#he controlled every aspect of my mother from her jobs to her looks and would beat her and a few times tried to kill her legit

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

For Chrissy

Summary: Vickie just wanted to make sure the cops were doing their jobs to find her cousin's killer. She didn't expect this to happen. A fanfiction story where Rovickie is the main course. Steddie and Hellcheer are the sides. Warning: It's long.

They say that your brain decides to trust someone in seconds. The first time that Vickie Fisher first talked to Eddie Munson, she was lying face first on the ground, hoping that no one saw her trip over nothing.

"Are you okay?" A voice asked.

"Oh God, please, let me die," Vickie said. "You didn't see that, did you?"

"Unfortunately for you, yes, but I give you points for sticking the landing," the guy said. "And then just staying there."

"I belong to the floor now," Vickie replied.

"Are you too proud to accept help from the town freak?" The man asked.

Vickie looked up and saw Eddie Munson standing above her. He was grinning. There was something in his soft brown eyes, a sparkle of mirth and understanding. He held out his hand for her to take, and she took it.

"Thanks," she said softly as he helped her up.

Vickie smiled at the memory as she pulled into the Wheeler's driveway. She was doing this for Chrissy, and hopefully Eddie because she doubted that a guy like that could harm anyone. She knew that if Chrissy were still alive that she wouldn't believe it either. Vickie took a deep breath and got out of the car. She walked up the front door and knocked. A moment later, a blond woman with big hair answered the door. She assumed that she was the owner of the house: Mrs. Wheeler.

"Hi, my name is Vickie Fisher. I'm Chrissy's cousin and I was told that Chief Powell was here," Vickie said.

"Yes, of course, come in," Mrs. Wheeler said and led her into a sitting room where the Chief was sitting. "Chief Powell, this is Vickie Fisher, and she says she's Chrissy's cousin."

"Laura Cunningham made it clear that they didn't have any other family members," the chief said.

"Of course, she would," Vickie rolled her eyes and handed him a picture. "I came prepared. That's all of us at Thanksgiving. As you can clearly tell Laura is my father's twin sister."

"Why would she lie to us?" a scrawny look cop asked.

"Maybe to cover up the fact that she's been abusing her daughter," Vickie scowled. "We tried to get Chrissy to live with us a couple of years ago, Laura got mad and cut us off. Laura was determined to control every aspect of her life including what she wore and what she ate. She even told her who to date. I can guarantee that Chrissy never wanted to date Jason. She only did it to make her mother happy. On the night of the basketball game, she broke up with Jason because she told me she found someone she actually liked. I know Jason was angry with her and I know he saw her get into Eddie Munson's van. If you search the Cunningham's house, you'll find that there are locks on the fridge and under a lose floorboard under a rug there's a diary where Chrissy documented everything. Eddie Munson shouldn't be your only suspect. Chrissy never liked Jason. In fact, she always told me that she was scared of him, and her diary will prove that."

She was rambling and breathing heavily, on the verge of a panic attack. She hadn't realized that she had been crying until Mrs. Wheeler handed her a tissue.

"Why did you wait so long to come forward?" the scrawny looking guy asked.

"Because Jason scares me too," Vickie said meekly. "And so does Laura."

They questioned her some more and then allowed her to go. As Vickie was walking to her car, she noticed four kids sneaking out of the house. One of them, a younger girl with cute braids slashed the tires and then they all drove off on their bikes. Vickie waited a minute before following them. She had a feeling that these were the people to talk to. Of course, they quickly realized that she was following them and stopped their bikes. A curly haired boy with a hat banged on her window. She rolled it down with a sheepish grin.

"Who the hell are you and why are you following us?" Dustin asked. "Do you work for them?"

"Uh. . .I just want to know what happened to my cousin," Vickie said blushing.

"Your cousin?" he asked.

"Chrissy," she said softly and showed him the picture. "Look, why don't you get in and I'll bring you to wherever you have to go? I'm going to follow you anyway and you can't out bike a car."

"Are you sure that you want to know?" he asked.

"Are we sure that we want to get into a stranger's car?" Erica asked.

"She's more than my cousin, she's like my sister. We grew up together. I have to know," Vickie said.

"I guess we're ignoring Erica," she sighed.

They abandoned their bikes and climbed into the car. She quickly drove off.

"Where to?" she asked.

"Forest Hills trailer park," he said. "By the way, I'm Dustin Henderson, that's Lucas Sinclair, his sister Erica, and Max Mayfield."

"I wish I could say that it's nice to meet you but I kind of wish it was under better circumstances," she sniffed. "Tell me."

"There's a monster that we call Vecna, he comes from the Upside Down, another dimension that lives underneath Hawkins. We've been fighting it since '83. He cursed Chrissy, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney, and Max. He's been haunting their dreams, targeting their traumas then he killed them to open gates into our world," Dustin said.

"She's been having nightmares," Vickie realized. "She told me and I. . . I didn't think they were anything else."

"You believe us?" Max asked.

"Something strange has been going on in Hawkins for a long time now," Vickie said. "Besides, I've always been open minded."

"Wait, you implied that you know Eddie?" Lucas asked.

"Enough to know that Eddie isn't a serial killer," she replied.

"Wait, are you - are you in love with Eddie?" Dustin asked and she burst into laughter.

"No, absolutely not. I'm enamored with someone else," Vickie said. "And the name of that person is very much classified."

"Aw but we told you about our deep dark secret," Dustin grinned.

"Good point, but still no," Vickie said.

"Alright, I won't push it," Dustin said and paused. "You should know that the gate we're going to is where Chrissy died. We need to get to it in order to save Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Eddie. They accidentally got stuck in the Upside Down."

"Wait, we're going there to rescue people and Robin's one of them?" Vickie asked.

"You know Robin - ah!"

Vickie stepped on the gas, flooring it. They got to Eddie's trailer pretty quickly. Dustin got out of the car, clutching his stomach.

"I think I might puke," Dustin said.

"Don't be such a baby," Erica said.

"That was awesome," Lucas said.

They walked into the trailer and stared at the dark, oozing gate on the ceiling where Chrissy died. The sight of it made Vickie sick to her stomach.

"Shouldn't there be an opening?" Vickie asked.

"It looks like we're going to have to make one," Max said.

Vickie grabbed a broom and started tearing at the flimsy look material spread across the gate. It was disgusting. Finally, she managed to tear through. Vickie was looking up at Robin, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson.

"Vickie?" Robin asked.

"Robin?! Are you okay?!" Vickie asked.

Robin blushed and she caught Steve smirking at her. . . almost as if he knew something. Vickie blushed.

"How? Why?" Robin asked.

"Ask questions later. Let's get through the gate," Steve said.

It was Dustin who figured out how to get them through. He tied sheets together and tossed them through the gate. They grabbed Eddie's mattress and tossed it under the gate for them to fall onto. Robin was the first one through. Vickie grinned and helped her up. She hugged her tightly before pulling back.

"Hi," Vickie said.

"Hi," Robin said.

"Holy shit, that was fun!" Eddie exclaimed.

Vickie blushed and pulled away from Robin at the same that Robin pulled away from her. Of course, Dustin had to give her a look of realization in that moment which he quickly looked up at the ceiling when he did so.

"Nancy!" they heard Steve scream.

Nancy had been cursed like the others, and everyone was running around to find any music that could wake her up. Turns out that they didn't need it because, for some reason, he let her go. They scrambled across the way towards Max's trailer and into the living room as they waited for Nancy to start speaking. They waited until the early hours of the morning. Embarrassingly, Vickie had nodded off on Robin's shoulder briefly.

Nancy started talking about Vecna's plan to bring the Upside Down into Hawkins, how he showed her his plan to kill Nancy's family and everyone else. She spoke about how he showed her that he was Dr. Brenner's first experiment, that he had tricked El, a girl friend of theirs that had powers and who had helped them out many times before this. Vickie tried to wrap her head around all of this, but it was making her brain all foggy. Suddenly, she felt someone discreetly take her hand, and she found that Robin's hand was on hers. Well, that wasn't making her head any less foggy, but it was a different sort of foggy. It was a nice foggy.

"You looked a little pale," Robin whispered.

Vickie smiled and laced her fingers with Robin's, squeezing her hand tightly.

"Oh, that's just my face," Vickie whispered. "Don't you know that I'm a redhead?"

Robin covered her laugh with a cough. That's when Nancy announced that they need to go back into the Upside Down to kill Vecna. Vickie was against it as much as Eddie was. It sounded like a stupid plan.

"Not that we have don't have any other options but isn't that like sending in a five-pound yorkie to fight a grizzly bear?" Vickie asked.

"It's exactly like that, that is an excellent analogy, Vickie," Eddie said.

"Who are you?" Nancy asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Okay, that was a little rude, but I'll let that pass since everyone is a bit stressed out," she said. "Vickie Fisher. I'm Chrissy's cousin."

"You're Chrissy's cousin?" Eddie asked, looking at her softly.

"Yeah, we grew up together. She was my best friend," Vickie said.

"I'm sorry," Eddie said.

"From what I've heard, it sounds like there's nothing that you could have done," Vickie said.

"Look, I'm sorry, but we can talk about this later," Nancy said, actually looking apologetic. "We're going to need a lot of firepower."

"I think that I know the place!" Eddie exclaimed.

Max, the last to be cursed, volunteered to be the distraction. Meanwhile, they were going to steal an RV to head to the War Zone, a place her ex-boyfriend loved to go to. It was all overwhelming for her. Max was going to sacrifice herself, basically. She was just a goddamn kid. They all were. From the way that Nancy talked, Vickie doubted that they were going to win. They needed another person with powers to fight this asshole. Vickie was still going to fight by their side, though, because what were their other options? She muttered something about going to the restroom and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, there came a knock on the door.

"Vickie?" Robin asked.

Vickie opened the door and quickly pulled Robin inside. Robin stared at her in surprise.

"We could die, you know?" Vickie asked.

"Yeah, that's a possibility," Robin said.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked.

"Yeah!" Robin exclaimed.

Vickie leaned in and pressed her lips against Robin's. She gently kissed back, moving her hands to Vickie's hips. Vickie pressed harder against her lips. Robin wrapped her arms all the way around her waist as Vickie stood on her tiptoes, running her fingers through Robin's hair. Vickie was just slipping her tongue into Robin's mouth when someone knocked on the door.

"Uh, I hate to interrupt, but Nancy is really ready to go, and she's not taking no for an answer," Steve said through the door.

"Fuck you and your timing, Harrington," Robin said and paused. "You should know that he knows about me and I've kind of been talking about you."

"Aww, you've talked about me?" Vickie asked. "What did you say?"

"Um, that you're kind of my dream girl," Robin blushed.

Vickie kissed her quickly, smiling from ear to ear.

"We should go now, or Nancy might just kill us herself," Vickie said, giggling. "She's kind of scary."

Robin and Vickie followed everyone to the RV. Vickie tried not to laugh at Eddie in the Michael Meyers mask, but it was difficult, especially since he moved like he was a human puppet. They all managed to succesfully sneak into the back window. Eddie hotwired the vehicle while Steve was the one to drive it. Due to the fact that they were stealing it, it was a rough ride out of the trailer park, and Vickie ended up falling into Robin. Luckily, Robin caught her around the waist. Vickie looked at Robin with shining eyes.

"Hi," Vickie said breathlessly.

"Hi," Robin said.

"It's lucky you caught me," Vickie said.

"It's lucky you're cute," Robin said.

"Uh, you guys do know we can hear you?" Lucas asked, and Max elbowed him in the stomach.

"We don't judge. I would be a hypocrite," Max said. "I'm bisexual."

"Is it a redheaded thing?" Vickie joked, and Max laughed.

"No, it's not!" Eddie and Steve exclaimed.

Vickie watched in amusement as Eddie slowly turned around to look at Steve. Since the cat was out of the bag, Vickie was free to settle into Robin's side. Everyone else was cool with it. She wondered if Chrissy would have been cool with it. That's when she realized that she had never gotten the chance to tell Chrissy about Robin, and she was never going to. Vickie sucked in a deep breath as if she had been punched in the stomach.

"Are you okay?" Robin asked.

"It just hit me that I'm never going to talk to Chrissy again," Vickie said and let out an ugly sob.

"Oh, Vickie," Robin said softly.

Robin held her close and let her cry into her chest. Vickie's entire body shook with sobs, and she couldn't help but feel embarrassed about it. She must look like a little baby. When she finally let it all out, when she finally couldn't cry anymore, Vickie pulled away from Robin slightly.

"Sorry about that," Vickie said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Robin said.

"Yeah, I cried too, you know," Eddie said.

"You did?" Vickie asked.

"Like a baby," Eddie said. "Everyone in the vehicle has cried over the shitty thing that's happened to them. Apparently, it's a normal reaction, which is weird because I don't think I've been normal a day in my life."

Vickie giggled as she settled against Robin, feeling comforted by the feeling of Robin's long fingers trailing up and down her back.

"What's your favorite movie?" Vickie asked.

"Huh?" Robin asked.

"If I'm going to take you on a date, I need to know your favorite movie," Vickie said. "I think you already know mine. I rented it a lot from you guys, and I kept pausing it in one place so I could subtly let you know that I'm into - "

"Boobies!" Steve exclaimed from the front seat. "I knew it! I told you!"

"I'm giving you up for adoption! You're no longer my platonic soulmate!" Robin said.

"By the way, she's going to tell you that her favorite movie is Dr. Zhivago, but really, it's Grease. Also, she'll say she likes Mr. Mom because it reminds her of my life," Steve said, and Eddie cackled. "But she just really thinks it's funny."

"Traitor!" Robin hissed.

"It's okay. I like Grease too," Vickie laughed.

"And hey, I like Grease too!" Eddie exclaimed, and everyone looked at him. "What? Because I'm a big bad metalhead, I'm only supposed to like metalhead things? Please. I like the music. Didn't necessarily like the ending because I felt like she shouldn't have had to change for him. Plus, the car just flew away?"

"Maybe they smoked some bad weed, and they were literally high," Vickie giggled.

"You might be onto something, Vickie!" Eddie exclaimed. "They were all high as kites! It explains why they kept bursting into song. I think I like it even better now."

"Wonder what it would be like to get high and then watch the movie," Vickie said.

"After this, we should find out," Eddie grinned.

"You're talking about this in front of underage teenagers, you do realize that?" Nancy asked with a grin.

"Who are also sitting in a stolen vehicle on the way to buy guns, Wheeler," Eddie said.

"Fair point," Nancy laughed.

"Of age teenagers are invited, the rest are not," Eddie said.

"Damn," Dustin said.

"It's alright. I've already been drunk and I didn't like it very much," Lucas said.

"You did what?" Steve asked sharply.

"Hey, Mr. Mom, eyes on the road," Eddie said. "Ground him later."

Vickie walked into the War Zone with Robin, Nancy, Steve, and Erica while the others stayed behind. Nancy went to get the guns while others shopped for other weapons and battle gear. Steve went to get proper stuff for his bat bites, something that alarmed Vickie because she hadn't known that interdimensional bats had ripped out pieces of his flesh. Vickie was wandering the aisle when she found a cute little red beret. She took it and plopped it right onto Robin's head.

"Oh, very cute. Definitely suits you," Vickie said.

"Really?" Robin asked, striking a pose, and Vickie giggled.

"Vickie?"

She whirled around and froze. Oh, she should have known. Of course, she'd run into her ex.

"Hey, Brian," Vickie said.

"Hey, I heard about Chrissy. I'm so sorry," Brian asked. "Do the police know what happened?"

"Uh, thanks, and no, the police think they know what happened," Vickie said, looking nervous.

"How are you holding up?" Brian asked.

"I'm good," Vickie said and looked at Robin.

She looked as awkward as Vickie felt.

"Yeah, she's good," Robin said quickly, her brow twitching. "I mean, she can speak for herself, which is obviously what she just did. And I know she's good because we've been hanging out today, you know, making sure she's good. You know, because she is."

With amusement, Vickie realized that Robin was a little jealous and it was very cute. Vickie smiled fondly at her.

"Oh. Well. I'm glad Vickie has such a good friend," Brian said, smiling knowingly.

"You know?" Vickie gasped. "How do you know?"

"Come on, Phoebe Cates?" He grinned.

"Oh, I was obvious, wasn't I?" Vickie winced.

"A little. I always knew, Vick. I was your friend first, remember? I figured you would tell me when you were ready," Brian shrugged. "At first, it made me uncomfortable, and I wondered if that was me or what my parents taught me. I didn't have to think that way because my parents did. I looked at you, and you were still Vickie Fisher. Nothing changed. You're still my friend."

Vickie grinned and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She broke the hug and watched as he turned to Robin. They looked at each other awkwardly. They held out their hands and then pulled them back as if they were going to shake hands. Robin panicked and held up her hand for a high five. Brian grinned and high fived her.

"See you," Brian said and walked away.

"What was that?" Vickie asked Robin, laughing.

"I panicked!" Robin exclaimed and burst into laughter with Vickie.

"Did I miss something?" Steve asked as he approached them.

"Robin high fived my ex-boyfriend," Vickie giggled.

"Oh my God! Robin!" Steve exclaimed. "You panicked, didn't you?"

Now, they were parked in a field, making their final preparations. Vickie was sitting next to Steve, making molotovs for the fight against Vecna.

"So. . .you want to date my best friend?" Steve asked.

"Oh God," Vickie grinned. "Is this where you tell me that you're going to beat me up if I hurt her?"

"Oh God, no, I would just be severely disappointed with my hands on my hips and look at you like this," Steve said and gave her very big puppy dog eyes.

"Oh God! Put those away," Vickie laughed.

"So, tell me what you like about Robin," Steve laughed.

"She's funny and smart. She speaks so many languages! I can't do that. It's amazing she can do that. I love the way that she rambles when she's nervous because I do that, too. I love the way that her eyes sparkle when she talks about something she's passionate about. I love the way her hands move when she talks and . . . Oh God, I'm rambling," Vickie blushed.

"I don't think I'm going to need to throw you the puppy dog eyes," Steve said. "Seems like my best friend is in good hands."

"What are you guys talking about?" Robin asked as she left the RV and plopped down next to Vickie.

"Nothing," they said in unison.

"Riggght," Robin said.

"Well, I was just talking about how great you are," Vickie leaned in to whisper.

"Really? And what great things were you saying?" Robin asked.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Vickie giggled.

"You know if you guys wanted to, now would be the perfect time to be alone in the RV?" Steve asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Put those eyebrows away, Steven," Robin glared.

"I'm serious," Steve said. "I've got this."

"You don't want to go into the RV and make out with me, Robin?" Vickie asked innocently.

"I mean - if you - I mean - do you - ?," Robin sputtered.

"I do," Vickie grinned.

Eddie jumped behind Steve, clamping his hands on his shoulders.

"Go forth, Birdie - ," Eddie said.

"It's Robin," she corrected.

"And be with your lady love," he said. "I'll help Stevie."

"What if someone needs the RV?" Robin asked.

"Don't worry, Buckley, if Stevie and I decided that we need to start making out, then we'll just do it in front of the children and scar them for life," Eddie said and Steve let out a loud squawk.

Vickie laughed as she pulled Robin into the RV, leading her into the back. She pushed Robin onto the couch and straddled her waist. Robin laughed.

"Sorry, am I too eager?" Vickie asked.

"Just eager enough," Robin said and pulled her in for a kiss.

Vickie smiled against her lips and pinned Robin's hands above her hands. She slid her fingers through Robin's as she kissed her hungrily. Vickie broke the kiss and released her hands.

"Are you - I mean, are you my girlfriend?" Vickie asked.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," Vickie said.

"Then I guess I'm your girlfriend," Robin replied.

Vickie squealed and buried her face into Robin's neck. She laughed, wrapping her arms tightly around Vickie, and pressed a hard kiss to her cheek. Vickie moved her head and started pressing kisses to Robin's neck. She giggled when she felt Robin moan, and she decided to take a little nibble.

"You bit me!" Robin shrieked with laughter.

"Sorry, I really like your neck," Vickie said. "It's very pretty. Should I stop?"

Vickie nibbled, sucked, and kissed her neck, enjoying every sound that Robin made as she did so. Robin let out a growl, and suddenly, she had Vickie on her back.

"I have no idea what the hell I'm doing," Robin said.

"It's okay, I don't either," she replied. "We can be clueless together."

Once they properly gave each other hickies, they stepped out of the RV with the biggest grins on their faces.

"So, how'd you make out?" Eddie asked with a grin, and Steve hit him in the shoulder. "What? It's an innocent question?"

"Not from you, it's not," Steve said.

"Aw, baby, are you jealous?" Eddie asked. "You know, the RV is free. If you want, we can go in there, and I can mark up that pretty little neck of yours?"

"Not even if you were the last man on earth," Steve scoffed and walked into the RV.

"You know you want me," Eddie said, following him into the RV.

"Shut up," Steve said.

"Make me, big boy!" Eddie yelled as he slammed the door behind him.

After that, they geared up for battle. As Vickie zipped up her own battle vest, she watched Robin slip on her own and then the beret that Vickie had picked out for her. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn't going with Robin when she set off to kill Vecna. It made sense that they needed another person to help with the distraction efforts, but she hated not being there for Robin. She grinned as she watched Robin struggle with her zipper. Vickie walked over to her and helped her with it, smiling as she felt Robin's gaze on her.

"You can still back out, you know?" Robin asked.

"Are you going to back out?" Vickie asked.

"No."

"Then neither am I," Vickie said. "Besides, this is for Chrissy."

"For Chrissy."

They dropped Max, Lucas, and Erica off at the Creel house before driving off back towards Eddie's trailer. They climbed into the Upside, Vickie's first trip through.

"This is fucked up," Vickie said when she walked out side the trailer.

"Isn't it?" Eddie asked her.

Vickie took Robin's hands before they went their separate ways.

"Be careful," Vickie said.

"You two," Robin said.

"You know, you should use everything you've got at this fucker. Especially the axe, you know. Especially when he's doing his mind meld thing, and it probably would be more effective if you use the axe. Just slam it right into that fucker's skull, right down the middle. Even though you would have to get real close to him, he would be distracted. Just to make sure that he's dead-dead, chop him up into little pieces and barbecue him. You know, for Chrissy," Vickie said. "I think I'm panicking a little."

Robin slammed her lips to Vickie's, and they clung to each other tightly as they kissed. Vickie was crying, and she could taste her own salty tears in Robin's mouth. They broke apart, and Robin wiped away her tears with her thumbs.

"Good luck," Vickie said, then looked over at Steve and Nancy. "To you too, but you guys are going to need to get good luck kisses from someone else because only Robin gets mine."

"Did you hear that, big boy? You wanna pucker up, and I can give you all of the good luck that you want?" Eddie asked, winking at him.

"Keep it in your pants, Munson," Steve replied.

They finally parted ways. Vickie, Eddie, and Dustin got to work, turning the trailer into a cage.

"He so wants me," Eddie grinned, and Vickie giggled.

"I'm not sure the way to Steve’s heart is to annoy him so much, Eddie," Dustin said.

"Well, I heard from a little bird that this is exactly how you buttheads managed to worm your way into his life," Eddie said. "You annoyed your way right in."

"Yeah, but we never wanted to kiss him," Dustin growled and wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"Never ever do that again, Henderson," Eddie said. "Isn't there something that you could be doing inside?"

Dustin raised his hands and wandered inside. They were left outside to work quietly. Every so often, Eddie would stop to look at Vickie.

"What's up, Eddie?" Vickie asked.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind if I ask this. . .," Eddie said softly. "What was Chrissy like growing up?"

"Wonderful. She was so funny and she saw beauty in everything, even in this old abandoned house we would stumble upon our many adventures. She dreamed of traveling the world, and she wanted to draw, but she was trapped like a bird in a cage. Her mother wanted to control everything, every aspect of her life, and I think it's because it annoyed her to no end that the one thing she couldn't control was Chrissy's heart," Vickie said, pausing. "She told me about that day in the woods. She told me every single detail. She always remembered you, Eddie. I know because I was sitting beside her when she watched you on stage. She thought you were so beautiful, Eddie."

Eddie's hands were shaking, and he was crying.

"I thought she was beautiful too," Eddie sobbed. "And I just feel so -,"

"You have nothing to feel guilty about," Vickie told him. "Nothing."

She hadn't realized that she had been crying until Eddie hugged her tightly.

"I think we're all set inside - Oh, shit! My bad!"

Spon, Vickie was sitting by Dustin on the roof, watching Eddie's performance - the performance he dedicated to Chrissy. She couldn't help but find the beauty that Chrissy had seen in Eddie in that moment. It wasn't the same beauty that Chrissy had for him, but it was beauty none the less. Vickie shared a grin with Dustin. When they got inside, they jumped together in excitement over the most metal concert ever, and then they got to work to cover the vents as the bats pounded against the trailer trying to come in. Once all vents were successfully covered, Dustin went up the rope to the other side, and then Vickie followed after him. Dustin and Vickie looked up at the gate. Eddie was frozen on the other side.

"Eddie!" They called out.

Suddenly, Eddie was cutting the rope and running out the door. Fuck. She needed to make fire. Nancy had said that the Demogorgons hated it, so why shouldn't the Demobats? Vickie found a thing of hairspray and a lighter. There wasn't really anything else. She paused at the gate and turned to Dustin.

"Stay here," she told him. "Please."

It's probably not going to do anything, but she had to try, right? It's better than doing nothing. She jumped through the gate and landed on her feet. Chrissy always told her she was like a cat. She ran off after Eddie and saw him get knocked off his bike by the hundreds of bats that surrounded him. She gripped the whistle around her neck. She liked whistles. Eddie stood in the middle of the swarm of bats, screaming at them. Vickie wrapped her lips around her whistle and blew. The bats started heading her way, but some of them had knocked Eddie to the ground.

They suddenly started screeching in pain, which was odd because there wasn't any sound coming from her new whistle. She looked at it. Oh. It was a dog whistle. Oh, she was dumb. She was really dumb. Eddie screamed in pain. Shit. She moved closer to them and blew the whistle. They go of Eddie, screaming, and they continued to scream until they suddenly started to drop. Vickie watched as they all died, looking at the bodies in shock and then at the whistle in her hand. She shook her head and ran towards Eddie, who was still lying on the ground. His cheek was bleeding.

"Eddie?" Vickie asked.

"Did you do that?" Eddie asked. "Did you kill them?"

"With a dog whistle? I don't think so," Vickie said. "Are you going to live?"

"I think so," Eddie groaned. "I belong to the floor now, though."

Vickie rolled her eyes and helped him up. He stood up shakily and pressed a hand to his neck. Vickie punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Dumbass!"

They walked back into the trailer, fixed the rope, and climbed back to the other side. Vickie grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and started fixing up Eddie's face while Dustin gave Eddie a lecture.

"I'm sorry for scaring you both. It's just that the bats were heading back towards the others. I couldn't let those winged alien bastards get to them," Eddie said. "I didn't want to be a coward who runs away."

"Eddie Munson, you were never a coward for running away that night. I'll say this again, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing. I know Chrissy, she would have wanted you to run away. She was already dead and you had no clue what was going on," Vickie said. "Chrissy was my cousin by blood and my sister by heart. She would have told you that you didn't owe her anything by doing what you just did. She also would have beaten you with her tiny little fists."

"She would have kicked my ass too," Eddie sniffed and they sat down on Eddie's couch in silence, Eddie's cheek now bandaged.

"You're still an idiot," Dustin said.

Two days later. . .

Vickie walked towards the Hopper cabin, hand in hand with Robin. They stopped when they saw Steve's car pull up and watched as Steve got out with Eddie jumping out of the passenger side door. Dustin, Max, and Lucas spilled out of the backseat.

"Aw, they look like a little family," Vickie giggled.

"No, there's no way. Steve hates him," Robin said. "He's been complaining about him nonstop for the last few days."

"Robin, baby. . .," Vickie laughed. "Don't look now."

Steve and Eddie walked up, hand in hand.

"Oh, he's got some explaining to do," Robin said. "I missed it. How did I miss it?"

"You were very distracted," Vickie grinned.

"That's a good point."

They walked into the cabin and found the Byers' waiting for them inside, along with a thought to be dead Chief Jim Hopper. No one seemed to care about how he was back, just that he was back. Everyone took turns hugging him tightly.

"We called everyone here to make sure that everyone involved was okay," Joyce said. "And to answer any questions that anyone has."

"Well, aside from a few bat bites and several nightmares, I think we're good," Eddie said cheerfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry you got involved in this," Joyce said.

"It's okay, or it will be," Eddie said softly. "I'm just glad that I'm no longer wanted for murder and it's all thanks to everyone here but especially to Miss Vickie Fisher."

"I just told the truth," Vickie blushed.

"Oh, girls, did the bats get you too?" Joyce said as she gazed at Vickie and Robin's neck.

The ones who knew giggled behind their hands.

"Yes, yes, it was the bats . . . they wrapped around their throats and bruised their necks. Yes, the bats!" Dustin said loudly.

"That's not necessary, Dusty," Robin said fondly.

"Are we missing something here?" Hopper asked.

The others laughed harder and soon they couldn't contain it any longer.

"Is someone going to tell us, goddamnit?!"

Vickie laughed into Robin's shoulder. It seemed that her group of friends were getting better and a part of her felt guilty about that because Chrissy should be here, but she knew that Chrissy would be happy for her. She hoped that wherever Chrissy was, that she was happy like she was.

"Seriously?! Anybody?!"

#stranger things #stranger things vickie #vickie stranger things #stranger things vickie fisher #fisher is her last name because i said so #robin buckley #rovickie #rockie #robin x vickie #vickie is chrissy's cousin #chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x eddie munson #hellcheer #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #platonic stobin #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things s4 au

[supercupcakecollector-love]

Changes/ things in season 3 that I disliked 

the positive season 3 post I made  if you would like to read that as well or instead I will be adding both to that post and this one when part 2 comes out  

no im not going to talk about the goddamn costumes, everybody has, I agree and im sick of seeing it  they look cheap and  bad, they need more color they need to look somewhat period appropriate, moving on 

We got alot of amazing bonding moments with Ciri and Yennefer but I wish they would have kept the scene where she saved Ciri from the Wild Hunt.  We already got lots of Geralt Ciri bonding moments, we needed as much stuff with Yen being Ciri`s mother as we could possibly get and that was one of the best scenes, 

(side note of the stuff we did get while I appreciated and “ my ugly one” scene it felt very random and out of place  especially with how dolled up they made Freya look, she didnt need to have any makeup on I would have liked to see her more tomboyish look from the books)

TWN usually knocks casting out of the park but Robbie Amell  as Gallatin felt so out of place with his acting and trying to hide his accent, and much like the problem with blood origin looks nothing like the other elves and his scar is barley noticeable 

I knew he was going to die from when I heard they were going to use an original character instead of  Isengrim or   Iorweth they really did learn from the  Eskel incident. while I didn't like his character his death leads to some amazing character stuff with  Cahir, grappling with his sense of self and loyalty to Emhyr  since they need to have another reason why he changes sides later because of the age gap between him an Ciri in this version

Dijkstra here just doesn't feel like Dijkstra  

normally I don't really care if a character doesn't look  exactly like their book counterpart, but    Dijkstra being a huge imposing pigish man is part of his character,   Graham McTavish isn't doing a bad job, there are a few good scenes and he has good chemistry with Cassie`s Philippa but he just doesn't have the right sarcasm,  snark and attitude for the character, even their dynamic is off they’re equally stubborn, arrogant, conniving, and equally think they’re the one dominating the other , book and game  Dijkstra stole every scene he was in and was one of my favorite characters this version is mostly boring 

( sidenote but I didnt mind the whipping scene it was clearly not meant to be sexual or that they are in a sexual bdsm  relationship but that Dijkstra is a   Flagellant and that its a stress coping mechanism they engage in as they must trust each other in the underground world)

Tissaia and  Vilgefortz being lovers and  Tissaia`s seemingly ooc behavior

now to be fair with the intrigue aspect of this season I think they might do a bait and switch with this either  Tissaia Is acting this way to lead him on and try to stop him, or  Vilgefortz has control over Tissaia in some way ( he is arguabley the most powerful mage in the world even if she also is)  

either that or they put them together so it makes more sense for her to side with him/ Nilfgaardian since they established her as much more an active in this version and not just someone wanting to remain “neutral” like in the books

I just hope that her “ending” has as much impact as it should considering what an important character they made her 

Episode 5 is a mixed bag

while there were definitely things that I loved about this episode like the tender  yenralt moments and the use of dialog from the book, as well as the concept of the framing device from the book, but it got way too repetitive in parts, the Valdo song was fun but it overstays its welcome 

this episode reminds me of the Leverage episode  “ The Rashomon Job“ while that episode changed things things up every time it went back and told the story from another characters point of view this one doesn't do anything all that creative with it, and your stuck watching a bit of the same exact  scenes over and over again with slightly more information 

I imagine this episode will work better when the full season out and we see what its all building up to 

and I said I wouldn't  mention the costumes but, the ball was the one time the consumes had to be really stunning, where is all the color, its so dull looking, why do they look like they are doing a red carpet event in the 90s 

and I didn't  think it was possible to make Anya look anything less than stunning but this is by far Yennefer’s worst look, it bothered me more than any other visual in the season, nothing works about it, shes supposed to be in a gown with her hair down but she look like a cross between a taky 70s Cher impersonator and a low budget bollywood star 

( can some one please draw the TWN actresses in what they are described as wearing in the book like Keira in the green tulle top, Sabrina in the black chiffon blouse and a crimson skirt or Philippa dress lined with diamonds and ermine fur, I will commission you  ) 

the  casting of  Margarita Laux-Antille completely backfires due to how they wrote her character 

 Casting a plus sized black woman as a character that is described as white, and extremally conventionally attractive, to spite the gamer dudebros, is a move I like to be clear I love the diversity this show has given us  incredible actresses like Anya and  Anna and Mimi that in past years would have been looked over 

 but unfortunately they make her character conform to the “ angry black woman stereotype” and hit Ciri despite her character in the books who could be described  as “sweet” and “the cool teacher”   hopefully we will see her  character more like the books with the lodge in the second half of the season 

and just general “sins of the father” stuff that is from the books but isn't given proper context for show only fans to understand 

 like the discussion about aelirenn leaving out that older elves are infertile, or    many things about Aplegatt and his role in the story, the “ my ugly one” line feeling really out of place im sure there is more but thats all I can remember for now,  

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher spoilers #the witcher season 3 #twn #review #not tagging critical or negitive dont want to actract those 100% negative #people

[thesilversun]

Long post - feel free to ignore

The shadow of grief of those lost, especially those before their time, has been part of my family for more than a century.

Not that my uncle's recent passing can be called before his time, he was in his mid 80s, but it was sudden none the less. At this time of year, nine years ago, my nan also passed - at 99 years old, it had been a long life. Often a very hard one, but she met everything with unfailing kindness, generosity and calmness.

Those gone too soon include, my nan's father. Killed in WW1 just two months before my nan was born, his photo remained in her house all her life. There is no grave for him, one of the many whose only memorial is on the Menin gate.

There is my elder half brother, who died as a baby from an undiagnosed heart condition a few years before I was born.

There is my granddad (Dad's Dad) and my father's younger brother who died within months of each other when my dad was just 19.

My Dad himself, gone in his 50's, more than 20 years ago now.

The presence of death, the possibility of it, the threat even, has been something that has been there for my whole life. That death doesn't care for age, young or old can be taken without warning.

With my brother's illness growing up, there always was (and still is) the real chance he could go long before his time as well.

It is the reason why I was home taught - my mother didn't want the risk of me bringing home germs from school to him. We did not mix with other children - there was only the bubble of immediate family in the very small village i grew up in.

My dad couldn't stand it in the end and left. Perhaps it could be said he abdandoned us, but really he couldn't take how my mum wishes to control every aspect of the lives of those around her. She'd already cut him off from his family, had him move miles from anyone he knew to live across the road from her family, changed his job, given up his hobbies. My mum is very much 'if he has me he should want nothing else in his life at all' She is like this with member of the family, if they aren't doing it her way, they are doing it wrong.

She hasn't had a easy life, losing my elder half brother clearly effected her a lot, seeing her other son in and out of hospital as a baby couldn't have been easy.

Yet clearly she sees my brother as a second chance for the son she lost. I'm the one who wasn't really wanted - especially as I got older and looked more like my dad. This is not a guess at her thoughts - there have been many times when she'd told me (but never my brother) that she'd have preferred her eldest son had lived, then I'd never have been born and he life would be better for it.

There is a reason I moved many miles from her.

We lost contact with my dad, only finding out that he'd died more than a month after it happened back in 2002, 3 years after I left home. I don't know where he is buried. If my mum was informed was never passed on.

Perhaps there is something fitting in having gone to work in archaeology at first, still there, surrounded by the memories of the dead. Maybe there is some odd kind of irony in working in pensions now, that they say I'm good on the phones/reception desk when people call/call in to tell us of deaths. (I don't like being on the phones)

I'm not really sure where I'm going with all this. It's perhaps an attempt to get my thoughts into order.

For any fic writers/readers who've made it through this post, perhaps in the hope I might says something relevant to writing, I guess all I can say is that perhaps this is why you won't really find main character death in my fics.

Death is an inevitable consequence of life, none of us are immortal after all, but in fiction I can let them live a little while longer.

#not fandom #but part of me that probably still impacts on how and what I write #me stuff #tw death #tw grief #how to tag even half of this #mention of child death

[isajynx]

Chapter 4 Part 1

            Levi and I are settling into our new lives together, building our relationship one day at a time. It wasn’t uncommon during this time for me to miss my period. Between the depression and my weight was the reason of what I called my “unreliable spirit week”. So, when I missed two of them, I wasn’t entirely concerned. When the third period time came and went, that started to send up a big red flag. I began to figure out what was about to come to be. My body started to change; I was getting heavier with no changes in my diet. Still, I could not bring myself to buy a pregnancy test. I could bring myself to believe that no matter how hard I tried to not be a young mother, I was about to be. The day I felt something move in my stomach, I knew there was no hiding it anymore. So, here I am 19, the same age my mother was when she for pregnant with me. I am in all aspects becoming my mother that bore me. Whether I was ready or not, I was about to be a mother. My fear began to spiral out of control, I was barely holding our lives together as they were, and now we soon have more responsibility in its way.

            The pregnancy was easy, the delivery not so much. After approximately 14 hours of induced labor, our child was not budging from her warm confines of the womb. When our child and I began to have complications with the progression of labor, we made the decision to have a c-section. That is when I became truly worried for not only my life, but the life of my child. I heard a conversation between my husband Levi and a nurse:

            “If we run into complications in there and we are only able to save one of them, who do you want us to save?”

            “My child, you better save my child first.” He replied. He chose the baby, I didn’t blame him, but it did hurt my feelings. All my fears quickly disappeared when I heard the sweet cries of my beautiful daughter, Jade. She came in screaming, demanding to be heard. All 7 pounds of her, a force to be reckoned with. Everything went successfully, for both Jade and me. The moment I held my daughter in my arms, I knew I loved her. Blond wispy hair, blue eyes, looking as if I had cloned her. A new and improved version of myself. I knew I would do anything to keep her safe. I was going to love, cherish and trust my daughter, giving her everything I did not have in my childhood.

            Being a mother came easier to me than expected. I am glad I learned to fend for myself and care for others at an early age. Jade gave me a sense of strength. She gave me a reason to fight every day. Jade completed everything I couldn’t accomplish before, having a family. All the “new” wore off and my life became a blur. I gave up on attempts to breast feed because I couldn't make it work. My life became a cycle of feeding the baby, burp the baby, change the baby, cook food for Levi, watch the baby sleep, work a full-time job, clean the house, do the laundry and some where find a moment or two to sleep. It was an everyday wash, rinse, repeat. There was not enough time for the adult into the equation. The chaos that was our lives placed strain on my duties in the bedroom, soon creating a rife in my young relationship with Levi. Suddenly nothing I was doing was right, and I fell victim to my first lesson in emotional abuse at the hands of Levi.

            “You are working too much. You spend all your time with my daughter, and none with me. You aren’t feeding her right, you know. Why is she crying, don’t you know what’s wrong with her. Make the crying stop, you really suck at being a mom.” I remember asking myself, I thought we were in this together.

            “Where was all his help?”

            That’s a good question. It was nowhere more elusive than the fabled Chupacabra. His only contribution to our family was getting high and playing video games. No words of encouragement that I was doing anything right. No lending hand given. I was drowning under all the weight of my stressors, under the word-load of loving wife and mother. He couldn’t be bothered with such things as emotional support, a general sense of responsibility, or even a shred of love for his wife. I was trying to be the best I could be for my family. However, it soon became clear that my husband took pride in his ability to make me cry. He enjoyed asserting his dominance over me in every situation. With oppression and exhaustion comes a lack of intimacy. Sexual intercourse with my husband became an after-thought. There just was not enough time in my day. The ridicule of not being a good mother soon turned into belittlement of not bring a faithful wife.

            “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? You aren’t fucking me, you got to be fucking someone. Give me your phone.”

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 27

Motivations, Mysteries and Intrigue: Why Chimera Academy is Set in an Empire

For Newcomers: Chimera Academy is a tabletop role play campaign using D&D 5e rules. This is just me explaining my reasoning for the setting and about how I’m trying to set up for an intrigue/mystery based campaign. Though at this rate it might turn into  a comedy.

One of the things I told @wereah when she asked me for direction for creating her characters for the rp was, “What was their motivation for attending the school?”. Now this seems like a moot point for students, after all students come to a school to learn, but, to further clarify that question, why Chimera Academy? Why is your character attending that academy of all places?

Which again, under normal circumstances doesn’t mean anything. But this is where putting the setting into a medieval fantasy and one that is located in an empire helps a lot.

Just to clarify where I’m coming from, I read on and off a lot of Korean made webcomics, and there is a fascinating trope when it comes to medieval fantasy. If the comic is a western medieval fantasy setting (which is very popular by the way), it is almost always in the setting of an empire. Now I could at this point ramble on about how this might be the result of the fact the protagonists in these stories are almost always female, and as a result focus on their cunning, kindness or talent in a plot where those sort of qualities thrive. But that would get off topic, the important part is that in these comics, most of the time, if the setting is western fantasy, the location is an empire. 

The reason for this, I think, is because historically, a lot of Korean and Chinese dramas are intrigue based, and the Romans have left us with the impression that an ‘empire’ has a lot of intrigue because people are fighting over the title of emperor. It is a trope that has probably lost meaning over the years, as much as the ‘I got reincarnated into another world’ trope, but it’s useful for what I needed. Also because I read a lot of these comics, it's far more familiar to me and easier to create a story based around this setting faster.

@wereah, also reads a lot of these, and we’ve talked about them at length, so she was more than able to jump in with some ideas. The nice thing about an empire setting is that you can introduce the idea of noble houses, hierarchy and politics, and how that plays into the world and affects the people in it. Often these types of stories have people vying for power or for the crown, there are talks about marriages and some houses are known for specific industries related to the empire. If you’ve read these types of stories you know what I’m talking about.

Take main characters, the players for example.

Salron and their twin Emmi, are both commoners, orphans on a full scholarship looking for their father who they have discovered was or is a professor at Chimera. So their motivations are two-fold, they want to stay in the academy to increase their prospects of a job that isn’t in the fish market (as Salron describes the situation) and maybe find their father. They don’t have any influence or stake in politics, but they still have to navigate that as their peers will have those aspects to them.

Dorothea is a merchant’s child, whose mother is a ‘tiger mom’ and so she’s entered into this school because it’s the best of the best as per her mother’s wishes. Though this will be the first time she will be without her mother controlling her every move, so this is also a large chance at character development. But Dorothea also lives in that inbetween, she is from a wealthy family with some minor influence within merchant circles, but not within noble ones. She’s also very protected and as such isn’t always aware of the social strains between her peers.

Finally Cael is from a noble family, his family are investigators and inquisitors by trade. That has a reputation. Most other families are wary of his, and by extension him. He attends the school because it is expected of him, he is the fourth child, having two elder brothers and one elder sister already graduated from the school. On one sense, Cael does not care, because it is the fourth child and there is no pressure, but on the other, he does feel compelled to do his duty to his family because what they do is important to them.

And so their experiences and their motivations will drive the rp and also make it easier to just play and not remain stagnant while playing. Which brings me to the NPCs.

Even though in a school setting, normally it’s, teachers want to teach and students have to learn as a motivation, in an empire setting I went out of my way to build out their backgrounds wherever I can. Every teacher has a background related to their place in the empire, which in turn affects their motivations for being at Chimera, which in turn affects their actions. This allows me a lot more flexibility in what everyone does and how they interact with the main characters. I’d give examples but those would be spoilers and @wereah can’t have that.

Maybe at some point I’ll revisit this when I’m not worried about spoilers to a story.

#Dungeons and Dragons #Chimera Academy Set Up #Making an intrigue campaign is hard #why empires are good set ups for intrigue #I read way too many Korean comic dramas

[myhoneymydaisy]

toxic tradmen (no not all tradmen are toxic pls do not bully me) scare the absolute potatoes out of me because i always feel like they're one post away from going from "men are strong, manly, brave leaders...lads, guide ur wife, seek a wife that's meek n humble n submissive" to "oh and btw it's totally okay to beat/punish your wife if she's not submissive and force her to do virtually anything you want her to do bc ofc ur the alpha leader husband and she is ur weak tiny sex slave wife who has to obey u no matter what and can't protest or else she doesn't love God"

like no, no no, no, wait– i don't think that is loving your wife how Christ loved the church? honestly the way some of these guys talk about women and wives on their blogs...it's so degrading? like do you guys remember how exactly the bible defines what "love" is? because i think you need to, mates. i know i could never submit to a man who behaves like i owe him everything no matter what all the while believing that i'm too stupid or weak to be respected as his equal or have a meaningful opinion. i'd rather never marry.

tldr being a Godly husband is not the same as being a bdsm dom?? when and how and why did those cultures mix??? literally how.

#now for context yes i am traumatized my dad was an abusive pedophilic alcoholic #he controlled every aspect of my mother from her jobs to her looks and would beat her and a few times tried to kill her legit #i have no good experience with men #Tradmen #tradlife #tradfem #Christianblr #Christian Feminism #Christian tradlife #like the bible never says women cant have careers or be as wise as men or wear pants or not wear makeup or whatever weird secular standards #that some tradmen force on women saying Godly women act stereotypically feminine rather than biblically feminine do you know what i mean #im scared they think its right and okay to few women as dumber helpless accessories who serve their every whim and are only good for beauty #or sex or chores or children #does nothing else about us matter? #is that what femininity is to them bc it cant be right #ladies and lads opinions are welcome but dont be rude thanks #even though im predisposed to assume that men would beat me anyway let me know if im on the right track with this one #i meant to write view not few rest assured women arent stupid but i certainly am

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #y/n x harry styles #harry styles x reader #reader x harry styles #self insert harry styles #fine line #hs1 #harry styles soft #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles smut fanfic #harry styles smut oneshot #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles soft blurb #harry styles smut blurb #florist!h #florist!harry

[ameba-from-space]

Ooooo now you got me curious how a female Bruce Wayne role as batman would be different. Especially how she would play the Brucie Wayne act

Ohhhhhh I was hoping someone would ask me this, get ready for the info dump

First of let me start with the batsuit and a area that kinda reaches headcanon land here. I believe if Batman was a woman the batsuit would be designed to make her look like a man, even going so far as to add a voice modulator to sound like a man, why? Well there are 2 main reasons, first because that's what people expect from batman and that would help with the intimidation factor also it would help keep her identity secret and secondly cause let's face it, male superheros are more respected than female heroes even to this day, she would pick this just to make her job easier sincerely.

Now her fighting style would also change as would her physique, do not get me wrong here a female batman would be fucking toned, muscles for days, but as she is also public figure things would have to change, male bruce wayne can walk around being a pile of muscles cause thats expected of a playboy who cares for his appearance, also his suits generally cover his body pretty well, now a female bruce wayne would have to be much more careful with her muscle and scars, if she goes with skimpy dresses everyone will get to see her bunch of scars and bulging muscles, and while that would be fine if she was a man as a woman this would be a fucking scandal, everyone would want to figure out why local bimbo brucie had the body of a professional athlete and the scars of a soldier, these things are considered anomalies in woman, she would have to wear big full body coverage clothing if she wanted to go anywhere, so she would probably try to keep scars at minimal and muscles more on the lean side, also probably went through many plastic surgeries to erase scars and sometimes fix her face when rogues make marks on it

Let's talk about my favorite part of discussing female batman, Brucie. I already started talking about it a little bit on the last section but I kinda held of of going full on about it cause I wanted to make it its on part. Ok let's go. Let's assume female batman went the same route as male batman, her life would be hell, a himbo is an affectionate term, a bimbo is derogatory, if a man sleeps around he is called a playboy and will sometimes get a slap on the wrist, if a woman sleeps around she is a whore who is the filth of society. Every aspect of her life would suffer if she took on the bimbo route, people would take her even less serious than they do with male bruce, she would probably lose control of wayne corp, and if she didn't people would attribute it's success to her whoring it around and not a single man in it would take her seriously, she would have struggled way more in the adoption process as a single mother especially with a reputation of being a bimbo and probably would be accused of being the kids bio mother and not wanting to admit it, she would probably be in way more danger of being harassed than if she was a man cause people think if a woman sleeps around her body is public property, and guess what if she wanted to mantain the persona she probably would have to just let people harass her and pretend to enjoy it, gotham most likely would hate her and see her as just a "dumb bitch", the only advantage of this route is that there would never be any suspicion on her as being batman but every single other aspect of her life would suffer, but knowing how self destructive bruce is they would probably go this route if it meant the least amount of suspicions. If she wanted to make her life easier I think they would go with the snobby socialite route, acting like she thinks she is better than everyone while doing all the good work behind the curtains, she would still get a big ammount of hate but less than bimbo brucie.

Ok there is more to talk about here, mainly could rant for hours on how harder her social life would be, and also about how harder getting custody of her kids would be, but this post is already long enough and i rewrote this like 5 times so i will leave it at this.

#batman #batfam #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #batdad #fem bruce wayne

[abybweisse]

Theory: Real Ciel has some father issues, or Oedipus complex. He didn't really hate nor like being an Earl, but found it frustrating to have his future decided. He looked down on people without high intelligence so the only ones he saw as equal was his brother and his dad, but never able to surpass Vincent gave him anxiety. As a result he found pleasure dominating his brother's life, as he couldn't control his against his parents. In the end it became obsession and his life goal

⚠️ Content warning: personal accounts of child abuse, including csa mention. ⚠️

A need for control

Though his mother has an easier time getting through to him, I definitely wouldn’t call this an Oedipus complex. Real Ciel is not possessive of his mother and pushing his father away.

I don’t know that he particularly hates having his future decided for him, or that he necessarily envies his younger brother for not having a set future. Rachel made it quite clear that the younger twin would have a harder life, since he wouldn’t have a title or guaranteed inheritance. Not even a guaranteed income. The main point she makes that calms him down is that his younger brother would possibly need help achieving his goals… and that real Ciel, as big brother and titled lord, could provide that help.

A part of him might desire freedom, but he also seems to think his brother’s life should be just as planned out (by others) as his own, and that might be part of why he tries to convince his brother to just get some job that would keep him on the estate, like vicar of the local parish. He definitely wants to keep his younger brother by his side, so to speak, but it doesn’t necessarily mean controlling him in every way.

This really dredges up some painful memories for me, not that you would have known. Growing up, my older sister was very abusive (in every way) towards me, and years later (years after I had put a stop to the sexual abuse but she was still physically and emotionally abusive and very controlling… when she could get away with it), I asked her why she did all those things in the past. Her reasoning was that our mom controlled her, and that she took most of the physical abuse from our mom to protect me. But that left her feeling no control over her own life, and so she controlled (and abused) me because I was the only “thing” she could control in her life. Well, that might be an explanation, sure, but it’s not an excuse. She wanted me to forgive and forget, but I cannot; that’s how a former victim falls back into becoming a victim again. “Fool me once”, am I right? Years ago, she once convinced me to see a therapist to deal with my own mental issues (depression, mostly), and she was paying for my appointments, but then she was furious when I told her I had told the guy all about how she treated me growing up, as well as how she was still trying to control aspects of my life. Even more furious when I said he didn’t really think I needed to see him anymore (he said my insight was very high)… but he really wanted to talk to her. Of course, she refused to speak to him. And my sessions came to an end, because she wasn’t going to pay for it after that. The main advice he gave me was to cut ties from her, and I’ve been working on that ever since. I hardly ever see her in person anymore, and we don’t talk or text each other much now, either. It helps that she moved away… and I have adamantly refused every suggestion I move there. Well. Enough of my public therapy session….

I don’t see the twins’ parents as being particularly abusive or even all that controlling of real Ciel. Sure, Rachel is the disciplinarian, but real Ciel will even tell her he doesn’t care if she spanks him. That defiance from him doesn’t mean she’s actually abusive. Not even Vincent thinking she’s gone too far with the spanking (Character Guide) is necessarily evidence of abuse. Granted, some believe that spankings are automatically abuse, and I get it. However, spankings in my house were very different, depending on which parent was doing it. My dad would reach for one of his belts, turn the leather end to my exposed butt, and say “I’m sorry, but your mom insists that I spank you.” And he would have tears in his eyes. My mom spanking me meant grabbing whatever’s handy, or she would search for whatever looks the most painful (wooden spatula with slots in it, flyswatter with the floppy part broken off and missing, etc.) and aim for bare flesh, often parts where it would hurt the most, like the backs of my knees. My dad spanking me: it hurt me, but it tortured him. My mom spanking me: it tortured me, but my mom got some sort of adrenaline rush from it. I swear…. Now that’s an abusive form of discipline.

Idk. We don’t know too much about Rachel’s and Vincent’s parenting skills, do we? She spanks the kids when they misbehave, and it looks like real Ciel might have received most of the spankings. Perhaps, like my older sister, he has convinced himself he’s protecting his younger brother from the brunt of this, even if that’s not really true. And as the eldest son, he’s feeling the pressure of the expectations his family have for him. Perhaps that builds up and overflows into real Ciel trying to control his own brother, trying to create the expectations for the younger brother that their parents don’t really have for him. Maybe real Ciel thinks he’s saving his brother in this way, too. Saving him from having to move away and care for himself. Saving him from having to figure out what kind of work to do. Deciding that if it’s okay that his own life is planned out (by their parents) like that, then it must be fine for everyone’s life to be planned out (by someone else) like that. Never mind that his little brother has his own desires and ideas. How can someone know what’s best for themselves? Surely, it must be better to let someone else determine what you should do in life. Right? (Nope.)

About the intelligence, idk if real Ciel sees others as being mentally deficient so much as he sees his father and brother as his best chess opponents. He might think of his mother, his aunts, and Tanaka as being very smart... just not as good when it comes to the strategies used in chess.

I have to agree that real Ciel probably doesn’t feel as though he can live up to their father’s expectations. Even if Vincent thinks he can. Of course, the kid wasn’t expecting to have to take over at the age of 10. And I should think Vincent wasn't expecting his heir to take over for him at such a young age, either. Vincent made it to 15 before he had to take over for his mother. That five year gap (between 10 and 15) represents a lot of learning and training. No 10 yo should be expected to be as prepared as a 15 yo.

Much like I distance myself from my sister, and that has helped me, our earl was doing well without his older twin (even though the demon is technically containing real Ciel's soul). The return of real Ciel is probably the worst thing that could happen to him. It's hardly even the real Ciel anymore, being soulless. The controlling tendencies seem to remain, since he's running on "episodes" of goals and desires. That seems to include wanting his younger twin nearby... and wanting to control him in some way, even if it's forcing him to play this game of "chess" with living "chessmen".

Well, I hope this answers your questions. Hope the stuff about my childhood trauma wasn't too heavy.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #real ciel #ciel phantomhive #our earl #our ciel #earl phantomhive #vincent phantomhive #rachel phantomhive #madam red #angelina dalles #angelina durless #frances midford #francis midford #tanaka #control freaks #tw: csa mention #tw: child abuse #childhood trauma #intelligence #expectations #planned futures #anon asks #i answer #answered asks #apr 22 2022 #sorry for the delay

[comfortwriting]

A Summer Secret Part 1 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Part 1 of my mini-series 'A Summer Secret' want to be tagged? Let me know!

Part 2

Requested/About: After bursting a water pipe and flooding his house, Fred needs a place to stay - whilst the family is on a vacation he temporarily stays at  George's house. Y/N tries to get out of an arranged marriage her parents have planned with the Malfoy Family. Failing to do so, she flees to George's house - the father of her best friends who promised she could stay there to escape. Fred and Y/N meet unexpectedly, and something sparks between them - something that Fred vows to be nothing more than a summer fling, a summer secret... but is it?

Warnings: Age gap relationship (y/n is 18), swearing, mention of arranged marriage, mention of food and eating.

Staring out of the train window, bidding farewell to the mountains, the river, and to Hogwarts, you felt tears prick at your eyes. You weren't ready to go home for summer, you never did - you were always at the Twin's house, living under George and Angelina's roof to escape the arguments your parents caused when you said no to them controlling every aspect of your life.

Unfortunately, Gideon and Fabian were going away for the summer with their parents to visit Charlie and you were unable to join them, you understood and was fine with it, but you were absolutely terrified to step foot into your home, with your parents trying to force you into a marriage you didn't want.

"Cheer up, Y/N." Fabian frowned "I hate seeing you upset."

You broke your stare from the scenery and looked over at your best friends, taking some puking pastilles from their bags.

"Just in case" you muttered, "If they're sick they'll leave me alone."

Fabian smirked and shook his head, tutting "Did they say anything else in the letter?"

You shook your head back "No, they just told me I didn't have a choice.  I've graduated, I'm eighteen yet I can't decide what I want for myself."

"I can't imagine getting married at this age to someone I've probably never met."

You stared at Fabian, a little sore and taken aback by his sudden burn.

"Thanks, Fabian, I can't either." You squirmed in your seat and pulled out some jelly snakes from the bag of sweets you were sharing, biting and pulling at the tail, stretching the snake, bursts of green apple and lime flooded your mouth.

"I'm sorry Y/N," he apologised starting to panic.

You shrugged it off and tried to stay calm, throwing him a jelly snake"It's okay."

Gideon rummaged through his large bag and pulled out a large bronze key, handing it to you. "If things get really bad, stay at our house anyway."

You smiled slightly and took the key from him, examining it before stuffing it in your pocket "Thanks, lads."

Fabian nodded his head, flicking through job applications he had filled out before sighing and plonking them back in his bag. "Thank Merlin we've got dads shop"

"Tell me about it" Gideon replied "Uncle Fred will be chuffed when we roll up begging for a job."

The two of them laughed, waiting for you to join in, but you were too busy staring out of the window getting lost in what could unfold in a few hours time.

Dear Y/N,

We are so proud of you for working so hard, we are very eager to find out your N.E.W.T results in the next few months to come.

Your mother and I have been looking for jobs you can apply to once you're home, if you've got the grades, working for The Ministry seems rather promising. Your friend's uncle worked as an Auror for a little while, the one who now picks up spare shifts at that joke shop every now and then.

Anyway, we have got some news we need to share it with, unfortunately, we are unable to tell you in person as the wait is too long, but I don't doubt our owl is rather fast at delivering letters; a lot faster than yours it seems.

We have decided that you will be getting an arranged marriage, your status needs to be high if you want to go for and do well in life, you will marry into a very successful family, one that will open doors for you which your N.E.W.Ts cannot.

If you have anything going on with anyone right now, you need to end it before you arrive home. This matter is not up for discussion, neither is the family we have chosen for you.

Arrive home on time, well dressed, and we will go through the meeting. Don't you dare show us up in front of them, you will regret it.

Please write back, I'm not sending another owl to check on you and you are old enough to realise that Howlers are for kids.

Grow up and act like an adult.

See you soon.

Safe Travels,

-  Y/D/N

Grumbling down the path to your house, your stomach started to do flips as you inched closer and closer to the front door. Seeing yourself in the reflection of the glass diamond shape in the middle of the door, you quickly fixed your hair that got ruffled in the wind, unrolling your skirt and straightening out the creases in your blouse.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and pushed the front door open, carrying your trunk inside, your owl flying inside eagerly for scraps of food. Your heart thumped in your chest and you could hear each thump in your ears.

"Mum!" you called out "Dad!"

"We're in the living room, Y/N," Y/D/N replied.

Setting down your trunk beside the stairs in case you needed to make a quick escape, you walked into the living room, staring at your shoes, afraid your parents had already pulled out a wedding dress and pamphlets of various venues waiting to be hired.

"How lovely to see you," your mother smiled, getting out of her seat to pull you into a hug before your dad cleared his throat.

Yeah, go on, scare her away from me like you always do.

Your mum quickly sat back down beside your father who didn't hug you or welcome you home. Instead, he pulled two moving photographs from the pocket in his waistcoat, setting them face down on the table in front of you.

This must be the family he's chosen for me.

"Well dressed like I asked, thank you." He smiled "You'll be happy to know that the family we have picked out for you are rather eager to... get the ball rolling. They've been kind enough to offer to cover the costs of the wedding, and helping you move into their home once you have married their son."

A wedding... I won't get to choose...

Moving into their home... where I cannot escape...

Fred cursed under his breath standing in his kitchen, the bottom of his trousers heavy and drenched because of the water rising up to his ankles. He dragged himself around the kitchen, searching for some parchment and a quill, but with no luck, he grabbed the muggle telephone, trying to remember how to ring his brother.

"Hello, George Weasley speaking-"

"Alright, Mr Fancy arse" Fred replied, swearing as his shoes started to squelch with each step "Look, I need some help."

Angelina could be heard in the background, telling George to meet her at the airport after she lands with the boys.

"What's up, Freddie?"

Fred sighed "I'm up to my ankles in water, a bloody pipe burst and these muggles take ages to get here. The whole house will be flooded by the time you get here, can I crash at your place? I don't want to bother mum, she's got enough going on with Ron and Hermione's newborn."

George smirked through the phone, amused at his brother's bad luck with something as simple as a water pipe, magic not being able to fix it after a prank going wrong with Fred's wand.

"Of course, me, Angelina, and the boys will be gone for a few weeks though, there's enough food and that - all I ask is that you look after the owls for us."

Fred walked up the steps, his lower legs now getting wet "Thank you, George, I owe you one!"

"It's okay Freddie, just don't get up to any trouble."

"I won't. Say hi to Charlie for me!"

If Gideon and Fabian knew Uncle Fred was staying at the house too, they would have texted you, sent an owl if they didn't have any signal, but they didn't know - and their father didn't think to tell them.

If Fred knew a younger girl would be staying in the house, he would have rented a room somewhere else, hell, he would've stayed in the office above the shop, but he didn't know.

And you of all people would've forced yourself to stay under your parent's roof for a little longer, or jump on a plane and bump into Gideon and Fabian just by chance, but they didn't tell you.

Fred always felt amazed when he was in George's house - it was large and cosy, a proper family home, a master bedroom with an ensuite, two guestrooms where you had slept during previous summer - where the twins often slept instead of their own room from time to time, and a large bathroom that could fit in the whole Weasley family.

You swallowed hard, shifting in the stiff chair, you shook your head, your voice wobbly as you tried to speak.

"Dad, I appreciate all of this, I really do - but I'm an adult, it isn't your choice or right to make decisions for me, I don't want to get married, I don't want to live with another-"

You wanted to continue, but Y/D/N glared at you, he spoke through gritted teeth, flipping over the photographs of the family trying to buy you for their son.

"How dare you disrespect me. After everything I have done for you, for this family, you are not an adult, you still act like a child!"

"I'm eighteen!" you snapped, feeling brave, finding your voice.

"You are still living under my roof! You will do as I say!"

Your mother did nothing but stare into the fireplace, perhaps deep in thought or imagining you in a white lace dress, walking down the aisle with a face smile plastered on your face.

"No, I will not!"

"You will!" your dad bellowed, rising out of his chair "because they are coming to meet you in an hour and you better comply, girl!"

Tears pricked at your eyes, your chest tightened and the familiar lump formed in your throat. Staring down at the picture made you sick to your stomach, you recognised the young lad in the photograph, for he was no other than Scorpius Malfoy.

"The Malfoys!" you also stood up "I will never, ever marry into that family! Not after what they did!"

Y/D/N grunted "What are you going to do? Marry a Weasley? Work in a joke shop and be a laughing stock for a living?"

You stormed out of the living room, grabbing your trunk, your mother continued to stare into the flames, blocking out everything around her, smiling about what could have been.

Your dad followed you, grabbing the other handle on your trunk, pulling you to him.

"You aren't going anywhere!"

"I'm going anywhere but here!" you snarled back, your trunk opened and your clothes dropped onto the floor, letting go, you stormed up the stairs and sprinted to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Frantically, you pulled out your phone, messaging the twins.

Y/N: They want me to marry into the Malfoy family! I can't fucking do it.

Fabian: Wait. Scorpius?

Gideon: You've got to be joking.

Y/N: No! I'm not! His family are coming to meet me in the next hour, what the fuck am I going to do?

Gideon: Puking Pastilles?

Y/N: No, I'm not risking leaving this bedroom if I'm not going outside.

Fabian: You've got our house key, use it genius.

Y/N: I will tonight, I just need to fake this shit, hopefully, I won't be married by morning, I'll run away to yours in the night.

Gideon: Be careful.

Fabian: Don't do anything we wouldn't do.

Y/N: Why do you think I'm running away? The Malfoys are the worst match!

Fred got used to being alone in the house after a week, blasting loud music, dancing like no one was watching, walking around in nothing but his boxers as the summer heat became unbearable. He felt on top of the world, he was alone, enjoying himself, in a huge house all to himself.

Managing to escape through the night as you had planned, you were taken by surprise when you arrived at George's manor to find the lights on and music blaring through the walls.

Maybe the twins came home early to surprise me.

Knocking on the door was pointless, even if you yelled the music was too loud to compete with. Pulling out your key, you unlocked the door and walked inside, setting your bags down on the table on the porch, hanging your coat up on the peg. Following the music you stopped in your tracks, in front of you was Fred, dancing in his boxers, sliding across the wooden floor in his socks, playing the air guitar. Your cheeks started to go red. If this was a prank, it was definitely well thought out - but deep down, you knew that Fabian and Gideon hadn't come home.

You had met Fred before, you always visited the joke shop with your friends and he had been at George's many times over Christmas, and Summer when he wasn't working. Each time you had seen him, he had always been on his own, no girlfriend, no ring on his finger.

Fred spins around with his eyes closed and opens them as he faces you, he jumps out of his skin and instantly covers his private parts with his hands as his eyes met yours, you grabbed the remote and rapidly paused the blaring music.

"W-What are you doing here?!" he asked, breathless and red.

You picked up one of his T-Shirts and threw it at him, leaning against the table, staring at your shoes as he got dressed "I could ask you the same thing." you replied shyly.

taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @inglourious-imagines @reeophidian @sebby-staan @xmalfoyweasleyx @onlyfreds @lucymfer @livvysnaps @supermassiveblackhope @youralternantpersonality @xgoodbyexinnocencex @gustepasilyte 

#Fred and George #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #harry potter fanfic #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #george weasley fanfiction

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#196

“Put everything in. Good boy. Don’t look back. Get over here and kneel in front of me. Yeah I know it’s cold and you are naked. But I’m warm and that’s all that matters. But, if you want to warm up, take my cock out and stick it in your mouth. No, don’t suck. Drink. I was going to save my load of piss for your ass, but this will also do. Just swallow as fast as it comes. Tastes nasty huh? You’ll get used to it. You’ll crave it. If not, well, then it sucks to be you. By you putting the rest of your belongings in that dumpster, you really are giving up everything to become my property to do with as I see....

“No more connection to your family that kicked you out. No more of your daddy treating you like the shit you are. No more of your cousin raping and breeding your ass. Now I get the privilege of doing all that. You knew that treatment was a small part what I offered when you answered my ad looking for property.

“Becoming my toilet was always a part of that. Today we start with your urinal training. Full toilet training will come later, and don’t ever think that it won’t. Good boy, other that some dribble on the outside of your mouth. Normally that would be cause for immediate punishment, but hey it’s your 18th birthday today and you are also pledging your existence to me, so I’ll cut you some slack. When I picked you up at our meeting place just after midnight last night, you accepted that I would be controlling every aspect of your life. By putting everything you left home with in that dumpster just now, there’s no turning around.

“Now it’s the morning, and I can inspect you properly. In the morning sun, I can see you did a good job shaving. Other than your eyebrows, no other hair on your body. You seem to take to the role of property quite naturally. The collar I have on you seems to fit right. After you fully earn my trust, we’ll swap out the shock collar for a regular one. One thing about being naked out in this cool morning weather, is that you get severe shrinkage. Your pecker was small to begin with. But look at it now, it’s non-existent. Stand up. This is your chastity cage. I told you last night to jerk off before midnight, as it will be your last for a long while. This is to ensure that you don’t. With your pecker shrunk, it goes on real easy. Damn, this lock is bigger that the pecker it locks up. Your balls remain exposed for further use and abuse. From this point on, you are never stand to piss like a real man. You will always squat down, or if you do need a toilet, you will sit. And for god sake, don’t ever sit on the toilet seat, the cold porcelain is good enough for you.

“Now turn around and bend over. Last night’s fuck was a struggle for you. I know my cock is quite thick. This fuck is going to be even more brutal; it needs to be. Hands on the asphalt and cunt hole up high. One glob of spit is all the lube you will get. Feel how heavy my cock is. It’s going right to the root… now. Holy shit you are tight. That’s it scream mother fucker. Keep screaming, it’s only making me harder. Too bad you don’t have your cherry. I would have smashed that fucker right. You will eventually be able to take this daily.

“And right on time, look up, we have a semi coming in. Don’t you fucking move. They are going to see you naked bent over on all fours; they need to hear you screaming. And my cock is still going to split you in two as they drive up. Don’t worry bitch boy, these are two of my friends. Focus your attention on my cock and be the hole you are. Me fucking you in front of others is what I want; it’s usually what really gets me off.

“Wait. That felt good. Do that again, clamp down on my cock just like what you did. So you like to be used in front of others? A simple ‘Yes SIR’ will do…. I don’t know what your cousin did to train you right, but he did it right. Hey they are getting out and making their way over here, so stop the screaming….

“Dave, Chris, what’s going on?… I’m just enjoying my new pussy. I claimed her last night at midnight. She just now threw out her shit and took my collar…. No, not a real pussy, she’s a fag. She’s been contacting me for a few months begging me to take her and own her when her dad kicked her out on her 18th birthday. This is her birthday fuck. I was about to nut when you guys pulled in. You two interested in using her?… I figured you would. Times haven’t changed. Dave shove your cock into her mouth. Fuck yeah. Make her take it all. I’m getting close. Fuck yeah. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh yes. Fuck.

“Whew!… Pussy, your cunt is gold! I need some rest. These men are going to be using you for a bit. They are going to be rough on you. That’s what I want. This is your life now. I hope you have the stamina…. Guys, she’s all yours. I plan on heading out in about three hours. When you are done make sure she finds her way back to my cab…. Sure you can abuse her in your cab. Yeah it’s cold. I have no idea how she stands the cold out here. Hey pussy, make me proud.”

[echotzzz]

The introduction : Archeron- batboys dinner.

There were already post talking about this and i want to give and add some of my thoughts because for me in this scene, there are so many foreshadowing and chemistry between Feysand, Nessian and Elriel and not to mention that this was before the sisters were turn into fae..well save for Feyre. There are reason why Sjm made this scene exclusively for the 6 of them. ( Mor n Amren need to stay in Velaris while all the servants had gone home)

This is very significant because sjm said that when Nesta and Elain came back in acomaf, she knew that the sisters will have their own journey. This introduction will be the start for both Nesta and Elain journey as well for Cassian and Azriel.

Looking at Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, I knew I’d been right to select it as the meeting spot.

I said to the males, “My sisters, Nesta and Elain Archeron.”

We know that Sjm is very good with wording and in every book ( if i’m not mistaken) the sequence when mentioning three brothers, three sisters will start with

Rhysand-Cassian-Azriel

Feyre- Nesta- Elain

It has always “ Cassian and Azriel “ and “ Nesta and Elain” . The spin off will be Nessian first then follow by Elriel. This is the foreshadowing of the couple and book sequences.

And if we look closely, After the introduction both Cassian and Azriel focus on one person from each of the sister.

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

“It’s been a few centuries since someone got under Cassian’s skin that easily. Too bad they’re both inclined to kill the other.”

Nessian from the first moment they met already start to bickering and throwing insults to each other ( later in acosf is exactly what they do for the first half of the book). “ a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.” This is forshadowing how later Nesta indeed became a warrior and equal opponent to Cassian in many aspects ( sexual needs, fire, etc..)

So now let’s move on to my favourite part🥰

Elain said, “It’s all very disorienting.” “I can imagine,” Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

From the very beginning, Elriel already have their own understanding. Again i remind you that Elain have not turn fae and yet she able to read Azriel who is the shadowsinger, the spymaster, the one that most people said unreadable. They both read and calm each other through body language. And surprisingly this parallel with the pov almost kiss scene. They didn’t say out loud that they want to kiss. Elain read Azriel face and Azriel saw that as ‘offer and permission’.

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the mother might witness them.

True to their nature, before the start of the conversation Azriel would rather hide in his shadow to avoid the conversation while Elain was mentioned likely to faint. But it turns out, Elain was the one that act and talk rational between them and try to prevent Nesta to further provoke Feysand, she also made small talks to change the mood.

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious.

Azriel felt self conscious in which i could interpret it as an issue about his self worth. Again this parallel with his pov regarding his self worth and his scars. But instead he answered Elain’s question

“Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

This is the first time that Azriel actually talk about himself. He even admitted that he sometimes felt frightened during flying but training had made him braver.. Azriel is known to dislike illyrians but the flying is the only part where he include himself as one of them. Before this any information about him would be explain from other characters. The fact that he willingly gave a vulnerable information about himself when Elain asked actually tell us that he trust her when they only just met.

“That’s very beautiful,” she said.

For Elain, everything about Azriel is beautiful. His passion about flying, his scars and his present 🥺

So, what happen during the dinner are representing their personalities as a couple.

Feysand : Rhys defending and siding with Feyre

Nessian: snarled and challenge each other

Elriel: the peace controller and the rationals

And lastly after the dinner, Feysand began to talk about Elain’s engagement and Azriel’s feelings towards Mor.

“And Elain,” Rhys said, sighing as he removed his other boot, “should not be marrying that lord’s son, not for about a dozen reasons, the least of which being the fact that you won’t be invited to the wedding. Though maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, so you haven’t noticed the way Azriel looks at Mor? Or how she sometimes watches him, defends him? And how both of them do such a good job letting Cassian be a buffer between them most of the time?”

And in acosf we got this

Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up. Instead she said, “You’re angry with me.”

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.

From the very first interaction, Elriel already have their own chemistry

Both calm and able to read each other

Both have had a first love that failed

Both have powers that most of the people don’t understand

Both are the mysterious characters in the books

Both love each other’s company

Both of them can make each other laugh and smile

Both have moved on

Both wants each other

Elriel have every reason to want to be together and not to mention their mate behaviours. THE ONLY THING THAT STOPPING THEM RIGHT NOW IS THAT DARN ELUCIAN’S MATING BOND!!! in which have every reason to be broken.

And also POLITICS /ALLIANCES AND THE DIRECT COMMAND FROM RHYSAND.

Elriel will serve the best forbidden love trope in 2023 and no amount of Gwynriel will make me believe otherwise😌

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #sjm

[ookamihanta]

Tired of waiting for araki to give us more mixed jojos from different parts of the world and female jojos so i did it myself. 

Fyi, these kids are assuming everyone somehow lives to have kids so like. >>side eyes jolyne. And my own personal headcanons as to how they came to be obviously. To better understand everything, best go read some of my other posts about older Giorno and Josuke and assume everyone lives. (Personal note: I don’t really see any of trio ever actually settling down in these aspects, but these situations need to happen for these kids to actually exist lmao.)

Josephine Baker Jolicoeur is the granddaughter of Josuke Higashikita. Since Josuke got to travel the world being a detective for the Speedwagon foundation, he met a woman in America and had a child with her. Eventually, Josuke’s granddaughter is born to Josuke’s daughter, but from a man who was less than father material. One day, her father snapped and murdered her mother, leaving her orphaned at 10yrs old and being taken in by her grandparents. Josuke still travels the world solving crime, especially now that he has had two close family members of his murdered in cold blood. Josuke’s wife moved to Paris and thus, Josephine did as well. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Josephine actually developed her stand when she was the sole witness to her mother’s killing, explaining how she miraculously escaped before her father to get to her as well. It took several more years for her to fully explore her abilities, as Josuke one day used Crazy Diamond in front of her on one of his rare trips back home to Paris and she freaked tf out because she didn’t know other people had a stand.

Black Venus’s power is quite a feat. It basically can create black holes, or open spaces that sucks everything into it. Josuke likes to say it’s a stand he finds similar to his best friend’s, Okuyasu’s The Hand, so you can bet Josephine is close to her god uncle too. Unlike Okuyasu however, Black Venus can create multiple spaces that can hold and suck objects up. Black Venus can also choose to spit back the objects out by creating a chain of black holes near by. However, if only one is created, then whatever is sucked into it is gone forever. Of course, this black hole can transport people as well, explaining how Josephine managed to escape her father’s wrath when she was younger.

Jordan Josius is the grandson of Jolyne Cujoh. In some AU, Jolyne lives and gets to have a family, yay. I don’t care much if you think Jolyne has a kid with Annasui or someone else, just know she had a daughter and her daughter gave birth to Jordan. Jordan lives in the U.S like the rest of his family and resides in Orlando, a senior in high school. He has a part time job at Disney World as one of the mascot costume characters, as he’s rather shy and quiet, so it was one of the only jobs he could snag at his age and experience. Unlike most of his extended family, Jordan actually has a good relationship with his parents and grandparents. He still lives at home and the only reason he gets roped up to any sort of mess is because of his job. You’d think being a costume character would be a simple job, but the amounts of time some lunatic has came into the theme park while he was working is quite ridiculous. He’s gotten into several scuffles while being in his uniform, but the managers at the park cover his back whenever something happens. Jordan was born with his stand, so he doesn’t quite recall when it first manifested. Jolyne tells him often that she’d had to tie up his stand when he was a baby because it would cause harm by accident whenever he started crying.

Tympany Five’s power is the ability to create a cloak of mist/fog around its enemies, which once trapped in, can manipulate your senses. Jordan has to be careful when using this ability however, as he can’t control every aspect of it and can only vaguely give commands to a certain extent. When it comes to changing one’s senses, he can only change one at a time and he has to continuously focus on that one person, or else the ability loses its affect. He can use this mist to sense multiple bodies in his range, but if he is not directly focusing on them, the sense that is changed is completely random and out of Jordan’s control. Tympay Five can create everything from hallucinations to simple changes such as making someone’s perspective shift just the slightest to make them off balance. 

Josie ‘Jose’ Pablo Jofre is the granddaughter of Giorno Giovanna. The mafia don Giorno didn’t think too much about relationships, considering his position, but when he traveled to Mexico looking in to take over their gang routes and supplies, he encountered the head of the entire operation--who was a beautiful woman. Long story short, they elope, but keep their relationship behind closed doors due to their jobs. It would be very dangerous for word to get out that two figureheads were in a relationship with each other, much less had a child soon afterwards, after all. They have two children, one son and one daughter. However, both Giorno and his wife agreed they didn’t want their children to get involve in their mafia work more than they needed to, so they did their best to hide that side of their world from them. To do this even more so, Giorno and his wife live apart in their own separate countries with one child with each parent. Giorno takes care of his daughter in Italy while his son stays with his wife in Mexico. Because of this, Giorno’s son also takes his mother’s surname and soon grows up to have a child of his own--Josie. Despite all of Giorno’s attempts to keep his family out of the mafia business, Josie easily finds out what her grandparents are up to and immediately takes awe with them. She’s very much like Giorno, someone who looks up to the gangsters rather than down upon. She eventually convinces Giorno to let her join Passione and when Giorno retired, Josie happily took over both Giorno’s position as Don and merged all routes and supplies with her grandmother’s.

Hard Tango’s abilities simply boil down to being extremely good fortune. Being in its range, one’s precision and chances of achieving rise exponentially, even if they’re not trying. Of course, this also affects opponents of Josie’s, so bringing out Hard Tango can be a challenge if her opponents are close combat heavy and stay within her range. She often uses Hard Tango when she gambles or when making trade deals, as things will always go in her favor. Put to its extreme, Hard Tango can even save people’s lives, as it can create situations where an injury is not as deep or as deadly as it may seem. Yes, this ability op as fuck, but hey she’s Giorno’s grandchild so it only makes sense. 

#if you somehow manage to read through all of this then congrats #jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #jjba oc #oc #aj art #sketch #im not gonna tag anything with canon characters bc i feel like thats cheating lmaooo #Jordan Josius #Josephine Jolicoeur #Josie Jofre #yknow how long it took me to google jo names

[algumaideia]

The ableism in the Acotar series

I was thinking about all the problematic aspects of the Acotar books, and I realized that they are pretty ableist. I don’t know if someone have already talked about it, but just in case I’ll do it. But before I start, I need to say some things:

1. I haven’t read the series for a while, and I don’t remember some stuff. So, I might write something that is wrong.

2. I’m not disabled myself. This post is based on my research about disabilities and how disabled people are represented in the media. I have a lot of interest in the subject, and I also researched about it because I’m writing a story with several disabled characters. I also did a school project about assistive technologies.

3. English is not my mother language and I’m still learning it. There are gonna be spelling and grammar mistakes. I’m sorry about it, but it is life.

4. I haven’t read the acosf book, so maybe SJM changed the story or some character in this book and therefore my post will be incorrect.

5. Besides the fact that I consider Emerie to be disabled, I won’t talk about her in the post. Because as I said I didn’t read acosf and I think that her appearance in the acofas has the same purpose that the other female Illyrians (since Idk how to write Illyrians this will be write wrong in the entire post, I’m sorry).

6. I forget the name of some characters and I don’t want to search it, so I’ll just give them new names.

Now let’s begin.

I’ll analyze the following characters in this post: Papa Acheron, Lucien, Cassian and Ianthe, the woman from the library and the female Illyrians, the female creature from the forest, the Illyrian soldiers that came back from the war and the girl who couldn’t fly. I think I forgot someone, but patience. In the end of the post I’ll talk about disabilities, ableism and worldbuilding.

I also would like to say that almost all her characters got their disability as a punishment, and the problem with this is that it always links disability with something bad.

Papa Acheron:

As I said Papa Acheron got his disability as a punishment, since he didn’t pay his debts, some people went in this house and broke his leg. I might be wrong, but I think that it didn’t healed well and because of that he has chronic pain. So, to better analyze him I’ll compare him to two other characters with chronic pain, Kaz Brekker and Melissa, one of my main characters.

Papa Acheron became useless after he became disabled. He thought he was useless and by extension Feyre thought it too. I’m not saying that internalized ableism doesn’t exist, but the narrative never calls it out. Feyre accepts this excuse, it is kind of implied that if he weren’t disabled, he would be able to help his family and get money. Now let’s look to Kaz (I haven’t read the second book of the duology, please no spoilers). He accepts his disability, not only that but he uses his cane as one of his symbols. He goes against the idea that a disabled person is stuck with a cane or a wheelchair or whatever. He feels free with his cane. Now, this doesn’t mean that every disabled character needs to feel okay with his disability. My character, Melissa, feels a lot of anger because of her chronic pain. It hurts her, it disrupts her plans, it makes her suffer. However, it didn’t stop her to live her life and she also is not seeking anyone’s pity, which is very different from the Papa Acheron situation. Mel has friends, a social life, she studies, she will have a job, she will date, get married and have children. She doesn’t feel mad because she is disabled, she is also autistic, and she loves that part of herself. What bothers her is that her disability makes her feels a lot of pain. Papa Acheron is just someone to you feel bad and angry about. He doesn’t do anything because he is disabled and believes that this makes his useless and the narrative kind of agrees with him.

Lucien:

Lucien doesn’t have one eye, and that’s what makes him disabled. He became disabled as a punishment for falling in love with a lesser fae and not only that, but he is only without his mechanic/magic eye when he is on his worse. He was without his eye when his family was torturing and banishing him. And then when he was UTM. Again, disability being connected with bad things. Now about his mechanic eye. The first time that Feyre describes his eye she says it is creepy. Which is bad. But also, why it had to be magic and give him the ability to see spells or something like that (this was never brought back btw)? Why can’t he have a normal mechanical eye? Why he needs a mechanical eye? Why does his mechanical eye need to compensate the fact he is disabled? He is as much complete with and without his eye.

Cassin and Ianthe:

I put this two together for one reason, their disabilities were cured. I’ll talk about Cassian first. When they invaded Hybrein (I also don’t know how to write the name of the country) they hurt his wings badly. And considering that to Illyrians the wings are as much a limb as an arm or a leg, he was disabled for a while. (I’m aware that to something be considered a disability it needs to be long lasting. But I think that the fact that it was cured is ableist, if I’m not wrong the text said it was a miracle he was healed.)Then we had Cassian in the floor with his wings all damaged, suffering a lot, what a horrible scene. But don’t worry! The next time he’ll appear completely cured, because being disabled is such a horrible thing and SJM never used deus ex machina to save her characters. So, this injured made him disabled for a while, and it could be interesting. The wings are the Illyrian symbol, the symbol of their toxic masculinity and their sexism. Cassian being disabled because of his wings would make him revalue his culture and his own idea of masculinity and it would be so amazing. But he was cured. I think that this makes Cassian falls in the disabled for one day trope. Just like Ianthe. First the way she became disabled was disgusting. Feyre invading her mind was such a horrible thing to do. I’m not denying that Ianthe is a terrible person/fae but that doesn’t change the fact that it was a horrible scene. I really dislike characters with telepathic powers, because for me their powers are crossing a line. They invade and control someone’s mind. They take off the person free will. They basically turn the person in a robot. If I remember correctly when Feyre made Ianthe broke her hand it was with the purpose to make it useless. And when she appeared again in all her glory she was, surprise, surprise, cured.

The woman from the library and the female Illyrians:

I put they together because their disabilities are used for the same two purposes. The first is that they became disabled as a punishment for being female, and the second it to show how FEMINIST Rhysand is. He isn’t feminist, so all these women suffered for nothing. Again, disability being linked with bad things. The symbol of the female Illyrians suffering is they becoming disabled. NOT GOOD AT ALL. About the woman from the library, she was there to also show how good Feyre is. She is there so we can feel pity of her. She didn’t deserve it.

The female creature who couldn’t see:

My problem with her is that it is implied/said that she has better senses because she is blind. And that’s not how it works?? People just pay more attention in what they hear, touch or smell when they are blind/visually impaired.

The girl who couldn’t fly:

I'm gonna call her Anna. First Anna is like the only character who just have a disability. No trauma, no war, no punishment. She just has. Then she is a great disabled character, right? Wrong. She has inspirational porn written all over her story. She is there to make Feyre feel better about herself and make other abled people/fae feel inspired. She is there so we can say: ohhh poor thing, but at least she overcame her disability and now can fly. So ableist. Anna is also only valued after proving herself useful. That is wrong. Disabled people should be valued because they are people. They don’t need to be amazing in anything to be treated with respect.

The Illyrian soldiers:

My problem with them is how their disability is used to reinforce sexism and make Cassian and Rhysand feel bad. But what about the Illyrian soldiers? How are they feeling? It seems this is not important. They also bother me because of worldbuilding questions.

Disabilities, ableism and worldbuilding:

First, why humans and fae feel the same about disabled people? Feyre has the same opinion the IC have. And the humans and fae were separated for 500 years. This doesn’t make sense. Every court think the same thing about disabled fae? Does something change if the disabled fae is a lesser or a higher fae? It should make a difference. A real world example of how social class affects the way disabled people are treated: the first school for deaf people created only taught children of the nobles.

And why the way people look to disabled fae didn’t change after the war? What about the assistive technology? You know what, it is unrealistic the fact that we don’t have any assistive technology in this world. But this happen in the antient times, how could there be any assistive technology? First, assistive technology is everything that helps a disabled person, a cane, a screen reader, a scooter. Everything can be an assistive technology. Second, assistive technologies exist since the antiente times. One of the oldest prothesis were found in a mummy. There is a painting of Hephaestus using a wheelchair. And considering that this series happens in what was supposed to be the Middle ages, it was supposed to have assistive technologies. Wheelchairs during this time were heavy and the user couldn’t use it by himself, but they existed. There are records of a king using a wheelchair during the middle ages. And I mean with the war something was supposed to change. The first place to blind people in the France was created because 300 soldiers came back from the crusades without their eyes. It was in the century 20 that disabled people started to be more included in the society. And one of the reasons were the soldiers that came back from WW1 and WW2 disabled. Not only that but in war times the technology improves, so a lot of new assistive technologies and materials were created during this time. The first record of guide dogs comes from 1819 in school in Vienna, but it didn’t work. Only after WW1 that guide dogs appeared again. And you know with what purpose? Help veterans that were blind due to the war. Braille was a system used for the French army during battles. Louis Braille only made it simpler. The war should change something.

Why is the world ableist?  The excuse that this is an antient society doesn’t work my friend. The Egypt was a very including country. Blind people could be part of any social class. Dwarfs were part of the society since they had a dwarf god. In antient Japan blind people were expected to be independent. They could work with music, religion, telling stories etc. And the work of telling stories was very important since it made the Japanese tradition to continue. The excuse that this is an antient society is just this, an excuse. Now she could have used to say something. Leigh Bardugo used the ableism of her world to criticize the ableism of our world. I’m doing the same thing with my story. SJM made an ableist world just because.

That was my analysis. I’m sorry this was very long. I know this was a little confusing, but it was very difficult to put all the stuff that was in my mind in text. In my mind everythig made sense, but when I was writing it I realized I wasn’t following a logical argument. If that makes sense. Anyway, thank you for reading it.

If you read the books and realized I wrote something wrong, please tell me. If you are disabled and think I said something offensive, I’d love to hear you. If you are non-disabled and want to comment and give your opinion, feel free. And if you don’t want to comment, don’t do it. You can do whatever you want.

Best regards,

Me.

Ps. This is my first post in Tumblr, so I don’t know if I tagged it right, if you want to help, I would be really grateful.

#anti sjm #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti feyre #anti acotar #anti acowar #anti acomaf #ableism #six of crows #kaz brekker #disablity representation #disabled characters #lucien vanserra #cassian

[hellacioushag]

tw: abuse/sexual assault

the hypocrisy of people using faux outrage about others drawing parallels between tamlin and azriel’s stories when they didn’t bat an eye about someone drawing similarities between a rapist and a sexual assault survivor to justify their shipping needs is astounding. if you read the post no one was saying tamlin and azriel are the same. i’m gonna detail my own thoughts on why these two mirror each others narrative, but with key differences. 

abusive childhoods:

i feel like people forget that both tamlin and azriel were victims of an abusive household. the key difference is azriel’s history has made him want to defend those who cannot defend themselves/punish those who are the perpetrators of violence while tamlin gave into his anger and violence at the world. it’s a classic tale of being an abuse victim. you either grow up to separate yourself from your past and do better than your parents or you become just like them. 

tamlin’s brothers would have murdered him as a babe in his bassinet if they suspected he had potential or desire for the high lord position. we also know tamlin’s father held slaves and was aligned with others who shared his view of the world in the war. pair these bits together and we can assume tamlin’s father was a more aggressive and violent father than even beron is. tamlin grew up in a home where he did not feel safe. and when his father tasked tamlin with finding out his enemy’s secrets tamlin obliged. 

he was present and possibly participated in the butcher and murder of rhys’ family. this was a significant moment for tamlin’s turn into becoming an abuser like his father. he could have lied, he could have denied knowing the information about rhys’ mother and sister, but instead he gave that information over to his father knowing he was signing a death warrant. some could argue that he may have done this because of his own father’s abusive tendencies toward him, but this was the moment imo that tamlin went from a victim to a predator. 

as for azriel we all know the abuse he suffered by his family. how his brothers tortured him and tried to have him killed. how he was denied any affection or love growing up and was taught that his existence was a stain on his family’s reputation. azriel could have easily turned into an abuser himself the way tamlin did, but being dumped into the illyrian camps and finding cassian and rhys saved him from that fate. his brotherhood with them was the turning point for azriel to no longer be a victim, but a survivor. 

anger issues:

you can’t deny that both tamlin and azriel suffer with anger and control issues. it’s clear in the text they both have a barely contained, deep-seated anger that could be deathly when let loose. the key difference is tamlin has no one to reign him in, no one of his equal to calm that rage. azriel has this support system and has been shown to have utilized it when needed. i’m not going to go into a full analysis on all the examples, but I will point out the main ones I think we all know.

tamlin’s explosive anger was shown when he blew apart the library when feyre and he disagreed about her safety measures in acomaf. he could have easily hurt her had she not had magic to protect her (as seen when this same moment was repeated in acowar). tamlin let his rage and helplessness consume his every thought about protecting the person he loved and instead became the very threat he sought to protect her from. he let his paranoia about her being in danger prevent him from listening to her needs and locked her in a cage. this in itself was abusive, there’s no arguing this point. the part to note is that he as a high lord had no one of equal measure to talk him down, to help him see reason. when lucien tried to step in he was dismissed and abused himself. when feyre tried to speak up on her own behalf tamlin refused to listen and as high lord his word/wants/needs were law in his lands. he had no one who could provide a healthy perspective and so left unchecked he continued his abusive behavior.

azriel’s cold, lethal anger was shown when he exploded at the meeting with the high lords in acowar and attacked eris for a slight against mor. he was inches from letting the rage take hold of him and ending eris’s life. feyre, his high lady and friend, was able to calm him down and make him see reason. azriel is a trained spy and torture master, he’s supposed to be able to keep a cool head in high stressed situations, to act unemotionally to get his job done. however reliving the trauma of seeing a broken mor and imagining eris leaving her there consumed him with rage he could no longer contain. i’m not here to justify his actions. mor’s own trauma of seeing azriel fly off the deep end is enough for me to condemn his behavior. i am however pointing out that i think his reaction was not just about mor, but about reliving his own helplessness and loss of control and letting it consume him into a lethal rage. 

the key difference with tamlin and azriel’s moments of all consuming rage is that azriel had someone to talk him down and let him see reason. tamlin refused the help of his own support system (lucien/feyre) and instead gave into his abusive and volatile tendencies. azriel could have easily done that same, but because of his brotherhood and friendships he has people to pull him back from the edge. 

desire for love and acceptance:

both tamlin and azriel (and all characters in this series tbh) have a strong desire to love and be loved in return. the problem is when that desire for love becomes an obsession and entitlement. it becomes harmful when you think you’re owed something. 

tamlin let his desire for feyre become obsessive. he had his soldiers hunt her down to drag her back to his home. he refused to accept that she was happy and healing away from him because he was in despair without her. he couldn’t fathom that she could be finding peace when he was being torn apart. he allied himself with monsters because he convinced himself that his love for feyre was the stuff of legend and that he was acting in a heroic manner. and even when he found out that she had a mate, something that is considered a sacred bond above all things to their people, he refused to accept that the cauldron/the mother/fate could be so cruel to deny him his happily ever after. feyre was his and he would reclaim her no matter what. he would defy the mother herself for his love. the problem with this is that he did not take into account feyre’s needs. when you love someone you put their needs above your own. he didn’t care that feyre was mated, that she loved rhys, because his obsession for her and belief that she belonged to him outweighed all reason. his love for her turned toxic if you can even call it love to begin with. 

azriel is a bit different, but the parallels are there. he’s not at the obsessive point yet (masturbating to pain killers notwithstanding) and he may never get there. one could argue he spent 500+ years being obsessed with mor, but his support system held him in check. that when he saw mor flirting and sleeping with others he leaned on his brothers, on cassian, to distract him and help him through the pain of knowing the person he loved didn’t love him back. and regarding elain i think whatever is between them is entirely too new to relate it to his feelings for mor, but it’s also looking to be just as unhealthy. he didn’t bat an eye about fighting lucien in a blood duel and seemed to welcome the challenge. he knows that if lucien were to die that pain could destroy elain. even if she doesn’t love lucien, has not accepted the mating bond, she and he are soulbound. if he were to die it could shatter her, but he didn’t seem to think of that consequence at all. 

when he questioned the wisdom of making them mates in the first place, when he claimed “what if the cauldron was wrong?” and then rationalized his thoughts by saying 3 sisters for 3 brothers.... this is a callback to tamlin refusing to believe the cauldron would deny him love by mating feyre to rhys. questioning why he doesn’t have a mate of his own isn’t inherently bad, but implying that because his brothers found mates with 2 of 3 sisters so lucien doesn’t deserve the 3rd is. when he doesn’t talk to his brother about why he desires elain and instead talks about why fate has robbed him of a sister it stands to reason why rhys would take exception to this way of thinking. it’s bordering on toxic and i’m glad rhys was there to pull rank on azriel. 

are tamlin and azriel the same?

no, didn’t you listen to anything said? they are not the same and the key difference as to why is because azriel has a support system of brothers and friends that he can rely on to keep him in check. tamlin has pushed away any form of support and has embraced his beastly abusive behavior. saying that their story parallels is not saying azriel is an abuser like tamlin. it’s pointing out why tamlin’s story is a cautionary tale for azriel’s future journey. it’s outlining that while they may share similar aspects of an abusive past, anger issues, and longing for love and affection they are not the same people at their core because of the way they deal with their trauma. 

#acotar #acotar metas #acosf #azriel #tamlin #they are not the same #but they do parallel to each other #can't wait to see people say i'm a tamlin apologist #or i'm equating az and tamlin #cause people in this fandom seem to not understand how to comprehensively read