#colour me surprised when it turns out no this is 70s soft rock | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik (2024)

Today I learnt it's actually illegal to make a good cover of Seasons in the Sun.

0 notes

Hex Life

Fandom: WandaVisionPairing: Darcy Lewis/Jimmy WooRating: EChapters: 10/10Word Count: 34k

Summary:Guest starring Agent James E. Woo as himself and introducing Dr. Darcy Lewis as Mrs. Darcy Woo!

Or: Darcy and Jimmy are sent into the Hex to retrieve Captain Monica Rambeau. Finding out Westview has cast them as a married couple is only the first of the surprises that await them.

read ch. 1 one/ 2 two/ 3 three/ 4 four/ 5 five6 six/ 7 seven/ 8 eight/ 9 nine/ 10 ten

this fic is now complete!

Jimmy’s going to be a dad. He was going to be a dad in a black-and-white sitcom world and now he’s going to be a dad in a world on the regular spectrum, so the colours really aren’t as big a deal as his impending fatherhood. Possible fatherhood. As much as he’s always secretly wanted his own little Jimmy Woo Jr., he didn’t know if it would be in the cards for him—pun obviously intended—and the last thing he wants to do is influence Darcy either way, especially since he’s only known her a couple days and doesn’t have a clue if a baby was really part of her life plan.

It can’t just be rose-coloured glasses making him see his wife warming to the idea though; when she continues down the hall ahead of Jimmy and Monica, he spots her careful cradling of the baby bump. He can barely stand not touching her. The instinct to shelter others has always been one of his strongest and now he feels it intensely. He longs to protect Darcy, to hold Darcy, to love— Well. Jimmy clears his throat at the very thought and Monica gives him a suspicious side-eyed glance.

“Dry throat,” he lies, tapping his neck in a probably highly unconvincing gesture.

“Uh huh.”

Yeah, she doesn’t sound convinced.

He’s rescued by a burst of sound from the bedroom and dashes ahead of Monica in case Darcy’s in trouble. When he bangs the bedroom door fully open, she’s fine. She’s laughing. He sighs and looks where she points. The queen-sized mattress they shared has changed back to a pair of narrower beds.

“Seriously,” Jimmy says flatly.

“Well, the big bed worked its magic,” Darcy concedes. She pats her rounded stomach. “Mission accomplished.”

“Aw jeeze.”

Ignoring his distress, she sits on the end of the closest bed.

“What I like is that they’re magically made. I didn’t end up having to change the sheets. This is really the next step in home technology.”

“Honey, don’t encourage the magical forces that control our home décor,” he pleads, beckoning until Darcy rises and takes his outstretched hand.

“Better than getting on their bad side. In the AI uprising, you wanna make sure you’re friends with the robots.”

This is an outrageous statement coming from a credible scientist, so Jimmy squints down at her for a minute before saying, “Thanks, house,” aloud, just in case appeasing the Hex now saves him from being closed into a room with no door later, if the walls rearrange to form the ’70s model of their current home.

“You did the smart thing,” Darcy assures him.

As they leave the room, she keeps hold of his hand. He shoots adoring glances at her.

“Hey, Monica,” she says, calling to their guest, who seems to have gone to investigate the walk-in closet. “Accommodations aren’t going to be a problem. I can give you some pajamas too because I think I own at least a dozen pairs, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered…”

But when they look in the closet it’s… not a closet.

“Or maybe the Hex destroyed all my pajamas and I should take back my overtures of friendship,” Darcy corrects.

“Welcome to your nursery,” Monica says. “I’m guessing from the look on Jimmy’s face that this is new.”

It’s spartan, but there’s no doubt in Jimmy’s mind that the room is now intended to be exactly what Monica said. There’s a crib in pieces on the carpet and a rocking chair in the corner. Though he can’t remember this room having even one window, there are now two. The blinds are drawn against the night and curtains patterned with stars and streaking comets hang from a rod mounted above the window. Automatically, he pulls Darcy into his side. He feels her rest her head on his shoulder.

“Man, the Hex is really giving us the hard sell,” she comments.

Just like that, he’s guiding her around by her upper arms and propelling her from the room. He glances over his shoulder to see Monica following with an amused smile. At his nod, she pulls the door shut.

“Ignore it,” Jimmy tells Darcy. “Don’t let that room influence you.”

“Oh, like that’s easy.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know it’s hard not to picture reading Jimmy Junior to sleep in his crib, or watching him learn to roll himself over on the carpet, or cuddling him in your arms in the rocking chair as the morning light—”

“Jimmy Junior?” Darcy asks, interrupting Jimmy’s rapidly solidifying daydream.

“You know what? I’m starving,” Monica announces, putting a hand on each of their shoulders to head off the awkward pause. “How about you two show me some hospitality? I’ve had a long day of being mind-controlled.”

“How ’bout some comfort food?” he asks. “I make a mean bowl of chili.”

“Sounds great.”

So, Jimmy cooks for them. His attention is unequally divided between the simmering pot, Monica leaning against the counter next to him as she recounts the scene at the meeting when Wanda went to take his call, and Darcy sifting pickily through the contents of their fridge. He glances over after putting the lid on the pot to let the chili finish cooking and sees his wife contemplatively holding an egg like it’s Yorick’s skull. Ok, well, he’s just going to leave her to her thoughts.

He sets bowls of chili for himself and Monica on the dining room table. Darcy, justifiably finnicky, takes longer to decide what she’ll be able to stomach, reflexively rubbing the baby bump as she plunders their kitchen. Finally, she comes to sit down. She’s brought a spoon. That’s it. Jimmy’s going to ask, but Darcy just scoots her chair close to his and takes intermittent mouthfuls of his serving while the conversation continues on. He sighs in unannoyed exasperation and alternates dips of his spoon with hers.

It’s just another weird routine they’ve settled into, and like everything else, it didn’t take long.

“You two didn’t know each other before this assignment, right?” Monica checks, motioning between Darcy and Jimmy with a slice of buttered toast.

“No, why?” Darcy asks, dropping a chunk of tomato from her spoon onto his. (Apparently, she doesn’t like tomatoes.)

Monica smiles and says, “No reason.”

She seems ready to accept them as they are, whatever they are. She goes back over the events of this afternoon for Darcy’s benefit—who was zoned out staring at an egg at the time—then the three of them turn to talk of tomorrow. What does Monica feel she needs to try before she’s willing to concede and leave the Hex with them? What can she try? How can Jimmy and Darcy assist her? They talk themselves in a circle of possibilities, limitations, and Monica’s unswerving negative answer to suggestions of her leaving the Hex without getting through to Wanda. Eventually, they decide that the best plan may be no plan, since they’re up against Westview’s ever-shifting magical properties.

“We’ll get up in the morning and see what the world looks like,” Monica says.

Jimmy’s going to reply when the Captain’s expression alters.

“Are you remembering?” Darcy asks her astutely. Monica stares at her. “I don’t want to pry, I’ve just seen that look on a lot of people’s faces lately. People who came back.”

“This isn’t dissimilar,” Monica admits. “When I get anywhere near Wanda or the other characters with speaking parts and start to lose control to… Geraldine—” Jimmy thinks the look on her face is both disgusted and deeply hurt. “—I do get this feeling like the world is going on without me. Only I’m there. I’m right there. I haven’t made up my mind yet if it’s worse than being gone entirely then coming back to find nothing’s the same.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, soft, sympathetic.

“I don’t know what else the members of this community have been through, but I know I don’t want them to have to keep going through this too. I can’t imagine how tight Wanda’s grip is on the people who were here when she started this. Not sure I’m qualified to be the one to tell her how to let go of her grief and move on.”

Monica blinks quickly and gives a forced smile.

“That was good chili, Jimmy.”

He nods in thanks because he can’t find the right words to say.

They’re all carrying something and Jimmy thinks about that as the three of them clean up, then splinter off to get ready for bed, tired for different and shared reasons. (He changes into his pajamas in the nursery—they found their clothing in a new, regular-sized closet in the bedroom—while Monica and Darcy take the bathrooms.) The Captain’s carrying her recent bereavement and the unignorable sense of responsibility she feels to help Wanda and the Westviewers, possibly precisely because she isn’t ready to confront her own loss. Darcy’s doing some literal carrying with the baby bump her pajama top is buttoned over when she steps out of the en suite bathroom to let Jimmy in to brush his teeth. She’s an astrophysicist who, while studying a television diversion from reality, was brought rudely back to earth by circ*mstances as real as they come.

What Jimmy’s carrying is actually carrying him: his hope. It’s a good thing to have in his line of work, but a tough thing to keep when the world’s been through what it has. A baby is the least likely and most longed-for thing he would’ve confessed to wanting if someone asked him what was missing from his life.

When it’s acknowledged through awkward glances that, yes, Monica’s taking one of the beds and Jimmy and Darcy will share the other, he climbs under the covers his wife holds open for him. She rolls away from him to lie on her side and he gets comfortable on his back. The Hex has definitely eased up on what it wants for their romantic development because this is the first time he’s been in bed with Darcy and not felt himself caving to the need to have sex with her. Oh, the desire to touch her is as powerful as ever, but the kind of touching he craves is as tender as the flesh of that peach he brought her earlier in the day.

But he doesn’t want to crowd her. Figuratively or literally. Between finding Monica and calling Wanda, making love to Darcy all afternoon and being presented with her pregnant belly in the evening, it’s been a dog’s breakfast of a day. The mission abruptly became just the second most daunting thing he needs to pull off. Now, he’s driven by the impulse to be near Darcy. She doesn’t know it, but she’s drawing him in like gravity and he can only cross his fingers for a soft landing.

Jimmy almost jumps when she reaches for him in the dark, hand feeling behind her until it finds his. She drags his arm over her and he flips onto his side to make it easier. Though Darcy lets him go when his arm’s around her, he doesn’t know where to rest his hand. Tentatively, he places it over her belly and she wriggles back into him. Heart bursting, he holds her more securely to his body, smooths his hand over the bump, and soon falls asleep.

—

The floor wakes him up. He’s just fallen out of bed.

Disoriented, Jimmy sits up in a tangle of comforter and squints at his bed companion in the morning light. They must’ve repositioned while they slept, but that alone wasn’t what forced him to and over the edge—he can see the shape of Darcy’s belly beneath the sheet. It’s noticeably larger than it was yesterday.

He’s still trying to come to terms with that when she sleepily grasps the comforter and yanks it back over her body. Jimmy chuckles and rises into a stretch. Monica’s bed is empty and neatly made, so she must be up already. Before entering the Hex, his internal clock was strict too. Since, he bends to the needs of his subconscious, which seems happiest when it’s allowed to sleep in, particularly if Darcy’s warming the sheets next to him. This is only their third day in Westview and the second time waking up here, but it feels wonderfully routine. As satisfying as completing his consistently-timed morning run or pouring exactly the right amount of milk into his cereal.

Although he’d like to let Darcy sleep, it’s weird now because he’s staring. Anyway, they need to tighten up their operations even further today if they’re going to get out of here soon. Monica requires either success or closure with Wanda, so Jimmy’s determined to help with that. And if Darcy’s pregnancy takes another leap forward, well… that’s another time crunch to consider.

She’s lying on her side, facing him, belly in the space where he fell asleep. Gently, he brushes hair out of her face and strokes lightly up and down her arm.

Darcy gives him a murmured “Hi” with her eyes still shut.

“You gonna get up?”

“Inaminute,” she promises, words running together.

“Alright.”

Jimmy hovers for a second, then darts down to kiss her forehead. She pats his shoulder clumsily in response.

He might as well have had his own eyes shut, blind to everything but Darcy, because it takes opening his wardrobe to realize Monica was correct—everything’s changed again. WandaVision has embraced the ’70s. The shirts and suits he was pretty comfortable with have been traded out. Those items still exist, but now they’re aggressively patterned. There are flared pant legs. There is so much corduroy. Out of the row of shoes tucked into the bottom on his side of the closet, half have platform heels.

“Oh god,” Jimmy groans softly, sifting through for something that won’t feel too much like a cheesy costume.

He ends up with jeans—his only pair of pants without a pattern—and a striped shirt with wide lapels. The Hex’s makeover of his closet has him so beaten down that he doesn’t even pick out a jacket. He doesn’t have the heart for business casual. At the sight of a long-sleeved jumpsuit, Jimmy closes the closet door securely. They have to get out of here. This will be the thing that breaks him.

Slouching into the bathroom, he drops his selections on the counter and takes a shower. As he washes his hair, his fingers slow their scrubbing. Is his hair… longer? He finishes quickly and steps out to find the mirror fogged with steam. He wipes it clean with his forearm, examining his reflection. This place isn’t through with him yet: the Hex has given him a mustache.

Jimmy screams.

“Fine!” Darcy shouts back to his wordless noise of dismay. “I’m up! God, you could’ve just set an alarm and OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF THIS BABY BUMP?!”

He sighs on behalf of himself and his wife, slicks his too-long wet hair back with a comb, then starts in on shaving off the mustache. It immediately grows back.

“Come on,” he complains, cursing the Hex. “Why’d you give me a razor then?!”

Luckily, his annoyance fades the minute he sees Darcy. She’s swearing up a storm about needing to pee and her head looking too small for her body because the Hex has straightened her hair, but he takes all of her restless irritation in with a dazed smile on his face. Adjusting her glasses—now almost circular, with rounded off corners—she catches sight of his new look and erupts into laughter. Whatever the Hex does to mess with their appearance, at least they’re each other’s best medicine to combat it.

“I don’t want to be insensitive,” Monica starts when they walk into the kitchen hand in hand, “but are you significantly more pregnant than you were yesterday?”

Jimmy watches Darcy nod and slips away from her to throw some more bread in the toaster from the bag Monica’s left out on the counter for them.

“You’d think it’s just this big, shapeless dress,” Darcy says, “but no.” She pulls the fabric taut over her stomach to show the size of her belly more accurately. “I don’t want to say it, but the size of this thing makes me think the Hex is leaving me room to grow.”

“And if that dress is only for today…” Monica says.

“Jeepers,” Jimmy concludes.

They eat together in their reconfigured living room. It’s not until Monica’s kicked back in one of their low chairs, ankle propped on her opposite knee, that Jimmy notices her patterned pants.

“Those aren’t from Darcy’s closet are they?”

“No. I’m assuming they’re my clothes from yesterday with the matter recycled for a new decade. Believe me, this outfit wouldn’t have been my choice if I had anything else to pick from.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. I had a whole closet and still ended up with this,” Jimmy says, motioning to himself.

“My retro Secret Agent Man,” Darcy states admiringly, leaning her head over to bump against his shoulder. Ok, he thinks, smiling at her, I can be alright with this for her.

When Monica rises to turn on the television, Jimmy realizes this is the first time they’ve had one in the house. He remembers seeing a set in the Vision residence when he and Darcy were watching an episode on the S.W.O.R.D. base, but he didn’t notice the lack once they got here. Probably because that first night was taken up with flirting, and then yesterday was split between scouring the downtown for Monica and holing up in the bedroom with Darcy. Watching the screen buzz to life now is like witnessing something truly futuristic and spectacular.

“Well, whaddaya know,” he says as the opening sequence of WandaVision begins.

“You think the TVs in here play anything else?” Darcy wonders aloud.

“Maybe not,” Monica says distractedly as they all turn their attention to Wanda and Vision’s adorable antics—the ice cream, the tandem bicycle. “It’s a pretty big coincidence that this show started right when I turned it on.”

“I can see an even bigger coincidence.”

There’s no need to guess what Darcy means. Wanda’s baby bump is obvious in nearly every shot of the introduction, particularly emphasized when she and Vision dance together, his hand on her belly. It’s all maternity clothes and Vision reading pregnancy books and while it’s wholesome, it’s also chilling.

“We’re doing the same plot,” Jimmy says.

“It’s like we’re… their understudies,” Darcy agrees, shrinking back into the cushions.

“Maybe Wanda figured, if you two wanted to be in the show so bad, she’d put you in the show,” Monica theorizes. “Her show. Exactly the way she’s living it.”

“So she’s teaching us a lesson? On what? Abstinence?”

“Could be a misguided attempt to gain your sympathy.”

“Or it really is all about control,” Jimmy suggests, cynical after the reveal that the pregnancy that’s upended his entire life isn’t really theirs. It’s not original. They’re following a Newlywed Couple template.

“Hey,” Darcy says, grabbing his arm, “this wasn’t all Wanda. She might’ve set the scene and, yeah, maybe we were more the goatherd puppets than we were Fraulein Maria and Captain von Trapp, but we did this.” She pulls his hand to her belly. “Wanda doesn’t decide what we do next.”

“What I suggest you not do next is consult Dr. Misogyny over here,” Monica says, gesturing at the television.

The doctor is condescending to Wanda and Vision about the facts of life during a checkup (in their living room?). He lowers himself even further in Jimmy’s regard when he refers to expectant mothers as “little ladies” and implies that the changes in their own bodies are beyond their understanding.

“What a quack,” he decides. “We’re not going to see that guy.” He’s startled to recall his promise to Darcy the previous evening, about options, his intention not to make up her own mind for her. Lowering his voice, he tilts his head close to hers. “I mean, we’ll do whatever you want. Including…”

Jimmy trails off and casts his eyes down. He still means it, wants Darcy on board with this 100% or not at all, but the whole thing’s been a roller coaster and he’s not great at pretending not to feel anything. With his wife so much further into her pregnancy today, it’s obvious that this baby will be born and they’ll need to decide who’s raising it. He thinks the two of them together could rear a pretty incredible kid, but if she wants out, is he prepared to be a single parent? The other option besides her, him, or both of them raising the baby is adoption. They’d need to leave the Hex before taking those steps (it’s not like he’s going to encourage Darcy to hand the baby over to a mind-controlled Westviewer), and just thinking about it, with everything he already feels for the baby, makes him certain that he’d rather rearrange his entire life than pass on this chance at a family. However unorthodox their beginnings.

“Don’t worry,” Darcy says calmly, pulling him from his spiral. “That guy will never get the chance to compare my uterus to a vegetable garden.”

“Fruit,” Monica corrects without looking away from the television.

“Right. Fruit. He’ll have no say about any of it. And he definitely won’t get the opportunity to be patronizing as f*ck while he tries to give us the sex talk.” She looks Jimmy right in the eye and says, “I won’t let the asshole doctor-man say a word about your banana.”

Chuckling, he looks back to the screen. The doctor has departed and Vision’s currently baffled over Wanda’s newly expanded stomach. Uh oh. He jerks his head around to check and, yep, Darcy’s baby bump appears to be keeping up with the sitcom star’s.

“You two stay here,” Monica instructs, on her feet when Jimmy glances over.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To Wanda’s. If things continue at this rate, she could give birth in this episode. That’s going to make her even more protective of her family and her space and I’ll have an even harder time getting near her.”

“Are you sure you want to interrupt?”

They both glance at the television for a moment to observe Wanda and Vision debating baby names in the nursery. There’s nothing distressing about the scene—in fact, the couple looks as much at ease as Jimmy’s seen them on the show—but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t change, and quickly, if Monica inserted herself. He just isn’t sure how that would go and he doesn’t like any plan where he can’t foresee all the possible outcomes.

“Guess I just have a feeling,” Monica says, looking unsettled.

“Well,” Darcy pipes up, “in the world of science, having a feeling is forming a theory, and in this place… I think having a feeling you should do something might be Wanda giving you your cue.”

“You’re not beyond her control,” Jimmy tells Monica, “just farther away from it. What if Darcy’s right?”

“If Wanda wants me there, I’m not going to resist,” she replies firmly. “She’s the key and we need her cooperation.”

“Good luck,” Darcy bids her.

With a nod to them both, Monica strides across the living room and opens the front door.

“Speaking of keys,” Jimmy recalls, but the door shuts before he can offer to let her borrow their car to get to Wanda’s.

Maybe the Captain has a different plan. Maybe she’s just bending to Wanda’s influence. Whichever it is, he can’t go after her. Monica was right—he has to stay here with Darcy today, especially because her belly seems larger when he looks again. He glances at her face with a question on his and she nods.

“And I felt a kick,” she says.

“Really? Could I…? Do you think I could…?”

Darcy rolls her eyes at his reticence and guides both his hands to the bump. When he feels something nudge his palm, Jimmy tears up.

“That’s our baby,” Darcy confirms.

“Feels like they have my softball windup,” he murmurs.

“Or my pre-coffee restlessness.”

“Our baby,” Jimmy repeats, staring into her eyes—finally blue for the first time in days, give or take a decade.

They’re having a marvelous family moment until the power goes out. Lights, TV, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, everything. Seconds later, it all comes back.

“That was strange.”

“I wondered what Wanda’s magic was doing to the power grid,” Darcy says. “I’m still curious about the finer points of what happens when electricity meets power generated by an Infinity Stone. Really, I’d expect Wanda to have this kinda thing under control, but I guess if she’s— Ugh!”

Her pained noise has Jimmy cupping her face, pushing back her hair, trying to figure out what happened.

“She’s distracted,” she says.

“By what?”

“Labour.”

“What? No.”

Sure enough, when Darcy stands (with Jimmy leaping to his feet to support her) and stretches her back, her bump looks big enough to contain a baby that’s almost ready to be born. Ready to be born?! Jimmy thinks. In our house? With no doctor? Just because the one on TV rubbed him the wrong way doesn’t mean he’s prepared to write off every doctor, nurse, and midwife in Westview. He would very much like to place responsibility for this delivery in the hands of a medical professional, not his own!

Even as the TV’s flickering back to life, he helps Darcy away from it. That just shows how serious things are. He knows how quickly she became invested in the sitcom when they reviewed the ’50s episode at the base.

After some frantic thought, he’s thinking the bathtub is going to have to do. People do that right? With home births? Although he attempts to guide Darcy in that direction, she doesn’t even want to sit down on the edge, let alone climb in. No, she wants to pace, and as she paces, she rubs at her lower back, wincing.

“We could look at the nursery,” he proposes. “Might take your mind off it.”

Jimmy knows it could be a weak suggestion, an insult to imply that anything could take Darcy’s mind off whatever discomfort she’s currently feeling, but the Hex, with its radioactive walls, smiles down on them for once. With his arm around her to take some of her weight, they hobble into the baby’s room and it’s… perfect.

The walls are dark blue near the ceiling, almost black, fading to periwinkle halfway down the wall. The lower portion transitions from blue to pale yellow, then a blazing orange right before the baseboard.

“It’s a sunrise,” he comprehends.

“Yeah,” Darcy says softly.

Though he feels like he got slightly ripped off by not being allowed a chance to do any of the decorating, he does admire the Hex’s choices. At last, his wife’s been represented in this space, in this house, and it’s beautiful. There’s a shelf full of space-themed board books, a plastic jumble of play versions of scientific tools like telescopes. A dangling mobile of the planets. After easing his wife into the rocking chair, Jimmy holds up a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars.

“Should I put these up?”

She smiles.

“I would be all over that sh*t if I could, but I trust you to do a good job.”

“Oh no. Do you want me to do real constellations?”

“The baby’s not gonna know the difference. Make it look however you want.”

She rocks, assuring him something about the motion is helping her manage the intensifying pain of her contractions, and Jimmy finds a small stepping stool to help him reach the ceiling. The sway of the chair in the corner of his eye, the morning light through the curtains, and the sound of Darcy breathing are things he already knows he’ll never forget.

Before he’s stuck all the stars in the pack to the ceiling’s white paint, she calls him down from the stool.

“I need to walk again.”

Darcy says it with grit and Jimmy doesn’t argue, even when walking appears to put her in even more distress; she groans and pushes her free hand against the wall as they stroll out of the nursery and down the hallway.

“Let’s check in with Wanda,” Jimmy says helplessly.

This is who he is now: a husband in over his head, desperate to gain tips about delivering a baby from a TV sitcom. An overwhelmed real estate agent. A man with a mustache.

They return to the living room and the TV playing WandaVision in time for Monica’s entrance. Based on her free use of ’70s slang and the general discord between the Captain Rambeau Jimmy’s been getting to know and the woman on the screen, he knows they’re looking at Geraldine. Wanda’s back in control of her character alright, and Jimmy wants to know who it’s helping. The scene’s centered around some joke about Wanda attempting to hide her pregnancy, which is no good for him. He needs a step-by-step guide, not a magic-resistant stork!

“There better not be a f*cking bird in here,” Darcy gripes, alternately crouching and standing as every position fails to make her comfortable. “If I see a f*cking, goddamn, sonofabitch, motherf*cking—”

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Jimmy assures her, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades with the flat of his hand.

“The betrayal,” she mutters when Wanda elects to lie down behind a couch.

It completely blocks their view. If this were a regular show, Jimmy would understand that. Sitcom viewers would definitely appreciate a little TV magic over graphic, up-close-and-personal birth footage, but here at the Woo residence, one FBI agent and his astrophysicist wife really just want the truth! If Monica had agency, he’s sure she’d shove the couch aside to help them out, but with Geraldine at the helm, he’s confronting the fact that he and Darcy are on their own.

“Let’s go, Darcy,” he says, steering her towards the bathroom. “We don’t need her.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s never heard Darcy sound so uncertain and knows he’ll have to bluff his way through this. When the Avengers aren’t around, the regular people must step up. Reminding himself of that has gotten Jimmy through more than one tough day on the job and he tells himself it’ll get them both through this.

“Of course.”

In the bathroom, Darcy kicks out of her underwear and uses Jimmy as a crutch to climb into the tub. Her face is scrunched up severely and her hands are braced against the walls of the bathtub, so he tries to watch and understand what she needs. When all the tension in her face and body burst out in a shout, he grabs her hand. Her fingers curl around his palm in a death grip.

“How about some nice warm water? Water, Darcy?”

She nods rapidly, eyes clenched shut, and he turns on the facet, then quickly reaches behind her to plug the drain. The stream wets his sleeve and, when he withdraws his arm, hits her hair around the level of her shoulders and begins to soak the back of her dress. Between contractions, Darcy sighs in what sounds like relief.

“That feels good,” she acknowledges.

“Good,” is all Jimmy can say back. He kisses her face and squeezes her hand in his. “Good.”

He’s back to scrambling for a solution soon enough when the warm flow of water down her back stops being enough to soothe her. He helps her out of her sodden dress, tossing it behind him to splat on the tile floor.

“What do you need?” he asks wildly, leaning over the tub.

“Earplugs,” Darcy tells him before emitting a scream shrill enough to probably be heard by their neighbour’s dog, Dipper, down the street.

Jimmy doesn’t think, he just does. Snatching a towel off the rail, bracing his wife’s foot against his shoulder as her leg spasms, reaching into the water to collect their baby when the Hex (he assumes) does them the favour of letting one long push be sufficient to expel him. Him. Jimmy and Darcy’s son.

He’s beaming through the happy tears, delicately wiping at the wailing baby with the towel and passing him into Darcy’s outstretched arms as she shakes with astonished laughter, hair wet, head resting back against the jut of the faucet.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he jokes.

Darcy sits up, sending a splash of water over the side of the bathtub to slap the floor, and he knows the Hex is interfering again to make her capable of anything besides exhaustion after what she just accomplished. She twists sideways in the tub until she’s closer to Jimmy. He wraps an arm around her wet shoulders and peers down at the face of their boy, already drowsy after exercising his tiny lungs. Jimmy can feel Darcy studying his face.

“Jimmy Woo Junior?” she asks.

And he knows the rest is going to be gravy.

—

Inside the Hex, the magic of television is real. They didn’t need to fake Darcy’s pregnancy with a cushion to make her belly, round and taut as a beach ball, disappear entirely only minutes after giving birth. They didn’t need a set of twins or triplets playing Jimmy Woo Jr. to swap in a quiet baby for one that starts to cry. There’s no trick lighting or fudged angles, just Darcy sitting on the couch (in dry, non-maternity clothes) catching their amazingly calm, less than an hour-old son up on the details of his origin story—Darcy’s wording.

It’s shaping up to be a nice, if highly unusual, family day in, until the tension starts to mount on-screen. Probably something Jimmy could’ve caught sooner if he weren’t spending 50 seconds out of every minute stroking the baby’s teeny-weeny hands while he hopes Jimmy Jr. retains zero memory of his dad’s mustache. When he hears Monica mention Wanda’s brother by name, he’s fully alert to the episode and knows he has to act. That close to Wanda, Monica’s control should be fully suppressed beneath the character of Geraldine. If she’s breaking through to ask Wanda person questions, questions that are almost definitely going to provoke an emotional response, Monica must be fighting like crazy to surface. Jimmy decides that’s his signal to get over there and help bring this thing to a satisfying conclusion so they can all leave the Hex.

“You’re not going to Wanda’s without me,” Darcy informs him, planted in front of the door when Jimmy returns from grabbing his keys.

“Darcy, you can’t. The baby. I’d stay with him and let you go, but I’ve never heard you mention particular skill in hand-to-hand combat and I can’t guarantee things won’t turn violent.”

She snorts.

“Liar. I could be the world’s biggest hand-to-hand badass and you’d still be trying to protect me right now.”

He stares at her and Darcy stubbornly lifts her chin as she holds his eyes.

“Ok,” Jimmy concedes, “yes, I would.”

“Please don’t leave us here,” she says, cheek pressed to the baby’s. No, no, no, he can already feel himself wanting to surrender, to have them with him. Darcy kisses their son’s face, then holds his hand to gesture while she pitches her voice higher, pretending to speak for Jimmy Jr. “I want to meet Auntie Monica.”

He gives her a look and reaches past her to open the door. Instead of trying to exit around his family, he waves Darcy through ahead of him. (She looks down at the baby in her arms and goes “Yaaaay! Isn’t Daddy a soft touch?”)

“You didn’t persuade me,” he says, leading them to the car and holding the door for Darcy while she climbs into the back seat with the baby. “This is strategic.”

“Is the strategy common sense? I feel like you should’ve gone with that from the beginning. Bringing a scientist to a magic fight is good thinking, for, like, balance and sh*t.”

Jimmy backs down the driveway as gently as he can. Their car’s been modernized (well, for the latest decade) and while it now has seatbelts, it wasn’t equipped with a car seat for their son. He’s going to have to drive with the utmost care.

“Hopefully, there won’t be a fight,” he reminds Darcy, “but if there is, you won’t be anywhere near it. You and Jimmy Junior are staying in the car. Alright?”

When he darts his gaze to the rear-view mirror, he sees his wife looking out her window, making a show of not listening to him. Jimmy sighs.

Without thinking, he navigates back to the street where they dropped Monica off yesterday. Wanda’s house is just down from Dottie’s; he remembers the number from watching WandaVision. Jimmy draws up to the curb and parks. He glances back at Darcy, but she’s still ignoring him.

“I’ll try to be right back,” he tells her anyway, eyes dropping longingly to the serene face of his sleeping son. He’s heard that about babies and car rides.

Jogging up the driveway, he does a doubletake of a ragged slash in the wall between Wanda’s property and her neighbour’s. There’s not exactly anything wrong with a damaged cinderblock or an amateur handyman job, but the crevice in the stone stands out in a world so aggressively styled and manicured.

Wishing for the reassurance of his gun at his hip in case things go south (it’s the first time he’s even thought about the gun since the night he and Darcy arrived), Jimmy enters the Vision residence without knocking.

Orienting himself to what he was just watching on TV in a house less than a mile from here, he walks across the entryway, attracting the attention of both Wanda and Monica. They’re standing across from each other in the living room. Raising his hands to show he intends no harm, Jimmy sweeps his eyes over the scene in assessment, like he has a hundred times before. Monica’s expression is alarmed under superficial friendliness—the look of someone trying to placate an attacker. With her aggressive, forward-leaning posture and the way she’s positioned herself between Monica and the cribs (he’s surprised to see more than one, but he did miss some of the episode while he was delivering his son in their bathtub), Wanda fits that role.

“Wanda,” he says, taking a step towards the seating area, “you don’t want to hurt her.”

“Are you working with her?” Wanda demands. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“James Woo. I’m not here to hurt you. Neither is Geraldine.”

“You don’t want to hurt me? Then why do you come asking questions? Saying things—” He can see her chin wobble from here as she teeters on the edge of tears. “—about Pietro. You didn’t know my brother.”

Her statement is directed at Monica, but Jimmy tries to bring her focus back to him. Of himself and the Captain, he’s the one with an exit at his back, whereas Monica’s hemmed in by a large bookcase.

“I didn’t know your brother,” Jimmy agrees. “I do know about him, but we don’t need to talk about that. I don’t want to upset you, Wanda, I just want you to let me leave with Geraldine.”

“Oh, I’ll let you leave,” Wanda says, co*cking her head as she raises her hands. This motion conveys the opposite meaning to Jimmy’s—she does intend them harm.

He’s contemplating what’ll happen if he tries to rush her when Darcy charges through the front door he left open.

“Don’t!” Jimmy gasps, making a grab for her, but his body is tense with caution and Darcy has the momentum to dodge him, stepping down the level into the living room.

“Look,” Darcy demands of Wanda, whose expression is torn as she chooses between facing Monica and this new intruder.

Jimmy’s mentally composing and rejecting ideas of how to proceed when their unwelcoming host lowers her hands. She’s looking where Darcy directed her to, at the baby in Darcy’s arms.

“He was born less than an hour ago, and I only found out I was pregnant yesterday, but that doesn’t matter. I know it’s the same for you, the circ*mstances and the… yeah, whatever. You know about the Big Bang, right?” she continues, jumping to the next thought.

“Yes,” Wanda says carefully.

Jimmy’s terrified to move closer and set Wanda on the offensive again. He glances at Monica, who seems to be thinking the same thing, frozen in place.

“From nothing to so much, in an instant,” Darcy’s saying in her condensed history of the universe. “Science is supposed to be full of all these rules. Like, every scientist dude important enough to remember had some law or formula or method that we map everything on top of when we’re pretending we understand all this. Being in science isn’t a goal I’ve had for a long time—I mean, I probably wouldn’t be in it now if the world hadn’t more or less ended—and if all I ever heard about the workings of the universe was rules, I would’ve stayed away. Who likes rules, right? Who wants to be told that things are the way they are because something outside of your control says so? My point is…”

She takes a deep breath, then another one, shifting until she’s blocking Wanda’s expression from Jimmy’s view.

“Sorry, I just gave birth, you know how it is,” Darcy says when she goes on. Jimmy’s stricken with exasperation, adoration, fear, and pride. “My point is that I love science because, while science is laws and rules and equations, science is also standing outside at night and staring up at the dark. There are explanations for every light that’s up there and why, even when you’re away from big cities and the sky seems so black and close, you don’t fall up into it, although it kinda feels like you could. Science can tell me why, and it still feels like magic when I look at the stars. And we’ve all been traveling out here in space together, getting made and unmade and made again because the right ingredients needed to create something as precious as a planet, or a baby, or the clay that’ll make the bricks that’ll make the house never disappear. Suns explode, asteroids collide and get chipped away… things can separate down to their smallest part, life can…”

“End?” Wanda asks.

Jimmy’s stunned to hear the word come out choked. Cautiously, he leans to get a glimpse of Wanda’s face. It’s covered in tears. Darcy’s nodding.

“But everything’s valuable. All matter gets reused.” Jimmy wants to grab her and pull her to safety when she takes a step closer to Wanda. “I get it if you’re sad and you’re not ready to talk about it. I’m not gonna say it’s ok, because I’ve heard Monica’s testimonial on exactly how much it sucks to have you in her head, but I do think you should let us leave now so you have a few friends out there when you inevitably need people on your side.”

“You can go,” Wanda agrees, swiping at her nose. “I won’t hurt your baby.”

“You’re not going to hurt my friend either,” Darcy says, beckoning for Monica to cross the room behind her. “Or my husband.”

“No,” Wanda says.

Monica reaches Jimmy and they wait for Darcy in the entryway.

“I bet all that control feel really good,” Darcy theorizes. “Taking it into your own hands. But I think you know that focusing on the beautiful, magical stuff doesn’t mean the rules no longer exist. Maybe you can find a way to accept them both.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Wanda says, firmer now.

“Not looking for a life coach, got it.”

She joins Jimmy and Monica, bouncing the baby lightly in her arms. Wanda ushers them out of the house ahead of her. Jimmy glances back to see her close the door after herself with a twist and red glow of her hands.

“What about waiting in the car?” he mutters to Darcy as they stride down the lawn.

His self-proclaimed wife stares at him.

“I’m not the kind of person who waits in the car. Would the kind of person who waits in the car give a speech like that?”

Jimmy’s at an honest-to-goodness loss for words.

She gets into the car willingly enough now, Jimmy in the passenger’s seat while Monica slides behind the wheel.

“Wanda’s told me how to stand, how to move, how to walk since I got in here,” Monica says, turning the key in the ignition. “I’m driving myself out.”

“It’ll part for you when you get there,” Wanda calls to them from the lawn. “The barrier. I suggest you do not attempt to enter again.”

“I think we’ve all had our fill,” Jimmy informs her cheerfully through his rolled-down window.

She doesn’t respond to this, so Monica executes a three-point turn and takes them back up the street the way they came. From there, they turn out of the subdivision, but Jimmy snags a last look at Wanda through the back window. There’s a light breeze blowing her dress and hair and she looks like she could be anyone. A suburban mom of twins? Why not. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see her again in person, but he has plans to catch her show.

“Wanda’s changed the roads,” Monica says as she drives. For his son’s sake, Jimmy’s grateful that she isn’t speeding, though he wouldn’t blame her for trying to get out of here as quickly as possible. “None of them lead out of town.”

“Literal tourist trap. Brilliant,” Darcy declares from the back seat. Jimmy reaches an arm back blindly and feels her close her hand around his.

“But,” Monica adds, “I remember Ellis Avenue being the closest cross street to the edge of town. We find that, then drive over the grass. Things may get a little bumpy.”

“We’ll survive.”

Jimmy twists around to look at Darcy. He nods. They will. They’ll survive.

They cross Ellis and take the car off-road. The barrier remains invisible, but…

“I can feel it,” Darcy says.

“Like we did the day we came in,” Jimmy recalls.

“It still wants us out,” Monica interprets. He sees her staring uneasily ahead. “Was I naïve to think I could change anything by coming in here?”

“No, Captain. It was brave.”

“Didn’t work though. We aren’t leaving with Wanda.”

“It could work,” Darcy says. “We left her with a few things to think about. We’ll watch WandaVision and see.”

“That’ll be strange after being a part of it.”

“You think so?” Jimmy wonders. He takes a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air and the sunshine, playing with Darcy’s fingers laced through his. “I think it’s returning to regular life that’s going to feel strange. Out there, it’s easy to see all this as a TV show, but everything in here is real.”

“We’ll make Hayward understand that.”

“I’m bringing back some compelling evidence,” Darcy says, followed by kissy sounds directed at Jimmy Jr.

The air just a couple of car lengths ahead of them abruptly glows red as Wanda reveals the wall of the Hex. Jimmy and Monica exchange a look, but she doesn’t slow down. They pass through without resistance. All of a sudden, it’s night. Monica lets out a relieved sigh.

The S.W.O.R.D. base is looming, exterior lights ablaze, but Jimmy looks backwards, checking that Darcy and the baby are alright.

“Same as you left us,” she says, pulling back the blanket to show him the face of his son.

He gives her a slightly melancholic smile.

“Not quite, Dr. Lewis.”

“I’ll have a lot of work to do,” Darcy notes thoughtfully, “but time for you and me to go on dates will be on my list of demands.”

“You have a list of demands?” Monica asks, laughter in her voice.

“After being forced into the Hex, where I could’ve lost my life? f*ck yes, I have a list.”

“What else are you asking for?”

“The coffee I requested on day one and a desk in a better spot so there’s room next to it for the crib that will also be on my list.”

Monica laughs aloud now.

“Is this a benefits negotiation or a baby shower registry?”

“Let’s get back to the part where we’re going on dates,” Jimmy says. “How’s that going to work?”

“Jimmy, darlin’,” Darcy begins, “will you go out with me?”

He leans to look around his seat at her.

“Darcy, we were married. We have a baby. Don’t you think we can—”

“Answer the question, Agent Woo.”

“Of course I’ll go out with you,” he says.

“And that’s how it works. Easy-peasy.”

She gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it to hold Jimmy Jr. more securely as Monica pulls up to a building and brakes. Already, S.W.O.R.D. agents are rushing out to meet them, but Jimmy drops back against his seat and smiles to himself.

“‘Easy-peasy.’”

180 notes · View notes

How prog were Queen?

By Dave Everley

On 9 January, 1971, Kevin Ayers and Genesis played a show together at the Ewell Technical College near Epsom in Surrey. Ayers was 18 months out of Soft Machine, and making a name for himself as a psychedelically-inclined art-folk rake. Genesis had released their second album, Trespass, a few months earlier, and were carving out a place in the vanguard of the burgeoning progressive rock movement.

There was a third band propping up the bill that night, a bunch of transplanted Londoners calling themselves Queen. In contrast to the wilfully artful approach of the headliners, their music was more straightforward: a heavy, if ornate blend of Led Zeppelin’s earthiness and the flights of fancy of Yes.

Not everyone in the small crowd watching them was impressed, but they caught the attention of one person. After the show, Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel pulled Queen’s blond-bombshell drummer Roger Taylor to one side. Gabriel’s band were about to dismiss their own drummer, John Mayhew, and were looking for a replacement. Was Taylor interested in joining Genesis? The reply was instant: thanks but no thanks. Taylor was utterly dedicated to Queen – there were gigs to play, places to go, and many musical adventures to embark on.

Had Taylor accepted the offer, the course of music – and specifically prog – would have been very different. Genesis would have flourished with Gabriel upfront, though whether they would have survived and prospered as they did without a Phil Collins to step into the breach after their talismanic singer’s departure was another matter.

The knock-on effect on Queen would have been greater. Taylor was an essential part of their carefully balanced four-way chemistry; a chemistry that would go on to throw up some of the most ambitious and game-changing music ever recorded. While Queen weren’t a capital ‘P’ prog band, they were infused with the spirit of the movement, combining its forward-looking values with its absolute disregard for the existing rules. Taking their cues from the likes of Yes, Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator and even Pink Floyd, their flamboyantly cavalier approach would go on to inspire such modern masters as Dream Theater, Queensrÿche and Muse. And, in Bohemian Rhapsody, they ensured that one of the biggest-selling singles in history was, at heart, a prog song. Forget the luxuriant moustaches and sawn-off mike-stands that would come to define them: if the prog ethos meant avoiding the expected, then Queen were definitely a prog band.

“Diversity was probably their greatest asset,” says former Dream Theater drummer and confirmed Queen devotee Mike Portnoy. “From song to song, they could be so different. You could have something that was folk followed by something that was rockabilly followed by something that was metal. And that’s one of the biggest things about prog, having that open-mindedness.”

Queen’s schooling in prog came early on. Brian May’s very first band, 1984, played a 4am slot supporting Pink Floyd at the Christmas On Earth Continued all-nighter in 1967. A year later, his next outfit, Smile – also featuring Roger Taylor – played with Floyd again, this time at London’s Imperial College. By the time of their gig opening for Kevin Ayers, Smile had changed their name to Queen and recruited Freddie Mercury. Collectively, they admired Yes, Van der Graaf Generator and especially Genesis. “Foxtrot is a prog rock classic,” Roger Taylor later wrote in the sleevenotes to Genesis box set 1970-1975. “Arrangements were highly complex in these early days, setting a benchmark for the style of the times.”

When it came to finding someone to produce their debut album, Queen’s first choice was John Anthony, who had worked with both Genesis and Van der Graaf. With Anthony and co-producer Roy Thomas Baker behind the desk, the eponymous album trod heavily in Led Zeppelin’s footsteps. But there was another, altogether more visionary band straining to spread their wings: My Fairy King was a filigreed slice of flamboyant rock’n’roll, while Liar metamorphosised through several different time changes and timings.

Those wings were fully unfurled on the follow-up, 1974’s Queen II. The title was the most prosaic thing about the record: the music inside was as fevered and baroque as rock gets, informed equally by Zeppelin, Yes and crazed Victorian artist Richard Dadd, whose 1864 painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke inspired one of the album’s most prog-leaning tracks. It may have been rooted in the heavy rock of the times, but its cavalier approach and sheer sense of scale pegged Queen as a defiantly progressive proposition.

“Queen weren’t like Yes, who had a dualistic role of guitar and keyboards, where both shared the terrain,” says Yes guitarist Steve Howe, supported by Queen at Kingston Poly in early 1971. “Brian had the terrain to himself. The remarkable thing was that he was the front and the back man. It required him to come up with more than guitar solos… He had to come up with a semi-thematic approach to play the guitar. And what he did was keep colouring.”

Queen’s prog inclinations would be deeply woven into the fabric of their early albums, from the audacious multi-part theatrics of Queen II’s March Of The Black Queen to the schizophrenic attack of the two-part Lap Of The Gods from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack. Even in their more commercial moments, they marched to the beat of their own drum. What other band would have dared serve up something so unusual as Killer Queen?

“It was their diversity,” says Mike Portnoy, who first heard Queen as an eight-year-old in the mid-70s and covered many Queen songs while in Dream Theater. “Their albums took the prototype that The Beatles laid down with the White Album, where you had four different artists bringing in very different styles. Every song was so diverse. You get to A Night At The Opera, and you had this giant multi-layered epic like Bohemian Rhapsody next to something like Seaside Rendezvous or Love Of My Life.”

A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grand artistic statement and their most unashamedly prog album. Pitched around the epic twin tentpoles of The Prophet’s Song and Bohemian Rhapsody, it married their far-reaching vision to a distinctly British barminess. Taken on its own, the eight-minute The Prophets Song, with its incredible ornate a cappella middle section, would be enough to grant Queen access to the Prog Hall Of Fame. But even that sits in the inescapable shadow of Bohemian Rhapsody. Time and success might have lessened its impact, but that song remains the most dazzlingly unique piece of music ever to sell five million copies.

“There are epic things that come along every so often,” says Steve Howe. “There’s Sgt Pepper, there’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. And there’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t know when I first heard it, but once it was there, it was such a formidable thing. You’re thinking: ‘How many tracks did they need to do those vocals? How did they write it? Who invented it? It really was astounding.”

Bohemian Rhapsody encapsulated one of the key things that gave Queen such a distinct identity. Like The Beatles and Beach Boys before them, they used the studio as an instrument – not least when it came to their vocals. And Bohemian Rhapsody raised the bar about as high as it could go.

“They sang each of those parts and triple-stacked them,” says Mike Portnoy. “You heard all three of their voices singing in all three vocal ranges. That’s what made the depth of their music so complex. It wasn’t the instrumentation, it was the vocals. That’s unusual for prog music. When I think of my favourite prog music, it’s always the musicianship that draws me. But with Queen, it was the vocals. It was so deep.”

For all its success, A Night At The Opera would be Queen’s grand kiss-off to their prog roots. Later albums streamlined their sound into a more conventional format. Much like Genesis, the 80s found them swapping experimentalism for chart rock.

It wasn’t until the end of their career as an active band that Queen would again sound so adventurous. During 1989 and 1990, the band began work on their penultimate album, Innuendo, in London and Montreux. In the summer of 1990, Yes guitarist Steve Howe paid a flying visit to the Swiss city, where a chance encounter with a former guitar tech found him being invited to Queen’s studio to hear the album as a work-in-progress.

“Inside, there’s Freddie, Brian and Roger all sitting together. They go: ‘Let’s play you the album,’” says Howe. “Of course, I’m hearing it for the first time: I Can’t Live Without You, I’m Going Slightly Mad. And they saved Innuendo itself until last. They played it and I was f*cking blown away.”

If that was surprising, then what happened next was utterly out-of-the-blue. The members of Queen asked if Howe wanted to play on the title track. The Yes man politely suggested they’d lost their minds. It took the combined weight of Mercury, May and Taylor to persuade him.

“They all chimed in: ‘We want some crazy Spanish guitar flying around over the top. Improvise!’” recalls Howe. “I started noodling around on the guitar, and it was pretty tough. After a couple of hours, I thought: ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’ I had to learn a bit of the structure, work out the chordal roots were, where you had to fall if you did a mad run in the distance; you have to know where you’re going. But it got towards evening, and we’d doodled and I’d noodled, and it turned out to be really good fun. We have this beautiful dinner, we go back to the studio and have a listen. And they go: ‘That’s great. That’s what we wanted.”

Released as a single in January 1991, Innuendo gave Queen their third Number One single. Like Bohemian Rhapsody 25 years before it, it was as unlikely as hit singles get: a six-and-a-half minute musical jigsaw, complete with flamenco runs, classically-inclined orchestral overloads and maverick 5/4 timing. Queensrÿche covered the song on 2007’s Take Cover album, while you can hear its echo in Radiohead’s Paranoid Android and Muse’s more elaborate sci-fi epics.

“In the world of rock, Queen stands out as a good example of the clash between guitar and piano in songwriting,” Muse’s Matt Bellamy has said. “I think that’s where you stumble across those more unusual arrangements and chord structures.”

Today, Queen have left a bi-polar legacy. They’re arguably best known for their pop hits – Radio Gaga, I Want To Break Free and of course, Bohemian Rhapsody, that ultimate prog Trojan Horse. But their spirit of adventure remains unmatched by all but the boldest of their peers.

“There was no rulebook for Queen,” says Mike Portnoy. “They broke most of the rules that existed, and then they wrote a new set.”

102 notes · View notes

my top 9 albums of the year! (yes it’s a few days late, it’s fine)

1. sob rock, john mayer: this should come as no surprise to anyone. he’s back, he’s better than ever, and he’s perfectly embodying the soft rock sound of the 70′s and 80′sfavorites: wild blue, all i want is to be with you, til the right one comes

2. flowers for vases / descansos, hayley williams: i think it took me until about the middle of the year to finally get around to this album, and i just remember kicking myself as soon as i did cause i could have spent so much time this f*cking MASTERPIECEfavorites: over those hills, no use i just do, trigger

3. gold-digger sounds, leon bridges: he does it again!! definitely a little different than what i expected originally going into it, but it’s so smooth and silky and i love the way it all just flows together perfectlyfavorites: sho nuff, motorbike, steam

4. surface sounds, kaleo: i love everything they put out and this album is no exception, but it feels like they’ve really raised the barafter how great their debut was a few years ago. the instrumentions, the lyrics, his f*cking VOICE- it’s beautiful, honestlyfavorites: hey gringo, i want more, my fair lady

5. an evening with silk sonic, silk sonic: i mean. what is there to say that hasn’t been said by everyone and their mother? it’s fun, it’s funky, it’s more than worth the ridiculously long wait they put us through to get it, and we can only hope that we might get more in the futurefavorites: after last night, fly as me, skate

6. take the sadness out of saturday night, bleachers: honestly this could make the list purely for chinatown alone. that song is so f*cking good that the rest of the album could be sh*t and it would still make the list (it’s definitely not but you get what i’m saying)favorites: chinatown, how dare you want more,

7. a touch of the beat..., aly & aj: if you’re not listening to aly & aj, what are you even doing honestly??? yeah the album title is ridiculously long for no reason, but they have yet to put out a single bad song and that’s what really mattersfavorites: pretty places, lucky to get him, hold out

8. when facing things we turn away from, luke hemmings: i mentioned a while back that i’d heard (and loved) baby blue and it made me want to check out the rest of the album. well,i finally got around to it recently and it’s exactly as great as i expected it to be!! it gets a little slow at the end, but it’s so rich and lush and textured that even the slower songs are a treatfavorites: baby blue, saigon, motion

9. life in colour, picture this: didn’t quite reach the highs of MDRN LV for me (perhaps one of the greatest albums of all time, full stop), which is why it’s a bit lower on the list,but it’s still a really solid album with all the lyrical and melodic elements that make picture this so great in the first placefavorites: addict of magic, oslo, can you feel it?

1 note · View note

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (IX)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: This chapter was 7 pages in my Word document. You’re welcome.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter IX - Star Treatment

Her leg couldn’t stop the anxious bouncing. It was late, and the sight of her sitting on her bed in her evening dress would’ve probably made a few heads turn if she hadn’t been by herself. It wasn’t often she got this nervous anymore, and certainly not over something like this.

She took a deep breath, before picking up the phone and dialling a familiar number. It rung only three times when a voice answered her.

“Hello?”

“I need you to come over.”

Nothing that morning had given her any insinuation that she would be calling someone later that night, because they’d only just taken a seat at the breakfast table. “Where’s mister Turner?” she wondered as she grabbed a piece of warm buttered toast. Watching them exchange looks with each other, she grew suspicious. “Uhm, he had some things to take care of, miss. He’ll show up eventually,” Nick hesitantly answered, his eyes darting to Matt to look for some kind of approval.

Said man simply rolled his eyes, adding, “He’s sorting the last things out with the police. It’ll be some time before he can get off the phone.” She hummed, “Was it that difficult to pass such information to me, Nick?” “W-Well, you know how mister Turner can get,” Nick replied, “He doesn’t like it when we talk about his business with others.”

“With others?” she repeated, clearly upset. “I thought I’d done enough to be not just ‘others’. What are you not telling me?” Nick looked downtrodden, casting his eyes upon his lap. “I’m sorry, miss. I wish I could tell you. But mister Turner will probably explain everything later today, you’ll see.” She huffed, throwing her napkin on her half-finished plate before taking off.

Matt clapped his hands, “That went well.”

“Yes, thanks for the help by the way, prick,” Nick grumbled.

“You know Alex would have murdered me if I had told her anything about his plan.”

Her eyes darted over the words in the book she’d randomly picked up off the shelf, but she couldn’t keep her concentration long enough to understand what they were saying. It was a high amount of frustration built up inside her which she wasn’t sure how to get rid of. After having spent so much time in the hotel owner’s presence, chipping down bits and pieces of his walls and finally getting to the grand finale of hearing the hotel’s biggest secret, she had no clue what there was still left to hide, or why there were reasons to hide anything at all.

She laid her head against the armrest of the loveseat she’d been sulking in, watching the flames in the fireplace flicker and crackle as a piece of char broke off of a wooden log. The heat that spread across her legs was comfortable, and she could have dozed off then and there if it hadn’t been for the small draft tickling the hairs on top of her head. Turning towards the library’s large windows, she noted that none of them had been opened and that the door she’d come in through had been shut when she’d slammed it behind her like an ignorant child. She felt a bit bad about it now, seeing as the woodwork of the door looked intricate and very old.

Her head perked up when she saw something out of the corner of her eye during her investigation of the mysterious draft. It was a thin door, tucked in a corner between the grand bookshelves, which had the same colour of the wood around it. It’s probably why she’d never noticed it before on first glance, or had perhaps initially brushed it off thinking it was some sort of broom closet.

The room she stepped into was rectangular, with the window nearly covering the entire wall of the thinner width of the lounge. She would call it a lounge, though the seating area in the centre had been covered by white sheets to prevent any dust from settling from underusage. In front of the glass panes stood another piece of furniture, one with a distinct shape that told her exactly what it was, but she threw the covers off of it anyway.

The sizable piano wing was stunning, though now she understood the intention of hiding it for it was far too beautiful to be touched by an inexperienced hand.

“Do you play?”

She smiled to herself. She could’ve expected it. “A little. My mother was far more talented, however. She tried to teach me, but I was too impatient for her as a child.”

Alex hummed, sliding his hand along the black shiny coating of the instrument as if he was caressing a marble statue. “One of my business partners gifted it to me,” he told her, “I’d always preferred the guitar, but when I felt like I’d found everything there was to discover with it, I learned to play the piano a bit.” He lowered himself onto the small leather seating, lifting the fallboard to uncover the black and ivory white keys. He patted the space next to him.

She begrudgingly sat down as well, as he began to play an interesting tune.

“I just wanted to be one of The Strokes, now look at the mess you made me make,

hitchhiking with a monogrammed suitcase, miles away from any half-useful imaginary highway,

I'm a big name in deep space, ask your mates, but golden boy's in bad shape,

I found out the hard way that here ain't no place for dolls like you and me,

Everybody's on a barge, floating down the endless stream of great TV,

1984, 2019,

Maybe I was a little too wild in the 70s,

Rocket-ship grease down the cracks of my knuckles…”

She’d almost sighed when the sound of his velvety voice had trailed off and his fingers slid from the keys. “You wrote that?” she asked. He nodded shyly, running a hand through his hair. “You know, if the hotel thing doesn’t work out, you could always just become a poet. Or a singer-songwriter. You have the voice for it.”

He huffed, “You flatter me, writer. But I think if I ever chose the music path I’d need at least five years to make an album. I’d lose my train of thought.” “I highly doubt that,” she remarked. He glanced up at her with his serene brown gaze. “You’re upset about something,” he noticed, “What happened, love?”

She looked at him with indecisiveness, feeling apprehensive about sharing information with the person who was apparently still holding something back from her as well.

“Your staff was very cautious not to tell me where you were this morning,” she decided.

He straightened his back, not quite willing to meet her gaze as he fumbled with the cuffs of his suit, which told her enough. “I had to take care of some business.”

“Okay, good talk.”

He grabbed her hand before she could get up, letting out a deep sigh of defeat. “I’m sorry, love. But you’ll have to hear about it later today.”

“I thought you were trusting me, Alex.”

“I am. You’ll like it, so there’s no need to worry.”

His face hovered closer to hers. “It’s something for you, after all.” He gently moved her hair and placed a soft kiss behind her ear, before leaving a breathy trail along her throat, not quite touching her but still making her tingle all over. When he reached her lips, he finally kissed her, but it was only brief. “I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.”

What a bastard, she kept thinking to herself. How dare he put her in such a situation? The audacity.

She was standing in front of her closet. It wasn’t usual for her to unpack her suitcase when staying at a hotel, but from the beginning on having not known how long she was staying, this was one of the rare occasions that her clothes didn’t have as many wrinkles as they usually would have because she’d been wise enough to put them on the hangers.

It was where she’d decided that she had absolutely nothing that could fall under the phrase ‘something nice’.

Anything she did have was either bluntly denied because it seemed too floozy, or thrown onto her bed because it was ‘too nice’. Her mother’s to go response for a clothing crisis such as this one had always been plain and simple; ‘wear something classy, yet comfortable’, but she now felt like she should have asked her for a bit more details.

Her makeup was done in what she usually would have thrown on if she had gone out, with only the right shade of lips missing because that came after the first crisis. She only had about half an hour left and she was still sat on her bed in her fluffy white robe, wondering if she should even go at all.

A knock came from her door and her stomach sunk, but she decided that it would be better to yell at him for being early than not answering at all. When she opened the door a tad so only her eyes could peek out, she wasn’t expecting to see Matt. He raised his eyebrows at her when she only blinked at him. “Can I help you?” she muttered; her voice slightly muffled behind the woodwork.

Matt raised his arms which held a beautiful bouquet of white roses. “A peace offering?”

When she allowed him to step in, he glanced over the mess of clothes she’d made before turning to her with a smirk on his face. “Is someone nervous?” he teased. “I thought you were here to make peace, not war?” she questioned in annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. He smiled awkwardly, “Sorry, ma’am. About this morning, too. Me and the boys never meant to offend you in any way. We see you as a part of the family now and were only being secretive because Alex was so adamant on surprising you with dinner.”

She raised her brows in pleasant surprise. “He’s taking me out to dinner?”

He froze. “Well- it’s only in the dining hall, to be fair- I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She patted his arm comfortingly. “You’re forgiven if you help me pick out a dress.”

It turned out Matt’s fashion sense was a lot better than she’d expected, because he had her dressed and ready to go in no time and had even managed to find a pair of matching shoes for her classy-but-comfortable evening dress. She did her fifth once-over in the mirror after having applied her red lipstick, and it made Matt smile. “You look beautiful, miss.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Matthew.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gunna pop off before Alex sees me in the same room as his lady looking all fancy,” he muttered, taking a glance at his watch. Before she could ask all about his particular choice of words to describe her, he had unfortunately already taken off.

It was the next time she opened the door that made her chest almost burst with giddiness. Alex wore an all-black suit, which, like all of the others he wore, was tailored to the detail. His hair was slicked back with only the front cuff hanging over his forehead, giving him a classic bad boy appearance. He smelled like expensive cologne and a hint of cigarette smoke. He managed to look irresistibly attractive and not just because she’d always had a thing for men who smelled good.

He let his eyes wander over her body and it nearly made her shy if she hadn’t felt so good in the dress she was wearing. He looked about ready to cancel the date and just push her up against the wall then and there, and a small part of her kind of wished he had. “You look absolutely ravishing, love,” he growled. It made her lips quirk up and she had to restrain herself not to break into a full smile out of excitement. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. “You clean up nicely yourself, mister Turner.”

He huffed, “You’re killing me, love. Call me Al, Alex or Alexander or I won’t last the whole evening.” She pursed her lips with amusem*nt in response. “Good to know.”

She’d held onto his arm the entire trip downstairs and he seemed very willing to keep her close to his side, slowing his stride to match her pace and glancing down at her ever so often. It made her realize how nice it was for someone to return her affections so delicately.

She’d almost burst out laughing when she saw Matt awaiting them in full tux, bowtie and all, looking like a proper waiter. “If you start laughing I’ll throw them flowers out of the window, miss,” he frowned. She smirked at him, as Alex scolded, “Be nice to the lady, Matthew.” “Well, I would be if I could just remember why I actually agreed to doing this.”

“Don’t worry, Matt. I’ll even tip you at the end of the night if you haven’t thrown my flowers out by then,” she joked. He snorted, before gesturing for the both of them to follow him into the hall.

It was the usual setup of tables, only this time their particular spot had been decorated with a few candles and small but classy bouquets of dried wildflowers. “So, it is a date, then,” she commented, noting the table was only set for two. Alex blinked at her blankly, before replying, “I’m sorry, would you have wanted to have a candlelit dinner with someone else?”

Matt intervened, “Now that you mention it, I’m actually quite hungry-“ before Alex shoved his elbow into his side, making the temp waiter groan. She laughed at their antics, telling the hotel owner, “No, Alex. I wouldn’t have wanted to share it with anyone else.” It made Alex perch up in delight as Matt simply gasped in an overexaggerated portray of betrayal.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for her, only taking his own seat when he knew she was comfortable. “Now, may I finally take your order?” Matt asked, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket’s pocket. “And you’ve always wondered why I never let you be a waiter,” Alex muttered as his eyes scanned over the menu.

When Matt left them with their requests written down, Alex leaned back into his chair, seeming to finally relax a bit. “Did you spend all morning planning this?” she wondered. He shrugged, “The thing that took me the most time was to convince the guys to play along.” “And how did that work out?” “Let’s just say that when they started making ridiculous demands in return I reminded them of who’s really in charge here.” “So, you had to bribe them anyway?” “Yes.”

They shared a smile; one she could only ever get from this joyful banter she shared with him. It made her appreciate him doing this for her even more.

“Have you started your novel yet?” he finally decided to ask. She leaned her elbows on the table a bit, giving him a questioning look. “Do you actually want me to start a novel?” He hummed, “I’m not sure yet.” “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, Alex. If you don’t want people to know about it, my lips are sealed.”

“I know, which is why you’re the first person I haven’t completely shut down the idea of a book about the hotel with. I just need a bit more time to think about it.”

“I understand. Take as much time as you need.” She mulled it over for a moment, thinking of how the book would be plotted out if it ever were to happen. Her lips quirked back up a bit. “But, in the probability that a novel might be written, I suppose I’d have to inquire a bit more about the hotel owner himself.”

His eyebrow was raised in amusem*nt. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I already know you’re a literature fanatic. But I didn’t know you were as much into the art of music as you’ve shown me this afternoon.”

He nodded, “It’s always played a big part in my life. It started when I became a big fan of the Strokes when I was younger. Wanted to be a part of their band or create one of my own, which is partially why I started playing the guitar. Me, Jamie, Nick and Andy even used to play a few gigs here and there while we were in school.” “Would have loved to see that.” “I’m sure you would have, even if it was just to laugh at my stupid haircut.”

“I wouldn’t dare laugh at you mister Turner,” she smirked, “Even having heard of the fact that you’re really just a big science fiction nerd.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?” “I inquired one of your dear friends about it, who was very happy to tell me all about your obsession with Blade Runner and the sort.”

“So, you spoke to Miles.” She shrugged, as he continued, “You can say anything you want about that movie, but you can’t deny that Harrison Ford was fantastic in it.” She sucked in a breath, “I’ve never seen Blade Runner.”

She snorted when his eyes widened. “What do you mean, you’ve never seen Blade Runner?”

Lifting her shoulders, she replied, “I’ve never really had the patience to watch it.”

“Outrageous. I can’t believe I’ve told you all my secrets when you haven’t even seen that masterpiece.”

“Guess I’m just that good,” she noted with a twinkle in her eye.

It wasn’t long after when Matt barged back in with their dinner and a bottle of a very expensive-looking champagne sitting in a tub of ice. “You don’t have to open that. Save it for a special occasion,” she objected, but Matt only looked to Alex, who nodded. A pop of a bottle opening followed, and it made her sigh. “You can’t expect us to not go all out tonight, Miss,” Matt explained, “You mean more to us than you think. If you’re lucky I’ll even show you a magic trick.”

“You’re not showing her a magic trick, Matthew,” Alex said.

“Bummer. It’s really good.” As he was about to leave, she mouthed ‘later’ at him, which he peaked up at a bit.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” the hotel owner commented, having seen her little act, “He nearly drove me off the road once while trying to show me a card trick.” “It’s endearing.” “I think I prefer the phrase ‘bothersome’.”

As they dug in, she went to ask a bit more about the hotel itself, her curiosity being indulged by his acceptance to tell her almost everything now. “What’s the most visited room?” He snorted, “Pretty obvious, really. The honeymoon suite.”

“You have a honeymoon suite?” she asked incredulously. “I already knew you’re secretly a romantic at heart, Alex, but really?”

“It’s easy money,” he begrudgingly admitted. “You call something a ‘honeymoon suite’, make sure they get the best view and shove cheesy rose petals and chocolates in their face and you’re all set.” “I don’t think that’s true.” He quirked an eyebrow in question. “I think you enjoy it,” she told him, “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have set this whole dinner up just for me.”

“Well, when you only have one guest, you have to keep them entertained somehow.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “What else would you do to keep me entertained, mister Turner?”

His gaze remained in a trance with hers, not once wavering. He mirrored her, setting his elbows on the table and propping his chin upon his intertwined fingers. “What do you suggest, writer?”

“Dance with me,” she said.

“There’s no music.”

“Then sing that song from this afternoon.”

He’d slid an arm around her waist without a second thought, his other hand taking hers in a warm embrace. Lifting her other one to his shoulder, she had to remember to breathe while being in such close proximity to him. Though he had intimidated her from the beginning, from the moment they’d met, even, she now felt like she’d molten into a puddle in his arms, like the feeling you’d get after a deep tissue massage. It made her wonder what it was about him that could flick a switch in her so quickly.

“I just wanted to be one of those ghosts, you thought that you could forget,

And then I haunt you via the rear-view mirror on a long drive from the back seat,

But it's alright, cause you love me, and you recognize that it ain't how it should be,

Your eyes are heavy and the weather's getting ugly,

So, pull over, I know the place…”

It didn’t take long for them to fall into an absolute trance with each other, just shuffling back and forth between the empty tables as Alex’ voice lulled her into the thought that what she felt for him was something she’d never meant to feel for him before. But she was glad it had happened, because what it was that she felt, did feel completely right.

She twisted the key in the lock, opening the door to her room with a click that broke their little silence. She turned back to look at him. He had a hand in his trousers’ pocket, the other holding the jacket he’d swung over his shoulder. “Good night, mister Turner,” she said. “Good night, love. I had a lot of fun.”

He leaned in to kiss her deeply, and she closed her eyes at the unmistakable feeling of electricity sparking between them again. It was as if every touch of his lips was something better than the last, and when he slipped his tongue along her bottom lip, she had to steady herself to not lose her balance. He breathed through his nose when she lifted her leg to wrap around him, sliding sensually upwards while he prickled her mouth with as much preservation he was somehow still able to hold.

She felt defeated when he pulled back, slightly out of breath. “I’ll see you at breakfast, writer.”

“You better.”

He smirked, gliding a hand down her lifted thigh before gently lowering it. “If there’s anything else, just call me. I’ll be here in a whim.”

She refrained from making a Batphone joke, not wanting to ruin the moment while she forlornly watched him go back to 505. It made her think about something her mother had once said to her. ‘Grab love by the shoulders and shake it before you find you left it too late.’

Though the hotel owner certainly had made the implication, he hadn’t expected to receive the phone call a bit later that night while he was still reeling about the night’s events on his bed.

“I need you to come over.”

64 notes · View notes

hello, do you like long fics? do you like soft? here is a long soft fic.

so this started off - really, back in february when i was visiting my friends [when that was still allowed - lol] and we were discussing our ocs as we sometimes happen to do. that and how with time they get more ok with more“feminine things” and such.

i made a doodle inspired by that conversation.

then lockdown happened. and with my tablet i decided to digitally colour that doodle. i thought it looked pretty neat. as i looked at it i started to wonder what the“fem versions” of ed and ét would be like and look like and came to the realisation that NO ONE had ever thought of that.

then an entire f*cking au was born from that because that’s the way i function, apparently.

i made a few art pieces and started writing this behemoth on april 12th 2020.

i got like 70% done and then stopped. got blocked or just didn’t have the motivation for it.

seeing as i go back to work tomorrow [god dont make me go] and this fic wasn’t done yet, i told myself that this quarantine fic would END NOW.

so i spent the last 3 nights hacking at the remaining 30%.

i could have split it up in parts, i know, but seeing as i suffered through the whole thing in one part so do you :)

here we go for the genderbend au no one ever even asked for like literally.

evelyn = edward

éliane = étienne

also, how many song lyrics can i fit in one title lamao.

in total this one has more pages than keesha kee taen, but like 1000 less words.

Girl, You Really Got me Now [It’s a Love Story][[The Ballad of Éliane and Evelyn]]

Éliane Maisonneuve remembered the exact and precise moment that Evelyn Murphy waltzed into her life. She remembered the exact moment it happened for the simple reason that it changed her life. For the better.

It happened one glorious day in September, about a week or so after school started, sometime after Labour Day. It was her senior year of high school, the world was sitting in the palm of her hand, and she had been busy recounting her rather exciting weekend to her friends, when their homeroom teacher had walked in, followed by a student. Éliane prided herself with knowing everyone and anyone in the school. Mostly, because she was a social butterfly, also because it helped when one was the vice-president of the student body (president had too many responsibilities, not enough fun). Therefore, she automatically knew that this was a new student.

It was about as far as her analysis went for her brain stuttered when she got a good look at the new girl, while her teacher introduced her. God, but she was absolutely gorgeous. She had pretty, dark, brown hair cut slightly above her shoulders, a cute little barrette in her hair, the prettiest hazel eyes this side of the world, for sure, and the softest looking skin Éliane had ever seen. Her darker complexion went rather nicely with the colours of the school uniform and there was just something about the way she played with the hem of her sweater that tugged at Éliane’s heart.

Before her homeroom teacher could even get to the part of asking for a benevolent soul to show her (her name was Evelyn Murphy – her brain had registered that much) around, Éliane had bolted out of her seat, only near tripping on herself to volunteer for the honour. She absolutely needed to become friends with Evelyn. It was a matter of life or death. She knew. Evelyn had offered her the actual cutest little shy smile Éliane had ever seen in her life and she had eagerly told her friend to change seats so that Evelyn could sit next to her.

Even then, without fully knowing, she was already infatuated.

Evelyn turned out to be a rather quiet girl. Éliane chalked it up to being new to the school and a little intimidated by it, but she vowed to herself that she would make sure everyone treated Evelyn right. She introduced her to all her friends, made sure she knew where all her classes were and gave Evelyn her phone number and e-mail address in case she had any questions. Éliane declared them friends by the end of lunch and the pretty little blush on Evelyn’s cheeks was a thing of beauty.

Éliane even went as far as walk Evelyn home, despite her telling her that it was alright and that she knew how to get back, but Éliane wanted to spend more time with her and insisted, figuring she could tell her new friend about the cool hangouts around school (there were three – the dep’, the hamburger shack down the street and the alcove by the river (which was a good place to go make-out, but that was a detail – the rocks there were really cool, it was just a question of no one ratting you out.))

Éliane, surprisingly, for once, managed not to spend the entire walk to Evelyn’s gabbing away about one thousand different trivialities and instead bombarded the new girl with ten thousand different questions. Luckily, Evelyn took it all in stride and patiently answered her questions. It was how Éliane found out that Evelyn’s father had been transferred and had started a new job here over the summer and how his position had been extended. The rest of her family had then moved over and by the time they were settled and her school papers were in order, school had already started, but here she was now.

And goodness, here she was now indeed, Éliane thought.

They became inseparable, fast, mostly due to Éliane doing her utmost best to include Evelyn in absolutely everything she did. Evelyn fit in nicely with Éliane’s group of friends, which was a good thing, otherwise she would have dumped their sorry asses and started a new, better group. But, the others took Evelyn in and Éliane called it a success.

Éliane was head strong, brash, and impulsive and liked to stick her fingers in as many pies as she could. She liked to keep busy with projects that interested her and she was always ready to try something new. Therefore, even though term had already started, she decided, quite on an impulse, one day, to switch out one of her courses for home-economics, just because Evelyn was in it and had said nice things about it. It was a good thing Éliane was a well liked student by the faculty members and that this change actually made her advanced art program fit better in her schedule , but the secretary still gently scolded her and told her that she would have a lot of catching up to do.

Luckily, Éliane had a plan.

Her plan consisted on being her disastrous self in a kitchen and hope that Evelyn would take pity on her and help her out.

Luckily, Éliane didn’t have to try very hard for her plan to work. During her first assignment, she managed to set the smoke detector off, twice. For the second assignment, she had to be rushed to the nurse’s office after she accidentally sliced her finger open. After the third assignment, she needed ointment for a rather nasty burn. Once the mid-term report cards came out and Evelyn found out Éliane was failing home-economics spectacularly, she took pity on her friend and teamed up with her for the following projects.

It was a win-win, in Éliane’s opinion, even if she barely scrapped by and the class brought down her overall average, (but she was getting better – it had to count for something, right?)

Éliane ended up spending a lot of time with Evelyn what with classes, hanging out together and after school extracurricular. Evelyn ended up joining the theatre club and Éliane nearly lost her mind when she found out her quiet, mostly shy friend could act it out on stage like the best of them. It was a whole new side of her that she had only ever glimpsed and Éliane loved it. The girl had spunk. She was feisty. And slowly, slowly, Evelyn emerged from her shell as she got used to her new school and new surroundings. With time, Éliane got to get to know her better and discovered a treasure trove of other interesting things about her – like her sense of humour, which was dry and cutting and an absolute gift.

Éliane wondered where Evelyn had been all her life.

Once Christmas break rolled around, Evelyn’s mood took a dip, since for the first time ever, she would be away from her friends and family. Éliane took it upon herself to make sure her friend wouldn’t feel left out during the holidays and so she organised outings and parties with her and her friends to make sure Evelyn had a good time. The Murphy’s were even invited over for Christmas Eve and Éliane thought it was her greatest accomplishment yet. Throughout the rest of the holiday break, there were many outings to get hot chocolate, tobogganing, but by far, the best surprise came when Éliane suggested they go ice-skating, since the rinks were finally open and she found out that Evelyn could skate really well. Not only that, but the girl had a competitive streak to her as well and it was so very easy to get her riled up if any type of friendly competition was presented to her. Evelyn had depth and personality and there were so many different sides to her that Éliane loved so much. It seemed that the more she got to know her friend, the more she found out about her and it was great.

Winter break went by quickly, what with the myriad of activities Éliane orchestrated and it ended with by far, the greatest event to the start off the new year – Evelyn’s birthday.

Towards the start of the break, Evelyn had quietly invited the inner circle of the friend group for a sleepover on the last Saturday of break, since her birthday fell on a Wednesday. They would be four in total and Éliane spent the better part of her days leading up to her friend’s birthday trying to come up with the Best Gift Ever, when she wasn’t busy spending time with her friends or stuffing her face with her grandmother’s baked goods. She was looking forward to the party and Evelyn kept reminding her that it would be a simple, quiet affair. They would get takeout, there would be cake, they would watch movies, they would eat too much candy and chips and chocolate – and eventually, they would all crash at some ungodly hour of the morning.

Éliane still thought it sounded like the greatest thing ever.

The party in itself turned out to be lovely and loud and boisterous. Mr. And Mrs Murphy put on brave faces and stuck around making sure everything was okay and to wish their daughter a happy birthday, while Evelyn’s younger sister had found herself a better place to be. They played games, spent the better part of the evening gossiping about school – their teachers, their classmates, another part worrying about which Cégep to apply to and what program, until Éliane declared that all “no-fun” school talk was banned. So, they watched a stream of movies, one of the other girls gave Evelyn a manicure and they ate too much candy and chips and chocolate.

Somewhere around midnight, before it got to be too late, they took a break to change into their pyjamas. They were waiting for Evelyn to return and Éliane was waiting on the couch, wearing her own set of teddy bear patterned pyjama pants and long sleeved sweatshirt she had pilfered from one of her brothers (it was large, it was comfortable and it was warm), when Evelyn came to join them.

Éliane cared very little about what others wore to bed. Normally, she wore boxer shorts and nothing else – unless it was cold outside, which it currently was. The thing was, she would have never associated Evelyn with the pyjama set that she was wearing. Evelyn rejoined their little group as if nothing was wrong with the world and went and plopped herself right next to Éliane wearing by far the most ridiculous (gorgeous), frilly (utterly inappropriate), matching set of what seemed to be lilac silk pyjamas. There was lace. There were motifs. It had little tiny straps that covered her shoulders (Éliane’s brain reminded her that this was the most skin she had seen on her friend and that she could see her clavicle and shoulder blades and the dip of her neck and – and then there were the shorts! The equally silk shorts that hugged her thighs just so and – maybe, maybe it was always really hot at the Murphy’s, which was why Evelyn slept in such a getup, because suddenly, Éliane found herself overheating. And then she had to give her friend one more (discreet – hopefully) one over and of course she had to notice the way the fabric hugged her chest, the shape she could guess underneath and – this really wasn’t fair.

The thing was – the real issue here was – that Éliane M. Maisonneuve had accidentally gone and developed the stupidest of crushes on Evelyn A. Murphy and she was a complete goner.

And now her friend was sitting beside her in her silk pyjamas looking like a goddamned gift and Éliane wanted to hold her close, furrow her face in the crook of her neck and ghost her hands over the fabric of her pajamas – and more. She was doomed. This was neither the place nor the time and she did her utmost best to keep her thoughts pure and innocent, but apparently, the universe hated her, because Evelyn slid extremely close to her, until she was half pressed on Éliane’s side and took a hold of her hand.

“I get really afraid during scary movies,” She whispered in her ear and Éliane tried to suppress the shivers that ran down her spine and the sudden urge she had to turn around and kiss Evelyn’s stupid (beautiful, glorious) face senseless. Instead, she clutched at her friend’s hand in return, didn’t let go for the duration of the movie – and tried her best not to feel anything every time Evelyn gasped and clutched at her a little harder when she got scared. (And she tried really hard not to think of the way Evelyn’s body felt pressed up against her side.)

Éliane knew what she liked – couldn’t care less about the gender of people. She had dated a little, had stolen kisses from girls behind cafés and had gone out on dates with boys. So long as she was interested, it didn’t matter and, apparently, her mind had decided that it was very interested in Evelyn. (And really, could she be blamed? Evelyn was mighty fine, thank you very much.)

She was so screwed.

Éliane swore to herself that she would keep her stupid crush to herself and bury her feelings so far deep inside of her that she would be long dead before they could ever resurface properly.

Therefore, by Tuesday, over lunch, Éliane took her other best friend, Emma, aside, to spill absolutely everything to her.

Now, Éliane and Emma had met on the very first day of kindergarten and had been placed in the same class. They had been sat next to each other and Éliane had declared her her best friend by the time lunch had rolled in. Emma had no idea how it was that they had remained friends for so long, but Éliane was her best friend and so, despite being quite exhausted by her friend’s daily ongoing complaint about whatever it was that was personally vexing her, she half listened to her friend.

Normally, Emma would have been sympathetic and offered Éliane some advice, but Éliane was the absolute worst when it came to taking advice and instead preferred moping around and taking everything way too dramatically as if the world was against her.

So she did just that and Emma couldn’t wait for Éliane to move on to a new hyper-fixation.

Unfortunately, that never happened.

“Why don’t you – and I’m just ball-parking it here – actually tell Ev’ how you feel and y’know, maybe she’ll feel the same way?” Emma reiterated for what felt like the millionth time. By February, Emma had heard her friend lament her unrequited crush so often that she could predict what Éliane would tell her almost verbatim.

“But Ems, what if she doesn’t? What if she thinks I’m gross and then never wants to speak to me again? Emma, I can’t risk that!” She bemoaned, burying her face in her pillow. It was a quiet Friday night and Emma had done the mistake of throwing an impromptu sleepover between her and Éliane. She had hoped it would be a fun sleepover; instead, she was being privy to another round of Éliane’s love tribulations.

“If she thinks you’re gross she’s dead to all of us.” Emma stated in her no-nonsense tone. The rest of their friend group knew of Éliane’s preferences and could care less about who she dated. If Evelyn had a problem with it, she would be more than happy to kick her out of the circle, “She’s not worth your time if she can’t accept you the way you are.” This was why Éliane liked Emma. She was straight to the point and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even over controversial matters.

“I knoooooow, but I like her sooooo much. Emmmmaaaaaaaaaaa, she’s sooooo pretty, it’s not faaaaaair,” She whined and put on her best kicked puppy expression. Emma rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at her. She was immune to that look by now. Mostly.

“I mean, have we even ever heard Evelyn express an interest in anyone at school?”

“Noooo, but what if – what if she has a boyfriend back home and she promised to be true to him? Or like what if she’s super conservative or something? Aren’t they conservative back in Alberta?”

“Don’t you think she would have mentioned having a boyfriend – or someone special – back home after all this time? And even if there are people who are conservative back in Alberta, who’s to say that she is? God knows she follows you around on half your crazy schemed ideas. Maybe she likes you and she’s shy. Maybe she’s just a friend. Maybe you should just f*cking talk to her and leave me out of your love life, please, Éliane, I’m not even your therapist.”

Éliane pouted and threw the pillow back at her.

“Big baby. Just write her a Valentine’s and play it off as a joke if she rejects you.”

“That is the worst idea ever. My heart would be shattered and I’d never be able to face her ever again.” Emma sighed as Éliane went off another tangent. Sometimes, she wondered why she bothered.

Éliane did not take up Emma on her advice and so, come Valentine’s Day, she did absolutely nothing and played it cool, by her standards. This meant that she kept a close eye on anyone who approached Evelyn with Valentine’s and she was only too pleased (relieved) when no one had made any outlandish love declarations to her. (Not that Evelyn didn’t deserve outlandish love declarations, but Éliane wanted to be the one to do them, not some other person.)

It also meant that her heart sank when Evelyn didn’t get her any particular Valentine and that she only gave her a small chocolate, like she did with all of their other friends. It wasn’t that she expected anything, but if Evelyn had made a move on her, it would have helped ease her mind and given her some sense of direction. Still, Éliane had to consol herself; at least Evelyn was her friend. It could be so much worse.

Her crush only kept growing as the days went by and even when she tried looking elsewhere, hoping that a distraction from Evelyn would help, it seemed her heart and mind were set on Evelyn no matter what. It was utterly annoying and Emma was ready to murder her if she kept this on.

Therefore, Éliane came up with another of her Brilliant Plans, which Emma agreed was absolutely stupid. With prom coming up at the end of the year, Éliane decided to put her big move there and ask Evelyn to go as her date. Emma politely reminded her that prom was in literal months and that a million different things could happen between now and then. Plus, there was also the fact that Éliane would be even more insufferable until then.

Éliane was pretty confident that it would give her enough time to gather more intel on whether or not Evelyn liked her That Way and hence, would only help her out in the long run. If anything, if Evelyn was dateless by then, they could just go as friends and Éliane could save face.

In the meantime, however, there was One particular incident that left Éliane even more confused than ever before.

It was a known fact that Éliane Maisonneuve liked to sprawl out when she sat down. Be it chair, sofa, couch or stool, Éliane took up as much space as possible. The other known fact was that Éliane Maisonneuve was a very tactile person. She had never heard of personal space when it came to her friends and if she was sitting with her friends, it wasn’t an uncommon sight to see her using her friends’ laps as extensions of the surfaces she was sitting on. She was known to sit on their laps, drape herself over them, lay her head on their shoulders or laps, and so on. No one was safe from her sprawling, not even Evelyn.

During the winter months, Éliane opted for the school pants as opposed to the skirt, since it was too bloody cold outside and even with stockings, she froze. However, with spring back on the menu, she was quick to ditch the pants and go back to the skirt.

It happened to be a skirt-wearing day, when, during lunch, Éliane had elected Evelyn’s lap to sit on, since she was the first to have finished eating lunch. Now, normally, when Éliane sat on Evelyn’s lap, Evelyn would put one arm over Éliane’s own lap, to keep her from falling off, and her other arm would either wrap itself around her waist, or rest against the back of the sofa they claimed for themselves for lunch, when they ate inside, in one of the school’s hangout spots.

However, this time – this time something monumental happened.

Éliane sat on Evelyn’s lap like always, and at first Evelyn held on to her as she normally did, but then, a few minutes later, Evelyn’s hand that was around her waist shifted ever so. At first, Éliane thought little of it, but then Evelyn placed her hand to rest on the side of her leg, underneath her skirt, right on her skin. Éliane stilled and tried to think little of it. Evelyn had just found a better way to place her hands, there was nothing to it – that had to be it. This wasn’t planned. This had been accidental, clearly. But then – then her friend went ahead and started – rubbing her skin? With her thumb? In a small, circular way? Or something. Because, Éliane felt Evelyn’s thumb rub her skin in a circular motion, but there was no way for her to see and she wasn’t about to ask (because it felt really good and she didn’t want Evelyn to stop and if she was hallucinating then she would look like a fool.) Plus, Éliane did try to get a read off Evelyn’s face, but when she looked, Evelyn wasn’t even looking her way, instead focused on whatever else it was their friends were saying, a small, gentle smile on her face.

What. The ever loving f*ck. Did this actually mean?

Éliane tried to remain still, tried to brush it off as nothing and tried to play it cool, but for the rest of the day, she was a right hot mess and she spent the better part of the rest of the week (and month) replaying the feel of Evelyn’s hand on her bare thigh and it did not help any of her little fantasies one bit. (Because good Lord, someone help her, how she had wanted Evelyn’s hand to creep up her thigh, touch her elsewhere, make her feel good – how she had wanted to wrap her legs around her friend, grind against her, get her hands underneath Evelyn’s silly school blouse, feel her up – hear her moan –)

This was really getting out of hand.

Éliane kept pinning from afar, much to Emma’s annoyance, especially since she was the only one in their friend circle to know about her crush and no other major incidents of the sort came to throw Éliane for a loop. She still convinced herself that she would do something about it for prom, but Emma wasn’t convinced, and quite frankly, neither was Éliane.

And then it was Éliane’s birthday.

Éliane had a rather busy birthday schedule, what with celebrating with her family and twin sister, wanting to do something fun with her friends and also doing something lowkey on the actual day of. As was the standard amongst their friend group, one of them made a birthday cake to be had at lunch, there were presents and it was a lovely day overall.

On top of that, she had all her favourite classes today and it was honestly looking up to be the best birthday ever. She was looking forward to the weekend and her mind was focused on the end of the day, when she got a note from Evelyn during class.

“Meet me in the park by the swing set after class,” The note said and Éliane tried to get her friend’s attention, wondering what this could mean and what game her friend was playing at, but Evelyn never looked her way and so Éliane was left guessing. She even tried to ask her after class, but Evelyn went ahead of her, while the teacher asked Éliane to stay behind for a bit, since she wanted to go over some of the texts for the upcoming school play.

Therefore, once she could leave, she ran to her locker to drop off her books, changed out of her school shoes, grabbed her sweater and backpack, and then ran off to the park next to the school. She hoped Evelyn hadn’t been waiting long and that she wouldn’t think she had stood her up, even though she had seen Éliane with their teacher. Still.

Éliane nearly tripped down the stairs to the park and was ever so relieved to see that Evelyn was still there waiting for her.

“What’s up?” She asked, slightly out of breath.

“I wanted to give you your birthday gift.” She said, smiling at her and Éliane’s stomach did a funny thing at the sight. It always did a funny thing at the sight. It was such a pretty smile.

“But, you gave me your gift earlier with the others,” She said, giving her friend a quizzical look. Not that she minded more gifts, but she didn’t expect her friend to get her multiple gifts.

“I know – but this one is special. Close your eyes?”

Éliane did as she was told even though her curiosity was eating her alive.

“No peeking!” Evelyn cautioned and it was very tempting to, but Éliane remained still, with her eyes closed, heart beating wildly as she waited.

Evelyn took her hands and Éliane figured she would place something in them, but instead her friend held on. Éliane was about to ask what this was all about, but the following moment, she felt the softest of presses against her lips. She gasped and her eyes opened on their own just in time to see Evelyn lean away from her, a lovely blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Did you just – was that just –”There was no way Evelyn had kissed her. She must have dreamt the entire thing up and blacked out, or something. Maybe she had really slipped down the stairs, fallen and hit her head. It may have been her birthday and all, but these types of things only happened in trashy romance novels she liked to splurge on.

“Look ,” Evelyn started, blush deepening across her face and Éliane stopped talking all together, while her brain tried to reboot itself, “I like you. A lot. And I have, for a while now... and well, I wanted to take a chance. Since it’s your birthday and all. And, yeah – I – don’t hate me?” She stammered and Éliane could only stare at her.

Evelyn Murphy liked her.

The absolutely wonderful person that was Evelyn Murphy liked her and had kissed her on her birthday. Éliane might actually faint and go into shock.

Instead, she launched herself at Evelyn and kissed her hard. Evelyn stumbled back in surprise, trying not to fall over, and wrapped her arms around Éliane out of reflex.

“I like you too, you silly goose, and I could never hate you,” Éliane blurted out when she pulled away, before cupping Evelyn’s face with her hands and kissing her again, this time much slower and softer. She let out a breathy little gasp when Evelyn held her, their bodies pressed close. It was everything she’d been hoping for months and everything she’d never, in her wildest dreams, think she’d get. She chased after as many kisses as Evelyn allowed her and silently swooned at the softness of her lips against her own. She knew, already, that she could never tire of this.

“Go to prom with me?” She added, catching her breath, riding a high she never wanted to come down from. Evelyn’s eyes widened and then she smiled and it caught Éliane’s breath. It was such a lovely sight, so beautiful and pure, and she wanted to be the cause of those smiles for a very, very long time.

“I’d love to,” Evelyn told her, before kissing her again. And again. And again and again.

--

It was nice, finally being able to hold Evelyn’s hand whenever she felt like it. Éliane made it her personal mission to walk to every class she had with Evelyn by holding her hand and sometimes, if Evelyn let her, she carried her books as well. She was stupid in love with her and she couldn’t believe how lucky she was that Evelyn liked her – that they could hold hands and kiss and spend a stupid amount of time texting each other strings of heart emojis late into the night. Éliane never wanted the feeling to end.

It turned out that Evelyn wasn’t out to her parents and she had no idea how they would take to her being attracted to girls, so they agreed to keep things under wrap around them when Éliane went over. Éliane had already done her own coming out to her parents, almost two years ago, but she supposed she had an easier ride, considering her eldest brother was gay and very much cohabiting with his boyfriend for the past several years now. She was thankful that her parents were okay with it and could only hope that Evelyn’s parents would be as well, whenever it was she decided to tell them.

For now, it just meant that Éliane had to keep her hands to herself when she was over at the Murphys’, but she could make-out with Evelyn at her place all she wanted, (or until her sister told her to stop being so gross.)

May also meant receiving Cégep admission letters and a whole flock of stress, anxiety, and high emotions. Evelyn found the idea a little dumb, but since her family was still in Montréal and she would have to do an extra year of high school if she went back home, she had found herself obliged to apply as well. She ended up applying to most of the Cégeps her friends wanted to go to, so that she could at least be with them and she surprised herself when their excitement turned contagious when her own acceptance letters started trickling in.

The only problem was that she had no idea where it was she wanted to go.

She was pretty convinced she wanted to be an engineer – maybe a civil engineer later on, but so long as she did something science and math related in Cégep, she would be fine. Where she did it didn’t matter. She kept her options open and waited to see where the others would go. Therefore, when Éliane got accepted into the program of her choice in visual arts at the Cégep she really wanted to, Evelyn quietly accepted her own offer at the same school. (And when Éliane found out, nearly two weeks later, she had been extremely happy and there may or may not have been many tears.)

She knew that realistically her chances of having any classes with Éliane were slim, that their schedules might not even match up, but maybe they could share a locker and maybe they could take one of the mandatory gym ,or French, or English, or humanities classes together.

They could make it work. (She really hoped they could.)

Bu those were problems and thoughts for later and so Evelyn buried them deep in her mind and instead focused on the upcoming ministry exams, the end of the school year, finding a dress for prom, memorising her lines for the end of year school play, finding time for her girlfriend and her friends, and everything else that came with being a senior in high school.

--

Emma decided to invite everyone over to her place, before they went to prom, to take photos and have co*cktails, since she had the biggest yard between them. They agreed to meet up there and then make their way to the hall where the reception would take place.

Despite Éliane asking, Evelyn had refused to show her any photos of her dress. Éliane had begged for hints, a description, anything, but Evelyn had remained tight-lipped, preferring to surprise her girlfriend at prom. Éliane had done her best pouting and pleading, but Evelyn was apparently immune to it all. Therefore, Éliane was an impatient mess when she got to Emma’s, eagerly anticipating the moment Evelyn would arrive.

As per their plan, Evelyn had told her parents that she was going to prom with her friends, since “no boys had asked her” and her parents thought it was cute how the girls were sticking together. It was a perfect decoy and it meant that she could have all the photos she wanted with Éliane and her parents would never think twice about it.

Éliane was about ready to text Evelyn, to ask her where she was and whether or not she had forgotten that they were supposed to meet up at Emma’s before heading to the reception hall, but then the doorbell rang and Éliane swore the entire planet froze in time when Evelyn walked in.

Evelyn was wearing a midnight blue, long dress with cap sleeves that fell off her shoulders. It had a sweetheart bodice and a ruched waistline that did wonders for her figure and her complexion. The material of the dress was elegant and airy and it gave Evelyn a regal appearance.

Her girlfriend was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous.

Her heart was going to explode from how full of love it was for Evelyn.

Éliane did her very best to contain herself and not launch herself at Evelyn, but she did walk up to her and envelop her in the tightest of hugs she could manage, trying to convey everything it was she felt inside.

“You are so breathtakingly beautiful,” She whispered in her ear as she pulled away. She grinned when Evelyn turned a lovely shade of pink and Éliane was far too pleased with herself.

“And you’re absolutely stunning,” Evelyn murmured back, leaving a lingering touch to Éliane’s wrist, which left her skin tingling.

Éliane had opted for something a little more party like. It was a champagne coloured, short dress with an asymmetrical bodice. It had one sleeve and bold folds that looked absolutely stunning on her. It was, after all, their prom, and she intended to party, dance and have the absolute greatest of times.

Prom, delivered.

The prom committee really outdid themselves, if Éliane did say so herself and it turned out to be a great evening. She got to sit with her best friends, got to dance with her girlfriend, took a stupid amount of photos with absolutely everyone she had ever spoken to during her five years in high school and only cried once – maybe twice, when she realised for good that this was her last few moments with these people – that one chapter of her life was closing and that a new adventure was right around the corner.

But, before she got too lost in her own thoughts, there was still an after-prom, a million pool parties to attend and the greatest summer of her life to live.

Most of the graduating class had decided to go camping for their after-prom, on some semi-remote campground a few hours away. The grounds promised privacy, no curfew, and a lax attitude towards underage drinking. Éliane had considered going, but then Emma had decided to do something a little simpler and had invited their group over to her place. Her parents would be out, they could pile up and sleep in the camper van in the backyard, eat all the junk food they could handle, talk late into the night, watch the stars and go swimming in the morning. The best part was that Mr. And Mrs. Dubois would even leave them alone, as they had decided to visit Mrs. Dubois’ sister back in Ottawa, which meant they had the whole place to themselves.

They arrived at Emma’s place well past one in the morning and the girls were a flurry of activity as they changed into pyjamas and their graduating sweatshirts. High-heeled shoes, dresses and make-up were removed in favour of comfort as they crowded around each other to settle and keep the night going. Chips, cookies, candies, and soda were placed nearby as they munched on the snacks and laughed their worries away.

It was nice, Éliane thought, and she secretly hoped that twenty years from now she would still be doing this with this same group of friends. Éliane tucked herself between Emma and Evelyn and found herself perfectly at ease. If time needed to freeze and stop and chose this particular moment to do so, she would be content.

It didn’t, naturally, but Éliane found she didn’t really mind and was happy to snuggle up next to Evelyn when the sun started to rise and they could no longer keep their eyes open.

“Love you,” She murmured into the folds of Evelyn’s arms and only registered what she’d said a moment or so later, when she felt Evelyn still beside her.

She feared she’d let her mouth run wild once more and had an apology ready at her lips, but then she felt Evelyn hold her close and press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “D’you really mean it?” She whispered for her ears only and Éliane nodded.

“Yeah, I really do.”

Evelyn smiled and it was a real thing of beauty that warmed her insides and made her heart soar. She levelled with her and sought her lips, before kissing her fully, “Love you, Evelyn,” She murmured, unable to stop herself from grinning.

“I love you too, Éliane.” Evelyn whispered back, as if it was their secret alone.

--

Seeing as this was their last summer all together, Éliane made her mission to make sure they would see each other as often as possible and create the best summer memories. Therefore, there were many pool parties (and nothing had ever prepared her for the sight of her girlfriend – her Evelyn in the actual prettiest bikini ever made on God’s green earth.), a handful of parties and even though most of them had part time summer jobs, they made it work and by the time summer came to an end, Éliane was ready for the next chapter of her life.

Cégep turned out to be an interesting and roller coaster of a venture. For as much as Éliane pretty much enjoyed it – liked the freedom it brought her, the expanded horizons of possibilities and being able to have classes that she genuinely enjoyed, Evelyn found it pointless and useless. It was a means to an end – something she had no choice in doing and the only thing that made it tolerable was the fact that Éliane was in many of her classes, they rode in or out together when their schedules matched and some of their friends from high school were also at the same school.

Other than that, she absolutely abhorred the time she spent there and kept reminding herself that in two years time, it would be over. It seemed that just as she’d settled in to the rhythm of her new high school, she had been yanked out and forced to adapt to what she considered a waste of education. Éliane made the mistake of pointing out once that maybe it had to do with her disengagement with her own program, but Evelyn shut down that theory rather quickly.

Still, despite her foul mood and deep hatred for Cégep, Éliane did her best to cheer up her girlfriend, left little notes of encouragement in their shared locker almost every second day and thankfully, with Éliane and some of her friends by her side, she was able to coast through her first semester without burning the building down to ash.

However, for as much as Evelyn had nothing positive to say about Cégep, she had to agree that the winter break between the first and second semester was delightful. There was a little over a month and a half of time off and even though she had a few exams during the exam period, she still had a good month of vacation. When she found out, sometime after midterms, a great plan hatched in her mind.

The truth of the matter was that Evelyn missed Edmonton something fierce. She hadn’t been back since her family had relocated to Montreal and even though she liked her new life – it didn’t always feel like home. She missed her grandparents, missed her friends, and missed her favourite hangout spots.

Therefore, Evelyn did her research, contacted the appropriate people, and once she had everything in order, she brought up the idea to her parents of flying to Edmonton after the holidays for three weeks. She would be staying with her grandparents, who were more than thrilled at the idea of having her over, she had enough money for her plane ticket from her summer job and she would be able to do all the things she missed and loved. Her parents weren’t exactly thrilled with the plan, but eventually they agreed.

It was then that Evelyn launched part two of her plan, which was to ask Éliane to come over with her. (She had asked her grandparents as well, had explained that Éliane wasn’t just her friend – that they were a couple and thank goodness, they had been very accepting of that and thrilled at the idea of potentially meeting their granddaughter’s girlfriend.)

Of course, Evelyn was very much aware of the fact that her girlfriend detested winter, would probably have preferred to go somewhere warm, if she could and Evelyn didn’t even know if Éliane would want to go to Edmonton with her, or if she had the means to do it, but when she told her of her plan, Éliane had been one hundred percent onboard.

They bought their tickets together, the moment Éliane had the okay from her parents and then, at least, Evelyn could keep a countdown to not only the end of her first semester of hell-school, but also to the day she would be going back home to Edmonton – even if it was for a short while.

The moment they arrived in Edmonton, Evelyn was ready to show her girlfriend all the sights. She had made an elaborate schedule, had contacted all her friends and she only hoped that Éliane would like it.

Of course, Éliane loved it all, even if she did complain about the cold at every chance she got, but Evelyn was always there to lend her a sweater, tie a scarf around her neck or let Éliane snuggle up to her at night.

Éliane enjoyed the city and loved meeting Evelyn’s friends. It was nice to see her girlfriend’s old stomping grounds and Evelyn’s grandparents took to her right away, which they were both thankful for. It was nice being here and it amused Éliane to no end that their first trip as a “couple” was to Edmonton, something Evelyn thought wasn’t quite as exotic or romantic as it should be. Éliane told her they could make up for it at a later time – for their next vacation and the thought of that – of something that would happen in the future sent butterflies to Evelyn’s stomach.

Overall, despite her lack of interest in Cégep, two years ended up going by quickly, somehow. Éliane liked to refer to those two years as Evelyn’s rebel phase, for it was during that time that Evelyn decided to learn how to ride a motorcycle (something Éliane absolutely loved very, very much – there was just something so incredibly hot about her girlfriend dressed in nice, tight leather pants with nice leather boots and an even nicer leather jacket mounting a motorcycle. Éliane called it sex on wheels. Evelyn always turned the loveliest shade of pink at the comment.)

It was also during their stint in Cégep that Evelyn decided, one afternoon, while bored between classes, to get the upper part of her ear pierced. One of her classes had been cancelled, and she couldn’t go home, since she had another class after that. Since Éliane and her other friends were all unavailable, Evelyn had gone out for a walk, had passed by a tattoo and body piercing parlour and had decided to get it done, on a whim and out of boredom.

Éliane had a lot to say about the piercing. Notably, that it was very sexy and added an extra layer of badass to Evelyn. Evelyn thought her girlfriend was being ridiculous – Éliane had shut her up with a kiss.

And perhaps, the other thing that happened over the summer between their first and thankfully last year of Cégep was that their relationship reached a highly more physical level.

They had – fooled around some ever since that memorable time towards the end of high school, but, nothing beyond wandering hands and heavy make-out sessions. Evelyn hadn’t been fully ready and Éliane had given her all the time she needed. There’d been some touching, a very few topless make-out sessions which had left Evelyn yearning for more, but something had always held her back. Maybe the fact that her parents and sister had been home, or that Éliane’s own family could walk in at any time.

But there came a weekend over summer after their first year of Cégep, when Éliane had the whole house to herself. Her brothers were officially moved out, her sister had gone camping with her friends, and her parents had gone over to her mother’s friend’s cottage for the weekend. Éliane had invited Evelyn over to use the pool and there hadn’t really been any thought that this would happen over the weekend.

Éliane had been sunbathing on one of the lawn chairs, when Evelyn had gotten out of the pool and walked towards her girlfriend, with the intention of flicking water in her face. Éliane had (over) reacted just the way Evelyn had hoped – shrieking and protesting that the water was so very cold, which had prompted Evelyn to drape herself over her girlfriend to flick even more water all over her.

Éliane had tried to push her off and get away from her, but she had been trapped. Finally, Éliane gave up and Evelyn settled against her, content, with the sun warming her up and her girlfriend running a hand up and down her back. They’d stayed that way for a while, peaceful and quiet, until Evelyn had nuzzled her way to her girlfriend’s neck and had started leaving feather light kisses on Éliane’s neck.

The feather light kisses turned languid and hot when Éliane let out breathy little moans and wrapped her legs around Evelyn’s body. Evelyn left Éliane’s neck in favour of her lips when her girlfriend started grinding against her and her hands left her back to slide underneath the straps of her bikini.

Evelyn had never gone all the way with anyone – had never lain naked beside someone else, even though she had had her fair share of fantasies and had done a bit of self-exploration over the past few months. They’d talked it over, a few times, about their experiences and lack thereof and Evelyn had known, all along, that she could trust Éliane – that her girlfriend would respect her, no matter what it was that they did or didn’t do.

And so, when they parted for air and Evelyn took in the sight of Éliane’s kiss swollen lips and mussed up hair, she felt a deep hunger for her that swooped at her belly and made her want to touch and lick and taste and kiss and feel.

“Should we go to my room?” Éliane asked, her hand kneading the skin of Evelyn’s thigh, her fingers hitching ever higher, playing with the strings of the straps of her bikini. Evelyn nodded at that, disentangled herself from her, and then helped her up.

They’d made their way to Éliane’s room and once Éliane had closed the door behind them – in case – she had pushed Evelyn to her bed and they’d resumed from where they’d left off before. Evelyn let her girlfriend guide them both and let go of her millions of thoughts running through her head. She followed her gut, paid close attention to Éliane’s reactions, and let her hands touch and feel, let her mouth kiss and taste.

Evelyn marvelled at the goose bumps over Éliane’s breasts, over the texture of her nipple on her tongue and over every little sound and noise Éliane made, which Evelyn meticulously catalogued and memorised to later replay in her mind like a favourite song.

This was an experience she had never felt before and one that she would love repeating over the many years to come - hopefully.

And later, afterwards, as Evelyn lay with Éliane running her fingers through her hair, Evelyn couldn’t help but be thankful that somehow or other, despite not being keen over the move away from her beloved Edmonton, she had managed to find Éliane along the way. She hoped, as she shared a tender kiss with her girlfriend, that theirs would be a relationship that would last, and that if it didn’t, they could always remain friends.

--

The only thing that motivated Evelyn throughout their second – and luckily – last year of Cégep was the fact that she would be making university applications by the start of March. The drawback to that was picking which universities to apply. Éliane, once more, had her whole plan set out and her preferred university in mind. She was applying to one school and one school only, and if they didn’t accept her, then – well, her plan didn’t have a section for that, because she would get accepted. Evelyn envied her for that – was slightly jealous of the certainty and faith she had in her plan, even if she feared it would backfire on her. Not that Éliane didn’t have the grades or the talent for it, but there would be others who would be applying as well. Still, Éliane was convinced and Evelyn could only marvel at her.

On the one hand, she could apply to the same place as Éliane again and go where she went, but Evelyn also wanted to go somewhere that would actually set her up on her desired career path. If she wanted to become an engineer, it would obviously help if she went to a university that was known for their engineering programs. The other problem was that after nearly three years, Evelyn was incredibly homesick.

She liked Montreal just fine – was getting the hang of the city and its peculiarities, but – it wasn’t home. She missed her friends and family that were still in Edmonton, missed biking through the River Valley, and missed weather that actually made sense (to her). Therefore, on a whim, she decided to apply to the University of Alberta and figured that – if she got in – she could make her decision then and have that conversation with Éliane at that point. There was no need to cause alarm just yet.

Evelyn kept telling herself that if she didn’t get accepted at the University of Alberta, then it would be a clear sign that she wasn’t meant to go back – not now anyways, and that would be that. It would make her life easier, Éliane would never need to know, and life would move on. However, every time she started thinking that way, part of her really hoped she would be accepted there.

In the end, obviously, because life never played out the way she wanted it to, she was accepted at two of the three schools she had applied to – one in Montreal and the other one in Edmonton.

Before she broke the news to Éliane, she sat herself down and made a rather long and elaborate list of all the pros and cons she could think of about attending both schools. The problem was that her number one con about going back to Edmonton was that Éliane would be in Montreal and her biggest con about staying in Montreal was that she really missed home and wouldn’t get to see it for god only knew how much longer.

When she finally brought the list to Éliane – when she finally gathered up her courage for this conversation, her girlfriend was a little put off about having been left in the dark, if only because she didn’t like the idea of Evelyn going through this burden alone, but she was ready to find solutions.

“I could get transferred to UofA; I’m sure they have an art program,” She said as she started tapping away at her phone, looking up the offered programs as though this was the easiest and most logical of solutions.

“El, don’t – I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you to come with, but – you had a whole plan and you were super psyched about getting into UQAM. Plus, you even said, they only take a few people per year, so that means your portfolio was really good.”

“Exactly. So if UQAM took me then it shouldn’t be a problem for UofA. I can apply to get transferred for winter term and then we can be together again.” She smiled brightly at that, closed off her phone as if the case was solved and shelved, but it didn’t sit well with Evelyn.

Evelyn loved that Éliane was ready to drop everything to follow her, but at the same time, she knew her girlfriend was impulsive – that she came up with plans in a blink of an eye and didn’t always think the consequences through. She knew, deep down, that eventually, for as much as Éliane would be charmed by the city and enjoy it, she would feel like a fish out of the water. She wouldn’t have her friends, she wouldn’t have her sister and she wouldn’t have her bearings with the city.

She knew that, for as much as Éliane liked to play the tough act, for as much as she was the life of a party, that deep down, she was very sensitive; that even if she made new friends (which she would) and even if she ended up loving her program, the pillars of her own life would be missing and it would slowly, but surely, eat at her. The last thing Evelyn wanted to do was make Éliane miserable and she didn’t Éliane to resent her for it, in the long run, either.

She brought up these points to Éliane, but just as she feared, Éliane rebuked every one of her arguments, because on top of everything else, her girlfriend was absolutely stubborn.

“But, if you’re all the way in Edmonton, that means a different time zone, I don’t get to see you as often and – you might never come back,” Éliane finally admitted, hours later, when it felt as though they were going around in circles with this discussion. She sounded small and – insecure and it was then that Evelyn realised that the real root of the problem wasn’t that Evelyn wanted to study outside of the city, it was that Éliane knew how much she missed Edmonton and Éliane feared she would never return once she went back.

The real problem was that Evelyn, for as much as she wanted to reassure her that she would – that she’d go there for the length of the degree and then come back – wasn’t sure she could say so convincingly. Who was to say what would happen when she got there? Who was to say that she would find a job in Montreal post-graduation? Who was to say that she and Éliane would still be together that many years ahead?

“Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen between now and then – but I want this to work, between us. I’m not running away to Edmonton to find some other girl or to replace you and I promise I’m going to do my best to make this long distance whatever work between us.” She started and gathered Éliane in her arms. Her girlfriend made herself small and buried her face in the folds of her sweater, taking in a deep breath, committing the scent of Evelyn to her mind, already knowing she would be gone within a few months.

“I promise too,” Éliane added softly, not meeting Evelyn’s eyes, already fighting to keep the tears at bay, “I mean – I want this to work too and I want you to be happy, so do what you feel will make you happiest.”

“But you make me happy, El,” Evelyn pressed a kiss to the top of Éliane’s head and that at least got a smile out of her, “I like having you around.”

“And I’ll still be here – after you’re done, but I don’t want you to miss out on this opportunity. I don’t want you to have regrets, twenty years from now or resent me because in a way I kept you here – that you stayed back because of me.”

“Are you sure?”

Éliane nodded, “I’ll miss you. I already miss you. But we can still talk and text, yeah?” She asked as if it was a question – as if Evelyn wasn’t already thinking of having weekly video call dates, or something of the likes. She would be going from having Éliane around her nearly every day to being miles and miles apart. It would be a big adaptation – for both of them, but with Éliane’s blessing, Evelyn felt a little more confident that it would work out in the end.

--

Their last summer together was – different, if they were to compare them to the previous ones. Knowing that Evelyn would be gone by the end of it, Éliane made it a point to spend as much time with her as possible and to create as many memories – good memories, so that Evelyn would want to come back.

No matter how many times Evelyn reassured her that she would return, Éliane was still a little worried that this was it – that Evelyn would move on, but she still put on a brave face and did her best to be supportive and happy for her. (Which she was – but, why did Edmonton have to be so far away?)

On the day that she left, Éliane went to the airport with Mr and Mrs Murphy and did her utmost best not to cry in front of them. (There would be time later – when she was home and alone in her bedroom. She didn’t want to cause a scene at the airport. She didn’t want to be that person.)

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Evelyn told her when they shared one last tight hug. Her voice cracked a little and she did her best to swallow her own tears that threatened to spill forth.

“I promise I’ll try to come over reading week.” They’d talked of the possibility and Éliane had been firm when she’d said she’d come to Edmonton at any chance she had – anytime they had time off. Evelyn admired her determination, but felt her girlfriend had forgotten how expensive the plane tickets could get.

“Love you,” Evelyn chose to say instead.

“Love you more.” Éliane stepped back and let Evelyn go. She watched as her girlfriend exchanged one more hug with her family and then went to queue up with the other travellers. She waved and waved again and tried not to think about the gap she suddenly felt in her chest.

University turned out to be much harder than Cégep, but Evelyn enjoyed it a lot more. It wasn’t always easy, but the work was much more challenging and she felt like she was actually advancing with life. She got to reconnect with her old friends, made new ones and the only thing missing – the only person missing to make it all the more perfect was Éliane.

They made it a point to have weekly video calls, just like Evelyn had thought of before she left, but it wasn’t always easy to keep with their schedule, what with different time zones, part time jobs, school work and the myriad of other obligations that got in the way. Still, every time they did talk, Evelyn felt as though the missing puzzle piece to her life was slotted into place.

And, for as much as they settled into their new routine, slowly got used to not being around each other (Evelyn liked to say that absence made the heart grow fonder), there came a time when Éliane started to really think that Evelyn had moved on. When she would stay up far too late and see her girlfriend post photos on social media, out with her new friends, having a jolly good time, and some ugly thing inside of her whispered that Evelyn was replacing her – that this relationship would fizzle out. It also didn’t help that with time zones and busy schedules, midterms and projects, their weekly video calls became shorter and were sometimes postponed or cancelled.

Éliane tried to tell herself that it was normal, that Evelyn had a life out there, that she was busy herself, but the fear kept gnawing at her and she hated that she thought this way. Deep down she knew it wasn’t true, but no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, there was still always an ounce of doubt that stayed.

Eventually, it crept up in a conversation, just before winter break and Evelyn hated that her girlfriend thought she wasn’t as interested anymore.

“Sweetheart, no – look, I know it’s hard, I miss you – a lot, but I promise I really want this to work between us and if ever, for some really absurd reason, I wasn’t interested anymore, I would let you know. I would never string you along, okay? And even if I’m in class, or asleep, you can still message me – I’ll answer you later, just like we’ve been doing, alright?”

Éliane nodded and wiped the tears away from her eyes. She hated that she couldn’t be strong – that something so trivial had gotten to her, but at the same time, hearing Evelyn say those words comforted her a bit, “I love you,” She said instead, because it was true and because sometimes it felt like her heart was too small to contain all the love she felt for Evelyn.

“Love you more, you silly goose. And I miss you. And I’m looking forward to seeing you this summer.”

Éliane smiled a little at that – at the promise of two weeks with Evelyn mostly all to herself. It wouldn’t be the same as the other summers, but she supposed they had to make do with what they got.

“Thanks for listening,” She said.

Evelyn smiled softly and touched the screen for a moment, “Of course – I’m always here for you, just like you’re always there for me.”

It didn’t suddenly get better or easier after that call, but Éliane felt just a little less alone. She stopped worrying that she was being extra clingy and reached out to Evelyn whenever she felt she needed it. She didn’t hold back when she wanted to send her a message, even if it was a simple heart emoji and the wonderful thing was that Evelyn replied to every single one and would send them back as well.

For the first time since Evelyn had left for Edmonton, Éliane felt a little lighter and started to believe that they would grow stronger from this and that they’d find a way to make it work. It was hard work, sure, she didn’t always like the distance, but it made her appreciate the time they had even more and because it was worth it to her – to the both of them, it pushed them both to keep working towards it.

If Evelyn sent her a sweater of hers for Christmas, well, maybe, just maybe it became Éliane’s favourite and she compulsively wore it all the time over the following four years, even after it stopped smelling of her girlfriend.

Éliane still considered transferring to UofA, or at the very least, doing an exchange for one semester, just to be with Evelyn for a few months. When she told Evelyn about it, she suggested to go somewhere different – not to hold back just because of her. She didn’t want her to miss out on some great experience or opportunity and settle for this out of some skewed sense of obligation. She could always visit her in Edmonton, but how many chances would she have to go literally anywhere else in the world? Evelyn threw back at her the same words and wisdom she had given her a year before and, with Evelyn’s blessing, Éliane applied elsewhere.

In the end, she went to study art in Italy, for the length of her second semester. She loved every moment of it, fell in love with the people, the food, and the culture, and sent too many postcards to Evelyn, until her entire wall was full of them.

To top it all off, since the school schedule in Italy was a little different, Evelyn even managed to surprise Éliane at the end of the term, when she flew in to spend some time with her, and they got to spend two weeks together in Italy.

And, somehow or other, they made it through undergrad together, even if they weren’t always in the same city.

--

When Evelyn had to apply for her Master’s degree, she once more decided to apply to schools both in Edmonton and back in Montreal. After four years back home, she felt that she had found the catharsis and closure she had been looking for all those years, after her father had sprung the move on her back when she was in high school. On top of that, she had really missed Éliane and – to her biggest surprise, she had also missed her life in Montreal.

She still wasn’t sure where she would eventually settle, how that would play with Éliane, but she figured, if she studied in Montreal, it would buy them both another two years before they had to figure it out.

This time around, she was accepted to the better of the engineering schools in Montreal and so, she took that as a sign that moving back was the right course of action – at least for now.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Éliane was very excited when Evelyn broke the news of her decision to her, a few days later, once she had accepted the offer and weighed in all the pros and cons, and Evelyn had to admit that she was looking forward to going back – to picking up where things had left off and moving forward.

She was still a little sad that she was leaving Edmonton behind yet again, but this time, it was on her own terms and she knew that she could always come back and that no matter where she lived or where she went, the city would always be part of her.

Her first year back was – interesting, to say the least. For starters, she had to get used to living with her parents again, which seemed like a strange thing to say, but she had gotten used to staying with her grandparents during her undergrad degree. On top of that, the commute was different from what she’d known beforehand and sometimes, she cursed the suburbs. It was so very far away and there was so much wasted time.

Another thing she had to get used to again, which was also a strange thing to say, was being around Éliane again – or at the very least, the possibility of being around her again more often. It took them a while to fall back into their regular old patterns, even if they were happy to be able to be together again. At first, Evelyn had worried that maybe being away for so long had changed her feelings for Éliane, but once they talked it over and figured things out, she settled in her new routine and got the hang of it.

During that first year, Éliane moved out of her parents’ place and got one of her own, which Evelyn started spending more and more time at, since it was much closer to school and it also gave them more privacy than in their former bedrooms. She was there so often, in fact, that by the end of the first semester, she had her own spare key to the place, in case Éliane wasn’t around and she wanted to crash, and by the end of the second semester, Éliane casually asked her if she wanted to permanently move in with her.

Evelyn had been surprised and shocked by the offer. She had thought about it, they had talked about it, but she hadn’t thought Éliane would ask her so soon. Then again, she supposed she hadn’t taken into account her girlfriend’s impulsiveness. Therefore, over summer break, Evelyn moved her stuff halfway across town and finally, she was settled in with Éliane.

Her second and last year of her Master’s was just as interesting as her first and came with its own challenges and adaptations. For starters, there was the fact that she was now living with her girlfriend. For as much as it was great, for as much as she loved the idea of having a place that was her own and that she and Éliane could build together, there were also times when they’d find themselves butting heads over the most inane of things. It was a test and exercise in compromise, patience, and communication and even though they didn’t always get it right on the first try, they kept at it and eventually found solutions to their problems.

Finally, eventually, she finished her program, somehow or other, and on graduation day, her parents, her sister, and Éliane were there to see her receive her diploma. There was something – oddly soothing about having them all there, about knowing that she could have this – that her parents were accepting and welcoming, that she had the chance and privilege to have this, when so many others did not.

To celebrate the occasion, Mr and Mrs Murphy took them all out to a nice dinner and Evelyn thought it was the perfect ending to her academic career.

It was only later, when they were back at their own place and her parents and sister had left that Evelyn received the surprise of her life.

“I have a gift for you,” Éliane said, which surprised Evelyn, since her girlfriend had already given her a gift earlier that moment. Then again, Éliane was notorious for such things, so really, it shouldn’t have come as a shock. However, what did come as a shock was when Éliane walked up to her, got down on one knee and then proposed to her – ring and all – speech and hopeful smile included.

And – they had spoken about this, before – had brought it up a handful of times under different circ*mstances; sometimes as a joke, other times seriously, but – it still took her by surprise for the simple reason that she hadn’t thought Éliane would ask her on the day of her graduation – or that Éliane would be the one to ask. If anything, Evelyn was convinced that she would have beaten her to it.

She said yes, obviously, and Evelyn wondered if it was possible to bottle up the giddy feeling she felt inside of her and drink from it for the rest of her life.

--

Éliane put the photo album she’d been perusing down when she heard the front door open followed by Evelyn’s usual “I’m home!” She craned her head back in time to see her wife remove her motorcycle helmet and put it down before she passed a hand through her hair. Éliane couldn’t help but smile, fond and still so very much in love after all these years, as she watched one of her favourite daily spectacles.

She greeted her back and then watched as her wife then removed her leather jacket and put down her messenger bag before removing her boots and making her way towards her. “Hi,” She said, smiling wider as Evelyn bent down to kiss her properly in greeting. They went through their daily exchange of “how was your day” and “you’ll never believe what happened when,” as Evelyn settled beside Éliane and made herself comfortable, slowly unwinding from her day.

“What have you been up to?” Evelyn asked as Éliane carded her fingers through her hair.

“I was doing some cleaning and stumbled upon our old high school album! Ended up doing a lot of reminiscing and got a little distracted,” She admitted with a laugh. Evelyn chuckled and rolled her eyes, far too used to her wife’s antics, but was nonetheless fond. Éliane was notorious for this, but it was endearing in its own way.

“Yeah?”

Éliane nodded and retrieved the aforementioned album from the pile of what turned out to be other photo albums and opened it up to a random page, “Look! There you are!” She said pointing at a photo of the theatre troupe.

Evelyn took the album out of her hands and brought it closer to her face to get a good look, she groaned when she saw the photo, “Ugh, what was up with my hair?”

“Hush you; you had very nice hair – you still have very nice hair,” Éliane reproached, taking back the album as though afraid Evelyn would say more bad things about her past self and somehow or other insult the album in the process.

“You were very biased,” Evelyn teased, grinning wolfishly at her.

“No – I just have impeccable taste.”

Evelyn laughed and pulled her wife closer, despite her protests at being manhandled in such a way (even though they both knew it was mostly for show), before she pressed noisy kisses to the side of her face, “Very, very biased – so biased. So biased that there’s a photo of you beside the definition of the word, in the dictionary.” She went on, grinning, inches away from her lips, “The most biased, actually,” She added before kissing her softly. She felt Éliane cup her face and kiss her back, soft and pliant, and so welcoming and loving – like always, like it had been those first careful times what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago.

“Just for you, darling,” Éliane murmured, moments later, when they parted to catch their breaths, “Always just for you.”

Evelyn laughed and the sound of it thrilled Éliane who held her wife close, loving her more with each passing moment – with each breath she took. She still thrilled and marvelled that even so many years later, they still kept choosing each other, every single day and she knew that for as long as she lived, Evelyn would always have her.

FIN

3 notes · View notes

Oxventure University/School AU

Because it’s part 2. Do watch out for a little gayness, you might catch it! Oh no!

When Percy had shouted that she threw rocks at him from her window he had not accepted the fact that maybe it could have set of a chain reaction that resulted in everyone airing out their dirty laundry at each other.

So far Dob had shouted in agreement with the rock statement, hitting the delicate fancy-boy in the arm and making him grimace. Why did he have to sit next to him, surely everyone should know he hates people by now...maybe he should try and burn down a building. Seemed to work for Pru.

Talking of Pru she had then argued that she never HIT them. Merilwen then said that it was still unacceptable to which Egbert, with his meek voice muttered that she's one to talk.

"What do you mean?" Percival had decided to ask, from all he knew, which wasn't much since he hated paying attention to people, the gardening spirit had always been kind and maybe a little quiet but nowhere near as bad as Pru.

"I-I...ummm..I just mean she made a dude transfer to a 'special needs' school...right?" Egbert had then muttered out, visibly shuffling in his chair. Percival had known he was weird but not this weird. Despite this though he wasn't...bothered by Egberts habits, he found them quiet...cute.

"In my defence he kicked a mouse." Merilwen casually explains as if that makes it justifiable and Percival is horrified to see Dob nod in agreement. What kind of weird people is he stuck here with!?

Rolling his eyes and sighing, avoiding the sting he feels when he does so Percival watches the carnage go down. Rubbing the bridge of his noise he tries to reduce the migraine pounding against his head but it does nothing.

Apparently as he had been trying to wake himself up and rolling his eyes Dob had taken to squaring up to Prudence, Prudence had taken to poking Egbert about his past and Merilwen has taken to staring at Percival.

"What?" Percival snaps at the meek looking girl staring at him, giving her his best glare. For all he knew she was just asking him if he had a pencil or something but he couldn't take that risk, could get close.

"You are Percival M-" Merilwen starts and is quickly silenced by him snapping a quick 'yes' but she continues, "Aren't you the boy who drove over my prise poppies at the start of the year?"

Percival narrows his eyes and mutters a small, 'How do you remember that?' But nods.

He now knows that is NOT what he should have done. He should have denied it because now the short girl has him in a headlock, she is surprisingly strong for her smaller size.

Percival makes noises in pain as his head threatens to twist off before the door to the room swings open and he forces himself to be quiet.

He cannot be caught like this! Percival shakes with the thought of what his father would do if he heard that he had been caught in a headlock with the other children fighting.

“...okay...I'm just going to...If you promise not to hurt me I won't say a single thing about this." A confused voice calls from the doorway and Percival assumes Prudence nods as he sees a slightly blurry red blob move slightly from her position holding a golden blob under a brown blob. Percival doesn't recognise the voice; he considers maybe it is the new teacher that he hadn't met yet...

Percival slowly hears the door close and click shut as he wonders if he might need glasses. He then feels cool freshness return to his throat as he is released from Merilwen's grasp.

"Come on Mer, he's pale enough already. I thought you were going to kill him." Dob mutters to Merilwen who glares at the fancy boy but backs off further at Dob's request. Percival has to wonder if Dob was the one who stopped Merilwen's headlock.

In silence they resume their seats, Dob deciding again to sit next to Percival and making him uncomfortable.

"So what's the deal with you fancy-pants?" Prudence addresses Percival who huffs. He had a name; he doesn't like to use it but fancy-pants is no better.

"Nothing." Percival answers swiftly with a glare at Pru, he always though they'd got on but now he knew he was wrong. She turned on him just like he thought she would.

"Oh come on Percy! You wear that blazer constantly, even in summer, you only take academic higher classes, you barely speak and you're deathly pale." Dob lists and makes Percival wince at the name.

"Don't call me Percy." He grunts and death-glares the taller boy, giving his best vibe of 'I will punch you. I will also tackle you to the ground'

"Okay, okay. But please can we learn a little about you?" Prudence softly asks and heads turn to her, surprised at her soft tone. Maybe she's trying to trick them into false security.

Percival looks at the people in this room, no one would believe he actually likes these people, never mind told them anything about himself. No one would believe the wasted jock, the garden girl, the occult goth or the clumsy golden-boy...

"You already know about me."

"No. We know you're the son of..." Merilwen starts butcuts herself off, knowing he doesn't want to talk about it, "We know your name but we don't know you."

Percy rolls his eyes and shuffles as he realises Dobs arms are wrapped around his shoulders. This all sounds and looks like a terrible 70's movie. Plus it's almost time for them to go.

"Fine." Percival gives in and addresses Prudence, "What do you want to know?"

"What's with the hair Perc?" Prudence asks and the rest nod, Percival sneering but sighing as he agreed to this.

"Nothing "

"Oh, come on, you agreed to answer us. Now spill the beans on why you hate your hair." Merilwen stares with a smile, Percival's sneer dropping as she sees straight through him. It's not THAT obvious is it?

"I don't." Percival tries to deny it again, it's not like they would understand or not use it to tease him. He knows he's just a snob and that's how everyone sees him.

"Percival, you fiddle with it constantly, you freak out whenever it gets out of place though smile when it gets messed up after sports and you constantly have a hairbrush on you." Prudence notes and smiles at Percival giving her a small smile back, she knew he was not all snappy under his defences, "Either you have a problem that we need to address right now or you hate your hair."

Percival grunts but doesn't deny that Prudence has got him, he does hate his hair.

"Okay. Fine." He sneers and takes a breath in, "I do..dislike-Not hate!-my hair. It's always to one side, it frames my stupid face, it draws attention, it's a weird colour, it has to constantly be neat and the length is off. It needs to be shorter or longer or ANYTHING but what my father makes me have it as."

Turns out the quiet brooding Percival is quite talkative once you get him to talk and this surprises the people in the room, all except Prudence, she though he might be. It might be due to the sitting next to each other for a while in physics or possibly the fact she, during that time, noticed Percy's habit of fixing everything about him subconsciously or the stiff posture or the way his eyes dart a little too swiftly around every time something happens or the random opening of his mouth to answer questions or talk but the quick closure of said mouth a few seconds after, no sound coming out.

"Okay...Why don't you cut it?" Egbert asks to break the silence and Percival narrows his eyes as the blond, seeing if he's trying to make a joke.

"Umm..." Percival starts but realises by the expressions on the people’s faces he probably shouldn't load all his issues onto them this easily and simply refuses to accept that fact he can't cut his hair. Not with his father.

"I-I..umm..Guess I could...actually..." Percival muses and fails to notice the bell ringing, signalling the end of their time here.

"See you dudes later, tomorrow probably." Egbert shouts as he stands up and marches out of the room, everyone assumes he's going back to his room to sleep. Sometimes he doesn't even make it to his room.

Percival wonders why the blond is so ready to leave them, is it possibly he hates them and will leave as soon as possibly when given the chance? Is Egbert secretly hating them....He has been awfully quiet. He probably hates them. Percy was just in the middle of a story. Does Egbert not want to finish the story?

"Yeah..I'm afraid I've got to go. Nice meeting you. Also, Percival, do it. You're worth it." Merilwen explains and waits for a second by the door to support the posh-boy. Maybe they’re all just tired, Percival thinks as Merilwen seems nice enough to tell him if she hated him.

"Really...what do you guys think?" Percival turns to ask the two remaining people, a spark of something just catching.

"You should do it. I don't like your hair like that anyway." Dob muses and Percival smiles slightly; he has one person who thinks it's a great idea and with Dob smiling at him he can't think of any reason not to do it.

"Yeah. If it makes you happy do it, that's how you make a better life for yourself. Don't care what others think or say, as long as you're happy and you don't kill anyone, do it." Prudence inputs as she slings her bag up and walks away, her hair and hips swaying. Percival wonders if she does that on purpose.

"Okay...thank you...Umm...want to...walk me to my car?" Percival asks the tall jock, who quickly grabs him and ends up dragging him down the stairs and to his car, his need to run more about being excited than wanting to get Percival out of his way quicker. In all honesty Percival doesn't know why he asked tis boy he met an hour or so ago to walk him to his car but he doesn't exactly have time to correct himself when Dob is dragging him down the stairs of the school.

This dragging ends with a huffing but smiling jock and a wide-eyed, hot fancy-pants.

"That was fun!" Dob exclaims and smiles, making the snob huff at him, he almost broke his legs getting dragged down those stairs.

"Oh! Wait!" Dob exclaims and Percival raises a brow, it's not like he was going anywhere. Dob looks down at the shy boy before reaching hand out and ruffling his hair, making the boy jump back in surprise. If there was ANYTHING Percival was expecting to happen today being..touched was not one of them. Disgusting!

"There. Now you look better." Dob muses as Percival hears a car drive and park behind him. Percy doesn't know what he looks like but as he turns to look at the car, he catches his reflection and true to Dob's words he looks better. Of course Percy then remembers that his father definitely wouldn't think that and panics.

"Oh, come here you idiot." Dob laughs at Percy's panicked face before grabbing him and slowly flattening his hair and fixing it into a crude version of what it was before, all the while Percy is face to chest with Dob, wondering why him.

Quickly Percival walks away from Dob, keeping his head low and placing a hand in front of where Dob could possibly see his blush. Percival knows he really shouldn't be this easy to fluster, he's not even meant to show any emotion if his father’s example is anything to go by but he can't help it. Dob is strong, sweet and muscular. Plus...it's natural chemistry, right? He can't decide who he likes...right?

Dob stands there and waves a cheery goodbye as Percival's black car drives away, for the millionth time failing to notice Percival’s smile drop and the fact he looks like he's getting taken to a government facility.

6 notes · View notes

Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader

Part 5

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this series!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: nothing too outlandish

Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?

The sound of boots – thudding against the wet slippery tarmac of the alleyway – fills the sullen, dripping midnight air; illuminated by nothing but the street lamps, up high against the red-bricked walls of the two buildings – pipes slithering across the side – grimy and worn over with age.

The rain had resided into a light drizzle – the raindrop only serving to make the icy air that much more unbearable. Cable retracts his umbrella, retrieving the tracking device from his thick grey slacks, as he scans around the area for signs of the tracker chip.

Deadpool prances around him, splashing through the small puddles Cable had made a point to avoid. Deadpool’s hands come to rest over Cable’s shoulders, followed by a lighthearted, sashaying comment.

‘’Somebody’s a little tense in the ass today,’’ he slaps Cable’s ass, prompting an annoyed growl, and a sharp glare from the man.

Cable paces down the alley, as the beeping from the tracking device intensifies – getting faster and faster.

He looks up, only to find the same empty alleyway – save for the dumpster – in front of him.

‘’Where the f*ck could that motorcycle be…’’

As he walks past the dumpster, the beeping becomes furious – making him stop in his tracks. The dark void [jb1]of the dumpster reveals itself – as Cable carefully lifts the lid up with the umbrella – the seeming emptiness of it lightly cast under the yellow shades of the streetlamps illuminates the outline of a beaten down and robbed-of-its-parts motorcycle; but the handlebars and the insignia of a skull were hard to miss.

‘’Guess we have our horse. The rider should be near.’’ Cable smirks to himself.

‘’Listen, I know you’re from the country and all – but no one is going to understand your horse metaphors.’’

‘’She’s close by, pea-for-brains.’’

Cable reaches in to grab the handlebars and the license plate, throwing the handle bars at Deadpool before carefully running the plate numbers. He holds down the comms device in his ear – ‘’NTW, looks like we have a trail. Run these numbers for me’’

‘’Will do.’’ A disembodied voice – NTW’s – answers back in the comms immediately.

‘’Oh, so when Foxy Grandpa here asks for something, he immediately gets a response. But when I ask for nearest steak house, you leave me on radio silence!’’ Wade whines, as the both of them head back to their rumbling car, as the smoke from the exhaust rises against the gently dropping rain – starting up before disappearing into the night.

***

You feel the sudden waft of cool air tickle your toes, making you instinctively jerk your feet up and back into the warm safety of your blankets. The movement wakes you up enough to sense the broad, rising and falling chest that your arm was draped over. Your face was close to his, the heat radiating off his body like a restful fireplace.

From your position, you could see the window, the changing colour of the sky, an angel blue rising over the horizon.

You hold Piotr’s body close to you, snuggling against his clavicle – and the movement stirs him awake, as he takes in a sharp breath.

‘’…. hmm?’’ a soft sound escapes from him, as he slowly shifts around to face you.

‘’I didn’t say anything,’’ you murmur, after a light chuckle.

‘’Is that so?’’ his voice was gruff from sleep, almost a statement more than a question – his body sways around, and now you were on your back, as his large palm glides over your hips, under your shirt – stopping just short of your breasts.

You smile at the little gesture – giving him a mischievous smirk before pulling his hand up higher, just enough to cup your breast, putting a hand over his and closing it into a squeeze.

Piotr rumbles a laugh, his smile with teeth showing, as he nudges his nose against your neck – not making any effort to move his hand from its new spot. He places a kiss on your neck, leaving butterflies in your stomach, as you both drift off again.

***

The morning sun came way too quickly for either of your likings. Piotr’s phone had woken the both of you up, as it buzzed against the wooden bedside table.

He takes in a hissing breathe, mildly annoyed by the intrusion. You’d been awake before him, relishing in the feeling of his body sidled against yours – hand still cupped softly over your breast – in the gentle silence of the morning, when the ringing made you turn your attention.

Piotr seemed to take a few seconds to make any sort of moves to answer the phone – reveling in the last few moments with you before duty called.

‘’You should probably get that,’’ you say, your voice still low-slung from sleep, as you trace roundabouts down the bare smooth skin of his back, feeling the ridges and tension, as he moves to prop himself up on his elbow, lowering a soft kiss onto your forehead, before sitting his body up and against the edge of the bed.

A radioed voice speaks to Piotr – not even a hello uttered – prompting a string of hums and okays from him. He gets up to wash up, still on the phone, and comes back to bed as you wait for his phone call to be over

‘’I’ll be there as soon as I can. I appreciate the good work. See you at the man– … station,’’ he stutters, as he looks back to you. Your body was turned away from him, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

Once you hear the phone’s gentle thud on the table, you turned around to face Piotr – his back still towards you. You wrap yourself over his shoulder, smothering your head into his neck from behind as he chuckles a low rumbling laugh.

‘’Do you have to go?’’ you ask, disappointed at the prospect of Piotr having to leave so early in the morning.

‘’Da. I’m sorry. I really so wish I could stay a little longer…’’ He seemed as disappointed as you were – and you didn’t want him feeling sad as he was leaving.

You nudge him backwards, repositioning your body in front of him as his body fell back onto the bed, with you straddling over his waist – cupping his face, your hands pulling him into a kiss.

His body concedes to all your whims – thankful, even, for the wonderful show of affection.

The longing even before the leaving of a lover.

He’s surprised by his own thoughts, Piotr. The way you made poetry come so easily to him – someone who never thought words were enough to express the things he felt in his heart.

When your lips leave his – much too soon – his deep blue eyes regard you with a tenderness that could bring the greatest forests to its knees.

You become bashful in the spotlight of his attention, not knowing what to say in the moment; you laugh nervously – as his hand tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

‘’Piotr?’’

‘’Da?’’’

You laugh again. You didn’t know why exactly you said his name. Maybe it was your way of bringing him back to the present.

He reciprocates your laugh. ‘’In Russia, we have saying… smekh bez prichiny - priznak durachiny.’’

‘’Oh? What does that mean?’’ You ask, curious at this sudden connection to his language.

He laughs to himself, almost as if he had an inside joke with himself.

You smile with a frown crossing your face, incredulously waiting for him to answer you.

‘’It means… ‘laughter without a reason is a sign of a fool’, ‘’ he promptly giggles as he watches your eyes widen in shock. You swat at his arm as you playfully push him off the bed.

‘’I THINK it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Rasputin.’’

Piotr relents and stands off the side of the bed, laughing as he goes into the bathroom to get changed.

***

‘’Welcome back, chrome-dome! How was the sleepover? Did ya feel good? Cos whilst you were out there getting pegged or whatever, we have been busting our asses off tryna find our little friend here,’’ Deadpool points to the blurry, screen-capped picture of a masked person on a bike – just as Piotr walks into the mansion.

‘’Give him a rest, dickface,’’ Cable rises, ‘’Colossus, we ran the license plate number… and it belongs to someone who lives on this address–‘’ Cable passes a slip of paper to Piotr– ‘’but when we paid them a visit, turns out they’re a 70-year-old senior who’s been dead for 2 years,’’ Cable informs with a snark undertoned with his annoyance.

‘’Our gal’s nifty. Left a paper trail that goes nowhere. NTW is tracking more street cams to see if she left the scene on foot or on another vehicle. She’s found the street our little friend walked down. Does it ring any bells to you?’’ Cable shows a hologram of a pixelated woman walking down the street, disappearing off the street as she gets into a car.

‘’Stop,’’ Piotr notices something in the background, ‘’please zoom in on that building.’’

Cable obliges, flicking the fingers against the screen, bringing the building closer and closer until the name of the shop comes into view.

Bert’s Flower House

Piotr acknowledges what he had initially suspected.

‘’I know that flower shop.’’

***

‘’I’ve got a job for you.’’

‘’Go figure.’’

Demetrius had sent a messenger to meet at your designated meeting location, informing you about an important transfer.

And here you were, at some shady shipping dock, waiting for Demetrius to give you details on the transfer. The whole scene – rocky harsh waves crashing and rocking the boats as the winds howled in the background – was like something out of a crime novel.

He wasn’t alone this time. His goons were with him, one on each side – armed with rifles and hidden knives.

You were smart enough to come armed and armoured. You had connections with manufacturers who made specialized clothing that were bulletproof. You also had small weapons in your arsenal that could give you time to escape any situation. Demetrius would sometimes call you his ‘one-man army’.

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before speaking.

He motions to the suitcase sitting on the table in front of him.

‘’This here, my girl, is our most prized possession. Worth trillions and trillions. And every government and their mums want their hands on it. What I need you to do is deliver it to Mr. Synder.’’

‘’Him? I thought you hated him.’’

Demetrius laughs. ‘’Excellent deduction, child, but in this business, hate has no place where money should be.’’

You cringe at how nonchalant his greed manifests into righteous speeches.

He gives you more details before dismissing you. The suitcase was to be delivered within 48 hours – at your convenience, which gave you more leeway than you thought to get your own plan set in motion.

***

On your way back home, you decide to pay D.K. a visit at his school.

You come to a stop outside his school’s front gate on your new motorcycle, the unmistakable crunching of new rubber on the tarmac was something you’ve missed.

You see him waiting for the bus at the bus stop up ahead and pull up closer to him, grabbing his attention as you pull off your helmet.

‘’Hey kid. Need a ride home?’’

The smile that lit D.K.’s face when he saw you as you removed your helmet was better than you had imagined.

You bring him to a nearby diner – mostly because you had to let him in on the plan you had for him.

His family had to be displaced due to him getting into trouble with your organization, and you felt wholly responsible – but the moment they figured out D.K.’s latent X-gene, you swore to keep him away from any sort of experimentation.

It was 4 years since that move, and you made sure he had a place to stay for the time being, but you’d always been a looming presence – a safety net – for him.

You had him enrolled into law school when he expressed interest in helping you out – mainly to get the boys who had gotten entangled with Demetrius get out of jail.

The waiter sets down a plate with a sizzling steak 2 times the size of your palm, followed by a hot bowl of fries, in front of D.K.

He looks at the steak, then back at you.

‘’I didn’t know today was my birthday,’’ he asks incredulously.

‘’Ha. Ha. Ha. Is that what they teach at law school? Snark?’’

‘’Yeah, it’s a core module. And I have the highest GPA.’’

You swat the side of his head playfully, as he starts chowing down on his meal. You wait for him to finish, stirring your cup of coffee as you watch the bustling street through the window.

The heavy grey clouds had been taking their time – their gloom still lingering on the ice-cold pavement, punctuated with puddles that little kids would purposefully step on, much to their parent’s disapproval.

You look back to D.K., and you wonder if he hates you for being part of the reason he’s in this predicament. He somehow notices your staring, and looks up – his loud chewing now stopped.

‘’Do you need something? Why are you staring at me, huh? I owe you something?’’

‘’GOD, would you just Shut. Up.’’

This was one of the things you loved about your relationship. You knew he was a bright kid when you first decided to take him under your wing – just needed the right resources. But he was also the most annoying and snarky, as-close-to-having-a-little-brother as you could get.

You smirk at him for a moment, but it fades when you realise that this arrangement can’t last for too long anymore.

‘’Hey. We need to get moving along. Your passports and documents are all settled. My Boss is on the move as well, and I can’t risk another incident with him finding you. He knows you’re nearby, which is reason enough for me to send you away as far as possible.’’

D.K. stops eating, avoiding eye contact as he stares blankly into his half-empty milkshake cup, rocking it on its base like a grumpy teen.

You knew what it was. Separation anxiety.

‘’Listen, kiddo. Your family is back there waiting for you. And they want so desperately for you to come back home…’’ You let your hand find his, and give him a firm squeeze.

He finally looks at you. ‘’I know. I just… I don’t want to leave you. You’ve spent so much time taking care of me, and trying to take care of everyone your sh*tty boss ruined… who’s here caring for you?’’

His words strike you hard. But you knew you’ve always had the answer for it. Just never the question.

‘’I’m not a good person. There’s a lot to me that you don’t know. This is just me, trying to make amends to my past. My goals are heavy, and so are the means to get there. I don’t want any more collateral damage.’’

‘’But you care. You could leave right now if you wanted to.’’ He asserts, his voice almost croaking.

‘’D.K. stop. I know what I’m doing, and I don’t need you to lecture me on this.’’ You keep your voice stern; there were still things he didn’t know about what your plans were.

‘’I can’t risk you, D.K. They know about your X-gene.’’

‘’That’s the other thing. Can I become an X-Man?’’ He asks, half-jokingly.

‘’Only if you wanna die and come back to life, like, five times minimum.’’

‘’Sounds sick.’’

You swat the side of his head again, before moving out of your booth to pay for the meal. You drop D.K. off at his student dorm before heading for the transfer site.

***

‘’If we get to – ‘’

NTW’s sentence is cut off by loud, incessant alarm bells blaring across the mansion, kicking the team into high alert.

Cable brings up his techno arm, tapping at it, when the scene of the city comes to view on a hologram, with the sound of a news report in the background.

‘’BREAKING NEWS. A swarm of sentinels have descended upon the city near Upper East Side, 2nd avenue, attacking nearby buildings. Civilians are told to steer clear of the area and follow orders from the authorities as they try to take hold of the situation.’’

Colossus looks to Yukio, then to Cable and Wade – then straightens up.

‘’We have job to do now, the mystery lady can wait.’’

_____________________________________________________________

Taglist! @emma-frxst@fluffymadamina@candle-light-writings

35 notes · View notes

A Bell Through The Night

Or the one where Harry surprises you in more ways than one.

Word Count: 7.3 kThemes: AU, fluff, angst, 70s!Harry, Fleetwood MacPairing: Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x Stevie Nicks (circa 1975)Warnings: drug useAuthor’s Note: I know this is a little late, since the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame train has long left the station but I still wanted to share this!Inspired by this: “This beautiful child should’ve been born in 1948, too, because he just fits in with all of us.” - Stevie Nicks [on Harry Styles]

masterlist read onwattpad edits

August 24, 1975.

It’s a phone call that has you in the Arizona desert at the tail end of the summer months. Harry had gone down days before you for a meeting. Work had been slow in coming your way for a few weeks and photographing locals for a small newspaper in the city had left you with little to be desired. So when he’d asked for you to join him on this specific day, in this specific place, you were more than excited to oblige.

The trek from the opposite coast hadn’t been as bad as you thought it would be. You were nervous at first because, up until this point, you had never been on a plane. But there was something about the ride amongst sun kissed, gossamer clouds that made you never want to get off.

Now you were stood at the airport, wedged in a phone booth, camera strapped and hanging from your neck. Your small blue suitcase tucked in between your legs as you rest the phone between your ear and shoulder. Rooting around in your denim jacket pocket for the piece of paper containing the phone number for the motel Harry was staying in, as well as an address. You find it, then drop a dime into the coin slot. The dial tone buzzes loudly through the receiver before a pre-recorded woman’s voice prompts you to dial “the number you wish to reach.”

The shrill phone ring bleeds through the phone becoming the soundscape for your observation of your surroundings as you wait for him to answer. Two young children run around screaming and laughing, A young couple sit cuddled up together on an island bench, a TSA guard, with his too small button up shirt, stained with sweat, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee at a counter cafe. You scratch your arm, it had been weeks since you’d decided to quit smoking and it was getting harder and harder everyday to not just cave.

“Hello?”

His voice pours through the phone like honey, comb still in, static dances around the accompanying silence. You jump even though you had been expecting his voice, you hadn’t realized just how long it had been since you’d last spoken.

“Hey, Harry, Hi,” you speak, while fumbling to readjust the phone, settling on just holding it up to your ear with your hand.

“Hey love, y’here? How was the flight?”

“Good, good. I mean there was a baby crying the whole way down but I feel worse for their mom than I do myself and the attendants just seemed like they wanted to jump out of the plane, sans parachute, ya know? It was wild, so beautiful but like, we were up so high. It’s weird to think about how far technology has come. Uhm, are you picking me up still?” You ramble and Harry notices, his soft chuckle trickles through the phone, notifying you.

“You nervous or something, bunny?”

You laugh, waving your hand in the air in front of you, as if doing so would fan away the acute feelings of anxiety that followed you from your home, onto a plane, and right to Sky Harbour International airport. You hated surprises and although you had been together for nearly three years, you weren’t sure if Harry had known.

“No, no. I’m fine. Totally copasetic.”

There’s a light shuffling on the other end of the phone as well as a few soft voices but none clear enough for you to distinguish.

“Choice. I can’t pick you up. I gotta finish up getting your surprise ready but I will meet you at the motel at six, you have the address. Y’alright with taking a cab?”

You glance around the airport. The TSA guard is now talking to a woman who is holding the hands of the two children that were rebel rousing earlier. She looks exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah. I can… I can do that.”“Alright! I’ll see you then,” the smile on his face was evident through his words, bringing the corners of your lips as well.

“See you then.”

You hang up and push yourself away from the pay phone, picking up your suitcase. You survey the wide, open space of the airport. People coming to and from, going everywhere, going nowhere. Finding their place in the world by getting lost. It was something that had always fascinated you; the idea that everyone you’re surrounded by in a public place has their own story. Sonder, a three dollar word that you’d thought Harry had made up during one of your game nights. The both of you had been so high that night - deciding that an LSD fueled scrabble game would be way more fun - that it took you nearly 45 minutes to locate it in the dictionary.

You step through the large glass doors towards the taxi nursery at the edge of the curb. The late afternoon sun washes you in a soft glow, as a snug blanket of dry heat surrounds you. You place your suitcase by your feet and pull off your jacket, tying it around your waist. The plain white tank top you have on reflects the surrounding light. You hold a hand out and a bright yellow car, top light on, pulls up in front of you. You toss in your suitcase before climbing in yourself. Dictating the address to the driver, you settle in for the ride.

Phoenix is unlike any place you’d ever been before. The city, with its towering, stalagmite-esque buildings scattered amongst vast flatlands. It carries a warm, sepia tone with an occasional burst of colour. You snap several pictures through the windows as you drive through the downtown metropolis. Attempting to catch the quick passing beauty of the city at sunset.

The Caravan Inn is a sight in the evening. The glow of lights irradiates the building making it seem as if the sun is shining right from it. The neon illuminated sign, a cavalcade of colours topped with the silhouette of a man riding a camel. A click of your camera shutter and the taxi speeds away, leaving you standing in front of your accommodations for the next few days.

You walk to the motel office, taking in the large OASIS sign, just to the left of it, that hangs right above a pool area. You mentally curse yourself for not packing a swimsuit. A light, airy chime sounds when you enter the small office, followed by the smell of stale coffee and the faint scent of lingering body odor. A stout woman, with white blonde hair stack and pinned to the gods, assists you, handing you a key and pointing you in the direction of the room Harry had been staying in, 2A.

The sound of your shoes echoes every time they meet the teal painted concrete steps. Your quick ascent to the second level of the motel causes your camera to bounce against your chest. You swivel left then right, then left again once you reach the landing. It only takes you a moment before you realize that the door you’re looking for is right in front of you, cloaked in the same aqua hue as the steps. A rusted, brass ‘2A’ sits in the center of it.

The room itself, modest in size, looks as if it held secrets that would cause your demise if you were to learn them. A queen sized bed, dressed in an obnoxious orange comforter sits against the wall, coming far into the middle of the room. Beside it, two bedside tables covered in a wood patterned vinyl, one with a clock, both with matching lamps. Gold bulbous bases, cylindrical off white shades throwing rays of toasty light around the room. Harry’s worn leather shoulder bag sits unzipped in the far corner, at the square, wooden base of the bed.

The soles of your shoes drag against the low, dark carpeted floor as you enter the room. A small side skip allows you to squeeze through the tight space between the foot of the bed and a small television stand before dropping your bag next to Harry’s.

The lone analog clock ticks right as you look at it, as if speaking directly to you. The hour hand rests just past the 5 and the minute, on the 3. It’s then that you realize just how long the journey had been. You sit on the bed, your weight lightly ricochets your body up then down, a squeal from the springs echos off of the brown and cream striped wallpapered walls. You’re exhausted and after a few passing seconds, decide to prioritize a nap over a shower. You lay back on top of the blanket, your head sinks into the pillow and just like that, you’re out.

Keys in a deadbolt brings you into a stream of consciousness. You keep your eyes closed and attempt to keep your breathing even and leveled, wanting to will yourself back to sleep. A shuffling sound follows the soft click of the of the door closing. You feel the bed dip then a strong arm secure itself around your waist along with a nose nuzzling into the hair at the base of your neck.

“Bunny?”

His lips touch your neck in a barely there kiss as his breath seeps into your skin and down your spine.

“Know you’re awake.”You groan as he kisses the base of your neck before untangling himself from you.

“Scoot your tush, got your surprise f’ya.”

You open your eyes and sit up, finding him standing at the edge of the bed, hands behind his back. You turn to face him, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed, legs crossed beneath you. His face holds a smile as bright as the neon signs of the countless motels on the interstate. Dimples on full display. His eyes trace the lines of your face.

You run your hand through your hair, smoothing it down.

“What is it?”

“My god, you’re gorgeous.”

“Duuuude,” you whine, the anticipation of not knowing why he’d asked you to come to Arizona was reaching critical mass. You want to know, you need to know.

“You have t’guess.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” his tone is laced with mock seriousness, causing his face follow suit, fighting against a smile.

You crawl forward across the bed towards him and rise to your knees when you’re right in front of him, so close your chests touch. You bring a hand up to his hair, playing with the long curls before tracing your hand down his t-shirt clad chest painfully slow. You notice his adam’s apple bob as your hand rests right above the top of his jeans. You trace your fingers from hip bone to hip bone as you pepper sluggish kisses up his neck to his jaw, which clenches when you kiss the soft groove between the sharp edge and his earlobe. His lips part, his eyes close and you know this is your chance. You use your free hand to snatch “your surprise” out of his hands, snapping Harry out of his revelry.

You scoot back quickly, your back bumps up against the headboard, laughing as Harry lunges towards you. You hold the item, which you now knew is a record, in the air as he tries to take it away from you. He sighs, giving up almost immediately while settling into the space between your legs, his chin resting on your stomach.

“Fine, you win.”You flash your teeth in victory.

“Don’t I always,” you laugh through your gloat, looking down at him. His eyes, wide and bright staring back at you, the pale jade speaking to your soul in a way nothing else ever could. He kisses the small patch of skin on your torso where your shirt has ridden up in all the excitement.

“Well, check it.”

You roll your eyes then bring the record down to eye level, blocking Harry’s face completely. In your hands, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album, which left you a bit confused. You distinctly remember going to the record store with Harry to buy it the day it had come out. In fact, you were pretty sure this was that exact copy, the coffee ring in the corner confirmed that. You tilt the record to the side to reveal Harry’s smirking face, your eyebrow raises to silently ask him what the heck was going on.

“Turn it over you mong.”

You sigh causing Harry’s head to sink with the release of air, flipping the record, turning to look at it from the side. Harry’s eyes are trained on you as you read the delicate, black scrawl that takes up the bottom right corner of the sleeve. Your eyes widen as you look back and forth between Harry and the album. His smile growing wider each time.

“How the f*ck did you… oh my god!”

Hey Bunny!

Thank you for loving and living.

Love, Stevie Nicks x.

“I know a guy. Check inside,” Harry pushes, he rolls his lips together, eyes trained on you as you tilt the record sleeve. Two small, rectangular pieces of pink hued paper, a stiff card like stock, fall onto the bed beside you. You place the record down gently and pick them up. Reading them, Harry didn’t think you could be more visibly excited, he was wrong. The fist holding them clench as you use you free hand to pull Harry up to eye level with you.

Pressing your lips together in a kiss that screamed appreciation and adoration. You pull apart moments later to catch your breaths, resting your forehead on his, all heavy breathing and dilated pupils you manage to squeeze out an nearly inaudible, “thank you.”

Harry takes you by the hand, pulling you through the crowd of sweaty, intoxicated in some way or another, bodies closer to the front of the stage. Turning back every once in a while with a huge smile on his face, which you returned with just as much enthusiasm.

The opening band had just finished their set and the crowd is amply warmed up, ready for the magic that is Fleetwood. You had chosen to go sober, wanting to soak in every song, every moment, every emotion, to hold on to for years to come. For when your grandchildren asked you about your youth, knowing that this was a moment you would regret to forget.

Harry pulls you into him, lazily draping an arm around your shoulders, once you both find yourself in a great spot; two rows behind those pressed up to the stage. You wouldn’t have to crane your neck to see but you felt bad for the shorter folks left standing behind your beau. The boy was tall and there was no denying that.

The house lights come down resulting in a boisterous roar from the crowd, mirroring the rumbling anticipation and excitement in your gut. You’d been listening to the band for as long as you could remember, from before Stevie had become a part of the magic, but it really was her addition that had made you fall in love all over again.

One by one Mick, Lindsey, Christine, and John take their places, instruments on their person. Safe for Mick’s drum set, which he quickly shuffles behind. Stevie is last on but most definitely not least. She floats onto the stage with a grace unparalleled to any earthly creature, dressed in a white, lace, tie up, cropped blouse, a sheer white shawl around her shoulders and light denim bell bottoms. She takes her place behind the microphone at center stage, tambourine in hand. The stage lights create an angelic halo around her as it shines through her flowing, blonde hair. You’re mesmerized, so much so that you hadn’t noticed Harry’s arm drop from around your shoulder.

It’s Christine who speaks first, addressing the crowd, welcoming you all to the show, thanking you for wanting to be a part of this experience with them, introducing the first song.

“‘Bout to do a song from the Kiln House album for you. This one’s called Station Man.”

Her accent catches you by surprise, breaking you out of your trance with a smile. You nudge Harry softly in the ribs, looking up at him. He looks down at you, a knowing smirk etched on his face.

You’re having the time of your life, dancing and singing along. Both to songs you hadn’t heard before and songs your soul could recognize in the afterlife. Jumping and spinning circles around Harry as he sways along to the music. Watching you enjoy yourself is one of his favourite things about spending time with you. A close second to your ability to challenge his mind with just the words that came out of your mouth.

“This is a song from our latest album that came out a few months ago. It’s a song from Stevie Nicks called Rhiannon,” Christine’s voice echoes throughout the theater.

Whistles and hoots drift from the back of the room to the front, cloaking you in a feeling of belonging. The opening chord of the song drip from Lindsey’s guitar, in a new yet familiar way, as Stevie steps up to the mic. You bring your camera up and snap a quick photo before settling. Preparing yourself for your favourite song off of the album you’d been listening to on repeat since you’d first had it in your possession.

“This is a song about an old Welsh witch.”

It’s then that she makes eye contact with you, smiling, and for a split second your heart stops. You can’t help but allow the grin on your face to grow exponentially. Her eyes leave yours and land beside you, on Harry, and she sends a short, familiar wave in his direction, to which Harry returns before she launches into the song.

Her voice guttural and raw, full of unspoken feelings and unknown history. She’s petite but so incredibly chasmal. You elbow him in his side, harder this time, fueled completely by awe.

“Heeeeey. What was that for?”

“Stevie just f*cking waved at you!”

He smiles, lifting and dropping his shoulders at your verbal observation. He stays silent, swaying to the music as you stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. You take a minute, glancing at Stevie and then back at Harry. Finally connecting her acknowledgement of his presence and his casual indifference.

“You know Stevie Nicks…” He turns his head to acknowledge your realization, but keeps his eyes glued to the stage.

“You know Stevie Nicks? How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He stays silent, his lower lip now wedged under this teeth. Gnawing ever so slightly.

You had now lost complete interest in the events happening on stage, shifting your focus, trying to understand how your boyfriend knew your idol.

You try again, slower this time, louder.

“Harry. How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He releases his lip, only to replace his teeth with his thumb and forefinger. Pulling at it pensively, his eyes still trained on the stage.

“We used to date.”

His words are so nonchalant that you’re thoroughly convinced you’ve misheard him. Your eyes widen. You look back and forth between Harry and Stevie. A lump forms in your throat as you watch the golden haired goddess twirl and glide around the stage. Her voice echoing throughout the theater.

Your mind drifts as you attempt to enjoy the show. You want to enjoy this moment, to relish in it but you continuously find your train of thought crashing into an pit of ugly envy, a flaming, fiery mess with no survivors. Jealousy had never been your MO but you’d always been distressingly aware of how absurdly incomparable Harry is. The passing eyes of both women and men alike was a constant reminder of that fact. It wasn’t only the fact that he was painfully handsome either - although denying that it is a colossal factor would be naive and foolish - but the genuine and intoxicating aura that surrounds him. Pulling people in, making them want him and want to know him. It had been the very reason you’d approached him in that dark, dingy dive years prior, and now it’s the reason you feel as small as you do. Incredibly inadequate standing next to him, in the pit of a show led by a woman whose aura and beauty matched his, whom of which he had been involved with. How could you compare? How could you ever live up to that? A lyrical angel, a literal rockstar. You’re tired of the sour feeling pinching your stomach but you can’t help but compare yourself to the ethereal enigma that is Stevie. Who could?You didn’t say anything to Harry through the rest of the show nor him to you. You’re so consumed with the rush of feelings that’ve come over you that you hadn’t noticed the show had ended. It wasn’t until you felt the movement of the crowd heading towards the back of the theater, like a high tide being pulled by the moon, that you re-join reality. Your nerves are fried and you’re not quite sure if they could be repaired.

Harry turns to you, smiling. His hands on your face, cradled beneath your ears as his thumbs stroke your cheeks.

“How’d you like the show?”

His voice is soft and expecting. You look up at him, pushing a brief small smile up from the reservoir of adrenaline you hadn’t known you had left over.

“Got one more surprise f’you.”

He sounds so excited that you didn’t have the the heart to tell him, point blank, that you’d had enough and just wanted to go home. Not back to the motel, home.

He pulls you gently to a door on the side of the theater that reads “CREW MEMBERS ONLY” in big, red block letters, leading you through a long hallway filled with gear cases and crew members, giving a swift nod to every other passerby. Your confusion only grows when he stops in front of a door labelled in fancy, slick cursive as the green room. A mixture of laughter, conversation, and music seep through, muffled by the barrier in front of you. He stops and turns to you, dropping your hand before relocating them to your shoulders. You look anywhere but him, the ground having more interest than yours to be transparent about how you’re feeling in this moment. He went through all of this trouble, although now you question how much trouble it truly was, for you. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful because you were far from it. You just didn’t want to spoil his mood with yours that had curdled within the last hour.

You feel a hand lift off of one shoulder. A light finger placement under your chin brings your eyes into contact with the saturated everglade within his. He’d always been really good at reading you. Knowing when something was off, when you felt off. You weren’t sure if it was the post-concert fumes or the joint he’d smoked in the parking lot before the show, but he hadn’t shown you any hints of knowing. You found yourself silently praising every deity you knew by name.

“‘lright, m’gonna need to stay calm. Okay?” A soft laugh peeks through his words.

You remain silent, nodding in complacent understanding. He turns, lightly rapping on the door. His ring - the rose one you’d given him on his birthday last year - sounds a vague metallic clang on the antiqued wood.

The noise of the room, once muddled, hits you like a speeding freight when the door swings open. A sing-song chorus of Harry’s name plays through the space. You shuffle in behind him, keeping your head down. You aren’t generally a quiet person but moments like this are far and few between for you.

Harry working the room is nothing short of magical. Greeting anyone and everyone as you tail him, a firm grip on the bottom of his worn Rolling Stones tour tee. Hugs, fist bumps and light conversation all around. It isn’t until he introduces you loudly to the room that you realize you’re standing in the center of it. Harry no longer in front of you, but at your side, nudging you gently forward.

You look up, raising your hand in a demure greeting, as names you won’t have the chance to remember are hurdled towards you. Then, out of a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner of the room, steps the woman of the hour. She fiddles with the tie on her shirt as she enters deeper into the room.

“What’s with all the commotion out here?”

She sounds just like she sings, real and raw, and you’re enthralled all over again. She scans the room, biting back a smile. It grows only when she spots Harry and speeds to his person, arms out and welcoming.

“Harry! You came. I’m so glad!” He laughs into the hug and tsunami of invidiousness you’d been riding crashes at your feet with full force. You feel smaller than a head on a pin.

You watch as they step out of their embrace, but continue to hold each other at arm's length. Stevie’s on his biceps, Harry’s on her forearms.

“Wow, this is so good. This is great.” Her words are like sunshine and although she’s not speaking to you, you can’t help but to be filled with an indiscriminate warmth. You cross your arms over your chest. You feel intrusive on this reunion but just when you’re about to make a mad dash for the door she turns and looks at you.

“Is this Bunny?” She looks back at Harry. A rush of confidence propels you forward, hand out, you introduce yourself.

Stevie smiles, releasing Harry and takes your hand, pulling you into a hug. The scent of patchouli and lavender radiates from her, sending your head in a spiral. You look up at Harry, eyes wide. His elbow rests on his other arm that’s strung across his chest. His hand covering the large grin that has surfaced on his face. She pulls away from you, holding you in the same way she had Harry.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you nonstop. So nice to finally put a face to a name.”

You look back and forth between Stevie and Harry, who was now stood behind her.

“Uh… yeah. Big… uh, I’m a big fan of the band,” you stumble, “...and of yours. Huge fan of yours. Massive,” and blaze through the end of your truth.

She laughs gently, sweetly then she’s gone, beckoned from across the room, whisking over to whomever required her attention.

You’re in shock, hands still out in front of you. Harry steps forward, a light snicker escapes him as he takes your hands. You stare up at him but you’re not really looking at him.

“You okay?”

You nod slowly, your jaw slack, leaving an open space between your lips. Harry kisses the side of your mouth before letting go of your hands. He tells you to grab a seat, that he’ll grab you a drink, before jetting off to the refreshment table where Stevie and Mick are having, what seems like, a deep conversation.

You find a spot on a small, gray couch in the corner of the room. Watching people get drunker and more rowdy as the time goes by. They start to blur together into one massive streak of colour and sound. It isn’t until you spot the time on a clock located just above the bathroom door that you realize Harry had been gone for nearly an hour. The air grows suffocating as you stand, searching over heads of fluffed and curled hair for refuge. You spot Harry moments later. His arm slung around Stevie’s shoulder as they talk animatedly with Christine. You want to walk over and pull him away, plead with him to take you back to the motel, but the barbed wire twisting around your stomach made you hesitant. You watch him place an exaggerated kiss on Stevie’s head and that’s what sends you off the deep end. The feeling as frigid and sharp as an ice bath.

You scramble towards the door you’d entered through just a few short hours ago. Knocking shoulders and bumping drinks until you finally reach the handle. You tug it so violently that you could’ve sworn you’d ripped the door off its hinges.

Almost blindly, you stagger forwards into the hallway, sucking in a deep breath. You can hear your heart in your ears, feel your pulse in your throat, as you push yourself further down the hall. Stopping when you reach a pile of equipment cases piled just high enough for you to get your feet off the ground had you chosen to climb them; and you did. Propping yourself on the edge of a peripheral case and sitting on top of the large amp casing.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you know you shouldn’t but your head and heart weren’t cooperating. The futility of trying to get them to comply and coexist to give you some semblance of sanity is incredibly high. So in turn you decide to become just that, incredibly high. You shimmy backwards, resting your head and back against the wall, before pulling a joint out of your pocket. Rainy day insurance is what Harry had called it when he found out it was a permanent fixture to your person.

“...in case of emergencies.”“Good to know you’re so prepared, love. If I’m ever in need of some immediate enlightenment, I’ll know who to ring.”

You light it with a match from a matchbook you’d taken from the motel. You inhale deeply, letting the small, packaged green sit tightly between your lips. You hold it in, one, two, three seconds before releasing a cloud of smoke with a big audible sigh. Your eyes sliding shut as you wait for your erratic heartbeat to level out.

When Stevie’s head peeks out of the green room door a few moments later, you’re too floaty to realize. She spots you, however, looking as serene as they come. The joint, now a roach, pinched between your fingers. She glides over to you, her movements so fluid, you’d swear she were swimming through the air.

“There you are,” you open your eyes at the sound of her voice to find her smiling at you. A lazy smile graces your features.

“Hey there.”

“I wondered where you’d run off too. Harry was talking my ear off all weekend about how I just had to meet his Bunny and I barely got to chat with you tonight.”

Your smile and relaxed demeanor fall as you take in her words. The filter you once had has burned down to non-existent. Your immediate thoughts began to flow sluggishly from your lips and you were sure you shouldn’t have let it but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Harry was with you all weekend?”

“Yeah, we had a few days off. We were trying to work out some logistics for the third leg of the tour, one of our openers dropped out and I remembered that Harry had been trying to do the music thing for so long, figured we’d give him a shot. Y’know?”

“Tour?” you sit up, leaning forward, pulling your legs into a criss cross position.

Harry saunters out of the green room, spotting you and Stevie, he approaches the two of you but you’re too distracted to notice. Not sure if it’s because of the haze from the smoke or the news you’d just heard.“Yeah, he’s gonna be great.”

“What am I gonna be great at?” He questions, entering the conversation.

You look at him, all droopy eyelids and knitted brows. You’re positive that if you weren’t as high as you are now, you’d be shaking.

“Opening for Fleetwood on tour.”

You speak so curtly and clearly that you scare yourself. It feels as if your soul is trying to disconnect itself from its earthbound prison, but you’re holding on for dear life.

Harry turns to Stevie so quickly you can see his movements blur, following him in delayed time as if it were on another plane of existence.

“You told her?”

“You didn’t?” Stevie’s eyebrows are raised.

“I need a drink,” your words muffled by starch, the interior of your mouth feeling as if you’d just played an insanely long round of chubby bunny. You try to jump off of the case but your clouded mind executes the action before your body could follow, causing you to stumble once your feet hit the ground. Harry’s arms are out in an instant, catching you. You land face first into his strong, broad chest. His scent hits you in a billowing poof of air. It’s woodsy and citrusy and salty and sweet. It’s too much.

You push yourself away from him, out of his arms. He calls after you but you’re already sliding back into the green room. At the refreshment table a wide spread of liquors is presented to you. You reach for the vodka but make a split last second decision and reach for the tequila instead, knocking over a bottle that was in the way. You hold the bottle of tequila above your head but it’s snatched from your fingers right as you’re about pour a shot into your mouth.

Harry stands in front of you, tequila in hand. He looks like someone has kicked his puppy and you find yourself vexed because he had no reason to be upset. He was the one leaving you.

He leans in, mouth so close to your ear that you can smell the faint trace of alcohol on his breath.

“Can we please talk about this outside?”

You scoff, a light snorting noise punctuated with an eye roll. Oh, noooow he wants to talk.

“Please?”

“Fine,” you humour him, your concession tangled in a heavy sigh.

He places the bottle back on the table before spinning you around. Placing his hands on your waist, he guides you gently out of the green room.

You don’t stop moving until you’re outside, in a loading area, buses and trucks lined up uniformly. The late night air is a lot staler than it had been when you first arrived. An oven with the door open, no wind, just warmth all around. It sobers you up almost instantly. Harry stops nudging when the two of you are settled in between two, large packing trucks parked closely together, leaving only a few inches between your bodies. You lean lazily against the truck, allowing your eyes to close and your head to lul to the the side, awaiting his reasoning, his explanation, as if there was one good enough to justify him keeping this from you.

When he speaks your name it’s soft, reminding you of the clouds you’d flown over less than twelve hours ago. What you wouldn’t give to have that peace of mind back in this moment.

“Listen, I didn’t know if it was actually going to happen. Been talking to Christine and just recently caught up with Stevie and she’d mentioned it. I didn’t want to tell you unless it was a sure thing.”You open your eyes, raising them to the sky. The height of the trucks tunnel your vision, redirecting your focus to the twinkling clusters of stars stitched to the deep, dark velvet of the two am sky. He keeps his eyes trained on you.

“And is it?”

“S’what?”

You finally look at him, immediately meeting his gaze, throwing you off for half a beat. You shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“Is it a sure thing?”

He remains silent, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes and releases. You can see the gears in his head turning, the possible negative outcomes of answering your question, playing in his eyes. Like a silent stop motion film. All in black and white. All unhappy endings.

He does, however, answer you with a slow nod. Keeping his eyes on you, studying you as if he had a major exam coming up that could make or break his school year, watching for any signs that may point to you telling him that you were done with him.

“And when were you going to tell me? If you even were going to tell me,” you mutter the latter under your breath but he still catches it. His posture straightens.

“I was going to tell you Bunny! I swear. Was gonna be tonight too, like when we got back to the motel. After I loved on you cause god, I’ve f*ckin’ missed you and it’s only been a few days…” he pauses, stepping towards you but you’re quicker, side stepping so you were no longer flush the truck. Square with the opening between them, creating much needed space between you and Harry. A pained expression plateaus his features but he continues, turning his body to face your new position.

“I just… I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted you to have an unforgettable one. Wanted to make up for what happened on your birthday last year.”

You cross your arms over your chest, relinquishing a sigh. You remember it vividly, although you wish you could forget it.

It had been a while since you had celebrated your earthstrong day but Harry insisted that you must do something for it. 25 was a big deal, it was important. Harry had made a big deal of planning a dinner for you and your family to celebrate. What he hadn’t told you was that the dessert he’d prepared, your favourite after meal pastry, had a little something extra in it that he hadn’t warned you about. Long story short, you spent the rest of your night talking your parents down from a very bad high, and Harry - the cause of all of your grief that night - slept through it all. You’d put him in the dog house for months after that and he’d never stopped apologizing.

“You have to admit though. Now when y’look back at it, s’kind of funny. I mean your mum really dug that shag rug,” he chuckles.

“It’s not funny.”

He tries to subdue his giggles resulting in a wide grin instead. You struggle to remain stoic, still fuming, but you could feel the edges of your icy-ness began to melt away. There’s just something about this boy that always gets to you in the best way possible. Which is why finding out that he may be away for months at a time tasted so incredibly bitter.

You let out a puff of air.

He gives himself a light tap on the cheek. His mouth pursed in a small frown as he tries to focus on remaining serious.

“Oh come on Bunny, I’m sorry okay. I swear I was gonna tell you.”

He nudges you softly, hoping the contact would soften your hard demeanor and lighten up the weight of the situation. He’d really been hoping to have this talk to you when you were in a better mood but he now knew he had to tread lightly.

He takes a tentative step towards you. Your arms, still tightly crossed against your chest, begin to loosen. Slowly, as if counting the seconds and steps in his head, he reaches for your arm. When you don’t resist, he pulls you in close to him in a warm embrace. Whispers of apologies and pleasantries leave his lips in short bursts, threading through your hair and landing on your shoulders. He’s being incredibly gentle with you, and although you’re sure he wishes it had the opposite effect, every touch breeds heartache. The dam is cracking and your hand is hovering above the manual release button for the floodgates.

You release the hold that you have on your own arms when he starts petting your hair. Long, molassing strokes that fall in time with both of your breathing. Naturally synced. Your face pressed against his chest, fitting like your favourite pair of jeans: snug, comfortable, perfect.

“Didn’t even know you wanted to pursue music,” your words are muffled by the cotton of his shirt but his sigh lets you know that he’s heard you. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“Wasn’t something I thought I’d get the chance to do, y’know? Was a hobby for so long, always just mucked about with it. Used it as an outlet. Gave it up before I met you”

Your arms wrap themselves around your stomach loosely, as if they were keeping you from falling apart.

“How come?” You were curious. You couldn’t help help but think that it was because he’d met you that he given up his dream. Freelance photography didn’t pay greatly but it was your passion and Harry had always pushed you to do what made you happy. So he’d taken a job managing a bakery down the street from the apartment you shared to support the both of you.

“It was a different time in my life, back when I was living in California. Didn’t really have much that I had to care about. I was living with a bunch of people who were trying to make a living that way so I fell into it.” He’d stopped his work on your hair, bringing his arm around you shoulder to bring you in closer.

“Is that how you met Stevie?”

He chuckles, it’s airy but full of reminiscent energy.

“Yeah, that’s how I met Stevie.”

You shuffle, moving your head to look up at him. His eyes full of memories. You urge him to continue.

“I was crashing on a friend’s couch in this artist commune. They had a party one night and she was there. We talked and just, I don’t know. Ran with it. We don’t have to talk about this, it’s weird innit? Me talking about my ex.”You lean back to look up at him eyebrow raised.

“You really think this is the weirdest thing to happen tonight?”

He laughs.

“You’re right.”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a split second. You move back to your former position, pressed up against his chest. You close your eyes, indulging in the rhythmic beat of his heart.

“So what happened?”

“It was a lot. There was a lot going on and I couldn’t handle it.”

You hum, nodding ever so slightly.

“Plus she met Lindsey…” He pauses, untangling his arms from you taking a small step back. He lifts his hand and runs the pad of his thumb lightly across your cheekbone. You eyes flick up to his, looking down at you. He sighs, the corner of his mouth lifts, “...and I met you.

The flutter you feel in your stomach is strong but short lived when you remember why you were both standing in the loading area of a theater instead of hanging out with your favourite band just a mere feet away. You’ve been trying to avoid asking your next question. Trying to push it to the back of your mind, attempting to distract yourself from it because you already knew what the answer would be but it stayed stewing, and now it was bubbling over. Before you could stop it, it flew out of your mouth and into the space around you.

“Are you going to accept the offer?”

Harry stays too quiet for too long. With each passing moment, you can feel the ends of your already frayed nerves fizzle and burn out. He looks at you, really looks at you. Your eyes, your lips, you, as a whole. When he finally does speak, his voice is steady and his words, soft. He leans down, cheek touching cheek. And although it’s whispered, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, his words speak unreachable volumes.

“Only if you come with me.”

13 notes · View notes

westbrook | pt. 5

gang!ashton; gang!5sos

[pt. 1] [pt. 2] [pt. 3][pt. 4]

[Image credit@not-grey-enough]

A/N:Gah it feels like it took me forever to get this part decent :/ I think it turned out ok?? Apologies in advance, I’m so out of practice with smut & writing it felt soo awkward so if it’s bad that’s why lol. And as always, I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger :) [Also let me know if you wanna be tagged when I upload future parts, cause I can do that!]

Summary: In which Ashton is one of the leaders of the Westbrook Dragons, a gang who often feuds with the Vipers for control of the streets. After hearing of her estranged father’s death, Marina comes to Westbrook to fix up his house and sell it. Coming from a privileged neighborhood, the last thing Marina expects is to move in next door to a gang’s hideout.

Word Count: 4,900+

Rating:R -> 18+ only, please!

Warnings: alcohol use, drug mentions, smut

Marina opened her door one morning to find a bouquet of flowers on the steps. She looked around and let out a gentle sigh, before carefully picking them up and bringing them inside. Upon closer inspection, she saw that they were a dozen tulips - three yellow tulips in the centre, surrounded by nine white tulips. Ever since she was little, just after she learned the names of flowers, she knew what they symbolized. And even though she hadn't been working at the floral shop recently, she would never forget the meanings. White tulips symbolized forgiveness, an apology, and respect. Yellow tulips symbolized friendship, hope and happiness. Inside the bouquet was a hand-written note, that she pulled out and read.

I know these last few weeks have been really difficult for you. I know you've had a lot to handle recently and I'm sorry if I pushed you too far. I thought you were ready to hear the truth, but I know it's a lot to accept, and I even understand if you never truly accept it. I wasn't really sure how to say all of this so I got you these flowers. I know you'll know what they mean. The Dragons are having a meeting tonight at 7 and I would love if you could make it - you always have a place there, since you're Rick's daughter, and even though I don't know what to call us, please know I will always consider you my friend. No pressure. You don't have to dress fancy, it's just me and the boys. -Ash

She let out a breath she'd been holding in, and knocked on the door three times. She hadn't been back to this apartment since the first time Ashton showed it to her. She pulled at her clothes, only a little nervous, as she waited for the door to open. She had managed to find the single pair of skinny jeans she'd packed with her, and the lowest pair of heels in her suitcase. She decided to completely forego a purse, and just put her phone in her back pocket. She was still wearing one of her blouses, but she felt this was as casual as she'd been in a long time.

The door was opened by none other than the colourful-haired man she'd become so well acquainted with the last two times she'd stepped onto Dragons territory. He looked incredibly surprised that she was here, unable to stop his eyebrows from raising when he recognized her.

"Hi," she said, giving him a smile, and holding her hand out for him to shake. "I don't think I ever got your name."

"It's Michael," he said slowly, shaking her hand. Eventually a small smile began to come to his face. When he let go of her hand, he nodded. "Come in."

"Thanks," she replied, following him inside. She had arrived a few minutes after 7, and people were already milling around the apartment. They varied in gender and age, but one thing connected them all together: all were wearing identical leather jackets with the Dragons logo on the back. It was a sea of leather and red scales. Classic rock music was playing from speakers at one side of the room, and as Marina followed Michael through the crowd, the odor of drugs and alcohol wafted into her nose. She followed closely behind Michael, focusing on not losing him among the ever-growing sea of people. Michael stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, where a smaller group of people had gathered, and turned back to make sure Marina was still there.

"Ash," Marina heard him say over the music.

Marina felt Michael's hand on her shoulder, pulling her forwards and then she was in the kitchen, Ashton standing a few steps in front of her.

"Hey!" he said brightly, stepping towards her. "You made it."

"Yeah," she said with a small smile.

They exchanged a quick hug. He hugged her tightly, just like the last time they were together. She could feel his hand against the small of her back, and as she pressed her head to his chest, her senses were hit with a hint of cologne and alcohol mixed with leather. Underneath his leather jacket, he was wearing a red silk-like shirt, with the top three buttons undone, exposing his chest. When they pulled away, Ashton's gaze fell to her eyes. He stared at her for a second more, before letting his hand fall from the small of her back.

"Well," he said, gesturing towards the other men in leather jackets who were chatting quietly amongst themselves in the kitchen. Whether they were giving her and Ashton some privacy, or really were interested in their own conversations, Marina wasn't sure, but she appreciated the gesture anyways.

"Boys," Ashton spoke up, getting their attention. They turned to Ashton, taking in Marina's presence.

They watched her with a slight hesitance, but curiosity. She knew she wasn't dressed like everyone else, and she understood why they were a bit hesitant at first.

"Michael I know you've already met her, but guys this is Marina, Rick's daughter."

As Ashton spoke, Marina watched their gazes soften, their posture becoming more relaxed. They knew that if Ashton approved of her, she was safe.

"Nice to meet you all," she said with a soft smile. She would've been a bit intimidated - all of them were at least six feet tall - but she could feel Ashton's chest against her back, and it comforted her to know that she at least knew someone in the room.

Ashton left her side to join his three friends, introducing them individually to her.

"This is Calum. He's... almost as badass as me," Ashton joked, slapping his arm around a man with tanned skin and jet black hair. Calum laughed, raising his bottle towards Marina and giving a nod of acknowledgement.

"You know this idiot already. He's our main security and we like to call him the chameleon cause his hair's always changing colour," Ashton said, gesturing to Michael, who laughed and gave her a wave.

Finally, Ashton moved to the man who looked to be the youngest, but was also the tallest. He had dirty blonde hair, that was long and curly, just past his ears. "This is Luke. He attracts a lot of our... younger clientele." Ashton smiled, squeezing Luke's cheeks. Luke blushed and tried to push Ashton away, causing everyone to laugh.

"What about you?" Marina asked, once the laughter had died down, nodding towards Ashton.

"He gets a lot of the grandmas," Calum smirked, bringing his beer bottle to his lips, trying to hide his smile.

Ashton opened his mouth wide, pretending for a second to be shocked. "Actually," he said, pointing to Calum. "That's a funny story. One time this elderly woman - she had to be in her 70's, at least - was-"

Marina tuned out the story as she scanned over the crowd scattered around the room. She wasn't sure what to expect when she got invited to a gang's meeting, but she wasn't as intimidated as she thought she'd be. Pretty much everyone seemed decently friendly, even the couple older guys who were at least 6'5". She was impressed at how effortlessly Ashton seemed to lead the group - she knew he wasn't the only leader, there was a small group of them - but it definitely seemed like he would have complete control in a year or two if he wanted it. It was just how he handed people that was so impressive. He was fair and kind, but still had something about him that commanded respect. He never had to explicitly state that he was the leader, or in charge, it was just a position that seemed to suit him so well.

"Do you want a drink?" Ashton asked, stepping towards her. He had finished his story, and the other three had gone back to their conversation.

"Sure," she nodded.

Ashton moved past her to the assortment of hard liquor bottles and beer cans spread out on the counter. "Whiskey and co*ke?" he asked over his shoulder.

She laughed a little, partly to cover her surprise. "You remembered."

"Of course," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

She'd realized that Ashton was one of those people: if he let you into his inner circle, he'd protect and defend you with his life. He would make your safety and happiness a priority. He was cold and menacing to everyone else, and cautiously distrusting of anyone who dared to interact with his intimate group of friends and loved ones.

"Thanks," she said as Ashton handed her the glass.

"You're welcome."

They stood there, side by side, leaning against the counter and observing the party, sipping their drinks in silence. She was acutely aware of how much they weren't alone, how anyone could watch them and wonder about them. Ashton's left hand was resting against the edge of the counter, just a centimetre or two from brushing up against her skin. She wasn't sure whether he had left it there on purpose, if he'd given it any thought or if he'd just mindlessly placed it there. Eager to escape from her own thoughts, she forced herself to consciously observe the rest of the party.

"Do you...-" Marina trailed off quietly, gesturing towards an older man with tattoos who was doing a line of co*ke off the coffee table in the living room.

"Nah," Ashton said, shaking his head. "I mean, I've tried it when I was younger, but I prefer to just deal it. And Rick always believed if you were in charge, you had to stay sober. Keeps the business running smoothly. Some of the more casual members do it, and we leave that as their choice, but a lot of the inner core stays away from it."

Marina nodded. Luckily they didn't sit in silence again for much longer, as Ashton decided to address the room.

"Alright, gather round everyone!" he said loudly to be heard over the dull roar of conversation and music. The room quickly quieted down, people turning their attention towards him.

"This last month has been productive for us. We've shipped 100 lbs more co*ke than last month, and sold 20 lbs more than last on the streets. We've reclaimed Exeter Rd from the Vipers, and we're making headway on Avalon and Regency Street. Not only have we kept a low profile, but we've also kept the injuries minimal. Also, weed sales at Westbrook Secondary are up 21% this quarter. Nice job everyone." Each of his sentences was echoed with a round of applause, the last one earning the most enthusiastic praise. Ashton smiled and waited for the applause to die down before continuing.

"Now I'd like to introduce a special guest to you all. This is Marina, Rick's daughter. She's been staying in Westbrook for the last little while, and I appreciate her coming out today. I can assure you she has the same spirit and resourcefulness as her father. Thank you for coming, Marina." Ashton finished his speech, raising his glass towards her and taking a sip.

She watched as every glass in the room was raised towards her, before people began clapping and cheering. She smiled and looked around in amazement.

"Anyways, enjoy," Ashton said, addressing the crowd one last time. "As always: drinks on us. If you have any questions or concerns, I'll be in the study."

He turned away and a buzz began to build in the crowd again, as people went back to their earlier conversations.

"I want you in here," Ashton said quietly, putting his hand on Marina's back, steering her away from the rest of the group.

"Ok."

"They're... they're nice people, all of them," he said quietly into her ear, as they walked down the hallway to the study, "and I trust them with my life, but.. put it this way, there aren't many pretty faces that come around here, and even though I'm sure you wouldn't have a problem punching anyone in the face if you needed to, I'd rather prevent that from happening in the first place."

Ashton made sure every single concern was addressed. People came into the study in singles or pairs, with a myriad of questions or concerns. Others just came in to talk. Ashton was fair but firm with all of them. Marina mostly listened. She couldn't contribute much in the way of dialogue, being unfamiliar with essentially every aspect of the gang, but she enjoyed getting an inside look at how the gang functioned.

Plus, after an hour or so of interviews, when Marina was starting to get antsy, the late summer sun began to set, casting a gorgeous glow against Ashton's curls from the window behind the desk. Marina forced herself to focus again, desperately hoping the man across the table hadn't caught her staring at Ashton. She knew she was f*cked. She knew it, but she was trying desperately to hold on to what little sophistication she had left.

The mingling after the actual meeting was beginning to die down, and people were steadily filtering out. Only a core group of the members remained, mainly the three guys that seemed to be closest to Ashton - Luke, Michael, and Calum - as well as a couple older, senior members of the gang.

"I just need to use the washroom, I'll be right back," Marina said, excusing herself from her conversation with Jack, a humble, balding man in his mid-fifties who joined the gang as a second job to help pay off his mortgage after his wife left him for a younger man with a Lamborgini.

She'd only been in the bathroom a minute or two when there was a knock on the door.

"Occupied," she said loudly so the person on the other side could hear her.

"It's Ashton," came a muffled voice.

"What's up?" she asked, through the door.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said honestly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I... get it now. When I first met you, I thought this whole thing was an excuse to create chaos, be unproductive. But I get it now. You guys all have each other's backs. It's like a brotherhood. Everyone out there's just trying to make a better life for themselves and their family. You're not a bad person, Ash. You're just... human."

She knew he was still at the door, but for a few seconds he didn't reply.

"Can I come in?" he asked finally.

Wordlessly, she clicked the lock.

He opened the door. The entire night he'd looked so f*cking good. His hair was slicked back just slightly, but one curl had escaped, and cascaded down his forehead. The red silk shirt clung to this chest in all the right places, and he was still wearing his jacket - of course. She couldn't keep holding it in, she was going to go crazy.

She just did it. She remembered how she felt on the motorcycle - not reckless, she'd realized, but free - free from judgement, free from society's preconceptions. Free. In one swift step she closed the space between them and leaned up on her tiptoes, planting a kiss against his lips. He took a second to respond - obviously taken off guard. But then he relaxed, kissing her back. She felt his hands move to her waist, and pull her closer. She let her hands rest against his neck, as their lips met again and again. He quickly deepened the kiss, licking his tongue across her bottom lip. For a while she almost forgot where she was. It had been so long - maybe never - since she'd felt this feeling. It was like everything else pulled away and it was just her and Ashton.

"Jump," he mumbled against her lips. She complied, wrapping her legs around his waist. He carried her easily, lifting her onto the countertop to even the difference in their height. He slotted his hips in between her legs, kissing down her neck, as she instinctually moved aside to grant him better access. She moaned quietly, and she could feel him smile against her skin, as he pulled it gently with his teeth, sucking and licking down to her collarbone.

She grabbed his face and moved it back up towards hers, reattaching their lips. Every touch she felt was like fire, the pads of Ashton's fingers burning and blistering every square inch of skin they came in contact with.

Ashton pulled away despite Marina's whine of protest. His hands rested at the hem of her shirt, fingertips just barely sliding underneath the fabric. "Do you wanna do this?" he panted out, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Yes," she said instantly, meeting their lips again.

With that, a surge of energy ran through Ashton. He slid his hands underneath to cup her ass, pulling her off of the countertop. With Marina's legs wrapped around Ashton's waist, and her hands through his curls, the two stumbled down the hallway into the bedroom, Ashton kicking the door closed behind him. He placed her gently down on the bed, hovering over her.

Her hands left his hair for a second to reach up and unbutton his shirt, fingers fumbling with the small buttons as she tried to undo them all as quickly as possible. Ashton chuckled from above her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. When she got the fabric off of him, he helped to pull her blouse over her head, tossing the fabric carelessly aside. Meanwhile, she had already moved onto undoing the buckle of his belt.

"One sec," he said, batting her hands away. Neither one of them had bothered to turn the lights on in the room, so all that illuminated the two of them was the fading sunset through the half-closed blinds. She looked at him curiously. His fingers moved to his right side, and as he pulled the object out from between his hips, the light reflected against the hard plastic of the black object. Her eyes widened, as he carefully slid a gun out of his side, clicking it and pulling out the cartridge before placing both objects on the side table a few feet from them.

"sh*t," she breathed, staring up at him, as he turned his focus back to her.

"It's ok," he soothed, dipping down to meet his soft lips to hers. "I always carry one," he mumbled between neck kisses and gentle bites. "It's for protection. But I've never actually used it." He then pulled away to look at her, touching her chin softly.

She nodded slowly, looking into his eyes. She knew he meant it.

"Ok?" he asked softly again, gaze dropping down to watch his own fingers drawing soft patterns on the exposed skin of her stomach. In a few seconds he looked back up to meet her gaze, and she watched him.

He was staring at her, into her with those damn chocolate brown eyes and his lips were swollen and red, especially as he licked them absentmindedly. Curls of hair cascaded down his forehead, his tattoos, and his goddamn fingers against her cheek and half of her neck, the cool metal of his rings pressing deliciously against her flesh.

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, letting out a quiet moan, and moved to undo his belt for the second time. It was difficult for her because at that moment, once Ashton understood that she was alright, his hands moved to her back to unclasp her bra, pulling the fabric away to leave her bare-chested.

"f*ck," she breathed, as Ashton's lips instantly moved to her left nipple, drawing circles into her right one with his thumb. She could hardly see straight and her hands dropped away from his jeans, not able to focus on anything more than the pleasure running through her veins. Ashton gave a chuckle deep in his throat and pulled his mouth away from her nipple with an obscene pop, to focus on getting his own pants off as quickly as humanly possible.

Once the fabric had been thrown across the room, Ashton returned his lips to hers. While they were kissing, he removed his hands from her waist to grab her wrists, holding them together with one of his hands above her head.

"Mmm Ash," she moaned. The kiss was hot and heavy and she could feel his dick pressing against her thigh, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

With his other hand he swiftly removed her underwear, then broke the kiss and dropped down, letting her wrists go. Marina could barely comprehend his actions until she felt the flat of his tongue against her slit.

"f*ck," she breathed.

He ate her out like she was chocolate pudding, lapping against her folds and flicking the bud of her cl*t with his tongue over and over, driving her insane. Marina could only whine and moan, hands in his hair, pulling helplessly on his curls. He soon mixed his fingers in with his tongue, curling one long finger up inside of her.

"Does that feel good, babygirl?" he murmured, hot breath against her puss*. His mouth moved back to her cl*t, sucking and nibbling against the soft bud as he slipped a second finger inside. She could only whine and squirm in response, hips lifting up off the bed in search of more, yanking at his curls until he was forced to move his head back up to her lips and pull his fingers out of her.

"My turn," she whispered, hands moving to the waistband of his boxers and pulling out his dick. He hissed as her thumb circled the head a few times, before stroking his full length. She had barely touched him and already beads of precum were leaking from the head. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, biting softly into the flesh as the pace of her hand increased. Seeing this man a panting, moaning mess in front of her was something Marina thought she could never get tired of.

"'m not gonna last, Mar," he moaned, cupping her chin to bring her attention away from his dick. She pressed her lips to his again, letting his tongue slide into her mouth as she removed her hand from his dick, pulling his boxers down completely. He reached over to the sidetable to grab a condom, stroking himself a few times before rolling it down his length.

"f*ck," he sighed, staring into her eyes. His pupils were blown black with lust, but there was a certain gentleness, caring just beneath the surface.

He pressed himself into her, inch by inch, until he was completely buried inside of her. She whimpered slightly, and he stilled, waiting for her body to adjust. He was a nice, average thickness, but it was his length that drove her insane.

"I got you, babygirl. Just relax," he murmured, hands rubbing circles against her hips as he breathed against her.

A few seconds later she gave him a nod, indicating that he could move. Somehow he knew exactly where he could push her, and where to be more gentle. In the beginning, his thrusts were slow, torturous almost. He was both caring and passionate, knowing exactly when to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and when to f*ck her hard and deep. After a few minutes, she was meeting Ashton's thrusts with her own. She knew neither one of them was going to last long, there was so much pent up tension and energy between them.

"f*ck, Ash I-" Ashton cut off the rest of her sentence by slipping his tongue into her mouth. His hand moved down to play with her cl*t, sending her closer to the edge. "Let go, babe. I want you to come first."

She let out a long moan, of course he was the kind of guy who wanted her to finish first. When she couldn't hold it any longer, she let go, her vision going black, seeing stars. Ashton worked her through it, coming a short while after, set off by her clenching around his dick.

He pulled out and tossed the condom in the general direction of the garbage can, as the two collapsed into a sweaty, panting heap, neither one having the energy or desire to move. After a few seconds, Ashton pressed his lips to hers one last time. "Sweet dreams, babygirl," he murmured, wrapping one muscular arm around her waist and settling down into his own pillow.

Marina woke up the next morning to sunlight gently streaming in through the blinds and Ashton rolling over, pulling her closer into his arms. "Morning," he whispered into her ear, voice deep and gravelly but skin soft and warm.

"Morning," she murmured back, tracing lazy circles against his chest which she was comfortably squished against. They lay there in pleasant silence for a while, soaking up the morning rays of sunlight and the quiet afterglow of last night's events.

She chuckled lightly to herself on the inside, thinking about how differently they'd first interacted compared to now. She felt like she needed to say something, to apologize, almost.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch earlier," she whispered quietly, left hand running through his curls over and over again.

"It's all good," he smiled fondly, locking eyes with her. "I always knew you liked me - deep down."

"Mhm," she laughed, smacking his chest playfully.

He giggled and rolled over, trapping her beneath him.

As their giggles died down, Ashton leaned down to press their lips together. He grabbed Marina's wrists and held them above her head. Their bodies were skin to skin, completely pressed against each other so they barely looked like two separate people. He threaded his fingers between the spaces in her own, the back of her hands against the pillows above her. He gave her a gentle peck on the lips, ending it with a little giggle. They kissed lazily like that for a little while, before Ashton pulled his hands away, rolling them over again so this time she was on top, head laying against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and her hands lay splayed across his chest, listening to his heartbeat in her ears.

"Mmm I could fall asleep again like this," she mumbled, as his right hand scratched soothingly against her scalp, running through her hair.

"Me too," he smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Ashton's stomach gurgled loudly, causing them both to laugh.

"Breakfast time?"

The two made their way to the kitchen, Ashton pulling on a pair of boxer briefs and Marina slipping back on her own underwear, throwing the closest shirt she could find over top, which happened to be one of Ashton's.

20 minutes later they had a nice stack of homemade pancakes on the dining table, and both were sitting down to eat.

"You know, this could technically be our first date," Ashton said casually, between bites of fluffy pancake and maple syrup.

Marina smiled, face flushing pink at Ashton's words. She wasn't sure where they stood - if this was a one time thing, or what. And she hadn't wanted to ask, hadn't wanted to ruin the mood, but Ashton's words confirmed that he thought of this as more than that.

"That's cute," she grinned, holding her fork up with a piece of pancake on top. "Cheers to a second date.”

Ashton giggled and tapped his own fork and pancake against hers. "Cheers," he said, eating his pancake unceremoniously, causing them both to start laughing.

Shortly aftewards, they heard the lock to the front door flick open, and both turned to see Luke quickly stepping inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh-" he said, not expecting to see both Ashton and Marina in the kitchen over pancakes. Marina didn't even have time to be embarrassed about the situation because Luke was too carried away in the moment to comment. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. When he spoke, he was out of breath. The smile on Ashton's face from something Marina had said only moments earlier had now faded, his mood changing instantly.

"Ash we need to leave. Now," Luke said urgently.

"sh*t, ok," Ashton replied, taking one last bite of his pancake and wiping his sticky hands on the nearest napkin. He disappeared into the bedroom, only to come out seconds later wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a band tee. He grabbed his leather jacket from the side of the couch and quickly put it on, raking a hand through his messy curls.

"Sorry sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to Marina's cheek. "Duty calls."

Ashton quickly scaled the length of the room with his long legs, and the two leather-clad men were out the door in seconds.

When Marina returned to the bedroom to change into her clothes, her gaze flickered to the bedside table. The gun that Ashton had left there last night was now gone. She wondered what they were doing, him and Luke. She realized, with a slightly sinking feeling in her stomach, that there was still so much about Ashton that she didn't know.

[read pt. 6 here]

107 notes · View notes

YouSaved Me Too

MASTERLIST

Summary: You saved Bucky without even knowing him, but little does he know that he’s done the exact same thing for you.

Characters: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Flashbacks of attempted suicide, tons o’ angst, sad!bucky :(, happy ending (not really a warning but yknow), sh*t EDITING IM SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES I WILL FIX THEM TOMORROW

Words: 2171

A/N: This is a song fic based off of Song #3 by Stone Sour (here’s the version I used), requested by the lovely @pommom91. I know the song is a little more rock than this fic, but I took a more soft approach to it and took a lot of inspiration from the acoustic version of the song instead I hope that’s alright :) Anyways, I really hope you like this and it’s at least somewhat close to what you were looking for xoxo

ALSO IF YOU GUYS LIKE THIS PLEASE REBLOG AND LIKE SO I CAN GET SOME MORE REQUESTS AND PROMPTS AND STUFF PLEEEAAAAASE

If you take a step towards meYou will take my breath awaySo I'll keep you close and keep my secret safeNo one else has ever loved meNo one else has ever triedI never understood how much I could take

You stood on the bridge near your small apartment and gazed at the landscape in front of you. It was one of those sticky summer nights in July, your t-shirt clung to your back as a result, but you didn’t mind. You sipped the iced coffee in your hand, frowning slightly at the watered down taste. You’d gotten it nearly two hours ago, and the ice cubes had began to melt, making the espresso less intense.

C’est la vie, you thought with a shrug, choosing to enjoy your nightly walk instead of sulking over your drink. You listened to the sound of rushing water coming from below your feet as you began to walk across the bridge, on your way back home.

You did this fairly often. You were new to the city, moving there as a result of a horrible break up and a desire to start over. You were in the process of picking up the pieces of your broken heart and figured New York was a darn good place to start.

You were contently listening to the sound of crickets chirping andthen you saw him.

A man sat directly on the guard rail, his feet dangling dangerously over the edge. Normally, you might have assumed that it was just a teenager being egged on by their friends, but this was different. This was a full grown man slowly standing up from his sitting position, now standing facing in with his back to the churning river below.

This was a man about to jump.

Your heart thumped so loud in your chest that you barely even heard yourself cry out to him over the thudding in your ears.You dropped your coffee, rushing over to him, watching intensely as his eyes widened at your presence. A gasp escaped him, like the air had been ripped from his lungs, he must have not seen you before.

You stopped directly in front of him, the only thing separating the two of you was the metal guard rail. You examined the man in front of you, the scruff decorating his face, long brown hair being rustled by the wind, blue eyes filled with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. Those were the eyes of a desperate man.

“Please don’t.” You said.

He looked at you quizzically, tilting his head to the side as if not understanding what’d you’d said. You glanced down at his hands holding on to the rail, and noted that one of them was made completely of metal.

“Jump,” You confirmed,“Please, please, don’t jump.”

“Wh-” He began, but closed his mouth. Perhaps he was at the same loss for words as you were.

“I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I’m telling you that if you’re looking for any reason - at all- not to do this, that reason is the random girl who just so happened to be walking on the same bridge that you planned to jump off of.”

He blinked, his eyes scanning your face for something. He wanted to believe you so terribly, but he couldn’t shake the nightmares, he couldn’t ask for forgiveness for the things that he’d done. You watched his hands loosen on the rail and you reached forward, wrapping your arms firmly around his neck to stop him, the only thing between the two of you was the coolness of the railing.

He gasped, clearly very surprised by your affection.

“Give me 5 minutes more.” You said.

You took his silence as a cue to continue.

“My name is (Y/N),” You began, not even sure what you were supposed to say to this man, And when I was a kid I had a cat named Sparky and I loved him but he absolutely hated me so I have a ton of little scars from his scratches on my hands. When I was in high school everyone called me (Y/N/N), even though I hated it. My favourite colour is red because it reminds me of the flowers my grandma used to plant in her back yard when I was little. And I wholeheartedly believe that everything happens for a reason.” You finished rambling and took a breath, “Your turn.”

“What?” He asked, his voice gruff. No one had ever opened up to him about things like this before, and no one had even tried to ask him about himself.

“Your turn.” You repeated, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“My name-” He stopped, as if he was decided what he wanted to tell you, “My name is Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky,” You said calmly, not daring to shift your arms but moving your head for that you could press your forehead against his,“Why are you out here?”

“It’s a bit of a long story.”

“I’ve got all night.”

And when he told you everything, your heart broke for him. Bucky Barnes - the Bucky Barnes - had taken your heart and crushed it with his own story. But you listened, and rubbed his back soothingly. Anything you could do to comfort him.

But the thing was, the whole time that Bucky was spewing out his sap story, as he put it, he was focusing on the feeling of your beating heart. It had been so long since another human being had extended any sort of compassion, and yet here you were, a woman who had no idea who he was now listening to every word out of his mouth and bracing him in his place so he wouldn’t jump.

“Have you told many other people about yourself?” You asked him.

“Well, it’s not exactly small talk.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“What?” He asked.

“All those things you said probably won’t featured in the latest issue of Vogue. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Bucky didn’t understand why you were trying so hard to save someone so clearly helpless, all he knew was that it was working.

“Please come back over the rail.” You nearly begged.

Bucky’s limbs seemed to move on their own, one foot over the metal guard then the next. You never let go of him the whole time.

Once he was safely back over, you hugged him tighter than before, your eyes flushing with tears of relief.

“Thank you.” You said,“Thank you.”

Then I saw the worst was overWhen I laid my eyes on youIt was all that I could do to know my placeOut of all the vast illusionsOut of all the dreams come trueI was gone until I finally saw your face

If you cried out for moreIf you reached out for meI would run into the stormJust to keep you here with meI have gone beyond my yearsI've wasted half my lifeBut I found it all in youDid I save you?'Cause I know you saved me too

“Bucky!”

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake as the images of his latest nightmare clung under his hooded eyes. Lightning cracked beyond the windows of his flat, and he jumped slightly. The storm had triggered a myriad of horrors during sleep.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.” You said, pulling him impossibly closer to you under the covers of his bed.

After the night on the bridge, you’d become a quintessential part of Bucky’s life. You only lived about a block from his place, so whenever Bucky had a nightmare, you were only a call away. This was one of those nights filled with a plethora of nightmares, one after the other after the other. He’d called you two nightmares ago, and you’d been there to wake him from the next one he’d had. You’d driven through the storm to get to him.

He’d never been so relieved to see your face as he always was when you were there to wake him from the images that haunted him during nightfall. His eyes would shoot open, hoping to God the worst of it all was over, and then he saw you and he felt safe again. If you were there, it was going to be alright.

He felt your hand gently cup his cheek, stroking his cheekbone gingerly. He sighed, trying to slow down his heartbeat. You lips pressed to his forehead and he keened at your touch.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“For what?” He panted.

“For saving me.”

He nearly chocked on his own adam’s apple. Save you? You were very clearly the one that saved himthat night. He wanted to ask you more, to ask you what you meant, but his eyelids were so heavy and the way you soothingly stroked his hair was slowly coaxing him back to sleep. His eyes closed, and he slept once again.

It doesn't really matter what you do or sayI'm never going anywhere anyway'Cause when I'm dying for youI've never felt so alive

Bucky held the cup of coffee in his hands that you’d just poured for him and quietly thanked you for it. It’d now been about a year since you’d first met him, and Bucky was so in love with you that it physically pained him to think about. Everything you did was angelic, perfect even in his eyes. You made him feel like he was human again, which was something he hadn’t felt in nearly 70 years.

You were talking to him about something that, admittedly, he wasn’t really listening to. He was intent to just watch the way your eyes lit up about the subject, and how your nose crinkled when you laughed. It never really mattered what you were talking about, he just liked to hear your voice, it compelled him to want to stay with you forever.

You sat across from him, cross legged on the sofa as you talked to him like he were your oldest friend, holding nothing back. All he could think about was how he would do anything for you, and how crazy it was for him to think that you could ever feel anything like that towards him. He was damaged goods.

“Buck?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts,“You still with me?”

“Wh- Oh, yeah sorry, musta spaced out.”

“Okay.” You said, but Bucky knew you well enough to know when you weren’t convinced.

“What did you mean when you said I saved you?” He blurted out, instantly regretting it when he saw the redness appear on your cheeks.

You stayed silent, clearly shocked by what he’d asked you, but after a few uncomfortable seconds, you began to speak.

“I meant what I said, Bucky. You saved me.”

“But how?” He asked.

“You gave me purpose.” You answered simply,“All I wanted to do since that night was be a part of your life, and it kept me going. Then I started to really get in that head of yours, and I realized that it wasn’t me wanting to help some stranger anymore, it was me-” You cut yourself off, looking down at your hands.

“(Y/N)?”

“Every time my phone rings in the middle of the night, I don’t even check the caller ID because I already know it’s you and I probably already have my hand on my keys reader to drive over.” You said, refusing to make eye contact,“I’ve gotten 10 speeding tickets since you started calling, I race over to your place because I care about you so much it’s like I’m totally blind to everything else when you’re on my mind. It reminded me of having a stupid crush on someone in high school.”

Bucky’s heart raced in his chest, he set his mug down on the table in front of him and leaned forward, waiting for you to say more.

“I realized that I’d been living a life without purpose for so long that it was so refreshing to have you. You make me feel so alive, Bucky and for that reason you saved me by helping me relearn how to love someone.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Was this an admission?

“You showed me how to feel alive again, Buck.” You concluded, twiddling your thumbs in your lap, blushing even more than before.

He’d heard enough. He marched over to your side, plopped himself down next to you and tilted you chin to look up at him.

“I love you.” He said simply, watching your eyes grow wide at his words.

“Y-you-” He didn’t let you finish, his lips were already cutting you off. Kissing you with everything he had, he thanked God that fate had brought you to him that night, because at fault of that, you’d both found your reason to live. You’d both saved one another.

591 notes · View notes

Tagged

™ Getting to know 92 facts about me hmmm yum yum

rules: once you have been tagged you are supposed to write 92 truths about yourself. at the end, choose 25 people to tag!

tagged by: @dimsumdamsel​ ur gr8 thanks m8

LAST…[1] drink: water[2] phone call:made to my friend who never answered me.[3] text message:Amy @sugafree-hoshi​ her blog ded tho[4] song you listened to: The 7th Sense by NCT U pls support my sons on Limitless.[5] time you cried: like....yesterday. I just wanted to cry.

HAVE YOU EVER…[6] dated someone twice:support Twice buy Knock Knock on iTunes never even dated someone once what u talking about[8] kissed someone and regretted it:I shouldn’t have kissed my mom that one time got a mouthful of foundation powder thanks mom.[9] lost someone special: no and hope not any time soon either.[10] been depressed:I’m a constantly suffering man and these are my suffering hands. Not to the point of medication but I cry every other day and struggle to find purpose in life so I just sleep it off and not get anything done wow.[11] gotten drunk and thrown up:I tasted one drop of beer when I was 5 and was like nope y’all nasty I ain’t never drinking that.

LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS:[12]PastelPink[13] purple/lavender[14]Sapphire blue amirite

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU…

[15] made new friends:Yes omg[16] fallen out of love: i wish[17] laughed until you cried: nah man laughing is about the only thing that doesn’t make me cry.[18] found out someone was talking about you: Don’t relate -_-[19] met someone who changed you:I am a rock. unchangeable. However someone did change my grades thx[20] found out who your true friends are:yeah all 2 of my friends. jk they all real oh god why am i like this[21] kissed someone on your facebook list:I only use my Facebook to vote so there’s nobody on the list.......other than my parents.

GENERAL…[22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life:1. My step-dad.[23] do you have any pets:Meowler[24] do you want to change your name:Maybe to Lillian or Lilliputian lol can you imagine[25] what did you do for your last birthday:don’t remember.[26] what time did you wake up: 6am[27] what were you doing at midnight last night:Pokemon Mooning[28] name something you cannot wait for: Summer, graduation, a date.[29] when was the last time you saw your mother:an hour ago?[30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life:i gotta stop procrastinating hollyyyyyyy sh*tttt[31] what are you listening to right now:the sound of my laptop’s fans on full blast wow lil engines in there[32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: yeah.......rather not....[33] something that is getting on your nerves: i really gotta do the laundry.[34] most visited website:the tumbler blog and youtube woohoo[35] elementary: i wish i kept in contact with my elementary school friends man i miss‘em.[36] high school: death[37] college:haven’t started so don’t relate. I am young.[38] hair color:darkest possible black ™ Since it’s trademarked maybe the second darkest black then.[39] long or short hair: it’s like.... mediocre length. Not long but not short either.....just like me.[40] do you have a crush on someone: I did have one but I guess it’s fading out hopefully.[41] what do you like about yourself?:nah[42] piercings:none[43] blood type: idk man[44] nickname:I get called strange things yet I don’t remember any.[45] relationship status:single wow what a surprise[46] zodiac sign: aries/pisces[47] pronouns:she/her[48] fav tv show: i watch Jeopardy occasionally. Sometimes I watch Supernatural and some random anime.[49] tattoos:None.Needles scare me.[50] right or left handed: right handed

FIRST…[51] surgery: had a surgery on my nose when I was like 7[52] piercing: none my earlobes are virgins.[53] best friend:My best friends seemed to always be better friends with somebody else :/ I think it was probably Devon that I first opened up to. Where u at now fam I miss u.[54] sport: I like to watch Yuri on Ice and Kuroko no Basket[55] vacation: To Sichuan in 2002? Don’t know if it counts as a vacation tho. If not my family went to Dalian on the beach in 2006 it was great.[56] pair of trainers:wtf are trainers

RIGHT NOW…[57] eating: nothing[58] drinking: nothing[59] i’m about to: do art project[60] listening to: nothing[61] waiting for: salavation[62] want: to get all the assignments over with[63] get married: probably eventually I mean[64] career: professional sufferer. Amateur student.

WHICH IS BETTER…[65] hugs or kisses: hugs[66] lips or eyes: I like looking at eyes[67] shorter or taller: taller ppl so i can crash into their chest/boobs instead of accidentally headbutting them.[68] older or younger: If they younger than me they a fetus.[69] romantic or spontaneous: don’t relate to either. Never had a crush like me back before.[70] nice arms or nice stomach: arms!!! I like looking at forearms!!!![71] sensitive or loud: I like outgoing and funny people but it’s cool if they got a soft side.[72] hook up or relationship: don’t relate lmao[73] troublemaker or hesitant: hesitant pls catch me when i make mistakes

HAVE YOU EVER…[74] kissed a stranger? no[75] drank hard liquor? no[76] lost glasses/contact lenses?I lost my glasses for half a year and was fine bc I am barely near sighted. They turned up after I cleaned my room.[77] turned someone down: yeah man[78] sex on first date? date.....?d.....ate? what is a date?[79] broken someone’s heart? I have no clue. Sorry if I did it wasn’t my intention and I didn’t even know.[80] had your own heart broken?Felt pretty crushed but I guess it wasn’t bad.[81] been arrested? no wow[82] cried when someone died? Idk.....my memories blocked the bad times. Probably tho.[83] fallen for a friend:no.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN…

[84] yourself? nah man who is she don’t know her[85] miracles? yes my grades are a miracle.[86] love at first sight? I mean you can be really attracted to each other but it’s not love until you get to know each other.[87] santa claus? st.nick was a real man.[88] kiss on the first date? no.... i mean idk bc i never been on a date.[89] angels? Have you seen NCT I would like to

OTHER…[90] current best friend’s name: Amy probably. More like my only friend.[91] eye colour: dark brown[92] favourite movie:Ghibli movies I think I watched Howl’s Moving Castle a good eleven times.

I tag @sharks-in-fishnet-leggings @foreverpersonafan idk do it if u want have a blast

2 notes · View notes