#this stone was lost between four massive bushes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princesssarcastia · 3 years

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first hp and now MCU *sigh*

sighs. anyway the reason the jane foster au thing is taking literally seven years is that I’m physically incapable of writing for the MCU without fixing everything I thought was dumb about it. can’t just do a canon re-write because I Refuse To Condone XYZ. The things I thought were dumb are many and myriad, but here’s one of them:

In Infinity War, they won’t destroy the mind stone while it’s still attached to Vision because they “don’t trade lives,” even though Steve made the same damn sacrifice, whatever. But the thing is the avengers then immediately travel to Wakanda and start trading Wakandan lives for Vision’s. They trade so many lives for Vision’s, and in the end it doesn’t even matter because they have to kill him themselves anyway. SO all those Wakandans died for nothing. They died for the aesthetic of the avengers having an army. They died because no one thought through “yeah, T’Challa is totally down to sacrifice his people’s lives for one android he isn’t close with.” They died because, let’s be honest, the lives of those random Wakandan soldiers meant less to not only the white main characters, but also the white movie creators. hmm. what could possibly be the impetus there. mostly stupidity, but probably also some racism, lbr.

anyway. all this to say what follows is a snippet where a) the battle to save vision isn’t taking place in Wakanda proper because the avengers don’t trade lives...other than their own. In fact, it’s taking place in the arctic circle, where Wakanda has a shielded research station with no civilians that Shuri can appropriate to fix Vision without having her citizens die needlessly. b) it’s just the avengers there, because they’re willing to put their own lives on the line for their friend and their principles. c) they’re using the mind stone as a lure to keep Thanos’ giant monster army focused on them, in this unpopulated place, rather than a city or a country.

you didn’t really need to know that, actually, because this fic snippet is about bruce banner. explicit tw in the tags you may want to check for if you don’t mind a spoiler. anyway, oh well, long walk for a short drink of water:

The walls shake with something other than the wind, and Bruce grits his teeth against whatever extrasensory response the other guy is having. If he doesn’t want to come out to play, then he doesn’t get to raise the hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck.

The other guy. After two years being trapped while he gets to play, maybe Bruce is the other guy now. Maybe the Hulk—

“Doctor Banner,” Shuri says without looking away from her interface. “If you’re going to help, then help. Otherwise stop distracting me and get out.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four...”You’re right. Sorry.” He turns back to his equations and keeps calculating what kind of energy source they can create here to replace the mind stone. Vision may be able to survive without it, but it’s ridiculous to ignore that it serves a purpose in keeping him not just alive, but functional. There’s a difference between surviving and living and the Avengers aren’t risking their lives just so he can—

Boom.

Dammit.

Shuri’s guard, the one T’Challa left with them—Ayo? Was that her name?—steps further away from them and speaks into her bracelet—kimoyo beads. Bruce strains to ignore it because he doesn’t need to know what he’s missing outside, doesn’t need to know how poorly the battle is going for his friends, his—his shield brothers, Brun would call it, without him. There’s no doubt in his mind Shuri could save Vision without him and there’s no doubt in her mind, either; he’s here as a courtesy and because it’ll go faster, at least. Because he’d be useless otherwise, sitting there with his thumb up his ass while his friends fight and die without him, without them, dammit Hulk—

“Princess,” Ayo calls.

“Not yet.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know how long, I’ve never done a neural reprogramming for an android before.” Shuri purses her lips. “Longer than this, certainly, to revolutionize a field that doesn’t even exist yet.” She reprograms another synapse. It looks like maybe thirty percent of them are done. Thirty percent, after four hours.

Bruce glances at Ayo from the corner of his eye because he’s a masochist and he can’t help himself. Her face is troubled, and so is Okoye’s on the projection hovering over her wrist.

“Ayo, tell her she needs to hurry up!” The projection twists like the general has taken her hand from her face. There’s a flash of silver, a war cry, and a brief, incomprehensible glimpse of something black and twisted and horrible. It cuts out in the middle of the creature’s answers screech.

Ayo slowly lowers her hand back to her side, and Bruce tries to focus back in on his work. Tries to focus on the math, on the energy readings, on Vision’s life in here instead of all the death out there, because if he doesn’t—

“I really am going as fast as I can,” Shuri says in a small voice. Twenty. She’s just twenty years old, what was Bruce doing at twenty?

Don’t go there. Don’t go there, Bruce. Shouldn’t have come back to the Arctic, that was just asking for trouble.

Focus.

What would happen if he lost it, and the Hulk refused to come out?

Focus. Focus on Vision, on saving his life. Save lives. Save his life.

“So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life?”

Another explosion rocks the room, rocks the station, rocks the damn arctic ice pack they’re standing on. It’s the biggest one yet. “Evacuate the southeast quadrant. All personnel in the southeast quadrant, evacuate to the next defense point.” The intercom doesn’t even crackle as it activates over their heads and Bruce is struck by how odd that is; it’s almost more unnerving that the idea of the situation escalating to the point of evacuation. Ayo pulls up a map of the station on her kimoyo beads and manipulates it, pulling up what he assumes is the southeast quadrant.

“That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks.

Ayo’s eyes dart to Shuri, who is nothing but relentless; he hasn’t seen her stop once this whole time. “Bad. They have breached the facility’s outer defenses. Princess, perhaps we should—”

“No!” Shuri all but shouts. “I will not evacuate, I will not abandon this mission, we’re not finished yet. Tell someone to come fill the gap.”

“Princess, if they have not already done so, then they may not have the manpower to do it.”

“Then call reinforcements!”

There are no reinforcements because this is a hail-Mary, vigilante mission and all the Avengers on-world are already here. T’Challa isn’t bringing any more of his people into this, and Steve and Natasha and Tony would never ask him to. When they fail, that’s it, it’s done. And so is Vision, and this will all have been for nothing.

“I guess we'll find out.”

Bruce pushes his glasses off his nose and pinches his brow. He can’t even think about this; he’s thinking about it without thinking it, a glaring absence that lets you see the shape of it regardless.

“This wasn’t just a Wakandan station, right? I mean, you guys opened it up to other countries for the science and information exchange?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Any military?”

A longer pause. “...Yes. Dr. Banner, what are you...”

She trails off as Bruce looks up. There must be something in his face.

“Did they leave anything behind when they airlifted out earlier? Weapons?” He adds, because there’s no use beating around the bush. No time.

“Probably, but you will find nothing there of any use. Wakandan technology—”

“Is much more advanced, I know. But you don’t really have any projectile weapons.

Ayo’s nose crinkles up in disgust, but is already turning back to her charge. “Of course not. So primitive. Princess, we will need time to evacuate to the ship, please.”

Shuri cuts a glance at him, seemingly ignoring Ayo. “What do you need a projectile weapon for, Dr. Banner?”

“Something desperate.” He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table. “Stay here, Shuri, finish your work. Save him.”

Bruce has never asked anyone else to risk their life when his own would do. He’s not fucking starting now, when the whole universe is at stake.

Between him and Shuri, Ayo reluctantly lets the issue go, but he can tell if Thanos’ army gets a single step closer to her Princess, Ayo will throw her over her shoulder and sprint for the quinjet, mission be damned. He marches out of the room and follows Ayo’s directions to the nearest storage area; the American one, as luck would have it. Because of course the American team brought guns to the Arctic Circle on a science and information exchange program. Of course. A few M11s just lying around, lost in the hasty shuffle to abandon this place. Bruce picks it up and just holds it. Feels the weight in his hand. Ayo was right, they are primitive; primitive and ugly and violent and only good for one thing. Another impact. The station shakes again, and the lights flicker above his head. Now. It has to be now. He doesn’t have a radio, but he knows where the southeast corner of the building is, so he keeps the gun in a tight grip and heads that way. Three corridors away and he starts to hear noises. Yelling. Screaming. Gunfire. Energy bursts. The ring of Steve’s shield, the whine of Tony’s repulsors. And above it all that same horrible screeching noise from those creatures invading their planet at the behest of a genocidal maniac trying to kill Bruce’s friends. Kill the Hulk’s friends. Louder, and louder, and louder, until he can’t even hear himself think which is good because he doesn’t want to think about this he never wanted to think about this again even though he did, a lot, like after Lagos and Sokovia and Sakaar. The team has driven them back from the breach in the facility, that’s good. Wind and snow come howling in through the massive hole and Bruce shivers and tells himself its from the cold. Outside is...pandemonium. His friends are like brief sparks of light in a sea of writhing, angry, violent darkness trying to tear them apart. There are so many of them he can barely see the horizon and they show no sign of stopping. In the distance, he makes out Steve, locked in fierce battle with something that looks less like a bargain bin eldritch horror and more like one of those Black Order people. He’s losing. Even Bruce can tell that. “Now would be a really good time for you to get angry” He’s always angry. But the anger isn’t enough anymore. “Bruce, what are you doing out here?” Tony screams at him, flying towards him with his hands still targeting energy blasts at the enemy. “I thought you said the Hulk can’t come out, you can’t be here! Go help Shuri!” Ten, nine, eight, seven—oh, fuck it. “Won’t, not can’t, Tony.” One breath. Two breaths. He squeezes the grip so hard it starts denting his palm. “Those are functionally the same, big guy, so get the hell out of here. We got this!” “No you don’t, we’re losing!” Bruce takes a short inhale through his nose. “They’re not functionally the same when I can force his—our hand.” That finally makes Tony look at him, and Bruce doesn’t know if he catches it on his own or FRIDAY points it out to him, but he finally sees the gun. He dissolves his faceplate and looks at Bruce with wide, exhausted eyes. “No, no, Bruce, don’t you dare, Bruce!” He lunges, but he doesn’t make it before the gun goes off, the bullet tears through Bruce’s mouth and then—and then nothing. The Hulk roars. Anger isn’t enough anymore. Self-preservation will have to do.

#tw self-harm #not quite suicide but he shoots himself in the head #this was another thing that bugged me #the whole 'the hulk won't come out' c-plot/running joke #if they had actually done something meaningful with it #like on screen character growth for bruce + the hulk #or resolution of his issues #that would have been great!#but instead it was just a way to nerf the hulk so he couldn help beat thanos' army #this is like a kinda dark answer to that but *shrugs*#bruce banner #shuri #infinity war #mcu #mcu fic #god what am i doing with my life that it's come to this #ugh #the plot bunnies #they're trying to kill me.

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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Trump's SCOTUS pick scares the ever loving shit out of me. I'm trying not to have a full blown panic attack actually.

Sigh. I know.

I’m not going to say that picking someone literally, un-exaggeratedly out of The Handmaid’s Tale for SCOTUS, especially to replace someone like RBG, isn’t mother fucking terrifying. It is. Especially since Mitch McConnell is trying to set her final confirmation vote for October 29, literally five days before the election. Yes indeed, that would be a third Supreme Court seat filled by an impeached president who lost the popular vote by three million votes, (possibly) confirmed by Republican enablers (some of whom are absolutely going to lose their seats in this election) who represent a sizeably smaller fraction of the US population than their Democratic counterparts, in a display of outright, staggering, truly breathtaking hypocrisy about the protocol of election-year vacancies on SCOTUS, which they themselves shouted about to no end with Merrick Garland in 2016. This is how tyranny by minority rule works, and... yeah. It’s bad. It’s awful. When is this going to end.

That said, however: we do not yet exist in this theoretical grimdark future where some dystopian 6-3 (or even 7-2) conservative SCOTUS strips us of our rights at every turn, with no recourse except for us to sit passively and take it, and there are a lot of things that we ourselves can do between now and then to make sure that it never happens. First off, House Democrats have proposed a bill to introduce 18-year term limits for SCOTUS justices, rather than it being an automatic lifetime appointment. This would also give every president the ability to appoint two justices per four-year term. Because SCOTUS has become such an instrument of partisan warfare, and because the obvious implications of having a partisan head of state pick the senior federal judges for a lifetime is part of what has fucked us up now, this would be a GREAT improvement. House Dems can’t make it into law right now, because Democrats do not hold a majority in both chambers of Congress and they do not hold the presidency. You know how this COULD be passed? If Joe Biden was elected with a blue House and Senate. That way, even if God forbid the GOP horror show snuck Coney Barrett onto the bench just before the election, this could be fixed.

Here’s another way to think about it. I myself have a HUGE problem with catastrophizing: a bad thing happens, and then it seems like an inevitable chain of nonstop bad things until everything gets irredeemably, unfixably even worse. This year, obviously, has not done much to help that, because yes, the bad things keep coming. But they’re still individual events and have not yet crystallized into some unbreakable, unavoidable future. History is made up of thousands of millions of choices, accidents, unforeseen developments, total random bullshit, and much more, as much or more as it is made up by the macro-scale actions of oligarchs. Obviously, globalization and capitalism have made us all more connected to each other, and thus changes to the system can ripple more broadly, but they are not the only people who make history. If there’s one thing I can tell you as a historian, it’s this: the future is just history that hasn’t been made yet, and it is subject to the exact same unpredictable bullshit that has constituted history throughout, well, history. Nothing is unavoidable and we have never existed in a world where we can’t do anything at all. Also, authoritarian regimes (especially those imposed without the consent of the people -- willing subjection to authoritarianism is one thing, but the other, yeah) have a relatively short shelf life, historically speaking. That won’t help all of us who could be hurt right now (though we can STILL fight back and speak up and help our neighbors), but it’s the truth. Authoritarian rule (especially when it’s not balanced by economic security, which sure as hell isn’t happening right now) can last for a while, sure. But it is always its own worst enemy, and it will always be ended. How that ends is a choice we can make.

This isn’t the “get out on the streets and Start The Glorious Revolution!!!” nonsense that the armchair internet leftists, none of whom are actually starting a glorious revolution or doing anything except bitching on Twitter about how Biden and Trump are alike, are fond of. This is an active choice to realize that there are always things you can do, that there are things you can do right now, and one of them, most obviously, is voting. This mess was all completely goddamn avoidable if people had voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016. But well, they didn’t, and we get one last shot to fix this by democratic process. Trump is already openly setting up to contest the election results/try to invalidate them/throw out ballots. This is all old-school fascism. This is what is happening. He is counting on another razor-thin margin of votes that he can then contest in his hand-picked SCOTUS; he wants another Bush v. Gore very, very badly. The only way to blow away any legitimacy for anything like this is to vote in such overwhelming numbers that there’s no question of Biden’s victory, no need to wait for mail-in ballots (another reason the GOP has been trying so hard to destroy the post office) or anything else. At heart, Trump is a coward. He’s also an egomaniac. If it comes to stepping aside peacefully or being dragged out of the White House by the FBI for everyone to laugh at for the rest of time, hmm, I doubt he’s going to go for that. (And if he does, well, I will also savor the sight of him in handcuffs for all eternity.) However, that doesn’t mean the GOP machine won’t TRY, because Trump is not just Trump, but is his entire miserable cabal of enablers. I have written my fingers raw about how badly people need to vote. This is literally your last chance to do it.

I’ve seen a lot of the-sky-is-falling, we’re-doomed, they-have-the-votes-so-don’t-even-bother handwringing in the last few days. To some degree, yes. We all feel doomed. We have all been asked to find strength to deal with massive and unending waves of terrifying bullshit past anyone’s normal capacity, and we’re tired. We want it to end. But it’s SO CLOSE to ending, if we can all just get out and vote for Joe Biden in massive numbers on November 3 (or if your state has early voting, sooner; BANK YOUR VOTE). That’s such an easy thing to do. Nothing is set in stone. We can still fix things and make it so, you know, we’re not living in a fascist state ruled by Gilead. (And besides, all this Chicken Little rhetoric is super easy for the Russian troll farms to exploit. Don’t listen to it. Shut it down. Reject it.)

They want you to think you’re powerless. You’re not.

They want you to think this will never end. It will. We decide how.

They want you to think this is a foregone conclusion and you should just go back home and let it happen. You don’t have to.

They want you to think your vote doesn’t matter. It does.

They want you to think your rights are gone. They’re not.

They want you to think this future is inevitable.

IT’S NOT.

Hang in there.

Lots of hugs.

#politics for ts #anonymous #ask

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝓛iterally cannot believe there’s only four chapters left in this 😩This one is another turning point in the story and honestly possibly the saddest shit so far so i do hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER NINE: PRETENDING (4.6K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

By the time Harry got home on Saturday, he felt like absolute shit. And it wasn’t because of the flight or his nonexistent jetlag, it was because his kitchen was tidier than he remembered and the pile of dirty clothes he’d left in the hamper in his closet was, instead, neatly folded on his bed. He felt like shit because while he was grasping at strings just to get anyone in his bed with him, she’d been here cleaning his place for him when she didn’t have to.

She had made his bed again and wiped off the stray bits of his facial hair around the sink he’d left after shaving before hopping on his flight.

There was no way she didn’t know about what he’d done in New York, not after the photos came out that had littered every inch of the internet. He knew she didn’t use social media often herself, but he was positive it had been brought to her attention at some point. So while she was here making his life easier, he’d been fucking around on the other side of the country.

And he could never tell her why. That he missed her so much it seemed like a good idea in his drunken mind at the time. He’d just wanted someone to hold onto at night again so he could get some sleep, but instead he just got the awful sex he didn’t want and all the regrets to go along with it. He had no clue what she thought of him now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Still, he texted her and it might’ve been the cherry on top of all the dumb things he’d done this week, but it was getting late and he needed her. He needed to know she didn’t hate him.

(Harry, 9:46 pm)

Can you come over tonight? I just got back.

She rolled over in her bed, grabbing her phone from her nightstand and squinting her eyes at the bright screen only long enough to know it was from Harry. Quickly after scanning her eyes across his message, she put her phone back, face down on her table before she curled up under her comforter.

It was bad enough that she’d spent the past day and a half moping around her apartment, overthinking every single little thing. Even worse that she let it get to her last night, letting her pillows soak up her tears again, but she knew it would be too much to see him again right now. She just needed time to get over it. Harry could sleep with and see whomever he wanted and it shouldn’t affect her. She was just starting to accept that fact when he just had to fucking text her.

Because she could also see who she wanted to without it affecting him. She just… didn’t want anyone else anywhere near her if it wasn’t Harry.

Groaning, she rolled over again and texted him back. She still needed her time, but she was doing neither of them any favors by avoiding him. She didn’t want him to think she was mad or jealous or anything she had no right to be. He needed to know that if he’d found someone he wanted to be with that she wouldn’t get in the way.

(Y/N, 9:58 pm)

Give me an hour.

It was plenty of time for her to take a shower and get her routines done first so that when she filled her backpack, she had no trouble packing lightly. Sneaking out of her apartment with twenty minutes to get her to Harry’s driveway wasn’t as difficult with a heavy bag on her shoulders, especially since her roommates knew she was supposed to be in her own bed tonight.

She used up all her spare time driving to Harry’s place when she paused in front of his neighbor’s bushes and almost turned her car right back around. But she didn’t want to feel the way she had been anymore, so she kept going. All the way to his front door.

Where he stood. Where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest in a black hoodie and matching sweatpants, pacing his short front porch until she pulled up.

He watched her while she got out of her car, slinging her backpack on before shutting the door and meeting his eyes warily. When she got closer to him, it was clear she was beyond confused as to why he was standing out in the cold waiting for her. He was clearly worried about something too, the way he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index fingers, fidgeting in a way she’d gotten used to him doing when he was nervous or lost in thought.

He stared at her feet when she took the two steps up to the same level as him and it wasn’t until she stood there, silently waiting, that he scanned his eyes up her body and back to her face. A face he had a really hard time looking at without the urge to break out in tears.

“Is everything alright?” She finally asked.

He blinked once and then shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

His voice was a mumble from under the hood he had over his head. She knew what he was apologizing for, but he had no need to. They weren’t dating. He didn’t cheat on her. There was nothing between them that would stop him from doing what he wanted with who he wanted.

“It’s fine.” She mumbled.

Now he was the confused one. Her words ricocheted back and forth through his brain. It’s fine. He almost would have rather her deny having any clue what he was talking about. This was… it hurt. So fucking bad. He titled his head slightly, working on questioning what she meant by that when instead his teeth shuttered against each other as the breeze had finally gotten the best of him.

“Can we go inside?” She continued in his inability to say anything else. “It’s cold out here.”

He led the way in after nodding in agreement, noticing for the first time that she wasn’t dressed as warmly as he was. He wondered if it had really been the breeze that gave him chills or the way she had completely brushed him off that froze him to the core.

He locked the door behind them while she waited in the foyer. Something had definitely changed between them and she didn’t like it. She didn’t quite know how to fix it yet, but she wished more than anything they could begin where they left off on Tuesday.

Once he turned to her, throwing his hood off in the process, she turned on her heel and went for the stairs. She couldn’t do anything facing him the way she was. He watched her as she ascended the stairs, having hoped they could figure things out downstairs first but she clearly had other plans.

He huffed out a nervous breath, shut off the lights, set his security system, and followed her up to his bedroom.

She was standing at his window when he joined her and when he stopped in a spot a few feet from her, she glanced at him sideways just as nervously as he felt.

Because she was nervous. She hated confrontation, especially when they clearly weren’t on the same page about things. If there was one time when she needed to suck it up and tell him how she felt, it was now.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Harry, it’s not like we’re dating here. You do have to tell me if you want to be with someone, though.” It broke her heart to say that, to admit to herself that Harry only liked her in her head and not in real life. It broke her heart to even think about letting him go so he could be with whoever he wanted, but she knew it was only fair.

He was quiet, eyes intent on her even though she hadn’t braved even a second glance at him yet. It broke his heart that she really thought he wanted someone else, and he had no one to blame for her coming to that conclusion besides himself.

She sighed. “I’m not going to hold you back so we can keep doing this.”

He hid his face when she turned to look at him, trying to hold back the tears that were uncontrollably burning his eyes. He just nodded, sucking in a breath as he started to feel himself crumbling. He needed to get out of there, fast.

“Um, I think I left a light on downstairs.” He glanced at his bed then, but never once looked her in the eyes, too afraid his voice would crack if he did, “You can go ahead, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He left without even giving her a chance to say anything else that would shatter his heart more. Before he even made it out of his bedroom, he was wiping tears from his cheek and trying to hide it from her the best he could.

At least until he was downstairs, at his island counter, that’s when he let it all out. He leaned over on the marble, his forearms flat on the stone with his head buried in them as the sleeves of his hoodie soaked up his tears. His entire body shook like a nine-point magnitude earthquake had just rolled through his chest with little care for the essential organs that lived there.

He cried harder when he thought about the way he’d walked out of the room. He didn’t want her to see him break down like he was about to, but he’d left her believing his one night fuck up was anything more than just that. And even worse than that, she didn’t even really seem to care. She didn’t show him a stitch of emotion. He would have been fucking gutted, worse than he was now, if she’d been with someone else like that.

It fucking hurt that the only thing she could say was that if he wanted something more from someone else he should be honest about it so they could stop. He thought about how she hadn’t texted him at all and he wondered if she’d already made up her mind about it before he messaged her. That thought, that she might’ve even considered stopping what they were doing, tore him up all over again.

He muffled his sobs by biting his sleeve, positive he hadn’t cried this hard since before he got to know her. It wouldn’t stop either. Even after his eyes dried up, the pain was still there, because all he could think about, still, was the way she didn't care. She wasn’t mad at him, she wasn’t fighting back her jealousy. There was just simply nothing, but at the same time, it told him everything. He’d only known she cared about him before because she trusted him and now… he had no clue if any of that trust still remained. And it was all his fault.

It took him a while to put himself back together, to be done crying long enough to wipe his eyes and come back to her. Even when he did, it was different. She was still awake, waiting for him when he returned, and she still cuddled up next to him and he still wrapped his arm around her like he always did, but it was different. There was an awful feeling in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

“I don’t want to be with someone.” He admitted, mostly to himself. Mostly to convince himself. The someone he wanted was her, but she was so far out of his reach. She didn’t like relationships, and he was the absolute jackass who fell for her anyways. “I was just drunk and did something stupid.”

“Okay.”

“But, um… if you…” The tears almost returned and he gave himself a moment to stop feeling everything so much. “If you wanted to be with someone, you would tell me too, right?”

She sighed, melting into him just the right way he was used to. The way he missed and craved and longed for. “You know I don’t… but yes. I would.”

It went on like that for a few nights. She still came over, things slowly started to piece themselves together again, but it all still nagged at her nonetheless. There was still the issue of Harry writing songs about someone she couldn’t wrap her head around. The selfish bits of her thought maybe they were about her, but she knew better. Harry didn’t have to waste his time on her. There were people in his league that he could learn to trust the same way he had with her. There were people that would open up to him fully without being terrified. People that could give him everything he wanted. He didn’t need her and she didn’t deserve him, and she did nothing but remind herself of both every single night. Even when wrapped up in his arms.

Everything about her had changed again. Going to Harry’s and sleeping in his bed didn’t put a smile on her face quite the way it used to. Will noticed it more than anyone. The way she never came out of her room when she wasn’t at work or at Harry’s. The quiet sobs he heard through the thin walls on nights when she did stay home.

Despite what Will might think, her sadness this time wasn’t because she felt utterly alone in the world anymore. It was because she finally found someone who didn’t make her feel so lonely, and she’d let her feelings for him and her feelings toward herself mess everything up.

It had hurt a lot less when she was empty and hopeless before Harry crashed right into her life.

So when Saturday finally came, and Will invited Harry over for dinner after a successful week in the studio, she really wished she could do anything else. Will was just trying to help, knowing Harry seemed to do the trick with getting Y/N into a better mood. Maybe she liked him a little bit more than everyone else, but either way Will had figured it was worth the try and Y/N knew that, so she didn’t argue too loud.

Around six in the evening, Y/N leaned against the counter while Will poured takeout onto plates, preparing for both his girlfriend and Harry to join them while James and Violet were gone for the weekend. The mere thought of having Harry over with considerably less people around had made her stomach twist into knots and her mind race all fucking day.

“Glad to see you out of your room. Glad to see you at all, actually.” Will said.

“Well, you offered dinner so…”

Will rolled his eyes, knowing better than trying to have a serious conversation with her. “I swear to god between you and Harry, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

“What about Harry?” She asked, trying hard not to seem so obviously interested in Harry’s life while she organized fortune cookies into a single-file row.

“This entire week he’s been spewing out songs, crying about shit, spewing out more songs. He’s driving everyone nuts, but at least his album’s getting somewhere.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, stepping around the counter to help him start moving the platters of food to the table. While doing so, she thought about what Harry had to cry about that he wasn’t telling her. She’d been at his place almost every night the past week, the same days he was driving everyone nuts apparently, and he hadn’t said a word to her about it.

Maybe something really had drastically changed between them… and she still didn’t know how to fix it.

She dove even deeper into her thoughts when Harry was sitting right in front of her thirty minutes later. She watched him pick at his food and avoid looking at her, a completely different way about them both than the last time they’d been in these exact spots together. When they had stolen glances at each other and she’d stared at his hands a lot. Now it hurt too much to even look at him for five seconds at a time.

It was mostly him that was off. He didn’t look at her the same way he used to, like when he thought she wasn’t looking but she knew damn well he was. She’d missed the way he did that, which was something so unlike her it wouldn’t make sense if it wasn’t Harry. She didn’t like people looking at her.

As always, though, Harry was the only exception to every rule she’d ever set for herself.

But now he wasn’t doing all the things she loved. She didn’t catch his eyes one single fucking time while they ate dinner.

“So, Will said the album’s going well?” Sasha asked Harry amid the very obvious but very unexplainable tension in the dining room.

Will nodded before Harry said a word, and then dug into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out his phone. “I told her I would show her part of Golden, if that’s okay with you. Because it’s my favorite since we wrote it and recorded it in like five hours on Tuesday.”

That’s when Harry finally looked at her. When she didn’t even notice his gaze because she was too busy staring at the screen of Will’s phone next to her while he opened his recordings app. He looked at her long enough that it would usually get her attention, and so when she didn’t even give him the satisfaction, he hoped playing the song might get him a glance or, if he was being greedy, a smile from her.

Harry cleared his throat, “Sure.”

When the audio started, Will eagerly pressed his top volume button so that everyone could hear it loud and clear. It was a rough start of what was probably going to be an amazing song, Y/N knew that at the very least. And then there was a voice, a voice so distinctly Harry’s it made her head spin hearing him sing. Because she forgot he did that. She’d never really heard him before, at least not like this. She’d heard him like a whisper through the walls, and listened to some of his professionally recorded music before. This, on the other hand, was a lot more raw.

She listened as Will played two chopped bits of the song that pieced together really beautifully, although the lyrics she made out were the complete opposite of the upbeat melodies.

The first one seemed like the chorus, “You’re so golden, I'm out of my head, and I know that you're scared, because hearts get broken.”

The next one Will played hurt a little more. “I don’t wanna be alone, when it ends, don’t wanna let you know.”

But she didn’t know what to think. She was quiet while they all got loud. While Sasha asked him to play the recordings again because she liked it so much. The music was light, like driving down the highway along the coastline with the top down. A summery type of song even though the lyrics were as cold as winter.

She thought back to her daydreams and as much as she would have liked to indulge in the idea, she knew for sure now that there was absolutely no way he’d written a song about her. Maybe the lyrics made sense to their situation, but there was absolutely no way she’d be hearing it in front of their friends when he wouldn’t even give her a single glimpse at his writing journal. When he wouldn’t even talk to her about work or about whatever had been going on this entire week. If he wouldn't even do any of that when it was just the two of them, there was no way he’d be letting her listen to a song about her right in front of Will.

“S’not finished yet, but…” Harry shrugged, glancing Y/N’s direction again just to be left utterly disappointed. She was avoiding all of them, twisting her fork around in a mound of noodles she had yet to touch and he didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know why she’d just heard a song so very obviously about her and she looked… upset.

Because, to her, the song was further proof that he was keeping something from her. That he was in love with someone while she had been in his bed leeching off of him. And she suddenly realized that’s what had changed between them.

She felt like she was using him again. Her guilt about everything they were doing might not have fully gone away, but it returned stronger than ever. That she was holding him back, even if he’d been honest before. He could be out there fixing his loneliness instead of spending nights with her. And it made her head hurt to think about.

To think she had really been letting herself fall for him only to be slapped in the face with the harsh reality that she wasn’t good enough and hadn’t ever been. And if he did, by some miracle, like her the way she’d wanted him to, it was just because of the way they’d gone about things. That it could have been anyone in her place and the outcome would be the same.

Even if the song was about her… why couldn’t he tell her any of that in person? He’d always been open with her, even when she wasn’t at times. Why did it feel like ever since he got back from New York two weeks ago that Harry was suddenly a fucking stranger to her?

“I have a headache.” She mumbled as her excuse to leave, long after the topic had shifted from Harry’s music to the wellbeing of Sasha’s mom. Even though she felt bad about it, she couldn’t stay at the table a second longer, so she took her dirty dishes to the kitchen to clean out and no one said a word to her, except for Will, who reminded her to take some ibuprofen. But especially not Harry. He was radio silent as she went back to bed.

As he finished up dinner and said his goodbyes to Will and Sasha, he left for the first time in a long time the same night. Left without waiting up for Will to go to his room. Left without knocking on her door, without joining her in bed. Crawling under her blanket. Breathing in her coconut shampoo for the millionth time.

He was leaving because it hurt too much to stay. It hurt ever since he came home and things weren’t the same. She didn’t need him or care about him anymore. It hurt when he looked in her eyes and he didn’t see himself reflected back in them. He saw nothing. And it hurt so fucking bad.

The studio was a little less cheery when all Harry could squeeze out was lovesick lyrics about Y/N. When he couldn’t finish songs on a rainy Tuesday morning because his heart hurt too much to even think about her.

It had been three whole nights without her, without even a text and it was making him crazy. He thought a little distance might do him some good, but it was having the opposite effect. She never texted him, and it killed him not to ask her to come over. It killed his sleep schedule as well.

“This random girl from New York has some kind of hold on you, huh?” Will asked when it was just the two of them, outside the little Los Angeles studio, buried in the brightest, green nature the western parts of the city had to offer. Will nodded over at Harry, silently pointing out the bags under his eyes and all the sadness that had poured out of his brain recently. The rain was a fitting backdrop behind Harry’s slouched shoulders and red eyes.

“It’s not…” Harry sighed, crossing his arms around himself while he stared out at the distant view of the Pacific. “I slept with her because of the one I’ve been writing about.”

“Oh.” Will seemed genuinely shocked. Mostly because… if it wasn’t her then he had no clue who had Harry so messed up. “So it’s a mystery girl you won’t tell me about?”

For the first time in… he had no clue how long, some semblance of a smile appeared on Harry’s face, even if it was exasperated and sarcastic. “No.”

“And it’s the same girl you said doesn't like you back?”

Harry nodded, not really willing to verbally admit to it right now. Back when he’d first told Will about her, he’d been hopeful that he was just misreading things. That she might actually have actually liked him. But now… All hope was lost.

He knew Y/N was bad with emotions but a little bit of anger or jealousy would have been better than nothing at all. The rain really was quite fitting.

“Does she even know that you like her?”

Harry sighed, a bit agitated because he knew Will was about to go on one of his advice rampages and he didn’t have the energy for it. “Not exactly. I feel like I’ve made it obvious though.”

“You’re really dumb, you know that?” Will stood after leaning against the outside wall of the studio and stepped closer to Harry near the edge of the roofed patio as he gave Will a very offended look over his shoulder. “You can’t just assume girls know things, especially if you’ve never actually said those three words. They can’t read minds.”

“Yeah but… what if I say them and it makes things worse?”

Will shook his head in disappointment, “People tend to regret the things they didn’t do or didn’t say more than the things they actually did, H.”

Harry was almost one hundred percent sure that if Will knew who he was giving Harry advice about, it would not at all be the same conversation. He wouldn’t be telling Harry to confess his undying love for Y/N. Will knew her better than Harry did. Hell, Will might tell him to get out while he can because clearly Y/N was going to do nothing but break his fucking heart.

And like magic, he heard her name coming out of Will like it had transferred from Harry’s brain to his friend’s mouth. He didn’t quite like the details that went along with her name, however.

“Why don’t we have a party at your place again? Like old times.” Harry scrunched his nose at the idea and Will huffed, leaning up against the wood railing next to Harry like he was defeated, “I gotta do something to get Y/N out of her room, man.” Then his voice got softer, “I thought she was doing better, but I can’t listen to her cry anymore.”

Harry’s entire body tensed up. Tears welled in his eyes without his permission. He knew she was crying because of him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. Maybe not for the same reasons he’d been crying recently, and even though imagining her alone in her room like that made the last bits of his heart finally break off, he was relieved to know she did feel something. That it hurt her too to be away from him.

“Besides,” Will turned to face Harry again, “Perfect opportunity to invite this girl so you can work your shit out.”

Harry hung his head in his hands, biting his tongue. Once he had the urge to just come out with the whole truth under control, Harry looked at him again. “Fine, but you’re in charge of snacks.

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#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #onlyhuman

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comeonpeters · 3 years

Text

and so it begins

also on ao3

@troped-fanfic-challenge round 2 contribution

Theme: Fluff

Trope 1: Exes

Trope 2: Time Loop AU

Trope 3: Camp Counselors

Trope 4: Prank Wars

It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. It’s cool! Alex was also with him, so he has the kids, because Alex Mercer does not get lost, so Reggie is in the clear on that part. There’s a reason why he paired up with Alex for a lot of the wandering through the forest bits of the counseling misadventures, and it’s not just because Alex is his best friend in the whole world (no offense, Luke, but Alex really had laid a claim on him their first summer by dealing with his eccentricities by treating him just the same as everyone else), but also because of Alex’s excellent sense of direction, which had not rubbed off on Reggie at all, unfortunately. And it’s not to say that Luke isn’t also his best friend in the world! Or that Julie isn’t too! It’s just that Alex is his favorite, and Reggie really wishes he had stuck closer, because boy he doesn’t know where he is.

He’s walking past a rock that’s shaped exactly like an egg when he notices it. Not the egg shaped rock, though he notices that too, obviously, because it’s shaped like an egg, but the cabin. There’s a cabin. On the Camp Carolling property.

That can’t be allowed. But it can’t be new, either, because how would they have moved an entire cabin onto the Camp Carolling property without someone noticing? Someone would totally have noticed someone lugging all of those stones and logs into place, even if the forest is made of stones and logs, they still had to be moved from their original places to this one place, and really, they shouldn’t have some random stranger around all these kids. And, Reggie is an employee. It’s, like, his job to keep these kids safe. Right? That’s how it works, right? It’s only his second week being a counselor, and he’s not really sure how good he is at it. He’s only eighteen! Maybe he shouldn’t be the one investigating some creepy, middle-of-the-woods cabin at all. Maybe he should go get Alex-

It’s the thought of bringing Alex back here, the thought of Alex or Luke or Julie having to investigate something scary that has him investigating it himself. He can tell them about it when he gets back. Everything will be fine. There’s probably nobody out here anyway, right? Maybe it’s just an old cabin, like from before the camp plot was even bought, and Reggie is worrying over nothing. He’s acting like Alex! He’s being silly.

A bush of flowers, the bulbs burgundy and nearly the size of Reggie’s hand, grows near the door of the cabin. They’re healthy enough that somebody is obviously taking care of them, hedged back from the door in a way that is most likely intentional, but Reggie still tells himself that he’s not going to get an answer as he knocks, ever so gently, on the door. He tells himself that he is only doing so out of caution. He’s doing it out of a professional obligation. This is his second job (the ice cream shop that he works at during the school year is his only legal job, seeing as Sunset Curve gigs and Julie and the Phantoms shows aren’t really consistently enough to count as a regular job, he thinks), and he is a good employee, losing Lex and the kids beside. He knocks on the door a second time, and it rocks gently open, though no one has opened it for him.

Christ on a bike, that’s creepy.

“Come on in then, dear, the tea’s almost done,” a voice calls from inside, a woman’s voice that sounds ancient. A shiver runs down Reggie’s spine, but he steps in anyway. It’s polite, right? He’s been invited. It’s not like he’s a vampire or anything, he doesn’t have to be invited to go into places, but it’s rude not to go into places when you’re invited, but anyway- The little cabin has unfinished stone and wooden walls on the inside as well, squat and homey, and Reggie feels a wash of warmth run over him that he hasn’t felt since-

He hasn’t felt this much at home since Bobby kicked them out of the studio. Playing at Julie’s studio (their studio now, her and Ray, her dad, they’ve reassured Reggie that it’s as much his home as theirs if he wants it to be, but it still doesn’t feel that way) still doesn’t feel… it doesn’t feel like this. This reminds him of his grandmother’s house back in Tennessee, the way it felt when she would set her guitar in his lap and put her fingers over his and teach him how to play. He should probably say something.

“Um. Hi. I’m Reggie. I’m one of the counselors at Camp Carolling? Do they- do they know you’re out here? I didn’t think anyone was supposed to live out here,” he says awkwardly, tripping over himself as he stands awkwardly in the entryway. There’s a counter and cabinets between the entryway and the kitchen, so he can’t see the ancient-sounding woman who called him in, but he doesn’t want to come further into the cabin, even as homelike as it feels. He picks at the flannel wrapped around his waist nervously, wanting to bite at his nails, but Julie just painted them, and she’s asked him to stop biting them when she’s just painted them, and-

“Oh, they know me, dearie. Come have a seat, won’t you? As I said, the tea’s nearly done, and I’d love to have someone to drink it with. You look like you could use a good cup,” the lady says as she steps past the counter, and Reggie nods, blinking. She’s very small, is his first thought, looking at her. He’s not a tall guy, he knows that (even if he does love making fun of Luke for being half an inch or so shorter than him, and even worse with Reggie’s boots), but he has to look very far down to make eye contact with the cabin lady. She can’t be more than five foot even. Maybe four foot ten? She has about five inches of braided hair piled on top of her head, which adds to her height, but beneath that, she’s very, very small. It’s distracting. He doesn’t realize that he’s just lingering beside the table until she taps on it, gesturing toward the chair across from her and the tea set between the two seats.

“Have a seat, then,” she repeats, “and have a drink with me. Everything will be fine, Reginald. You’re welcome here.” He doesn’t normally like it when anyone besides Alex (or, before, Bobby) calls him Reginald, but in this case, he finds himself relaxing into the seat offered, grabbing the kettle to pour tea when she gestures for it. Everything is… fine. Everything is calm. The tension rolls out of his shoulders for the first time in months.

It’s weird. It’s really weird. It’s nice.

“Thank you for the tea. This is nice,” he says once he’s had a sip of the flowery drink, smiling easily. He’s never been a tea guy, but he’s never had this kind of tea before; he should ask what kind it is. She smiles back, and it’s a warm feeling to be smiled at by someone so much older than him, like being smiled at by Ray, or Emily in the rare times she actually remembers she likes Reggie (when she remembers that he’s a good kid and not just a bad influence, because he swears he’s a good kid), or when his grandmother would smile at him. The lady puts down her tea cup with such an air that Reggie puts down his own, feeling as if there’s something that is about to be discussed.

“Reggie, dear, there’s something we need to talk about,” she says, and he knows he should be confused (they don’t know each other, why do they have something to talk about?), but instead, the calm remains. The feeling of the cabin, the hominess and the settled feeling, it remains.

“Okay,” is all he says, a little dazed, and she is still smiling, so he can assume she isn’t angry with him. It’s a bit of a sad smile, now that he thinks about it, but still not angry. As long as it isn’t angry, right?

“You’re deeply unhappy, my boy. I could feel it as soon as you knocked on the door. You are a sweet, good boy, and you do not deserve all of the unhappiness that has made a home of your heart. I would like to give you a time to free yourself of your unhappiness. Would you accept?” she asks, offering something which confuses Reggie massively, but he can’t muster up his ability to panic. He knows he has the ability to panic. Where is it? Did he leave it with Alex? Where is Alex? Where is Luke? Where is Julie? Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? How can he accept?

“What do you mean? Accept? What about you? Do you need anything?” he asks, because he doesn’t want her to do anything, to put herself out, when he could do something for her. You don’t know her, something in himself reminds him (it sounds awfully like Bobby, but he doesn’t think in Bobby’s voice anymore, he told himself he wouldn’t-), but he pushes it down. She smiles and pats his face.

“It is your instinct to give that makes you so able to receive without judgement. Do you accept?” she asks again. Everything feels really weird. He doesn’t think. He can’t.

“Yes.”

He’s stumbling out of the cabin not a second later, fuzzy and dazed, like a force not his own is pushing him out. He notices a sign below the bushes of flowers, Take one!, it says, and so he picks a flower. He’ll take it to Julie. She likes flowers. She’s always liked flowers, and he likes making her smile, so at least then this whole thing will have added up to something, because he has no idea what just happened. At least the camp knows about the cabin, according to the lady in the cabin. Is she the best source? Jesus, now that he thinks about it, she might not be the best source.

He’ll ask Alex and Jules and Flynn. They’re better at logic than he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He stumbles back to the egg shaped rock and picks a direction and hopes for the best. He’s only walking for a few minutes when he hears it: Alex’s voice above the hum of the kids is the best thing he’s heard all day. It can’t be right- he knows he wandered way further away from Alex when he was on his grand adventure to find the cabin, but he doesn’t care at this point. He just wants to find his way back to a familiar face, get back in the swing of things and forget this ever happened. He knows when Lex catches sight of him, because the mix of annoyed and fond might as well be patented.

“You could have told me you had to take a leak, Peters. Did you get lost or something? Distracted by the flowers? You’ve been gone like fifteen minutes,” Alex says, and it only takes that much to make Reggie feel like his entire world has tilted sideways. Fifteen minutes? He’d been gone hours.

“I thought- fifteen minutes?” he asks, his voice so strained it nearly breaks. Alex snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Thought you were quick, huh? Come on, we gotta get the kids back before Julie has them for arpeggios and scales,” the blond says, clapping him on the back and keeping his arm around Reggie’s shoulders as they herd the kids back toward the central grounds. He makes the executive decision to put everything that’s happened for the past several hours (fifteen minutes??) out of his mind, focusing instead on Alex and then Julie (she does like the flower, though she gives him a weird look, and cradles it to her chest) and then Luke and their new friend Nick when he meets up with them for guitar lessons with the kids, and he just puts it out of his mind. It’s not that important. Everything is fine, right? Everything is calm. They’re at Camp Carolling! They’re counselors at Camp Carolling, just like they always said they would be. It doesn’t matter that they’re a member short and they’re all feeling the absence, because he still has his boys and his Julie and his Flynn and his family, and they’re not leaving, even if one member did.

Everything is fine.

It’s the second day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie feels like the bottom is dropping out of his stomach. They’re integrating with the other side of camp today, rhythm and dance (where Alex would have gone if Reggie and Luke hadn’t convinced him to skate on his mad singing skills alone), and that means… Bobby’s a rhythm guitarist. And a dancer. If they’re integrating with rhythm and dance, they’ll see Bobby, if he bothered to come. Which is a tossup, really. Ever since he quit Sunset Curve, it’s not like Reggie knows him at all, so what does he know about what Bobby Wilson is going to do with his summer, with his life, what does he know about Bobby Wilson at all?

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks, arms over Reggie and Alex’s shoulders as he pulls them both in beside him. Julie looks at them apprehensively, chewing on the side of her lip and looking like she might indulge in her own nervous habit of chewing on her knuckles. She’s not supposed to, because it’s the thing that she’s not supposed to do as long as Reggie doesn’t chew on his nails, but he won’t begrudge her either way.

“Why does it matter if you see him, guys? We have a new band, and besides, it’s not like you guys have even talked about him since he left! Just… ignore him if you see him, okay? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. He left you guys. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to,” she says, talking in bursts like she does when she’s upset, and Reggie doesn’t want Julie to be upset about this. He knows that she worries about the fact that they were in a band before her, that she worries about them missing Sunset Curve, but she’s family. Ray and Julie and Carlos are family. He loves them. He stands up and puts his arms around her, pulling her so close he nearly pulls her off the ground, pulls her so close she squeaks.

“Love you, Julie,” he says simply, and then he lets her go. A simple reassurance for a simple reassurance. You don’t have to talk to him for you don’t have to replace him. As much as he’s loved Bobby Wilson since he was thirteen years old, he loves Julie Molina too. She’s like a sister.

“Love you too, Reg. I just… don’t want you to feel obligated to him, okay? You’re not,” she reiterates. He kisses the top of her head.

“I know,” he lies, because he is. In a way, he thinks he always will be. They separate anyway, all of them going their own ways for their camp jobs, because they can’t always stay together. He has to work with other people sometimes, despite the fact that his comfort zone will always be with the people he arrived at camp with. Ray dropped them all off together, called him mijo and kissed his forehead and everything. Sap. He piddles around and does his job and high-fives Nick when he sees him and stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees Bobby Wilson in the flesh, because what else is he supposed to do? What else can he do? Bobby has a guitar slung across him and no smile in sight, even though he used to smile every time he saw Reggie, and Reggie has no idea what to do with that. He has no idea how to fix what Bobby Wilson broke in him.

"Hey Reg," the other boy says, slightly hesitant, and Reggie's lips remain pursed for a moment before he gives a nod of acknowledgement. No obligation. No fighting. Just acknowledgement. Nothing personal.

"Bobby," he replies, and Bobby blinks. He knows why; he can't remember the last time he actually called the traitor by his name either. It's always been Bee or Bobbers or Bobbin or some other nickname dripping in affection. Not anymore. He watches as Bobby's expression shutters back to a close. He tries not to let it break his heart.

"Right. I'll- um. I'll be anywhere else, I think," Bobby says, a stutter taking him over in a way that it hasn't since some of their first gigs (turns out, huddle style interviews with a dozen small-time fans are as good as speech therapy, better if the years of it not working were anything to go by), and something in Reggie wants to reach out, wants to comfort him, but he lets the anger, the bitterness, burn over it. He lets Bobby walk away from him all over again. No obligation. Nothing personal. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He watches Bobby’s back, looks at his suspenders because there’s no uniforms for counselors here, and he almost wishes there was because looking at them makes him think about popping them against Bobby’s skin like he used to, grinning and laughing, and he almost wants to cry.

No obligations. Nothing personal.

The day is mostly inconsequential after that. Alex met a dancer named Willie who really swept him off his feet- literally, to hear the tale, and Reggie does hear it. He meets Willie too, though briefly, at dinner, and hears about Willie’s friends. He’s friends with Nick, which is cool. He’s also friends with Bobby and Carrie, which is less cool. The rest of Carrie’s band also apparently followed the Wilsons to camp, which is just great. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t bother telling the boys and Julie about seeing Bobby again, because it doesn’t really matter. It’s inconsequential. It was barely a moment.

The next morning, it’s announced that they’re integrating with the other side of camp. Rhythm and dance. Again. He turns to Luke, a question on his lips, when Luke throws an arm around his shoulders, and Alex’s too.

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks, pulling them in just as he had the day before, and- it wasn’t the day before, was it? It was one of those freaky dreams that Reggie’s read about. He and Bobby used to read about conspiracy theories before- well, before. He’s read a lot about déjà vu and prophetic dreams, he’s just never personally experienced either so heavily before, and he’s sure that it will go away soon, it’s just-

“Why does it matter if you see him, guys? We have a new band, and besides, it’s not like you guys have even talked about him since he left! Just… ignore him if you see him, okay? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. He left you guys. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to,” Julie bursts out, and Reggie wasn’t paying enough attention to her mannerisms this time, but he gets up and hugs her anyways, squeezes her just as tight because he loves her and he knows her and he needs her just as much as she needs them. She’s the rock to his hard place, you know? That doesn’t really make sense, but it’s his vibe. He hugs her real tight, tight enough to pull her off her feet, just a little.

“Love you, Jules,” he says, because he means it. He kisses the top of her head, because he means that too. She sinks into him, just a little, before he releases her.

“Love you too, Reg. You don’t owe him anything,” she says, and it’s worded a little different than the dream, but it means the same thing. He kisses the top of her head again, just for good measure. She rolls her eyes and shoves him off, laughing. He likes making her laugh. It’s always nice. He doesn’t bother lying this time.

When they all separate, he’s a little less assured that everything was a dream, because things are still the same. Nick still high-fives him, and everyone still asks him to do the same things, and everything is still the exact same. He doesn't know what to do, so he does exactly the same things that he did yesterday morning (last night in his dream?), down to letting himself trip over the front porch step on the cafeteria walkup. Alex had done a presentation on the butterfly effect once for an English class (their teacher had let them choose a movie or book to analyze against a scientific theory related to it, it was a really interesting project actually-)

Reggie is almost ready to dismiss his strange sense of déjà vu when Bobby walks up to him again, an even more direct line than he had taken in Reggie's strangely prophetic dream.

"I think I had a dream about seeing you again last night," is the first thing that Bobby says to him, and it's freaky enough to make Reggie feel really weird. He's never been excessively great at covering up his expressions around the boys either (and Bobby is still one of the boys, damn it, Reggie can't stop the years of safety and security that Bobby held in his own two hands), and he knows that he's showing his slight panic.

"Was the rest of the morning exactly the same too?" he asks before he can stop himself, before he can remind himself that he and Bobby don't go together anymore, that Bobby left. Bobby grabs onto his wrist desperately, though never hard enough to hurt. Reggie wants to scrape out how much Bobby remembers about him, wants to take it all back, because no one else has known him as well as his boys (besides the Molinas, because they know him inside and out and he would put that on a billboard). He has to tune back into Bobby’s angry desperation, how it covers his fear.

"It fucking was, Reg, what the hell is going on?" Bobby says, eyes blazing, all that fear fear fear so plain where Reggie knows only he can see. He shakes Bobby off of his arm easily. He desperately tries to ignore how hurt flashes over Bobby’s expression before he covers that one too.

“I don’t know, dude. I don’t think anyone else knows, though. Luke and Alex didn’t seem to think anything was weird this morning, and Julie didn’t act any different either, and she’s the smartest of us,” he replies, shrugging a shoulder. He doesn’t want to tell Bobby about the creepy cabin and the definitely-not-a-witch. He doesn’t want Bobby to say the same thing everyone has always said. He doesn’t want Bobby Wilson to finally tell him that he’s being stupid. Bobby recoils slightly.

“You guys brought- Julie came?” Bobby asks, and Reggie doesn’t have to ask how he knows who Julie is. Julie and the Phantoms, their band, has been all over social media lately. Flynn is a pretty baller social media manager, and it hasn’t been a secret that three quarters of the former Sunset Curve, a punk band, had suddenly turned poppy when they got a new lead singer. It’s been something of a sensation. And, it’s not like Julie wasn’t their friend before Julie and the Phantoms happened. It’s just that Bobby was never really close with her in the first place, and the four of them found each other in a lot of wreckage. A lot of fucking wreckage. Reggie shrugs again.

“We told her about the promise we made as Sunset Curve, to come back to camp and be counselors ourselves, and she asked if she could come too, even if she wasn’t part of the original promise. We made a decision as the three of us. Wasn’t too sure we were going to see you here, to be honest,” he says, more honest than he means to be. He can’t look at Bobby, suddenly, and he picks at his fingers, plays with his rings, peels at the bandaid Luke had just put on him last night. Too vulnerable. Too much. Shatterglass and eggshells. He still doesn’t bite his nails. He promised Julie. He’ll keep his promises to Julie.

“It was a promise,” Bobby says. Reggie snorts, again before he can stop himself.

“So was everything else, Bobbin. Didn’t seem to matter then.” He pushes off the wall he’s leaning against, intending upon going back to the cabin and sleeping for the next hundred permutations of this day should there be more (he watched the Tuesday episode of Supernatural during Alex’s phase, unfortunately), but Bobby catches him by the hand.

“I’m sorry, Reg,” he says, far too close to Reggie’s ear, nearly pressing it into Reggie’s skin. Reggie nearly breaks being so close to him. He pulls away anyway.

“Shoulda said that a while ago, Bee. Shoulda never left,” he says, and it’s like the world resumes around them (it never stopped, everything was still happening, it’s just like the world stops when he’s caught within Bobby’s atmosphere), because he loses Bobby easily within the raucous of the camp.

He listens when Alex tells him about Willie. He encourages him to talk to him again. He meets Willie and doesn’t make a big deal about Willie being friends with the Wilsons. He still doesn’t mention seeing Bobby. Then, after dinner, because he can, he climbs into bed with Luke, even if he’s about fifty percent sure he’ll wake up in his own bed on the same morning once again. Luke welcomes him with open arms and even more open cuddles, curls around him like the little octopus he is, sweaty and gross and exactly what Reggie needs. He tucks himself beneath Luke’s chin and falls asleep to the sound of Luke’s weird sleep humming, familiar and warm.

He wakes up in his own bunk, just as expected. Alex has his hands on the edge of his bed, just as he has for the past two mornings (the same exact morning), and he knocks their heads together gently to wake Reggie up. Of all of the ways he could repeatedly experience being woken up, it’s one of Reggie’s favorites; it’s not one that Alex or Luke regularly indulges in, being as other people don’t think it’s normal or socially acceptable or whatever, but by the time Alex wakes him up, most everyone else has emptied out of the room; he’s actually running late, and typically, Reggie would be freaking out. Because it’s his third time living through the morning, he’s half tempted to just drag Alex back into bed with him.

Instead, he does what he’s supposed to do.

“Good mornin, Lexi,” he says as he has both of the other mornings, and Lex hits him with a pillow, just as expected. It’s only across his stomach, so it’s more fond than anything. That’s what Reggie tells himself, anyway. Alex pulls him out of bed then, shoving clothes at him until Reggie dresses himself and follows Alex out of the cabin in a semi-orderly manner, tying his flannel around his waist as he makes it out of the door. Julie falls into step with them as they make it up the cafeteria steps, linking her arm with Reggie’s as she has the last two renditions of this morning, but it still makes Reggie smile. Luke has already gone up ahead to meet up with Flynn, masterminding the summer rotation of Julie and the Phantoms advertising before breakfast and the announcement that they’ll be mingling with the other side of camp today.

He already knows the morning is going to be the same. He knows it in his bones. He didn’t wake up in Luke’s bed this morning.

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks after the announcement comes, and it confirms Reggie’s suspicions for sure. He goes through the motions of the conversation completely, not leaving anything on the floor because he’s not going to half ass a conversation with his friends just because he’s had it before. He loves them, and he’s not going to let Julie be insecure about her place with them just because of some repetitive day- what if this is the last time or something? He couldn’t do that to her. He high-fives Nick when he sees him and does his job and goes through the day. He sees Bobby and opens his mouth to speak, but Bobby beats him to it.

“My dad asked me to leave Sunset Curve. Told me to, really.”

That’s the first different thing he’s heard all day. And it’s enough to stop him midstep and nearly make him fall into the hi-hats they’ve got lined up against the wall of the rhythm cafe, except that Bobby catches him, because Bobby is the one who said it, because of course Bobby was. Bobby is the only one who could have said that, because Bobby’s dad is Trevor Wilson, extremely famous solo artist and general rock star, and no one else has ever left Sunset Curve successfully (Alex had tried, once, when he thought he was dragging everyone down, but they had talked him off that particularly wall), and-

“What?” Reggie asks, and the crack in his voice should be embarrassing, but he can’t dredge up the feeling. All he has is the sinking feeling of despair, because if Trevor asked Bobby to leave, then they’ve been letting him have this distance, this horrible fucking space because they thought he wanted it and- they’re supposed to be a family.

“He said that he would sponsor Sunset Curve if I left and did a successful solo album first. If he could see our potential for himself. I’m almost done with it, so I should be able to make it on my own. Even if I don’t have Sunset Curve anymore,” Bobby says, the last bit tacked on like an afterthought, like a bitter aftershock. Reggie puts his hand on Bobby’s arm. It’s the first time he’s reached out to him in a long, long time. Bobby seems to realize this too, and when he looks at Reggie, the vulnerability in his eyes makes Reggie ache.

“You left us, not the other way around, Bobs.” Fuck, that’s cagey. More defensive that he means. Bobby gives him a bitter smirk, opening his mouth, but Reggie squeezes where he holds Bobby’s arm still. “You didn’t explain. You didn’t say anything. You just left. You never talked to us,” he says, his voice calmer as he goes further. Bobby’s expression crumples, screwing up around his mouth.

“You didn’t stop me, Reg! When I said I was leaving, you didn’t try to stop me. Not like we stopped Alex. Not like you would have stopped Luke. Not like we would have stopped you. A rhythm guitarist is replaceable, you know, you guys were never as attached, so don’t act like you weren’t happy I was gone,” Bobby pushes out the words like they’re insistent against his throat, and Reggie pushes himself against Bobby’s chest when they’re done, forces himself under Bobby’s chin and makes Bobby hug him. He pulls Bobby against him and hugs him none too gently, hugs him like he wanted to when Bobby left, because he was fucking devastated when Bobby left, it destroyed him when Bobby left, but he didn’t want to make Bobby stay somewhere he didn’t want to be. He pushes himself up against Bobby because that’s how they’ve always talked best, not looking each other in the eye but still close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats, and he both loves and hates how easily Bobby relaxes against him as soon as he’s close. When he speaks, he does so quietly, more gently than he’s been with Bobby in a year’s time. Only had to do today a third time to start talking like he should have been for a year.

“I wanted you to stay. We wanted you to stay. But fuck, it hurt when shut us out, when you kicked us out. We thought we were family, Bee. Sunset Curve was our family, you were our family. We were supposed to have each other’s backs and you told us that you wanted out of our family.”

“I didn’t want to kick you guys out. It just… it happened so fast, and you just packed up and left. I wanted you to keep using the garage, even if it was without me. But, Sunset Curve was family, and I was leaving Sunset Curve,” Bobby says, like that explains anything. Reggie wants to both pull Bobby so close that the other boy lives inside of Reggie’s own ribcage, and pull far enough away that he can punch Bobby in the face.

“You’re an idiot, Bobby Wilson,” he says, stroking Bobby’s hair. As soon as he says it, Bobby tenses up.

“What?” the other boy says, voice hardening again. Reggie scritches his nails along Bobby’s scalp.

“You’re an idiot if you think we didn’t love you. We still do, even if we’ve been mad, and hurt, and whatever else for the past year without you, which has sucked, by the way. You’re our best friend, and the fact that you just left us, barely any explanation, and didn’t speak to any of us at all? Definitely aggravated some abandonment issues, yeah, but we still fucking love you. Honestly! You’re an idiot. Can’t believe you,” Reggie says, pulling Bobby even closer when it seems like Bobby might pull away or might not know what to do, because he can’t let Bobby pull away again. Not physically or emotionally or socially or ever, ever again. Bobby’s arms finally wrap fully around Reggie, delicate and unsure, and Reggie hums, satisfied. He’s missed this. Missed Bobby.

“I knew Luke wouldn’t let me leave if it was for this. But I couldn’t waste the opportunity. My dad has a lot of connections that we might not have been able to make on our own,” Bobby says, but even the argument sounds like it has the air punched out of it. Reggie hums again, noncommittal.

“He probably wouldn’t have let you leave without a fight, no, because anything your dad can do for us, we can do on our own talent, Bobbins. I know that you’re scared of never being able to make it, and I know that you think your dad can help us, but we’ve always agreed that we didn’t want to make it like that. Why did you think doing it like this would make things different?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice soft and the accusation out of his tone. He doesn’t want Bobby to puff up, because if Bobbers gets defensive, this conversation isn’t getting anywhere. He might as well have a conversation with a brick wall. He’s not the most intelligent former member of Sunset Curve (that honor goes to Alex, probably), but it’s better that he’s here than, say, Luke. Luke would definitely have started a fight by now.

“I just… I wanted to help. And then you guys didn’t talk to me, and you made a new band so quickly and everything changed so fast, and the new album was all I had, Reggie, and Carrie told me that I should just work on that and say fuck it, so I just said fuck it, and maybe I shouldn’t take emotional advice from a Scorpio, but I didn’t have you guys at the time, so I just- I wasn’t- it was,” Bobby stops and starts and then stops all together, and that’s all it takes for Reggie to realize that Bobby is probably about to start crying. Reggie tucks Bobby’s face against his neck and presses his own face against Bobby’s hair, pressing a kiss into it naturally, just like he does with Julie, because the Molinas are even more affectionate than, say, Sunset Curve, and Julie and the Phantoms has become a codependent place to live too. He wants to make Bobby safe there too. There’s something he has to say first, though.

“We didn’t reach out because we thought you didn’t want us to, Bee. When you walked away, I promise we wanted to follow you. At the very least, Alex and Luke did. It… hurt me. A lot. When you left. Sunset Curve was the only family I had before the Molinas. Alex had his sisters, and even when they fight, Luke’s parents still love him, and you have Carrie, and Trevor, in his weird way, when he wants to care. But I don’t- they don’t love me, Bobs. Not even Michael, not really. And when… when you left, they took care of me instead of thinking about you, and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” It had taken Ray months to get him into a therapist who got him to admit that his family sucked. It’s weird to just say it now. It’s only been a month and a half since he said it in therapy. Bobby squeezes him a little too tight, but Reggie doesn’t tell him to let go. It’s kinda nice, actually.

“I shouldn’t have left. I’m really, really sorry, Reg. I love you, and it wasn’t ever about- I’m sorry,” Bobby struggles through apologizing, and it’s obvious he’s crying now. It makes something crack in Reggie’s chest, like a ridge is forming beneath the plates of his crust, tectonics shifting as it quakes. He kisses the side of Bobby’s head, wants to kiss his face, and that’s not a new thought. He pushes it down just like he used to, lays it to rest within him and does not give it a grave marker, slides it down beneath the rest. They’ve probably been too close for too long. They’ve probably done that a lot over the years. They probably won’t stop, if they’re going to be mending their friendship.

That’s okay, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you too, Bobbins. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says, and it almost feels like it actually will. He loves Bobby Wilson, and for the first time in a year, thinking so doesn’t burn in his chest. Bobby pulls away from him and gives him a smile, and there it is. That same old problem.

His love for Bobby is like a car in that starting it seems impossible if you don’t know how; it’s sat dormant for months without an experienced driver. Luke and Alex have walked around it for the past year, tapped on the glass of its windows, have had no idea how to even open the doors without a key in hand. It’s just a hunk of metal really, but if you have the key (Bobby’s smile in the ignition, just ready to sink his teeth in), it’s the easiest thing in the world, just a turning of metal within another piece of metal, just a spark, and everything comes alive, all of the noise and heat, and there he is, there’s all the love in him, everything alive in Reggie, and it’s there and ready to go and rolling down the hill, 40 miles an hour, 50, 60, as fast as anyone will let him before they hit the breaks. All of the fear of being hurt takes the backseat as Bobby slides into the driver’s seat, Reggie taking passenger because he’s never been in control of this. It’s okay, though. Bobby’s never been a reckless driver. He’ll be careful enough. Reggie has always been so ready to hand himself away to this boy.

Same problem, same solution. Reggie shoves his love into himself and gives Bobby a smile of his own, offering him his hand as they exit. Bobby’s smile slides into a grin, but he shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, we’ve both got work to do, Reg. I’ll see you later? Tomorrow maybe?” he asks, and they both know that tomorrow might not come. Reggie nods anyway, entrapped by that fucking grin, the sharp canine that overlaps over one of his other teeth, every little thing that Reggie has ever observed about Bobby coming back into sharp focus. And, god, he loves him. Jesus.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bee. Love you,” he says, and he walks away from Bobby feeling ten pounds lighter. It almost scares him when Bobby catches him by the hand halfway out of the door of the rhythm cafe, spinning him around and pulling him a little closer than they’ve ever gotten so quickly, and Reggie knows he’s blushing before he even sets himself to rights.

“Sorry, just. Love you too,” Bobby says it like he’s following an impulse and then he kisses Reggie on the cheek (he’s never kissed Reggie on the face before, always kept it to his hair or his shoulder or his hands or-) and disappears out the door. Reggie blinks, standing stock still for a moment as the feeling rolls over him before he follows Bobby out of the door, the other boy already lost in the din of the camp. He goes about the rest of his day with a little more pep in his step, catching things before they fall and all of the things he maybe shouldn’t do for the butterfly effect of it all, but he just can’t help it. Everything looks a little brighter on the other side of the tunnel. He sees Bobby across the campground a couple of times, but never really close enough to engage, just enough to fluster himself. He needs to talk to the boys and Julie and Flynn.

The soonest time he gets to see all of them is dinner that night, when Alex tells them all about Willie. Reggie doesn’t interrupt, and he gives the same advice he’s given the last two times (“You should totally talk to him again! In fact, where is he? Hey! Are you Willie? You should come eat with us!”), but afterwards, he tells everyone that he talked to Bobby. And the table goes strangely, eerily silent.

“What do you mean you talked to Bobby, Reg? I thought we were gonna be cool about it,” Luke says, looking at Reggie mostly but looking at Julie a little bit, probably because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Reggie doesn’t want to hurt her feelings either (and he won’t, not even for Bobby, but Bobby is important too), but he’s not going to keep this a secret from her either.

“I am being cool about this! Bobbert apparently got convinced by his dad to make a solo album so that his dad would sponsor Sunset Curve, and Bobby didn’t think that he could tell us because you wouldn’t let him leave, but he didn’t want to squander the opportunity or whatever, but then he was really Bobby about it and got in his feelings, but we were also in our feelings, so overall Sunset Curve era communication skills were really, really shit and honestly we all owe our lives to Flynn and Julie, but furthermore, it’s my vote that we engage Robert T Wilson in a prank war, as he has wronged the former members of Sunset Curve, but he is still a former member of Sunset Curve himself, and dude, he cried on me earlier,” he ends out strong, because he knows nothing is more convincing that Bobby fucking Wilson expressing an emotion. He doesn’t realize he’s speaking more to the table than he is to his friends until he’s done speaking, but when he looks up, Luke and Alex are both just looking at him, Luke’s eyes wide and six shades of puppy dog, his smile just starting to curve upward, and Alex giving that shy smile like he’s just seeing Reggie.

“Are you sure, man?” Alex asks, and Reggie knows why. He knows that half the reason that Alex and Luke held such a huge grudge against Bobby was for hurting him, and he knows that despite all of their implications and joking, everyone knows that he is the delicate one, not Alex. He bites his lip and looks at Julie, who gives him a smile, one that doesn’t even look hurt. Flynn is smiling too, so Julie must really not be hurting; Flynn is never good at covering up when Julie isn’t alright. She gets too mad.

“I’m sure. So, what do you think we should do?” he asks, and that sets them off. Flynn has a lot of opinions for someone who has never participated in a Sunset Curve prank war, but she argues that it’s not a Sunset Curve prank war, being as all four members of Julie and the Phantoms (and their social media manager) plan to participate, and Reggie can’t help his smile when they say that. He likes the idea of having Flynn and Julie in on this too, can’t stand the idea of having a separation between the lot of them again, and it makes him smile even wider when Willie throws in an opinion too; Bobby has apparently talked about them some, and this might help. This might help. Thank God.

“We are not going to just pie the guy, that’s so lame,” Flynn says, and that breaks Reggie out of his head. He puts his hand on their shoulder. He knows they’re right, that it’s the kind of shitty prank a bunch of thirteen year olds would produce, but well-

“We should definitely pie him. That was how we used to start our prank wars because when we were kids- or, well, it was just a few years ago, when we had first met, we were thirteen, and Bobby smacked me in the face with a banana cream pie in the doorway right over there,” he points to the cafeteria doorway where Bobby had ambushed him, the fond memory washing over him. It had been a dare from one of the other boys at camp, and Bobby had regretted it immediately when he thought Reggie was going to cry (he wasn’t that sensitive, he just had whipped cream in his eye!), but when Bobby decided to hang out with him instead of going back to hang with the other boys, Reggie wasn’t even mad about the pie. He just started pranking Bobby back, and brought Luke and Alex into it too, and that’s how they got started. Hearing this, Flynn nods.

“Okay. Do you still know where the camp keeps their pies?” they ask, and Reggie breaks into a grin, nodding back.

It would probably look suspicious if they all got up from the table, so Flynn makes Luke, Alex and Willie stay. Reggie winks at Alex when Willie isn’t looking, making the other boy blush a pretty pink to match his signature hoodie. It’s always charming to leave your best friend with your other best friend, who happens to be his ex-boyfriend, and his pretty obvious new crush. Reggie leaves with Flynn and Julie, glad that he’s not make small talk with that crazy crew (not that he’s ever made small talk with Luke and Alex; they would probably just end up one upping each other with who could tell Willie the most embarrassing story about Bobby the fastest, seeing as he’s had a year’s time to tell Willie stories about them, should he so please). He links his arm with Julie as he usually does, who links her other arm with Flynn, even if they make a conspicuous picture together. Flynn has told him that one of the best ways to be inconspicuous is to be conspicuous in other ways all together.

He’s not sure if they’re right, but he’ll take it.

“Okay, so they’re back there in the fridge, sweets are on the right hand side, pies are usually in the bottom. I can absolutely guarantee about thirty seconds,” he says, and then he lets go of Julie, pushing Julie and Flynn into the kitchen as he catches sight of-

“Hey Marge!” he says brightly, injecting excitement into his voice and making sure not to look in the direction of the door he just pushed his friends into. If he gives them up, they’re all fucked. Luckily, Marge just looks as excited to see him as she always does, just as excited to see him as she’s looked since he was tiny and thirteen and adults liked him so, so much more than kids ever had.

“Reggie, my love, where have you been? You haven’t come to see me at all this week. I almost didn’t think you were coming back,” she says, and then they’re off. He talks about the band for as much time as he can; Marge doesn’t really understand the social media kickoff they’ve been able to get, but she likes how excited he gets, so that’s nice. He asks her about her kids, her grandkids, even the nieces that used to come around to camp just to visit every couple of weeks that he can just barely remember the names of- he’s good like that. He’s not sure how long they’ve been talking when Julie comes up and grabs his shoulder, sliding him a smile before turning her charm on Marge.

“Hi! I’m Reggie’s friend, Julie. Is there any chance I could steal him from you?” she asks, all smiles and barely there pretty girl laughter, and Marge just smiles back at her, giving her a nod.

“Reggie has been telling me all about your band, so I could hardly keep him from one of you three. It’s wonderful to meet one of you. Come back and see me, my boy,” she says, and she kisses Reggie on the cheek, and then she goes back to the kitchen. It makes Reggie feel warm, and he wishes he hadn’t come to see her just to steal a pie; it makes him feel dirty. That only lasts for a minute as Julie pulls on his arm, giggles bursting out of her chest as Flynn rejoins them, slipping out with a pie in hand, cling wrap still holding it together. A smile takes over his face as well as he puts his arm around Flynn’s shoulders, snagging the pie with his other hand. This is his prank. He’s gonna do it.

That’s what he thinks, at least, until Alex steals the pie from his hands, putting on the table in front of himself.

“I wanna do it. And I want you to be standing behind me, and I want Luke to be there too, for maximum drama potential. Listen, we’ve been plotting it out, work with me here,” Alex says, both hands on the table in front of the pie. Reggie considers it briefly, but decides, well, all three of them should be involved, and then both Flynn and Julie could be there for it too. And Willie could do the lead in. At the suggestion, Willie grins.

“I’m in,” they say, bumping his wrist with Reggie’s own. Then, they just set the plan in motion. The lot of them actually have to eat their dinner at this point, seeing as they’ve been talking and plotting and planning when they were supposed to be eating, so they rush through their meal and get up in shifts; he and Luke and Julie get up and go sit on the cafeteria porch first, sitting on the railing to shoot the shit and talk, killing time while the rest of the plan goes accordingly. Willie moves to sit with Bobby about halfway through the meal, unlacing his fingers from Alex’s hesitantly, though the rest of them pretend not to notice. Flynn and Alex move to linger by the door, surreptitiously disguising the pie in Alex’s jacket as they stand to talk behind the shadow of the alcove.

It’s all coming to a head when they can all hear Bobby’s voice.

“Wills, I don’t see the point in getting back into conspiracy theories, dude. They just don’t interest me that much any-” Bobby is cut off as he steps out of the doorway of the cafeteria, pie hitting him directly in the face as he sputters. He’s looking around wildly and his eyes catch on Alex first, then Flynn, then Luke, before finally landing on Reggie, who gives a loose fingered wave and a smile. He watches the way that it settles over Bobby exactly what this means (because after the first pie, they’ve never used pies on anyone but friends, they’ve always been a good natured prank, a sweet prank), and he watches as the anger and fear twists to wonder and Bobby looks more open than Reggie has ever seen Bobby Wilson ever look in public, and he looks so open Reggie could cry. The wonder gives Bobby his smile back and, covered in whipped cream and newfound joy, he waves back.

By some unfair deity and miracle, he’s never looked more beautiful.

“I’ll get you back for this, you know,” Bobby says, his head tilted up like he’s speaking to Alex, but he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of Reggie. Alex snorts.

“Sure, Bobbers. Just like we’ll get you back for leavin’ us for a year just because your dad told you to. Shut up,” Alex says, and the tension that’s settled over the group leaves as soon as Alex wraps his arms around Bobby, uncaring of the pie that gets on his jacket, dissipating even more as Luke joins in, dragging Julie, who is laughing, in with him, and Reggie comes too, because this is all he’s not let himself want for the past year, and he snags Flynn and Willie just because he can, making their group hug a seven person event that includes five of his closest friends, himself, and one person he’s just met. Which is awesome. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be Willie right now, hearing about them vaguely for a year and then being dragged into this, but you win some, you lose some, right?

“I am gonna get you back, you know? I wanna make that clear. And Willie, even if you think Alex is cute, you’re on my team,” Bobby says after a minute of allowing affection on his person, and Reggie can’t help his helpless laughter as the group breaks apart as Alex and Willie separate, unable to look at each other directly.

“Can’t let us have one moment, can you, Wilson?” he asks as he comes face to face with Bobby again, his eyes sliding over Bobby’s face with a near obsession. He holds himself back from reaching for Bobby, though his fingers twitch to touch him again. Bobby grins at him, biting his lip in a way that makes Reggie stare without really realizing it. There’s still whipped cream on Bobby’s forehead. He should not be charmed by this.

“We’ve already had our moment today, wouldn’t you say, Peters?” the other boy says, which sounds much more suggestive than crying in front of each other, but alright. He and Bobby had always had a somewhat flirtatious friendship, but this is… something else. Even when he wanted to… even when he and Bobby were… Jesus.

“There’s an energy here. I’d say there’s an energy here, right?” Flynn stage-whispers to Alex (who still won’t look at Willie through anything but the corner of his eye) and Julie (who is enjoying all of the energies here and is leaning against Luke, who doesn’t seem to mind at all, blushing himself), who nod conspiratorially. Reggie hates that he can feel himself flush immediately. Bobby just slings an arm over Reggie’s shoulders, kissing Reggie’s temple and making Reggie wonder quietly at how comfortable they’ve already become again.

“You hear that, babe? We’ve got energy,” Bobby says, almost directly in Reggie’s ear. Reggie hides his face against Bobby’s collar, but that only serves to put him closer to Bobby’s person, which only flusters him more, which is sincerely a vicious cycle, he must say. Carrie and her friends choose that moment to exit the cafeteria, which they’re still kinda semi-blocking the door of, which means that she sees, well, everything that’s going on right now. Reggie goes to pull away from Bobby, seeing as this is Bobby’s little sister (only a year and a month of difference, and adoptive, but, well), but Bobby holds onto his waist. Carrie looks Bobby up and down and then gives Reggie an even quicker once over, barely lingering over him before going back to her brother.

“So you’re back in with these losers? No more crying into pints of dairy free ice cream?” she says, her tone cutting and a little cold, but Reggie knows Carrie better than that. He’s known her since she was twelve, he’s seen her cry over a Little’s Pet Shop purse being out of stock, and he helped Bobby figure out pre-ordering when they were fourteen so that they could make sure that it never happened again. Bobby just gives her a smile.

“We talked it out, Care. However, you are on my team for the prank war, so I will be needing your mind,” he adds, giving her a smile that Reggie finds charming but he imagines Carrie probably finds annoying (he’d probably find something like it annoying on Michael, as is the condition of older brothers, so), and Carrie sticks her tongue out.

“Fine. But if I’m participating, I plan to win. Detach yourself from loverboy and let’s go,” she says, pursing her lips. If Reggie could stop blushing, that would be beautiful. Luke, however, has other ideas, and catches Bobby by the shoulder before he can make it down the steps. He drags him over to the side of the cafeteria like that’ll dull the sound any, and like it’s not then easy for all of them to hear every single word that comes out of Luke’s mouth.

“If you ever hurt Reg again, I’ll break both your ankles and your guitar, dude. I love you and you’re one of my best friends, we are family, but you weren’t here for the past year. You didn’t see what happened to him. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but dude, take care of yourself and take care of him,” he says, and then there’s a moment of silence, and then Bobby is shoved back into view. He looks a little shaken up, and he takes Reggie’s hand as soon as he sees him, looking at Carrie for a moment, and she nods. Reggie looks at Flynn and Julie, suddenly unsure of himself, and they both nudge him along as well, and so he lets Bobby take him down the path to the rhythm cafe, which seems to be becoming a thing for them. It’s private, which is something.

“This evening has gone very differently from the previous two,” he says in an effort to break the tension, maybe to distract Bobby from what Luke said, maybe because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Bobby squeezes his hand.

“Reg, buddy. Babe. Come on. What did he mean?” Bobby asks, and Reggie wants to linger on word choice here, he really does, but Bobby’s looking at him like he doesn’t really have a chance to linger here. Reggie takes a deep breath.

“Shit, I- things hit me hard, when you left. I closed off. Luke and Alex didn’t know what to do. Things were getting even harder at home, and Julie was letting me stay over more, and so we were hanging out more, and that’s when the music started happening, but it was hard, you know? I needed you, I guess. You needed us too, I know that now. But I didn’t then. I just knew that I needed you and you weren’t there and I didn’t think you wanted to be there either, and… I missed you a lot,” he explains, poorly, and he can’t look at Bobby when he talks, but he doesn’t feel confident enough to pull Bobby close now. He’s wiped the whipped cream off off his forehead by now, onto his hands and then his jeans, and Reggie wonders what it would be like if he could look at Bobby and not wonder what it would be like to kiss him. It’s harder to press down the thought now.

“I’m sorry I left, Reg. I love you so, so much,” Bobby says, his nose resting gently against Reggie’s own, and Reggie doesn’t know when Bobby moved so close. He doesn’t know when his other hand grabbed onto Bobby’s shirt, he doesn’t know when Bobby’s breath ghosting over his face started feeling right, and he certainly doesn’t know when Bobby’s I love you started feeling like something different than what it felt like before. But he doesn’t know. He can’t know for sure.

“I love you too, Bobbins. I love you too,” he replies, because of course he does, and Bobby rubs their noses together, smiling gently like Reggie isn’t getting something, and then he dips in to kiss him, slowly and gently, gently, gently, gently. Bobby’s hand is holding Reggie’s face like he’s something made of spun glass and sure things, like Reggie is made of everything important in the world, and Reggie’s hand stays fisted in Bobby’s shirt, his other hand with fingers clinging to Bobby’s own. They kiss slowly, like they have all the time in the world, like they didn’t waste a year not talking to each other, like they don’t have two diverging paths in front of them, like they don’t have a prank war to plan and two separate sides to be on, and like they’re not eighteen years old and they couldn’t be going much faster and making much rasher decisions.

He feels like Bobby’s taking them cruising down a backroad, holding his hand over the gearshift while they watch the trees go by. He could stay in the car forever with this boy. When Bobby pulls away, he doesn’t go far, not this time, just sets his forehead against Reggie’s and breathes.

They just breathe together, and the closeness feels like coming home.

“I’m still gonna prank you, you know,” Bobby says, because he can’t deal with one single emotional moment. Reggie gives him a brief little peck of a kiss just because he can, and he’s delighted to see how it makes Bobby blink, even given how they’ve just kissed, and he’s only doing it again.

“Wait, you’re cute. I always knew you were, but you’re, like, actually cute all the time, aren’t you? That’s sweet,” Reggie observed, surprised by self-proclaimed-at-fifteen ‘badass’ Bobby Wilson being cute when Reggie so much as kisses him, and he’s even more delighted when Bobby goes from pink to a red that rivals even Reggie’s own flushing tones. It takes Bobby a second to even be able to speak.

“Reg, I swear. Take that back. I am not- you’re cute. Not me. Don’t- I- Shut up,” Bobby trips over himself, trips over his own words, flustered, and it warms Reggie’s chest so thoroughly he feels fit to burst with it. He leans in and kisses Bobby again, never so glad as now that they’re so close in height, because it’s so, so easy to just kiss this boy who’s very, very kissable in the first place. Bobby kisses him back and pulls back just to kiss him again, and again, and then on his cheek, and then his nose, and his other cheek, and his forehead, and Reggie is laughing even though he doesn’t mean to, and this might be the best day of his life. He’s so happy he feels like he could float away, adrift with the wind, but he has Bobby still holding onto his fingers and wrapped around him, and he’s so, so happy.

“I love you,” he says again, and he’s never meant anything with more of himself. Eventually, he and Bobby have to separate and go to their own cabins, which actually means that they're going to plan their own wars, but dear God, for this moment, he’s standing too close to a boy who loves him back to think about how the night will end and the day might begin again. When they do leave each other, Bobby presses him gently against a wall and kisses him goodnight, and Reggie cups his face when he does it, just to remind him that Reggie is holding the world when he does it too. Instead of asking questions, Luke and Alex go directly into planning mode, charting the course for a few pranks and ribbing him just a little for how mussed his hair is, cracking a joke or two about sharing a bed now that he’s taken or whatever. It’s so normal that Reggie feels like he could crack right open, and when he goes to sleep in his own bed, he falls asleep easier than he has all year.

He wakes up to a new morning the next day, a bed full of silly string, and a note from Bobby.

I told you I would. Come find me?

And so it begins.

(When he remembers, he does, eventually, try to find the cabin again. He gets so far as the egg shaped rock before getting so disoriented he nearly passes out, and he decides that it simply is not worth it. He already has his miracle.)

#boggie #bobby wilson #reggie peters #julie and the phantoms #jatp #alex mercer #julie molina #luke patterson #flynn #willie #willex #juke #carrie wilson #mine #troped #i forgot to post this on tumblr

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ashestoashesjc · 4 years

Text

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend Take A Hike

Short Story 1/2/3/(4)/5/6/7/8/9/10

Relax. Relax. Inhale, exhale; you know the routine. This isn’t the first time you and Sett have been alone with unsuspecting humans. Just the first time where the goal has been for everyone to leave as alive as when they arrived. Simple.

Jen had texted the directions to The Goovenmeyer Hiking Trail, a public entrance to Goovenmeyer Forest, days before the planned excursion was to take place, and so Ulrick had just as much time with which to let his irrational worries ferment.

In the logical portion of his elixir and glyph-addled mind, Ulrick knew there was nothing to worry about. That forming normal, healthy friendships was good for Sett. Good for both of them. But a nagging splinter dug at a place he couldn’t reach.

He tried to disguise his busy hive of thoughts, but Sett, of course, caught on to the minuscule valley made from his dipping eyebrows, the tightness of a face steeped in sullen contemplation.

"You seem stressed,” Sett signed, retrieving a sealed, plastic package from his bomber jacket. “Beef jerky?"

"Where'd you get beef jerky?" asked Ulrick. He took a short pause. "And you don't eat?"

"Yeah, I know," Sett signed. "It's more for the atmosphere."

Sett stabbed one of the leathery sticks at his masked mouth, but seeing it fail to improve Ulrick’s mood, returned it to its pouch and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Really, what’s up?” signed Sett with his available hand.

“It’s stupid.”

“It never is.”

Ulrick let out a rolling sigh. He stood from their seat at the bench and paced about the entrance of the hiking trail. “Supermarkets in the dead of night, deserted movie theaters, dates on moonlit rooftops. I did those things to protect us, yes, but it was also because…” He looked to Ulrick. “I like when it’s just the two of us. I’m selfish that way.”

The mask covered Sett’s face, but Ulrick could imagine the goofy, tilted grin underneath from the light shining in his eyes. It urged half a smile out of him before his paranoia could steal back its throne.

“That’s changing now, and that’s fine, and I’m happy for you. But a small part of me can’t help but wonder…”

“Wonder...?” “What would they do if they knew?”

“Knew what?” came a familiar voice from behind them, where a small parking area accommodated an RV, the boys’ rusted red jalopy, and a newly arrived blue sedan.

It was Jen, followed closely by a backpack-lugging Diane, looking equally curious.

"That..." started Ulrick, feeling the vacuum of space closing in around him, sucking the air from his lungs.

"That we've never been hiking before,” Sett cut in with lightspeed fingerwork. “Didn't want you to look down on us rookies."

Ulrick could not have managed to look at Sett with more gratitude. "Cat's out of the bag, I guess."

"Ha! Don't you pink bellies worry about that. Everyone's a first timer once,” chortled Diane.

“Yeah, except you, Di. You were born an outdoorswoman.”

Exaggerating a shocked expression, Diane said, “That ain’t true! I was born a Led Zeppelin fan, and everything else has been window dressing.”

Then Jen snorted, not dissimilarly to the way Diane had when the four had met. Ulrick wondered who’d picked it up from whom.

“Well!” Jen said, clapping her hands together. “Di might have a compass for a brain, but I have something just as good.” She reached into a pocket of her explorer shorts and brought out a smartphone, plastered in psychedelic peace-symbol stickers. “A compass on my cell phone.”

“And I’ve read about a few sights off the beaten path that we’ve just got to check out,” she said. “Y’know, time permitting.”

“Oh yeah, wandering blindly into the unfamiliar wilderness. That’s never gotten anyone brutally murdered,” scoffed Ulrick.

Jen suddenly placed her hands on Ulrick’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes, her voice silvery and therapeutic. “I see you, I hear you, I feel you,” she said, each emphasized syllable accompanied by a gentle shoulder clap.

A stammered “Uh…” was the only response Ulrick could muster.

Turning back to the trail ahead, she began marching. “And we’re off!”

Irregular stone slabs acted as their guide into the forested incline, but it wasn’t long before they and the beaten path were old acquaintances. Really, it seemed like they’d forgone any path at all, intended or otherwise, as they squeezed past vine-twisted tree trunks, maneuvered around prickly poisonous bushes, crossed rushing, turbulent streams.

From the clearing at which they found themselves, the whispers of fast moving water could be made out. Jogging up to her position at the head of the group, Sett tapped Diane on the shoulder. “I’ll race you to the next stream,” he signed. Diane agreed with a haughty laugh as the two took off in a sprint. For having only a fraction of the functioning tendons, Sett kept up remarkably well but Diane’s calves were pistons. Jen and Ulrick shared in the rolling of eyes, and after they and Sett had all caught up to the race winner, their spirits were high. On their way over the stream in question, however - wide and deep, nearly a river - Ulrick’s foot missed its landing on the collapsed tree the group had fashioned into a bridge.

Before he had time to fully assess the situation or Sett’s hand had time to make contact with his, his mouth was flooded with water, and, as the remaining trio stood, frozen in shock, he was shooting rapidly down the violent torrent toward a sound of rushing water so massive, it took not a woodswoman to know what awaited him.

But it was their woodswoman, Diane, who ripped herself from her jacket, and dove into the frigid gnashing. Her legs beat with a polished verve that contrasted Ulrick’s desperate flails more strongly with every inch of the gap she closed. Then she’d passed him. Her legs kept pumping.

Only flashes of vision stolen between each blinding crash of the waves revealed to Diane the rock jutting up at her left. She paddled toward it as best she could, knowing she’d made it only when her hand was secured around firm granite.

She gasped for air, bobbed above and below water level, but managed to swing around with fingers outstretched nearly as far as they would go.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Now!

She grasped just the slightest bit further, used her legs to propel herself forward. For a microsecond, she was sure she’d waited too long, and then, almost in answer, felt her hand clasp around something bony and warm. “I got you!” she shouted over the scream of the rapids.

Diane, grip on the mossy boulder growing ever more tentative, soon found a hand around her own wrist as she and Ulrick were dragged, dripping and shivering, onto the gravelly shore.

The two gave haggard, drained, heaving breaths as Sett ensured they were entirely out of harm’s way, and Jen, sobbing, wrapped her arms around Diane’s neck.

“This better have been worth it,” Ulrick said when he was dry and warm enough to say anything at all. But when, at the supposed end of their expedition, Jen pulled aside a curtain of vines, what unfolded before them convinced Ulrick it just might have been.

Ahead, a narrow cavern, lined virtually floor-to-stalactite-riddled-ceiling with glowing, blueish-green mushrooms, tinted each of the four’s awe-stricken faces the very same alien hue. The spotted fungi curved up proudly from their places inset in the stony walls, as if to say, This is our home, and you are right to be astounded. And they were.

Their jaws were still slack as they made their way out of the small, magical cave, crossed the fallen tree over angry waves, avoided the alluring embrace of stinging nettle. It was by the third time they’d encountered the same twisty, knotted elm, however, that their wonderment had begun to give way to weary impatience.

"We're not lost. I know exactly where we are," Jen said, yanking free her phone from her pocket. She glanced at the screen for a brief moment and then announced, "We're lost. I have no idea where we are."

She turned the blank screen to the other three, audibly clicking the 'power' button. "My phone must have died."

“Don’t fret; there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way,” signed Sett.

“Your optimism is so refreshing!” Jen said with a happy sigh.

A ragged groan escaped Diane. "Why didn't you charge it last night?"

"Why didn't you remind me to charge it? You know I always forget. And you knew we were going on a hike, too. So irresponsible," Jen said, shaking her head.

"You!" laugh-shouted Diane before she took off to chase a now-squealing Jen through the isolated wooded area in which they found themselves until they’d run out of sight.

Ulrick rolled his eyes, "God, is that what we look like?"

Walking over and sitting next to Ulrick on a log, Sett lowered his mask, gnawed a piece of beef jerky, gave a series of loud smacks, and his head a shake. "Gffrrra rmmrrr. <Heck nah. We're way cuter,>" he spat, shooting out dried, fibrous bits.

Ulrick’s eyes squinted instinctively to avoid the meat spray. I love this man, he thought dreamily.

"Grgrrrgrr. <Wow, this really tastes better raw,>" he grunted, hocking grisly chunks onto the ground. He handed Ulrick the bag of dehydrated cow bits. "Grgrrr rgrrrRRr. <Here. Can't even look at them.>"

"But you know..." said Ulrick, depositing the package into a coat pocket. "Apart from almost going over a waterfall, ending up hopelessly lost, and getting poison ivy in places I’d rather not mention, this honestly hasn't been the worst."

"GrrrRr? <Great, even?>"

"Let's not get carried away."

Then, a scream. And not of the marital variety. A murder of crows poured out over the treetops.

Ulrick and Sett looked to each other, and then, at once, took off after the sound.

What they discovered upon following the shriek was a somewhat cozy recess, marred only by an edge of burnt, toppled trees, the result of a recent firestorm, and by an eight-foot behemoth of teeth and rage that now cornered a comparatively small Diane and Jen, the latter shaking in the protective arms of the former.

The bear hadn’t noticed their arrival and Sett, without making a sound, used the advantage to pick up a sizeable rock and sneak behind the foam-mouthed beast. He lobbed the stone directly at its head.

“What are you doing!” Ulrick whispered tightly.

Sett began signing, “While it’s distracted, get them--” but couldn’t complete the thought as a freight train concentrated in the size of a burly paw forced the words from his fingers and sent his body flying like a limp doll into the shattered, splintery remains of ruined trees.

The broken spikes tore through his chest; the bow of a vessel emerging through fog.

Like a marionette, strings severed, Jen instantly collapsed.

"Se--!" Ulrick very nearly screamed, before Di's hand clapped over his mouth.

"Bad time to scream," she whispered, eyes hovering between the bear and Jen’s supine, unconscious form.

Drool dripped in strings from the bear's growling, vibrating maw as it decided who it would first maul, and Ulrick's eyes zipped erratically from rock to branch for anything to offer aid or solace. But the only thing his eyes fell to were the bits of chewed jerky Sett had earlier discarded.

By the time the thought had wormed its way into his consciousness, he was already hands-deep in a jacket pocket. When the hand reappeared, it gripped Sett's parcel of 100% American USDA-approved beef jerky. Almost immediately, the bear was rapt.

“Go...” Ulrick said, collecting his indomitable fear and anger into a single swing, “...get it!”

And then the package was sailing overhead, deeper into the forest, a ton of muscle and fur and claw galumphing off single-mindedly after it.

The moment the bear had trudged out of sight, Ulrick and Diane were on the rush to Sett’s impaled, lifeless body. The jagged, wooden knives protruding through his chest were painted at their ends by a dark liquid that might have been dried blood, but for its smell.

“I don’t know if we should…” started Diane, but Ulrick was already beneath one of Sett’s arms, knees bent to allow himself leverage and traction. He shoved and heaved and grunted but barely did the large mass of man budge.

Sweat gathered in rivulets at Ulrick’s forehead as his strain and frustration and sorrow mounted. Each push of his feet left a deeper rut in the ground where there’d once been grass.

“Well?” he cried to Diane, still struggling, wet eyes reflecting the falling light.

Sighing at the futility of it all, she nonetheless took her place under the other of Sett’s armpits. And the two, though it seemed to take a small, tense forever of bone-fatiguing, swear-filled thrusts, hoisted free Sett’s immobile cadaver from the gnarled, blackened teeth of Mother Nature.

They’d laid him down on the ground, Ulrick himself sprawled out and breathing heavily, not accustomed to the extent of physical exertion, when Diane decided, without Ulrick’s notice, that Sett’s damaged clothes had to be removed, his wounds cleaned and dressed, if he stood any slim chance of recovery.

Ulrick looked up, but too late, and the expression stapled to Diane’s face as he saw himself through her eyes was one he knew he’d never forget.

"Look,” Ulrick said, standing but making sure not to venture any closer. “Let's get out of the forest alive and... I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Diane hadn’t peered up at him once since they’d dislodged Sett’s body from the tree, and she didn’t start now.

"Okay," she said at length.

Polaris guiding her path, alongside the occasional stop to confirm by way of western-pointing spiderwebs her directional accuracy, Diane led the wiped, half-unconscious quartet of hikers back, after an arduous trek through an unkind night, back to their fabled starting point, her carrying Jen bridal-style, Sett slung over her and Ulrick’s shoulders. Woodswoman, indeed.

"I'd hoped I would come up with a good excuse on the way here, or that we'd just die first, which would have admittedly been easier,” said Ulrick as they approached the entrance, feeling Diane’s eyes wearing down on him.

"And?” she said.

"And I didn't come up with a good excuse. There isn't one. You should know the truth. Sett's..."

A grumbling between them alerted them to Sett’s slow reentrance into the world of the conscious, though not of the living. Ulrick clasped Sett's face in his hands, the two falling to their knees. Sett smiled, the black muck smudged about his features like a Rorschach.

"I missed you, too," Sett signed groggily, bringing tears to the corners of Ulrick's eyes.

"Let's sit him down," Ulrick suggested, wiping water away, a streak of the muck lingering on his cheek.

As they began to lift him away, Sett craned his neck up to Diane and gave a weakly signed, “Thank you.”

On the wooden bench sitting outside the trail’s entry point, Jen and Sett were positioned next to each other, asleep, head resting on head; and farther back, inside the trail itself, where the trees loomed tall and close, where they couldn’t be overheard, stood Ulrick and Diane, the wordlessness tangible.

Crickets chirped listlessly in the background. Fireflies drew unplanned paths through humid night air. The absence of sound, of chatter, of life, meant to swallow them completely, make the unsaid forever unsayable.

When Diane, after a silent eternity, uttered, looking at no one, “I know what he is.”

Nothing moved.

“I heard about him staying underwater for goddamn near an hour back at the resort. I thought... maybe he's just good at holding his breath." Diane gave a short, mirthless laugh, seemingly at herself. "Then, today."

She paused, and after what felt like a long while, finally said, "That tree should've killed him, and we both know it. And that blood. That…” She stopped.

“Whatever it was, it wasn't blood...”

Pointedly looking to Ulrick, who couldn’t bring himself to look back, she said, “You wondered what would happen if we knew. Well, now I know. I know what he is."

Ulrick said nothing. There was nothing to say, and his silence was all the confirmation she needed.

"What I want to know is,” she said, tone betraying no particular emotion, “how you did it."

"What?” Ulrick said, looked up in confusion as if he’d heard the words wrong. “How I..."

"How you brought him back. I want to know how."

"It's... it's an ancient art. You don't just do it. You need years of training."

The response took a second of thought, and then, as if it’d been obvious, Diane said, "Then you do it. Bring someone back for me."

"That's... not a good idea,” Ulrick said.

She blew air from her nose. "Oh, but bringing Sett back. That was a good idea?"

"That was different,” Ulrick retorted too quickly.

"How?” She was then looking him gravely in the eyes. “How was it different?"

His gaze darted to the busy forest floor. "It... just was."

"Huh,” said Diane, a sound and a sentiment. As if the conversation had ended there, she turned and straightened her leather jacket.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry I asked. Don't worry about it." At that, Diane began to make her departure toward the entrance and the parking lot, where only the red and blue cars remained.

"You…” said Ulrick to her back, unable to will himself to move. “You won't tell anyone about us, will you?"

Diane paused, pretended not to hear him and then continued to exit when, just before she left the small copse of trees forever to return to Jen, unawares, dozing peacefully on the bench, to her life, to her own devices, Ulrick called out.

"Wait," he nearly whispered, and Diane stopped in her tracks, not turning around. His fists balled at his side. "Okay... fine. I'll do it."

"I'll resurrect someone for you."

#A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend #A Necromance #short story #original #series #supernatural #wlw #mlm #queer #fiction

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essays-for-breakfast · 3 years

Text

A Song to Forget All Trouble

Kiane Week Day Four: Reign/Daily Life

With each sunrise, another problem awaited Diane. Or, for the sake of accuracy, a mountain of problems. Ruling an entire clan was one thing, but the management of two clans who had spent to majority of three millennia with scornful looks and cold shoulders had more in common with a wrestling match against a Tyrant Dragon. With arms tied behind the back. Giants and Fairies alike always found one little annoyance to blow out of proportion and add to the list of matters Diane needed to discuss and solve with the parties involved.

The quarrel for a resting spot on one of the Fairy King’s Forest’s countless clearings took her half a day to settle because both the Giant and the opposing group of Fairies claimed to have arrived there first. Around noon, Diane ordered the squabblers to find other places to sleep and opened the clearing to a horde of Giant children. At the end of their play session, a rugged crater disfigured the landscape, and smashed golem heads roasted in the sun. No one wanted to rest there anymore.

Every trampled flowerbed and every earth-made pillar became a file on Diane’s metaphorical desk. Fairies liked to boast about their inability to understand concepts like possession and greed, but when someone asked them to share their precious forest with outsiders, they crossed their arms and jutted their chins faster than one could turn over a leaf.

Even if their king asked them.

But the Giants didn’t cover themselves in glory with their behavior either. Their daily fighting tournaments, these days held for sport rather than war training, flattened entire areas on a regular basis. And while the Giants toasted to their displays of power, the present Fairies had little to laugh about. To them, a tree was a lifeform in the same way as a deer or a chaffinch. To a Giant, a tree was a resource for weapons and sometimes a javelin in their ego games.

Drole had assured that Diane would make for the ideal queen to their people. If only he had mentioned the massif of hurdles on the road of leadership.

Daylight was fading, and Diane more stumbled than walked towards the Great Tree. She hawked, but the lump in her throat sat on her voice like a fat, ugly toad. The avalanche of irritated ‘what?’ the near-deaf Giant had spat in her direction continued to ring in her ears. He had built a stone damn to turn the southern river into his private bathing lake. The shrubs and flowers he had put underwater by proxy had concerned him no more than a change in the clouds above. Diane had repeated and rerepeated herself in explaining the problem he had created, but more than another ‘what?’ hadn’t come out of him. A wonder the old man still lived – with the philosophy of the Giants in mind, a useless member of the pack went to bed each night in expectation of a slit throat.

Diane rolled her shoulders to shake away these gloomy thoughts. The merger had its upsides too. She just needed to remind herself of them once in a while.

The stench of fire, mingled with the alluring but precarious aromas of roasted boar hit her before the massive shape of the Great Tree came into view. Not again. Diane darted into the bushes, a string of curses she had picked up from Ban on her lips.

In most cases, even the most traditionalist of Fairies looked past the campfires the Giants gathered around to exchange war stories. But when these parties involved hunted wildlife – deer, boars, or the sinfully delicious cranes found in the western lake district of the forest –, a war declaration already waved between the trees by the time King or Diane could intervene.

Along with the cackling of the fire, the sound of laughter and, strangest of all, music reached Diane’s ear as she zigzagged through the pine trunks. The out of place sound almost made her stumble. Had the wind solely carried the beat of drums, she would have continued her race without a second thought. But a small orchestra of pipes and flutes gave the rhythmic pounding a melody unlike anything she had ever heard in Megadoza. If any Giant knew how to craft and play a flute, Matrona had to have hid them in the catacombs underneath the rock city during Diane’s two hundred years of training there.

A final sprint brought Diane to the clearing from where the smell of meat and the sound of music originated. But instead of a pack of drunk and bellowing Giants, the last sunrays reflected from the faces of Fairies and Giants alike. And instead of accusations hurled at the other clan, laughter tied both sides together.

Above the open fire, spits laden with meat turned while a soup happily bubbled in an oversized iron cauldron. A handful of lanterns in the shape of tulips adorned the trees around. While not as golden or luxurious as the festivities Diane had visited in Liones, the clearing showed all the makings of a celebration, complete with a colorful assembly of guests.

King hovered in the middle of the illusive scenery and conversed with Matrona and Ritho, an older Giant whose passion lay with war before any other activity. All three of them were smiling.

Diane maltreated her temple with her knuckles, but the illusion refused to collapse and return to the dust of her imagination. What had happened in her absence that all conflicts between Giants and Fairies had smoothened into a pretty party with a pretty ribbon to complete the present? Had Bartra Liones foreseen the end of the world for tomorrow? Another explanation failed to arise out of the muddle of her thoughts.

She stared, and she stood, unable to move or comprehend what was playing out before her eyes.

King noticed Diane, nodded to Matrona and Ritho, and floated towards her with two minimalistic flaps of his wings.

He lifted the paralyzed fingers of her right hand with visible effort, and beamed at her. “I’m glad you made it. Gerheade was almost on her way to catch you at the Great Tree. I wasn’t sure when you would return, but I guess everything worked out better than expected.”

“I don’t understand. Did I miss something?”

A shade of pink darkened his cheeks. The orange hues of the fire emphasized the effect. “Didn’t I tell you? We want to celebrate the merger between the Fairy and Giant Clan. We got lucky with the weather tonight, otherwise the open fire might have given us some headaches. Oh, and Happy Anniversary!”

Diane blinked. “It’s… been a year already?! I thought… two weeks, a month at most…”

“If Gerheade hadn’t reminded me, I would have said the same, but here we are. A year later. I’m so proud of what we’ve built here. What you started when you told me about your idea with the merger – no one other than you could have even considered to bridge the cleft between our two clans. All because no one sees the good in others like you do.” King inhaled, and his tiny hands increased their grip around Diane’s fingers. “I love you so much. None of this would have been possible without you.”

His touch and the warmth of his smile melted all troubles and anxiousness of the day away. Nothing else mattered, and if Diane had to put up with a thousand near-deaf Giants to earn this one moment with the one she loved, she would jump into the fray without hesitation.

She dragged him closer, intoxicated by the flowery scent of his skin, lost in his amber eyes, and cradled by all the compliments he showered her with, too generous to be true, but oh, so earnest. The cleft disappeared, and Diane covered King’s face with a kiss.

Before he could pass out from a lack of oxygen, Diane pulled back. She smiled at his expression, a perfect replica of the dazzled Fairy boy before he had grown his wings.

“I love you too, King. And thank you for the party. It’s perfect. When did you have time to organize all this anyway?”

“Oh, that? I really didn’t do much in terms of setting up the location or preparing the meat. The others deserve all your thanks for the hard work. I just flew around a little to find some special ingredients for the stew.”

Diane laughed. “Still a delivery boy at heart, I see. The Captain must have drilled this chore especially deep into your head.”

“I guess he discovered this hidden talent of mine before even I could see it.”

More and more Giants and Fairies followed the sound of the flutes, and soon the clearing disappeared in a crowd of feet and wings. Bowls of two different sizes wandered through the guests, a stew of turnips and roots and chanterelle. While nothing between Purgatory and the Sky Temple could match Ban’s carrot soup, Diane gulped down three helpings in record time, mesmerized by the earthy taste. And she would have asked for an additional portion, if King hadn’t handed her a spit with her favorite type of roasted pork.

The smell of fat made her mouth watery. “Can I marry you a second time?”

“I would marry you every single day, every single year ahead of us, if I could,” King said.

Diane grinned and for the next few minutes, she was too occupied with chewing to talk. The chatter of the people around her blurred into a pleasant carpet of sound. This was what she had always envisioned: Giants and Fairies united in spite of their stupid differences and their arguments, an exchange of words and food to the soft crackle of a campfire. And her and King in the middle of it all, finally side by side after all this time.

The stars stood high up in the sky, a million more than humans could ever spot in Liones or Camelot. From time to time, they winked as if to congratulate King and Diane on what they had accomplished. He leaned against her knee while she stroked the filigree ornamentations of his wings. A shudder rocked him whenever Diane found a new nerve to stimulate.

Neither of them felt the need to disturb the moment with words.

Then a single flute raised its voice above the conversations, a new tune, almost melancholic at first. A panpipe picked up where its companion had left of and gave the melody a merry spin. The flautist enticed a few more notes out of his instrument, and for a moment it and the panpipe seemed to fight a musical battle for the tone of their sonata. But then they fell into harmony, drums and chimes and a fiddle joined in, and soon the entire orchestra played a tarantella to invite the crowd to a dance.

King jerked up. After he had risen into the air, he bowed and extended a hand towards Diane. Sparks from the campfire reflected in his eyes. “May I have this dance?”

Diane took his hand with a smile. “You may.”

One with the music and the rhythm of nature, King and Diane spun around the fire. Her feet bopped and arched, and he mimicked her moves midair. One moment she pulled him so close their noses almost touched, the next he guided her into another twirl and their fingers parted to finish a sequence with two claps. Other pairs skipped onto the dance floor; Matrona and Zalpa, Ende and Gerheade, and ever so rarely a Giant and Fairy together.

Although her steps lead her astray sometimes, Diane always found King’s eyes in the crowd. Never more than a pirouette away, still in sync with her. The music chased them in circles, two claps of the hands, and another sequence of hops and taps and spins. The odors of cooking fat and sweat from a multitude of dancers got to Diane’s head. Dizziness hijacked her senses until nothing but the next step filled her mind.

With two final claps, the dance ended. King hovered mere inches away from her, guided there by his own doing or a by a smile of fortune. His chest heaved up and down and the many turns had tousled his hair. But his grin was the incarnation of pure joy, brighter than the fire and the firmament.

Their kiss held more force this time, driven by the passion of the dance and heated by the blood rushing into both their heads. The touch of his skin and the flowery taste of his lips replaced the world around Diane, and they were one.

Yes, the merger caused them trouble every day, and Giants and Fairies alike strained their patience with a hellish desire to convince them to give up.

But King and Diane proved time and time again that beauty lay in the union between their clans. They fought for what they believed in, and they continued to push the boundaries of what Chaos’ creations were meant to achieve.

For moments like this.

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfiction #my writing #king x diane #kiane #king #diane #another dance fic #because why not

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shelli-gator · 4 years

Note

What was their first kiss like? For Pancho x Julien

I actually wrote a fanfic thing for this! Now seems as good a time to post it as ever. It's a little on the spicy side (like descriptions of passionate gay lemur makeout). But I hope yall like it!

This is how I hc one of their first kisses to go (I have various scenarios). But basically I hc them to be secretly dating after the events of blackboard jungle in this particular one.

There's nothing like the thrill of a heist to get Pancho's blood pumping, adrenaline singing through his veins. Feet pound on grass, carrying him past shrubs and over logs, and for an exhilarating moment he feels the urge to run on all fours, to whoop and laugh from how alive he feels.

He would too, if his paws weren't tightly grasped around the sizable trophy he and King Julien the 13th had stolen just moments ago. His ears prick to pick up the ring-tail's panted breaths over his own, and sunset eyes steal a glance in his direction as Julien clumsily adjusts his grip on their massive haul.

He's grinning from ear to ear, his amber eyes alight with a feral glee that mimics his own. Julien catches the look, and his smile gets impossibly wider, a breathless laugh rising in his throat as they meet each other’s gaze.

Pancho likes that. A lot.

Too much, in fact. His foot snags on a vine on the jungle floor, and a strangled yelp escapes the felon as he stumbles. Julien lets out a shrill bark of surprise as Pancho lags behind, and suddenly the King is toting the trophy all on his own, the academic tournament award swaying haphazardly before leaning precariously to one side.

"AH! Nonono-"

With a yell of his own Pancho throws his weight forward, half grabbing at and half falling onto the trophy's arm to push it back up again, grimacing as he heaves to correct it. It works, much to their relief, but it's enough to remind him that they can't keep running forever. Not if Julien wants to keep his ill gotten gains, and their fur.

And as if they need reminding of the stakes of their endeavor, there's the unmistakable roar of the mob behind them, backed by the livid hissing of crocs. The horde flatten bushes in their stampede, and the momentary hiccup in the pair’s dead-out sprint seems to have been enough to help them close the gap somewhat.

They need to hide.

Julien seems to come to the same conclusion, because when they spot the dip of a gully both lemurs throw themselves towards it, careening through bushes and over rocks. They barely give it a second thought as they use the momentum of the trophy to throw themselves down into the shallow ravine, feet slipping and sliding on the loose stones before they both land heavily on their rumps.

It's just their luck that they manage to find shelter in the shade of a nearby overhang, the old haggard roots of a tree forming a makeshift hide away for them to cram themselves into. It takes much grunting and frantic tugs to pull the trophy in after them, and it's not a moment too soon as they hear the shouts and angry howls of the mob above them, stopping right at the lip of the gully.

"Oh! Now where did those cretins get off to!? Low lifes, scoundrels! Oh! Ruffians!" The unmistakable cries of the crocodile ambassador carry down to them, and both lemurs press themselves more firmly back into the packed dirt, scooting closer together. They could recall all too clearly what happened to Magic Steve, and the rather unfortunate events of the butterfly war.

"They couldn't have gone far! Follow the ravine, leave no stone unturned!" Comes the savage growl of a fossa overhead, and Julien presses himself into Pancho's side, swallowing back an uneasy whine. Pancho's fingers dig in the fur of Julien's hip, partly out of nerves, partly to urge him to keep quiet.

They watch a few pebbles fall from above as the group moves on above them, shaking the ground with their stampede, but neither male dares to breathe until the jungle is all but silent above them. It's only when the birds start chirping again that the pair relaxes, and Julien pushes away from the wall to stick his head out from between the roots, looking this way and that.

And then just like that the King lets out a giddy whoop of delight, practically hopping up and down on the spot in his exuberant glee. Pancho can't help but grin at the sight, leaning against the trophy as he watches Julien hoot and chatter, dancing and punching the air in jubilation.

"Haha! That was amazing! We did it Pancho! The old slip-er-roo! That sweet trophy is mine! Sikapow!"

"Nothing like a little daylight robbery to make you feel alive, huh Julio?" Pancho counters playfully, watching as Julien's tail twitches and bristles in his excitement and adrenaline. It had done much the same the night before after their successful heist, and he'd been just as endearing then as he is now.

Pancho has never thrived off the happiness of others as much as he does when he sees Julien smile. And boy is he smiling.

The King whirls on the spot to face him, eyes bright with elation. They reflect the light in pinpoints of stars, and the look he throws Pancho's way makes the convict's world lurch on its axis, weighty in its intensity.

And then Julien's paws are on either side of his face, tugging him forward and up to claim his lips in a swift, fervent kiss.

Pancho's legs turn to jelly, instantly giving out underneath him as a strangled sound of shock rises in his throat. Julien almost seems to pick him up with the sheer fervour of the kiss, forcing the crowned lemur to stand on the tips of his toes. But the moment is over as quickly as it starts when the King pulls away from him with an ecstatic chortle, electrified and buzzing.

"You can say that again, it tastes sweet! Haha, that's what I'm talking about!" Julien enthuses, and Pancho gapes at him as he clumsily finds his footing again, lost for words. He brings a paw up to touch his lips, still tingling with the phantom press of Julien's mouth against his own, and his eyes dart swiftly over his friend's familiar features. Everything from those smiling lips to the golden flecks in his amber eyes. He covets every single one, more priceless than anything he could hope to steal.

He's everything he's ever wanted, and with the tease of Julien's mouth against his own he burns up with desire so strong it threatens to consume him.

Julien's laughter peeters off beneath the intensity of Pancho's gaze, gold meeting orange, and he tilts his head somewhat, a curious gesture, "You okay there buddy?"

And then he blinks hard, as if only then realizing just what it was he'd done, and Pancho swears he can see him blushing beneath the white fur of his cheeks.

"I-... heh… oh, I did… that. Pancho, buddy, I-"

But it's Pancho's turn to surge forward, closing the gap between them in a blur of burgundy and creamy fur. Their bodies collide, and the felon steers the ringtail to press his back up against their plundered trophy, their faces close enough for Julien's gasp to steal his breath away from him.

And then before he can think better of it, Pancho throws his arms around the taller lemur's neck, practically pulling himself upwards to capture Julien’s lips again. Julien’s head dips beneath his weight, and Pancho’s fingers lace through the black fur at the nape of his neck, holding him firmly to him.

For all but a moment Julien is stiff as a board against him, until just like that his King melts into his embrace, a needy whine escaping him to tickle Pancho’s lips. Julien's arms wrap around him to press him more flush against him, and the smaller male feels his feet threaten to lift off the ground as he straightens, clumsily and eagerly attempting to hoist Pancho up.

He’s all too keen to comply, and when one of Julien’s paws settles on the generous curve of his hip he hops upwards, hiking up the King's body till he’s the one leaning over him, coaxing Julien to crane his head back for him. Stumbling and falling back against the trophy Julien is forced to spread his legs to find some balance, and a shaky huff of air against Pancho's nose betrays the exertion it takes for him to hold his weight. But the King is quick to adapt, adjusting his grip on him till the former convict is perfectly safe and snug against him. One paw rubs up and down the length of his back, while the other grips and holds his ample rear firmly, and it's hard to ignore the heat that pools in his gut at the contact.

Their kisses only seem to increase in urgency, and when Pancho angles his snout against Julien’s just so to part his lips the other male gasps into the kiss, granting him access into the warmth of his mouth. Tongues wrestle and dance as they chase each other's soft sweetness, and Julien's mouth presses up against his in greedy, urgent waves, like a drowning man gasping at the surface for air.

And they certainly feel for all the world like they're drowning, lost in the heat of one another. Pancho's heart thunders in his chest, and when he pries his lips away from Julien's to fight for a breath of air the ringtail follows him needily, peppering kisses and demanding little nips along his neck and up the length of his muzzle.

"Hoo-ah," he breathes in awe, a heated shudder coursing through him as Julien laps at the corner of his mouth with a quiet growl. Pancho's paws drag along his silvery fur from the back of his neck to his cheeks, holding the King's face in his palms, and he feels the answering stroke of Julien's fingers ghosting up his spine, sending tingling sparks arcing through his veins.

"Who said you could stop?" Julien grunts, one paw fanning out against the back of Pancho's crown while the other squeezes insistently at his doughy rear. Julien's eyes smolder in their intensity, his dilated pupils deep and dark like wishing wells, and the former convict revels in the feeling of being so strongly desired. He needs him just as badly, so it doesn't take much more encouragement for him to press their lips together again, eagerly seeking out his tongue.

The world seems to stand still as they stay entangled together, kissing till they're drunk and dizzy off one another. Julien drags his lips along the length of Pancho's snout to bury his face in the dense fur that frames his cheek, murmuring against his ear, "Tell me how long you've wanted to do that…"

"Oh, too long, sweetheart," Pancho purrs smoothly back at him, and his heart skips a beat in his chest as Julien grins giddily into his fur, snickering.

"Mmmm, yes. Sweetheart. I like the sound of that."

"Oh you do, huh?" Pancho smirks, and he shifts and nuzzles into him till he can press their foreheads together, almost knocking his crown askew, "And what will you call me, huh?"

"Mine," Julien growls playfully with a tangible hint of possessiveness, and butterflies burst into life in his stomach, his cheeks heating brilliantly, "I'm calling you mine."

"That's what I like to hear," the former convict grins back at him, those butterflies swelling and rising up in his chest. He can't help but snicker, his voice husky with desire, "I'm gonna do so many wicked things to you."

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" Julien counters cheekily, and he presses Pancho's hips more firmly against him.

"Oh, you should know me by now peach… I don't make idle threats!" His loud outburst makes Julien lean back a little, but his smile only seems to widen in amusement, gold eyes softening fondly, "But no, that's a promise."

"Oi, Pancho!? King Julien?!"

Both men stiffen in alarm, twin yelps of surprise escaping them. The familiar bark of Clover's voice comes from somewhere above them, and the pair exchange a worried and decidedly disappointed look, reluctant to pull away from one another.

"Act natural." Julien insists with a pointed whisper, "Really not feelin’ having to explain all this to our peeps."

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Pancho purrs in agreement, his eyes bright as he steals one last brush of his snout against Julien's, reveling in the way his King returns the gesture with a little happy ringtail chitter, "It'll be our little secret."

"Haha! I love secrets. My place, tonight. You'll be there, won't you?" Julien presses hopefully as he puts the fun-sized felon back on his feet, but doesn't quite let him go just yet, his paws coming up to rest on his shoulders. Pancho covers them with his own, his thumbs brushing over them affectionately as he smirks gleefully up at him.

"You've got yourself a date, your majesty."

When Clover and Maurice do reach them, they find the pair struggling to squeeze the trophy out from between the roots again, Pancho pulling on one trophy arm from the outside. That is, until Clover lands a sharp and violent kick to his side, sending the crowned lemur flying with a cry of pain and alarm. He lands face first in the pebbly creek bed, and Clover snarls at him, a savage gleam in her eyes.

“What was that about threats?!”

Pancho can only groan in answer, his body protesting unhappily as he attempts to push himself up. Julien pops his head out from within their hideaway, aghast and indignant as he looks from Clover’s defensive stance to Pancho and back.

"AH, Clover! What- what did we say about the excessive force thing?! Didn’t you have like, an entire season to work on that?!” Julien waves his paws in Pancho’s direction, throwing Clover an exasperated look, “It was an expression.”

“That’s not an expression!” Maurice interjects with a frustrated stomp of his foot, his fists clenched at his sides as he looks between the pair, bristling unhappily, “Are you out of your minds?! You stole the trophy, from a kid! This is a new low, even for you!”

“Preeeeetty sure I’ve been lower than this, Maurice. Don’t be so dramatic.” Julien drawls sassily, resting his paws on his hips, and Pancho can’t help but chuckle at them from his spot in the gravel, not quite ready to get up and approach them just yet. And when his laughter carries far enough for Maurice to hear he’s even less keen to get up, smiling sheepishly in the aye-ayes direction as a glare is thrown his way.

“This isn’t funny, people! This doesn’t just go away!”

“This could mean war. Again. And we aaaall know how well that went last time.” Clover smacks her fist into her palm, already pacing back and forth as Julien arches a brow at her paranoid display, his expression falling, “We need to get the war council together! If we act preemptively, we can catch them unawares, get the upper hand before-”

“Guys, guys. Relax, we’ll send the Ambassador a gift basket and call it a day. You know, with the little fancy soaps and potpourri or whatevers. Haha, he loves that nonsense! We’ll get Ted on it!”

“Potpourri?!” Maurice bursts, his teeth set in a frustrated grimace, but Julien simply waves him off, going back to attempting to pull the trophy through the roots on his own.

“That’s what I said, Maurice. And besides, the Croc Ambassador totally owes me for the whole betraying my peoples to Koto thing, remember? I call that even.”

“Right,” Clover drawls, sounding anything but convinced as she looks from Maurice to Julien and back, “So we just, ya know hope he writes this off as collateral, then?”

“Exactly, whatever that means.” Julien agrees, “Nobody's going to get hurt. Now if you’d be so kind, can I get a little help with this? Please?!"

Clover exchanges a long suffering look with Maurice before stepping forward to take the trophy arm in her grasp. It's with comparatively laughable ease that the small female is able to pry the trophy out from the roots that the two men had struggled with moments before. With a grunt she hefts the entire thing onto her back, grasping the neck of it firmly.

Julien lets out an ecstatic chortle at her show of strength, evidently pleased at having his treasure secured, "Nice one, Cloclo! Now let's get this baby home! Your King has a date with a fine piece of trophy."

Pancho struggles to resist the urge to grin, his lips twitching at the corners. Clover rolls her eyes skyward before starting to head up the creek in the direction of home, passing Pancho on the way. She shoots him a sidelong glance, barking down at him, "Alright that's enough of that, on your feet Pancho!"

The former convict grumbles something under his breath that he sincerely hopes she can't hear, pushing himself up onto his paws and knees with a grimace. He has a few scrapes and bruises from his abrasive landing, and they protest his every movement. But he's long since used to Clover's violent confrontations, and he knows well enough not to take it personally by now.

And yet, as Maurice and Julien start to follow her, he can't help but throw his King an imploring glance, unsettled when the ringtail barely looks his way. Paranoia tightens his chest, and for an anxious moment he wonders if he'd dreamt up their intimacy entirely, or perhaps with the moment over his Julio had enough time for second thoughts about his new secret lover.

So when Julien walks past him the crowned lemur can't help but let out a quiet grunt of a whistle, an intimate sound reserved for the ringtail alone. It's insistent, like a question he sincerely hopes he gets an answer to.

Mine? Julio? Mine?

And he does. Julien looks back at him over his shoulder, and behind closed lips the ringtail sends a quiet chatter back at him. It's a lilting, reassuring sound, and Pancho's spirits quickly lift, affirmed by his new mate.

Mine.

He's not the only one who hears it however. Maurice arches a brow up at the taller lemur as Pancho gets up to trot after them, "What was that your Majesty?"

"Hmm?" Julien hums, seemingly only half paying attention to him, "What was what?"

"I could have sworn-"

"That, my vertically challenged friend," Pancho interjects, throwing his arm around Maurice's shoulders and making him stiffen against him, "Is the sound of a job well done! Hoo-ah!"

"Get the heck off me, man!"

"Maurice! Language! You're hurtin' my friggin feelings here!"

"That won't be the only thing hurtin' if you don't let go of me!"

Julien levels a sidelong smirk down at them, and Pancho clings to Maurice all the tighter, grinning back at him.

Job well done indeed.

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

End note? The whistle sounds Pancho makes are the chirp-like sounds crowned lemurs make to check in on their mates, and it's super adorable. Here's a really good example, my description doesn't do it justice for how adorable it is. The 'whistles' are at the beginning and end.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CFhY1pwB7Jw/?igshid=1amvv17rv3s5l

#asks #lovely anon #panchulien #ahkj fanfiction #all hail king julien #ahkj #yes more fanfics!#more panchulien #gay lemur chirps #i love these boys

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delicrieux · 4 years

Note

Please i’m begging you a continuation of that poe one shot please 😔❤️

ask and thy shall receive. also i lowkey snapped lol

part 1.

It is pathetically easy to grow attached when you two are, quite literally, the last people on this planet. In the strange domes of sand and heat mirages he had fallen from the sky as a gift — or a curse, depending who’s perspective one takes. Though, despite your grim fate, both of you secretly let a thought blossom: at least, even if stuck, you are together.

Together. Such a binding word. You noted it’s peculiarities once you heard it leave his lips for the first time. Together. It wrapped around you like a vine, springing hope, or a snake, warning of venom and heartache. Alas, together you will face everything head on. There is no other option. You both would crumble otherwise.

He is curious and chatty and he finds this planet fascinating with it’s three suns and seven moons. He had wondered aloud one evening how long does a day last. You, without missing a beat, in a pensive tone, had uttered: 20 hours. He, at first night, did not believe you. Evenings, then, he pried. 5 hours, you said. Mornings? he questioned once again. 3 hours. He was shaking with disbelief. Night? he asked lastly. 11 hours and 37 minutes.

“That’s...” He started with a smile, uncertain whether you were joking or not, “Very specific.”

“It must be—“ You countered calmly, meeting his gaze under the pale moonlight, “—if we are to survive.”

Daytime is useless to us, you had warned him, so sleep during the day. You will burn if you leave. Night’s best place to tinker and look around. Morning is fine, but the temperature rises drastically, so best thread carefully. Evening was when I found you. Had it been day... Well, let’s not think of it.

A full 117 hours had passed when he could not take it anymore. It was daytime, a heatwave, the air so palpable it looked like silk fluttering in the wind; the sand was bright and burning; sky bluer than his eyes. He watched through the ship’s window, it being warm enough inside to make him sweat but not enough to have difficulty breathing. When asked how did you manage not to cook like the scorpions in foil you urge him to eat, you had, with a shrug, said: air conditioning, it has solar panels. Alas, he was fidgeting, and glancing at your still form by the makeshift bed. He figured you might be sleeping. Though, he also knew that you were most likely not.

“Water.” He broke the silence, and your head twitched in his direction, hazy eyes meeting his, “Where do you get water from?” This question had bothered him a while, you knew, and it surprised you that it was not the first thing he had asked once he awoke.

“There is... something. I’ll take you there when evening sets. It’s about ten miles west from here. If we make it in time, then... Well, you’ll see.”

It was a painful wait of 14 more hours till finally you urge him outside. The air is hot, it burns your throat, and you pull your scarf over your lips and your hair so only your eyes can be seen. Fixing your backpack and making sure the straps won’t dig into your skin and create blisters, you glance at him. Soft, warm breeze ruffles his hair as he looks at the horizon. The sky is already turning pink. He looks handsome, you think, though you refuse to entertain the thought further.

You trek forward, over mountains, and hills, and odd flat terrains that stretch for miles. You point at certain spots and say, in a matter-o-fact, teaching tone: quick sand there, turn east there and you’ll be eaten by snakes, we’re entering scarab territory, so I hope you’re not squeamish. But after the long journey with small breaks in between — nothing profound, just a stop to drink water and catch your breaths — you climb the last hill, your leg muscles contorting as you do. But the view presented to you takes your breath away. It takes away his, too.

Ways down, against the violet-pink sky with the last sun peaking just slightly on one side and two moons already up on the next, stands a grand palace of sandstone, chipping, ancient, massive: columns, arches, pillars that reach for the sky. You turn to him with a smile, breathless, heart beating rapidly in your chest. He stands humbled, mouth agape, lost in wonder. You had seen a great many things, traveled to many planets, secretly rode in the most modern of spaceships... But you, as he, had never seen anything quite as opulent and lonely as this.

No words are needed. He looks at you and you share the strange delirious thought. He starts to laugh, amazed at first, his smile more beautiful than the sun. You join him, still out of breath, giggling, renewed somehow, abloom with happiness. You grab his hand and rush downwards, sliding down the hill, almost tripping and tumbling. The sky dyes darker when you finally reach the entrance.

“Ready?”

“Uh—Should I be?” He replies uncertain, still holding your hand. You can’t stop smiling. Tugging him forward, you enter.

It is never dark here, not really. Where the suns burn in a treacherous light of fire, the moons provide a pale sickly glow that makes everything appear white and gray. Inside is only one hall, a vast empty room with pillars holding up a second floor with no stairs to reach it. Vines and leaves and grass poke out the sandstone and wrap around columns and arches like pretty ornaments. At the center stands a well covered with a heavy lid. In the deafening silence you hear the sound of water.

“Is that a—“ He points at the well and you nod, letting go of his hand and throwing your backpack near a bush of sweet brier. He lets out another laugh, this one humorless, more shell-shocked than anything.

“It is the only place I know of.” You explain, stalking to the well and motioning upwards, “When the moons align...” There is a scar in the roof, a crevice from which light spills and sets everything aglow, “It looks... Well... magical, I suppose.” You finish, feeling a bit silly for the comparison.

“Why not just stay here then?” He asks, joining your side when you beg him for assistance to remove the lid. With combined strength, you push it just enough to reach a hand in and fill the flasks you brought with fresh, cold water.

“We wanted to.” You start, forlorn, glancing around the area with a burdened gaze, “We saw it before we crashed, from way up above. It was evening when we did, just the start of it. We figured that someone might live here. Might help us. Three of us set out, two stayed. Me, Nine, and... Murphy.” You take a much needed seat, your bones aching with relief. He fills up the flasks, listening, “We were so... stunned. Really. Even when we found no one here, we found water. We got lucky. We thought we will set up camp and stay for as long as we needed. Until we figured out how to get out. The plan was to look around and report back but we took our time to get here and then we stayed. We thought we had all the time in the world. We didn’t even realize dawn was breaking. And then the suns rose...” You turn your head slightly, eyes landing on a pale pillar with four names engraved onto it, “And then everything started to burn. Murphy was lounging by the well and once sunlight hit him his skin turned to boils. We retreated but we had nowhere to run. So we hid behind the pillars. In the only shadows this place had. We stood there for...” 20 hours you want to say, but you don’t manage. 20 hours of tension and pain, 20 hours back pressed against hot stone, 20 hours of hearing Murphy sob and screech at his open wounds. Poe lands a hand on your shoulder and you jerk, then offer him a crooked smile. You point at the pillar, “They left their names. All who went and vanished came through here.”

It was meant as a checklist of those who passed onward, leaving clues as to where to find them in case they didn’t return by morning. Now it stands as a silent grave of those forgotten, lost in the sand. The only reminder that they ever existed. Murphy. Nine. Sindra. Ribbon. They were not your friends, merely scavengers that you met on a quest to get richer. The five of you teamed up. And subsequently, one by one dispersed into nothingness. You don’t know what happened to them. And in whole truth, you don’t want to either.

“Do you... think my ship is still intact?” He breaks the silence, his voice gentle. You shrug. It’s the best answer you can give him. “Can you take me to it, tomorrow? If it hasn’t exploded, then maybe we can find a way to fix yours. Or mine’s still working.” He adds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

You barely manage to not roll your eyes, “Ah, yes, how can I forget, the Resistance’s greatest pilot and his most certainly greatest ship. Gravity defies you, Poe.”

“I’m know to have that gravity defying effect.”

It is, absolutely, the silliest thing you had ever heard said in a smug tone. You laugh. He chuckles and takes a sip from his flask. “You good at anything?”

“Rude.”

“That’s... not what I meant— what I was trying to say is if you’re good at tactical things. You’re clearly a good navigator.”

“I’m also a fantastic thief. And huntress. And mechanic.”

“Really?”

“Well I wasn’t before I came here. Except the thief part. I’m mighty good at stealing things. And scavenging. You’d be surprised.”

He looks at you, really looks, not in a shallow, glance-about way, but takes you in, every feature, every nervous blink, every uncertain quirk of your smile. Your throat runs dry and this time it has nothing to do with the lingering heat. No one has ever regarded you in such a way. It is both liberating and frightening.

“Yeaaaah...” He finally says, turning away, taking another sip, “You look like a fox.”

You snort, “Mischievous and sly?”

“Definitely untrustworthy.”

“Have I led you astray yet?”

“No, but I’m almost certain that that wouldn’t benefit you at all.”

He’s partly right. And he knows it. But he must also know that you genuinely favor his company. He must. He definitely noticed the way you look at him. Anyone would.

“How about...” You start slowly, “Once we leave this place, we go gambling. Cards. Slot machines. All that shabang. I’ll teach you every trick in my book — and trust me, I have many. But only if you can out drink me.”

He laughs. You wait for his fit to end. Once he’s just chuckles and breathless mutters, you nudge him, “So? What you say?”

“I say, there is definitely a catch. And it’s probably not as easy as it sounds but... Deal.”

You shake on it, smiling like two idiots. In the pale moonlight you catch his gaze, a certain tenderness within it, longing. And a thought springs forward before you can dismiss it, that perhaps he might kiss you. Your heart almost stops when he does.

#poe dameron #star wars #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #imagine #imagines #request #star wars the last jedi #star wars the sequel trilogy #star wars rise of skywalker #reader #reader insert #xreader #fanfic #i can sometimes be an ok writer #oscar issac

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sserpente · 6 years

Text

It’s never too late to love (Part I)

Back when you were only a teenager, your entire life changed in but a single heartbeat—as a victim of a terrible plane crash caused by a raging thunderstorm, you seek refuge in a cave inhabited by a pack of wolves that decides to accept you as one of them. For seven years, you adapt to their habits, their behaviour and their communication, giving up entirely on being rescued until one day, a man shows up in your cave. He introduces himself as James Conrad, promises to bring you home. Who is this handsome stranger? Can you trust him? And will you learn to understand these flustering feelings you have for him when you look into his beautiful blue eyes?

A/N: I re-watched “Kong: Skull Island” yesterday for a little inspiration for the requests I got for him and then… this happened. RC has a specific age in this, it had to made sense for the story. There will be three or four parts (and smut at some point), so stay tuned!

Words: 2051

Warnings: isolation from society (?), living with wolves

Read it on AO3!

“I don’t have much time.” He snapped, entering the room with a stern expression plastered on his face. When he sat down, the elder woman in front of him sighed, briefly closing her eyes.

“And yet I want to thank you for taking it to hear me out. You are my last chance. They say you are the best.”

“What do you want, ma’am?” Captain James Conrad leaned back, crossing his arms before his chest. He already knew what she wanted, of course. She wanted him to find someone for her—a loved one gone lost.

“It’s my daughter.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. Only those three words in, her eyes were watering uncontrollably. “She went missing. Seven years ago. There was a plane crash. A horrible plane crash high up in the mountains. The police gave up on her. The military gave up on her… they say she is dead. But I know she’s not. She’s alive. She’s still out there.”

Conrad looked up.

“What makes you think that?”

He knew how this woman felt, how desperate she clung onto hope. He’d seen the devastated look in her eyes so often he hardly held any compassion—only the ice cold knowledge of what was the right thing to do.

“I just know,” the woman uttered, the hot tears now freely streaming down her face like waterfalls. “Will you help me? I will pay you. I will pay you your weight in gold if that is what you want. Just please find my daughter.”

For a full thirty seconds, silence filled the room. Just like moist fog, it crept towards them like the hands of ghosts and dead spirits, ready to wrap around their necks to strangle them.

The woman sobbed, relieved, when he finally nodded, seeking out her hopeful eyes once more.

“I cannot promise to bring her back to you safe and sound. I can only promise to do anything in my power to find her. Dead or alive.” He explained calmly, his British accent underlining the severity of his words.

You were fourteen years old when you died. Or at least, that’s what you thought had happened when the plane went hurtling towards the mountains. Countless rocks, dirt and soil all piled up in a hard and massive creation of nature. There was no way you could have survived this—and you didn’t. Not as a human—not really.

You remembered waking up on the ground, with stones and branches scratching open your back and drawing blood and you remembered crawling towards the only place of safety you could take as such in your hopeless situation. It was a cave—dark and dangerous, it lured you into its gaping mouth to protect you from the oncoming storm, the thunder and the lightning which had shot the plane from the sky like an arrow would a careless bird enjoying its freedom in the air.

You thought you were going to die in this cave, thought you were going to starve to death or freeze at night when your unconscious had finally calmed down enough to grant your body a little peace and rest. You didn’t think about how your boyfriend would be waiting for you at the other end of the country only to find out on the news that the plane you had been on had crashed. You didn’t even think about your mother crying until all was left of her were dry sobs shaking her entire body.

Humanity was stupid. They abandoned their natural instincts that kept them alive in situations like this because they decided to rely on technology and cosiness. None of them remembered how to tell which berries to pick from the bush and none of them recalled how to stay safe out in the open when it was dark, unprotected and without any weapons to defend themselves.

You believed you were going to be shredded to pieces when the wolves sneaked towards you, their glowing eyes not missing a single movement of your body. You could hear them sniffling and you could see them circling you like prey. They smelled the blood, you knew, and your only instinct in this very moment was it to close your eyes and pray for a quick death, pray for the pain to be over quick when they drove their sharp fangs deep into your flesh.

But what happened instead still amazed you up to this day. The wolves… accepted your presence in their cave. When you failed to harm or threaten them, they failed to react the same way in return. They saw no danger in you being with them—what they saw instead was a frightened being in need of help. And so they licked your wounds clean. They shared their prey with you as long as you fought for your bits just like they did and they kept you warm at night, allowing you to sleep in between their fury bodies and cuddling with their offspring.

You learnt their language, abandoning your own. It was useless now—you had no one to talk to verbally, used your body and your eyes to communicate with the pack who became your family instead.

High up in the mountains, it was hard to tell how many winters you experienced. You had no idea how old you would be now and you had long given up the hope that someone would find you and bring you back to civilisation—to the life you lost due to a simple thunderstorm. Your mother, your boyfriend… they must all believe you are dead. That was all until one day, there appeared a young man at the entrance of your cave, covering the sun with his muscly body.

He was carrying a gun, ready to shoot and to take lives, his gaze calculated but also insecure of what to expect. His eyes were blue… like the gushing water of the river you washed yourself in every day. Perhaps a civilised woman would call this man attractive and handsome—with his bare arms and well-defined muscles, his sharp jawline and cheekbones and the thin lips.

Curiously, you tilted my head. The wolves sensed it too. He was not friendly. He was here to take from you, using violence if he had to. Your alpha growled, starting the first and last attempt to scare him away—a faint warning that you would not treat him kindly if he invaded your space and yet, the stranger stepped even closer.

His blue eyes fell on your kneeling form on the ground and all of a sudden, you watched them widen in shock. He was surprised. Of course—a human among a pack of wolves, it might seem strange to society. It was so easy for them to judge. The wolves had never judged.

“(Y/N)?” This sounded familiar, his smooth and a little throaty voice making your heart beat faster. This was the first time you heard someone speak in years and what he had said sounded… so… familiar…

“(Y/N)?” He repeated softly. You didn’t trust him; the man still didn’t lower his gun. Too great was the fear of your family ripping him apart if he took another step forward. Then it hit you. Your name. He had said your name.

“I am not here to hurt you. I have been looking for you. Your mother sent me. Do you remember your mother?”

Tilting your head, you stared at him as if he was about to tell you an exciting story. Of course you remembered your mother. You remembered a woman who had raised you, a woman you no longer knew because you had become your own woman without her.

“I am here to take you home, (Y/N). Would you like to go home?” He was cautious, gentle, his voice heavy with a British accent. His blue eyes were fixed on you, yet he did not miss a single movement of the wolves.

Home? It sounded like a memory. Like a dream. This was your home, this cave. Where would you go? Did your previous life still exist? Would you be able to go back to it, leaving the wolves that had saved your life behind?

Yes, you thought. You did want to go home. Opening your mouth, you finally rose from your kneeling position, wanting desperately to tell him… but you couldn’t. You purred and growled, you barked… but your tongue was unable to form the words you had once spoken so easily.

The wolves retreated—you believed the stranger. It was enough reason for them to put up with him and then, finally, the man lowered his gun.

“Can you speak to me?”

Yes. No. I can… just not the way you do. So you didn’t react.

“My name is James Conrad. (Y/N), is it okay if I come closer to you?” Tilting your head once more, you blinked at him, curious as to whether he really would approach you—and he did. With his hand stretched out to reach for you, he sneaked towards you as if to expect an attack. When you didn’t move, he smiled. He smiled! It was the only gesture you could possibly reciprocate.

The corners of your mouth curled upwards, surprising him. For just a split second, his lips parted in awe, then, he held out his hand for you to take, not forcing you to join him on this journey back to civilisation but giving you a choice.

Holding hands… wasn’t it a sign of affection between humans? A sign of trust? You didn’t remember how to hold hands. Showing affection among wolves was… different from what humans did. Wolves snuggled up to each other, they tenderly bit each other and they let down their guards by sleeping next to you.

Hesitatingly, you took his hand in yours, mustering your intertwined fingers as if they were to tell you if this was right. It felt right, oddly.

It felt like you could trust this stranger. No, James. You could trust James. You had learnt how to read whether another being was trustworthy or not and when you looked into his blue eyes that seemed to jinx you and, all of a sudden, awakened these strange feelings in your stomach, you knew you could trust him.

But what about the wolves? What about your family? You owed these animals so much… and they expected nothing in return. Instead, when you glanced back, exchanging mute goodbyes, they blinked—it’s okay. Farewell. We love you.

You blinked too. I love you too.

“The way down will be a little bumpy—but I can carry you, if you like.”

He didn’t have to. Amazed, you watched his muscles dance with every movement he made when he climbed down the mountain, stealing occasional glimpses in your direction. You had learnt how to crawl up and ascend mountains and hills quickly to keep up with the wolves, using your long nails which also helped you defending yourself, as hooks.

“There is a car waiting for us just at the edge of the forest. It will take us straight to your mother.”

A car. You had been dreaming of your own driving license before the plane crash, hoping that one day, your mother would let you drive hers.

“Holy shit… you actually found her? Is that her?” A young man’s voice shrieked.

“I think so,” James replied when you both spotted him peeking out of the car window.

His eyes widened. “Well, didn’t she tell you?”

“She doesn’t speak, Slivko.”

“Then how do you know it’s her?” James gently wrapped his arms around your waist and then lifted you into the huge all-terrain vehicle. He followed you in right after, making sure to fasten your seatbelt for you. You didn’t resist.

“Her eyes lit up when I spoke her name, she recognised it. And I believe she can understand us very well. Am I right, (Y/N)?”

Blinking again, you locked eyes with him. Yes.

“She’s pretty hot for a girl who lived in a cave for seven years.” Slivko tossed in, shrugging as he started the engine.

James tensed—you could feel it. “Shut up and drive.”

Drive. Away from the mountains. Back into the world. Nervously, you reached for his hand again, relieved when he allowed you to hold it.

A/N: I’m not a psychologist, of course. I don’t know what exactly happens to the human mind if one gets isolated from society and fellow humans for seven years and I don’t know if wolves would actually accept someone so easily in their pack. Ignore potential mistakes, I might shape facts the way I need them.

Part II can be found on my masterlist!

If you liked this story, would you care to support me a little by buying me a cuppa? I would appreciate it so much! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#captain james conrad #captain james conrad imagine #captain james conrad x reader #captain james conrad x you #captain james conrad smut #kong skull island #kong skull island imagine #tom hiddleston #james conrad #james conrad imagine #james conrad x you #james conrad x reader #james conrad smut #it's never too late to love #part i

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paperficwriter · 7 years

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All That Glitters (BNHA, Fantasy AU, Kiribaku)

I’m sure you’ve noticed that shapeshifting is kind of in my wheelhouse, right? How could I resist?

Dragonboy!Kirishima was very much inspired by @xkumah‘s beautiful, adorable pic of Bakugou getting sweet hugs from scaly boi. Dragon form Kiri was heavily inspired by...well, this guy.

Enjoy! Cut is for length, not for content.

---

“Get back here, you piece of shit!”

Bakugou’s feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted through the woods after the red creature. Bits of grass and dirt stuck to his skin, only making him angrier. Angry at himself for stopping to wash off in the stream, angry at the elk that had bled so much that he had had to stop to wash off in the stream, but especially angry now at whatever the hell had decided to take off with his bone and stone necklace his mother had just given him.

Not that he cared that much about the thing, but she would murder him if he came home without it.

“It’s stupid and gaudy,” he remarked when she put it around his neck. There were several layers to it, with red rocks from the mountains, shiny ocean glass, and what seemed to be bear claws. Okay, that was something he liked. “And heavy.”

She smacked him upside the head. “Don’t be a jerk. You’re old enough to know that you need to start carrying it. What are you going to give your mate when you find them, huh? That raggedy wolf pelt?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Or maybe one of those boots that smell like horse shit?”

“I get it, woman! Gods, your endless screeching is annoying.”

That had led to a night spent with the hounds. Wouldn’t be the first or the last, though. But if he had gone through all that trouble to now have it stolen by a mangy animal of some sort…

“I’ll fucking kill you!” He had just managed to get his pants back on, but his feet were bare, catching little cuts from the brush and bramble as he tore through it. He hadn’t even managed to get a good look at whatever it was, but he knew a few things: it was quick, had a long tail, and moved on four legs that left taloned marks in the ground beneath its feet. And its skin - not fur, that he knew from how the sun shone down on it as it slipped through the thicket - was a rich crimson. Maybe he could make a leather from it…

When the woods opened to a clearing, Bakugou figured this could be his best opportunity, because there was only a short distance before a cliff that dropped a quarter of a mile. He grinned savagely. “Okay,” he said, pulling his knife from his belt, pausing only when the animal turned, and he realized what he was dealing with.

It was the smallest dragon he had ever seen, with short legs and a stocky, muscular body. It blinked at him with wide eyes that shone like garnets, and it flicked at the treasure hanging from its mouth with a small pink tongue. “Drop it,” he ordered, because now that he has seen what it was, he knew he couldn’t just kill it like any other beast. It was a commonly accepted tradition that hurting a dragon - let alone killing it - could bring great misfortune, since they were considered wise and ancient creatures of the earth.

But then the so-called “sacred” being tossed its head back and swallowed Bakugou’s necklace like a damn bird with a worm, and Bakugou lost any sense of cautionary tales.

“That’s it!” Taking off at a sprint, he dove at the dragon, tackling it. He tried to bring his knife down at his flank, and the shock ran all the way up his arm. It was like stabbing a boulder, a hissing, kicking boulder. Bakugou jumped back to his feet, but as he did, he failed to take into account the massive tail until it had struck him in the middle, knocking the air out of him and blowing him back several feet.

But instead of hitting the ground, he bounced. Right over the edge of the cliff.

The wind whipped around him as he fell, head over heels, his limbs flailing, no telling which way was up or down. He reached out for the rocky face as it blurred at his side, but it only succeeded in cutting his arm. Too fast. Way too fast.

Bakugou squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Yet, it was.

And then, something else entirely was happening. A whistle by his ear, and then he hit a surface other than the ground, and for a second it seemed like the inside of his body was still being pulled by gravity. He chanced opening his eyes slightly, and all he could see was red. And then he heard and felt the thrumming of wings, of muscles moving beneath him, and the reality made itself known: he wasn’t dead. He was flying. On a dragon. On the dragon.

It was only a few more seconds until they landed, and when he put his feet on the ground, his knees buckled. They had arrived at the base of the cliff, and when he looked up at it, the edge where he had started seemed too far away to see clearly.

That had been too close.

“Fuck,” he gasped, gulping down a few more breaths. When he glanced up, the dragon crouched on the grass in front of him, staring at him cautiously, as if it was expecting him to attack again. Perhaps he had been too shocked to let go, but Bakugou realized he still had the knife in his hand.

Slowly, he set it on the ground between them.

And damn if the dragon didn’t take that too.

“The hell?!” Bakugou snapped, but instead of running away again, the creature trotted past him and wriggled into a bush by a rock. Bakugou followed him, finding a small hole that dropped into a cave beneath, cool and silent but for the trickle of water that had made its way from a spring deeper in the plateau and collected in a pool.

The hoard - if it could be called that - was in a bed-sized pile in the center. But instead of gold and jewels, there were fairly common items: many river stones, a broken saucer, a few coins that were more pocket change than treasure, a pot lid, a mirror, a polished chain. Perhaps the most unique item was a sword, which the dragon nosed at to make room for Bakugou’s knife, and then…

“Fucking gross!” Bakugou protested as the dragon arched its back and threw up the necklace like a cat expelling a hairball. It was covered in a film of saliva, but it seemed satisfied as it placed it around a garden statue. The massive beast moved a few more of the items with its tail before it sat on top of the collection of flotsam and puffed its chest out. “I don’t know what the hell you’re so damn happy about. This is the shittiest hoard I’ve ever seen.” The dragon made a noise. “Did you just growl at me?”

It got up and walked back toward him, and Bakugou bent his knees, ready if it tried to snap at him, but it didn’t. However, it did stand up on two of its leg, the shape of it morphing and changing, and then...it wasn’t a dragon anymore. Not exactly, anyway.

“I said it’s not shitty!” The young man who now pouted in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, still wouldn’t exactly be what Bakugou would call “human.” His tanned skin was still scattered with red scales in places, especially down his arms, and the frill around his head had become vibrant hair, pointed ears and two sizable horns. And with his still-present tail and wings, Bakugou couldn’t help wondering what the point of this form would be, because there was no way he could pass for being a normal person. “I’m still working on it.”

“Do you even have any gold?”

“Yes!” He turned back to the pile and moved things around, producing several shiny rocks flecked with yellow. “Look!”

Bakugou smirked. “That’s pyrite, you idiot.” He was surprised how immediately he regretted saying it, because his face fell, and Bakugou wondered if today would mark another first: seeing a dragon cry. He pointed at the sword. “That’s pretty cool, though, I guess. And there could be gold in the pommel. If you cleaned it up.”

“Really?!” Immediately, the sad expression switched to one of absolute glee. “I thought so too! But I don’t want to damage it. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Did you steal all of this?”

“Steal?” A small laugh and a tilt of his head. “I found them, if that’s what you mean.”

“Uh. You stole my necklace. And my knife.”

“You gave me your knife,” he pointed out. “And I found the necklace.” Bakugou glared at the very pointed way that he didn’t say it was his necklace.

“And the fact that I was running after you when you took it wasn’t any indication that I still wanted it?”

“I thought we were playing!” The man grinned, showing off sharp, pointed teeth.

“I tried to stab you!”

“I knew you couldn’t get through my hide.” His smile faded. “I didn’t mean to knock you over the cliff though. I’m sorry. I got a little too excited, and you got hurt.”

Bakugou noticed for the first time that blood was still dripping from the cut on his forearm. When he looked up again, he startled a bit, because the dragon boy had stepped up close to him, peering at it. His eyes had stayed the same...or it felt like it, at least. Before he could stop him, he grabbed Bakugou’s hand and licked the wound.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Bakugou shoved his face, but he held on, swiping it again with his slightly pointed tongue. “Get off!”

Finally, he did, and when Bakugou went to wipe his arm against his pants, he was surprised to find that the wound had closed entirely. Once the blood was rubbed away, it was like the skin had never been broken. The man grinned at him again. “The elders always say not to eat humans because they taste bad. But you taste pretty good!”

Bakugou’s face went red, and he shouldered past the strange creature and reached down to retrieve his necklace. “You might have thought you found this, but it’s mine, so I’m taking it back.”

“All of it?” There was that pitiful expression again, and he gestured with a black, pointed nail at one of the sticky threads.

“Yes, all of it!” He sighed at how disappointed he looked, and finally he removed the piece with the knotted sea glass, placing it back in the pile. It wasn’t like a dragon understood the implications, and his mother probably wouldn’t ask about it. He hoped. He considered taking the knife too, but that was more easily replaced, and he did kind of owe it to him for not letting him become a smear on the forest floor. “Fine. Here. Happy?”

He was. “Thanks!”

“Quit smiling like that.”

“Like what?” It only brightened, and then he was once more in Bakugou’s personal space, wrapping his arms around him, his tail snaking around his ankles. An odor like sulphur and burning leaves tickled Bakugou’s nose, and he stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. Was he…hugging him? “I’ve seen humans do this when they like one another. Am I doing it right?”

“It’s...okay.” Bakugou paused. “It’s not usually this long, though.”

“Oh.” He let go. “I’m Kirishima. What’s your name?”

Could he tell a magical creature his name? Wasn’t there some rule when it came to that, about them being able to bind someone if they knew their true name? Maybe just his family name would be sufficient. “Bakugou.”

“You’re going to come back, right, Bakugou?”

“How the hell could I do that? Don’t know if you noticed, but I nearly died getting here. I can’t exactly climb down easily.” Come to think of it, he didn’t know how exactly he was going to get back to the village now either...

Kirishima’s face scrunched up as he thought, then he clapped his hands together. “We can meet at that stream! Would that work?” Realization dawned on his face. “Do you want me to fly you back there?”

Fly him…? “No. I can make my own way.” He climbed back out of the hole by the bush, staring up into the sky, which glowed pink and orange as the sun slowly descended toward the horizon. Kirishima followed close behind him.

“Are you sure? It’s a half day’s hike up the side of the cliff, and then you have to climb up, and it’s really sheer…it would be quicker and easier! I don’t mind!”

Bakugou frowned at his sincerity, still wary. But to be frank, the thought of trying to make his way back up the incline did not seem appealing, especially since it was late in the afternoon now. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

Bakugou was going to have to learn quicker that he needed to be more direct with Kirishima, because no sooner had he said it than he found himself lifted into his arms and they were airborne. And Bakugou would never say that he yelped, but he certainly was surprised, and he wrapped his arms around Kirishima’s neck as he watched the ground disappear. “It’s okay!” Kirishima called over the wind. “I won’t let you fall! I promise!”

Every bone in his body screamed that he shouldn’t believe him. But he did.

And maybe that was why when he was finally on solid ground again he was willing to agree to see him again. “Tomorrow, then!”

Even if he was annoyingly eager. “Tomorrow.”

#my paperfics #boku no hero academia #kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #fantasy au #dragon!kirishima

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martianarctic · 4 years

Text

The Factory Window

Agent: Andrew Swan

Interview record: Pinetree-443 incident. Witness #2. January 3rd, 2021. Interview #1 of /. Location: Regional office, Lance Barrow Memorial Federal Building. Investigator Remarks: None.

It happened when I was really young, still a teenager, late teens, 18, 19. I have never told anybody about it before now. It is only known by one other person, he was with me, a friend of mine. I lost track of him after high school and searching his name on the internet yields nothing, even though he has an uncommon name. No one from school that I am still in touch with has spoken with him for decades.

I remember that day really clearly, even though it was almost [REDACTED] years ago at this point. It takes [REDACTED] hours to drive to the town. There were, and are still people there, gravitating to the kind of things that remain after a factory closes: Elementary schools, grocery stores, and hospitals. But everything and everybody is falling apart. Driving mostly old cars. The streets are stuck in [REDACTED] years ago. Everybody looks dead behind the eyes. Talks to you like you’re an invader into their daydream.

The factory is on the water. It closed in the [REDACTED], so when we went there it had been closed for about [REDACTED] years or so. It was a… real weird building. Designed by some famous midwestern architect, in the years they built up this town, they didn’t spare any expense. It’s built solid, so its still standing today, and will still be standing in 20 more years.

But, my point is, the building is big. It’s four interconnected corners, each like 10 stories high, and then a center that goes up 25 stories. Blocks. Windows are cut into the stone, but they are narrow- all around, about as wide and tall as a man. You can see out from them, but no way can you see in, except, at night, you can see if somebody is standing in one because the glow of the slit is different, warped kinda, just enough to know it doesn’t look like the others.

Sneaking in isn’t hard. Nobody’s patrolling it, I mean, I guess the cops drive by every day but there’s never anybody here so it’s the kind of thing very few of the cops would actually ever do. Despite this, you park your car in the trees that are overgrowing the parking lot, so nobody can see. The parking lot itself is cracked and weeds and bushes and even a few trees are growing up from under it.

There are entrances to the building all around it, but they are boarded up so the only way to get in is to go between two of the big blocks. These were meant to be the main entry ways, so back when the factory was open, you’d walk down one of these to get to work. There were probably a ton of people here all the time. Men, women, white, black, Mexicans, Asians- all Union members too.

I should mention two points here of interest. First, its very hard to find anybody who worked here. Nobody has done too deep of a dive on it, there’s a few youtubes and that’s it. Here’s what I know about that.

This section of the interview has been redacted.

And when you do, they’re… well, they’re all the same type of person, they all just kind of stare off into the distance. They are often very intelligent, quizzical kind of people. Not the first thing that jumps to mind when you think of factory workers. But its impossible to get them to answer anything directly. They acknowledge that you said something, but then they go off on a different tangent about something really esoteric and weird, but never the factory.

Which leads us to the next point of interest, which is that nobody actually knows what this factory made. Most people theorize that they are some kind of component to something very large and complicated so naturally one thinks that they were a defense contractor. However, defense stuff is usually air stuff and this stuff is way too heavy to fly in anything normal.

So, most people theorize that its some kind of hardware for power generation, nuclear or hydro power generation. Perhaps during the [REDACTED], in seeking energy independence, they anticipated some massive swell of interest in nuclear or hydro power generation and then the oil industry fired back. But that is also a stretch, because a factory this size producing that much hardware would have to have it go somewhere and honestly, again you tubers did the work and figured out that they made enough shit for 1000 nuclear plants when there only were ever 57 in the united states. Kinda the same story for hydro. Similar numbers.

Anyway, trees and bushes and tall weeds choke down each of these entrance paths. Here and there you see a drinking fountain, garbage can, bench- poking up through the foliage. It was around 1PM when we arrived so the sun was breaking through the clouds. We were in rain gear, we knew it could rain that day.

And boy it sure did- rain started up about when we got inside. After the entrance chambers, the first thing you go through is the offices. They were built into the 10 and 20 story walls that made up the structure. Furniture is still in them. Great stuff- but heavy as hell.

Anyway, the entrance chambers have these high 40-foot vaulted ceilings and stairs that take you to the first 4 floors. We crunched through the weeds that followed us in, and the crackles of dead foliage and the clatter of a kicked stone echoed. We heard the rain start falling outside. You can imagine how this place would have sounded any day of the week- just a bunch of people coming and going, starting and ending their days. We entered the first floor offices, which start just past the stairs.

So back to the offices, with the vintage furniture- they are rusted and warped a little bit, but I think with some effort they could be refurbished into what would be considered high-end pieces today. Millions of dollars worth by my reckoning. Remember, the place closed in the [REDACTED], and by that time, most companies as large as this one, if in fact it was even a business, had already gone computer based in some form or other. But there’s no computers, they never switched to any substantially digital document or process management infrastructure. There’s not a computer more complicated than a basic calculator in there.

Oh yeah, glad you asked. Another weird thing about this place- is that there’s no record of them ever having filed articles of incorporation or partnership in any state let alone ever issuing any kind of stocks or bonds. The size of the factory alone, estimated to have costed over a billion dollars in 2020 dollars, and they never borrowed any money or sold any equity stakes, at least not to anybody in the united states and not through legal channels. So we’re not even sure this was a business. At least, again, in the opinion of youtubers, since there’s no professional investigative interest on this place, until now.

So one of the things to do in this place is take a look through some of the paperwork in these offices. I feel like I don’t need to tell you that none of it makes any sense. At first, all of it looks completely normal. Memos, letters, ledgers, blotters, and they look pretty much like what you’d find in any corporate office this old. But at least somewhere in a normal business’ records, you find at least some mention of customers. Zero zip, in this factory. Products are mentioned, but they are always by cryptic item numbers that can be endlessly cross referenced but never defined.

That was not what we were here to investigate, however. And I think that’s why you called me in, maybe, but what we were there to investigate, I don’t know if you know this or not but I am about to become your star witness. #1.

If you go through the offices enough, keep moving perpendicular to the halls, through the doorways, you eventually get to the factory floor. On all sides, the walls are filled with offices that look out onto the factory floor. Above, a bunch of industrial track lighting underneath mostly broken glass skylights.

No walkways- those are all interior. This made the only possible avenue for suicide to be to jump through your office window out onto the factory, which would have been very tough, since the windows both didn’t open and also the glass was filled with chicken wire. I obviously have no idea if anybody ever did it since at least from the standpoint of personnel this would not have been discussed and if it was documented we haven’t ever found anything.

So, depending on which of the quads you are in, there��s significant differences between the factory segments. This one is mostly flat, but some of them go really vertical with these processing machines that go both up and down in addition to left and right. Here, this one, there’s conveyors that move across work stations, if you unwrapped these, they’d probably be over 20 miles long. Whatever they assembled here was small. The other quads definitely handled much larger products.

This segment probably had the most workers, also. We don’t know much about the unions that worked here but we do know that most of the shop stewards worked in this quad. Their workstations, you can see, have a lot of extra seating, space and document capacity. Here is something a little strange, nobody except youtubers and urban explorers visits here, and they are usually pretty good about not taking a ton of shit, but the union leader’s shop areas have been absolutely gutted of anything resembling a paper record or document. Somebody came for that shit.

As you can imagine, we have theories on this. We think that the shop steward’s records are probably the best place to get a list of names and addresses and any info by which we could track these people down and somebody already got it. The other quads had union leader’s workstations as well and also those are devoid of any actual recordkeeping paperwork. In one quad, several of them were burned.

We didn’t dally long in the quads, we went right for the center building, which is only accessible through the corner of the quads. Through a layer of offices, then just doors. The rain was falling outside of this one- we put up our hoods and made sure our camera bags were covered and went outside.

The courtyard is actually in the middle of the central building. 20 story high walls up around us, with the slit-like windows looking out. We’re looking out from a corner: the corners are where you enter from the outside, and then large entranceways on the edges of the square are the entrances to the central building. The water is falling down trees that have overgrown, tall, tall weeds. Broken up here and there by obstinate patches of concrete that form paths. We travel along one of these to roughly the middle of the whole complex. Look up see this is why were here. We look up.

One of the slits, up half way about from the north wall, it’s lit up. You could see a golden glow coming out of it because of how dark the rainclouded sky was. And it ain’t a normal window-slit. Its warped because something is in the window. We don’t think it’s anything moving, because it always stays the same.

So the last group to explore that we know of, they had pointed out that this light was there. Other explorers that went before them didn’t see it, so the earliest this light could have turned on was, if you believe them, [REDACTED]. [REDACTED] months.

Anyway, we counted what floor it was as best as we could and walked for that entrance and walked in, took off our hoods. The central building entrances are more conventional with elevator banks and security desks. We walked past the elevator banks for the stairs.

The stairs are eerie because of all places here, this is the one where, if you could time travel back to [REDACTED], it would look exactly the same. Light comes in through windows at each landing and there’s very little clutter. Actually people so infrequently come up these stairs that there’s very little dirt.

We got to the 18th floor- this was where we believed the light was on. It was also facing in towards the courtyard, so that meant the office was somewhere on the south side of the hallway. We checked our compasses and saw that was to the right if we turned right, and to the left if we turned left. We also figured it was to the right of the stairs. We went in.

The hallway was dark enough that if we could have seen straight down it, we would have been able to tell which office had a light on, except that most of the office doors were closed. As we walked down the hall, we looked in those offices that were open. Furniture still there in most of them, which made the offices that were completely empty really stand out. It would be weird if these offices seemed like no one had ever worked in them but what was weirder was that it seemed like all of the stuff had been removed from them. Shadows on the wall indicating where a chair might have scuffed against, parts of the carpet that seemed less worn than others.

We got to where we had to start opening the doors on the left. We did it quickly. One of us opened while the other covered with, yeah a firearm, you don’t go urban exploring in [REDACTED] without one. I was the puller when we got to it. The door handles were all were pretty much ice cold to the touch so when we got to it, I knew. This one was warm. I looked back to make sure he was still there, he gave me a nod. I pulled on the handle and the door came open.

This section of the interview has been redacted.

#shortfiction horror scp abandonia creepypasta halloween

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝒯hank you for all the love on the first chapter, that was honestly the last thing I expected, and it really does mean the world to me that you guys like this story. I’m going to include the taglist at the end, but if you’d like to be added for future updates, go here and put in your tumblr URL. Okay, anyways, this chapter is very like,,, rocky and emotional so! Have fun reading :)

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

Chapter Two: Do It One More Time (3.8k)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

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Sneaking Harry out had been the least of her worries. Him being on her mind constantly was a much bigger cause for concern. She had trouble sleeping at night, tossing and turning and even having to wash her entire bedspread to get rid of his scent. It had been no use, however. It was like her body got a taste of something very potent and wanted it now more than ever before.

And it didn’t take long for her to get back into her routine. To soil the pillowcases in her tears because the emptiness inside her chest had only grown tenfold after what had happened with Harry. Her muscles literally ached and her sobs almost sent her to the bathroom to hurl up an empty stomach full of knots.

Her brain had finally gotten a reprieve from its loneliness. She finally felt what it was like to have someone, even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was a mistake and even if it was fleeting. Harry had filled whatever missing parts were within her and it hurt like hell to go back to normal again.

But she wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t sleep anymore either. His house felt massive and the silence between all the walls seemed to ring just a little bit louder. He found himself buying an unnecessary amount of pillows and setting them all up on his bed just to surround himself with something. He’d been here before though. After a breakup, his least favorite part was going back to sleeping alone. He hated not having someone to hold onto. It took him weeks to get used to it last time, and to get used to the cold spots on the other side of the bed. It only took four and a half hours with Y/N to fuck him all up again.

And he really shouldn’t be doing this, but he was desperate.

“Hello?” Even her voice was a breath of fresh air for him.

“Hey, it’s uh… Harry.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had my number.”

“Will gave it to me a while ago… for emergencies.”

Y/N took a long pause, unsure why Harry was calling her on a Thursday afternoon, completely at random. It had been almost an entire week since their… incident. Why was he calling her right now?

“So… is this an emergency?”

“Um… well, no. It isn’t.”

“So why are you calling then?”

“I was wondering um… you can say no but um… I was wondering if you wanted to… sleep with me again.” He cringed at his last few words and the way they felt like knives cutting his throat to get out. He had no better way to phrase what he wanted other than being blunt about it and admitting he wanted her up against him. He wanted more than just lifeless pillows to cuddle up to at night.

And something about Y/N had him losing his fucking mind the past week so asking her to sleep with him seemed low on his list of crazy.

“Sorry?”

“I mean… like we did last week. I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight, just to sleep?”

“Why?” She asked, unsure why Harry fucking Styles was asking her that. Sure, they were somewhat friendly and she had thoughts about asking him the same exact thing, but it was an odd request coming from him. She was sure if he needed a cuddle buddy that he could easily find anyone else.

But even the thought of him being like that with someone else gave her a horribly sick feeling in her stomach that she recognized immediately but could not for the life of her explain. She didn’t get jealous, ever.

He cleared his throat, “Um well… I have had a pretty hard time sleeping and then last Friday it was like… like the best sleep of my life. And this past week has been awful again. So I was just… we don’t have to if you don’t want to though. It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have even called…”

“No.” She cut his spiraling off abruptly. “I mean… yes. I… can do that.”

He immediately let out a huge breath of air in relief but also couldn’t believe she had, yet again, agreed to another one of his stupid ideas. “I just want to let you know I’m not trying to like… get in your pants or anything. I genuinely just…” He stopped then, knowing a more believable story would be him wanting to get into her pants than what was actually going on with him.

“Just what?”

“I just need someone.” He admitted with his eyes closed tight as he laid back onto his couch. “And it’s not very easy asking people to just sleep with you.”

She let another moment of silence go by that just about tore him up. And right when he was about to ask if she was still there, he heard her voice again, as softly as ever.

“What time should I come over then?”

Harry’s house wasn’t easy to access. First, there was the entrance gate to just get into the neighborhood, which had an intimidatingly large security guard posted out front like an oversized bridge troll. Then she had to hand over her driver’s license and try to convince him she was there to see Harry, and that her name was supposed to be on his list of accepted guests. The whole thing wouldn’t seem so unbelievable to her if she wasn’t already trapped in a pit of nerves from being there in the first place.

By some miracle, however, the guard returned her ID along with a visitor’s pass and opened the gates for her.

Then, of course, there was finding his house, which turned out to be a whole other task and a half on its own. Every house was so far from the main road due to oversized front lawns that she couldn’t read anyone’s house number unless she practically trespassed. He’d given her very vague instructions so she mostly had to rely on Google Maps. Which somehow got her to the house at the end of Spruce Street with the enormous pine tall trees and rose bushes surrounding it just like Harry had described.

She pulled into the short gap of driveway just before the tall, wooden privacy gates that hid most of his house from view. After rolling down her driver’s side window, she inputted the four-digit code he’d given her onto the pinpad. Within a few seconds the gates opened, and after a moment to ogle at his insanely beautiful house, she swallowed the pit in her throat and carefully drove onto his property as if it was made out of glass. She really did not belong there, not in her beat up 2005 Toyota, and she couldn’t afford to break anything.

The moon was already prominent in the middle of the sky by the time she got to his front door and rang the bell. His house wasn’t at all what she expected. It was old-looking. Almost cottage-like with stone bricks and vines trickling down the architecture. She expected the most modern amenities known to man from him, but it turned out to be the polar opposite.

She stopped staring at his garden fortress of a house, with her jaw hung wide, when his door swung open. Because finally he was there, right in front of her, giving her proof that she didn’t accidentally show up at the wrong address, even though the code had worked and the house was as he described. Her anxiety was just a little extra prominent than normal.

“This is where you live?” She asked, before he even got the chance to invite her in.

He laughed, holding the door in one hand and gripping the frame with the other to keep his balance as he stood in the middle.

“Um,” he sighed, glancing up at the house, “yeah, but I’m trying to sell it soon. I bought it when I was young and impulsive.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, and he worried for a moment that he had completely lost her. That she was going to go back to never speaking a single word to him ever again. That he wasn’t anything like what she expected and it was a little too much for her to take in.

Just like most of his previous attempts at friendships, once they got even the tiniest glimpse into his life, they either bolted or stuck around long enough to get what they wanted from him.

Instead, she met his eyes again and smiled, “Can I come in or what?”

The inside of his house, however, had been recently modernized and she wondered if Harry had made all the design decisions himself. Like if he picked out the big geometric crystal chandelier in the foyer or the white marble countertops in the kitchen. She liked it, though, it was open with tall ceilings and unlike any home she’d ever stepped foot in. Even though it reminded her what vastly different worlds she and Harry came from, she knew his personality didn’t match up to his big fancy house.

When they settled into the kitchen, and when Harry began pouring two glasses of water for them, she set her things down on his island counter to give her shoulders a break from her heavy backpack. She knew she’d packed too much stuff, but if she was spending the night at Harry’s place, she needed her own familiar things to keep her company.

“I was thinking…” she started, watching as he kicked the refrigerator door shut once he’d put the filtered water pitcher back on the top shelf and handed her one of the glasses. “That maybe it’s a good idea to not tell Will… or... anyone about this.”

He thought it over for a moment and then nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay.” Averting his eyes, his mind thought of a million different things at once while he sipped on his own glass of water until another tangible question popped into his head. “So if we’re not telling them, then where do they think you are right now?”

“At a coworker’s place.”

He nodded again and for the first time around Harry, she felt so incredibly nervous. He’d made her nervous before but not like this. She’d always just avoided him and it worked her anxieties out, but there was absolutely no chance of avoiding him now. Maybe she should have just said no, but that also seemed like an implausible choice.

“Is it alright if I like… get ready for bed? I just got off work.”

He let out a small giggle around the brim of his glass and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll show you my room.”

And his bedroom did not, by any means, disappoint. Just the square footage of it was impressive, but her eyes were particularly drawn to his bed, and not for any other reason than the way it faced massive ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked, as it seemed, the entirety of Hollywood; and she fell in love instantly. It was mesmerizing, and she could not fathom why on earth he planned on selling. Hell if he didn’t want the house anymore, she’d take it.

“Bathroom’s over there. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna set the alarm and turn off the lights. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Nodding, she waited for him to leave before she fully lost her mind about everything. Not only was she in the nicest house she’d ever laid foot in, but she was also about to crawl back into bed with him. His king sized, fluffy-looking bed she could imagine herself getting lost in.

She knew what they were doing was slightly out of the norm for people their own age. Most people didn’t sleep in the same bed as their friends unless they were doing something friends probably shouldn’t be doing. But the benefits of their budding friendship were a little more innocent than that to the point where even the thought of Will finding out where she was right now, while she slipped into her strawberry patterned pajama pants in Harry’s ensuite, made her lightheaded. She’d almost feel better if Will found out they were actually hooking up instead, because at least that wasn’t so… weird.

With the amount of time she spent getting herself ready, most of it being wasted on psyching herself up enough to go through with all of this, she’d become very familiar with his bathroom. He had two sinks along one wall, and massive mirrors that all faced a shower that could fit an entire army inside. The tiles were either black or white except for the blue pops of color here and there. The best part of it was the massive soaker tub in the back underneath a window that overlooked his garden. It was like he plucked a bathroom straight out of Good Housekeeping.

And of course she couldn’t let his things go unnoticed. She’d make herself a space at the empty sink nearest the door, the one that didn’t have his stuff neatly stacked around it. She eyed his small selection of colognes on a tray between the sinks while she washed her face, and couldn’t help her curiosity from checking out what brand of toothpaste he used when she started brushing her own teeth.

Other than the little touches of Harry scattered sparingly about, however, it was almost as if no one lived there at all. And she became very familiar with how cold it all was.

It wasn’t until she turned the sink off after splashing her face, again, with ice cold water, that she heard the soft hum of a guitar from just outside the bathroom door. She wasn’t sure if he was playing, or if he had turned music on. She wasn’t even sure if Harry Styles knew how to play the guitar. She couldn’t ever remember him playing any instruments whenever he came over to work with Will, but maybe she was just tragically unobservant.

And that seemed to be the case once she finished up and went back out to find him perched on what appeared to be his side of the bed with his guitar on his lap and a leather bound notebook open in front of him.

Though before she could make out a single melody, he immediately stopped playing the second she re-entered the room.

“Sorry, you can keep… doing what you’re doing.”

He let out an exasperated laugh while she crept towards the bed on the opposite side and made note of the way he quickly hid his journal from her and stashed it into a drawer at his bedside table. Maybe she was overanalyzing things, but it seemed like whatever he was writing down was for his eyes only, and she respected that.

“I was trying to write a song… hasn’t really been working out for me recently.” He leaned away from her to put his guitar down on the floor, setting it upright against the table, and she hated the way her eyes went straight to the small sliver of skin under his shirt that was exposed when he did so.

“Writer’s block?” She asked, slowly making her way up under the covers next to him, still feeling like she didn’t belong even though this had all been Harry’s idea to begin with. He needed someone and so did she, even if he didn’t fully know to what extent. But it felt like somehow she had tricked him into thinking the someone he needed was her.

“Sucks,” he mumbled to himself mostly, still very obviously in his own little work bubble.

“I usually just try to stop doing whatever I’m struggling with, and do something else, something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“You mean with your art stuff?” He asked and she wasn’t sure how he knew about her hobby, if Will had brought it up before, but it made her heart flutter nonetheless, that he remembered that small detail about her.

“Yeah.” She finally looked over at him, only to find him already staring at her and it weirdly made her less anxious about her current position. In his bed. In her roommate’s best friend’s bed. “If you’re stuck, you should leave it alone and write something completely out of your comfort zone. Then when you go back to where the problem was, you have a new set of eyes on it.”

He was quiet, first just listening to her speak, and then really letting her advice sink in because it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about doing, but he made mental plans to give it a try.

“I’m sorry if this is really weird, Y/N,” he began, getting her attention when he changed the subject. “I know it’s hard to believe but I’m actually horrendously alone and I guess when we slept together I didn’t feel so much that way anymore.”

“I get it, Harry.” She sighed, never wanting to fully open up to him, but feeling like it was now or never to get him to stop making it more weird by apologizing. “Makes you feel like… empty.”

“Exactly,” Harry sighed and she glanced at him when he agreed so enthusiastically. “I haven’t been that close to someone in… months,” he rolled his eyes down to meet hers again, “and I guess I just didn’t want it to be like that again.”

The look on her face alone made it easy to tell everything he said resonated with her, like he was saying exactly what she was thinking too. It broke his heart to know that she, in any way, felt like he did, but it also made him glad someone finally understood what he was going through, even if in just the slightest.

“I understand, Harry. I guess I just don’t understand why you’re alone. Can’t you have anyone you want?”

He scrunched up his face, “It’s not that easy.” He huffed, “People aren’t all that interested in me as they are getting loads of likes on Instagram and having lots of money. I mean… I haven’t had a single relationship that didn’t end the same.”

“Still,” she mumbled begrudgingly. He was still Harry Styles. People still wanted him and, even if it hadn’t turned out so well, he’d still been not alone at some point in his life, unlike her.

He raised his eyebrows, a little irritated at this point. “Okay then, why are you alone? Can’t imagine it’s that hard for you.”

She rolled her eyes away from him and hung her head to disguise the embarrassment on her face. There were two big reasons why she was alone, and she was not about to admit them to Harry at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night.

“So what is it then?” He talked for her when he grew irritated with her silence and her inability to see his perspective on things, “Your lack of ability to talk to people? Because you have these massive walls to keep literally everyone out, including me, for the past however many months we’ve known each other?”

She shook her head and sunk deeper and deeper inside herself. This was all a mistake. It had all gone wrong because she opened her mouth and said something insensitive.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry.” She looked at him again finally, holding back the stupid tears trying to well up just from the mere thought of being even moderately yelled at, and especially by Harry who she’d never imagined being angry a day in his life. “But if we’re just going to sit here judge each other, I think I should go.”

“No.” He immediately reached across the king-sized space between them to grab her arm before she even considered leaving his bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that.” They stared at each other silently for a moment before he continued, “You don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then at his hand around her arm and just how good it felt to be touched. Just to have human contact, even just something as simple as that. And then she felt just as desperate as she had when she agreed to all of this in the first place.

“Can we just go to sleep? I’m tired.”

It started out like it had before. A gap of space between them after Harry had turned out the lamp beside him. After he spent an ungodly amount of time staring out his window and listening to her breathing, and she spent the same amount of time overthinking, they both realized something wasn’t working.

“Harry?” She whispered like she was throwing out a line into a vast ocean.

“Hmm?”

“You were right… about why I’m alone. But… it’s also that no one’s ever really shown any interest in me because, um... ” she struggled, trying her damndest not to cry in front of Harry. “I’m... ugly, you know… so that’s, um...” Her voice was just a whisper she could barely even make out, but it was still the first time she’d said that to anyone before. Sure, she wasn’t facing Harry when she said it and they were in complete darkness, but it was still hard, hard enough to make her hands shake and the tears fall.

He knew it too, the way her voice wavered like he’d never heard before. He twisted his head over his shoulder to look at her, eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he saw the shadow of her hand move across her face to wipe the tears away.

And here she was; in Harry’s bed where she thought her problems would be temporarily solved, and yet she was still crying.

“So that’s why… I feel like I don’t let people in because I don’t want anyone to have to be stuck with me.” She finished and he flipped himself onto his back, still staring at her head like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, that she even thought that way about herself. He was sitting there in shock because, well… he had been wrong. He didn’t understand her at all.

Without a single clue how to respond without sounding like a disingenuous asshole, he went another route rather than opening his mouth to give her unsolicited advice.

“Come ’ere.” He whispered, helping her until she was in his arms again just like before. He cradled the back of her head with one hand as she hid her face on his chest and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Slowly, she warmed up to him and tucked her own arm around his side as they fit themselves together like puzzle pieces all over again. Except this time, they were both consciously aware of it.

They stayed like that for a while until Harry listened to her breathing even out, and he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer. He still wanted to say a million different things, but knew it might only make it worse because his head wasn’t clear enough to say the right things. So, he just held on tight and waited for morning.

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#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #onlyhuman

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