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imaginesupply · 4 years

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Homecoming - Chapter One

Chapter Two can be found here

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies 

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This is pretty much a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter One starts after the cut. Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the new chapters.

Chapter One

Chapter warnings: Badly written smut (consensual), marriage awkwardness, alcohol consumption. Maybe OOC Sy, I don’t know. We never saw him being casual.

Sy checked his phone again as he waited for his bag by the baggage carousel. The airport was even busier than usual, it was taking ages and he was impatient to get out of there... and maybe even never set foot in an airport again for the rest of his life.

He read her text again, short and sweet. He sometimes called her that, short and sweet, just to tease her. Ada was considerably shorter than him and full of sugar, when she wanted to be, that was.

'I'm waiting by the gate for you, with a warm cinnabon :) So excited to see you again <3.'

Just then a notification popped up from Harper. It was a photo of the soldier at the airport, finally reunited with his wife and his two rugrats. It made Sy all the more excited to see Ada again, and then as if on cue, his camo bag appeared in the carousel and he groaned with relief.

He stood restless amidst the line, it seemed people in front of him were dragging their feet, but when they noticed his green beret uniform, most parted and let him through. Sy tipped his head gratefully.

His wife was there, just outside the gate. Sy spotted her instantly in the crowd of people. She was wearing a red dress under her open coat and her hair looked fresh out of the hairdresser. He caught himself grinning at the sight of her. Then, once she spotted him making his way over to her, she started waving her hand excitedly as if there was any way his eyes hadn't already landed on her. He wished he still had his phone in hand to capture this moment for all of eternity, but his memory would have to do, he decided before casting his arms open for his wife. Fuck, did he love her!

°°°

Ada had been biting her nails nervously for the past two hours. She had arrived at the airport way too early. The parking fee would hurt but she couldn't find it in herself to care at this point.

Three weeks ago, she had received a call informing her that her husband and part of his unit had been ambushed. There had been an explosion in some building they were scouting only God knows where.

Only a full week after that did she receive a call from Sy himself. He was coming home. For good, this time. They were sending him home early, a full eight months earlier than what he had originally negotiated with his superiors. She hadn't been prepared for the news. She had spent the days following the call asking herself whether she had heard him right, making sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her.

Now he was here, stopping right in front of her, his thick arms inviting her right in for a hug. Ada wouldn't have been able to resist the invitation even if she had wanted to. Within a second, she was enveloped in his embrace, her cheek pressed against his chest. She was overjoyed to feel his heartbeat again. Sy kisses the crown of her head before putting her down, his hands never leaving her lower back, his fingers big enough to reach the swell of her bum from there.

They pulled away a few inches to take each other in. His beard has grown a little long, but it was not enough to hide his apparent dimples as he smiled. He looked a little older too, she hadn't seen in seven months, except through a shitty quality facetime call once or twice. Her careful gaze spotted the new scar by his temple, it was the only visible physical evidence of the explosion he had been caught in. She dreaded what she might under his uniform.

Sy caught her eyes and she found herself blushing under his stare. It was always like that the first few hours when he was back, until she got used to his overwhelming presence again and to the fact that this handsome bear of a man was indeed her husband.

"You're looking good, darlin'," Sy grinned, making her spin for him. "I missed you."

Ada couldn’t resist his smile. "I missed you too, Sy." She confessed, handing him the still warm cinnamon roll in its paper bag.

He accepted the pastry with a smile and started eating it immediately but not before throwing his arm around her shoulders as they began making their way to the parking lot. Sy was eager to get her out of the crowd and have her just to him himself.

"So, what's the plan, darlin'?" Sy inquired with mischief to his voice, balling up the paper bag with his free hand and throwing it inside the trash can. "Did you book that hotel with the jacuzzi in the bedroom again?"

It had become a tradition of some sort between them. They would always spend his first night back at that hotel: they'd order some room service and eat in the jacuzzi. Though, usually, they would first end up on together on the bed.

Ada stopped suddenly in her tracks, making him still behind her. She smiled sheepishly. "Don't be mad," she started, his smile falling at once, "but your family is waiting for us in the parking lot. Your mom insisted that we celebrate your homecoming at the restaurant. Something about you missing Thanksgiving just by a couple days."

Sy groaned, thinking about the evening that now expected him. He'd been flying for God knows how many hours, all he wanted was a warm bath and Ada whichever way she'd let him have her, not a damn dinner party.

"I'm sorry, Sy."

He shook his head and leaned down to kiss her forehead again. "Don't worry, darlin'. I know it ain’t your fault."

As soon as they reached the open-air parking lot, Sy's nephew and niece start running up to him, having escaped their parents' grasp. His family was waiting for him with cheers and a 'welcome home, soldier' banner. Sy hated that kind of attention and she found it cringy as well, but she had been unable to stop his mother. Ada watched him hug the kids and lift them up into the air, making them laugh as she walked up to the machine to pay the fee.

Her hand trembled as she inserted the ticket into the slot, missing the opening a few times. She was happy - no, scratch that - she was ecstatic to have her husband back. It's just that, could you really say 'back' when there was never truly a 'before', a 'there'?

They had met when he was already deployed, but on a short leave back in Austin. They spent three weeks together, got married and he returned to Iraq. Since then, the longest stretch of time they had been together had been twenty days. Neither of them had ever gotten settled into married life and now he was 'back'. For good. Which was wonderful and foreign and overwhelming all at once.

Ada paid the fee and returned to join them, finding Sy hugging his mother. She smiled at the sight. She walked over to greet her sister-in-law and her husband, confirming that they'd meet up at the restaurant. With that, she went to the car, deciding to give Sy some more time with his family, and herself an occasion to take a few breaths and calm her buzzing heart.

"You didn't tell me my mom had gotten herself a boyfriend." Sy grumbled immediately as he sat down next to her in the car, putting on his seatbelt.

Ada turned on the engine and backed out of the spot. "I knew you wouldn't like it," she defended before casting a side glance at him. "Besides, I figured it wasn't my place to tell you."

Sy hummed noncommittally, removing his cap to rake his hand through his cropped hair.

"Though, as much as I don't exactly like your mother," Ada added quietly, "she's been on her own ever since your dad passed a couple years ago. With your father gone and you away, she must have felt lonely.”

°°°

Sy spent the rest of the drive mulling over her words in his head. The fuck was that supposed to mean? As soon as a woman feels lonely, she takes up a boyfriend?! Was Ada lonely too while he was away and… He wanted to ask if she was implying anything but then one look at her and he decided against it. Breathing out deeply, he forces himself to relax. He was just stressed out and on edge.

It was inevitable that things would have changed while he had been away. That was something he thought about frequently late at night when he got to be alone. Still, he hoped things hadn’t changed all too much. Ada still looked just as she had on their road trip to Vegas, focused on the road but leaning back on her seat, just one hand on the wheel with a grin on her lips. His wife loved driving.

"You got your nails done." Sy commented, already hoping the whole dinner thing would be over quickly so that he could go home with her.

Ada turned to him with a chuckle for a second, wriggling her graceful fingers and red painted nails, her wedding band reflecting the light. "I wanted to look pretty for you."

Sy huffed. "You always look pretty to me, Ada," he said and then watched her scoff.

"Or maybe, I just wanted to make sure I'd be able to scratch you up nicely," she wife winked.

Yeah, this dinner thing couldn't be over fast enough.

°°°

Ada saw him eat so much over dinner, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be sick later. And, of course, the double serving of smoked ribs had to be accompanied with generous amounts of beer and whisky. She didn0t blame him, though. Out of curiosity, she once researched what they ate while on deployment and it looked anything but tasty. If she had been in his shoes, she'd have been eating her own weight in pizza and brownies right now.

It also didn’t help that his brother-in-law and his mom's new boyfriend, Phil from the hardware store, kept asking him about Baqubah and even touching on the subject of the explosion. It was obvious how uncomfortable the subject made him, his grip tightening around his knife and his jaw tensing up so tightly, she could imagine his teeth grinding.

So, Sy kept asking for refills, raising his glass, and giving them vague answers, but it seemed they didn't get the hint. At least, the subject changed when his sister interrupted the conversation to announce she was expecting again. A little girl.

Ada used the moments of cheer that followed to excuse herself from the table and go to the restroom. She was still somewhat nervous and her face was damp. She would have given anything for a glass of scotch at that moment but she was driving tonight.

Helen, Sy's mom appeared right behind her just as she was washing her hands. She hoped the woman would just disappear inside a stall but she wasn’t that lucky.

"Jack is back." Helen stated, arms crossed. A shiver ran through Ada's spine, damn she hated that woman. "For good."

Ada dried her hands with a paper towel, looking back at her mother-in-law through the mirror. "He is."

"Now's the time to prove yourself to this family and show us that Sy was right in marrying you.”

Before Ada could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Helen finally disappeared inside a stall. Rolling her eyes, Ada went to leave the restrooms when Helen decides to add some more venom. "Maybe a good start would be calling him by his first name, as a wife would."

°°°

"When do you start at Camp Mabry?" Ada asked, looking away from the steering wheel to glance at him for a second. Sy looked exhausted, not that she could she blame him after three different flights and a seemingly endless dinner. They had finally called it a night once the kids had started getting fussy.

"January 15th." He replied. "But they want me to stop by before then to have a look around the base and sign the contract."

"You're going to boss the hell out of the new recruits," Ada laughed, getting him to lighten up and even chuckle.

"You'd be surprised to know I'm actually a fair and considerate captain," Sy defended himself.

Next to him, Ada huffed as she tried stiffing the bubble of laughter, trying not miss the right exit off the main road.

"I just value discipline and compliance a lot," he added, his tone growing teasing.

This time, she was unable to stop her laugh. "Believe me, I know you do."

The drive was a short one to their house in the suburbs and she was soon parking her in their driveaway.

Ada fumbled with the key as she tried opening the front door, nervousness setting back in as she felt Sy standing behind her, holding his duffel bag. He followed in quickly after her, once she had finally managed to open the door.

"Welcome home, captain!" Ada cheered in her silliest tone as he discarded his bag on the floor.

Then, before she could even react, Sy was on her. His arms lifted her up, his body caging hers against the wall before capturing her lips in the most ferocious kiss she could imagine.

Out of instinct, her legs locked around his waist and her hands dug into his shoulders, unwilling to let go of him now that he was finally there. Sy grinned against her lips, amused by her fervour, not that he felt any different.

He broke off the kiss as he pulled them away from the wall, freeing a hand to shrug her coat off her shoulders. "You ain't gonna need that, darlin'," he promised, throwing the coat in the direction of the kitchen, not caring where it landed.

Then his mouth latched on to her throat, forcing a delicious moan out of his wife as he carefully manoeuvred them upstairs, still steady on his feet despite the alcohol. Sy was almost surprised when he pushed open the door to their bedroom with his foot and it didn't squeak, but that thought was fleeting as Ada started rolling her hips against his. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the explosion or his guilt, only the woman in his arms.

Unceremoniously, he let her fall on the bed, the urgency now flowing through his blood keeping him from doing things the gentleman way. Ada didn't mind, giggling as she unzipped her dress and slid the red thing over her head, along with her bra. Apparently, she had decided to forego panties. Sy stood there, almost mesmerised as he watched her, suddenly not certain if he dared tainting her with his touch but Ada quickly made that decision for him as she got up on her knees.

"A little less staring and a little more undressing, captain," she purred with a smirk, her fingers determined as they made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's it, darlin'. You're in for it now," Sy roared, pulling her in for another furious kiss before pushing her back against the mattress, making her land on her back as he got undressed in record time. Fuck, was he hard.

"Open up for your captain." Sy ordered and Ada complied instantly, her legs falling open for him as she peered up at him, holding herself up on her elbows and worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "That's a good girl," he praised.

Without losing another second, Sy settled in between her legs, wrapping his strong arms around her thighs and parting them to their limits. He wanted to worship her body the way she deserved, show her exactly just how appreciative he was of her, how much he craved her, but it had been months and Sy was a starving man who had just been presented with the perfect meal.

"Fuck Sy!" Ada screamed out, her back arching off the bed the instant he licked her just where she craved him most. He chuckled against her, marvelling at how wet she already was for him.

She tried closing her legs around his head, rejoicing at the feeling of his beard rubbing against her sensitive skin and never wanting him to leave again, but his arms were too strong for her clenching thighs. She was left defenceless against his assault, with no choice but to obscenely moan her pleasure and let herself cum against his tongue as his thumb expertly massaged her clit.

The coil inside her snapped and her body tensed up before letting go just as suddenly, her now damp back falling back on the mattress. "Fuck, Sy." Ada breathed out, her chest heaving as she tried to reopen her eyes only to find her husband playfully gazing up at her, smirking with her arousal glistening on his beard. The sight alone almost made her cum again. "I'll never let you leave again!"

He smiled in response, placing a kiss on her lower stomach before crawling up her body. "I've no intention to, baby," he promised.

Ada caught a glimpse of his hard, flushed erection as his body slid over hers, realizing in her post-orgasmic haze that she was in for an even bigger treat now. She could taste herself in his mouth as they kissed, his hand slithering behind her back to seize her shoulder and hold her closer. Teasingly, he started rolling his hips, his hard clock rubbing against her slick cunt, coating himself with arousal before finally, he found his way inside her, burying his head next to hers in the pillow.

Ada whimpered as he did so, her eyes tearing up as his clock slid inside her. She had evidently grown unaccustomed to his girth and length in his absence. Sy paused immediately, his muscles tense as he looked at her with concern. “You okay?” She nodded in silence, wanting him to start moving but Sy looked unconvinced, using all his strength to keep still despite his desire to fuck her right into the mattress. Without a warning, Ada tightly wrapped her legs around his hips, making him go deeper. Sy let out a reverberating groan. “God, darlin’. I missed you.”

He started thrusting into her with such vigour, such determination it felt as if he was trying to bury himself so deep inside her, no one would ever be able to pry him away from her again. It did hurt, her cervix was getting battered with each of his hard movements but she found herself enjoying the pain because it was him; it was Sy and he was right there with her, back in her arms, and she could feel his heart beat beneath her fingertips as her hand gripped at his chest.

"Fuck, I'm... I’m," Ada gasped incoherently, her nails now scratching the skin of his back. Sy was sure there would be marks there in the morning which made him enjoy the sensation even more.

"I got you," he rasped. If possible, he pulled her even tighter to him, his pubic bone now rubbing against hers in that delicious way only he was able to do. Her slick walls were now contracting around him, her second orgasm impending. "Fuck," he groaned, his breath coming out in a stutter. "Are you...Can I...?"

Sy didn't have to word it, she knew what he meant. "Cum in me, Sy. Please," she almost begged.

Her words did it. His hips stuttered as he pushed in deep just when his orgasm washed over him, exploding inside her. His face contorted with pleasure and that sight alone had her fast tracking her fall over the figurative edge. He had his face buried on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans and moans against her skin as the dam gave way within her.

°°°

Sy grunted against his pillow, slowly waking up the following morning. He was convinced he was just rousing after a very nice dream and he was ready to toss his alarm clock across the room, furious at the object for interrupting his dream, that for once, had been a good one. With a startle, Sy realized that no blasting alarm had woken him up but the sunlight on his face. Opening his eyes, he felt almost as if on foreign ground. He was home.

As quietly as he could manage, Sy turned around in bed, seeking his wife only to find her side empty. Just at that moment, he heard cursing coming up from the kitchen and scoffed. He’d bet his life Ada was cracking eggs, something she hated.

Feeling rested and in a much more relaxed mood than the previous day, Sy got out of bed and started searching for a pair of boxer briefs so he could go join her downstairs when he caught a sniff of himself. Fuck, did he stink. How Ada hadn’t thrown him out of bed, he didn’t know.

Out of habit, Sy hurried to the en-suite bathroom, wanting to shower as fast as possible before realizing that this time around, it was different. He wasn’t going back, he didn’t have to rush, their time together wasn’t counted. With that in mind, Sy forced himself to take his time, enjoying the act of brushing his teeth in a bathroom that smelled nice and showering with warm water. Ada had purchased his usual brands of shower gel and toothpaste, he noticed, even putting a red bow around his brand-new toothbrush by the sink. Even though he initially wanted to take his time to enjoy it, Sy still ended up rushing as he dried himself with a blue fluffy towel he didn’t recognize from his previous stay. He didn’t bother putting on anything more than his boxer briefs before heading downstairs. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t keep them on for long either.

Sy walked into one of the best sights he had even seen, when he entered the kitchen. Ada was standing in front of the stove, rhythmically tapping the black spatula against her naked thigh as she focused on the eggs and bacon she was preparing. The thin negligee - or whatever she called it, he always forgot - barely covered her ass and that outfit alone was one of the reasons he never minded that she always cracked up the heat so high, he felt like he was back under the hot desert sun.

Silent and stealthy like a predator despite his stature, Sy sneaked up on her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her startle before relaxing once she noticed it was him. She smelled heavenly, Sy thought, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Watcha got cooking, darlin'?"

"Obviously breakfast," she sassed, making him softly pinch her ass in response. Ada squealed and jumped up. "Good morning to you too, Sy," she said but not before slapping the handle of the spatula against his thigh. He decided to let it slide... for now.

"Morning darlin'," he answered, kissing the crown of her head before darting his fingers into the pan and picking up a piece of bacon. It was sizzling hot, but the taste was worth it. He had missed being home! Speaking of being home... "What do you say we take the food and coffee upstairs and have ourselves breakfast in bed?" His tone failed to hide his true intentions.

Ada scoffed, the back of her head rubbing on his hairy chest and she shook her head. "Nice try but I actually intend to feed you. Your mother will have my head if I let you go hungry."

It was Sy's turn to laugh, his hands now roaming her body as she leaned forward to turn off the stove, pressing her ass against his crotch and eliciting a husky groan from him. "I'm hungry enough to eat both breakfast and you, don't worry."

Ada turned around, a huge grin on her angelic face. "Alright, you win. What do you say, we have breakfast, we do the kinky and then go grocery shopping?"

Sy tried hiding his smile but it was a lost cause. He loved it when she talked like that. He loved her, point. "Yes, ma'am."

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

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Thoughts on my writing process & other headcanons about the Niki × Catherine universe

Headcanons:

Hunt wasn't actually mad that his sister is with Niki, it's more so he was hurt by the fact that is was behind his back and that she lied to him about not seeing Niki. In reality he thinks Niki is a really good guy, if not too serious sometimes. Once they get past the initial hurt he's all for it. In fact, he hopes you'll corrupt Niki just a little. You do.

Niki started listening to your favorite radio station when he was working (at a reasonable volume, of course)

Niki would want to give Cat the world and considered buying her a really fancy engagement ring but in reality he knew that part of the reason she loved him so much was because he was so normal and practical, hence the simple gold band. He wanted it to remind you of him everytime you looked at it.

Niki loves that she is super independent because it means he doesn't have to 'worry' about her. They both do their own thing and coexist.

She definitely helps him to open up in general and be more friendly and socialize with others. Even with Hunt they are low key besties but still bust each other's balls every chance they get.

Speaking of Hunt he did plan the stag party. Niki went because you made him but the whole night it was just second hand embarrassment because hunt was being his usual self and yes there was a stripper involved (we are sex work positive in this house) and alcohol. Niki didn't want to talk about it afterwards even tho nothing bad happened. His only response when you asked - "a lot of ass," and no I don't mean the dancer's.

Niki is those tight little bell bottom corduroy pants. Send tweet.

Niki knows Cat goes feral when he talks dirty in German during their sexy times. At first it was just the appeal of him whispering in a foreign language. But since learning German she's able to pick up on what he's saying and good lord 🥵

He lets her drive the Ferrari sometimes on open roads in the countryside. She goes as fast as she wants. He lets her.

He always makes her join him on/next to the podium when he wins if she is present for the race

Despite being pretty private people, Niki will flaunt you off in front of the press. It’s subtle but he definitely wants people to know that you’ve got him wrapped around your finger

Elena and James 100% had a tiny set of red coveralls made when you announced your pregnancy. Thankfully James left off the “Sex: breakfast of champions” patch

Writing process:

Someone told me Elena gives Katheryn Hahn vibes and honestly that's such a compliment to me I want to be her myself. But also im kinda the Elena of my friend group irl

Sex on a ping pong table? I really really did that and I regret nothing

A wanted to find the balance between modern and 1970s women's roles in society. Second Wave Feminism was definitely making an impact around the western world, but there was still a lot of gendered issues going on. Hence the things like Elena being a secretary, Cat going to school for art history (which was common for women, and art history is so fun), and James being all defensive about his sister. That being said, women who sought personal freedom with things like birth control pills and careers were seen as very "modern women", both in the positive and negative sense.

I would find a song and play that shit on loop for 3 hours to get the tone right for a chapter

I wanted to make Catherine as vague as possible in terms of appearance because idk what readers are like, you know? So I did my best to not reference things like hair, eye color, skin color in hopes that as many people could enjoy this.

I regularly slip into accents that I don't actually possess when writing and reading my stuff outloud. Examples are: British, Australian, german/austrian/absolutely horrid rendition of niki

I am technically a medievalist through my first degree which is why I always try to find some way to sneak out into my fics since I don't get to practice it anymore with my current job.

I tried to balance the film with some real life details about Niki and James. For example they really did live together for a time.

#sleeping with the enemy #swte scuttle buttle #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl niki lauda #rush 2013 #niki lauda rush 2013 #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda

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moonlight-chi77 · 3 years

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Hi love! Idk if you are accepting requests 👉👈 (ू•ᴗ•ू❁) But I wanted to do a reaction request for Got7 where they are dating a Afghani and Pakistani s/O (like me) and hears her either on the phone or just her accidentally slipping into her mother language like pashto, farsi or urdu. I recently broke my leg and have been a bit down and wanted to read something fluffy˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

First of all I'm sorry that your leg has been broken and also that I only wrote it so late that it isn't anymore. However I hope this is what you wanted, if not you can message me💕

P.s the translations are only approximately

Jay B:

Your Korean was really good and even though you're foreign Jaebum never really heard you speak in your native language. So when you got into a fight you haven't had troubles arguing against him. However you never knew that you could get so mad that you would speak in your mother language. "I saw you with my own eyes!" he screamed at you "!آپ بہت تنگ کرتے ہو. بکواس بند کرو" / "You are so annoying. Shut up!" you shouted back and were just as shocked as Jaebum "What did you say?" his voice gone back to normal due to the surprise. You were happy that he calmed down "That we should stop fighting and talk it out." he laughed and nod "You sound amazing speaking your mother language.".

Mark:

He actually heard you speak urdu before, because you were asking your mother for help after he got sick. But due to him being sick he couldn't even remember said event and thought that you never spoke urdu or weren't comfortable enough with him. So when he came in into you on your phone with your mother and heard a foreign language he was shocked. "میں واقعی ٹھیک ہوں۔ وہ میرا خیال رکھ سکتا ہے۔" / "I really am fine. He can take care of me." was what he said as he came in "You can stay, I'm finished" you smiled and ended the call. "I've never heard you speak urdu but now I'm in awe." your smile grew bigger "You actually did but forgot I guess." he was shocked but neither the less enjoyed hearing you speak such a beautiful language.

Jinyoung:

You were in the kitchen, trying to surprise your boyfriend that had enough stress for two due to his ongoing drama. The filming was fun and he enjoyed doing what he loved but there was no lie when he said that it also is too hard sometimes. So being the good girlfriend that you are, you tried to help and support him with all that you could. However sometimes you could be a burden to yourself because cutting onions really got the best out of you "مجھے تم سے نفرت ہے! بدصورت سبزی ، مجھے رونا بند کرو۔. / I hate you! You ugly vegetable, stop making me cry." was what you were saying as Jinyoung came in laughing softly, his mood already lifted from the sight of you getting angry at a vegetable.

Young Jae:

To your defence you really though that you were alone with Coco. You were trying to get her to learn some new tricks even though she barely ever listened to you. At this point you sometimes even hated being alone with her due to her being extremely moody with you, however today she seemed nicer so being your competitive self you tried to teach her. "تم ایسے کتے ہو۔. اگر آپ انسان ہوتے تو آپ بدترین ہوجاتے۔. / You are such a dog. If you were human you would be the worst." she seemed to understand you because she now was crying while you only sighed because you once again failed with her.

Bam Bam:

He annoyed you, of course you loved him but there was no way that you wouldn't want to kill him at least sometimes. It even got to a point were you wouldn't speak with him for a whole day because you were afraid of slipping out a compliment after he did a show where he basically praised himself the whole time. And you loved that, you loved that he was confident but the teasing you got for pushing his ego even more annoyed you too much. "Are you really not going to say it back?" he asked after you ignored his tenth 'I love you' "میں اب بھی آپ سے پیار کرتا ہوں یہاں تک کہ اگر آپ بہت زیادہ ہو۔ / I still love you even if you are too much." he smiled, not even knowing what you were saying but the euphoria of hearing you speak your mothers tongue made him forget.

Yugyeom:

You were currently talking to your mother(or any other relative) as Yugyeom came into your shared bedroom "Are you finished?" he asked but you just continued to talk so you wouldn't angry your mother: "ہاں میں اسے بتاؤں گا۔. میں ماں کو جانتا ہوں۔. / Yes I will tell him. I know mom" was what you said, while rolling your eyes. He smiled knowingly, laying down by your side so that he could enjoy listening to your voice. "Your eyes sparkle in a different way when talking to her." he said not knowing if it was your mother or the language that made you that happy but he made it his goal to make your eyes sparkle the same.

#kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #got7 scenarios #got7 request #got7 reactions

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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

41 notes · View notes

all-pacas · 4 years

Video

youtube

so, civilization has long been one of my favorite games of all time, period, not just for being a really fun game but also for the production value and detail and little researched stuff the developers sneak in — from the way each playable civilization/leader has its own perks and buildings drawn from history (hungary gets huszars! england gets bonuses for being a colonizing asshole with free units when settling foreign lands! austria can arrange marriage themselves to victory!), to the music, which is gonna be it’s own post someday i swear, to the amazing character animation —

but one of my favorite little ones is that they have each character voiced in their native language and, when possible, the appropriate accent, or the best they can do in case of ‘ancient sumerian’ and the like. like just watch and enjoy this video guys. my favorites in this video:

a) they, unlike ACTUAL AMERICAN FILMS, nail teddy roosevelt’s surprisingly high pitched/reedy voice, and boy is his mid atlantic accent incredible

b) victoria’s fan-waving

c) catherine, an italian who became a french queen, speaks french with an italian accent. when you get her mad in game, she starts yelling at you in italian.

d) fucking harald sigurdsson, whose voice actor seems to have been told “that’s nice, but can you maybe roll your r’s even more?”

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gucciwins · 5 years

Text

Redemption

Harry is a fool and Y/N has a strong punch

Word count: 6586

A/N: Happy Halloween! (early/belated who knows when you’re reading) I love this month and I am very happy to share this with you. It was a true struggle to find time to write but here she is. AU’s are fun to explore so here is Frat! Harry. Please let me know what you think!

Hope you enjoy !

> > > > >

October 31st

Looking in the mirror, the only thing you can do is smile. The black lipstick looks foreign on your usual plain lips but you are proud in saying it looks nice on you. The dark eye shadow makes your eyes look a bit darker adding to the aura of the outfit you have. It all seems to fit together well. You here all the ruckus down stairs and know you don’t have much time left. You grab your flowery credit card holder and slip it into the front of your pants because if the worst were to ever happen at least you would have identification on you.

You hear Nick and Carmen arguing over who was the best dressed. Nick was saying how it was him because he looked good with a red bandanna tied around his neck. Carmen response to him was that at least she was able to rock a safari hat. You didn’t want to hear any more arguing so you finally let your room.

“The pumpkin queen finally decided to grace us with her presence.” Nick yells with a big grin.

“It’s King still, doesn’t change just because I’m a woman.” You responded to him.

You looked down at your costume and were damn proud of it. The items were not at all easy to find but damn were you grateful you did. The white and black striped pants made your legs appear much longer and not to brag made your ass look real nice. Guess, the squat workout Nick makes you do does work. You got a white button up shirt tucked into your pants and it is covered by the matching blazer with two white buttons. It fits you perfect, well at least now it does after Carmen was kind enough to get her younger sister to do it for you. At no cost, but that didn’t seem fair to you so you gave her a thirty dollar gift card to Starbucks because that is what Annie seemed to live by. Your favorite piece that you were happy you were able to make was the beautiful bow tie. The famous bat bow ties fits perfectly and the long wings make it look even more elegant. A true Pumpkin King, Jack Skellington would be proud. Carmen even let you borrow her black ankle heeled boots and honestly you’re not sure your friend will see them again.

You give them a nice twirl making sure to strike a dramatic pose as you stop. It makes them laugh which makes you laugh as well. You look over at your two friends and honestly can’t decide who looks better and they both can see that.

“You’re really going to tell us, we both look equally hot.” Carmen whines not even caring what you want to say.

Nick interrupts before you even have a chance to answer. “Obviously, it’s me. I have always been the favorite.”

Your best friends have decided to dress up as Dr. Alan Grant, the most famous paleontologist to ever exist or so they like to say but only in the world of Jurassic Park. The blue wrangler long sleeve shirt is folded to their elbows, both wear loose fitting khakis. They both wear light brown timberland boots that they both somehow already owned. Aviator sunglasses hanging from their shirt adding a sexy element to the look. An old watch is found on Carmen’s left wrist but none is to be seen on Nick. Nick has the leather dress belt and that is what Carmen is missing. Red bandannas on as well as their safari’s hat and if you really had to choose it would be Nick because you like to think the belt complete the look.

“Where’s the belt?” You question.

Both look down immediately and Carmen is the one who lets out a small curse word you couldn’t quite make out. Carmen storms off into her room but is back in seconds now with a secured belt.

“The good thing is that this isn’t as contest so there is no winner but if there was it would be me for originality.”

You pick up your keys from the cat shaped bowl by the door and finally walk out of the apartment.

“You’re a bitch” Nick yells full of fake anger.

“You don’t even look good.” Carmen yells but you all know that’s a lie.

“I swear I’ll leave you both.” You threaten as the elevator door closes behind you. As you begin to descend you hear the grumbling as they rush down the stairs to meet you.

> > > > >

Sigma Pi

The big name of the fraternity stared down at you as you make your way to the front door. This was one of the nicer known ones but just as everyone it holds its own reputation. The president is a friend of yours, Mitch Rowland. You had him for a psychology class and got paired to work together. He’s a quiet guy but well respected. He’s big on giving back to the university as well as the community. These guys have to do a minimum of twenty hours of community service a month which says a lot seeing as you’ve never seen any of the others do that. Mitch runs a tight ship but the same cannot be said about their vice president.

Harry Styles, known player who takes girls on dates only to never call them back. He is the one to organize these big parties but also an Orientation leader. The first time you met Harry he was a sweetheart not one to fit into to frats, you would have gone on a date with him if only the second time you met him didn’t ruin that.

It was the start of the year party and Nick dragged you along because he was thinking of pledging. You let yourself get wrapped up in that mess. At the party you spotted Harry and wanted to make your way over to him but stopped when you saw him with his tongue down a girls throat. You turned away and thought to approach him later except every time you saw him after he was kissing a new girl. As the night came to a close it was announced by their then president that Harry has passed his initiation by successfully kissing twenty different girls. Everyone cheered, but what surprised you was that each girl that kissed Harry was just as proud. Just you were leaving when Harry found you and asked you if you wanted to be lucky 21. Your response to this day cracked up your two friends. You told him, “Eat shit Harold, I don’t do sloppy seconds or in your case sloppy twenty.”

Carter was a terrible president and it did not surprise you when the fraternity got better with Mitch in charge in fact it is a big reason you started going to their parties more but it also reintroduced you to Harry.

As you entered the house your eyes spotted one to many angles and devils. It’s really funny because each person you saw the costume just seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Although as your eyes scanned the room you eyes caught sight of Sarah and Mitch who were dressed as Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega paying tribute to Sarah’s favorite film Pulp Fiction. Mitch caught your eye and you gave them a big smile and two thumbs up. He raised his red cup as a thank you.

Carmen left your side as soon as you entered when she heard the shitty music that was being played. She always made playlists for them and got mad because they never asked her to DJ when they all know she saves their party each time. Within seconds the dance floor was full and all the grinding started which opened up a pathway to the kitchen. Nick left to go chat with a friend he saw sitting alone.

You had to admit the decoration they had around the house was real nice. The stairs had bat stickers big and small looking as if they were going up. Then on the handrail orange lights were wrapped around. The couch had a white drape with red hand prints that made it look like blood which you thought was a smart idea. As you stood in the entryway of the kitchen leaf garland was hanging down and it looked very pretty. You wanted to take a picture with it behind you. Maybe later when you were with one of your friends who was able to take the picture.

As you are serving yourself a drink some behind you calls out your name. You turn to the backdoor and there looking as handsome as ever is Harry. Gosh, that man always manages to look good without effort but you can tell today he did.

“Where’s Sparky?” Harry questions you.

You sigh hopping he is just messing with you. “His name is Zero, thought a film snob would know that.”

“Now, now just because I’m a double major doesn’t mean I should be seen as only one of them.” He lectures you.

“Sure Harry, we would love to hear you brag about English and Film but save it for another time.” Adam says as he puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry finally looks away and you take that as your cue to leave.

“Hey wait, so where is Zero?” He pauses not wanting to make this weird. “You’re a perfectionist you wouldn’t go out with an incomplete outfit.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, Zero is safe and very much present.”

Harry nods and begins looking around hoping to find the person.

“Don’t waste your time searching you’ll find him only if I want you to.” With that you send him a wink and leaving Harry desperate for more conversation with you.

Little while later you’re leaning against the wall arms crossed defensively in hopes no one will approach you to bad some people don’t know how to read body language. Harry slides up right next to you. Right shoulder resting on the wall so he is able to have all eyes on you.

“Hi Pumpkin!” He shouts due to the music being a bit loud.

You shoot him a grin hoping it will get him to stop talking because truth is as much as you may act like you don’t like Harry it is the complete opposite you know it and so does Harry. You just never know how he feels, which is a big reason on why you never take his advances seriously. Although, he does go the extra mile to seek you out at events or even when running into you around campus. Who knows, today may be the day.

You hope it will be with Harry dressed looking like that is making you feel too many emotions. One’s that make you want to explore everything with him. You turn to face him but that is when one of Harry’s frat brother comes up to him to discuss something which allows you to check him out shamelessly. He’s wearing a blue sheer sparking top only buttoned half way exposing his beautiful butterfly tattoo you want to ask him about. But what captures your attention are the two swallows resting on his collarbone with a cross necklace sitting perfectly in the center. It’s no lie that Harry has always been attractive but is seems that this summer Harry worked on getting bigger because he looks broad and it’s making you sweat. The matching suspenders are a nice touch to his look but the matching wide leg trousers make his butt look bigger and juicier than before. You really needed to ask Harry for his squat routine because obviously it was working better than Nick’s.

Harry has felt you checking him out for the past few minutes but didn’t want to embarrass you in case you left running from him all over again which is why he dragged his conversation with the freshman. He’s finally able to turn all his attention back to you and he smiles when he sees you eyeing his untamed hair.

“I see you like my costume.” He smirks.

You decide not to answer and look away from Harry.

“Oh come on pumpkin, I’m Jack Dawson.” He laughs “Well the more modern version.”

You nod, “Well if you were going for modern slutty Jack I definitely see it.”

Harry is shocked at your response. You always leave him surprised.

You smirk. “Bye Harry.”

> > > > >

It’s eleven and the party's still going hard. You’re sitting on a piece of haystack that has a yellow blanket on top to stop the hay from getting on the clothing thankfully the fire pit is helping you keep warm. You drop your head to hide the smile growing on your face when you feel someone take a seat to the left of you.

“Pumpkin, you got to stop running away from me.” He’s pouting and you just want to lean over and kiss him to make him give you that charming dimpled smile.

“Where’s the fun if I make everything easy for you.” You look over at him the fire making his green eyes brighter and you lean in closer wanting a better look.

“Are you trying to kiss me?” Harry gasps. “I always thought I would make the first move.”

You pull away and give him a good shove making him tip to the side and fall. He lets out a small yelp but one look your way and you both start laughing.

Some time later it quiets down and it’s just you and Harry until a drunken couple makes their way outside. Harry stands and offers his hand to you. Without a second thought you take it and he’s leading you through the house and up the stairs. There’s four doors and his is the second on the left. He opens the door and lets you walk in first. His room is surprisingly clean but as expected he has a bookshelf filled with movies and books.

Harry stands back and lets you admire his room. He wants you to feel comfortable. You run a single fingers across all the movies and stop when one catches your eye. The Shawshank Redemption.

“Some movies come out before their time and this one was one of them. I remember finding out on opening weekend in didn’t come close to reaching one million and I was shocked. Thankfully, people redeemed themselves and now tops all lists as one of the best movies around even to this day.” You were just rambling on a movie you loved and you weren’t sure if Harry was even listening. You look over at him only to see him staring at you with a wide smile.

“Embarrassed to say I haven’t seen it. I got it on sale and just never got around to watching it.” He rubs the back of his neck to calm himself.

“Well if you ever get the chance to watch it let me know what you think about it. Would love to discuss it with a professional but just so you know I took my fair share of film and production courses during my summers in high school. I know enough to sound smart in conversations as well as understand.” You told him proudly.

“You continue to surprise me.” He chuckles. “Guess I’m not the only film snob.”

You crinkle your nose at name he called you. “Promise to never call you that ever again, sounds awful.”

You quiet down and sit on his bed. You look over at him and patted the spot next to you. He walks over slowly and sits close enough that your thighs are touching. He lays back and you follow after him. Little noise is heard from outside and you’re thankful for that because laying here in the dark the moon your only source of light is comforting.

“Harry.”

He hums in response.

“I like you.” You let out a shaky breath after finally saying it out loud.

He turns on his side to face you and you do the same even though you’re nervous.

“Pumpkin, you don’t know how happy that makes me.” He brings his hand to rest on your cheek and just holds you so gently as if you’d break if he touched any harder. “I like you too. So much.”

You’re nose to nose now, eyes flickering to each other’s lips each time.

“May I please kiss you?” He asks eyes meeting yours.

“Please.” You let out in a low voice.

He looks into your eyes one more time before closing the gap. It feels like magical. You have never felt someone kiss you with so much emotion. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Harry doesn’t even want to think about pulling away because now that he has a taste of you he never wants to stop.

You are the first to pull away to get air in your lungs. You lips brush each other softly as you try to think of something to say. But honestly you think your smile says it all.

“You are always worth the wait.” Harry says his breath tickling your lips having you let out a small laugh.

“Can we do it again, H?”

“‘Course we can. Don’t ever want to stop now.” He sighs into your mouth.

Each kiss keeps getting hotter and you do nothing to stop it. Harry pulls of your blazer as well as your pretty bow tie. He gives it a small kiss before throwing it to the side. He’s trailing kisses all over you neck but not leaving any bruises not knowing how you feel about it. He loves feeling your heart rate speed up, the breathy moans you let out encouraging him to keep going. You run your fingers through his tangled hair and tug on it because you miss the feel of his lips on yours.

“You sure about this?” He asks pulling away to look you in the eyes.

“Yes. I give you my consent. Didn’t have a lick of alcohol.” You tell him proudly. “Can’t say the same about you. Will you remember this in the morning, Sparky?” Harry grins at the dumb nickname you used on him.

“Only had one.” He grins at his next words. “Can’t be chasing you if I’m all boozed up.”

You melt at his words but don’t let him see it. You trail your hands up his open chest. Harry sees how hesitant you are to undress him so he begins to help you out. He takes off his suspenders rather quickly and unbutton the last few keeping the shirt together. You can’t help but lay back and admire Harry. He has so many tattoos but not one of them seems out of place it is as if each one has always lived on him. Harry isn’t one to shy away from what he wants. He brings his hands to rest on your waist. Squeezing hard enough to get your attention. Although you have a hard time focusing when his lips look so inviting.

“Pumpkin, mind if I take off the button up it would only seem fair.” You smirk up at Harry as if thinking it over but give him a soft nod and that gets him going.

You wait with your arms to your side and face tilted up to catch Harry’s expression. Once the shirt and wide open Harry takes in a sharp breath. This is not what he was expecting. A beautiful swallow tattoo is what he sees. It lies over your heart. He wants to compliment its beauty on your skin but his body has a mind of it’s own and he gives is soft kiss. It was so gentle it sent shivers down your back.

“Matching tattoos, doesn’t that scream soulmates to you” Harry jokes but looking in his eyes you see a bit of hope in there.

“Should have known you were a hopeless romantic.” You begin unbuttoning your pants when you stop realizing you have to take off your boots. “H, take my boots of please.” You give him a small smile feigning innocence.

Harry shakes his head at you but proceeds to do as you asked. Once he sets them at the edge of the bed he grabs a hold of your jeans and yanked them down. You’re shocked when you realized he took your panties with them. You’re laying there exposed to him bra removed and thrown across the room. Harry was about to crawl up to you but something caught his eye. Hi grabbed your right ankle and turned it a little he chuckled at what he saw. “Guess I finally found Zero.” Harry leans down and gives Zero a small kiss before claiming your lips once again.

Harry kisses you possessively, one hand sliding under your ass to pull your bodies close. You’re getting desperate you want his hands everywhere. You tangled your fingers in his hair and give it a sharp tug. Harry breaks the kiss letting out a deep moan. Harry’s lips drift down your neck leaving a trail until he reaches your breasts. He gives them quick kisses before making his way down to where you need him most. He pulled you legs over his shoulder his breath hitting the side of your thigh making you whine in need. Harry doesn’t need any encouragement because he dives right in. His tongue darting out to lick along your soft folds. You gasp and tighten the hold you have on his hair, your hips rising to meet his mouth. Harry moaned enjoying how sweet you taste. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slowly slipping a finger inside of you, pumping in and out enjoying the moans you keep letting out.

“Harry” You moan. “Please” You don’t want him to ever stop.

Harry had you begging for more as he kept tasting, sucking, and licking you, content with his place between your thighs until he brings you to your orgasm. His tongue sliding deep inside you alongside his fingers, his thumb pressed against your clit, moving it in slow circles. You felt yourself shattering to pieces, the orgasm leaving you seeing stars, your heart pounding but a smile present on your face. You’d never felt anything that good.

Harry places a gentle kiss on each of your thigh before locking eyes with you. “That was…” You stop to catch your breath. “Impressive.”

Harry chuckles cheeks going red. You’re not sure when he got rid of his pants but he sits there bare. He strokes himself several times before grabbing a condom by the side table, opening it, and sliding it on. He leans over you, his mouth on yours, his kisses getting needy for more.

His cock was hard and you were eager to feel him. You pushed a hand between your bodies and took him in your hand, stroking him. He moaned as you raised your hips to meet his and he slowly eased into you, his hand sliding under your ass to keep a firm grip on you.

You let out a sigh as Harry filled you, it felt right. You felt as if you weren’t meant to be anywhere else but in his arms. The two of you moved in perfect sync. Each knowing what touch the other needed. The moans and groans filled the room. It felt right.

You wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck and brought him in for a kiss, you felt like it had been too long since you felt your lips on his. You wrapped your legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him into you, your hips rising to meet his as each of his thrusts became harder, deeper, longer. This orgasm was better than the first, you felt as if your heart might burst. Harry groaned as your walls clamped down on him. His thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own releases. He holds you tighter, his body tightening as he came with a low moan of your name.

He keeps his arm wrapped around you, his face resting on your neck as he catches his breath. A smile on his face as he feels you shower him in kisses all around his face well as much as he lets you. You sigh and close your eyes as he kisses you neck leaving three consecutive pecks.

> > > > >

Harry came back with a wet cloth to help clean you clean up. He was gentle different to how this night started. You find yourself wanting to spend more time with him and you hoped he wanted the same. You’re getting settled in bed together you in your matching black lace bra and undies. Harry stays in the nude letting you know he sleeps like this most of the time.

Harry decides the break the silence.

“It doesn’t take much to get you into bed.” He chuckles.

You are taken back. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“What?”

Harry hears the change in your tone. “Relax, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

You are quick to jump out of bed and throw on your pants, top and blazer in under a minute. All while Harry is staring at you dumbfounded. “No, but you did just want to get in my pants.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do. He never meant to upset her. He isn’t even sure why he said that. He has never felt this way about a girl and he just ruined it.

“I was dumb enough to think you actually liked me.” You finish putting on your boots and make your way towards his door not sparing him another glance.

“I did.” He corrects himself. “I do. I do.” He’s getting desperate.

“No need to feed me lies. I’ll make this easy for you and leave.” Your throat is closing up but you don’t want to cry over him.

“Don’t leave!” He glances at the clock and pauses. “Give it a few minutes they’ll say something if you walk out now.”

You start seeing red. “What!” You turn to him and he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes and he hates it because he caused this. “If I walk out that door will one of your stupid friends be there.”

Harry doesn’t know what to respond they could be but no one saw them go up so you should be safe. At least he hopes. “No.” He knows half these guys suck but Mitch and him have told them they don’t take terrible behavior especially towards women. “They may be jerks but they aren’t disrespectful.”

Your stare is cold as you take one final look at Harry. You’re out the door in the next second. Harry stands at the door when a yell snaps both your gazes to someone at the bottom of the stairs.

Jed, the jerk no one likes, including Harry shouts, “Looks like Harry got the girl.” Cheers erupt right after. You’re not exactly sure what Jed tells the friend next to him but by the way he’s eyeing you it’s not something you want repeated.

You stand there shocked not knowing if you want to cry or punch someone. You turn to look at Harry to see if he’ll do anything but what he does next breaks your heart. He shuts the door in your face. You scoff wanting to go in and punch him but ultimately decide he isn’t the one who deserves it right now.

You walk down the stairs head held high and at this point no one is staring at you anymore. Jed has his back turned to you so you tap his shoulder he turns and looks at you with a smug smile. Not for long you tell yourself. Right fist is shut tight but not enough to cut off the circulation. You bring it up quickly and swing. All that can be heard is high pitch scream, music and conversations fall dead.

Jed falls to the ground and looks up at you in a daze not believing what just happened. You have nothing to add and walk out the front door. You slam the door closed just as Harry slams his door open. You’re in your car in seconds shaking from the adrenaline, you take a few deep breaths and check your phone to see your friends have already left. You’re thankful but not at all excited to explain this story tomorrow.

> > > > >

November 2nd

You had the morning shift at the bookstore and you are thankful to finally be leaving. It’s awful having a shift where no one walks in, especially when you’re working alone having no one to talk to. During the shift your friends came in for a quick chat just to make sure you were really fine. Nick brought you a muffin and a coffee while Carmen went on a rant letting you know she’d beat up anyone who spoke a word about you. None of you mentioned Harry. You could tell they wanted to but you were sure you’d cry if you said his name. As annoying as he could be he was sweetheart around you. Too bad it’s over.

Amy walked in at twelve for the shift change. You clocked out and grabbed your bag from the small lockers in the back room. Amy was quick to grab a book and was sitting in the red chair next to the register.

“Jed totally had that coming. Glad you and Harry gave him a lesson.” Amy starts talking as you almost made it to the door. You turn around hoping she’ll continue and she does. “ Harry came down in shoes and sweats ready to attack but stopped when he saw Jed holding his jaw his lip bleeding. You could tell he was upset someone beat him to the punch.”

You’re shocked no one had told you that Harry actually made it out of his room. “What happened next.” You’re shocked at how much you care.

Amy shot you a smile. “Jed was about to start bitching when Harry punched him then kneed him in the balls but didn’t do more as Mitch finally showed up. He kicked Jed out and the other boys threw his clothes out the window. It was epic.” You laughed as she finished the story. “Have you talked to Harry.?”

You sign and shake your head no. “I don’t know how to go about this. I’ve never felt this strongly about a guy and then have it all ruined.”

Amy shoots you a comforting smile. “If there’s anything my girl has taught me is that hearing them out is important and how you feel after that is how you should go about it. You alone with your head may ruin a beautiful connection that not many are lucky to have.”

You lean down and give her a tight hug. “I might not say this enough but I love you. I’ll reach out to him and let you know how it goes.”

As you’re walking out the door you can’t help the smile on your face. Maybe, just maybe Harry was different.

> > > > >

Walking into the apartment you know something is wrong. You can feel it and that worries you because you’re supposed to be alone for the day. Carmen is out with her family celebrating her sister’s birthday. You pick up the baseball bat that lays behind the front door that Nick gifted you as a housewarming present (honestly you know he got it from goodwill). As you approach the hallway you hold the baseball hat in one hand and call Carmen hoping she will answer you. She answers after two rings and you don’t let her get a word in.

“I think someone broke in.” You whisper steps light. “I am ready to swing, looks like they are in my room.”

Your door is shut but you hear the sound of your desk chair creaking.You’re about to open the door forgetting you’re still on the phone. A scream is what stops you from opening the door. “DROP THE BASEBALL BAT PLEASE!!!!” Carmen sounds exhausted. “IT'S HARRY.”

You pause and open the door quickly startling Harry making him stand from the chair he was sitting in. A plush Zero resting in his large hands making the stuffed present look smaller than it actually is. Harry is standing shocked green eyes on the baseball bat which you drop just as quickly. It lands with a thud. You bring your phone to your ear and continue looking at Harry.

“Can I punch him?” You ask Carmen in a sweet voice trying your best not to laugh because you want to get a reaction out of Harry.

“No.” She pauses. “I would have said yes if he hadn’t explained so do us a favor and hear him out. We wouldn’t have let him in if we knew he was going to cause more trouble. Love you.” Carmen doesn’t give you a chance to answer back and hangs up.

You throw your phone to your bed and that is when you take a look around your room. It’s different, it’s decorated for Halloween even though you remember you didn’t do that this year which means Harry did it for you.

Orange pumpkin lights hang above your head giving it a nice glow. Scattered around on your once empty wall are bats of all sizes. Your window has hanging leaves falling and it looks beautiful. Your old bean bag is covered in a pumpkin blanket with all kinds of candies spread over it. You spot Oreos in the mix and that is what brings the first smile to your face. Finally, you look over at Harry who looks nervous, it looks like he’s sweating.

Shit.

Guess he really is suffering a bit. You’re about to finally say something but your attention is on his chest specifically his pecs that have a ghost with bee’s bottoms on them. It says boo bees. This causes you to start laughing and you take a seat on your bed. Once you calm down you look over at Harry and give him a small smile which he happily returns.

“You went to the Target sale for me?”

Harry is surprised that’s your first question but answers it nonetheless. “Figured I deserved a bit of chaos in my life.”

You nod and look at your TV that is set up to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas realizing Harry wants to hang out with you and this is his way of apologizing or well half apologizing.

“This was very kind of you.” You grab the box of Oreos and grab one splitting it in half. “You can see yourself out. Seeing as you found your way in.”

Harry is not surprised your kicking him out but you didn’t even bother to hear his apology. Heck, you didn’t even ask about it. Harry doesn’t fight you on it and walks out quickly not wanting you to see his tears.

Your room door shuts and you feel bad. Harry was sweet but he did hurt you. Letting him suffer is the right choice, right? As you’re finishing your first oreo, your phone rings.

“Did you kick him out?”

“Yup” You reply.

“It’s not nice letting him suffer.” She sighs, you know she’s fed up with you.

“I suffered.” You remind her.

“He’s going to cry. He is probably crying.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll fix it, let him break my heart again.” You’re giggling as you say this.

“Dramatic bitch.” She yells and hangs up.

You hurry out your door just as you hear the front door closing and move even quicker. He’s waiting for the elevator that takes too long to come up.

“Hey sparky,” His head snaps quickly to look at you. “You’re really going to leave me to eat all this candy on my own.” You shake your head at him but you’re smiling and now so is he. He takes small steps towards you. “Who will take care of me when I crash from all the sugar?”

“You want me to stay?” Harry questions wanting to make sure he is understanding what you’re saying.

“I do believe you owe my some cuddles.”

He’s standing in front of you now. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re shocked at the question but shake your head no. “If we make it through a movie and I decide I like your cuddling then you can give me as many kisses and i-” he cuts you off.

“Get ready for the world’s best cuddles.” Harry leads the way back to your room.

You’re getting settled in your bed with Harry to your right. You decide since you’re doing cuddles might as well go all in which is why your head is laying on his firm pecs. You’re thankful for the short sleeve shirt because you get to admire his tattoos a bit more.

“Why aren’t you letting me apologize?” Harry questions his hand rubs up and down your back softly.

“I already know what happened after I left and that’s enough for me.” You sit up to look at him. You bring your left hand to cup his cheek and he leans into you. “This is a fresh start. No, annoying Harry and no sassy reply from me.” You lean in and give his forehead a soft kiss.

You settle back down and let out a small giggle when Harry gives you a sweet forehead kiss.

“Now Sparky, press play.”

Surprisingly, you and Harry spend the whole time watching the movie. Sharing your snacks equally. More like you moving the oreos every time Harry’s hand made its way to the box. Harry singing along with Jack that made you laugh so loud that Harry couldn’t help but join you. He was making this whole waiting to kiss so much harder. You’ve watched this movie many times so you know the end is near and so does Harry as he seems to tighten his hold on your waist. It feels nice, like he was always meant to be holding you.

The finale is starting and that is when you have enough and sit up but you move so quickly that the next thing you know you’re on Harry’s lap and connecting your lips to his.

Harry hums in appreciation. His left hand on your cheek and right hand on your waist. This is perfect.

You pull away and laugh when Harry chases your lips. He slowly opens his eyes looking up at you. Your lips wet and plump all by his doing. You’re beautiful and he’s lucky enough to be here with you in his arms.

“There’s not much left in the movie, let’s finish it.” You make to turn around but Harry tightens his hold on you.

“No” Harry pouts. “Lets kiss some more”

“Harry,” You start but he interrupts you.

“Pumpkin, this more fun.”

“Eh” you fake looking at your nails.

“That’s it.”

Harry flips you over so your laying on your back and he’s straddling you. He begins kissing you everywhere. Your cheeks, nose, neck, nowhere is left untouched.

The room is filled with love and laughter. Each kiss getting deeper and deeper. After each kiss falling deeper in love with one another.

For it is plain as anyone can see, we’re simply meant to be.

> > > > >

FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED

#harry styles #trick or treat people with kindness #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles story #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #my writing !

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jupitermelichios · 4 years

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DC: The High-School AU: The Series: The Staff (the musical)

So I finally cast the school staff and teachers for my DC High School AU, which I thought some of you would have some fun with! I took the subject list from a fairly fancy looking private school, because only schools you have to pay for have their subject lists online, so I’m probably offering way more classes than your average state school, but hey, it’s my AU and I wanted to cram in as many supervillains, obscure heroes, and bad jokes as possible.

Admin & Staff

Principle - Amanda Waller

Deputy Principle & Treasurer - Noah Kuttler (the Calculator)

Nurse - Myra Mason (she was Dr Midnite’s nurse and love interest in the 40s & 50s, then got fridged, but I’m unfridging her and giving her a job with much better survival prospects)

Councillor - Ethel Peabody (she’s a psychiatrist from the Gotham TV show, and also in my headcanon, Amanda Waller’s sister)

Librarian - Stanislaus Johns (The Librarian. I considered bookworm for this job but he’s literally called the Librarian, what was I supposed to do, not use him?)

Admin Staff - Laura Conway (Superman supporting cast and occaisional vampire), Mabel Martin (Riddler’s secretary), Theresa Collins (Goldstar, also Booster Gold’s secretary)

Business

Loren Jupiter (aka Mr Jupiter the richest and therefore most thrustworthy man in the world) - Business 101, Business Law, Entrepreneurship

Wesley Dodds (Sandman) - Business Communications

Annabeth Chamberlain (Brimstone) - Marketing, Hospitality & Tourism (she doesn’t work in tourism, but I figure anyone who can waitress while also having the power to set people on fire and damn them to hell and keeps her job probably knows a whole lot about customer service)

Family & Consumer Science

Miss Tribb (Lobo’s childhood teacher who inexplicably survived the extinction of their species) - Childhood Developement, Early Childhood Education

Neil Richards (The Mad Mod) - Texiles/Sewing, Fashion

Tenzil Kem (Matter-Eater Lad) - Food & Nutrition

Finance

Noah Kuttler (The Calculator) - Personal Finance

Foreign Languages

Matron Bertinelli (Nu52 Huntress, who I’m declaring a sepperate character and the aunt of pre-52 Huntress because they’re radically different characters and I like both of them) - ASL, Italian

Chang Jie-Ru (Nu52 Yo-Yo) - Chinese, AP Chinese

Yolanda Montez (Wildcat II) - Spanish, AP Spanish

Barbara Minerva (Cheetah) - Latin

Health Sciences

Myra Mason - Emergency Medical Responder training

Charles McNider (Dr Midnite) - Anatomy & Physiology, Health Class

Brian Durlin (Savant) - Computer Programming, Web Dev

Jennifer Lyn-Hayden (Jade) - Digital Art 101

Arnold Wesker (Ventriloquist) - 3D Animation, 3D Graphics (I don’t know why but the idea of Wesker as an animator just tickled me. Obviously his real passion is stop-motion, but he learnt 3D because there were more jobs)

English (the fancy private school called this ‘language arts’ which is so prentious it makes me feel slightly nauseous)

Wesley Dodds (Sandman) - English Language, AP English Language

Rac Shade (Shade the Changing Man) - English Literature, AP English Literature

Chloe Sullivan (the worst character in the Smallville TV show, a hotly contested position) - English Language, Communications 101, supervises the School Paper and the Yearbook

Shelly Gaynore (The Whip III) - Englist Literature, Creative Writing

Basil Karlo (Clayface) - Intro to Shakespeare

Nick Scratch (officially his supervillain name is just Scratch, but I refuse to consider that a code-name, looking at you Drake) - Communications 102: Public Speaking

Mathematics (which has a 100% villain make-up, which seems accurate from what I remember of high-school maths)

Noah Kuttler (The Calculator, because I think I’m funny) - Pre-Calc, Calculus, AP Calculus

Harlan Graves (The Underbroker) - Stats, Algebra 1, Algebra 2

Angelo Bend (Angle Man, becuase I know I’m funny) - Geometry, Trigonometry

PE (I realise this is probably too many PE teachers but there are a lot more caonical althetes than just about any other job in the DCU except maybe scientist)

Lawrence Crock (Sportsmaster, you knew this was coming) - Gym, Weight Training, coaches Baseball, Basketball, Tennis & Hockey

Lisa Snart (Golden Glider) - joint-coaches Cheerleading, coaches the Drill Team, Wrestling

Randy Hanrahan (Stallion) - PE, joint-coaches Cheerleading & Cross-Country, coaches Football

William Everett (Amazing Man) - PE, joint-coaches Cross-Country, coaches Track & Field

Matron Bertinelli (Huntress, sort of) - coaches Soccer & gymnastics

Performing Arts

Lisa Snart (Golden Glider) - Dance

Hartley Rathaway (Pied Piper) - Music 101, Music Theory, Composition, teaches Guitar & Percussion

Isaac Bowin (The Fiddler) - Music 101, AP Music Theory, leads Jazz Band, Orchestra, Marching Band

Siobhan Smyth (Silver Banshee) - part-time, leads the Choir and teaches singing

Basil Karlo (Clayface) - Theatre, Theatre 101

Simon Trent (Grey Ghost) - Theatre, Theatre 101, Film Studies

Ted Kord (Blue Beetle) - Theatre Tech

Mary Louise Dahl (Baby-Doll, from B:TAS) - Film Studies, Video Production

Betty Bates (Lady-at-Law, who is technically owned by DC now due to corporate buy-outs) - Debate

Science (do you have any idea how hard it is to pin down areas of specialisation for comic book scientists? TNT is on this list entirely because he’s the only actual honest-to-god professional chemist I could find)

Kirk Langstrom (ManBat) - Biology, AP Biology

Pamela Isley (Poison Ivy) - Biology, Environmental Science

Thomas “Tex” Thomas (TNT) - Chemistry

Achilles Milo (Professor Milo, again not really much of a code name) - Chemistry, AP Chemistry

Will Magnus (I refuse to even dignify it as a code-name) - Physics, Earth Sciences

Ray Palmer (The Atom) - Physics, AP Physics

Adam Strange (DC is just doing this to fuck with me, personally) - Astronomy

Social Studies & Humanities

Barbara Minerva (Cheetah) - World History

Maxie Zeus (ffs) - World History, AP World History (fun fact, Maxie was canonically just a normal history teacher before he got lightning powers, became convinced he was Zeus incarnate, and set out to become a criminal, making him my favourite DC mobster by a country mile)

Terry Long (aka one of the only characters to really deserve to get fridged) - US History, AP European History

Eobard Thawne (every code-name he has is stupid, but lets just go with Reverse-Flash as the least awful option) - US History, AP US History

Nick Scratch - US Government, AP US Government, AP Comparative Politics

Rex Tyler (Hourman) - AP Art History

Magdalene Kyle-Burton (Sister Zero, she’s a sometimes-nun and a sometimes-sister to Catwoman) - Comparative Religion

Michael Carter (Booster Gold) - Economics, AP Microeconomics, AP Macroeconomics

Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) - Psychology (there is exactly one heroic psychiatrist in all of comics, and I’d already used Dr Fate elsewhere. Scarecrow seemed like the least bad option of the remaining pool for being around children, and he does at least have teaching experience)

Adam Strange - Sociology

Betty Bates (Lady-at-Law) - Law

Richard Occult/Rose Psychic (it’s complicated, lets just say Dr Occult and leave it at that) - part-time, Criminal Justice

Technology & Engineering

Ted Kord (Blue Beetle) - Electronics, CAD, Woodworking

John Henry Irons (Steel) - Engineering, Metalworking

Will Magnus - Robotics

Visual Arts

Linda Lee/Danvers (she’s Supergirl, but I’m making her a different character from Kara Danvers/Kent because the DCU is really short on artists and I needed someone to teach the damn class, although the only thing that really makes her distinct from other supergirls is that she fucked a horse that one time and IDK how that will translate into a personality...) - Ceramics, AP Studio Art: 3D Design, Art 101

Rex Tyler (Hourman) - Graphic Design, Drawing, AP Studio Art: Drawing

Jack Knight (Starman) - Painting, AP Studio Art: 2D Design, Art 101

Jennifer Lyn-Hayden (Jade) - Photography

So there you go - I’ll be honest I still don’t really understand how high-schools in the USA work, and I have no idea what Design studio art even is so I kind of assigned those ones at random, but now it’s done and cannot be changed.

As always this universe is open to prompts so if you want a chapter focussing on any of these characters just drop me an ask or a comment and I’ll see what I can do. Making Dr Occult & Rose Psychic a single gender-fluid person is already on my list to do, since that’s who I thought they were for a longest time when I started reading comics and I’m still kind of annoyed that isn’t canonically what’s going on.

#teen titans fanfiction #amanda waller #ted kord #booster gold #supergirl #john henry irons #will magnus #adam strange #betty bates #ray palmer #maxie zeus #hs au #my fics #my fic #highschool never ends

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #342

“in this farewell, there’s no blood, there’s no alibi / ‘cuz i’ve drawn regret from the truth of a thousand lies”

What’s your all-time favourite cartoon? Does anime count? In which case I'd say Fullmetal Alchemist, or the original Pokemon. If we're not including anime, then uhhhh Avatar: The Last Airbender, even though I have much more to go in the series. Have you ever taken dance lessons? What kind? Yeah, I've done a few for many years: jazz, clogging, modern, and hip hop. When did you last run and why? I literally couldn't tell you. I don't even know if I can run with the current state of my legs. My knees would probably crumple. Does your house/flat/whatever the hell you live in need cleaning? Not necessarily cleaning, but sorting. I still have boxes outside and inside my room of my stuff I need to put up somewhere... but whenever I prepare to do it, I just get so overwhelmed and shy away from it. Then there's the spare room, that's a total mess loaded with boxes and the like. Mom and I have just avoided it like the plague. Was your last relationship with a man or a woman? Woman. What do you think your next achievement will be? HOPEFULLY getting a job... Do you like mushrooms? NOOOOOOO. What dream do you remember most vividly? I'm not talking about it. Favorite kind of bread? Pumpernickel. Rabbits or hamsters? Rabbits. I've never met a nice hamster, and I just think rabbits are cuter. A movie you’ve never seen that it seems like every one else has? Harry Potter films. Favorite dog breed? I'm biased towards beagles. When was the last time you climbed a tree? Never, actually. Where I live, there aren't really many weighty trees with low branches. Just pine trees. Most common lie you tell? That I'm "fine" when I'm not. Ever seen your parents make out? Jc no, I'll take a hard pass there. Do you put your hair up a lot or down? It's too short to put up. Most of the time do you straighten or curl your hair? Neither. What piercing do you hate? I'm not a fan of cheek dermals at all, but you do you 100%. Were you raised in a religious house? Yes; I was raised Roman Catholic. Do your parents get mad when you're on the computer for hours? Mom used to for many years until I became an adult and she just realized it was in vain. I haven't lived with Dad since I was a teenager, but when my parents were together, he usually didn't say anything. Have you ever been asked for a nude picture? No, thankfully. I'd stop talking to the person immediately. What would you do if your parent hit you? I honestly feel like I'd slap them back and get the fuck out. Or just freeze in shock and cry. What's your most common mood? Stressed but distracted. Do you like poems? Yeah, usually. Ever kissed someone half-naked? Uh yeah. Have you ever been in a parade? No. Do you still play Pokémon? I play Pokemon GO, and I've actually been tempted to get out my DS and play one of the games I have (I can't remember which). I do find Pokemon games to be VERY grind-ey, though, so I can't play them for too long without getting bored. What is your favorite Pokémon? Ninetales. I also really love Espeon, though, and Charmander will always have my heart. Is there an animal you like that most people don't? Bats! :') Is there an animal that you think is overrated in terms of how it's liked? No animal is overrated. Have you ever "quit" a site and came back to it more than once? Uhhhh I don't think so. Do you have an "odd" fascination with anything? Most would probably consider "vulture culture" to be pretty weird, being drawn to dead animals and all... What's the hardest thing you've been through, & what did you learn from it? The breakup with Jason. I learned that some people make promises they aren't afraid to break, that someone can promise "forever" and not mean it, that the most unexpected can just snap their fingers and forget about you... I learned a lot. And most things, not positive. What are three "unrealistic" things you want most? 1.) To be able to financially support myself by just freelance nature photography; 2.) sooo many different kinds of pets; and 3.) to be totally rid of my mental illnesses. Do you take any daily vitamins? No, but I would if I was the one who bought groceries and stuff. I do however take Vitamin D once a week for my legs. Who are three of your favorite fictional characters of all time? JUST THREE??????? FUCK MAN idk. Uhhh well there's of course Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache, then uhhh probably Pyramid Head. If you had to give the world a pre-existing mythological/fictional being, what would it be? Idk, I'd really need to be more educated on their lore before I made that decision. Do you have any desire to learn (a) foreign language(s)? Which? I both do and don't want to resume learning German. I got very good at it and could have basic conversations, but lack of application has slaughtered my vocabulary. Now it's like, it'd be nice to try again, but for what purpose? I don't think I'll ever actually apply it to my life, so it just seems like it'd be a load of wasted effort. But then on the other hand, I also feel that doing something you simply want to do isn't a waste of time. Idk. What is one of your firmest beliefs? Equality for all. No race, religion, whatthefuckever makes you more or less valuable than someone else. Do you have anything that keeps you from doing something you'd truly enjoy? Oh yes. Depression and anxiety, mostly. Do you work to fix your faults? Or at least, admit to them? I definitely try, and I'll certainly admit to them. How do you hope the world will change, if at all? I just want more compassion, less violence, more understanding... What is/are your view(s) on god, religion, spirituality, or relations to? In short, I believe that something sentient created the universe, and it/they/he/she/what-have-you just... let life play out from there, I think. I like to believe there's a plane of consciousness like an afterlife that exists, but if not, I don't really care. I hope the evil get what was coming to them, and the good get back what they gave, but maybe we're all better off without life after death. We'll all find out one day. Are you arachnophobic or scared of spiders in the least? Some, yes; others, not so much. This is very situational. Do you play WoW? What do you think of it either way? Haha, you're asking an avid player. I enjoy it, but not as much as I used to. At one point I was a Heroic raider, sometimes dabbling in Mythic, but now I'm just mostly a casual mount collector that likes chatting with my guildies and just doing dailies 'n shit. I owe a lot to the game, honestly; it helped me stay occupied throughout the breakup, and still today gives me something to do. What kind of computer do you have? Windows 7/Vista/XP/Other? I have an Acer Nitro with Windows 10. Are you taking any interesting classes in school/do you not attend? I'm no longer in school. If you don't attend, are you taking any "lessons" for anything? No, but I would like to join a photography course somewhere. A book/piece that has had an exceptional impact on your life? Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo just made me hate war more than I innately did. What genres of music are your favorite? Just metal as an umbrella term. Some heavy stuff, some less, some in the middle, some leaning towards other genres... but I just like metal. Do you think that fate plays a part in people's lives? No. Wouldn't "fate" just make it all... worthless? Like we're just storybook characters with a predetermined ending? What are your opinions on the media? One word: manipulative. What's a piece of technology you'd like to own? I REALLY want a PS4, especially lately. There's just a lot of games I REALLY want to play. Are you afraid of technology developing to where we're too reliant on it? We're already *too* reliant on it, which I do believe is a bad thing. I know, absolutely hysterical for me to be talking. What's your favorite odd ice cream flavor? I don't think I've ever had a truly odd ice cream flavor. There's this local place though that makes a kind that tastes JUST like s'mores, and I can fucking murder a cup of that. What's your opinion on stereotypes/labels? They're limiting and devalue uniqueness, imo. I know very, very few people who totally fit a certain stereotype, so why even bother. Like I don't care if you use them as adjectives to some extent, just don't put too much weight on them. Just be you. Do you believe that history repeats itself? It's not necessarily doomed to, but it happens sometimes, obviously. Would you rather learn from your mistakes or just undo them? Depends on the mistake. What was the most interesting class you had in school? Probably Mythology in high school. Do you write? If so, what? Yeah, meerkat role-play. And every now and again, poetry. Do you have a favorite culture? No; I'm not educated on nearly enough to pick one. Do you believe in global warming? Have you researched it? Lol no shit I do. I don't exactly think it takes much research to see with your own two eyes that it's factual. Do you prefer piercings or tattoos? Tattoos, if I had to pick. What comedy movie is your favorite? White Chicks. Have you ever meditated? Yes. Doesn't work for me. What comes to mind when you think of a great moment in your life? Realizing it was my choice to liberate myself and my happiness from my ex. He didn't and never should've carried it, because that's my right. What do you like about springtime? Aaaaall the flowers. <3 How have you handled having to stay in? It's not really different from my average day, so... How would your friends describe you? Quiet and overthinks literally everything. Have you ever hallucinated? When I was coming off a certain med in middle school, I saw black moving shadows. What (or who) is the best thing that ever happened to you? The partial hospitalization program I attended for two months following my suicide attempt. It's where I met my psychiatrist, who set my medication straight. Medicine besides though, I learned so many coping techniques and just how to deconstruct my trauma. As well as possible, anyway. What is the worst decision you ever made? Handing over the ability to make happiness for myself to another person. What is your favorite arcade game? Don't have one. Do you feel neglected? No. What school subject(s) are/were your best? English, Arts, Science. Are you allergic to pollen? Yep. What style of wedding dress do you like best? Probably ballgown. Are you over your first love? I probably never will be in complete totality. Do you always answer your phone? No. I only ever do if I recognize the number. Who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Today is actually my sister's birthday. What song is currently stuck in your head? I have Halocene's cover of "What I've Done" on a loop right now. It has me absolutely covered in goosebumps. Do you ever use coloring books? Not really anymore. Do you personally know anyone who is an author? Not to my knowledge, no. What’s your favorite kind of salsa/dip to go with tortilla chips? Just your normal, mildly hot salsa. Do you wash your car by hand or drive through a car wash? Mom's car hasn't been washed in... well, years, given its bumper. Mom worries that in a car wash, it'll be broken off (it is literally held on with a lot of zip ties and duct tape), and we ourselves don't want to wash it, so... Do you have any uncommon kitchen appliances, such as espresso machines, waffle irons, etc? I know we have one or two, but idk what they're called. What did your parents major/minor in in college, if they went? Dad never went to college. Mom changed her major a few times, but her latest was social work, I believe. Has either of their careers influenced what career you chose or want to pursue? Not at all. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Why is your least favorite season your least favorite? Because it's hot as fuck and humid. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? I don't know. Hopefully I'll start one soon when I leave PHP and pursue a job... What room in your home do you spend the least amount of time in? I'm always in my room. Do you do anything to reduce the amount of electricity you use? I feel awful admitting I do quite the opposite... Being in the dark during the day affects my depression, so I'll have my lamp (or both) on even if it's just sort of shaded inside. Are you usually open to trying a new food that you aren’t familiar with? Eh, it depends on the food. I'm not very adventurous with foods though. Do you listen to Panic! At The Disco? I do. Have you ever had a kinky dream about a celebrity? ... It wasn't "kinky," but it was a dream lmao. Has anyone ever told you that they loved you, and you couldn’t say it back? That's how I ended the whole Joel childishness. Which friend do you confide in most? My mom. Do you wear a cross? No. What is your favorite doughnut? That's so hard. :( Krispy Kreme's normal glazed though probably takes the cake. I also love chocolate frosted and just totally plain, though. Do you have a hot tub? If so, where is it located? No. Did you read the Twilight series, or jump on the bandwagon after the movie? Neither. Do you or your parents rake your yard? Dad did growing up. Now nobody does or needs to. Who did you last go to the movies with? Dad, I think? What color was the last vehicle you were in? White. Do you have any family members in the military right now? No. Is there a ceiling fan in the room you’re in? Yeah. Have you ever heard voices? No. If you’re not straight, who was the first person you came out to? Sara. Do you remember the first time your first crush ever said hi to you? No. Do you ever go places with wet hair? Yeah, idc. Who is your favorite little girl? My nieces. What do you want the most in life? To feel like I made a difference, even a tiny one. If you could have anyone’s singing voice, whose would you choose? OBVIOUSLY Amy Lee's. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought that turned out to be a waste of money? *shrug* What’s something you’ve bought that turned out to be way more useful than you anticipated? Hm. Have you ever been on a ship? No. Would you ever date a disabled person? (Be honest) Yes. Would you rather adopt or have your own child? IF I wanted kids, which I absolutely do not, I'd rather have my own. I know I'd feel a deeper connection. What would you class as cheating on someone? As soon as you do/say something you don't want your s/o to know about, you're cheating. As far as earrings go, would you rather wear hoops or studs? Studs. Do you recycle? Yes. If someone dislikes you, what is most likely to be the reason? People have thought I don't try hard enough before. Do you put a line through your "7"s? Yes. ^ What about your "Z"s? Yes. What are you most known for? My art "skill," at least irl. How do you feel about shameless self-promoting? Depends on when, where, and how. As someone who's trying to be a freelance photographer, I get that it's sadly necessary, but there are some places it's just uncalled for.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''what i've done'' by linkin park

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imagine-loki · 5 years

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To Know Better

TITLE: To Know Better - trigger warning PTSD CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot. AUTHOR: marvelgirlonamarvelworld ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being in the Avengers Compound with the whole team, including Loki. You were all in the living room about to have movie night. That night it was Loki’s turn to choose the movie you would see, and as soon as you sat by his side, he chose the movie, or at least the genre: horror.

…

You tried to leave, but Loki hold you by the waist and told you that he was right and that you were just a weeper little girl. You being the prideful you were, sat down again and tried to watch the movie. And for a couple of minutes it worked. The few moments were the aliens appeared you put all of you to keep your eyes in the screen. But just as the final scenes started, you couldn’t keep handling it. You stood up and ran to your room, ignoring the calls from the others and with your face full of tears.

RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: TRIGGER WARNING PTSD, mentions of past trauma, torture, child abduction. Emotional distress, language, angst, slight fluff towards the end. Loki’s an asshole in this one.

A/N2: this was requested by a good friend of mine, a one shot based on the imagine above just before the end of the year. Thank you very much for reading!

It all was going according to plan.

Tension permeated the lounge. Clung like claws to every bone as light reflected and tainted the faces of everyone in the dark. Surged by suspense; by the not knowing; by the movie unfolding.

The black night seeped through the glass. The only boundary to the outside. It only enhanced their thrilling suspense. And the trickster’s enjoyment.

Every sound was a spark. A caress to the spine. Goosebumps to the heart.

Their eyes were drawn, soldered to the action, caught in the webs of the screen’s psychological thrill. Mostly expectant, completely distracted while they stuffed their mouths with never-ending snacks.

It all unraveled to his will.

Loki had chosen wisely. And had been gifted with the thrill of her fear. He had toyed with it. Used it to his benefit. Now she was clinging to him.

Pretty thing. Frightened little fawn. She sought refuge in his wolfish disguise. And pleaded to the god for the movie to be stopped, for the horrors to be cast out.

Loki paid deaf ears to her pleas as a matter of fact. He was ecstatic with her company. With her arms embracing him.

Pretty frightened thing. Beside him she trembled. Flinched and clung to him as her hand clutched and entwined with his. As if those creatures with eyes as black as the void and pale scaly flesh would detach and turn to a vivid nightmare. As if they too, would snatch her away from the room.

“Please turn it off…” she was hating it. She was loathing every second as much as she was now despising the foolish trickster. Abhorred him as much as she did her repressed memories. Her ever-present secret. For each macabre sound prickled her veins numb. Each look to the creatures of other worlds enticed her heart to hammer loud, fast, heavy in the backdrop of heavy breathing coming from the tv. All to no end till she was rendered against a void of dizziness and visions.

And he was enjoying it. Not the film. The movie was as boring as it could ever be. But to have her so near. Yes! He was blissfully delighted.

“And just why would I do so?” His surmised response shushed her fears.

A grimace of anger shadowed her face as her eyes drifted to the screen. She was hating it.

On carried the film. Each scene immersed the lounge in scalding silence; in a grim background orchestra which raised all hairs on end. Drew in the Avengers with every creature from a foreign land and every kidnap. With every victim growing mad, paranoid, desperate for they couldn’t tell who was who, or who had gone where.

“Never thought you’d be a weeper,” Loki mocked her fright with a snarky smile. His eyes twinkled enamored as he had an internal fight.

He was being heartless after all. Just a little. Perhaps a lot.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Nat arbitrated at some point. She was one of two who’d been aware of her friend growing anxious. “Turn it off.”

But who had the power? Loki smirked. It sure wasn’t her and he wouldn’t do so anyway.

“It’s okay,” her voice was small, helpless while her eyes drifted anywhere else but the hideous aliens. All eyes had suddenly landed on her. “Think I should go to bed early anyway.” She excused herself, just to be denied her parting by Loki.

Selfish little asshole.

His grip, yet soft, was firm around her middle. His smile, much like the cheesier cat, twinkled mischief as much as his eyes did. They were stars fallen from the sky. Meteors crashing to cause a furor. “So you are a weeper girl. How can you possibly be an Avenger?”

”I am not a weeper you idiot.” Annoyed of his speeches her pride bloomed forth again and her timid eyes wandered back to the screen. “Now get your hands off of me.”

Loki had succeeded again. His grip softened though he did not move his arm. That mischievous side had won the internal fight. And now as the victor, he reclined back and feigned to focus back on the movie itself and not her. So too, did the Avengers drift their confused eyes back to the unfolding plot. So too, did hers.

It all was silent again. Everyone was expectant while the stars gazed down on the compound. On her.

Minutes passed, seconds withered away, more and more aliens appeared on the screen and caused mayhem. More victims had fallen to them, to their tests. Communication with them was futile, their reasons remained in a language none of the characters could comprehend, worsening their chances to know why had such creatures reached earth. It all seemed the end would unfold with colonization.

Loki was less and less interested in the plot itself. But more and more did her anxiousness bloomed and exploded in her chest, flooded her veins, tainted her mind until no more could she stand to stay.

“I can’t do this,” she murmured brokenly as she rushed out of the lounge and into the dim-lit hall.

“Wait!” Wanda stood and paused momentarily. A grimace shaded her face against the light of the screen as she turned to Loki. “You insensitive idiot,” she snapped as her accent thickened evermore and rushed after the girl.

Loki was only left with perplexity in his mind as well as guilt building up in every thought. For he hadn’t thought such a movie would cause someone as much distress as it had.

Silence was grim, tension clung to it, suffocated it, to say the least. In a blink, all light dimmed back to life and ushered the night back out. So too, was the screen frozen and shut down. All eyes drilled down on the trickster who had nothing to do but hide his astonishment with his usual mask of indifference.

“Brother!” Thor roared angrily.

Natasha stood and stiffened her jaw. Her glare, cold as the snow, pierced through as Loki gazed at her as she paced trying to hold her wits and not kill him instantly. “I’ve had it with your bullshit Laufeyson.”

“Oh, it was all but pure fun,” the trickster excused himself as he sat back pinching his lips, disguising lazily his amused sneer.

Nat shook her head and chuckled angrily, “You’re an insensitive asshole! Do you ever think before you act, huh?! Do you even realize what you’ve done?! How much harm you’ve caused?!”

“Oh, do please, by all means, enlighten me as to how I’ve presumably done any harm,” Loki humored as the rest stared in silence with concern in their eyes.

“She was kidnapped Loki! As a child!” Natasha gestured. “And it’s not for me to tell you all this. But why do you think she was acting the way she did?! This!” She pointed to the black screen, “This was too much for her. Those people in the movie! All those who were kept as lab rats for experiments in there! She was them!”

Her fury rained down crimson. And if Loki was already pale, he was now a ghost as he studied the redhead’s face in the search for an expecting lie he did not found. But Natasha was a trained spy, one to lie so easily even he, the god of lies, would not be able to distinguish it. So it must be a lie, right?

Loki cocked his brow reluctantly, unwilling to believe. “Have you a better lie to tell, Romanoff?”

The former spy glared at the sitting trickster helplessly. “You’re a heartless piece of shit,” she growled and folded her arms.

Silence again placated the place before she spoke again, this time on a much calmer tone than before.

“Loki, she was used as a human test for years by people who thought themselves to be God. By people like HYDRA if not worse than them. They played with her mind. They injected her god knows what, every single day. Exposed her to heaven’s know the amounts of radiation throughout the years! She was taken from her parents when they had decided to go on a picnic…her powers are the collateral damage, her everyday reminder, of what they did to her. You yourself claim to have gone through hell and understand how it feels. And if what you claim is true…then you should understand what you did triggered her.”

Loki’s breath faltered. His heart seemed to slow, to almost come to a stop as the hurtful truth sunk. The room somehow seemed to have gotten cold and much larger than it was. And he realized…he was an insensitive idiot. A bloodless asshole as Nat had barked. Again his pranks had crossed the line.

And she was right. Loki had to admit, the read head was as right his own seldom could not abide to let it pass.

It all had gone according to plan. Yet somewhere along the lines, things had fallen apart. His wicked game had spiral and caused harm. Loki hadn’t aimed for that. He never meant to cause as much distress. It was all after all supposed to be harmless, innocent pure fun. Another of his unexplainable ways to have that one soul who made his heart soar stay close.

Yet, he had fucked up. Big time.

Right away Loki sprung up from his seat just as a hand gripped his collar and pulled his upper body. “Your better make this right, brother,” Thor snarled as his knuckles whitened. His deep-sea glare sparked rage much like the clouds in the foreground. “Your tricks have gone too far.”

Yes, his tricks had gone too far. Loki was now aware of that.

Brusquely he stepped away from his brother’s death grip and spun on his heels, and chased after the poor soul he had so carelessly hurt.

You idiot! You fool! You clueless big dumb fool! All you ever do, is hurt people. And of all people you could have harmed with your stupid games, for your personal amusement, you come and hurt her…you fool.

The grand halls were barren in the backdrop of the starry night. The stars, hanging and twinkling so knowingly, peered back at the desperate trickster whose footsteps echoed against the midnight silence. All of a sudden Loki had forgotten where in the compound was her chambers.

Was it this way or the other way? No. This is the way. Yes.

Briskly he turned once again and was met by a familiar adorned door down the hallway. Silently he neared it and noticed it was ajar. A soft accented voice drifted in the dead of silence inside. Loki knew it was Wanda, comforting her just like the good friend she was.

Deep down, Loki wished he had been that friend.

“It’s okay, they can’t hurt you now,” the redhead cooed softly. “They’re gone, we made sure of it.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Her voice sweet as sugar, assured the trembling girl before soft, barely audible, footsteps replaced her voice. “I’ll go get you some water and something to calm your nerves. And probably kill that tricker somewhere along the way,” Wanda humored, “Hang in there.”

“Oh, please don’t,” soft laughter reached Loki’s ears which made his heart skip a beat and placed a soft, guilt-tripped, smile on his face. He acknowledged in his head, although he knew Wanda meant the latter to an extent, he deserved it.

Right away Loki shielded his presence from Wanda’s eyes as she walked out the door and down the hall. He waited a few moments, before growing enough courage and nearing the open door.

One, two, three silent steps.

Once there, his inquisitive eyes wandered from the neatness of her room to her form sitting on the bed. And noticed her eyes were glazed, pensive; they were a pair of crystals lost in the dark forest just beyond her window across. Loki didn’t have to inquire to know what were her current thoughts.

Ever so slightly, Loki knocked on the door frame and leaned against it. His fingers right away started fidgeting with each other as her eyes darted his way and widened ever so slightly.

“What? You’re here to continue mocking me,” she sniffed and raised her brow.

Loki parted his lips but no words came out. His throat had gone dry just as a tug of guilt had nestled in his chest. He knew it was the nerves.

Her eyes remained on him for another minute, disinterested yet drilling down his soul, before she set her gaze back on the dancing branches of the trees outside. The midnight breeze softly whistling outside filled the room in place of the deafening silence.

“No,” Loki finally answered.

“I suppose Nat spoke to you about it,” she inquired distractedly, “otherwise you wouldn’t even be here looking like a sad scolded puppy.”

Ouch.

Loki only fell silent and observed the contour of her face as she breathed in and closed her eyes. His lack of words spoke tenfold of what he knew although the vagueness of it.

“What I did…” Loki lowered his eyes to the gray carpet on the floor and slowly stepped forth, “words alone cannot express how sorry I am for hurting you…” ever so slightly he raised his gaze as he stood two footsteps away from her, “for causing you to remember. I never meant it. It was heartless.”

A tear rolled down her cheek as she still refused to acknowledge Loki who right away summoned a delicate white cloth and offered it to her. Silently she took it and dried away the stray crystal bead.

“Oh, I relive those memories every day, you know. You didn’t cause me to remember. I always see them, in my nightmares,” she said in a hushed tone, almost broken, melancholic for a dreamless night she now doubted she would ever have. An evening when closing her eyes never meant to relive the past. “Whenever I close my eyes I remember. I remember every single detail. My mind forces me to. I recall their whispers, their heavy breathing, the glossiness of the walls, the pinch, and coolness of their needless, the rubber of their gloves against my skin, how blinding were the lights I could never see clearly,” she explained. “I remember them every day, the only difference is…whenever I close my eyes, I have the control to fade them out so they don’t hurt as much.” She paused for a beat. Another tear meandered down her cheek, “but today, you took the control I had over my memories. I could feel them so vividly, as if they were there, sitting beside me, holding me down so they could continue on with their painful tests.”

Loki’s face grimaced sourly as he swallowed the lump that’d formed. The harm he’d cause…it was far worse than he had thought. He knew from his past how the ghost of endless torture still loomed about in the aftermath. How the control one could have over such things was limited but precious, invaluable. And he had triggered in her, that helplessness she’d once experienced time and time again.

“I was only seven when they came…whoever or whatever they were. I never saw their faces regardless of how long I was kept by them,” she said out of nowhere while memories from the past resurfaced. “We were out at the park, having a picnic with mom and dad. It was a sunny day, breezy too. We were playing hide and seek, I ran to hide behind some bushes that were some feet away…The next thing I know is I’m laying on a metal table with needles and tubes stuck to my arms and my chest. And they wore these sort of gray suits whenever they came to the room. Though to me as a naive child, they seemed like…aliens.”

Loki reached to place his hand on her shoulder but hesitated. Rapidly he withdrew it and bit the inside of his cheek. He was no longer sure if it was the wises way to approach her without causing her any more distress than he had already inflicted. After all, as he thought of it, he was no good but to only cause heartache to others. He was a fuck up.

“It was never my intention, I never meant for my foolish games to have gone so far…” a shadow of pained desperation crossed over Loki’s face, “I never desired for you to relive it all over…I… I should’ve…”

“Known better,” she finished off his sentence as he perplexedly fell silent. “I know,” her eyes still remained on the dancing woods outside.

“Yes,” he agreed, slowly tilting his head. “I should have known. I was a fool. A heartless idiot.”

“But you didn’t know.” She turned her head and made eye contact with Loki. Her reddened eyes bore down on him, drilling him to his spot. “Nobody did. So how can I blame you when you knew nothing?”

“Regardless,” Loki insisted, his voice soft like that of a boy who just had been reprehended for something. “I should have not done what I did. I shouldn’t have forced you to stay!” He quickly crouched in front of her and wiped away another tear from her. “It was completely stupid. I was an idiot. I should have known better.”

“I know it wasn’t your intention to make me relive it,” she acknowledged to his luck, “all you wanted was…my company,” she lifted her knowing gaze and half-smiled at Loki whose eyes were wide. “I know. You just went about things the wrong way without knowing. An old cliche which wouldn’t have worked by the way.” She pointed out as she wiped away the remnants of her tears and sighed.

“I…I…how did you…but…” Loki mumbled but no coherent, no complete sentences were able to come out of his mouth. For all he could wonder was how could she have known those were his true intentions?!

Though it dawned on him she still remained a mystery to him. For very little was known about her and her true potential. He was amused to know one of her powers was…telepathy.

“I try not to use it, although I just did, it’s too intrusive,” she excused herself. “Way too intrusive.”

“A tad bit like me,” Loki uttered, still perplexed and lost in his head.

“Yes, a little like you,” she chuckled shyly.

And Loki could have sworn his heart almost stopped. He had made her laugh, unintentionally, but he did!

Loki glanced at her with enamored eyes and felt the world still for a brief stance. Good thing he was already crouched for his knees would have threatened to give in upon him witnessing such a warm smile. His lips eagerly curved and mirrored her semblance of shyness and sudden bloom of happiness.

“Will you forgive me, dear? If there’s anything I could do to atone for my wrongdoings…there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Please.”

The wind continued to quietly whoosh and whistle outside as it waded through the starry night. So too, continued the tree branches to dance a lazy waltz.

Shadows formed on her eyes through her lashed as she gazed at Loki with gentle warmth. Perhaps she too felt something towards the fool.

“I forgive you, Loki. Just think before you play another of your tricks on someone.”

#Loki #Angst #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #marvelgirlonamarvelworld #To know better #trigger warning #ptsd

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banjodanger · 4 years

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X-Men Origins: Wolverine(2009)

I’ve got a lot to talk about, so I’m going to jump right in with a very unpopular opinion. This may SHOCK and OFFEND certain readers, but I’m not one to shy away from speaking my mind. More sensitive readers should beware, however, because I’m not going to shy away from rattling cages and saying what NEEDS to be said!

So, ready yourselves, because...

Origins is not the worst X-Men movie.

There. I said it. PBBBBBBTTTT!

I’m not arguing that this was a good movie, hell, there’s a good argument that this isn’t even a competently made movie. But this movie is also responsible for some of the absolute best movies to come from Fox’s X-Men. First Class and Days of Future Past are two of the absolute best movies of this series, and it’s doubtful the other two Wolverine solo movies would have aimed as high as they did if this movie hadn’t been so widely mocked. If you go back to watch this movie, try to keep in mind eight years later this series would get nominated for a screenwriting Oscar. Whatever your opinion of awards, that’s a hell of a turnaround, considering the story this movie tells is like three separate stories stapled together. Finally, however much this movie misunderstands Deadpool, it was right on in casting Ryan Reynolds and eventually gave us better Deadpool movies than we could have hoped for. It shouldn’t go unnoticed that both of those movies use Origins as a solid foundation for jokes. I’m not going to talk too much about Deadpool in this movie, because I plan to cover it in more detail when I get to the first movie.

But I’m not discussing those movies, I’m discussing Origins, and Origins is not very good. The CGI looks cheap and outdated, not just by the standards of the time it was released but by the standards of five years previous. And the movie makes said terrible CGI hard to ignore because, to quote the philosopher Michelle Branch, it is EVERYWHERE. Most people are quick to bring up Wolverine’s claws effects, and they should because they somehow look worse than any of the three previous movies and it’s the most easily noticeable. I’m not expecting them to have Hugh Jackman actually fighting and jumping around on top of a nuclear vent but it looks like they’re doing it in front of computer wallpaper. That hill outside the Hudson’s farmhouse literally looks like the default Windows XP desktop. I’m surprised Agent Zero isn’t hiding behind the recycle bin. This isn’t to say I don’t expect lots of CGI in my comic book movies,but I expect better when someone is dropping over one hundred million for a guy with metal claws to fight a mute with impossibly long sword fists.

I could ignore all the bargain basement effects if there was a good story, but there isn’t one. There’s about two or three stories and they’re all bad. Gavin Hood wanted to make a throwback sevnties-style revenge movie, completely self-contained and R-rated(Hey, does that sound familiar?), but the producers wanted extra characters they could spin off into their own films. And as much as I want to excoriate them for that, I can only get but so mad. This was a big franchise that was approaching ten years since its first film. They were looking towards the future and that’s what their job was. The problem is that failure to find a common ground comes through on the screen. Some of the strongest scenes are between Logan and Victor, to the detriment that most of the other characters who come off as unnecessary cameos. That boxing scene between Logan and Fred Dukes could be a thirty second phone call without really losing anything.

It’s disappointing, too, because a lot of the performances in this movie aren’t bad. Believe me, I wanted to hate Will.I.Am. I was going to drag him and talk about all the terrible music he made but...he’s not bad in this movie. I’m not going to say he missed his calling by not becoming an actor full-time, but I enjoyed his performance and wish the movie had used him a little bit more.

My humps is still one of the worst goddamned songs ever.

Gambit was great in this movie too. Taylor Kitsch had this bizarre run of putting in good performances in hated movies. After this, he did John Carter then the second season of True Detective. That’s a shocking run of bad luck, and too bad to, because he’s good in all three. We missed out not getting at least one more movie with his take on Gambit, because he gets maybe fifteen minutes of screentime but he manages to be memorable, charismatic and charming.

Helicoptering with a bo staff still isn’t part of his goddamn power set though.

And I’m not going to forget Liev Schrieber, who makes an absolutely compelling villain. The only problem with his character at all is that he puts such a great performance that it stretches belief to imagine this is the guy that becomes a silent henchman in the first movie. There’s simply nothing in his performance to suggest they’re the same person. It would be like if the twist of Phantom Menace was that Darth Vader was originally Jar Jar Binks, or if they hired Nora Ephron to write a Hellraiser prequel.

Even the Scott Summers we get in this movie is pretty good despite looking like a guy that steals copper wiring out of abandoned gas stations. Although I really question why Gambit watches them run off and I guess just assumes they’re being abducted by a good guy.

That leads me into the whole problem with prequels. Things happen in this movie and characters seem to live simply because earlier movies dictate that we have to see them again. It simply does not make sense for Kayla to leave Stryker alive. She has every reason to kill him, but she doesn’t, because he needs to be the villain in X2. Gambit doesn’t chase after the kids because they didn’t want to have him interact with Professor X. Sabretooth survives because he has to fight Wolverine on top of the Staute of Liberty while making no reference to their apparent relationship as siblings, or any words of any kind. This movie is awkwardly shoehorning itself into the lore established by the previous movies and it results in characters saying and doing things that go against what this movie seems to lead up to. The ending of most of those seventies revenge flicks was a bloody murder. Here, Stryker hurts his feet a little. It’s just not the same thing.

Ok, are you ready for the problematic parts?

Let’s start with Native American representation, because it ends up being a pretty big part of this movie. Lynn Collins’ Wikipedia says she claims Cherokee ancestry, so I’ll give the movie credit on that, but as near as I’ve been able to suss out, the myth she tells does not exist outside of this movie. First off, Wolverines do not howl. At all. They’re not wolves, they’re related to weasels. They’re small, vicious bastards. That information was readily available in 2009, by the way. Furthermore, the information I can find says that the moon in Native American mythology is predominantly gendered as male. Now, that’s not a blanket statement. This was the research I was able to conduct, and mythology, as with a lot of oral traditions, are a pretty mutable thing. Given that I was unable to find any mention of this myth that didn’t quote it from the movie, I feel pretty comfortable calling this myth nonsense.

Hey, what’s your tolerance for fatphobia? Because that’s going to impact how you feel about Blob’s character. Look, from his very first appearance he’s been a fat joke. That’s it. He’s a rude fat guy whose mutant power is being fat, hell, part of his power set is described as a “personal gravity field.” So while I can’t blame the movie entirely for this character being problematic, you’ve got to ask why they chose this character as the one that had to stay true to the comic book. He was in poor taste when he was created, when this movie was made, and now. And I absolutely can blame the movie for making him a fat joke.

At least they didn’t go the Ultimate comics route and straight up show him eating another character. Small blessings.

On a more final note, there’s that very strange character choice in the beginning credits. I know that they want to illustrate early that Wolverine doesn’t view violence the same way Sabretooth does, but why would they choose nazis as the villain in that moment? Even if they weren’t the most enjoyably killable villains in history, the last three movies have made the atrocities of the Holocaust a huge emotional linchpin of a major character. So it comes off as a genuine shock that this movie would use, in its introduction, a moment of sympathy for these very same villains. So you needed to show Wolverine with sympathy? Have a bar fight in France after liberating the country. Have them fight in the Korean war. Maybe Wolverine mourns a kid shot on the front lines. There’s a hundred choices that don’t involve Wolverine getting sad over a bunch of nazis.

So, why don’t I think this is the worst X-Men movie? I’m clearly not calling it a forgotten classic, and I’m not recommending you watch it unless you’re a weird completionist blogging about your arrested development on Tumblr. Sure, there’s some forgotten performances in here that deserve some consideration, but the movie is mostly a mess, a result of too many cooks with diverging visions. There’s a good revenge flick here, but it gets buried and muddled by a desire and knowledge that this movie has to simultaneously explain the past that led to the first movie and set up future installments. It tries to do too much and ends up not doing much of anything. I followed up on some of the people involved in this movie. Obviously Ryan Reynolds had the last laugh, but it still took seven years and a leaked teaser. Hugh Jackman learned from the mistakes in this movie and the rest of the Wolverine movies are pretty great. Gavin Hood, who got this job after being nominated for a foreign language Oscar, directed another big-budget flop with Ender’s Game. However, earlier in 2020 he apparently bought a four million dollar house so I don’t feel bad for him. Also, the flop of Ender’s Game could possibly involve Orson Scott Card being a vocal and unapologetic homophobe. Seriously, what is it with beloved fantasy authors and hate towards LGBT groups? You can conceive of wild, uncharted space and magical realms but the idea that two guys love each other is too far out?

Next in the series, from failure comes success, as we meet Xavier and Erik as frenemies and launch a million slash fictions.

#xmen #x men movies #movie critique #movie critic

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mvrcutios · 5 years

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— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel, i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues, platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter) for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

➺ for he is the devil in every detail

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + ) The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + ) It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

➺ A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no? Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will. I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

-Xandre

#spectreintro #𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔵𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔦 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫 ╱ 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 .#if you read this whole thing ur a god and i am sorry

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