out." Through the window she saw a figure, holding three fingers up. She nodded and turned back to the woman.

"Three a.m.?"

"You saw him too?"

"Yeah, one would think the FBI would be a little more discrete."

"We have our moments. Now please, make sure to get everyone out before then." The woman sighed and nodded, agreeing to the plan. "And one more thing, the people I came with, how are they?"

"Are they also agents?"

"No, of course not. I just dragged them into this and feel responsible for them. They are good people."

"The man seems to be fascinated by Ben, and vice versa. The woman keeps pacing around as if hoping for enlightenment. She has talked to some people though."

"Okay good. Please make sure to get them out too." After she left and closed the door, the woman sat down, her injuries making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where I am, or how to get out, but that will not change the plans okay? I need to make sure all these people are safe."

She wished she could hear someone ensuring her that would be the case, but there was no answer. She felt herself get dizzy and knew there was definitely internal damage that would take time to heal. Turns out her mother was wrong, money couldn't get you out of everything. It felt like an eternity, but she knew the time was approaching. She saw and more and more dark figures gathered around the church. She even caught a glimpse of Derek, who seemed to be looking around, as if hoping he could find her. She huffed one last time and wrote a message to him.

The door opened and nobody came in. She knew what it meant, so she gathered her remaining strength and walked out. Everything was dark and she could hear Spencer's voice coming from the main room. She followed it and stopped as she noticed him trying to talk a man down from placing explosives. She cursed under her breath. She stepped forward only to be pulled back by someone.

"Don't even think about it." The man said.

"Derek, we need to help him."

"I know, I'll go, join the rest. Everyone is already out."

"But-"

"Go!" She began walking out before it all happened. Reid ran towards them and Derek pulled the both of them to the nearest and hopefully safest area before a sharp pain on her head made her vision blurry and soon after she lost consciousness.

"I think she will appreciate it if you showered." She heard someone say, once she finally regained consciousness.

"Well, then she can tell me that herself." Another voice responded.

"Emily, you and Spencer have been here for a week. You need to go to the hotel and rest. At least the kid has been using the shower."

"I am not leaving until she wakes up. That includes leaving to bathe."

"Neither am I." A third voice added to the mix. "Though I can't say the same thing about avoiding water."

"How am I supposed to leave if I can't trust the two of you to take care of yourselves?"

"Easy, your flight leaves in less than an hour and you are still here. Unless you want to be paying fees you will get out of here."

There was a sigh of resignation before the voice spoke once more. "Reid, you're in charge until she wakes up. Then she's in charge."

"You're gonna put the one of us that was hit in the head 'in charge'? What does that even mean?" The female voice complained.

"I have made my decision. Maybe if you showered, things would be different." The voice faded, and the steps of the person became less clear, so she assumed the person was leaving.

"I think Morgan is right, you should take a shower."

"Don't make me hurt you, Reid."

"It was just a suggestion."

She didn't want to interrupt their banter, but her urge to sneeze was bigger, so she let her body do its thing. Though it is important to let you know that sneezing with broken ribs is horrible.

"She's awake!" Emily screamed and launched herself onto the bed. She started crying from pain after the action. "You're so happy you're crying!"

"Prentiss, that might be because you just jumped on her ribs." The man clarified as he stood, placing his hand on hers. The feeling was foreign, but she could let it slide once.

"I am so sorry! But I am so happy you're awake."

"What happened?"

"After the explosion, you hit your head, and because you already had injuries your body gave out, exhausted. Thankfully the ambulance was already there and we could rush you to the hospital. You've been sleeping for a good week." He explained.

"Well, then I don't get a lazy day for another three months." She joked and the two joined her. "How are the believers?"

"They're all safe and accounted for. Sadly we lost Ben's wife."

"Does her mom know?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to tell you she doesn't blame you and hopes you do get better." There was a moment of silence, as she processed the message, as well as her guilt.

"And I want you to know I ate your Jell-O." This caused her to laugh again. No matter how painful it felt, she was glad to be alive.

"Remind me to never get stuck in a hospital under the care of Spencer Reid. He'll eat my Jell-O."

"Let's make it a no trip to the hospital policy."

"Do I need to remind you where we work?" The woman shook her head, and both of them looked at her with a heartwarming smile. "I hate to break this moment, but please go shower, Prentiss."

"Ugh, fine." She placed a kiss on her forehead and moved out. "Reid, if anything happens, call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Got it."

She walked out and the two remained silent for a couple of minutes. Their hands were still together and she squeezed it to get his attention. "How are you doing? I wasn't the only one that got caught in the blast."

"I'm good. Morgan and I barely had a scratch, they cleared us that same day."

"That's good. What about the rest of the team?"

"They are all good. They wanted to stay but they had another case, Hotch said your family was out of reach so Emily and I refused to leave. Morgan also stayed behind but they called him up today, without three agents they needed all the help they could get."

"You guys didn't need to stay." She assured him. His grip on her hand tightened, enough to let her know he wasn't letting go, but not enough to hurt her.

"You could've died. Because of me."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I should've said I was the agent."

"We both know the reason he didn't kill me was that I'm a woman. You wouldn't have been so lucky."

"Still."

"Reid, listen to me. This is not your fault, and this is not Emily's fault either. I knew what I was getting into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are one stubborn woman."

"I know." She smiled at him, "now please go find me some Jell-O."

He laughed, but nodded, letting go of her hand. Just before he exited the room he turned and gave her the most endearing look she had ever seen, "thank you, for saving our lives. I'll never forget that."

"Good, that way I can ask for favors at any time." They both chuckled and he left the room hunting for the dessert.

The reality in her brain, however, was not as calm as she portrayed. For months she had obsessed over what she had done wrong, and she had spent sleepless nights thanks to her recurring nightmare, in which Ben didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and as she watched Spencer and Emily's bodies lie in a pool of blood. This alone was enough to make her train and perfect her skills, to the point of complete exhaustion. She wasn't going to fail, not again.

That was until Lucas Heavensbee had brought her right back to her dark hole.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n #Criminal Minds #CM #fanfic

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The Temptations Of Hope

Cole angrily paced around his room as the clock struck twelve. The only lights in the room were the moonlight reflecting off the untouched, white snow and the purple flame coming from the now almost completely melted red candle. His instincts warned him not to feel for Kai. Life was so much simpler before he came along, before Cole and the others dared to hope. Cole sighed tiredly as he slumped into a torn-up armchair. He had thought Kai was the one.

He didn't know why he continued to torment himself.

His eyes fell on the candle and an enraged growl bubbled in his throat. That was the symbol of his curse, and it needed to be destroyed and end these adolescent notions of love and redemption. It would end all of his pain forever. Cole growled and raised his arm to smash the weakening flame. Just as he was about to destroy it, a couple of cinders flew from the flame. Cole watched as it landed next to the gift, which Kai left for Cole next to the bed.

The prince's eyes widened in shock, recognizing the small, nice handwriting on the gift's little label.

The hybrid carefully picked up the lovely wrapped gift as if it was made of glass. He quickly ripped off the wrapping paper and was surprised to see it was a book Kai had written just for him. Without really thinking about it, Cole sat back down and started reading the story Kai had made. The incredibly detailed story inside talked about an enchanted castle and how the master seemed as cold as winter. His cries echoed through the stone wall of the castle, and though he was surrounded by servants, he was all alone.

It went on to say that thanks to that simple act of kindness, he knew someone cared.

Even though he didn't read much, even before he was cursed, Cole knew this was an amazing story. It ends it all off, Kai wrote about how that time of year was spent exchanging humble gifts, but the greatest gift that anyone received was the gift of hope. As Cole finished the book and put it down, he contemplated what the book meant by hope. Once he had hope that was hope to break the spell. But as the years passed, that hope had started to fade until it was almost nonexistent.

That is until Kai suddenly forced his way into his life and that hope burned brightly for the first time since he was first cursed.

Then Kai tried to leave the castle, despite his promise, and almost drowned in a freezing lake. It wasn't just the fact that Kai left, but also that he almost lost his life again because Cole wasn't there to protect him. Despite his anger, Cole still loved and cared deeply for Kai. He didn't want to see the teen get hurt and if that meant he had to lock Kai in a cell then so be it. It was probably the safest place for Kai since Cole was certain that he had just blown any chance with the brunette and any hope of breaking this curse.

As soon as that thought entered his mind, however, his mother's voices echoed through his very soul.

She used to say that regardless of how desperate things may seem, remember, people could always have hope. All of a sudden, Cole realized his idiocy and what he had done to Kai in his blinding anger. He promised himself there and then that he would do his best job to find the perfect way to beg for Kai's forgiveness if the begging wasn't enough in itself. He knew it was going to be hard, but he was ready for that. With that in mind, Cole stood up from his chair and bolted out of the room towards the dungeons.

He failed to see the enraged shadow made of dark magic scowling at his retreating form.

This was not part of his plan...

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

He growled in rage as he watched the dragon prince flee to attempt to make up with Kai through his purple crystal ball. Despite all Cole had done, he knew that the brunette loved the hybrid and would forgive him. The man snarled as he ran his hand through his raven hair, pacing around as he tried to find a way to stop this from happening. He stared out of the small, empty window of his hideout in the ghost town of Kilmarnock hundreds of miles from any civilization.

What was once a wide avenue that led to Kilmarnock was unrecognizable as nature had begun reclaiming the now unused area.

The crisp and clean-looking town now looked more like a jungle as trees and gardens grew beyond their now unkempt boundaries. Many doors had collapsed as the rot was eating away their edges. The open doorways that were once perhaps very welcoming were now an eerie and unwelcoming sight. Broken cars and rusty pieces of metal littered some of the larger driveways, stripped from all but their most useless parts. Kilmarnock, once rich with life, hopes, dreams, and aspirations was now partially reclaimed by nature.

The sounds of insects, winds, and creaking wood of trees which were once drowned out by the sounds of people had returned as the dominant sounds once more.

The clock tower was somehow still rich with sounds, but it wasn't its bells and gears as those had stopped working a long time ago. It was a flock of crows that had made this once great pillar their new home. No matter how you looked at it this town was an eerie sight to behold. Lives forgotten, perhaps completely ruined and there was barely anything to show for it. But even though everything may seem like it was lost forever there was still a silver lining.

While this town was no longer home to the families that lived here, it was now home to families of wild animals.

The enchanted candle would flicker out any day now, and Kai had yet to proclaim his love for Cole. He couldn't afford for Cole to suddenly find the key to ending his curse and everyone's suffering. He saw red as he thought about what this could mean for his revenge when Kai and Cole made things up and confessed their love for each other. The prince got the one he loves and his curse would be broken, and then it was a happy ending for everyone.

The enchantment will be lifted, and that stuck-up brat and his family's suffering would fade into the background.

He refused to let them get off that easily. He used his magic to set the cauldron bubbling and boiling and opened his spellbook. He flipped through a dozen pages until he finally found exactly what he was looking for. He ran around his hovel, searching for the needed ingredients. These included red and white rose petals, pearly white swan and dove feathers, maple leaves, and a bright red apple. He threw them all into the black cauldron and the liquid inside turned a stunning crimson red.

"I call the darkness unto me, from deepest depths of earth and sea, from ancient evils unawoken, break that what can not be broken." He chanted loudly before grabbing another set of ingredients. These included a dead raven, a red poppy, blood of a black cat, and a human skull. "To blackest night I pledge my soul I crush my heart to burning coal, to summon forth a deathly power, to see my hatred foe devoured!" He bellowed and suddenly a blast of black smoke shot out of the cauldron.

It filled the room in a matter of seconds before it shot out the window like a bolt of lighting.

He cackled loudly as he watched the dark magic travel straight to Cole's castle, standing out against the white fluffy clouds like blood on a white wedding dress. They couldn't fall in love if they were dead...

#The Flame and the Dragon #ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #lavashipping #beauty and the beast

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

Show me your rage || Satan x MC - Obey Me!

summary: in which MC can only express anger by crying and Satan is really confused. He doesn’t like her crying, so he finds another way for her to express her anger. // fluff, just a tiny bit of angst

a/n: Yes, my friends, I have jumped on the Shall We Date: Obey Me! bandwagon. Satan is so perfect I want to cry.

...

“It’s so fucking unfair!”

Satan didn’t know what to do. Five minutes ago, you had walked in your bedroom saying you had just lost your job over someone else’s mistake. You sat on the edge of your shared bed while he stood in front of you. You had started crying not so long after that, so he wasn’t sure he got the whole story correctly, but apparently they had promised you you would be signing your new contract by the end of the week and now, you wouldn’t. He really did want to understand the whole story, but he couldn’t get what you were saying. It sounded like you were blabbering nonsense while you cried.

At first, Satan felt enraged because who the fuck had the nerve to make you upset, but then he felt some sort of joy. In all your time together he had never seen you truly enraged so he was curious as exactly how you would react. Being the Avatar of Wrath and having fallen in love with someone who never seemed to get really angry had to come to an end, eventually.

Before his curiosity could go any further, you started crying.

“You’re angry” he sentenced, a little doubtful. You looked up, wiping the tears on your cheek.

“Yes, I’m fucking angry, I need that job” you said, resentful. “How can you even ask if I’m angry, Satan, you’re not dense--”

“But you’re crying” he continued, arching his right eyebrow. “Why are you crying if you’re angry?”

“I don’t know!” you explained and started crying even more. “I cry when I’m angry, Satan. That’s just how I am, fucking hell, leave me alone”.

He had grown accustomed to your swearing, so it doesn’t startle him as much as it did before. He took a few steps and sat beside you on the bed. Tentatively, he put a hand on your shoulder. You put your hand over it and removed it, which made Satan’s chest clench painfully, but he soon realized you were intertwining your fingers with his. You scooted closed and rested your head on his shoulder, hands still holding, still sobbing. He noticed your body trembling with each whimper and he didn’t know what he could do to make it better.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go break something?” Satan offered.

A loud laugh escaped from your mouth. He looked down at you and saw as you lifted your head, cheeks wet with tears but you were laughing now and even though that is way better, he can’t wrap his little demon head around the fact one minute ago you were crying profusely.

“I’m okay, love. I really am”. The use of the nickname make him feel calmer about upsetting you before. “This is just me, I-- I cry when I’m angry. I’m not broken or anything” you explained, giggling a little and wiping your face with your hands. Satan offered you a handkerchief and you accepted it, taking care in cleaning your face without ruining your makeup.

“Maybe you should at least try it. It is proven it could help in this situation. Follow me” Satan said, standing up and taking your hand. You left the handkerchief on the bed and followed him to the kitchen. He started looking for something and after a few moments, he seemed to find it.

He put the cardboard box on the kitchen table and grinned mischievously at you. You couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“You were so waiting for this, weren’t you?” you teased him. Now following him to the backyard. It was really small, you usually used it during those sunny days to read a little, each one of you in your own summer recliner.

Satan shoved the recliners aside and also your beloved potted plants. You loved how he was so excited about this idea. Even if it didn’t do anything to your anger, sharing this moment was definitely lifting your spirits.

When he was done, Satan opened the box he had carried from the kitchen and took out a black and red ceramic mug. He stood beside you and took a long look at the object in his hands.

“You really hated Lucifer’s gift, right?”

“I don’t like red, I like green” he clarified. “He did it on purpose. So now, we’re going to put it to good use” he smirked. “Cover up!” he warned, before throwing the mug. It crashed a few meters away, when it hit the back wall.

Satan sighed, pleased with himself. He took another mug from the box and handed it to you.

“I swear. You’re going to love this” he said. You pursed your lips, doubtful. “Just think about that dickhead of a boss you had”.

Your anger came back and before warning Satan, you threw the mug with all your strength to the back wall, where it crashed in a lot of pieces. You were surprised at how relieved you suddenly felt. Breaking that mug -even though you didn’t really dislike it- had made you feel really good. You turned your head to look at Satan, who was watching you, expectantly. You smirked at him.

“C’mon, hand me another one”

A few minutes later, you were both throwing Lucifer’s mugs against the wall, covering your faces and laughing at how much fun you were having. It was really good Lucifer had given you twelve of those mugs as a housewarming gift. Satan handed to the last mug and you kissed his cheek. You broke the last one and grinned, feeling immensely better than before.

“So?” he asked, taking a couple steps towards you.

“Okay, you were right. That was actually helpful. But I feel so exhilarated right now! Hasn’t anyone given us any more ugly gifts?”

Satan chuckled.

“I’ll have to look. You do look cute right now, as excited as you are”. His words made your cheeks burn even brighter than they were. He noticed it and smirked, closing the distance between the both of you. You felt his lips on yours, in a soft with loving kiss. Your fast-beating heart due to the breaking of the mugs was fluttering at your lover’s ministrations.

“You know...” you said, once you had a chance to take a breath. He hummed, waiting for your response. “All this adrenaline could be put to better use” you teased, kissing the edge of his mouth.

It was now his turn for this cheeks to go deep red, but one second later, he was grabbing the back of your thighs and holding you up. You wrapped your legs around Satan’s waist for support, while he made his way to your bedroom. You giggled and hid your head on the crook of his neck, wondering if maybe today was going to be a good day after all. It seemed that while you shared your life with that man, he could turn upside down every bad moment you had.

#obey me #shall we date #obey me satan #satan x mc #satan #obey me headcanon #obey me hc

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silverflintdaily · 4 years

Photo

Silverflint Summer Challenge - All the prompts so far!

Challenge details:

Prompts Any kind of prompt is fair game as long as they include Silverflint. OT3 and OT4 ships like Silverflinthamilton are fine too. You can submit as many prompts as you like. All prompts will be anonymous and can be submitted through the form linked below.

Fills You can create any kind of fanwork for this, fic, art, edits, videos etc. Prompts won’t be assigned or claimed so you can make things for multiple prompts and each prompt can have multiple fills.

Schedule Submit prompts and work on fills May 1 through June 22. Posting week is June 23rd to 30th, more details will be posted later.

Submit prompts here:

HTTPS://FORMS.GLE/LMGMVAYUHRAFZCVW6

art above is a commission from @laskapsy

Full list of prompts as of 5/25/20 below.

Ships/characters in bold

Max, Anne, Silver, and Flint They all go to burning man

Silverflint Instagram drama: Silver has crush on Flint, following with each other, Silver shove his love on Flint and Flint's uncomfortable. Flint unfollowed him one day and Silver was devastated and disappeared from Instagram. Flint found out through friends and he must seek him before Silver did something stupid.

Silverflint Truth or dare

Silverflint Canon era, one (or both) accidently calling the other one pet names

Silverflint (+sort of Flinthamilton) Silver asking Flint, while having sex, to tell him about his sex with Thomas (in detail). I think canon era, placed after 310, would be better but it's up to writer.

Silverflinthamilton + ? summer vacation modern au - maybe they go somewhere warm (or not, as Flint burns so easily), maybe they meet some beautiful men there

Silverflint post canon era reunion fic - fighting to kissing. they start out almost trying to kill one another

Silverflint modern au - after a meet rude during the coronavirus lockdown they both can't stop thinking about that handsome idiot they met. One of them tracks the other down online to apologize. how do they spend the endless weeks of shelter in place?

Silverflint canon era - A small happy celebration with just the two of them.

Silverflintmiranda canon era - Miranda survives the shot, convalesces with Silver

Silverflint modern au where either Silver or Flint has an ASMR channel (or they both have) and they secretly love listening to the other. Could be distant pining or enemies to lovers etc.

Silverflint (+Hamilton[s]) tarzan au (you can choose who is on the island and who arrives there). Lord Thomas Hamilton and/or Miranda can also be included.

Silverflintmadi "My name is (Long) John Silver. And I've got a long fucking memory [loss]."

Silverflintmadi canon era. They go on a picnic and it starts to rain. Fluff or otherwise good times would be nice!

Silverflint Flint is a cockslut and hasn't had cock in ages. Silver is happy (and really fucking astonished) to present his for the taking. happens before Silver loses his leg, canon era.

Silverflint Modern au with 'there is only one bed' trope and mutual pining. Silver is Flint's long suffering sassy PA who's been hiding a crush on his boss and friend forever.He has been successful so far. One day he has to accompany Flint on a business trip to let's say Bahamas?! and there was a booking mistake - there were booked into a honeymoon suite. And since there is a summer festival there is no chance to get another room. Things happen!

Silverflint, Silverflinthamilton 7 years after their escape from Savannah plantation, James and Thomas are living a quiet, happily ever after life - money and jewels they grabbed on their way out were enough for decades of comfortable life which they now had. And almost everything was perfect-they had each other, got to know each other again,accepted each others' demons and learned to handle each others' nightmares and guilt. Flint long ago told Thomas about Silver and with time forgave, but didn't forget him. After all Flint's heart was broken on Skeleton Island and both him and Thomas knew deep inside he still loved John Silver. They talked about Silver-about the feelings Flint used to hide, about the pain and forgiveness and about love that didn't had a happy ending. It was fine, discussing it all together, sharing these stories-past is in the past and that chapter of Flint's life will remain there. Until one day the past refused to remain in the past and John Silver showed up on their doorstep, injured, delirious and looking for his own forgiveness.

Silverflint/Silverflinthamilton Post canon S4: John Silver is no longer Long John Silver. Exiled from Madi and Maroon Island, he brought himself to somewhere nearby Savannah and disappeared. James Flint and Thomas Hamilton escaped from plantation, bought house and live happily together. 3 years later, Flint saw John Silver at tavern. But John Silver doesn't remember him. Turns out he lost memories due sickness and always forget who he was everyday. Will Flint able bring John Silver's memory back and reconcile?

Silverflint, Silverflinthamilton Modern AU silverflint - Flint and Thomas are a happily married couple and Silver and Flint are bffs with a long history. But the thing is-Silver has been crushing on Flint forever and his pining is epic. He is also sure he is clever and no one figured it out. Only both Thomas and Flint did a while ago and Flint is determined to make Silver confess his feelings. He has turned Silver's life into a living hell with his seduction techniques and jeans so tight they should be illegal in public. Meanwhile Thomas is having too much fun watching them two and making his own plans for their shared future together.

Silverflint John Silver is 30 year old virgin and has never had a relationship and sex. Max and Jack decided to set him up with date at local bar. John Silver's first date was James Flint, a loner and his last partner left him for indifference opinion. James Flint is working as cattle farmer (?) and their date went well. Except.. they are not rushing to have sex and taking time to know each other. There were lot confusion and miscommunication between them on next date. Will John Silver able to lose his virgin and will James Flint make first step to ask John Silver as his boyfriend? First kiss, first touch, sexting, first sex and hot smut.

Silverflint smut ficlet to go with finnguala's fabulous art

Silverflint post canon - old pirates having a day at the beach

Silverflint Flint is distracted by Silver's big hands.

Silverflint Modern au: Flint found Silver's missing childhood's photo at Silver's grandparent's house. He told Silver about it and gave compliment on him ("you were cute as kid and I noticed how baby earsie you were and your smile was beautiful") and Silver keep blush for non stop teasing. And then sweet, hot summer sex on bed ;)

Silverflinthamilton pornstars au

Silverflinthamilton After reunion. Thomas is trying to seduce Silver with a new, especially tight, pair of trousers.

Silverflint Canon era. S1-S2 After an accident on the Walrus Silver and Flint end up being able to read each others thoughts. How does that end up going for them?

Silverflint + Miranda just some porn where miranda is pegging one of them while the other watches them fall apart. canon or modern era, it doesn't really matter.

Silverflint Two idiots with mutual pining and obliviousness. Others try to help but it may not go so well at first.

Silverflint canon era. After a really great haul the Walrus has a rum soaked celebration. The next morning Silver and Flint wake up together in the captain's bed with no clothes.

Silverflinthamilton After reunion. Silver finally appears on their doorstep, later they are talking over their dinner but something goes wrong and Silver and Flint start to fight. Thomas is trying to calm and separate them but Flint accidentally punches him instead of Silver.

Silverflint Persuasion AU. An unmarried Silver encounters his former love Captain James Flint after he returns from battle.

Silverflint competing reality cooking show contestants

Silverflint Silver and Flint have met before many years ago and even spent the night together. Now for reasons (there was a lot of rum that night, they're both different people, memory loss etc.) neither of them remember. One of them has a nagging feeling when Silver joins the Walrus crew but one of them remembers nothing yet.

Silverflint One of them needs to be restrained and dominated to truly let go. Writer's choice who and what era.

Silverflint Silver threatens to shave his head

Silverflint/Silverflinthamilton (probably?)Post canon S4 and Treasure Island: Captain Flint's ghost decided to haunt John Silver for revenge. However, Long John Silver was disappeared to nowhere. Fast forward for this year, Long John Silver's great great grandson, John Silver bought property in Bristol. One day, he was haunted by ghost Captain Flint. Ghost Captain Flint wants revenge but ended up falling in love sweet, poor John Silver's due social anxiety. Will they make up for loss done by his late ancestor? Happy ending for everyone. All depend on writer's idea!

Silverflint AU Canon divergence during season 4. Madi really dies in episode 7; Thomas Hamilton is not found in Savannah. The war goes on, bolstered by an enraged Silver, fueled by the Urca gold. During this time of violence and grief, Flint and Silver become all each other has left in the world.

Silverflint Sometimes one of them will keep the other on the edge for as long as he can stand. There is lots and lots of begging and pleading. There could be fingering and rimming and toys...

Silverflinthamilton Reunion fic where John finds James and Thomas in their home x nbr of years after s4, then realises he knows Thomas because they spent a month living together in Paris some years before Thomas met James and having a blast. John recognises Thomas who doesn't recognise him until John shows a tattoo/mark placed somewhere there is no misunderstanding of why he recognises that part of him (because he's seen john naked). Develops into threesome or twosome where the last person joins in later.

Silverflint tentacles

SilverFlint / MadiSilverFlintHamilton Post s4 Thomas and Flint are living together after escaping the plantation. Madi and Silver who are still together come to visit them. SilverFlint have palpable sexual/romantic tension and Madi and Thomas conspire to push them together. Afterwards when the tension is resolved Silver and Flint realize it was planned by their significant others all along and invite them into bed and the four of them have some fun

Silverflint When drunk, Flint behaves like Toby Stephens’ Prince John in BBC Robin Hood.

Silverflint (hamilton) Annihilation Au

Silverflint Canon-compliant up til 4.06. When the Spanish attacks Nassau, Silver is the one who is thought to be dead and later revealed to have been captured (instead of Madi). Rogers tries to use to Silver to cause a rift between Madi and Flint, thinking that Madi will trade the treasure for Silver's life while Flint will not. To everyone's surprise, the opposite happens. Madi refuses to trade the treasure while Flint will stop at nothing to get Silver back.

Silverflint firefighter au: silver keeps accidentally triggering the fire alarm while trying to improve his cooking (an actual fire may or may not be involved) and flint is the ridiculously attractive firefighter who has to deal with it

Silverflint vigilante au: they're both vigilantes watching over the same area and have a bit of a rivalry going on until they have to team up to take down a new threat.

Silverflint modern au (amnesia): silver wakes up with amnesia and forgets that he was dating flint before the accident. as far as he remembers, they can't stand each other, and he doesn't understand why flint shows up at the hospital and seems genuinely worried about him. (roles could be reversed--author's choice).

#Silverflint Summer Challenge #Silverflint #prompts #Black Sails #fanworks challenge

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paralleljulieverse · 5 years

Photo

“One day I’ll be famous. I’ll be proper and prim...”

Sixty years ago, more or less to the week, the famed Italian painter Pietro Annigoni unveiled his latest masterwork: ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ (1959).

At the time, Annigoni was the most celebrated portraitist in the world. His dreamily romantic 1954-55 oil of Queen Elizabeth II catapulted the hitherto little known Italian painter to international fame (Wynne-Morgan: 17). Almost overnight, Annigoni became "the most sought-after portrait painter of the decade” (Shearer: 4) attracting a glittering line-up of celebrity subjects including Princess Margaret, Prince Philip, the Duchess of Devonshire, the Shah and Empress of Iran, the Maharani Gayatri Devi of Jaipur and Margot Fonteyn. His services were so in demand that he reportedly “had to refuse thousands of commissions –– 90 out of every 100 ––as the queues of VIPs waiting to be immortalised stretched around the world” (Turner: 8).

It was against this backdrop that Julie Andrews’s longtime manager, Charles ‘Uncle Charlie’ Tucker, approached Annigoni in 1958 with an invitation to paint his client who was riding triumphant at the time as the star of My Fair Lady. Tucker made the approach via a mutual friend –– Max Farber, an American newspaper editor and PR man who handled publicity for Annigoni’s first US exhibition in 1957 (Randolph: 6) –– which no doubt helped seal the deal (”Surprise”: 7). In his memoirs, Annigoni (1977) recalls:

Although I hardly knew who Julie Andrews was then, I agreed, but nearly a year went by before I was able to start the portrait. On the day I arrived in London, the manager Charles Tucker, took me to see the show and to meet the young actress. I was pleasurably surprised by both and decided there and then to paint her in the costume and character of Eliza Doolittle, the show’s Cockney flowergirl (121).

The meeting of these two disparate celebrities –– the serious, gruff Continental painter and the trilling English Rose –– was the stuff of PR dreams and it drew considerable media attention. “There’s no need to say she is very pretty,” Annigoni is reported to have remarked as he sized up his subject in her backstage dressing-room, “But I expect I shall need some 30 sittings before I am satisfied” (”Surprise”: 7).

In the end, Julie went to sit for the artist at his Chelsea studio exactly 28 times between April and June 1959 (Rydon: 5). Following these sessions, Annigoni would continue to work on the painting for hours, often late into the night. Ever the perfectionist, he even arranged for a copy of Julie’s flower-girl costume to be sent over from Drury Lane and worn by a model so he could hone the finishing touches (ibid.).

Throughout the more than two month period of the portrait’s production, Julie continued to perform in My Fair Lady, as well as prepare for her wedding to Tony Walton in mid-May. It was a pressured schedule that inevitably led to the odd timing mishap, a source of great irritation to the exacting Annigoni. When, on one occasion, Julie arrived at his studio more than twenty minutes late, the artist was so enraged he refused to answer the door, necessitating a diplomatic flurry of contrite telephone calls to smooth his ruffled ego (Andrews: 258; Annigoni: 121). “He was an arrogant man,” Julie recounts, “the epitome of the temperamental artist” who “demanded total dedication and punctuality” (Andrews: 258).

For all his irascibility, Annigoni in his memoirs looked back fondly on Julie as “a very sweet girl” (Annigoni: 121). He was especially grateful when, after complaining of a pain in his right arm, Julie arranged for a special house call from Tony Walton’s doctor-father who diagnosed “a cracked humerus” and “treated it successfully” (122). Annigoni was, by all accounts, equally pleased with the portrait itself, quietly considering it to be one of his finer works (Rydon: 5).

Once the commission was complete and the portrait delivered, the enterprising Tucker set about negotiating the sale of reproduction rights to select newspaper and magazine outlets. It was a canny move that not only helped recoup much of the initial £2000 commission fee but ensured optimal publicity for both the portrait and its star (Annigoni: 122). Images of the painting were carried in the international press as far away as Australia (“Annigoni’s Fair Lady”: 122). In October, Tucker licensed Woman’s Own –– a high-circulation magazine that had previously published several stories on Annigoni –– to run a lavish full-colour centrefold “presentation copy” of the portrait (”Star Feature”: 29-31). This special issue was strategically timed to coincide with the PR lead-up to Julie’s four-part BBC TV series in November/December 1959, the first episode of which featured Annigoni as a celebrity guest (Cottrell: 126). Tucker also floated plans –– ultimately unrealised, alas –– for future portraits of Julie as Guinevere in Camelot and “all the different characters of every show she has been in” (Private Correspondence to Max Farber, 21 April 1959; see also “’My Fair Lady’ Star”: 4).

As with much of Annigoni’s work during this period, the Julie Andrews portrait was well received by the public and middlebrow commentators –– “a breathtaking canvas” (Rydon: 7); “surely will rank...in the future with the famous ‘Mona Lisa’" (Cartmel: 16) –– but it proved far less pleasing to ‘serious’ art critics. Indeed, for the most part, the arts intelligentsia of the day took a pretty dim view of Annigoni. The artist’s predilection for representational classicism, coupled with his vocal opposition to then fashionable traditions of abstract modernism, made him an "isolated anachronism” in the post-war arts scene and a frequent target of critical scorn (Turner: 8). Many critics dismissed Annigoni as little more than a technically-accomplished draughtsman, a “purveyor of Old Masterish pastiche” (Rogers: 96).

When the Julie Andrews portrait was shown at the annual Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in 1960, many reviews were openly derisive. “I suppose it has a faded Victorian charm,” sniffed The Observer (Clutton-Brock: 19). “Signor Pietro Annigoni’s Julie Andrews in My Fair Lady...belong[s] in every fibre to the times and dull skill of late Victoriana,” echoed the Daily Mail (Jeannerat 1960: 7). While The Stage huffed: “With his oil of Julie Andrews in My Fair Lady, Pietro Annigoni could not have been more conventional and unexciting if he had tried with all his might” (”Not Much”: 21).

The intervening passage of time and the resurgence of interest in figurative portraiture has afforded a less jaundiced view of Annigoni and his place in art history. Following the artist’s death in 1988, his work was subject to a growing critical reassessment that saw him redeemed as an important figure of twentieth-century ‘classical realism’ (Lack: 50-59). A 1995 feature-length documentary mounted a passionate defence of Annigoni as “a prolific and complex artist...a philosopher with the skill to capture a person’s soul” (Bond and Smith). Major retrospectives of his work have since been held around the world and in 2008 a dedicated Annigoni museum was inaugurated in the artist’s native Florence.

It is a context that encourages renewed consideration of Annigoni’s portrait of Julie Andrews as a serious artwork. Pace knee-jerk dismissals of it as mere decorative Victoriana, close reading reveals that, beyond the attractive veneer –– what one critic sneeringly termed “the prettiness of the chocolate-box” (Jeannerat 1961: 3) –– lies a work of considerable intelligence and interpretive depth. For all his technical realism, Annigoni approached the practice of portrait painting as effectively that of an expressive character-study. “I have always painted to please myself,” he declared, “and interpret the sitter as I see and understand [them]” (Shearer: 4). A good portrait needs to be accurate but also communicative, he believed, an expression of character and moral quality beyond the mere impression of outward appearance. It’s an approach that orients his portraits to structural and conceptual duplexity: “he captures the soul of beautiful women...but he also catches the deeper side” (Sullivan: 92).

Here, it is worth recalling the ‘official’ title of Annigoni’s portrait of Julie: ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ (Jackson: 84). It suggests that, far from a simple depiction of a single physical subject, the portrait is in fact a complex study of plural subjects. It ‘portrays’ Julie Andrews –– in technically consummate, if idealised, likeness –– but in the guise of Eliza Doolittle, a celebrated character as reimagined in a contemporary hit musical. There are thus three interacting spheres or layers of representation in the work: real person, fictional character, and theatrical role. Looking at the portrait, the observer’s mind moves inexorably between all three, posing an interpretive conundrum: are we looking at an actress in character or a character as realised by an actress?

Taking the idea of layering further, the portrait, like much of Annigoni’s work, is quite literally a work of layers. As part of his commitment to traditionalism, Annigoni was noted for his exacting use of Quattrocento production techniques. Chief among these was the practice of tempera grassa whereby an artwork is painstakingly created on a chalk-gessoed panel through composite layers of pigment mixed with a binding agent, typically egg and oil, interspersed with coats of lacquer (Cookson: 43ff). It is a labour-intensive form of stratified image-construction that lends Annigoni’s paintings their characteristic luminosity with dynamic hues and complex interplay of shadows and light. It also enhances their disarming trompe l’oeuil effect where minutely detailed realism –– limpid eyes, flesh flushed with sanguine warmth, textured fabric–– and precise geometric perspectivalism combine to simulate a sense of perceptual depth that draws the eye in and across the painting’s spatial field and its various objects (Hoopes: 21).

Annigoni’s portrait work is equally characterised by a parallel layering of compositional form. Much like his Renaissance masters, the artist typically sets his subjects in and against a background rich with symbolic import. His celebrated 1954-55 painting of the Queen, for example, was as famous for its romantic depiction of the young monarch resplendent in her ceremonial robes as for the fact that she appears Diana-like towering triumphant over a sylvan English landscape at misty dawn, gazing into “the light of...a new Elizabethan age” (Wynne-Morgan: 17).

In the case of the Julie Andrews portrait, Annigoni chose to depict his subject against a backdrop of peeling theatre posters. Such was the importance of this background to Annigoni’s vision that he reportedly scoured London to obtain historical playbills from the very date Shaw’s original production of Pygmalion, the source text for My Fair Lady, opened at His Majesty’s Theatre on April 11, 1914 (Rydon: 5). Cracked and peeling in burnished hues of faded gold and green, the backdrop is clearly redolent of age and historical memory. In fact, the curled strips of paper look not unlike autumn leaves falling with the passage of time. Combined with the work’s classical style and bronzed patina, it strikes a decided note of wistful, even melancholic, longing. But what redeems the endeavour from being a simple exercise in sentimental nostalgia –– a common criticism of Annigoni’s work –– is that this elegiac reference to times-gone-by sits within a broader frame of markedly mixed temporalities.

In a way that neatly parallels the painting’s fusion of representational levels mentioned above, the portrait conjoins past, present and future in convoluted, and ultimately irresolvable, ways. Out of the golden past of Edwardian theatrical history, Shaw’s Eliza –– herself a resurrection of the ancient Greek figure of Galatea –– is reborn anew in My Fair Lady, the contemporary hit show of the painting’s ‘present’ in the late-1950s. That she is embodied here in the form of Julie Andrews, a then-tender 23-year old on the cusp of global superstardom, adds additional layers of futurity to the mix –– as does the fact that Annigoni chose to paint Julie in Eliza’s early flower-girl guise where she is still dreaming of an as-yet-unknown “loverly” tomorrow.*

The multi-levelled temporality of the portrait was not lost on commentators at the time of the painting’s unveiling:

Annigoni has painted Julie Andrews, who created the leading musical ‘My Fair Lady’ but it is Shaw’s eternal Eliza (46 years old next year––the first performance was in April 1914) who shines through...The portrait was commissioned by Miss Andrews’ manager, Mr Charles Tucker. The woebegone waif, clutching her purse shawl, with her melting mouth and a tear n her cheek, will hand in house. Until he dies. He has willed the portrait to Miss Andrews, a legacy of her first fame (“Annigoni’s ‘Fair Lady’”: 122).

This 1959 prediction as to the ‘future’ of the portrait was close to the spirit, if not quite the letter, of what transpired. After hanging for many years in Tucker’s London office, the painting was eventually put up for auction at Sotheby’s in late-1975 where it generated considerable interest (Hickey: 9).* Following spirited bidding, the painting sold at fall of hammer to an anonymous bidder for £7000 (£60,000 in inflation adjusted prices) (Jackson: 84; Walker: 11). The bidder was subsequently revealed to be a proxy advocating on behalf of Blake Edwards who had bought the portrait as a gift for his wife. So, in the end, ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ came back full circle to its subject who, in her own words, is “thrilled to own it and it hangs in my home” (Andrews: 258).

Notes:

* Some commentators have pointed out that the portrait contains another coincidental allusion to the star’s future as one of the playbills glimpsed in the background appears to spell out the half-hidden words: The Sound of... “How prophetic!” notes Julie (Andrews: 258).

** Several sources, including Annigoni himself (1977: 122), state that the painting was put up for sale by Tucker’s widow after his death. The Sotheby’s catalogue does indeed list “Mrs Charles L. Tucker” as the lot consignor but Tucker was still alive in 1975––he passed four years later in 1979––so his wife’s name was possibly used for taxation purposes (”Obituary”: 6). In her memoir, Julie alludes to the fact that she and Tucker had a gradual professional alienation which resulted in a change of management sometime in the mid-60s (Andrews: 221). She also mentions apropos the auction that: “I heard that Charlie asked whether [the portrait was being bought] on my behalf, and he seemed happy when the fact was confirmed” (Andrews: 258).

Sources:

Andrews, Julie. Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008.

Annigoni, Pietro and Wright, Robin. An Artist’s Life. London: W.H. Allen, 1977.

“Annigoni’s Fair Lady.” The Sydney Morning Herald. 11 October 1959: 122.

Bond, Richard and Smith, Stephen. Annigoni: Portrait of an Artist [DVD], Italy/Canada: Artatak/Rainbow Films, 1994.

Cartmel, Frank B. “Splendid.” Daily Express. 1 October 1959: 16.

Clutton-Brock, Alan. “New Non-Conformists.” The Observer. 1 May 1960:18-19.

Cookson, Dawn. Painting with Annigoni: A Halcyon Decade as a Student in Florence 1958-68. London : Unicorn Press, 2000.

Cottrell, John. Julie Andrews: The Story of a Star. London: Arthur Barker, 1968.

“Fair Deal.” The Guardian. 13 November 1975: 6.

Hickey, William. “Under the Hammer: Annigoni’s Fair Lady.” Daily Express. 29 October 1975: 9.

Hoopes, Donelson F. Pietro Annigoni: A Retrospective Exhibition. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 1969.

Jackson, Anne, ed. Art at Auction, The Year at Sotheby Park Bernet, 1975-1976. New York: Rizzoli, 1976.

Jeannerat, Pierre. “Christ at Cookham...the Epitaph of Genius.” Daily Mail. 29 April 1960: 7.

_________. “Just Chocolate (Annigoni flavour) Likenesses.” Daily Mail. 26 April 1961: 3

Lack, Richard. "Classical Realism: The Other Twentieth Century," Utne Reader. July /August 1989: 50-59.

Laws, Frederick. “Annigoni’s 1961 Old Masters So Depressing.” Daily Herald. 26 April 1961: 39.

McIlhany, Sterling. “Pietro Annigoni: Contemporary Florentine Master.” American Artist. 36: 359, June 1972: 24-30.

“’My Fair Lady’ Star Seen as Fairest of Them All.” The Age. 18 November 1959: 4.

“Not Much at the Academy.” The Stage. 5 May 1960: 21.

“Obituary: Charles L. Tucker Dies; Impressario [sic].” Hartford Courant. 14 May 1979: 6.

Randolph, Nancy. “Chit-Chat.” Daily News. 11 December 1957: 6.

Rogers, Malcolm. From Elizabeth I to Elizabeth II: Master Drawings from the National Portrait Gallery. London: Art Services International, 1993.

Shearer, Lloyd. “The Ladies Love His Portraits.” Parade. 5 January 1958: 4.

“Star Feature: Annigoni’s Portrait of Julie Andrews.” Woman’s Own. 3 October 1959: 29-31.

Sullivan, Robert. “Pietro Paints the Queen.” Daily News. 5 June 1955: 92.

“Surprise for Julie: Annigoni arrives to paint her.” Daily Express. 16 April 1959:

Turner, Francesca. “Annigoni: Isolated Anachronism.” Evening Post. 9 May 1977: 8.

Walker, John. “Meet...Understated Superstar.” Observer Magazine. 6 June 1976: 10-11.

Welles, John. “Meet Julie Andrews: Understated Superstar.” The Observer Magazine. 6 June 1976:

Wynne-Morgan, David. “Painter of the Queen: Annigoni, a Dazzling Story of Success.” The Age Literary Supplement. 15 December 1956: 17.

Zeri, Federico. Italian Paintings: Florentine School: A Catalogue of the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York: MMA, 1971.

#julie andrews #Pietro Annigoni #My Fair Lady #eliza doolittle #portrait #artist #charles tucker #musical theatre #west end #Broadway #1959 #art #painting

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edgeofmyniall · 5 years

Text

five

The vase, full of wildflowers, sat in the vase on Rachel’s desk two days after her date with Niall. They had been delivered during her planning period when no student was around. When she walked up to the front office, the secretary couldn’t stop smiling at her.

Rachel grabbed the flowers and headed back to her classroom fully aware of how hot her cheeks were. When she thought it was safe, she read the card. She knew who these were from.

“Since you don’t have a vase…” There was no name but under the near penmanship was a drawing of the lightning bolt and Harry Potter glasses that Niall had done his best with.

It was three weeks since their date, and Niall had spent any free time he could watching the Harry Potter movies. It’s better than not really knowing about them at all, right? If that was something Rach liked, he’d want to at least hold a good conversation about it. He took the sorting hat quiz thing and found out he’s a Hufflepuff. Researching the house online, he thought the quiz must be broke because he’s more brave than anything. He’d face his worst nightmare years ago. I wonder what House Rach is in, Niall thought and then he realized that ever since they kissed, he was to referring to her as Rach instead of Rachel.

He had grown attached to her. The texting back and forth, the phone calls that went well into the morning, the companionship he so longed for- through it all, even if it was a short amount of time, he had grown fond of Rachel. He wanted to spend more time with her.

But his heart hurt as he longed for Rachel. Was he doing an injustice to Isabella? It almost felt like he was cheating on her- almost. What would his kids think? How would they handle it? Would they hate him for moving on? Especially with a teacher? How could he do this to his family? He wanted to know.

So on a Friday night, it made it clear that the twins needed to be free so that they could have family night. Sitting around their triangle table, Niall laid out the board of Monopoly as his nerves got the best of him. Mags and Mack looked on as Niall placed the car onto the start square.

“It’s been a while since we had family night. Figured we’d spend some time together.” Niall said as he shuffled the deck of cards.

“We’d have more time if you weren’t gone all the time,” Mags snapped as she slammed Alice down. Mack looked at his sister as he contemplated reaching for a game piece. “Saw your note on Miss Miles’ flowers.”

“Wait, dad’s been sneaking out with Miss Miles? Your teacher with the big a-“ Niall cut his eyes to his youngest before the word ass slipped out of his mouth. “Astronomical sense of literature.” Mack cleared his throat. “So Miss Miles could be our new mom?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious...yet.” Hearing her dad say those words cut Mags deep. She sat up quickly scooting the bench back before throwing her face piece at the wall. She stomped up the stairs before locking herself in her room. Niall looked at Mack before walking up the stairs to his daughter’s room. He knocked gently.

“Mags?” His daughter, who nearly always was the first answer him before he even got his sentence out didn’t speak a word. She didn’t come to the door, so Niall knocked a little harder. “Maggie? I want to talk to you. Please open the door.” He wiggled the door knob, but it didn’t budge.

Nothing. Now, Niall felt enraged. Who was Maggie to lock the door in his house? With Mack it was one thing. That kind of thing happened often enough that Niall had the drill handy to unscrew the door from the frame, but Mags? She would have never done this in a million years. It shocked Niall to the point that he was dumbfounded.

“Maggie Ryann Horan, open this door right now or I will take it down myself. One.”

Niall found himself standing in front of Maggie’s door with his hands on his hips, waiting for her to shuffle around to unlock her bedroom door.

“Two.” I swear to God Maggie if you don’t open this door…” Niall thought as he ran his hands through his hair. “I just want to talk.”

“Go away,” Mags’ voice trembled. Niall knew Mags was upset, but for what? Because he started dating again? It had been thirteen years- Niall wanted to be happy again. “Maggie…” Niall’s voice pleaded, “Talk to me.”

“GO TALK TO YOUR NEW GIRLFRIEND. IT’S NOT LIKE YOU CARE ABOUT MOM ANYMORE.” A thud came from the other side of the door as if Mags had thrown something at the barrier between daughter and father. “Fuck,” Mags whispered softly, stifling her crying.

“That’s it. I’m going to get the drill, and take down this damn door.” Niall walks away from the cream door, huffing out “God damn teenagers. I swear, they think they own the fuckin’ world,” when the click of the lock from Maggie’s door stops him in his tracks. She had unlocked the door when Niall had stepped away from the door well. Niall turned around and stood in front of the still closed door. He sighed, shaking his anger away- Mags need someone to talk to, not someone who was going to yell at her. He turns the knob and lets go of the cool metal. The door turns to expose a tear stained face of his daughter on her knees hovering over a broken framed picture of her mother. Maggie had thrown the picture of the young woman at the door when she was yelling at her father.

“I broke… I broke it,” Maggie cried as she picked up the photo through the jagged pieces of glass. Niall squatted down and took his daughter’s hands in his. The photo of the Isabella laid on the white carpet next to the broken metal frame and glass. “I...I got so angry. I’m so sorry Daddy, I don’t know-”

“Shhh, it’s alright. Just the vessel that broke. Let’s look here, okay?” Niall brushes the wet brown hair out of Mags’ face before kissing her temple. Niall pulls the picture out of the rubble and hands it to his daughter with no scarring. “See, there, Mom’s okay. We can get another frame, okay?” Mags shakes her head and begins to cry harder. Niall sits down on the carpeted floor and pulls his first born in his arms. “What’s going on with you?”

“I just,” Maggie goes quiet before speaking again, “I don’t know,” she whispers looking down at the palm of her hands.

“You got to talk to me so we can work this out. Is it because I’m dating?” Niall asked, his voice calm and soothing, which was far from what he was feeling. He was a nervous wreck. He had expected something like this out of Mack, but not Mags.

“Why do you have to date? Wasn’t mom enough?” Mags asked as she looked up with tear filled eyes to her father. Her cheeks and the tender parts of her eyes were blochted red- something she had inherited from her mother.

“Well…” Niall began. Mags laid her head on Niall’s shoulder, sniffling as she listened on. “your mom will always be enough. She’s the love of my life, but ever since she’s been gone, I felt empty. There’s this hole that has been made empty since Mom died. And I thought if I didn’t look at it- didn’t even acknowledge it, it would go away. But it didn’t, it kept getting bigger.

I kept myself from drowning with my grief by raising you two.”

“And by helping people in town?”

“That too. It kept me too busy to grieve. It’s basically like I forgot that the whole was there. Until I met Rachel. She was the one who is filling that hole for me.”

“But don’t you miss mom?”

“Every damn day. It hurts like hell some days, but I’ve grown used to it.”

“Miss Miles, she seems nice.”

“She’s very fond of you. Told me that she wanted to send your writings off.”

Mags listened to Niall with open ears. She still very much wished that she had known her mom, how she laughed and smelled- the stories her dad told her do no justice.

“She doesn’t want to be your mom. Rachel knows that you have one. We’re just seeing where things could go. You’ll always have a mom, you understand that, right?” Mags nods her head. The two of them sat there in silence until Mack yelled out that the game needed to start.

“Can she come over one night? For game night?” Mags asked before she walked out the door. Niall smiled as he scooped up the broken glass.

“Of course, baby girl.”

---

Niall sat in his office at Horan Building, LLC going over paperwork for upcoming projects when there was a knock on his door. Tommy, the high schooler who worked part time, was standing in the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Niall looked up from his desk and asked, “Who is it?”

“Some lady. She wanted to speak with you.”

“Alright, tell her I’ll be out in a minute.” Niall straighten his hair and pressed down his gray polo with golden embroidered Horan Building, LLC on the right side of the chest with his palms before standing up and making his way to his awaiting guest. It was half past four when he entered the front of the store only to find Rachel staring at the wall of plywood behind the counter.

“My my what a surprise,” Niall said catching Niall’s attention. He wrapped his arms around Rachel’s waist and hugged her tightly. He kissed her on the cheek, making her blush slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see where the famous Niall Horan works at, catch you on your turf. Show me around?” The couple began walking down each aisle as Niall tells Rachel all about the tools they import from across the country. He found his arm hung over her waist as he talked about how he built a rocking chair that he uses to this day. It was one of the first things he built.

“Well, the real reason why I came by today…” “Was to see my sexy face, I knew it.” Niall winked as they walked back up to the front. Rachel gently shoved Niall’s shoulder before speaking again.

“One I want to renovate my kitchen. I don’t really like it. It’s too cluttered for me. Know any good handymen?”

“I may know a few…” Niall smirked.

“And I also was informed that this coming up Friday I was expected at your house for game night.” Rachel smiled.

“Mags is persistent. Shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“Guessing you told her?”

“Yeah, I think she’s coming around to the idea of me dating.”

“Dating? I thought I was showing around an old fart.” Niall’s laughed boomed through the store.

“Yeah, that too.”

Rachel kissed Niall, a sweet and tender peck on the lips before squeezing his hand, “I’ll be there at seven.”

As Rachel turns to leave, Niall grabs her hand, “Wanna come to the Halloween Carnival with us?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

In that moment, Niall felt whole again.

#niall #niall horan #niall fic #niall horan fic #niall fanfic #niall horan fanfic #niall imagine #niall horan imagine #niall au #niall horan au #the tide #1dff #let me know what you think #dad! niall

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bitch4vanya · 5 years

Text

Indestructible (Klaus x Reader x Vanya)

Ep 3. Extra Ordinary

Warning: Mention of drugs (cocaine/weed are abused in this series), Swearing, Pretty gay, Female POV but can be easily changed if needed, SPOILERS, it follows the same story line as the show so there’s a ton, gore

Word Count: 1.6k+

You and Vanya had broken up a year before when you saw her book in the stores. The jolt in your heart was extreme and left you shocked in the middle of the sidewalk for a second. Obviously you rushed in and bought it and started reading immediately on your walk to the record store.

Disappointingly, there was absolutely nothing about you.

After seeing the video of Reginald's death, you were unfazed. It was totally obvious that he’d killed himself. And you thought that that was the general consensus so you, admittedly, spaced out. Switching between Vanya, who was listening intently, and Klaus, half paying attention. How you managed to have feelings for a quarter of the academy was… If anything inconvenient. Your attention was drawn back, however, when Grace was brought up.

“Well if her hardware's degrading then- we need to turn her off.” Luther stated, making your jaw drop from your position next to a pillar by Hargreeves’ bar.

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait she’s not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet she feels things, I've seen it!”

“She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father die!”

“I’m with Luther,” Allison butted in. Making you roll your eyes as Klaus passed you to lean against the pillar next to you. You both exchanged a look of exasperation.

“Surprise surprise.” Diego mocked.

“Shut up,” Allison sneered. All eyes were on Vanya as she stumbled over her words for a second.

“Yeah she shouldn’t get a vote.”

“Alright well,” You were about to defend her when she finally spoke up.

“I was gonna say that I agree with you.”

“Okay, she gets a vote.” Diego smirks, “What about you stoner boy, whatta you got?”

“Oh, so what? You need my help now-well get outta the van Klaus, well welcome back to the van,” He answered, mocking Luther, making you snicker, which naturally filled him with a sense of accomplishment and made his heart flutter.

“What van?” Allison asked.

“What’s it gonna be, Klaus.” Luther changed the subject.

“I’m with Diego because screw you! And if Ben were here, he’d agree with me.” He hissed at the space next to you, making you giggle, assuming Ben’s presence. Diego pointed at you, happy with his majority of votes.

“No, no. She actually doesn’t get a vote.” Luther growled, making you gasp, Diego brushed him off encouraging your vote.

“So she’s losing her mind, I lost mine ages ago.” You say shrugging, making Diego pump a fist in the air.

“So whats that four to two.” Diego smirked holding the ratio on his fingers.

“It’s not final yet.” Allison pushed.

“What?”

“Five’s not here.” Klaus sighed, patting your shoulder before exiting. You followed but parted ways to see your old room.

Sadly it wasn’t much better than your current home. Small and cramped. But posters lined every inch of the previously bare and boring walls. And the small bits that couldn't be covered had been painted with the nail polish that had been such a connecting force for you and the siblings. Whether it was bonding with Allison, joking around with Klaus and Ben, or getting to know Vanya.

You two had such a strong connection. She was warm and sweet and vulnerable and beautiful. You wished she knew that. You had your first kiss in that room. With her, when you two were sixteen. She left months later, leaving you to chase after her.

You brushed your suddenly teary eyes, holding a light blue bottle in your hands, remembering her favorite color. You closed the door behind you and placed the bottle back in the basket under your bed. You turned and take a look at yourself in the mirror that was lazily leaning against the dresser and the wall. It had fallen once during an... incident. And you never bothered to put it back up. You looked different, so different from your once open and bubbly self.

You brushed some hair behind your ear and went through some of your old books, it had been years since you’d been there and weirdly it wasn’t full of awful memories like everywhere else in the house.

Gun shots from upstairs take your mind off the books immediately. You ran, automatically searching for Vanya seeing as she was basically helpless against anything dangerous. You rush the living room where you see a man with a blue bear mask corner her.

A bubbling rage soars through your veins and you shake your head desperately trying to get control. You step in front of her eyes glowing yellow. The man steps back, shocked at your agility and appearance. You turn to Vanya and your nerves calmed, as they always did when you looked at her. You shook your head again and your eyes returned to their natural color.

“Run, hide, tell Klaus if you see him.” You whisper, she nods and you pounce on the prick the moment she turn the corner. You take his gun and completely tear it to shreds as you blank into your enraged form.

When you settle down the masked intruder is long gone and exhaustion over took you. You pulled yourself together and raced into the hallway to search for him. He meets you there and slams a heave spiked morning star into your lower half. Your intestines revolt against the metal and you crouch to the floor as wave after wave of pain sears through you.

“God, that hurts like a bitch, man,” You groan removing and swaying the bloody weapon back to him. You stand, to his shock and from the holes in your shirts he sees your organs heal and the muscles and skin tissue recombine in your abdomen Your eyes glow again and a shot rings out as you collapse back on the ground. Blood streaming from your forehead.

You were fifteen and had been at the academy for a couple of days, getting used to the swing of things. All you knew it that you were part of the 43. At fourteen you had been hit by a bus when riding your bike in the busy streets of New York. Your mother's heart was shattered, sobbing over your unconscious body. You were awake and completely healed by the time the paramedics had arrived.

Your mother decided it was best to at least see Dr. Hargreeves for your new found power. He was… As thrilled as a sociopathic alien could be. You decide to stay for the summer.

So here you were chatting with your new friends and gushing over a certain quiet girl in the corner who was basically begging for attention. Your attention was elsewhere now as you were discussing your powers with Klaus.

“That’s awful.” You frown. He shrugged, insisting it wasn’t a big deal, trying to impress the new pretty girl as was his brother and sisters. Luther was uninterested and annoyed, distrustful of you, and Ben gushed over you, though you couldn’t see him. Five had been gone for years.

“Number Eight,” A commanding voice echoed from his lab.

“Ooh, I have a number now,” You smirk, swaying back to the old man after getting a laugh from Klaus, who was genuinely worried for your safely.

“Sit in the chair,” Reginald instructed back to you and preparing your notes. You did as instructed and were strapped into the device. “Starting with 3 mA.” He started, having Grace pull a lever. An aggressive shock ran through your body. You yelped clenching the arms of the chair.

“What the hell?” You cried when the shocks stopped, Reginald ignored you taking a note.

“10 mA.” He mumbled. Your body convulsed with the current making you scream and your arms to twitch involuntarily.

After 30 mAs you were gasping for breath and coughing your lungs out. All very common reactions to the amount of electricity your body was receiving.

“2000 mAs.” Hargreeves announced, excitedly? You roared at the shock, your heart stomped uncontrollably and your breath aching in your throat. Your arms and fingers clenching. Fianlly you lied still.

In an almost panic Hargreeves stood, Grace’s hands shook as she looked at your unconscious, lifeless body.

After fifteen minutes you awoke, gasping for air but otherwise physically fine.

“Marvelous,” He muttered writing every second down.

Diego walked in to you passed out on Grace’s lap. “She’ll just be another hour or so.” Your head wound had scarred over and your breathing was slow as your body healed itself. Diego sighed staring at his beloved mother with regret and disappointment.

“Mom did you hear anything that was happened down there?” He begged. She didn’t answer, she just continued to stroke your locks out of your face. Diego’s eyes traveled to your exposed arms at the scars from the treatment you had received as a child. They were the only things that ever remained. No matter what injury. Just scars. “Let me take her, mom.” He sighed picking you up with ease and setting you on the couch in the living room before returning to his caregiver.

You wake up in Diego’s lap he stared at one of the animal heads on the wall deep in thought. You shot up, surprising him. “Where’s Klaus?” You asks, your gut screaming at you that something was wrong.

“I don’t know I haven’t seen him since this morning,” You stumbled upstairs. “(Y/N) come back you need to rest!” You ignored him, passing Vanya and looking everywhere, “He disappears sometimes. It’s nothing new.” You sighed and picked up the Walkman from his bedroom floor. Something was off and you knew it.

From Reginald Hargreeves’ notes, July 9th 2004

Subject (Y/F/N) has proven to show that she is very capable of dealing with immense pressure and pain. It is my diagnosis that she has powers such as self regeneration. Studies will continue with various different activities to test her limits and abilities.

#umbrella academy vanya #umbrella academy klaus #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus x reader #tua klaus #vanya hargreeves #vanya hargreeves x reader #klaus x reader x vanya

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badmuslim-blog1 · 5 years

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Dun-Dun-Dunnn

December 4

I saw the right hook coming at me out of nowhere. I was shocked, I just didn’t expect it. What followed was a series of follow up punches and hits. I’ve forgotten what kind. I guess I just couldn’t believe he felt he had a right to strike me, albeit so violently. When he got tired, due to his age, he picked up a stick, the broomstick that was being used earlier. That stick was swung and struck my body, my arms, my head, my back. It pressed into my flesh, leaving dents but no pain. My body only registered the sting of the first contact. I did not feel pain but a hefty bellowing scream was released. I screamed in agonizing frustration. I screamed because my 21-year-old body was being physically pushed back and down by an assault. I was meant to cower. I was meant to cry, to yield, back down. Instead, I grit my teeth, clenched my jaw and got louder. Staring right at my mother who had called for this. She had made the call for me to get physically disciplined the way daughters are meant to get from their fathers. I looked at my mother who stood a couple of feet away, calling in feeble protest for him to stop, saying I’ve had enough I suppose. She had called him right after I told her that I was going to take a taxi and go to Baghdad. I told her I was going to the Embassy to get a temporary travel document, one that I was assured by consular officials via email that I could get within 48 hours of a meeting. She asked me questions about my intentions if I actually was able to pull that off and get the document, once I returned, would I go to Mexico? Would I still pursue the plan to go on exchange there? What she didn’t do was show any interest in looking into this promised document that would allow us to leave this country without passports. She didn’t say “Okay Huda, wow that’s great that you have that meeting, of course, you can’t go without us so let's go together.” I was planning on insisting against that if it happened but it never came. She had no interest. She had re-tied the knot with this fucking animal. She had recommitted to being his wife again, his responsibility. His property. And for what? Apparently, for our future.

I looked at her and told her that the difference between her and I, was that I would never sell my freedom for money. Of course, someone in that position would never admit to themselves that was the case.

I was outside, standing in the porch walking towards the door in one moment, the next, I was physically holding myself together while I told my mother over an over, “you think you can hit me into submission?” Without knowing it I had been beaten back into the house. I stood in the room feet apart, angered, enraged, and bewildered. I never took my eyes off my mother. She stood there telling me this was all my doing. I did this, I caused this. He stood in the doorway, making a show of being held back by the other men of the house. He yelled, “Go get the gun”, the way you would demand to no one, in particular, to go get the phone so you could call the cops, or go get the lighter so you can burn whoever’s being naughty. He was trying to scare me into submission, the way you would scare a misbehaving child who might be throwing a tantrum. I looked straight at him and yelled: “Get the gun and kill me now!” I stood there looking into his eyes daring him to follow out his threat. He exited.

Thinking about it now, I’m reminded of something a certain someone said long ago. “Give me liberty or give me death”. Which is exactly the way I was feeling? Like I was carrying a pedestal on my back. One that housed my burning need to feel free again. To feel in control and be let go. Cut free from the braided knots that held me firmly against my mothers bosom. Or to die trying to free myself. For the first time since arriving in this country, I realized that I was exactly the kind of girl that would get killed in an honor killing and my mother had officially put herself in the category that might allow such a thing to happen to her daughter. Or at least she wouldn’t realize it until it was too late. I also realized that it was possible that I would never leave this country and sooner rather than later… I might die. It was a strange feeling that launched something into my throat. I briefly wondered what the authorities, both the government and the tribal authorities would do or not do in the case of a girl murdered by her own ‘walid’. ‘Father’. I can’t imagine such a thing is legally overlooked, surely it is against the official law of this land. But with the obvious corruption within the government and the way the tribes clearly outrank police officers on these streets, I could see it. I could see my body being dropped in the river. My life being nothing but a friend who went on vacation and never came back. A niece and granddaughter who went to live abroad and just lost touch. A student who went ‘back home’ and didn’t come back to pay off her student loans. An abandoned facebook account, twitter, briefly started blog. A blog that might never see these pages, might never know my story, may never know the truth. Who I am, what I believe, It’s all I’ve ever had, my values and my way. I was going to carve my life from it, pave my path, do the work that I know needs to be done. Now, I’ve been reduced to a prisoner, with no internet, no phone, just an ability to write what may never be read. Pour myself out onto this white page. Hope that one day people will know of me, my story is read, maybe one day affect change in someone’s life or situation. Teach something, help someone, inspire survival and the never-ending fight for freedom. I’m not trying to sound conceded or self-important… lol. But yeah.

Later I felt what I thought was a grain of sand in my mouth. I spit out the small white object out, not sure what it was. After a while, I began feeling my bottom front teeth tugging at the tip of my tongue the way a small hook would threaten to tear at the skin of a finger. I grabbed my compact mirror and realized what the white stuff was. Somewhere along the way, likely when I got punched in the face, I must have ground my teeth and caused the tip of the bottom front ones to be grated off. I also found white gooey residue on my tinge which I guessed was related to the tooth enamel. The tips were now threatening to pierce me so I grabbed a nail file and tried to file the sharpness away. Unfortunately, nothing was quite doing the trick, maybe I couldn’t get the right angle.

What have I learned from this experience? You may not feel the pain at the moment, but you will find the bruises and feel the soreness and scrapes later. I already have fibromyalgia that keeps my upper back permanently inflamed, now they’re bruised too, increasing the pain and sensitivity. Wonderful. I definitely won’t be laying on my back again any time soon.

Time to recalibrate. I walked straight into the ‘bedroom’, put my bags down and opened them up. I couldn’t risk them making the decision to take my IDs, ticket info, papers, my money, or my remaining electronics. I took out my coin purse with my money, my printed plane ticket info, and my credit cards and IDs and I put them in my pocket. Then I took my laptop and my notebook out of the bags and hid them in the corner behind my carry on. I locked the door and took the time to process my situation. I couldn’t spare any tears for getting beaten, but I did feel the impact of the situation and what it meant for my future, my fate. Attempting to escape had just become 300% more scary and dangerous. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do it again, only that I needed more courage than before. And I needed to be smarter. I know now than an honest straightforward walkout is not an option anymore. I also know that they’re going to continue locking all the doors, including the kitchen door that leads to outside so that's not an option anymore. I also know when I walk out that door, they’ll all continue to be watching and spying on me to make sure I don’t try to leave again. All eyes are on me, daytime escape is out of the question. In fact, with this new intense atmosphere, I’m going to need to wait a while for things to calm down and guards to start dropping before I try anything again. At night, the room I have to walk through contains the grandmother and grandfather, but sometimes their sons as well. So 2-4 people who can clearly hear the huge front door being dragged open and closed. I need a better plan than just sneaking out. Luckily, the bathroom is located outside. Ding, ding. I’ll fake a shower. I’ll have to take a long ass middle of the night shower prior to set the standard, a few days before. So they see that it’s not out of the ordinary and don’t suspect anything. Set a precedent. I will walk out in my abaya, a small bag containing only the things I’ve just hidden away, the things I consider absolutely essential. The bag will have to be very discreet and invisible behind the towel and toiletry bag I’ll be holding. I’ll walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’ll wait a few minutes then sneak out to make sure no one walking around or waiting for me right outside. Once I confirm the coast is clear, I will step out, using a coin I will lock the door from the outside. After that, I will briskly collect whatever buckets or pots I see loitering their tiny lawn, stack them, and climb over the wall. I’m confident I can get over using what I see laying around. The problem is what I’ll do after I get over the wall. It will be night time, pitch black. No way I’m going straight for a taxi, even if there are any taxis at that time of night, I wouldn’t trust them. Plus, as soon as they notice I’ve spent too long in the shower and break in to find me gone, they will be out looking for their stray. They will call in favors and spread the word I’m sure. I will need to lay low, basically, hide. I might look for an outhouse to hide out in, but I don’t even know where to find one of those. I just haven’t seen enough of this village to know spots or places to go. In other words, it was another unknown factor. I hate unknown factors and uncertainty. If I manage to find any begging women sleeping on the street or even if I find them during the day, I plan on joining them and thereby hiding in plain sight. Which will also be risky but I’m hoping to cover my face with my scarf will keep me from being identified. I don’t plan on waiting too long, perhaps 15 hours max, before I make my move and try to catch a cab to the city. Whenever it’s busiest I suppose, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

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xladyalaeria-ht · 6 years

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The images above are not mine. I found them on Pinterest and Tumblr.

( katie mcgrath, 23 (30), cisfemale. ) ♟ raise your glass for ( alaeria hightower ), the ( lady ) hailing all the way from ( oldtown ). the word on the kingsroad is that they’re known as the ( wildcard ), and apparently they can be ( - subserviant ) and ( - secretive ), but at least the gods blessed them and made them ( + charming ) and ( + creative ). no one is positive as to their intentions but they’re loyal to house ( hightower & targaryen ), so they can’t be all bad. Hello my lovely friends, it tis I, the slowest turtle in the planet finally finishing up and posting my bio for Alaeria. If anyone wants to plot a connection or a thread with her, please do feel very free to hmu, sweethearts!! <3

Ok, so let met first start off by saying what some/most of y’all might have suspected or guess by now, that my girl's no.1 biggest secret is that she's actually not the real Alaeria Hightower! XD But, she is a Hightower by blood though, as her dad is the current ruling Lord of Hightower. Now let the story begin...

So about 2 yrs before she got married to Drogon Targaryean, she was actually the very secretly unknown, bastard child of Lord Dietrich Hightower from an extremely discreet liaison he had with a woman (who is actually a descendant of the Free Folk & also from another land/kingdom ( i haven’t really decided which one just dfghjklkjh ^.^”). He was a lustful dickhead of a guy who basically just wooed and charmed her mother with fake promises of love and he hid his true identity from her. When she got pregnant and thus found out her lover's real identity, she then immediately left, (to his relief as well as he didn't want to fuck up his marriage and spoil his shiny & extremely proud reputation) because she didn't want her child to known as a bastard and also to prevent her from getting gossiped about , bullied, etc...And also cos her mom still hopelessly cared for that idiot lover of hers despite knowing better. XD

Alaeria and her father never once met until one day, 2 years ago, thru a chance meeting and it was hard to not believe that she was his child as she had a unique birthmark which only members of his line would have, and she was the exact spitting image of her paternal great-grandmother XD They also eventually came to find that she also possessed quite a mixture of a few physical & non-physical traits of Maris the Maid, one of the most legendary Hightower ancestors.

Dietrich Hightower’s only legitimate daughter with his legal wife, the current ruling Lady of Hightower, was the real Alaeria Hightower. She was a rather sickly and a pretty weak child. She also had the misfortune of having some facial scars and horrible looking birthmarks on her face and neck, and was also slightly disfigured due to a terrible accident while growing up. Her overly-proud and image conscious/ shallow parents were pretty dismayed by her appearance and was extremely fearful that she might not be able to make a good & strong match with other great houses. So from when she was 8 or so, onwards, they kept her carefully hidden in Hightower and she hardly went out of their fortress of a home. Plus whenever she had to be presented out for public events , they covered her face with pretty but dark-coloured veils and spread word that it was "prophesied that she had been both blessed and cursed with great beauty upon her 5th birthday and whoever who caught any single glimpse of her face from that point onwards, before she was married, would be struck down with a great misfortune at a major point of their lives." So yeah, they managed to make many people believe this bullshit fake prophecy with asking a few servants to spread rumors that she was an incredibly beautiful baby & toddler & a few daredevils who had tried to sneak a peek of her face properly when she was 10/ 11 had been afflicted with horrible accidents and disastrous illnesses. The ruling couple also were planning to tell their in-laws after she managed to be wedded, that “this gift of beauty of her was also two-edged curse as she would be struck with a minor harmless affliction (ugly facial marks and stuff) after her wedding night” XD rofl

They also obviously never told anyone that her health wasn’t that strong and constantly on a see-saw condition ;)

Ruling Lady Hightower was overly-protective of her poor little girl and devoted a lot of her time to pampering and spoiling her daughter so much, that the real Alaeria Hightower, grew up to be quite the brat : shallow, entitled & extremely lazy young woman that was only interested in material items and frivolous matters, never bothering to study much or read nor get well-versed with current political events (despite having pretty sharp brains). She was also pretty selfish, never genuinely concerning herself at all with the welfare of anyone but that of herself and her beloved mom. She never ended up being close with her father at all as well.

In the meantime, my baby ( who I’m still struggling with deciding on her real, original name asdfghjkl, forgive me ^.^”) had been growing up in a pretty nomadic lifestyle with her loving mother, who had quite of a wandering soul in her. Despite never truly having a proper home or a long-term abode, she was pretty happy with her life as a travelling low commoner. She adored her mother and her mother cherished her right back, always making sure that she felt safe and secure. During all her many years of growing up, she had travelled to many & all sorts of lands and kingdoms & had a very rich past filled with memorable experiences and cultures as well as meeting all sorts of people. Her mother taught her to always be kind, loving and to be compassionate no matter what, as well as to always hold on to the hope that there will always be a light shining in the darkness in end. Her mother also always(!), highly stressed on filial piety and thus her daughter become an extremely dedicated & very dutiful daughter, that rarely counteracted nor really argued with whatever decisions her mother made ( even if very secretly sometimes doesn’t really like it nor agree with it :p)

In the end through it all, Her personality is that of a warm, genuine, sincerely charming and pretty affectionate woman. She's also pretty gentle sometimes. She's happens to be quite witty and pretty knowledgeable as she has a huge thirst for knowledge and was always very eager to learn as much as possible about anything & everything from when she was a child till now still. She's very loving and always tries her best to smile a lot no matter what, and also is very generous. Her flaws are that she is pretty naive towards the noble-people’s manipulation, cunning & wicked ways since she's so open. She gets anxious(TM) easily at times and can be quite the worrier over some matters. She's also too docile/ overly-fillial towards her elders which would be her dad, his wife and all the older relatives of Drogon's family. ( this would give them a bit of power over her and it's kind of second nature to her to feel obliged to obey whatever they demanded of her...for now) She is actually rather clumsy on some occasions, but now she has to try her best to be elegant & graceful as much as possible ( so hard tbh XD) . She actually doesn't like the idea of battles and war and doesn't fully enjoy being a royal. All she ever wants in life is to just live simply, happily and peacefully with her loved ones and that's it. Poor gurl. She likes spending time outdoors a lot and her hobbies more lies with cooking on her own, making small herbal soups/drinks (which she learned a great deal from her mother), swimming, riding and wood-crafting and playing with animals. She also has a pretty curious nature and high penchant , nay desire(!), for exploring all kinds of new places.

Now back at Hightower: (3 and a half years ago, before everyone came to King’s Landing) ;D: Shortly after Drogon's mother & his privy council and the rulers of Hightower came to an agreement & set arrangement to wed Drogon and (the real) Alaeria in the near future, the real Alaeria unfortunately got infected with a fatal and incurable, long-term, disease. Lord Hightower was panicking hard over what to do with the marriage arrangement as he really wanted to strongly bind their house with the great House of Targs, (cos despite whatever their current status may be , he wisely deemed that this powerhouse could potentially rise up to take over the Iron Throne again in the future & if not, well, it was better to be allies with this formidable house than be enemies ryt incase of any future wars?)

And this is when he unexpectedly & finally met with his bastard daughter at this critical emergency time. Upon meeting her and seeing some potential in her, he then had this brilliant but crazy & extremely risky solution, that my baby should take over her royal half-sister's place and pretend to be her for the benefit/good of the kingdom.

My baby had been seeking hard for her biological dad a few months prior to that life-changing event, as her beloved mom had just recently died but she managed to tell her daughter the truth of her real-parentage and told her that if her dad ever accepted her as his own & welcomed her , she (my baby) must promise to be an obedient and filial daughter to him as my baby had been to her all these years.

However, when her father revealed his plan of deception to her, she immediately didn't wanna do that plan with her dad as she was so damn scared that it would quickly derail and go wrong and they'd be exposed within the first day of her setting foot in Dragonstone XD Plus, also she ever truly wanted was to meet her biological dad and get to know him, not to be powerful lady! She was fearful for both hers & her dad's lives if they were found out and that she might either be facing life imprisonment , exilation or the worse of all, death, if her future husband and his council was so enraged over the whole major deception and wanted to punish them badly. BUT because of her promise to her mom and also because her dad eventually managed to sway her with lots of showers of affection and eager interest to bond and get to know his bastard daughter, which Dietrich quickly detected that she longed for fatherly love and acceptance ( half of this stuff he did, was subtle manipulation which my poor baby will not realize until later) she then eventually did reluctantly agree to go with the whole plan.

Thus they spent that two years, before the day she was to step foot into Dragonstone for the engagement party and the wedding, coaching her relentlessly on how to become perfect princess. The becoming Araelia part was easier to get into bcos, nothing much was really known about the real Araelia outside of Hightower, since she was kept hidden most of the time by her parents, and had minimal interaction with folks during any major public feasts & events happening there and only a handful of highly trusted folks in Hightower knew of this whole matter. SO basically my baby could really be her own character & personality when she was and is still, now going about as "Lady Araelia.”

Atm, my poor gurl feels so conflicted internally, cos she loves Drogon so, so much and she's so torn over whether to finally tell him the truth rn or continue holding it a secret to her grave. Cos she doesn't know how he is going to react! She's in so much agony over her current dilemma right now, because the one thing she's no.1 scared of, is losing him and his love . She's felt so happy, secure and at peace with him eversince the day they got married till now hence, she's so scared of losing him & this happy marriage forever if she confesses.But then again, she feels so horrible for still continuously lying to the man she loves, every single day.

Also, eversince arriving at King’s Landing for the past few days, she’s been holding an ever-persistent anxiety at the back of her mind over her true identity being discovered out. She’s been trying very hard to hide and keep her anxiety & stress at bay as often as possible. The current occasion she was attending and the place where it was held was the most riskiest of situation to be in at the moment, as there was the fearful possibility that someone from some other place which she could have bumped into during her past life of nomadic living with her mother, would chance upon her and recognize her. Thus, inadvertently exposing her real identity and bringing the dreaded drama that was sure to follow.

#crown.intro #biography #about #death tw #anxiety tw

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gochigalore · 6 years

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Seven Days - A GoChi Fanfic Series for GoChi Week.

Day Five: Envy

Poor Gohan.

He was part humiliated and part furious. It must have been such a traumatic experience for him to come home to see his parents naked on the couch where they all sat after many hours of their fornication. Not to mention that the living room was covered with Goku’s um... “mess”.

Goku Immediately offered to clean it up since it was his doing...well his and Chichi’s doing. And Gohan happily obliged. Of course their biggest mistake was leaving then alone again to clean it...before they heard more cries of their carnal pleasure. Bulma sent them to their room to let them folic in the bedroom as much as they pleased which she admitted she should’ve done in the first place. Their own condition is that they must do it quietly since Goten was home. And to everyone’s surprise the were quiet for the most part. Aside for the occasional moan every now and then or the occasional pounding of bodies slapping against each other that was heard at certain points. Thankfully, Bulma had brought over one of her cleaning inventions to help clean away all of the cum and sanitize the entire room. And even then nobody wanted to sit on anything. The room may be clean the sins of Gohan’s parents will never wash away.

The Fifth Day.

To everyone’s relief, the Lust Day Phase was finally over and they no longer had to witness Goku or ChiChi fooling around like horny teenagers or hear them either. Videl was helping Gohan cool in the kitchen trying to prepare pancakes for everyone while Bulma was reading in at the kitchen table. Pan was cooing gleefully in her high chair with Goten playing with her. It all seemed like of everything was almost normal again...that is until Goku and Chichi came limping into the kitchen, their bodies sore from their countless hours of steamy love-making. Both were groaning In agony as they took their seats. ChiChi had it the worse; she was walking bowlegged while limping and holding her aching back. Goku was a bit better shape, but he still had a pretty bad limp and his pelvis was extremely sore.

“Woah...you guys look terrible!” Bulma commented on her friend’s physical state all while having a coy smirk on her face. “You guys have a rough night?”

ChiChi and Goku blushed horribly at Bulma’s teasing. ChiChi was especially embarrassed by this. She was always raised as a pure heated girl who wouldn’t do the types of naughty things she did with Goku that day. Her face would grow as red as a tomatoes each time she thought about it. When they were told how they soiled the living room it went a little like this:

“W-We...we did that!?!? Oh Kami I’m soembarrassed! I wasn’t raised like this! Oh what will father say?”

“You mean I made that mess with ChiChi?Cool!”

“Goku!”

“Very funny...” ChiChi sneered painfully. Adjusting herself in her hair. “Ow ow ow ow.” Bulma gave a small chuckle. “See I’d told you, you guys would bang yourselves dry.”

“We...we’ve should’ve listened to you...” Goku leaned over the table. “I never lasted that long before. It was fun but I feel like I’m paying the price for it now.”

“Can we please change the subject please?” Gohan impatiently jumped in. Talking about his parents sexual adventures was more than he could bare right now.

“Right. Right. So what’s for breakfast?” Goku’s mood instantly improves despite him still being in a lot of pain. Videl arrives at the table with the the frying pan in hand and delivers a couple of her fluffy homemade pancakes onto his plate. “We’re having pancakes!” She smiled. “And don’t worry there’s enough for your hearty appetite. Thanks to Bulma’s multiplier machine.”

Breakfast much like the earlier part of the morning played out just as normally. Nothing was too out of the ordinary or too odd. It was like the perfect family dinner ChiChi was striving for the first night of Gohan’s arrival. Everyone’s got along fine and had a pleasant chat among one another. After Goku finished this 20th helping of Videl’s pancakes he officially declared himself stuffed.

“That was great Videl! Thanks!” Goku tried to stand but the sharp pain hit his lower back and which causes him so sore back down. “Be carful honey!” ChiChi warned sweetly, rubbing his back softly. Goku tiles his head and smiled back.

“I’ll be fine sweetheart don’t worry. Anyway I really need to head back to work. With our little...incident. A couple of things got ruined so we’re going to need a some money to replace it.” Gohan raised an eyebrow at his father. “You really think you should be working in this condition right now? He asked skeptically.

“Oh there’s isn’t anything to worry about. Just need to take a Senzu bean and the pain will be all-“

Goku stopped when Gohan interrupted. “That’s not what I meant. I meant with the Cardinal Fruit side effects stuff. We’re still on the fifth day.” Bulma sat up in her chair and joined in. “Actually, Gohan. Maybe today is a good day for your father to work?”

“Where are you going with this, Bulma?” ChiChi quizzed. Bulma gave a small nod in her head preparing the words she wanted to say. “I’m thinking if Goku is out farming and away from you and everyone else maybe the effects wouldn’t be so strong. Plus the effects only seems to be extra strong whenever he’s around you, ChiChi. Day Five is the Envy Phase Day. And I don’t think there is much is going to happen today. Thank Kami for that! I...don’t even know what is here for you to be envious of. But we’ll just have to wait and see.” ChiChi and Goku looked at each with worried expressions. They wasn’t entirely sure if this was a good idea. But they decided to give a try. They both nodded in unison and in agreement.

Later that day.

Goku, who was feeling much better thanks to the Senzu bean and was about to head of to work when Bulma screeched his name across the hall. “I have a bone to pick with you!” She yelled. Goku turned around and faced her. In her hand was a pink and white scarf that she was waving in his face furiously. “Is something wrong I was about to head off to work.”

“Yes there is! You ruined my favorite scarf with your filth the other day! Now I can’t get your nasty love stains out of it!” Goku scratches the side of his face with his finger nervously. It didn’t really occur to him just how damage he and ChiChi caused with heir love fest.. “Wow I’m sorry, Bulma.” He said meekly with a anxious smile.

“Oh you should be sorry. This was a gift my sister brought me two years ago. Now I can’t wear It anymore!” Bulma stomped her foot as she threw the scarf down on the ground in her anger but then Goku rested a hand in her shoulder and gave her a look of sincerity. Just then ChiChi, who was also feeling better thanks to the Senzu bean decided to actually start the laundry this time. She was walking past the living room doorway, her ears perked when she hears Goku’s voice.

“I didn’t know okay? I’m really really sorry. Tell you what I’ll buy you a new one!”

ChiChi walked back into living room and sees Goku touching Bulma’s shoulder and giving her a sincere look. Then...

Flash! The effects began to kick in.

Curious to where this would lead she stood there and watched them. “I mean it’s not the same but I guess I can accept it.” Bulma mumbled as Goku pulled her into a hug. “I’ll make it up to you I promise. We go way back and we’ve known each other a long time. It’s the least I can do!”

ChiCh was grinding her teeth and tightened her grip on the laundry basket in her hands, witnessing her husband for over 20 years in the arms of another woman, one of her closest friends no less. She had seen enough. Enraged, she stormed off with neither Goku or Bulma noticing her as they released from their hug.

Meanwhile at work, Goku was doing his usual tractor work. Everything was going smoothly until ChiChi pops in front of his drops of view, with her arms crossed. In a panic, Goku slams on the breaks immediately causing the tractor to have a studded stop that it almost shook him out of it. He jumped out of the car to go see her but her death stare instantly made him regret leaving the safety of his tractor. He gulps as he approached her slowly. He knew he did something wrong but he had no clue what it was.

“Hey ChiChi? You’re at my job again?” He asked, his voice trembling. “Let’s just cut to the chase, Goku!” ChiChi barked “i want to know what where you doing with Bulma this morning.” Goku blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He asked innocently. “I mean I saw you all over her before you left for work this morning.” ChiChi dramatic pointed her finger at him. “No I wasn’t” he protested desperately. “I’m not even sure what your talking about.”

“Maybe this will jog your memory: ‘We’ve known each other for a long time. It’s the least I could do’.” ChiChi mocked Goku in his voice in an insulting manner. The insult rolled off him however as he began to ponder on what she was saying. “Oh you mean when I hugged Bulma this morning? That was because we ruined her scarf her sister gave her when we spoiled it with our love and she was super angry about it.”

“Sure. Likely story.” ChiChi turned away rolling her eyes. “I’m telling the truth ChiChi!” Goku innocent face was all that ChiChi usually needed to see he was telling the truth but with her under the spell of the Cardinal Fruit it was no use. She just stood there pouting as Goku took his box of produce for the day and head off to town to deliver them. “I’m about to go drop these off. I’ll see you later I guess.”

“Oh no you don’t! I’m coming with you just so I can keep my eye on you!” ChiChi ran beside him. “

You don’t have to do that, ChiChi.”

“Why? Are you too embarrassed to be seen with your wife?”

“No it’s not that at all. Why are you acting like this?

“There’s someone in town you don’t want me to see, isn’t there? Possible another woman? You’re having an affair, aren’t you!”

“ChiChi! What are you talking about!?!!”

The conversation when on like his the entire time they walked into town to the produce store. ChiChi soar out accusation after accusation while poor Goku was clueless to what was talking about. Once they got there ChiChi stood idly by as Goku handed off his box over to the proud store owner staring daggers at him. Goku shelf a chill as he could feel her leering at him from behind his back. ChiChi also had other things in her mind. On top of worrying that Goku was cheating she began to think about all the accomplishments he has done in the span on their life together. All the good he’s done. All the places he got to go. And now that he has a more successful job then her. And that one time he brought home an astonishing amount of Zeni.

Why couldn’t that be her?

Why must he be the successful one when he didn’t even want that in the first place? If he had his way he’d be off in a far off land training again. Her watching him just made her envy fester. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous of her husband, but she couldn’t help it. Her instincts too over and she marched up to the two who was making small talk.

“Hey are you two done? I want to go home how?” ChiChi spoken icily before walking away. Goku sighed as he said his goodbyes to his employer and ran to catch up with is wife. “Listen Cheech I don’t know what I did to make you so mad at me, but I want to make it up to you.” Goku said.

“Oh like you want to make it up to Bulma.” ChiChi remarked rudely just as her eyes landed in a small perfume booth. Her face scowl lessened as she made her way over there with Goku behind her. “Oh you want want of these smelly things? I can do that.” Goku eagerly beamed.

ChiChi ignored him and turned to the clerk. The clerk smiled at ChiChi and spoke in a tone as your typical entrepreneur. “And What brings such a lovely lady like yourself here in this fine day?”Goku face fell flat at his remark then....

Flash!

“What did you just say to my wife?” Goku towers of the stand threateningly. ChiChi cut her eyes at his sudden display of masculinity. “Oh please Goku the man didn’t mean it.”

“Yes I didn’t know you two were married. My apologies.” The perfume clerk bowed as a form of his sincerity. Goku watched intently as the salesman was showing ChiChi various perfumes. He felt himself fuming at the way he grabbed wrist and sprayed some of the samples on the back of it. His jealousy grew as ChiChi laughed every time he spray tickles her skin or whoever she laughed at one of his bad jokes. It was to the point where Goku was fed up.

“Alright time to go!” He gritted his treeth as he yanked on his wife’s arm but ChiChi stiffest against him. “No! I’m not finished yet.”

“Yes you are!” Goku’s voice was beginning to raise but ChiChi finally piled her hand from his grasp. Goku realized that he didn’t have a good grip on her. “Look main if the lady doesn’t want to go, you shouldn’t make her.” The salesman came in rather peacefully but Goku wasn’t having any of it.

“I think you should mind your own damn business.” Goku snapped. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“Goku!” ChiChi yelled in surprise.

“Don’t you have some other’s man’s wife to hit on?” Goku continued.

“I swear that’s wasn’t what I was doing at all.” The salesman spoke up in defense at first but then he got bold. “But I’m pretty sure your wife wouldn’t mind a more gentler fella coming onto her then a barbaric control freak like you.”

Big mistake.

Goku, in a fit of rage raised both of his fists and slams it down into the table braking it in half and breaking all of the glass bottles that was filled with perfume. The man fell on his news morning the loss. of all his profits. Next, he throws ChiChi over his shoulder while she protested aggressively and flew back home away from any other guy that could possibly hit on his woman.

But things only got worse when they got home...

#goku #gochi #chichi #gochiweek2018 #i know it’s over but i’ve come way too far to give up now #we’ve only got two chapters left!#Seven Days

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