#went all out and very far out of my comfort zone for jude | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

solllaris · 4 years

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retrograde — 01

↳ here.

PAIRING: Frat!Tom / Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: It takes some convincing, but you ultimately agree to go to a frat party and are pushed out of your comfort zone in more than one way.

WARNINGS: language, underage drinking, anxiety/panic attacks, & insecure thoughts

WORDS: 5874

NOTE: This series is my baby so please be nice. The reader’s fears and anxieties are basically a reflection of my own, so posting this makes me feel super vulnerable. There were many moments I seriously considered deleting everything I had made for this series because I was too afraid to put myself out there like this, but obviously I didn’t. I really want the reader’s story to help someone or make them feel like they’re not alone because anxiety can make you feel so isolated at times. So to the person reading this right now, to the person with anxiety or depression or whatever: You are not alone. You will never be alone. And I hope this story shows you that somehow.

series masterlist — masterlist — add yourself to my taglist!

Tortoise shell glasses the color of honey inched their way down the bridge of your nose again and you would’ve been greatly annoyed if your glazed-over eyes weren’t focused on the large plastic cup of coffee on the table. Fingers still tensed and poised over the laptops keyboard, your attention had shifted for the millionth time to the dark browns streaking through the blonde colored liquid at the bottom and your fried out brain was mesmerized by it. Anything was more intriguing than the open, half-way completed book review on your computer screen where the blinking cursor taunted you from the corner of your eye. At your wits end, you turned away completely with a groan that you stifled with a hopefully motivating gulp of your iced cold brew swirled with caramel.

Shoving the frames further up your nose where they belonged, you nursed the straw of your coffee between your tongue and teeth and glanced briefly about the room. The Learning Commons was fairly full for ten in the morning, but you weren’t too surprised; it was the go-to place to go — not only to get coursework done, but also to just unwind and mess around. That Friday morning hadn’t been any different from the rest and bleary-eyed college students milled about, drinking their caffeine from the God-sent Starbucks in the building and chatting to their friends through sleepy slurs. For a person who really enjoyed people-watching, the Learning Commons was the prime place for you to spend most of your time. You blended in and fell into the shadows just as you liked.

Blinking twice, you realized you had zoned out again. Your vision focused and you saw you had been staring blankly across the room at a boy drooling all over his open textbook. His slackened grip around his mechanical pencil kept allowing it to fall over in his hand, rousing him each time for only a few seconds and then he was out cold again. The sight made you laugh under your breath and you impulsively tipped your head back onto your roommate’s thigh from where she was sprawled out on the couch behind you. Just as you wanted, Scout’s fingers that had been raking through your hair stilled to let you know you had her attention.

“Look,” You said loud enough for her to hear over the raucous youths around you and discreetly pointed across the way at the sleepy boy. “That’s about to be me if I don’t get this paper done soon, I swear to everything Holy.”

A snort exploded through her nostrils and your head jostled with the movements of her leg kicking the guy whose lap they rested in.

“Jude.”

Another harsh nudge to his thigh and the frustrated boy mashed a button on his video game controller, a ‘paused’ message appearing on the flat screen TV. A harsh, pointed look urged her to continue so he could get back to his game.

“That guy over there looks just like you.”

When you glanced back over, the drooling guy had completely given up on at least attempting to remain upright to look like he was getting work done. His cheek was smashed against the pages of his book, pushing his lips out in a pucker face, and his wrecked hair stuck up at odd angles on his forehead. An unbridled bubble of laughter threatened to come up your throat and you had managed to contain it — until a little string of drool puddled on the paper his cheek rested upon. Both you and Scout shook with the force of your giggles and you briefly found yourself thinking that it probably wasn’t that funny, but to a sleep-deprived university student it was comedic gold.

Jude must’ve shoved Scout’s legs off his lap if the loud ‘thud!’ of her feet hitting the floor beside you were any indication. They came dangerously close to knocking over your cup of caffeine — the only thing getting you through the early hours of the morning — and you were quick to snatch it up, cradling it to your chest like a protective mother. Your look of disgust towards your two friends was completely ignored, overlooked by Scout’s cry of protest and Jude’s annoyed, but slightly amused, glare at the girl.

“That’s what you made me pause my game for?” He huffed, tugging his fingers through his dark tufts of hair.

She shrugged, a shit-eating grin on her face as she plopped her warm toned legs back onto his lap. “Y/n said it first, not me.”

You were mid-sip, a mouthful of bitter coffee coating your tongue when you squealed a close-mouthed noise of protest, widened eyes flickering between your friends.

“I did not!” You cried once you’d successfully swallowed without choking. “I said that would be me if I didn’t finish my paper soon.”

“Lies,” Scout muttered.

Twisting your body to face her, the back of your hand smacked against her bare outer thigh, a loud and satisfying ‘smack!’ emitting from the harsh flesh on flesh contact. Your puppy dog eyes turned to Jude, bottom lip jutting out just slightly and he laughed, the action making his irises twinkle and scrunch closed.

“I’d never say that about you, J,” You said cutely.

He bumped his knee against your right shoulder lightly, jostling you to the side, and rolled his eyes but the tiny upwards lift to the corners of his mouth told you he was far from annoyed.

“Alright, alright, I believe you.” He groaned, quickly flicking his gaze back to the TV and unpausing his game. “Fuck you and your puppy eyes.”

Grinning triumphantly, you sipped your coffee happily and flopped back against the front of the couch. The sleeping computer screen on the coffee table immediately put a pin in your bubble of contentment, an instant frown replacing the bright smile on your lips. You set aside your half empty cup with a heavy sigh and swiped a finger along the smooth track-pad, waking it from its automatic sleep to tuck back into the four page book review for your U.S. History class. The cursor blinked approximately five or six times before you began to type, but you had barely written three words when the glass doors of the Learning Commons burst open and a group of rowdy boys piled through the entrance.

Well, you thought. Maybe just one more day of procrastinating won’t hurt.

A muffled groan sounded from Scout. “Great. Your frat brothers decided to grace us with their presence, J.”

Your fingers went slack over the lit up keys and you slouched defeatedly; at the rate you were going, the outcome of your paper was beginning to look more and more dim, but the fraternity boys couldn’t care less that some people were actually attempting to get their assignments done by their due dates. They joked and jostled each other and you kind of hoped they could feel the blazing burn of your laser-beam glare you shot their way, but their oblivious grins stuck a pin in your wishes. You watched them for a moment longer as they split off, some falling into the snack bar or coffee line while others drifted towards a vacant table or couch; you took that as your cue to pack up your things and traipse across campus to the library. (Why did you pick somewhere so loud to write a whole ass paper anyway?)

Scout managed to tear her attention from her phone long enough to notice you zipping up your bag and beginning to stand.

She quirked a perfectly shaped brow and asked, “Where are you going? It’s only 10:30; our Psych class isn’t until 12.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I wasn’t aware that the class I’ve been going to every Friday for a month now doesn’t start until 12,” You bit back with the most deadpan tone you could muster.

Jude snorted without taking his eyes off the TV, his fingers never ceasing their rapid movements between buttons on the game controller. Scout responded with a swift kick to said controller (which earned her a string of expletives as he fumbled to retrieve it off the floor) and waggled a chipped nail-polished finger at you.

“First of all, the ‘tude is not appreciated and second, both of your friends are sitting right here so my question is very valid.”

“Okay, rude.” You pouted sulkily as you gathered your hair to tie it up into a bun with the velvety pink scrunchie on your wrist. “And if you must know, I’m going to the library because it’s way too loud in here to write a paper.”

“Ugh.” Scout groaned and threw her legs off the side of the couch, rolling off onto the floor in the most ungraceful maneuver you’d ever witnessed in your life. “I guess I’ll go with you. I still haven’t finished that Biology worksheet due today.”

“Really?” You inquired absentmindedly as you fiddled with your messy bun in the reflection on your darkened phone screen. (She was taking forever and you needed something to do so you didn’t look like a complete moron.) “I finished it like the day she handed it out last week.”

You didn’t even have to look over at the caramel-skinned girl to know that she had rolled her eyes hard enough to get stuck inside her head. “Literally no one asked,” She retorted.

“Mmm, and to think I was actually going to give you all the answers..”

Just as you watched her expression morph into a sickly sweet one, a shrill whistle cut through every conversation in the room. The loud chattering of college students died down to muted whispers until the only distinguishable sounds were the whirring of the old air conditioning unit in the building and the clambering of shoes against wood; once you turned away from Scout you saw that the latter had come from a blonde boy in basketball shorts standing on a table in the center of the room. Kappa Sigma was emblazoned proudly across the chest of the scarlet colored hoodie he wore and you fought the urge to roll your eyes because of course he was in a fraternity.

The blonde frat boy’s voice faintly resonated in your ears, but you turned away from his dramatic display anyway to latch onto the sleeve of Scout’s over-sized Harvard University t-shirt. You insistently tugged on the crimson colored material because you really just wanted to get a head-start on your paper. Instead of relenting and following you, she simply shrugged you off and it was then that you got distracted with one look at a stupidly attractive guy in a stupidly, tight t-shirt.

If you had ever seen someone who was truly poured into a shirt it was this guy. The gray material was stretched taut across his pectorals and abdomen, dipping and curling into each chiseled line on his body. The stitching around the short sleeves looked two seconds away from ripping open as his biceps bulged from the way he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. You didn’t think the view could get any better until your eyes slid further up to a jawline that could probably cut straight through glass and to top it off, a head full of effortless curls—your ultimate weakness. You were pretty sure you were gaping open-mouthed at him at that point, but it wasn’t everyday that you saw a real life fucking angel on campus.

So yes, you gaped at him. Proudly.

Until you were caught...which you were seconds later.

Your heart dipped dangerously low in your chest and for a moment it felt like the warm blood in your veins had turned to ice. That feeling of sudden panic from such a cute guy looking at you prompted you to swiftly turn away; the cold you had felt literal seconds prior shifted to an uncomfortable warmth as the shock of being caught staring shifted to embarrassment. Your brain raced almost as quickly as your heart and you tried to pretend to focus on the blonde guy standing on a table to calm down, but then you made the dumb decision to sneak another peek.

Big, big mistake on your part.

Insanely hot frat guy was still looking at you. Not only was he still staring, but the beginnings of a smirk were forming on his pink lips and maybe he was not-so-subtly flexing his biceps. Seeing the corded muscles ripple and bulge under his tan skin truly was entrancing and if Scout hadn’t grabbed you by the material of your sweatshirt you would’ve stood and stared for a little bit longer.

Fingers snapped in front of your face and you blinked once, twice, three times before she really came into focus. She shot you a funny look and asked, “Seriously, what were you staring at?” She followed your gaze when your eyes instinctively shot back towards the insanely hot frat guy—who had thankfully looked away. “What is wrong with y—ohhh.”

A shit-eating grin stretched across her face and you immediately groaned. “Don’t start, okay?” You grumbled and finally managed to pull her towards the glass double doors. “He’s stupid hot and I was respectfully looking.”

Scout snorted from behind you as you held the door for her, both of you stepping outside and beginning the trek across campus to the library.

“You were point two seconds away from drooling,” She teased, bumping your arm with her elbow.

You felt the heat tickling at your cheeks and ears again, so you quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway,” You said pointedly, shooting her a look that could kill. “What was that whole ‘getting on the table’ display about?”

“Right. I forgot you were a little... preoccupied.” She smirked and dodged your incoming fist, giggling like a maniac. “Okay, okay! There’s a party at the Kappa Sigma house tonight.”

Scrunching your nose up at the mention of a party, you tossed your empty cup of iced coffee in a trash bin as you passed.

“Well, I have a hot date with Doctor McDreamy and I can’t miss it. You know how much I love me some Derek Shepherd.”

Just as you reached for the door handle to the library, she smacked your hand away with a serious expression.

“C’mon!” She whined, her bottom lip jutting out like a child. “You’ve never been to a party with me. It’ll be fun!”

“My definition of ‘fun’ is very different from yours, Scout.”

A sly smile turned her full lips upwards again. “Tom will be there…”

Your brows furrowed as you wracked your brain to put a name to a face. Tom. Did you know a Tom?

“Um. Am I supposed to know who that is?” You asked cluelessly.

Scout groaned. “Tom Holland. The guy you were ogling in the LC,” She explained with a ‘duh’ tone in her voice.

Absentmindedly you fiddled with the strap of your shoulder bag. You were already growing tired of the conversation and wished she’d just drop it; if anyone knew your anxiety situation, it was her and you thought she’d learned by now that you would never set foot in a party. Attending a frat party of all things was sure to bring on a panic attack and you’d rather not hyperventilate in front of a bunch of testosterone-filled college guys. No way in hell.

Exhaling an exasperated sigh, you shifted on your feet tiredly and let your head fall back towards the sky.

“Is that supposed to convince me?” You shifted around your friend and managed to snag the door open before she could stop you. “Because it’s not working.”

Save for a girl lightly snoring on one of the couches and a guy wearing glasses slaving over his keyboard, the library was practically barren. You immediately felt comforted as you traipsed along the outskirts of the large room, like a warm hug after coming home from a long day; except it was barely after eleven in the morning and you were ashamed to admit that you already needed comforting. Whilst another large exhale huffed past your lips at the thought, you dropped your bag down on the worn cushions of a couch pushed under a window and plopped yourself next to it rather ungracefully.

A rather loud thump resounded through the room as Scout carelessly deposited her own things on the floor by a comfortable looking arm chair; she simply shrugged at your warning glance, mumbling “those two are dead to the world anyway” under her breath and turned to pull a black binder from her backpack.

Soon, the silence between you two was filled with the clicking of your fingers across the keys on your laptop and the scratching of her mechanical pencil on paper. It was nice—relaxing even—and you sunk further into the soft couch that hugged your body, your mind only filled with the words you needed to get down to finish your stupid book review.

What kind of history class has to write a book review anyway? This wasn’t English.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

A small wad of balled up notebook paper hit your left cheek, bouncing off and into the crack between the cushions. Before you could retort, she was already whispering vehemently.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the party.” She stabbed her pencil in your direction as she spoke. “You’re going. Plus, I’ll be with you the whole night. Promise.”

Arguing with Scout was like arguing with a brick wall—pointless and you’d never win and you honestly just wanted her to shut up at this point; so even though the idea of standing in the Kappa Sigma frat house while the plaster walls vibrated and bodies jostled around you almost made you want to throw up, you reluctantly agreed to go with her. You tried to convince yourself it wouldn’t be so bad, that your best friend would be at your side the entire night, but you still couldn’t shake the butterflies in your belly the entire day.

Just as you’d expected, you were pretty sure you were this close to blowing chunks in Kappa Sigma’s bushes.

The lawn was crawling with college students bearing drinks and you were thrown into the middle of them, one hand clasped in Scout’s as she led you up to the porch and the other anxiously fiddling with the hem of your gingham printed shorts. You were hyper aware of everything happening around you: knocking shoulders with a short, blonde girl, the loud shouts over a game of flip cup, the bass of the song playing in your chest, and a putrid, skunk-like smell that caught in your lungs no matter what you did. Already you wanted to leave, but one look at your best friend’s excited face had you willing yourself to suck it up and try to have fun.

Clutching onto Scout’s hand like it was your only lifeline, she guided you through the foyer and an expansive dining room before reaching the kitchen and the pressure in your chest lifted enough to calm your racing heart; it was significantly less crowded, only inhabited by a small group of girls and a guy with his head stuck in the refrigerator. You watched as Scout paid none of them any mind and instead helped herself to two red solo cups, pointing the nozzle to the keg in one and letting it fill with the sepia toned beer before doing the same with the other cup.

You had just opened your mouth to protest, but the look she shot you had the words dying in your throat.

“Just trust me, alright?” She said and you let her shove the full cup into your hand. “It’ll help with your nerves.”

For a brief second your gaze flickered to the group of three girls seated at the kitchen island, all huddled together and speaking in low tones. It made your skin prickle and heat up and you wondered if they were talking about you—how out of place you seemed.

The white brim of your cup slotted between your glossed-up lips and you took a hefty swig. You immediately scrunched your face up in disgust at the bitter, watery taste of the ale but you were willing to down it if it drowned out your impending anxiety for the night.

“Ugh.” You cringed and peered at the frothy beer in distaste. “How do you drink this shit?”

Scout just grinned and raised her beer in the air.

“Cheers bitch,” She hummed and downed a gulp big enough to puff out her cheeks with the liquid. “Now drink up.”

So, you did cautiously while she retrieved her phone from her back pocket; you distantly heard her say the words “text” and “Jude” but you were more focused on the guy leaning against the counter a few steps away. It was the same guy who’d been rummaging in the fridge when you came in and it appeared he’d found what he wanted: a bottle of Michelob Ultra that he held by the neck. His other hand was occupied by his phone, his head tilted downwards as he scrolled with his thumb, but then he tipped it back to sip his drink and your heart plummeted.

You wasted no time grabbing Scout by her bicep to get her attention.

“Don’t look now but super hot frat guy, Tom, is literally right there,” You whispered frantically through gritted teeth and tugged her towards the exit.

Of course, she resisted. The “don’t look now” part of your sentence slipped in one ear and out the other because she turned back to glance at him with the subtlety of a hand grenade. Her small squeal had you yanking her back around, your stomach rolling with enough nerves to make you vomit for real this time.

“I literally just said—”

Just after the words left your mouth, Jude sauntered into the kitchen, loudly exclaiming: “Tom, man, how long does it take to get a drink?” Then, his six-foot-three hulking physique lumbered towards you and Scout—which effectively made Tom’s dark brown irises lock onto you. “And why have you guys not answered my texts? We’re about to start another round of flip cup.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and you wished you were dead. You knew you should’ve stayed in the safety of your dorm with Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd. Why didn’t you?

Maybe it was because you were the biggest pushover on campus?

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Sorry, mate.” Tom didn’t glance away from you as he spoke. You noticed a smirk playing at his thin lips before it was covered by the open top of his beer bottle when he took a drag. “I guess I got a little... distracted.”

His little jab at you didn’t go unnoticed.

Yep, he definitely recognized you from earlier in the day when you practically undressed him.

Deep down you knew he was just messing with you, but you couldn’t help feeling humiliated—like you were the center of a joke and not the kind of joke where he was laughing with you; suddenly overcome with a need to escape, you ignored his remark and turned to Scout and Jude instead.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom or step outside really quick.”

You barely heard her concerned voice asking if you wanted her to come with you before you were high-tailing it out of the room and up the dark wooden stairs in the foyer. You took them two at a time and in your haste to ascend them, the smelly beer in your still-full-to-the-brim cup sloshed over the rim and saturated the front of your black shirt and flowy shorts. Your face contorted in discomfort at the feeling of your wet clothes sticking to your skin as you slowed down, reaching the top floor at a more careful pace. The paranoid feeling that everyone was watching you make a fool of yourself began to set in and just as your breathing started to escalate, you ducked into the first bedroom you saw and quickly shut it with a click.

Absentmindedly, you sat your now half empty beer cup on the dresser by the door and slumped back against the wood. The cold doorknob pressed into the bottom of your spine but you didn’t care because all you could think about was the soaked fabric clinging to your front, Tom’s subtle mocking comment, and the feeling you’d felt coming up the steps.

In the back of your mind you knew how dramatic and blown out of proportion you were acting; your anxiety, however, didn’t get the memo. So there you were, panting and quivering in some random frat guy’s room with tears pooling at your lash line. You were beginning to feel nauseous lurches in your stomach and all you wanted was to go home.

You’d never wanted to be here in the first place.

An uncomfortable warmth bloomed in your chest around your heart—a feeling you were all too familiar with. If you had to guess, you assumed it was the way a heart attack might feel. You were panicking for absolutely no reason at all and all that you knew was that you needed to get out of here.

With shaky hands, you pulled your phone out of your bra and wiped away the sticky residue from the beer before composing a new text to Scout.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i feel sick. i think i’m gonna head back to our dorm

Then, feeling inexplicably guilty for not even trying, you typed again as your tears left splotches on your screen.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i’m really sorry

The click of your phone locking sounded like a blaring horn to your over-sensitized body and you slumped tiredly into a desk chair, shoving your phone somewhere on the desk carelessly. You were still shaking and you didn’t know if you were cold or hot and bile had started to burn your throat and in your hazy mind you swore you heard the doorknob turning but who knows?

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

If you thought you were going to throw up before then you definitely were now.

You grabbed the trash bin beside the desk and hung your head over it, the contents of the day emptying from your anxious stomach.

“Christ,” The guy grumbled in annoyance. Didn’t you know that voice from somewhere? “Of course. A drunk girl chooses my room to throw up in out of all the fuckin’ other rooms in this house.”

Shame crept up your neck and made you feel even hotter than you already were. You felt like such a mess—you reeked of alcohol, your hair was damp from a cold-sweat, and a stranger had just witnessed you puking your guts out. Great.

You couldn’t speak. All you could do was take shaky, staggered breaths and sniffle through your tears but you did manage to see who the mean guy in the room with you was. Just as your luck would have it, the guy whose bedroom you’d taken hostage in was none other than Tom Holland.

Your stomach twisted and again you ducked your head back in the bin to puke some more.

“Look. I’m sorry you feel like shit and drank too much but you’ve gotta get outta here.” You felt his large, strong hand curl around your bare bicep to tug you up out of his chair. “C’mon. Time to go.”

It was at that moment Tom finally noticed three things: that you were the girl from earlier in the LC, then again in the frat’s kitchen, that you were shaking like a leaf against him, and that you were struggling to breathe normally. It was clear to him you weren’t throwing up because you were drunk; you were throwing up because you were having a full-blown panic attack.

In his bedroom.

And he’d been nothing but a dick to you so far.

“Woah, hey, hey,” He murmured softly, his voice taking on a much gentler tone. Delicately, he brushed the sweaty hair from your warm cheeks and allowed one of his palms to meet the small of your back. “It’s okay. You’re alright, darlin’.”

You focused all your attention on the quiet hum of his voice in your right ear and the silver cross necklace rising and falling on his chest with each breath. You tried to sync your breaths with his even, steady ones and although it took awhile, you managed to calm yourself down to a non-hysterical state.

Tom’s fingers, however, never faltered in their dance along your spine. “Good girl,” He hummed soothingly.

Tingles tickled at each of your vertebrae.

Good girl. Was he trying to kill you?

Clearing your throat, you set the trash bin beside the desk where it lived and stood up to move closer to the door and away from Tom. You were pretty sure you’d embarrassed yourself in front of a hot guy enough for one day and didn’t want to do anything rash...like jump his bones for calling you a good girl.

You felt yourself getting hot again.

“I’m sorry.” You fiddled with the damp hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “I just...needed some air and then I spilt beer all over myself and—yeah.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He shrugged like a girl having a panic attack in his room was normal, then gestured to your ruined outfit. “I’ve got some stuff you can borrow if you want.”

“Oh! No, it’s okay, really—”

“C’mon. That can’t be comfortable,” He said with a raised brow. He was already rummaging through his dresser drawers before you could protest anymore. “Let me help you out, alright? I’ve already been the biggest dick to you tonight.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you took the clean clothes from his outstretched hand and sent him an awkward smile.

“Thanks. I’ll, um, get these back to you. Sometime.”

He grinned at how awkward and fumbly you were. It was cute. He liked that he was the cause of it.

“Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” He agreed cheekily, unable to hide the smile on his lips. “Gives me an excuse to see you again, huh, darlin’?”

Oh.

This boy was definitely trying to make you explode and you were two seconds away from doing so, sweat pooling even quicker in areas you didn’t even want to fathom.

Thankfully, before you had the chance to embarrass yourself any further, Tom turned his back on you, chuckling lowly under his breath and urged you to get changed.

As you toed out of your high-tops and peeled your sticky, black shirt from your torso, your attention wavered just as you reached for his heather grey t-shirt. You distractedly grasped the soft material to put it on, but you were too entranced by Tom’s back muscles through his own shirt to follow through.

The fabric was stretched taut over the expanse of his broad shoulders and every little movement allowed you to see the rippling muscle that was underneath it. Your fingers itched to slip under his shirt and feel his toned back for yourself, to lightly dig your n—

“Jude said your friend is waitin’ for you on the porch.” His English twang had you throwing the clean clothes on hastily before he turned back around. “I’ll walk you down.”

All you wanted was to get out of this frat house and into your shower as quickly as possible so you agreed even though you felt like your insides were on fire.

You gathered your dirty clothes and hooked your fingertips into the canvas backs of your shoes before you were ushered out into the corridor. The party seemed to have thinned out a considerable amount with only the occasional person loitering about on the second floor; the thought of someone seeing you with Tom’s baggy clothes on made your cheeks flush and you tilted your head down towards the floor, avoiding anyone’s curious eye. To your anxious mind, it felt like everyone was watching you and Tom descend the grand stairs in the fraternity’s house so you held your gaze with the dark hardwood floor the entire trek to the porch.

His warm palm met the small of your back for the second time that night and you cautiously glanced up into his dark brown irises. You were surprised to see the incredibly soft edge they had taken on and even more surprised by the way your spine instinctively arched against his hand.

A guy had never touched you like this before—it felt intimate and tender and you were a stranger to it.

“Hey.” He had to stoop down towards your ear so you could hear him over the still-blaring music. His breath tickled your neck and his bottom lip brushed the tip of your ear. You couldn’t stop from shivering. “Are you alright?”

No, you weren’t. He was really, really close and your heart was beating dangerously fast again.

“Yeah,” You breathed in reassurance, pushing what you hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

He didn’t look completely convinced. However, he didn’t push the subject further and you were grateful.

“Alright.” He nodded and it was silent for a split second until you both reached the front door. “You look beautiful in my clothes by the way.”

And then Tom was pushing open the door and there on the porch like he said was a worried Scout. Thankfully, she was way too preoccupied with hurtling questions of “are you okay?” and “what happened?” for her to notice the way your skin was flushed and how you couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye.

The weight of the fingers splayed along the base of your spine disappeared as Scout swept you away from Tom and into her crushing embrace.

“Oh my God!” She shrieked as she hugged you to her, your bundle of clothes and shoes between you digging into your stomach. “You scared the hell out of me. Did you fall in the toilet or something?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, a small snort of a laugh left your throat.

“I’m fine,” You reassured and tangled your digits with hers, tugging her down the porch stairs with you. “And no, I didn’t ‘fall in the toilet.’ I just want to go home and drown myself in the shower.”

“Good. You smell like shit.” Her nose wrinkled. “And please enlighten me on how you ended up in Tom fucking Holland’s bedroom.”

You laughed again and spared a glance over your shoulder.

Tom still stood on the porch, readjusting his backwards hat over his brunette curls. You caught the little smirk on his lips and you swore he winked before Scout was tugging you further up the sidewalk and you were forced to turn back around.

Every inch of your body tingled.

It wasn’t until you stood under the shower head’s chilly spray of water back in your residence hall that you realized you’d left your phone in Tom’s room.

TOM TAGLIST:

@xoxohollands ♡ @outshineallthestars ♡ @pcterparxer ♡ @worldoftom ♡

RETROGRADE ONLY TAGLIST:

@softholand ♡ @sushiinmidnight ♡ @stuckonspidey ♡

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marvelhero-fics · 4 years

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Silent Britain

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You and Tom are working as love interests in a new Scorsese film, essentially leading to be love interests in real life

A/N: This is technically chapter one! Thanks for all the support on the prologue I'm glad heaps of you enjoyed it! I also wasn’t really planning on doing a taglist for this fic but a lot of people requested to be on it so I ended up making one (it’s below the cut at the bottom). If you’d like to be on it just send me a message or leave a comment on pretty much any Silent Britain post. Thanks for the support again!!!!!!

This chapters a bit of a slow-burn but next chapter get much more interesting. Please go read the prologue first, this chapter will make much more sense if you do. It’s linked down below in the masterlist.

The italics in this story are the readers thoughts!

Word Count: 3,800

Silent Britain Masterlist || Full Masterlist

And there goes the explosion. “I need to pull over. I’m about to have a stroke.”

The next two weeks truly flew by. You were partly happy, because you couldn’t wait to fly out to California and meet everyone, but it did also heighten your nerves. You did as much research as you could about Britain in the 70’s, even taking time to go see your grandparents who were conveniently alive at the time. But, by their description of the decade you could tell they must’ve been on some crazy drug back then, I guess that’s a pretty big tell of what the 70’s were like anyway.

“I promise you’re gonna do such an amazing job, I’m always just a phone call or text away if you need me, (Y/N/N).” Evie sung, pulling you into the tightest embrace.

“I know, Eve. I’m gonna miss you so much.” You pouted. To make life a little easier for yourself, you’d decided to fly out to California and stay there until production started, which was set to be in about a month. That way you didn’t have to fly there, then home, then there again, considering it was a twelve hour flight, and God, you hated flying.

“You are going to be incredible, my darling girl.” Your mum stated, giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see you for a while so she’d come over to send you off.

“Thanks mum. I love you heaps and I’ll call you when I get there.” You were incredibly close with your mum. She had always been such a huge support system for you and your career, you always credited any success you had to her.

And with that, you were in the car being driven to the airport.

The twelve hour flight had taken your physical and mental battery down to about 0. Even up in First Class all you did was read your script over and over, and panic. As well as getting some time to watch The Departed, one of Scorsese’s incredibly well done films. Unfortunately, instead of enjoying it, you essentially studied it. Fortunately, you got to use your ‘Taxi Driver’ notebook. Is this slightly obsessive? You studied how DiCaprio and Nicholson delivered their lines, and how often the sets changed, and all the camera angles. God, you’re purposely trying to freak yourself out now.

Touching down in California was nice. The first thing you really noticed was the heat. It was July, so it was the middle of summer, and in California it got hot. Of course, you weren’t complaining, this meant nice air conditioning on set, as well as good weather to work with in production. Yea, that would be the only thing I think about.

An older looking gentleman stood at the arrival gate with a sign that read (Y/L/N) in bulk letters. You quickly went over to greet him. Lazily, you strolled out to the large SUV, trying to get as much time on your feet as possible after the long flight. You’d seen photos, and heard horror stories of actors being mobbed at airports, with fans even waiting at the arrival gates all day to catch a glimpse of their favourite celebrity. That never happened to you, but you tried to be much more thankful than jealous. Large crowds weren’t really your forte.

“How was your flight, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Your driver politely asked, turning on the engine of the car.

“It wasn’t too bad. It just felt super long,” you chuckled, sluggishly.

“Well, at least you’re back on solid ground now.” He smiled through the rear-vision mirror.

“Yea, very happy to be. Out of curiosity, are you picking up any other members of the cast?” You peered up, knowing this man likely worked for the studio.

“Indeed, I am. I picked up Jude Law yesterday morning, and Daniel Craig and Rachel Weisz last night.” He responded,

“Huh, and what’re they like?”

“Well, Mr Law was very friendly, we ended up chatting most of the way to the hotel. And Mr Craig and Mrs Weisz seemed lovely, but I didn’t talk with them very much. They were a little more closed off.” He continued, you simply nodding to his words, “And I believe I’m picking up a Mr Holland much later tonight.”

“Oh, right. Busy day for you then.”

“Well, it’s just the usual.” And with that, you stopped talking. Your mind wandered off the small talk. God almighty, it’s gonna be a fucking long night tonight. You thought, simply just processing all the things you knew you had to organise before tomorrow. The ride to the hotel didn’t seem like a very long one, or maybe it was? Maybe you’d zoned out to an entire different reality and didn’t notice time passing, either way you made it to the Four Seasons and checked in with no trouble at all.

It was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from the Four Seasons. A small, spacious living area, with a large, grey L-shaped couch, and a big-screen TV. A small kitchen to the left, that you’re sure wouldn’t be able to make more than a bowl of pasta. A bedroom off in a separate room, with a bed that was far too big for one person. And an Asylum-white bathroom with a bathtub that was going to make your stay here much better. Looks like this is home for the next month. Being apart of the Hollywood scene, you got kind of used to hotel rooms becoming a second home. The amount of time you spent essentially having to tour around California for filming, staying in different hotels with similar-looking hotel rooms just became second nature.

First point of action; now that you’d touched down and gotten comfortable, was to call your mother. She’d slowly figured out how to worry less about you, now that you were older and had figured your life out a bit more, but she was still always going to be a mother.

The phone only rang twice before she picked up. “Hey, mum.” You greeted,

“Hi, love! I’m glad you’re safe and well, how was your flight?”

“Long. But the hotel’s really nice.” You responded, letting your body fall back onto the king-sized bed.

“Did you watch any movies?”

“Yea, I watched The Departed.”

“Oh, that’s a bit of a grim film, love.” Your mum stated, being as motherly as ever.

You chuckled a bit, “wait until you see the film I’m about to be in.”

“Did you get any sleep on the plane? And how was the food?”

“Yea, the food was really nice, it was like a salmon and couscous thing. And no, I didn’t really get any sleep, but I didn’t really try too, I kinda had a lot of other things to do.” You spoke.

“Well, you need to make sure you get some sleep tonight. And you let me know if you need anything at all!” Your mother conveyed

“Thanks, mum. And I promise everything is going fine, I’m fine. And I’ll let you know how the cast meet up and rehearsals go.” You returned. And with her best wishes, your mother hung up. That left you lying there, your body slightly sunken into the soft mattress of the Four Seasons bed. Almost every celebrity you’d met had told you to not search your own name on the internet. They always told you you’d find some very unfavourable things, but if you didn’t go looking for it you wouldn’t find it. So with that excellent mentality, you searched your name.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). It took only seconds to type and click enter. The first article talked about the upcoming film. I guess the news already broke. It was probably leaked purposely for publicity, you didn’t care either way.

Upcoming Scorsese Film to have Star-Filled Line Up, Signing Hopkins, Hardy, Bale, and (Y/L/N). Being called a star was quite nice. It always shocked you just a little bit, knowing that people knew your name. Knowing that you’d actually become news. This is what you’d wanted for a long time though, to be a movie-star. You read further into the article.

‘Scorsese’s latest film to centre around 1970’s British Mob family, the Bakers. No news on the initial release date, however official members of the cast include Tom Hardy, Anthony Hopkins, Christian Bale, and (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’ The article showed photos of the four of you, including a photo of Scorsese. At least they picked a nice picture.

‘If this mobster film is anything like we’ve seen in the past from Scorsese, we can expect a stunning and vivid look at the ugliness and volatile nature of true Gangster films. Potentially even a few Academy Awards if Scorsese continues his war-path of masterly crafted cinema.’ You even chuckled at that last line, the Academy Awards. You’d attended the Emmys last year and that was the highlight of your life. If you were at the Oscars you’d probably spontaneously combust. You flicked your phone off and threw it to the other side of the bed, lying patiently in the quickly setting Californian sun. Am I supposed to feel this overwhelmed? You simply sat with your thoughts for a few moments, knowing that nothing was going to be the same after this film. Martin Scorsese essentially started Robert De Niro’s career in Taxi Driver, same with Jodie Foster. Not to mention Al Pacino’s career starting in a 70’s gangster film too. Each of these actors now being multi-award winning, millionaires. I don’t think I could function being that famous.

Once you’d finished basking in the glory and horror of it all, you sorted out your clothes from all of your luggage, and headed to bed. It was probably still too early to be in bed, but you’d had no sleep on the flight and just wanted to rest, especially for the chaos of tomorrow.

That all-too-familiar noise of your phone alarm ripped you back into consciousness. Surprisingly, you’d slept like the dead last night. You thought the panic and nerves would’ve kept you up, or disrupted your sleep, but thankfully it was actually very peaceful. Wonder how long that’s gonna last. Everything you did during the morning was mechanical. Having a shower, getting dressed, doing your hair and make-up. It was all just simply going through the motions while your mind ticked away. You tried to remember every part of the script, while also going over today’s encounters. Am I supposed to act like a fan of these actors? Or do I act super cool? Like I don’t care?

Your gaze rested upon your figure in the mirror. Wearing a casual pair of jeans, a regular t-shirt, with your favourite Nikes. Along with bits and pieces of jewellery that fitted. Do I look too plain? Like one of the million assistants on set? Was everyone else going to be dressed up? What sort of cast meet up is this? It was 9:00 am, so regardless of your racing thoughts, you didn’t have any time to change. You grabbed your hand-bag, script, and note-book and went downstairs to get into the car the studio had sent, and with that you were on the long drive to set. Neither you or the driver talked to each other, you partly blamed yourself for not initiating conversation. Your mum would’ve been upset with you. ‘No matter how famous you get, my darling, you’re not allowed to look down on others. You can never think of yourself as better than others. You’ll always be a regular person, who makes mistakes, and does great things. Always, always be kind.’ She’d always lecture you. God, you’d kill to have your family here with you.

The SUV pulled up to the lot, getting access to the private area where the meet-up was happening. You made sure to thank the driver before you met up with a shorter, plumper lady, who obviously seemed like she was expecting you by her greeting.

“Welcome to the studio, (Y/N). My name’s Angela, I’m the production manager for Silent Britain.” She spoke, the Californian accent very prominent in her voice.

“Nice to meet you.” You responded,

“It’s nice to meet you too, if you could just follow me, I'll take you to the room where everyone’s meeting.” She said with a smile.

“Sounds good.” Angela walked you to the huge garage-type room. Well, it wasn’t actually a room, it was just an empty stage on the lot. The 12 ft tall garage-like door was open to let natural light illuminate it. It was full of people, most of whom you’d never seen in your life. Everyone from the special effects men, to the boom mic operators, to the assistant director were packed in. Luckily it was a huge area. Angela told you to follow her further, taking you to a separated room down the other end of the stage. This was the room full of actors. God, we’re pretentious. Needing a whole other room to ourselves. Not only did it have the main actors, it had quite a few background actors. Which, admittedly, you were slightly thankful for. If it was just the main actors you’d be the least famous person in the room, and that’s never the best feeling.

Angela let you know that the meeting would be happening very soon. By meeting, she essentially meant the presentation about the film, and how production was going to work and such. And with that flow of information, she left. Leaving you to fend for yourself in a room full of actors.

Who the fuck am I supposed to talk too? Why does everyone seem to know someone already? “Hiya!” A loud, high pitched noise rang behind you. You turned on your heel to see a slightly shorter girl with long, wavy brunette hair.

“Hi?” You returned, not sure if she was mistaking you for someone she knew.

“I’m Allison.” She introduced, extending her hand out.

“Oh, right. I’m (Y/N).” You smiled back, shaking her hand.

“Yea, I’ve actually seen you in quite a few films before. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Wow, I’m really not used to actually being recognised.” You somewhat laughed, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders.

“You’re playing the lead role in this film though, aren’t you?” She queried.

“Yea, Elizabeth Baker. I’m still not entirely sure how I landed that. Do you mind if I ask who you’re playing?” You responded.

“Of course! I’m playing Donna, which is one of Lizzie’s school friends.” She explained. It was only a very minor role, with maybe one line of dialogue. But she seemed happy enough to be here.

“Oh, well, thanks for introducing yourself. Now I’ll finally know someone on set.” You joked.

“Do you not know the other actors already?”

“Honestly, no. I haven’t really had the chance to meet anyone yet.”

“You should go over and introduce yourself. You’re the lead role! And maybe you could introduce me to some of them.” She laughed, trying to slightly play off the words she just said. Ah, lovely. Someone trying to use me to their advantage.

“Hm.” You simply smiled. “I think I’ll just grab a coffee first, then maybe I’ll socialise.” You added, taking almost no time to venture away from her.

You moved towards the small tables set up with coffee, tea, water and small snacks. You couldn’t help but notice the divide in the room. There was the big-time actors to one side of the room, and the lesser-known, mainly extras to the other side. You also couldn’t help but notice that you stood on the extras side of the room. In the moment you didn’t particularly care. You spent time fiddling away with the sugar packets, not even making a coffee as you thought about your next move. You needed to go introduce yourself, to at least one person you were going to be acting beside. But who were you supposed to choose? I bet Daniel Craig wasn’t this nervous introducing himself. Fuck, I wouldn’t be if I was James Bond.

Without thinking past James Bond, you walked over to the ‘A-list’ actor area. Fuck it, I’m the greatest. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet me. You repeated, entirely trying to sike yourself up. Daniel Craig, Michael Fassbender, Christian Bale, and Rachel Weisz stood in a small group, chatting amongst themselves. Oh, this is definitely the most threatening group. You thought, diving straight in.

“Hi there,” You interrupted, “I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You spoke, confidently. Good thing I’m such a good actor.

“Nice to meet you,” Michael responded, his Irish accent thick as he spoke. Daniel, Rachel, and Christian all introduced themselves after, breaking into a conversation about Martin Scorsese.

“I actually haven’t had the chance to meet him. Not properly at least.” You stated, referring back to your audition were you simply spoke in front of him, without him engaging in much conversation.

“He’s great. He’s incredibly intelligent at what he does, but he is really fast paced. He seems to constantly be thinking about the next thing to do.” Daniel began speaking, “But try not to be nervous, he’s pretty good at sensing nerves.” He smirked. Awesome.

“As if the cast wasn’t intimidating enough.” You joked, earning a chuckle from the group. The five of you continued to discuss past acting experiences, and working together on other films and such, with yourself not having much to bring to the conversation. Simply being happy enough to stand with these four god-like actors.

Angela seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of the crowd of actors, earning a hush amongst the group. She began by thanking everyone for being here, and introducing herself once again as the production manager. She explained the outline of what was going to happen, and when production was due to start, most information of which you’d received in emails earlier. All and all, it was a very quick meeting. I guess it was more about getting to meet everyone. Angela finished her statement and the crowd sparked conversation again, most of the background actors dispersing off. As you were about to say your goodbyes, a smaller, younger gentleman walked up to where you and your newly formed actor friends stood. He handed each of you a small envelope.

“These are from Martin, inviting you to dinner with him tonight. All the information is on the letters. Please RSVP as soon as possible.” He stated, scuttling off to the next group.

“The theatrics,” Christain stated, waving the envelope, “that’s very Scorsese.” He finished.

“Who was that kid?” You asked Michael,

“Would’ve been Martins PA, probably.” He replied, opening his letter. You shrugged and opened yours. The beautiful calligraphy hit you first, each letter individually addressed to each actor. By the looks of it, the main cast of about 12 of you were invited, along with the higher up crew members. It was being held at his property in Hollywood. Well, this should be fun.

“I guess we’ll see you all there.” Daniel stated, earning a cheer of goodbyes from the rest of you as him and Rachel walked off.

“I better head off too,” You smiled, leaving Michael and Christain behind you as you strolled towards the door, continuing to read over your letter. The handwritten note occupied so much of your thought, that you’d forgotten to look where you were walking. All of a sudden, you were stumbling straight into someone's torso. The first sense to hit you was the scent, the only way you could think to describe it was the smell of the wealthy. It was an incredible cologne that you could only imagine A-listers would wear.

“Sorry, love.” His voice sung, the thick British accent very apparent. His larger hands came up to grab your shoulders, steadying your body. His grip was firm against you arms. You could feel the heat of his hands through the thin material of your shirt. You couldn’t help but notice the veins slightly bulging from his tanned forearms. You face moved up so your gaze aligned with his. Brunette curls, light brown eyes, glowing smile, a jawline that looked like it was carved from stone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was walking.” You awkwardly laughed as Toms taller frame stood right in front of you. Do not freak out.

“Don’t worry about it.” He responded, “I was meaning to come meet you earlier, but I got a little caught up. I’m Tom, by the way.” He added, his grin not leaving his face. Yea, I fucking know.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” You replied, politely.

“Yea, I’m actually a bit of a fan. I’ve seen some of your work in the past, I’m really glad you got this role.” He added.

“Oh, wow. I thought we we’re going to play it cool, but I’m a huge fan of yours too. I love all the Marvel stuff.” You broke out of your ‘big-time actor’ persona. He chuckled at your comment.

“I see you got an invite, too.” He pointed down at your letter, holding his in his hand too.

“Oh yea. Have you ever done this sort of thing before? Like this whole dinner with the cast thing?”

“Yea, a few times actually. Robert Downey Jr loved doing this stuff for the Marvel cast.” He returned, “with the directors, and the crew and everyone.”

“Right, well I’ve never done all this before. It’s pretty crazy.”

“Yea, I know. The cast of this movie is fucking insane. I’ve never seen so many stars in one room, honestly.” Tom acknowledged. “You seem like you’re holding it all together pretty well.”

“No, I’m just a really good actor, internally I’m absolutely freaking out.” You stated in a joking manner, earning a laugh from Tom. I mean, it’s true.

“That’s great practice for the film them.” He replied, his eyes looking deeper into yours. You could almost feel your knees turning to jelly.

“I’m so sorry to leave you stranded like this, but I really need to get back to my hotel and sort my shit out for this dinner tonight.” You spoke, truthfully.

“Oh, yea. I should probably go do the same. I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yes, you will. It was really nice to meet you, Tom.” You expressed, your hand moving to rest against his bicep as you cocked your head with a smile. He returned the good-bye and you waltzed out of the stage. Your heart was pumping in your throat and you had to bite down on your lip to suppress your awfully huge grin. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

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nisaeiam · 5 years

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TIMELESS - an ACOTAR fanfiction

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5

Also posted here on fanfiction.net

CHAPTER 6

The city of Velaris glowed under the afternoon sun as Zivia leaned over the balcony at the House of Wind. The others have left after their discussion earlier, except for Mor.

"Isn't it pretty?" she said as she stepped beside her on the railing.

The wind blew and Zivia closed her eyes, feeling the sweet caress on her face. "It is."

"Sorry about earlier."

She opened her eyes and turned toward Mor who appeared to be looking far into the city, but not really. Her gaze felt lost farther away.

"Do I really look that weak?" She meant it as a joke.

"No! Of course not, no." Mor snapped her attention to her and shook her head vigorously. "I don't doubt your abilities for a second. I know how you're completely capable of handling yourself on your own." She let out a soft chuckle. "The moment I saw how you effortlessly got under Rhys's skin I knew that then."

Zivia lifted her brows as a smile tugged at her lips. It was never her intention to annoy the High Lord, contrary to what her parents probably would have wanted her to do, but she didn't think that it would be so easy. Sure, she was told that the strongest Lord in Prythian's history isn't at all that bad and terrorizing as people perceives him to be but to actually see that soft albeit sensitive side of his, she couldn't help but tease him for it and that it wouldn't take that much effort on her part.

Mor looked back over the balcony. Her golden locks catching the afternoon chill.

"It was a piss-poor attempt to get Azriel to volunteer accompanying you."

"Why?"

"Because I – " She took a deep breath as if trying to snatch her lost words from the air. "You see, my father will be coming here in a week."

The bite in her voice at the word 'father' told her something about their relationship. Her suspicions were confirmed when Mor told her the story of her past with her family and the events that led to him going to the city.

"Az and Cassian would be looking out for him the entire visit. By the cauldron, they've actually been planning security protocols for months now!"

"But you're still skeptical."

"Yes." Mor sighed. "I just have this feeling that it won't go well. I know Keir. He'll think my absence as a sign of weakness and he wouldn't pass an opportunity to mock me in their presence. Azriel, he'd – " She cut herself off and started shaking her head. "It won't end well."

"You care for him."

It was more of a question than a declaration. Zivia noticed the tension between the two every time they get into close proximity with each other. If not for the fact that either of them would intentionally avoid or ignore each other at some times, she'd actually think that they're together.

"It's not like that." Mor said. "I mean I do care for him, but not in that way. It's really complicated."

"Ah. But he cares for you in that way."

Mor paused, puckering her lips as she threw a side glance at her.

"He's really not that good in hiding that, is he? Not as much as he thinks he does, at least."

She shrugged her shoulders and gave her a tight-lipped smile in reply. Anyone would've discerned those occasional glances that the Illyrian sends her way, the way his shadows would disappear in her presence or how his aura changes at the sight of her. How his unreadable face becomes readable; muscles in his jaw relaxing, gaze softening ever so slightly, lips trembling a bit – "

She shook her head at the thought. She's paying too much attention.

"Well good thing you got him to go." She muttered as she scratched her nose, ignoring the heat that crept up her body.

"Good thing that Rhys allowed him to go. He probably knew what I was trying to do. He knew that that visit won't go as smoothly as he wants it to be if Azriel were to be included in the equation, given what happened the last time he and Eris met."

"No worries. I'll keep him occupied."

As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted saying them. The look on Mor's face told her enough how it all sounded so wrong. She should've used a different term. But before she could explain herself, Mor gave her a mischievous smile and said, "I know you would."

Then she left her at the balcony cursing at herself for being flustered.

===================

Stardusts

That's what Zivia thought as she looked at all the lights dancing off the waves of the river. It looked like an extension of the night sky above them – full of stars that are so close to the touch. They just finished eating dinner at a restaurant where the group clearly frequented as the owner blurted "Oh, a newcomer!" as soon as she saw her.

The food they had wasn't anything like she tasted before and as much as she'd like to gorge herself on it, she couldn't help feeling all nervous and awkward infront a large group of people. It was one thing to dine with the High Lord and his entourage at the House of Wind. Eating out with them at a public place like this was definitely out of her comfort zone. Not to mention the addition of two more people – one whose presence reminded her of Jude, her father's general and also the one who trained her. Despite the female's small stature, she looked threatening enough that she felt like standing in attention and ready to obey her every command. The other one made her lament her absolute lack of effort in making herself presentable. Not that it would make her any prettier than the lady who so effortlessly looked like a goddess. She later learned that she's actually the High Lady's older sister.

The Cauldron definitely didn't hold back when it created these beings.

She was deep in thought when Mor slung an arm over her shoulder and giggled in her ear.

"Want to come with us?"

Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol but she doesn't seem too drunk, yet.

"Where? We just ate."

"We're going to Rita's," said Cassian, appearing at their side. "Mor here likes to dance. Join us and we'll show you how great parties are here at the Night Court."

"I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself, thank you very much."

Cassian let out a snort but she ignored it. The thought of going for a dance at this hour wasn't exactly how she envisioned spending the rest of her night. Besides, she already reached the limit of her allotted social interactions for the day. She needed – wanted – to be alone for now.

And she couldn't dance.

"Come on. It'll be fun!" pleaded Mor. "Azriel's coming too."

Her head snapped to the shadowsinger who was lounging by the diner's entrance. He was having a conversation with the petite female while Rhysand was busy paying their tab, Feyre and her sister were saying their thanks to the shopowner.

He obviously didn't strike her as the reveller sort but perhaps broody guys also needed to let themselves loose once in a while. Squinting her eyes, she tried to imagine how is he actually going to do that. It seems odd – if not entirely weird and unlikely. He turned and met her eyes, eyebrows shooting up in question. She quickly averted and focused back on Mor.

"Uhh. No. I'm sorry but I'm feeling a bit tired already so I'll have to pass."

She flashed an awkward smile and hoped that they wouldn't press any further because she couldn't think of any more lousy excuses to give.

Thank the Mother they didn't.

They all exchanged farewells as they parted ways. Mor gave her a small wave as she walked up the street to where Cassian was already waiting. Azriel followed behind. The High Lady and her sister headed straight for the river-estate while the other female – Amren – went off on her own. She doesn't seem to be staying with them as she did not see her either at the house the time she went there.

"Don't tell me you're going dancing too?" she said when they were all out of sight and Rhysand remained standing across her at the riverside.

"I might," he chuckled. "But no, I need to retrieve something from the town house."

She considered for a moment before offering to walk with him there, saying something about helping in digestion. Rhys just cocked his head and started walking.

"How are Miraym and Drakon doing?" he asked as they strode over the bridge. Some of the people would pause to greet their lord whenever they passed by them. It still quite unnerves her whenever their attention would fall on her so she threw an illusion to hide her attention-seeking wings.

"They're doing fine now. They've been quite busy since after returning from the war creating various wards and spells to ensure that the Cauldron remains hidden – untouched and safe deep within the island."

"Sorry for putting that burden to your parents."

"I'm sure they don't mind. It wasn't much of an inconvenience for them as you might think. They don't seem to be bothered by anything, really."

"So you think they don't mind sending you here when they know how unstable the situation is and that you could be targeted for knowing where that thing is hidden?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not a youngling anymore uncle."

Rhysand winced at the title and she stifled a laugh at his reaction. It wasn't really his fault for not expecting her to be the one sent as Cretea's emissary.

"Besides," she continued. "I think they're more than willing to have me out of the palace for once. Honestly, it is a mystery how I haven't had any other sibling yet."

The High Lord burst out into laughter and she had to physically stop him to avoid more attention from around them.

"You know," he said in between breaths "I'd actually think that they had put that spell around the island for that sole purpose."

They passed along the street where the sweet shop she bought chocolates from before stood and was tempted to run straight to it. She already feels the weight of the meal she had settle down her stomach.

There's always room for a desert.

Later, she thought. She'd come back later.

She was busy contemplating what to buy that she forgot about what Rhys said.

"Oh that. That may have been because of me actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Three centuries ago, I wandered off the border and got caught in an accident that almost killed me."

All the amusement vanished from the high lord's face instantly. He turned towards her expecting more from her story.

"They had to set up the shield after that." She gave him a wide-toothed smile. "They had no idea that it would be so effective to even deter good-willing people; gave you a hard time calling out for us."

It was an effort to shrug it off like it didn't matter a bit – like it still doesn't affect her to this day. Rhysand, sensing her unease about the topic, was quiet for a moment. He just nodded in understanding and continued walking in silence until they reached the front porch of the town house.

"Don't go telling me now that I don't have to go," she demanded as he turned to face her. "I know the risks. You saved my mother back then, let me return the favour."

"That debt has already been paid. I don't want to endanger the daughter that my friends have done so much to keep safe."

She can see it in his eyes, the desire to protect people. She heard the story of what he did to spare his family from the clutches of Amarantha and of how he died to let them live. He's the kind of person who would rather lay down his life than let those close to him get hurt. It warmed her heart that that devotion extended to her even if they haven't been that close.

"You'd make a really good father."

That took him by surprise. His serious demeanor was gone in an instant and she coughed to cover the laugh rising up her throat. It was a priceless reaction he'd made but she was not going to tease him for that.

"I'll be fine," she insisted as Rhys blinked away any lingering surprise on his face. "I've got one of your famed Illyrian warriors on my side. We're going to be a force to reckon with."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and a warm hearted smile was the only indication that she was able to sway him.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #sarah j maas #rhysand #cassian #azriel #feyre #nesta #elain #morrigan #amren #seraphim

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missingverse · 6 years

Text

Missing Chapter Nineteen

Once again I need to apologize for a long delay. I'm in the process of moving house and it's adding stress to my already busy schedule, but thankfully because the entire country is on red alert for a storm I get to take a break for a little while.

Also, a note: don't worry that this might be close to the end, I still have quite a lot of story to get through.

…..

The hell of it, according to Ambrose Palmer's internal thoughts, was that he wasn't even supposed to be in Warleybridge that day.

The police station had called him a month before to ask if he would mind coming down to pick up some of the belongings Ed had left behind after thirty-four years being their deputy clerk. He had assured them he would, but he put it off for as long as he could. It was a long drive, the weather was bad, he had to arrange for someone to look after his dog while he took the trip....

(mostly because he had just about finished clearing all of Ed's other stuff and life was getting back to normal again)

...but eventually he manned up and tackled the drive. There wasn't even that much to pick up, just his coffee mug, a small cactus, a framed picture of the two of them from that trip to Kansas City two years before Ed died, three notebooks and a whole bunch of pens. Barely worth the trip, but Ambrose was glad he took it.

On his way back, it was getting dark and he was zoning out, there were no other cars on the road. When the lights picked up on something he managed to swerve just in time to avoid hitting it.

At first, he thought it was a deer, a fawn maybe. A moose calf even. But as he focused, he realized it was a person. Not just a person, but a child. A child in very bad shape. If it wasn't walking on the road, he would have thought it was dead.

He got out of his car and called.

“Hey....you okay?”

It was a stupid question, because the child was decidedly not okay, but what else was he supposed to do? It was moot either way because the child apparently didn't hear him. Leaving his car, mumbling uncomfortably to himself, he ran after it.

Her.

“Oh Christ....hey kid, can you hear me?”

She stopped in the road and stared at him, unblinking. She was skeletal, her face was covered in blood and the rest of her was covered in mud, insect bites and long thin scratches.

“Okay....okay....” Ambrose muttered, reaching gingerly for her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “We need to get you to a hospital.....you're gonna be okay, all right? Everything's going to be fine.”

It was the same kind of panicked babbling that Ed made fun of him for as he was nearing the end, but it was better than nothing. The girl seemed to agree, because the next moment her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell into a dead faint. Ambrose caught her just before she hit the asphalt.

“Shit,” he muttered, lifting her into his arms and rushing back to the car. “Oh lord....just hang on, sweetie, we'll getcha to the hospital, they'll fix you up good as new....”

He wrapped her up in an old blanket sitting in the boot of the car and drove with her stretched out on his lap, so he could make sure she was still breathing. Warleybridge had a small hospital-slash-respite home, he'd been there a lot with Ed.

He talked all the way back to Warleybridge, a non-stop outpouring of reassurances, promises and whatever the hell else popped into his head. If she heard any of it she gave no sign.

…..

She was checked against the Jane Doe registry, because of course she was. It was standard procedure.

The fact that she wasn't immediately identified as relatively-well-known-missing-child Helga Pataki was down to a perfect storm of circumstances that might not have happened had she ended up somewhere else.

*Firstly, the most recent pictures of Helga Pataki weren't really that recent. The one used on the national database was taken when she was eight, the other few that showed her between ten and eleven were deemed too blurry or too distracting to be useful.

*She had lost a lot of weight in captivity, and due to emaciation didn't look anything like her picture. Some of her hair had fallen out and her eye sockets were too bruised to take a good comparison photo. The doctors that treated her put her age at between seven and nine.

*The teeth that had been removed caused swelling in her jaw, knocking the entire lower half of her face out of kilter.

*Warleybridge was a rural area, and though they had internet it was slow and spotty. Loading pictures even in the sheriff's office or the hospital took longer than average, and after searching through pictures of little blonde girls all day with no clues people got fed up and left it.

*DNA taken from the girl didn't match anything in the system, and she could not be identified via dental records or any other medical procedures. As far as could be told, she hadn't had any medical care of any kind in her life.

*A backlog of work had been building up at the sheriff's office since the death of their clerk and they were having trouble finding a replacement. Therefore, they had been cutting corners on a lot of things, including calling around other sheriff's offices in nearby states.

*There were 'hillbilly' families in the area who lived off-grid and mostly under the radar of any kind of social services. Occasionally they popped up when someone was very ill but it was rare. Farming accidents were common with these people, as were hunting accidents, and it was thought likely that the girl had been left for dead after something like this.

So, for five years, even as reports and stories and podcasts and TV programs and forums and blogs all wondered what had become of her, Helga Pataki was lying in a hospital bed in Warleybridge, anonymous and mostly ignored.

…..

The name 'Serenity Doe' was a quip courtousy of a local who thought she was in a coma. Coma was not quite the right diagnosis, nor was she in a persistent vegetative state. What she had was closer to catatonia, she had moments of waking and even lucidity.

One month after she'd been brought in, she woke up but seemed to be incapable of speech and frustrated that she couldn't make herself understood. Paper and pens were given to her but when she tried to write it was an incomprehensible scribble. She was holding the pen correctly, though, so they knew she was educated at least a little. She was back sleeping within twelve hours.

The next time she woke, it was the middle of the night, and she tried to get out of bed but only succeeded in spraining her weakened ankles. Tube-feeding was helping her gain weight but it was slow, and she had mild atrophy from being in bed for so long.

Ambrose Palmer visited once a week, and when she woke for the third time she seemed to recognize him. She still couldn't write recognizably, but she managed to fold a piece of paper into an origami crane to give to him. The following week, he brought a guitar. She was back sleeping again, but he played for her and she could be observed smiling in her slumber.

Fourth and fifth times she woke, she managed to drag herself to the hospital kitchen, made herself a sandwich, ate it and then vomited because she couldn't handle solid food yet. A year had passed and she had ceased to be an interesting story to the town, but was still a patient the hospital staff were very protective of.

In her second year, she woke just three times. Once was just as Ambrose was arriving for his weekly visit, and it was thought that hearing him talk to the nurse in the hallway jolted her awake.

She woke more the third year, but for shorter lengths of time. Instead of twelve to twenty-four hours, she would have spells of lucidity for three hours or less. She did speak some recognizable words, mostly 'home' 'baseball' 'bridge' 'notebook', names of objects but never anything descriptive.

In year four she managed fragmented sentences, out of context and garbled. Talking about baseball games she had played when asked what she wanted to eat, complaining about the cold during a heat wave, telling Ambrose over and over (as he nodded along patiently) about some history report she had gotten a B- on. At the very least these 'conversations' ruled out the possibility that she was an off-grid hillbilly kid; she was educated and had a mild inner-city accent.

Year five was the most dramatic. She spent more time asleep than she had since the first year, but she could speak coherently and clearly when she was awake. She still couldn't explain who she was, where she had come from or what had happened to her, but she could answer simple questions, tell the doctors when something was hurting and hold a full back-and-forth exchange with Ambrose on his visits.

She seemed to be under the impression that she had only recently arrived at the hospital, and was convinced that she had just been somewhere else with someone whose name she couldn't quite recall. She had done his homework for him, apparently, and went on bike rides sitting in his basket. The nurses giggled, not unkindly, that she had an imaginary boyfriend.

By now she had gained much of the weight she had lost, though she was still thin and pale from living indoors and in bed for five years, and if they had checked they might have seen a resemblance to Helga Pataki. But by now all thoughts of trying to identify her had been put out of their mind, and they preferred to take care of the person they had now with the hopes that she would some day be able to live a normal life.

St Jude's Hospital and Convalescent home ticked along nice and quiet right up until a boy turned up claiming he knew the girl who had been sleeping for five years.

…..

In the motel, he squirmed and paced. Arnold wanted to get to Warleybridge as fast as possible. If there was even a small chance that Helga's body was there, dead or alive, he needed to see for himself. But just his luck that he would find this out just as Helga had gone into one of her long sleep cycles.

Should he message Phoebe? He wanted to. But if he turned up at this place and it turned out to be a false lead.....

But again, she had asked him not to keep things from her. He had to respect that.

Phoebe, I need to tell you something.

What's up? Did you find her?

Yeah, I did. We're at a motel in Tappenack.

But I found something else out here.

What is it?

A missing girl was found on this

highway five years ago. She's been

in a coma in the local hospital ever since.

Are you serious? Arnold,

if this is some sort of joke,

it's not funny.

I wouldn't joke about something like this,

Phoebe. I'm going to check it out as

soon as Helga wakes up.

Call me as soon as you get there.

The next bus to Warleybridge was due in two hours. It was a half-hour walk down the road. He had already gathered his stuff, and there was nothing left to do but pace and wait.

He felt sick. He felt elated. He felt weak and energetic and exhausted all at once. He resisted the urge to try and shake Helga awake, trying to wake her up had never worked before.

Thankfully, just as he was starting to really panic, she did wake up. She was rubbing her eyes as he marched over and pulled her out of bed.

“What the hell...?” she grumbled drowsily.

“We need to leave now,” he told her sharply. “I'll explain on the way.”

…..

When he did get to the hospital, he must have looked a state; unshaven, sweaty, bouncing on his heels. The nurse at the front desk eyed him warily.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a frosty tone.

“You have a patient here,” he babbled at her. “She's in a coma....Serenity Doe?”

“Mm,” the nurse said, lowering her eyes. “We have a strict D-notice on press here, even school newspapers. Your teacher should have told you that.”

“What? Oh, I'm not press,” he stuttered.

“No bloggers either,” the nurse said sweetly.

“No, no, that's not why I'm here....”

“Then you're a ghoul. We got a big D-notice on those two. You can take your 'fascination' somewhere else, kid. Maybe the asylum will let you in for a gawk.”

“No, you don't understand,” he growled, taking out his phone and dragging up an internet image of Helga. “I think I know who she is. She went missing five years ago, she hasn't been seen since.”

He pushed the phone in front of the nurses' face. She looked to it, then back at him.

“And who are you to this girl?” she asked.

“A friend,” he told her. “We grew up together....there was a bunch of new evidence found, she was taken by a serial killer who was holding her near Tappenack, but her body wasn't there. It's been all over the news, and the timelines match up. If it's her, I can identify her.”

The nurse stared hard at the photo. And then she stood up.

“I need to talk to the resident on call,” she told him. “Stay here. Don't talk to anyone.”

Helga had hung back behind him, and she stepped lightly to his side once the nurse was gone.

“What if it's not me in there?” she asked. She had been subdued on the bus, in contrast to how jumpy Arnold was.

“Then we look somewhere else. We won't stop,” he told her.

The nurse arrived back with a jovial-looking man who towered over Arnold.

“So you say you know our Serenity Doe, eh?” he said with an airy tone, though his eyes glittered with something hard, angry. “And what makes you different from the other nuts who turn up here with the same story?”

“Same story?”

“Yeah, you're not the first,” the doctor laughed, a little cruelly. “We get all kinds.”

“Uh, well, I'm not a nut,” Arnold tried to explain. “I came across a news article, the timelines match and so do the locations. I could identify her if I saw her.”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor sniffed. “And what makes you think that you could identify her when five years' worth of trained professionals couldn't?”

“Because I know her,” Arnold told him, a hard edge creeping into his own voice. “I'd know her anywhere.”

“Fine, fine,” the doctor shrugged. “Tell you what, if you can give me some information about your friend that matches what we have on file, I'll let you in to see her. Something nobody else would know.”

“Okay....” he agreed as the doctor opened his file. “Um, she fractured her eye socket when she was eleven. She said it was a baseball injury but really it was because she fell into a door.”

The doctor hummed noncommittally, wrote something down. Arnold wanted to tell him about her missing teeth, but that had happened after she was taken. The scars on her head and torso, too. What else was there?

“She's had no dental work done,” he told them. “That's why she has no dental records. She had the measles too, she was never vaccinated.”

The nurse pursed her lips and looked to the doctor, whose expression didn't change. Arnold wracked his brains for more.

“She has really distinctive eyebrows,” he said. “They were really big when she was a kid, not so much now I'd say. Her hands are callused because she was the batter in Little League. She took her bat everywhere.”

“This is all pretty basic stuff,” the doctor said. “Anything else?”

That panicky feeling was rising in him again. He had grown up with Helga for eleven years, mourned her for five, sheltered her for months....how could he know so little?

Just then, Helga whispered in his ear, and he repeated it.

“She has a burn mark on her knee shaped like the letter L, from when her dad threw a lit cigarette at her,” he recited. “A whole bunch of freckles on the back of her neck....if you join them up, it makes a really wonky-looking puppy....her left arm was broken three different times, first time was when she was four....oh, and a sickle-shaped scar on her back. She fell out of a window. There's a mole just beside it.”

By now, the nurse was ashen-faced, twisting her cardigan in her hands. The doctor's anger had left him, and now he was smiling wryly.

“Sounds like she was a rough-and-tumble kind of girl,” he said, scribbling on his notes.

“The roughest,” Arnold sighed with relief. “Half the kids at school were afraid of her.”

“All right, I'll let you in. You have ten minutes.”

…..

It was her.

She was smaller and paler and thinner than she had any right to be, and she was peacefully sleeping as lights blinked and tubes dripped and little monitors beeped and booped and did their jobs around her. The ghost of her looked more alive than she did, except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she took in air the ghost didn't need.

There was the star-shaped scar, but it had faded into white scar tissue and a tiny spot where hair would no longer grow. It was proof she was alive, and healing.

Arnold was rooted to the spot, afraid if he stepped forward something would change. Maybe this was a dream and he would wake up to find none of this had happened at all. But once again, the ghost Helga jolted him out of his stupor.

Her face was stoic as she drew up beside her living body, looking down on it as though she was observing from a great height. To Arnold's dismay, she was beginning to fade.

“This is why I came back,” she said. Her voice had an odd echo to it. “This is why I came to you. So you could find me.”

Arnold shook his head, not knowing how to react.

“I knew you wouldn't give up, and you didn't,” she said, her voice wavering and distorted in the air. “I was supposed to lead you here.”

He was beyond elated that he had found Helga, alive and well, and beyond horrified that the shade he had sheltered in his home, the spirit he had laughed with and comforted and talked long into the night with and loved had fulfilled her purpose and now had no reason to be by his side anymore.

“Thank you,” she said as the first spectral tears started coursing down her rapidly fading face. “Thank you so much....”

“You don't have to go,” he said with a strangled gasp, and upon opening his mouth he tasted his own bitter tears. “We can go home, the doctors will take care of your body here. She might never wake up.”

“I do have to go,” she said, smiling as she held her body's hand. “We were separated from each other, I needed your help to bring us back together. Everything's going to be fine.”

He crossed the room in three steps, and just about managed to gather her into his arms and kiss her where the star cut through her hair before she faded away entirely and, he knew, for good.

He was properly sobbing when he sat in the chair across from Helga's body; it felt like something had been torn out of him. He took her hand, the one the ghost had been holding before she faded, and brought it to his cheek.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped. “I'm so sorry I took so long to find you.”

The body's eyes fluttered open and the head turned to look at him. She frowned a little at him, and he gave her a watery smile back.

“Hey,” he managed to say with a graceless croak. “Welcome back.”

Her mouth opened, just a little, but no sound came out. She was trying to say something. He came in closer to hear, but nothing. He watched her mouth the words before he could understand what she was trying to say.

Football Head.

#missing #hey arnold fanfiction #hey arnold

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