#i also have the least consistent john on the planet so. i just like to explore ok

[mossssor]

me when i'm cherishing my human in my new and strange form in a nebulous but intimate space

#what ti says on the tin #my art #this is actually a month or so old but you knowwww #im working on another jarthur thing as always but i figured i should post something finished #malevolent #malevolent fanart #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #jarthur #i swear they have one of those poetic ship names.....but as a two-three syllable ship name truther i cant remember it for the life of me #malevolent podcast #i also have the least consistent john on the planet so. i just like to explore ok

[greenlantern94to04]

Green Lantern #49 (February 1994)

"EMERALD TWILIGHT," Part 2! Hal Jordan has gone so far off the deep end that he's started imitating one of history's most infamous monsters: Ringo Starr. After the events of last issue, a pissed-off Hal is speeding towards planet Oa to give his bosses, the Guardians of the Universe, a piece of (what's left of) his mind. The Guardians try to stop Hal by deploying formidable Green Lanterns like, uh, this red guy and that purple girl.

Hal brutally whoops their asses and steals their GL rings to become more powerful; if he manages to nab 3597 more rings, he can become a One Man Green Lantern Corps. Hal's dangerous bling addiction even leads him to fight Lanterns he personally recruited into the Corps, like Tomar-Tu (the guy with the bird face who doesn't sound like Geoffrey Rush) and Boodikka, a fierce warrior who refuses to let go of her ring... so Hal just chops her hand off. I like to imagine a Green Lantern from some sort of phallus-shaped alien race turning around at this point and going home.

Meanwhile, in Oa, the Guardians seem pretty confident that one of their "servants" will stop Hal, but their arrogance starts evaporating with every ring he steals. Ganthet, paradoxically the least dickish of the Guardians despite being the only one wearing a ponytail, has some sort of secret plan for how they could "preserve themselves" if all else fails. At first, the others just mock him (for his plan, not the ponytail), but as Hal gets closer, they get nervous and start preparing for Ganthet's plan, whatever it is.

Hal finally reaches Oa and faces one of his best friends, Kilowog, the most distinguished trainer of the Green Lantern Corps and the Justice League's one-time handyman. Hal reminds his former mentor that he's got like ten rings by now, but Kilowog defiantly says, "Didn't I teach ya nothing? It's the warrior, not his weapons."

As it turns out, nope, it's the weapons, because Hal defeats Kilowog too within one page. With no one else around to stop him, Hal heads for the Central Power Battery -- literally, a giant battery that powers every GL ring in the universe, and now Hal wants that power to himself (I guess stealing it from here is easier than figuring out how to wear 3600 rings on his fingers). However, the Guardians still have an ace up their oversized sleeves. A hooded figure walks out of the battery, and the final page reveals that it's the other "greatest Green Lantern ever" who went rogue: Sinestro! A villain so heinous that the Guardians executed him for "crimes against the universe," causing his soul to get trapped inside the Central Battery.

Yes, the Guardians are so desperate that they're willing to give a GL ring to a guy whose name means "evil" and who has tried to kill them multiple times in the past. Interesting tactic. Will it pay off?!

NEXT ISSUE: It doesn't pay off.

Plotline-Watch:

When Sinestro is revealed at the end, we also find out that he'd been narrating the issue, which gives a double reading to lines like: "Were he not blinded by his obsession, would these acts wreak havoc on his conscience? I rather like to think so." That almost sounds like Sinestro's version of the Joker's "Far too late" moment from The Killing Joke.

The fight with Kilowog could be seen as another callback to Emerald Dawn, Hal's origin story, since that contained a montage of 'Wog training Hal when he was a rookie... by making him balance rocks and catch eggs in the air and stuff. Would have been funny if Hal and Kilowog's dramatic face-off in this issue had consisted of an egg-catching contest. To the death.

Ganthet the Least Dickish Guardian first appeared in 1992's Green Lantern: Ganthet's Tale graphic novel by Larry Niven and John Byrne, which establishes that 1) he once drove himself insane by looking at the beginning of the universe, and 2), perhaps related to the above, he has a fondness for human fashion. Ganthet had appeared in exactly two issues of the regular series before this one, but he'll appear a lot more often and have plenty more chances to show off his fashion sense after this.

Also in Ganthet's Tale, Hal learns the "forbidden knowledge" that the end and the beginning of the universe are linked together, which the other Guardians would have erased from his mind if Ganthet hadn't protected him. Not only will this little bit of trivia come in pretty handy for Hal as he starts toying with cosmic forces in the near future, but also, looking at the final panels in the graphic novel, Hal's comments about being disappointed in the Guardians' lies almost feel like a teaser for Emerald Twilight (which, again, was definitely not being planned in '92).

Question for the Hal Jordan veterans in the comments (hi, Neil): was the idea that wearing more GL rings makes you more powerful already a thing before this issue? Seems like something a villain would have exploited by now. Or did Hal change how the rings work through sheer force of will?

Guy-Watch:

Meanwhile, in Guy Gardner's corner of the GL universe: the Guy Gardner series officially becomes Guy Gardner: Warrior with #17, which sees the debut of Guy's new moniker and his shorter, non-Moe hairdo. Plus, artist Mitch Byrd!

In this issue, Guy finally works up the nerve to go back home and tell his abusive dad what he thought of him, only to find out that he died shortly after his brother Mace committed suicide. Both were assholes, but that's still pretty rough. Then, he's attacked by Militia, the armored loon we met last issue. The fight ends when Guy's yellow power ring (which, incidentally, used to belong to Sinestro) suddenly stops working, but luckily, Militia's armor happens to malfunction at the same time and he's ran over by a truck.

Huh, curious that Militia has ginger hair too. Probably a coincidence. To be continued!

#green lantern #ron marz #fred haynes #romeo tanghal #hal jordan #guardians of the universe #green lantern corps #ganthet #kilowog #sinestro #guy gardner #militia #quorum #this red guy #that purple lady #least dickish guardian is still pretty dickish btw

[xisco-lozdob]

What do we know of Dark Gallifrey?

So, yesterday Big finish finally announced a new range titled Dark Gallifrey. The initial reveal left me underwhelmed because it didn't look as Gallifrey-oriented as I'd at first thought, but some of the comments the creators have posted afterwards are making me warm up to the idea.

So, first of all, it's going to be "a brand-new series showcasing the most chaotic, mischievous and evil Time Lords the planet has ever produced" and it consists of 8 different trilogies, each focusing on one these dark children of Gallifrey. The fact that three of those were given to three different incarnations of the Master who all already have their own ranges gave me pause, but it could be alright if the themes and focus is distinct enough.

However, the Monk and the Nun and, more importantly, Morbius (the incarnation played by Samuel West from the 8DAs 16 years ago) also have their own trilogies. Morbius' one is actually the opening act of the series, though we don't know exactly when it's set. But Morbius is always a great character to delve into Gallifreyan lore.

First thing I want to point out is that they chose to use the same Gallifrey logo as the Gallifrey series, so at the very least they think it should be branded the same way. So we don't only have a link through the title choice but also the same visual identity.

Now, even if John Dorney, writer and script editor for the Morbius trilogy, said this:

It’s completely disconnected from regular Gallifrey.

It doesn't have to mean it's disconnected from Gallifrey the planet, and its history, which, for me, is the most important part, just that it's disconnected from the main cast of the series: Romana, Leela, Narvin and Braxiatel.

So let's see what the other creatives are saying. Rob Valentine, who serves as producer for the series, had this to say:

Dark Gallifrey is a sprawling, multi-story event in which all the most dastardly Time Lords are being let out of the box in various unexpected ways. [...] ...and, behind it all, something massive is brewing.

That means there's some overarching theme or threat in the shadows, probably to be resolved in the last trilogy. What I think is that, more likely than not, it's not going to be a big crossover kind of deal. Maybe some characters and even a couple of the trilogy protagonists are going to be there, but, from what is know, I surmise that we'll be looking at a... Rassilon? trilogy which ties together things that have been set up during the others, but we won't know they have been until we have all the pieces. Let me explain.

Firstly, and something which I really like the sound of, from the Big Finish Talk Back panel at Gally1, they want to do more experimental stories and Dark Gallifrey is part of that.

Dorney, again, said that these are:

Writer led concept albums full of bold creativity. [...] these are not your standard stories.

Whereas Scott Handcock, director and script editor for the War Master trilogy, teased that there are "baffling surprises" and that he doesn't know how his trilogy pieces together with the other ones.

I do like that this range seems to be based on allowing the creators freedom to tell the story they want to tell, so they can experiment with the storylelling and the format. Valentine also says there are all sorts of stories, from darker ones to some that are more comic. But, while Handcock seems to confirm he wasn't privy to all the plans for the range, I read that as implying he did know there was something that linked the trilogies together, but that due to his involvement being with just this trilogy in particular, he didn't need to know every detail.

Still, one last piece of information from Dorney, tells me it's particularly not necessary for the individual creators to know how it all pieces together (if the producers did a good job in keeping tabs):

Just to repeat what I said on the panel this series is influenced by things like Alan Ayckbourn’s Norman Conquests, the old Transformers comic strip Aspects of Evil and Chris Ware’s magnificent Building Stories. [...] it inspired the entire series.

All of these have one particularity in common: they're stories that build a bigger tapestry if put together, with multiple layers of storytelling. But they still work as your basic anthology.

But why do I think it'll all come together with a Rassilon story? Well, for that let's go to writer Tim Foley's blogpost with some visual clues. All the pictures are really interesting, but two in particular piqued my interest. (Btw, Foley seems to have worked at least on the Morbius trilogy with Dorney.)

The first illustration comes from the DWM story The Tides of Time. This story features Rassilon (actually his first appearance in any medium) and the Matrix, as well as the Higher Evolutionaries, a group of ancient and powerful time-aware beings. Basically, they're to Gallifrey's Temporal Powers what Division sorta is to the CIA.

The other image is a rendition by Daryl Joyce of Ancient Gallifrey, from the Lungbarrow ebook. You all know what kinds of implications this has. I really hope we take a long overdue trip to other episodes in Gallifrey's History. This is what I'm expecting (hoping) from this series and, in a way, the Fugitive Doctor's one.

Will we have references and nods to other stories that built on the mythology and history of Gallifrey (and not just those two, Morbius being a main character has the potential to link with some more obscure things)? I don't know but I hope so.

I think that's all the information we have. I don't even really know what I want to say with this post, just wanted to collect all this somewhere, and I guess speculate a bit there at the end.

I really hope this series ends up being as special as it promises.

#doctor who #big finish #big finish gallifrey #dark gallifrey #rassilon #lungbarrow #ancient gallifrey #the master #the monk #morbius #long post

[andromedagarcia]

‘Your mum came by. We had a very nice talk! She left a note for you.’

Surprise that left her blinking a couple of times in awe, unable to find the words. Her mum did… what? Andrómeda knew she was the only one out of the three siblings that lived in New Atlantis, and that her parents missed Hérc and Cass to death, but this was too much. With a strained smile and burning cheeks –she was only able to blush when it came to María and Fernando García–, she grabbed the slate her colleague was handing her and put it in one of the many pockets of her cargo trousers.

‘Thank you, I’ll… listen to it later. I have work to do.’

If the work consisted of boring patrols in the Well and it was an excuse for her to not immediately listen to whatever her mother had to say, nobody had to know.

This was Andro’s least favorite part of the city; the subterranean one.

A place filled with noise and people, most of them living in quite poor conditions. Like Cydonia, but on a different planet. Like Cydonia, if around thirty-five percent of the population was rich and able to live on the surface, while the rest of society didn’t even get to enjoy the rays of sun on their skin.

So, worse than Mars, even, and that was saying something.

Most people in the Well acted as if the Security Officers from the United Colonies didn’t exist. And that was alright with her, honestly, because she sort of also pretended to not be aware of… them. When she was in her nice, fancy apartment in the Mercury Tower, enjoying a cup of Terra Brew coffee. When she spent an amount of money that was, definitely, much more than those people earned in an entire month in a dress. When she went to expensive restaurants with her friends once her shift ended.

It was… uncomfortable, to say the very least. She had tried to get her supervisor to give her anything, any other assignment, but…

‘You recently got injured. The doctor said your rib dislocated and punctured your lung. You are healing nicely but you can’t be on the field yet, Andrómeda.’

And there she was. In the Well. In the year 2330. Stuck in a small planet while there were over 120 systems, 1,700 planets and moons in total.

But some people had it worse.

Like the Martians.

Her dark eyes traveled around Jake’s Bar, in which people were drowning their sorrows in beer, whiskey, or other liquors. There were also a lot of wannabe pilots, weapon specialists and shields engineers, hoping that some captain would give them a place in their crew. She would have to ask Cass, if she required any assistance…

There were also two men, drawing attention to themselves because they were laughing. Laughing out loud, in fact. A sound that wasn’t that popular underground. Most people avoided them, as if they were spreading radiation with that simple gesture, as if they had a deadly illness like the plague had once been on Earth. Her father, a history professor, had taught Andrómeda that much.

No doubt, something had happened to them. Something joyful, exciting. The taller one, a long-haired monster that was certainly over two meters and with muscles like those of a bull, had an arm around the shoulders of the shorter one, also muscular, but leaner. He was saying something, with a deep voice that reverberated in the entirety of the bar, but that Andrómeda still couldn’t hear because of the volume at which Jake kept the music.

His green eyes encountered hers. And they seemed to watch her intently, although the young woman was quite sure he couldn’t quite see her face with the helmet she was sporting, especially not from a certain distance.

Was she supposed to say something? No. She was here to check for criminal activity, for people in danger. She couldn’t simply approach two middle-aged men because they were laughing.

Maybe one of them had just become a dad, or something.

No, he wouldn't be so happy, then. Not if he lived in the Well.

───⋆☆─────────────

‘You are going back on the field.’

John Tuala –John for friends, family members and absolutely anyone after a couple of drinks–, leader of the Vanguard in New Atlantis, had called Andrómeda to his office. And there she was, sitting down in a chair, with a straight back and hands over her knees, trying to be the image of good behavior. Something that had made John laugh, but he hadn’t commented on it; there were more important subjects at hand.

‘Really?’ Andrómeda was wary. She didn’t want to get her hopes up and then… it hadn’t been the first time they had considered putting her back out there. But it had never been John to tell her. Usually a nurse, or a doctor, or some low-ranking member that should be answering to her, instead of the other way around…

‘Really. Two reasons: you’re accompanying Diplomat Airi Takahashi in Neon. Be ready to leave in a few days. She will give you the details of her mission, if she so desires, when you get there. Once you land the planet, you will act as her bodyguard. No, better yet, her shadow. Attempts on her life have been made, as you very well know.’

Andrómeda pursed her lips.

Of course she knew.

She had been the one to stop quite a few of them.

And still, she was excited. She liked Airi, a lot. They had quickly become friends, even if what had brought them together was Andrómeda’s work and Airi’s need for protection. But they were like-minded spirits, twin souls, people who were born of the same stardust. She couldn’t wait to see the Diplomat again.

She nodded firmly, for John to continue. If there were any questions about the assignment, she could ask them after he was done. He had, after all, said there were two reasons…

‘We are looking for a man. Goes by Vessel.’ Andrómeda raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. ‘An ex-member of the Crimson Fleet.’

That did it. ‘How do you exactly leave the Crimson Fleet?’ The Martian blurted out.

They hadn’t really become a problem until recently. A few years back, when Andrómeda was a kid, they were nothing but a loose confederation of individual parent captains; now, however, they were more or less an organized entity, that had expanded way beyond Kryx (what used to be their main base), all the way to Sagan, Cheyenne, Lunara and Narion.

‘Apparently, by hiding in between the cargo of a merchant’s ship and making your way to the next port.’

She was impressed (not so much with the tactic itself, but by the fact that a plan as simple as that had worked – and that still nobody, not even the faction he had once belonged to, had managed to find him) but she tried not to show. John, however, saw right through her, laughing as he said his next words:

‘That’s why we need you. You’re one of the best – if someone can bring this man to justice, it’s you.’ He rounded the table, to come closer to her and be able to look her straight in the eye. He did that when he wanted her to really see him, usually when he was asking her to take on a very demanding mission. Andrómeda had been slightly near-sighted when she had first joined the Vanguard; not anymore. She had had eye surgery years ago, but some things never changed. ‘The Crimson Fleet is also looking for him. You have the right to kill those who stand in your way.’

‘I will bring him to justice.’ Andrómeda declared. It was not the first time she had been sent in one of these missions. She had a reputation, and before she had gotten injured, her name was one of the favorites to become John’s second-in-command. She wanted those rumors, those whispers, to start again.

‘I expected no less from you.’ A proud smile, almost like that of a dad, even if John wasn’t much older than her. ‘Of course, if you ever need help…’

‘Can’t trust the Neon City Guard. Maybe the Rangers, but not likely. Safest bet is to try and contact any UC ships that are in orbit.’

‘Exactly. And now,’ John clapped, stretching his neck and back, rotating his shoulders. ‘Enough about work. Want to go get a Terrabrew and catch up?’

#monthlyAU001

[incorrect-house-of-nine]

SUBMITTED BY @neathrablog I am having Anastasia the First brainrot, and the best way I can think to get rid of it is to inflict it on you share my headcannons.

- Very pale with very black hair and eyes so dark blue they're almost black.

- She grew up in a rich family from the the Third, was an only child, and her wardrobe could charitably be described as "eye searingly colorful".

- Still technically owns property on Third. Her dad put everything into a trust for her when he died, and his will was worded in such a way that the trust basically needs her body to be able to dissolved/sell initial assets.

- Valancy's step sister. They didn't talk about it because A: they were friends longer than (legal) sisters, and B: they both like to pretend Valancy's mother never existed. They threw a freaking party when they learned that woman was dead.

- So yes, had an evil stepmother. Was actually the favored child. Because Valancy liked causing scandals (with Cyrus's help/encouragement.) Actually had "Anastasia! How could you do this to me? You're the good one!" Shouted at her when said stepmother caught Anastasia trying to sneak Samael out one morning.

- Went by "Annie" to most, and "Stacy" to Samael.

- Perpetually cold/terrible at thermoregulation. Consistently revealed to be getting snuggly with someone because she's cold and they're warm.

- She was always closer to Alecto than John. Alecto could be creepy, inhumane, and often demonstrated incomprehensible morality, but Anastasia never felt like Alecto pretending to be someone she wasn't. (Side note: I tend to headcanon Alecto as like an proper old school fairy.)

- Slept in Alecto's pool room after her failed ascension because going back to her own room was too much.

- John put his foot down about this after Alecto tried to drown her three times. (Alecto considered it cruel to leave the girl alive.) After which she mostly slept in the room of whichever Lyctor was going to bed around the same time Anastasia was.

- Didn't believe John for a minute when he insisted she panicked. However, because she had to be sedated after Samael died to prevent her being a danger to herself and others, none of the Lyctors believed her insistence as anything more than guilt/hysterics.

- Harrow's room on the Ninth was originally Anastasia's.

- The modern Ninth clothing/uniform/vestments, are taken from the mourning clothes she started wearing after her failed ascension.

- In an act of pure spite she made off with a good bit of the Canaan house liquor cabinet. Nobody knew she did this, so all the Lyctors blamed each other: most blame being directed at Ulysses and Cyrus.

- Depending on the time period between her failed ascension and heading to the Ninth, she may be a direct ancestor of Harrow.

-Even if she isn't, will earnestly attempt to adopt Harrow anyway upon meeting her.

Headcannons about her fate (ranked from most tragic to least tragic.)

- Died fairly soon on the Ninth from a condition romantics would call "a broken heart", but is actually called "spiritual bleed out" - a rare condition that's caused by damage to your soul. Because she was farther along in her process than John realized and Samael's death literally tore a chunk out of her soul. For extra pain, she dies just after giving birth. Like: Holds baby, vocalizes that the baby has their father's eyes, declares herself to be "so tired.", Dies.

- Realized Samael's reverant has attached itself to her, and manages a form of perfect lyctorhood. John also noticed, and Anastasia got knocked out and used as essentially a battery to keep Alecto out of commission. Has created a River bubble where none of her friends ever die, and the John puppet suffers slapstick. Samael is aware of the bubble, Anastasia isn't.

- The same as above, but John doesn't notice and Anastasia/Samael moves to a non-empire planet and becomes a cryptid/adopted aunt/strange but nice lady who reacts to things nobody else can hear, and whose personality seems to differ depending on her eye color.

Alternate Universes

- Ulysses got her and Samael so drunk one night that they ended up trying her lyctoral process completely alone, and it took 48 hours for anyone to notice their eyes had swapped do to hangover fallout. This somehow spirals into every named character living (and a few technically dead ones making a reappearance)

- The same setup as the third suggestion of her fate. Deviants in Harrow the Ninth when she accidentally crashes into Harrow and Mercymorn. Gets dragged to the Mithraeum by a confused/slightly excited Mercy. Pretends to be just a normal Lyctor (not helped by Samael's running commentary) Gets named Saint of Faith (because clearly her Faith in John hasn't wavered at all. /S). Spends the book futility trying to adopt Harrow, and keep the fact that half the time she isn't even driving her own body secret (hint, Samael's driving when she's wearing the ridiculous pair of bedazzled sunglasses). Ends the book by taking everyone and leaving when John's treachery is revealed, because she's seen the Princess Bride and realizes that "take everyone and leave John with only Ianthe's company" is the closest to "To the Pain" Anastasia's gonna get.

- The obligatory vampire AU. Either she was always a vampire and nobody noticed because nobody at Canaan house was aging OR she tries to raise Samael and doesn't quite succeed or fail.

#submission #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #alecto the ninth #locked tomb headcanon asks #locked tomb theory asks #anastasia the ninth

[the-cat-chat]

July 9, 2022

Treasure Planet (2002)

A secret map inspires a thrilling treasure hunt across the universe as young Jim Hawkins and John Silver, the ship’s cyborg cook, set off in search of their destiny.

JayBell: Treasure Planet is a Disney movie I missed out on as a kid, so I thought it was past time to check it out.

Watching without any prior knowledge of plot or character, I was surprised by how unique and different it was to any other Disney movie that I remember from the time. It’s very steampunky Pirates of the Caribbean meets Star Wars. Without any doubt, the highlight of the movie is it’s visuals, both with the environment and the alien creatures.

With that said, I can’t help but be disappointed with some of the characterization of this film. The main character, Jim, reminded me of the coolness of Aladdin (my favorite Disney prince as a kid), yet somehow managed to be even more angsty. Look, I get that Jim had severe daddy issues, which I’m sympathetic of, but my god did I just want to slap the angst out of him sometimes. His emotional, bad boy attitude did not endear him to me. But I do admire his cool earring and edgy hairstyle.

John Silver, the cyborg that Jim projects his daddy issues onto, was the villain of the story? Or the big hero? It’s hard to know. I’m all for a complicated, morally gray character, but it felt more like John Silver’s flip-flopping allegiances and behavior towards Jim was more about inconsistent characterization. Were we supposed to like John Silver in the conclusion of the movie? I don’t care what John Silver did to “redeem” himself of his past criminal actions, I wanted him to go to jail with the rest of the crew instead of getting away scot-free.

Also the little robot guy played by Martin Short did not add anything of value to the movie, even as comedic relief. Thankfully, I love a strong, female captain and cute aliens like Morph.

Rating: 5.5/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: This was another movie I could never catch on Tv when I was younger- which I now realize I think was really only to hear John Rzeznik of Goo Goo Dolls sing “I’m Still Here.” Not that it’s baaad but it’s just kinda meh. Totally not the best Disney movie out there, but it’s song is amazing if you wanna feel the feels.

The switch up on the original Treasure Island to instead be space pirates and odd slug like aliens is a cool concept for kids, but I literally felt like I couldn’t understand half of the dialogue from the Cyborg Long John Silvers. But maybe that’s my own issue.

My rant, however, is with the consistent ABANDONMENT of poor Jim Hawkins- and the point made that HE’S the problem. Well excuse anyone whose been an ignored and ABANDONED child to act out as a teenager. And his mom’s all like I don’t know what to do with you??? So he’s like oh if I find the greatest treasure ever- and then my mom and I can be happy??? And theeeen this cyborg pirate whose a scammer tries to play father figure- but is a user. And then when it’s ohh you treated me like trash but please let’s have a heartfelt conversation while you abandon him again because your fleeing imprisonment?? And we’re supposed to be distracted because they tried making Jim Hawkins cute bad boy with an earring, undercut/rat tail combo, and dark circles??? Like in retrospect that isn’t weird for a cartoon??

Anyway Morph’s pretty cute. And Ben is too relatable. And at least Jim gets to go to some Captain Academy.

Rating: 5/10 cats 🐈

#movie #movie review #Disney #disney movie

[anonquack]

| His Merch |

Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot!

Word Count: 4256

Warnings: None, just some curse words. Fluff :]

Summary: Being such good friends with Quackity leads to the inevitable; catching feelings. In fear of ruining your friendship with him, you kept quiet about your feelings. Although usually good at that, after a merch drop and a slip-up on stream, you prepare yourself for the worst. Queue the incoming call from Quackity himself.

Today had been a productive day, in your opinion. You'd woken up earlier than usual, ate breakfast, cleaned around your apartment, and managed to get started on editing a video you'd recently filmed.

That's why you considered yourself very deserving of sitting down and enjoying your friend's stream as you ate some snacks.

Quackity had a fun stream planned, and had hyped up a 'big announcement' on Twitter, and the whole timeline was already speculating what it could be as they awaited for Quackity to start stream.

Being his friend had some perks though, contrary to popular belief. He'd discussed with you what the big announcement was as you sat on call with him a few nights prior to the big day. It was merch, and according to your past experience with Planet Duck products, it was sure to be soft and super comfy. You were very much looking forward to getting your hands on some of his new merch.

He'd brought up sending some to you, one of the previously mentioned perks of being his friend, but you politely declined. Much to his surprise. He'd asked why and you'd simply stated that "It was fine," and perhaps it came off as a bit rude. A 'no thanks' to his merch that you hadn't even seen.

But you had plans of your own, you wanted to acquire said merch on your own, and support him financially in the process. He didn't have to know that though, so with a small 'Oh' from him as his response, you swiftly changed topic of conversation.

Now here you sat, watching the stream as Quackity explained what he'd be doing with his friend John Smith. Riding go-karts around what looked like a storage unit. You couldn't help but worry as you watched them zoom around, occasionally getting close to crashing, and eventually doing just that.

The stream itself was rather fun to watch, but you kept your debit card beside you. This was in case he decided to drop the merch announcement out of nowhere. And that was exactly what he did. Another perk of being his friend was you grew a 6th sense for these type of things. Always had a feeling for what was about to happen when it came to Quackity.

You watched as the chat freaked out, watched as the notification from Planet Duck went out, notifying everybody that the merch had been released. You quickly typed into your computer, and the internet seemed to be taking its time to redirect you to Quackity's merch site.

After some time, it finally loaded and you began to look at all the options. The merch was wonderful, Quackity had been hyping it up to you (you'd asked for no reveals, wanting to wait like everyone else) and he had been absolutely right.

Most of the designs were new, except for the iconic Planet Duck logo, and were all very cute. You had Quackity's stream playing in the background as you maneuvered your way around the site, finally deciding on which merch you'd be buying.

As you went to purchase, a red sign alerted you that there was no shipping to your location. To which you quickly raised an eyebrow, panic starting to rush through you. Maybe you should've accepted his offer.

After refreshing multiple times and watching the Twitter timeline freak out as well over the inability to ship to several locations, it finally seemed to work, and the payment finally went through. A big "Thank you for your purchase" appearing onto the screen.

You let out a sigh of relief, clicking back onto the tab where the stream was, a small smile on your face. You'd actually managed to get it on your own. It was nerve-racking, when it seemed like you wouldn't be able to get the shipping to work, when it seemed like it'd sell out before you had the chance to buy some.

Now you finally understood what it felt like, the stress of getting your hands on merch before it sold out. It'd been an exhilerating experience.

You relaxed into your seat as Quackity's laugh filled the room. He was recreating bits from Fast and Furious, and zooming all over the place. You watched with a fond smile as he drove around, throwing random Spanish profanities at John Smith here and there.

The funky heart glasses he had on did nothing to ease the warmth that was spreading through your chest at the sight of him. You were suffering due to your confusing feelings towards your close friend, but nobody knew, or at least that is what you told yourself.

You tried to focus on something else, something that wasn't solely him. The go-karts were going pretty fast, and you remembered the scene they were recreating from the movie. Whichever random thought came to mind, you'd focus on it instead, too scared to let your thoughts wander elsewhere.

When it came to and end, you were conflicted. You were glad your heart would be able to catch a break, but you also missed him almost immediately. Sickening, really.

You took some time to reflect on what you'd done so far. Cleaned, ate your meals, worked on some editing, got some Quackity merch, and enjoyed a fun stream. It was rather productive, to say the least.

But there was still some time left in the day, and you figured you'd put the energy coursing through your body to use.

Taking a seat at your desk, you turned your monitor on before opening the twitch app. An alt stream would be perfect right now. After going live and sending out a tweet letting your followers know you were live, you patiently waited for the viewers to start coming in.

Considering this was an alt stream, you figured you'd play some random game and just chat for a bit before heading to bed. As the viewers came in, you gave your greetings before opening a tab for roblox, getting on a random server to play an obby game as you talked to chat.

There was a content smile on your face as you asked chat how their day had been, how they were feeling, your little character jumping around and passing through the beginner levels on the obby game.

"I'm actually in a really good mood, chat. My day has been going so well." You began, glancing at chat here and there, smile growing at the memory of the adventures acquiring Quackity merch.

After the chat was flooded with questions asking about what had happened, you indulged. "I was watching Quackity's stream earlier today, and it was so much fun!" The smile grew before softening as you focused on the obby. "I was also able to get some of his new merch."

The chat erupted into bits of 'friends supporting friends' to 'y/n in quackity merch???' and people yelling that they had been or weren't able to get merch.

Seeing the chat made you laugh, nodding your head a bit. "No because I was so nervous I wouldn't be able to get some-" you admitted, attention now focused solely on telling the viewers about your own experience.

"I was trying to purchase, and there was a line, and then it said it wouldn't ship to my location?? I was so worried I wouldn't be able to get some. But it finally worked. I'm excited for it to get here." You finished your small rant, a content smile on your lips.

Chat consisted of people agreeing with the technical difficulties occurring at the time of the merch drop, others saying they were too broke to buy anything. It felt nice, to see something from their perspective and also have shared an experience like this.

"Big Q actually offered to send me some, but I told him no because I wanted to get it myself.. Wanted to get it fair and square." You said as you refocused on the obby in front of you, fond smile on your face as you thought about how nice he was. He was willing to send all of his friends some of his merch, free of cost.

"Also wanted to give him my support by actually purchasing it, you know?" You added, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as it leaned against your desk. You took this time to read chat, which was exploding with what you thought was a combination of Quackity's username with yours, and 'bffs ur honor!!'.

You smiled at that, hands finally moving your character around. "Really, he has been such an amazing friend, extremely welcoming, always fun to be around. And just.. life is never dull when he's around. He's always been there for me when I needed it and well‐" A pause. "I'm glad I was able to support him in some way." You hummed softly as you finished up yet another small rant about Quackity.

At the realization that you'd been talking about him for far too long, and that he was not meant to be the focus of your alt stream, you cleared your throat and began focusing on the obby game once again.

You shifted the topic of conversation to the video you'd also been editing today, and that quickly took everyone's attention away from how affectionately and fondly you'd been speaking of your dear friend. Everyone was now excited about the new video.

Seeing how easily the chat's focus changed made you ease up a bit, and you were able to enjoy the rest of your stream playing random roblox games and discussing some stuff with chat. It lasted for a bit longer before you finally decided to end stream.

Some goodbyes and after stream officially ended, you found yourself on Twitter. Everything seemed pretty peaceful on the timeline, up until the trending page came up.

Your name was trending, along with 'QUACKITY IN CHAT' and the infamous combination of usernames. A monstrosity, really.

You heard yourself audibly gulp as you clicked on the trending topic 'quackity in chat'. Much to your dismay it was true. There was screenshots that showed Quackity was watching your stream. That meant that he'd heard you talking about him in that sickening tone. That tone that was unnecessarily sweet and fond.

You didn't know who was freaking out more, the so-called shippers, the timeline, or yourself. You gently bit at the inside of your cheek, scrolling and reading all the tweets of people trying to guess how Quackity must've felt while hearing all that. Others raising an eyebrow at how long you'd gone on about Quackity and how 'perfect' he was.

You'd fucked up, that was for sure, and it wasn't even intentional or fan service of any kind. It was an alt stream, it wasn't planned in any way, shape, or form. He'd been brought up, and you'd accidentally spilled all fond thoughts you held of him.

Your cursor hovered over a specific tweet that read, 'want someone to talk about me the way y/n talks about big q'. It was sweet, and perhaps made you smile just a little bit.

As you read it over in your head, a notification popped up on your screen, the discord notification ringing in your ears as you read who the message was from. Quackity.

You messed around with your mouse for a bit before finally closing the Twitter tab, and instead opting to open the unread message.

Quackity

hey (:

You stared at it for a bit, blinking in disbelief at how normal the message came across. Perhaps he'd tuned in during the last half of the stream. Perhaps he hadn't been able to watch while you rambled about him, and perhaps he hadn't been on Twitter either. One could hope.

y/n hi (:

It showed that he was typing almost immediately after, and you tried your best to calm your nerves.

Quackity call?

You felt yourself tense at the message. Maybe he wanted to let you down kindly. 'Hey! Saw your stream, and I just wanted to ask if you could chill the fuck out. That was kind of creepy. Maybe never speak of me ever again. Do not perceive me any longer, thanks!'

Something along those lines for sure. That's what probably awaited you if you said yes to this. But what exactly were you supposed to do instead?

y/n ofc

It only took a few seconds for the call to come through. Stalling wouldn't help, so you answered by the third ring.

He greeted you, and everything seemed normal. The calls were normal between you two, but you were just on edge due to twitter trending and the stream that took place less than an hour ago.

"How are you feeling, Quackity?" You asked with a small smile, today was a big day for him, and you were sure he'd enjoy talking about how fast the merch sold.

"I'm doing great. Really happy that the fans liked the designs and just.. we sold a lot. I'm happy." He restated the last bit, the smile was obvious in his voice. You didn't have to be seeing it to know. Another perk of being so close to him. You had a clear visual image of what he probably looked like right now. Cute smile plastered onto his equally cute face.

"I'm really happy for you, Big Q. You deserve all the success that is coming your way and more." You hummed softly. Everything you were saying, you meant wholeheartedly. There was silence for a bit before he finally spoke again.

"I watched your stream."

Fuck. There it was. You should've expected it but it still hit like a ton of bricks. You felt your mouth turn dry, could barely manage to get out the word, "Yeah?"

"Mhm." Straight to the point. There was a bit of silence, you were unsure of what to say. Why had he brought it up? It was bound to happen, but what was the reason behind bringing it up? To tease you, let you know he wasn't interested, or because roblox obbies are just so much fun?

"You didn't have to buy it, you know?" He finally said, breaking the silence.

"I wanted to." You reassured, "the merch is really pretty. Worth every penny."

"I could've sent you whichever you wanted." He stated bluntly. As if it was weird of you to have gone and bought it on your own.

"Thank you, but I wanted to buy it myself. Let me? Please?" Let me show my support this way, is what you meant to say. It came out softer than intended, and you could feel your heart beating against your ribs. You really needed to watch your tone around him.

"Of course." He responded, just as softly. He'd drive you crazy one of these days. They'd have to lock you up, and you'd never see the light of day again.

"Did you have fun riding the go-karts?" You asked, a small smile on your lips as you wandered back onto the Twitter tab, a clip of his stream now on display on the timeline.

He let out a small laugh, "I did. Did you enjoy watching it?" You nodded before responding, "Of course. Was concerning watching you crash into walls though."

He hummed softly in response, possibly contemplating what to say with how long he took before he spoke again.

"Did you really mean all the things you said on stream?"

Somehow, even with your own attempts to change topic, the focus was back on your stream and the things that had been said. You wouldn't be able to dig yourself out of the hole you'd dug.

It was entirely your fault, for even allowing yourself to consider him as anything but a great friend. It was your fault for taking the late night calls, the sweet tones, and messages the wrong way. Your interpretations were all wrong and now you'd have to sit here and apologize for practically outing yourself on stream. For letting the whole world know that you had romantic feelings for a good friend of yours. You'd probably made him so uncomfortable.

You felt yourself cringe slightly at his words, already gone quiet for far too long. You had to speak up, even if it lead to a good friendship ending a few minutes from now.

"Of course I did. You're great, Alex." The use of his name was meant to assure him you meant it wholeheartedly. It made the moment feel more intimate, too. Much to your own dismay, yet again. You couldn't help it.

The possibility that your friendship with him could come to an end real soon made you act on your feelings. It left you unhinged. If it was all going to end here, maybe you'd allow yourself to act on impulse. End it with a bang.

"Thank you, really. I know I probably wasn't meant to hear all that, but it was really nice. Made me feel nice as well. And just, seeing that you didn't accept the merch from me because you wanted to support me directly.. thank you."

His voice was soft, felt like warm honey to your taste buds. You could almost hear your heart melting inside your chest, could feel it dripping down and touching your diaphragm, oozing into every single crevice in your body. You'd never understand how he had such effects on you. How he was able to make you so fond of him.

"I meant every single word. You deserve that and so much more." You reassured yet again, a small smile on your lips. You heard him let out a small chuckle, which made you laugh as well.

Moments later, he had turned his camera on, wanting to show you all the merch. You'd asked for him to put it on, since you were a 'visual learner' and had to see it on him in order to fully understand what it looked like. He had playfully rolled his eyes, but hadn't really argued against it.

So there you were, watching as he changed from hoodie to hoodie, moving out of frame to change into the shirts. You could feel your heart thumping harshly against your rib cage at the sight of him. Some looked bigger on him, some looked just right. They all looked wonderful, and super comfy. Perhaps that was simply because they were on him, and he looked so comfy.

He looked like he could give the best hugs.

"You really think so?" His voice came out a bit sheepish, and the light pink that dusted his cheeks was becoming more and more evident. Huh?

"What?" You said, a dumb look on your face as you tried connecting the dots.

"That I could give the best hugs." He stated slowly, as if he was testing how it sounded before adding, "Do you really think that?"

Had you really said that out loud? Fuck. It took acting on impulse to a whole other level. This wasn't something you two usually did, but I guess it was okay since everything might be ending soon. Ballsy moves.

"Yeah. You make the merch look so cozy." Your throat felt dry, eyes glued to his face, wanting to catch every single second of his reaction. Wanting to see each movement of his facial muscles, to find out what it could possibly entail. "Makes me wonder what your hugs feel like." You admitted.

Your eyes scanned the entirety of his face, perking up slightly at the sight of his face flushing, leaving him with the softest tint of pink to spread across his cheeks, almost matching his pretty lips. What the hell did that even mean?

"Maybe you won't have to wonder for too long. With guidelines being lifted and all." The line. Blurred at that very moment, for sure. His eyes were glued to you as well, which only made you hesitate every single movement you could think of doing at that moment.

"And in the meantime? What am I supposed to do?" Risky. Crossing lines, jumping over hurdles. This all had to be against friend rules or something. You could feel your sanity decreasing each second this call went on. But he wasn't stopping any of this either.

"I could send you a hoodie." The sentence brought you out of your Quackity-induced haze, making you quickly shake your head. What? Before you could protest or ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, he explained.

"My hoodie. Y'know. Mine. One I wear. You can give it back when we meet up, perhaps."

Your mouth went dry again, shocked at the domestic feeling it gave. He was suggesting he send one of his hoodies. It would smell like him. It was the closest thing to giving him an actual hug. It would be paradise.

"You'd really do that?" You asked, still in disbelief, but he quickly nodded his head. "Oh." You said softly, before a smile appeared on your face. "I would like that, then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll send it then." He hummed, smile spreading on his lips as well. Everything going on was making you feel dizzy. It felt so surreal.

You'd mentally prepared yourself for the worst, but instead were met with a flirtatious Quackity. He'd said sweet things to you before, but you never allowed yourself to take it seriously, not wanting to get your hopes up. And it never went to this extent.

It seemed he realized what just went down, a loud laugh escaping his lips. "Holy shit. You're gonna have one of my hoodies soon."

"I am." You chimed in, smile on your lips as well.

"And you'll wear it around." He added.

"I will."

"You'll look good, as always."

You could feel the heat rush to your face. What was going on? Was this real, or just a very cruel dream? Alex Quackity was fucking flirting with you.

"Are you flirting with me?" Bewildered tone, raised eyebrows. Your brain couldn't even begin to progress what was being said.

"What the fuck does it look like I've been doing?"

"Have you really?" Warmth spread across your chest at how blunt he was being. The line was gone. It'd been erased, never to be seen again. There was no shame in him. Admitting he was flirting with his whole chest.

"I have. Why are you so surprised though? I've subtly flirted with you before.. and I mean, were you not confessing your undying love to me on stream?" He raised a brow, feigned confusion on his face. He was teasing. You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands as he let out a laugh.

Surreal. He confessed to having flirted with you in the past. So you weren't delusional, nice to know. "Are you done?" You asked, face still covered by your hand in shame.

"I saw a tweet that was saying they felt like third wheels since I was in chat, and you were just going on about everything you liked about me." You kept your face covered. He was not stopping. Now he was the unhinged one.

He was visibly scrolling through the timeline at this point. "Oh, and one saying they want what we have. What do we have?"

You finally uncovered your face. "I don't know. Whatever the fuck this is, I guess?"

"Well, what is this?"

"Mm... whatever you want it to be." You finally answered, and there was a surprised look plastered on his face at that.

"Whatever I want?"

"Yeah." You paused. Would he regret this after he got out of this haze? What if it had just been flirting for fun? But he wouldn't play with your feelings like this, would he?

Alex Quackity was perfect though, and perhaps he had a sixth sense about when stuff was wrong with you, because he caught on to your hesitation.

"Hey." He called out softly. The teasing, flirtatious tone was gone, now replaced by the softer tone reserved for late night calls, or when everybody else in the vc had left and it was just you two.

You look at where his face was on your monitor, relaxing a bit simply by his tone and the soft gaze he held on you.

"I know everything sort of progressed pretty fast tonight.. but your stream really helped me realize a few things. I do like you, y/n. Not fucking around or anything." He said it in a firm tone, one that told you he wasn't messing around, but still felt oh so intimate.

Everything he was saying was exactly what you wanted and needed to hear. Reassurance that your feelings weren't unrequited. You couldn't believe your rambling on stream had lead you guys here.

"I like you, too. If that wasn't obvious already." You mumbled out, eyes averting before glancing to see his reaction. He had the biggest, cutest, grin on his face. Charming, and extremely contagious. You couldn't help but smile back.

Holy shit.

"Is this real?" You asked out loud, smile never leaving your face.

"It is. All thanks to your ranting on stream. How cool is that?"

You couldn't help but still feel rather embarrassed that he'd heard all of it, but it had brought you two here. All embarrassment was worth it. Especially if it meant it opened up a whole new world of possibilities for you two.

"Very cool." You mumbled, before a smile appeared on your lips. Today really couldn't have gone any better.

#alex quackity #quackity #quackity x you #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #gender neutral reader #quackity brainrot #quackity scenario #streamer #quackity headcannons #quackity imagines #unrequited but its actually requited #down horrendous #planet duck #based on the recent neon merch drop! #the technical difficulties #quackity is amazing lets be real #confession #getting together #risky moves

[davidmann95]

now that it's over, thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole?

pretenderoftheeast said: So, thoughts on Bendis' Superman and Action Comics' tenure altogether and separately now that it's over?

Anonymous said: Best and Worst things about Bendis' Superman run

Anonymous said: Now that it is over, what are your thoughts on Bendis' runs on Superman and Action Comics as a whole?

Anonymous said: Retrospective thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole now that it's, I guess, done?

Anonymous said: Hey so since Bendis’ Superman stuff seems to be done, what did you think of the run as a whole?

I decided to hold off a bit on writing on this one, if only so that I could reread the Action Comics side of it since Superman stood out in my memory a lot more. But now I have, and as we’re heading into a bold new era of Superman (and it’s coming in fast - just since I made my Superman in 2021 predictions we’ve gotten Ed Pinsent finally reprinting his legendary bootleg Silver Age Superman, Steve Orlando announcing his Superman analogue book Project Patron, an official shonen Superman redesign for RWBY/Justice League, PKJ’s Super-debut turning out far better than I ever expected, Superman & Lois’s first proper trailer largely taking people pleasantly by surprise, and my learning that there’s a Sylvester Stallone Old Man Superman analogue movie titled Samaritan coming out this summer) we’re ready to take a look back with at least a touch of perspective. I’ll lead with complaints, so everybody who’s been waiting for me to say that Bendis on Superman was Bad, Actually, savor this because it’s as close as you’ll get.

The Bad

* I hate to say it, but rereading that side of the run there’s no two ways about it: the structure of Action Comics as a whole is a mess. It baffled me from day one that it was the more acclaimed of the two books for so long - I guess people are hardwired at this point to think of ‘street’ stuff as where Bendis is supposed to be - because it was immediately clear that Superman had a well-defined story he wanted to tell, while Action was the usual Bendis off-the-cuff improvisation. It’s barely even a story in the same way, and it’s certainly not the ‘Metropolis crime book’ people took it as: it’s 28 issues of Superman and his supporting cast stuffed a pinball machine with the Red Cloud pinging off of each other as we wait to see who falls in the hole at the bottom, and partway through Leviathan and the Legion of Doom and 90s Superboy are tossed into the mix to keep it going a little longer. On an issue-to-issue basis it’s frequently really good, but the core plot of the book is *maybe* six issues stretched out over two and a half years.

* I’ve gone into this some before, but structure-wise Unity Saga also has problems: Phantom Planet rules but either it needed to be cut or the back half needed to be a year all its own in order to accommodate the scale of what it’s attempting. It’s got an interstellar civil war leading into the formation of the United Planets, family drama, Rogol Zaar’s whole deal, and Jon’s coming of age, and I’d say only that last one is really properly served. Even Jon forming the United Planets, while contextually somewhat justified in terms of 1. The situation being so far gone he’s the only one who’d even think in those terms, 2. Things being bad enough that these assorted galactic powers would be willing to try it, and 3. Him having the S on his chest to sell it, isn’t at all built up to within the run itself.

* Rogol Zaar sucks. He’s made up of nothing but interesting ideas - he’s an ersatz warrior ‘superman’ of a bygone age of empires up against the new model, he’s the sins of Krypton as a conservative superpower come home to roost, he’s while not outright said to be definitely Superman’s tragic half-brother and the culmination of everything this run does with Jor-El - but none of them manifest on the page, he’s just a big punchy dude with a dumb design who screams about how you should take him seriously because he’s totally the one who blew up Krypton. Even a killer redesign by Ryan Sook for Legion of Superheroes can’t fix that. There are lots of bad villains with good ideas who are redeemed with time and further effort, but I can’t imagine Zaar getting that TLC to become a fraction of whatever Bendis envisioned him as.

* The second year of Action Comics, after establishing itself in its first as one of the most consistently gorgeous books on the stands, leads with Szymon Kudranski’s weak output and then concludes with John Romita Jr. turning in some career-worst work. The latter is particularly egregious because for that first year Bendis writes a really collected, gentle Superman so him getting pushed into being more aggressive should have an impact, but Romita draws such a craggy rough-looking Superman in the first place that it mutes any sort of shock value.

 * WE NEVER LEARN WHAT’S UP WITH LEONE’S CAR, WHAT THE HELL. You don’t just DROP THAT IN THERE and then NEVER FOLLOW UP.

The Good

* Superman got his real clothes back after 7 truly ridiculous years.

* Bendis fundamentally gets Clark’s voice in a way unlike almost any other writer - even all-around better writers of the character almost never approach how spot-on he is with having Superman speak and act exactly how Superman should.

* Supporting cast front and center! He writes a dynamite Lois, Perry, and Jimmy (even if many of Lois’s more out-there decisions in the run don’t end up retroactively justified the way you’d hope), Ma and Pa are more fun than they’ve been in decades in their brief appearances, he manages to turn having Jor-El in the mix into a positive, and the Daily Planet as a whole has an incredibly distinctive vibe to it like never before that I hope is taken as a baseline going forward.

* The non-Rogol Zaar baddies? All ruled. Invisible Mafia and Red Cloud are both brilliant ideas executed solidly if overextended. Zod as Kryptonian Vegeta, Mongul as a generational perpetual bastard engine primed to be incapable of self-reflection, and Ultraman as “what if Irredeemable but he’d never been a good guy and also he was a Jersey mobster” are the best versions of those characters by numberless light-eons. Lex is on-point in his sparse appearances. Xanadoth as a mystical cosmic monster older than time who still talks like a Bendis character is however unintentionally a hoot. The alt-universe Parasite is a more intimidating Doomsday than Doomsday ever was. And Synmar as an alien culture’s attempt at creating their own Superman and messing up the formula when they make him a soldier can and should be a legitimate major ongoing villain coming out of this run.

* Pretty much all the art other than what I mentioned already. Fabok does a good job bookending The Man of Steel and Ivan Reis does the work of his career anchoring Superman (special props to Reis as well for drawing the first ever non-Steve Rude interesting-looking take on Metropolis), and meanwhile you’ve got Jim Lee, Jose Luis Garcia Lopez, Doc Shaner, Steve Rude, Kevin Maguire, Adam Hughes, Patrick Gleason, Yanick Paquette, Ryan Sook, Brandon Peterson, and David Lafuente doing their own parts.

* Closely related to the art, all the little flourishes with the powers. Super-speed having a consistent visual with the background coloring changing, Clark internally putting numbers to the degrees of force behind his punches and what situations which numbers are appropriate for, ‘skidding to a halt’ mid-flight before crashing through a window, the shonen-ass major throwdowns as portrayed by Reis, how his super-hearing is handled as a prevalent element. Lots of clever bits that added flavor to what he does.

* While Unity Saga has problems, the whole of what Bendis does in Superman as a means of forward momentum for Clark and his world is excellent. The sort of three-act structure of: 

** Clark is led to question his place in things over the course of a few adventures

** Involvement in the larger cosmos and the impact it has had through and on his family makes him realize the answer to his questions is that he needs to step up in a bigger way because there’s no benevolent larger universe to welcome Earth with open arms, nor a cosmic precedent for everything turning out for the best without some help

** As a consequence of the lessons learned by this change in the status quo Clark is inspired to make his own personal change in revealing his identity (with Mythological basically being an epilogue showcasing a ‘standard’ standalone Superman adventure while simultaneously highlighting his new status quo and how it fits in as a summing-up of Bendis’s take)

…does a great job of shepherding through ideas that lend a lot of forward momentum to Superman of the kind he hasn’t seen in a long time. Not perfect, but far lesser stories with far lesser ambitions have made huge impacts, so I’d certainly hope at least some of this sticks around even if, say, regardless of any retcons to the main line there are always going to be stories with Clark as a disguise and Jon as a kid. Oh, speaking of whom,

* KISS MY ASS, EVERYTHING WITH JON KENT RULED

Ahem. Probably a less confrontational way of putting that.

Do I think there was more gas in the tank for Jon as a kid? Totally, making him likeable and viable was the one really good thing the Rebirth era accomplished for Superman and I expect we’ll continue seeing more of it in the future one way or another. But whether or not him being aged up was Bendis’s decision, or working with marching orders to set up the eventually-(kinda-)discarded 5G, the coming of age narrative here is fire. He keeps the essential Clark Kent kindness and bit of Lois Lane cheekiness that reminds you he’s still their kid, which is a combination Bendis is basically precision-crafted to write, but his trials by fire give him a background entirely unlike the by-the-numbers “and here’s how Superman’s great kid grew up to be a great superhero too” narrative you’d expect while still arriving at that endpoint. If superheroes live and die by metaphors then Jon in here is what it means to grow up written as large as possible: leaving home for the first time (and seeming to shoot up overnight!), getting into the muck of how the real world works, being beaten down by authority wearing faces you’ve been taught to trust, scrambling to get through with the whole world against you, and in the end getting through by learning to rely on your own strength while keeping your soul intact and your head held high, and even managing to speak some truth to power. It gives him a well-defined life story with room to go back to and explore the intricacies of each leg of for decades to come in a way Superman hasn’t had since the original Crisis - someone someday is going to write a The Life & Times Of The Son Of Superman miniseries and it’s going to be one of the greats - and negates any question that he’s earned his stature as the heir apparent.

* Coming out of this, Superman’s world is fascinating. He’s out but rather than giving up his day-to-day life he’s openly spending part of his life as CLARK KENT: SUPER-REPORTER and part of his job on the cape-and-tights side of things is now KAL-EL: SUPER-SPACE-DIPLOMAT, Lois Lane coruns a foundation helping people whose personal continuities have been fucked over by Crisis shenanigans, Jimmy Olsen owns the Daily Planet but is still doing Jimmy Olsen stuff because that’s how he gets his kicks, and Jon Kent is going to college in the future. I’m not anywhere near naïve enough to think that’s how things are going to be forever, or shortsighted enough to think there’s no value left in the traditional setups, but god I hope these developments stick around for a long, long time to come and potentially become the new ‘normal’ as far as the ongoing shared universe stuff goes, because it all feels like the right and promising next steps to take for the lives of these characters. However it got here, for all the pluses and minuses along the way even if I maintain the former very much outweighed the latter as a reading experience, Bendis has a lot to be proud of if that’s the legacy he leaves on these titles.

* The recap pages at the desks!

#Superman #Brian Bendis #Jon Kent #Opinion

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too. 

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments. 

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on. 

Because it definitely was one.

 A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big. 

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind  flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement. 

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy. 

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers. 

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy. 

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted)  and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus. 

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out. 

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows. 

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music. 

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet. 

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up. 

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days. 

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.  

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair. 

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose. 

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture. 

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?” 

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.” 

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by. 

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

    He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work. 

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor.  The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’). 

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing. 

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank. 

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing  a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?”     Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well. 

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.” 

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?” 

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large,  orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted. 

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says. 

    “Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.” 

He looked up at her then, a small smile on  his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?” 

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus. 

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?” 

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things.  I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.” 

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”  

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly. 

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away. 

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth. 

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then, 

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back. 

.

.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter. 

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still. 

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had). 

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice. 

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase. 

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register. 

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n. 

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup. 

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees. 

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words. 

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie. 

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?” 

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy. 

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee. 

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again. 

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled. 

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress. 

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.” 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…” 

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.  

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.  

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet. 

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?” 

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day). 

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him. 

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD. 

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap.  Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her. 

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly. 

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go. 

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was. 

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention. 

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink. 

.

.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on. 

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin. 

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics. 

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw. 

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.  

“Let’s go.” 

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation. 

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no. 

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear. 

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart. 

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her. 

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol. 

    Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor. 

    She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair. 

    The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it. 

 Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror. 

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen. 

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing. 

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch.  When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast. 

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this. 

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table. 

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

    Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. 

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.” 

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him. 

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder. 

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.” 

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.” 

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did. 

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room. 

    Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

    When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

    “It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

    “I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.” 

    She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs. 

    “Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

    “Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

    “But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure. 

    “Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” 

    Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

    Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony. 

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check. 

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding. 

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her. 

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need. 

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation. 

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed  of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.” 

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended. 

    He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

        Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need. 

    His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

    Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button.  Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased. 

    She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound. 

    “Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire. 

    And when it died out,

    She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm. 

    She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library. 

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.” 

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.” 

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’ 

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

“Okay now, what’s your budget?”  she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest. 

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool. 

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.” 

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.  

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.  

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.  

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.” 

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape. 

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.  

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again. 

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in. 

    She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him. 

God.

    Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted. 

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough. 

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself. 

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself. 

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.  

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa- 

Not falling. 

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes. 

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face. 

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so. 

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot. 

    All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really. 

    “Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).  

    “You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

    “Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands. 

    “Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”  

    “HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

    “Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?” 

    “Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

    “Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks. 

    It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.” 

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?” 

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her. 

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.” 

    “The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

    “The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back.  “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

    “That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth. 

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?” 

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

    “That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

    “Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

    “I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.” 

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

    “Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her. 

    A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight. 

    She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.” 

    Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened. 

    Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her. 

    “All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.” 

    Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast. 

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

    Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

    Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter. 

   “Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?” 

   Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual. 

    Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

    Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.” 

    Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy. 

    “Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.” 

    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.” 

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

    On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

    There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals. 

    “Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

    She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

    There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

    Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

    One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had. 

    Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there. 

    By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought. 

    “Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.” 

    Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans.  Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

    “Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

    “Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating. 

    Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

    She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside. 

    Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them. 

    Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

    She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist. 

    Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down. 

    Perfect. 

    She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

     Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things. 

    Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of  ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

    .

    .

    It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done. 

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

    Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green. 

    The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

    Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out. 

   As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy.     Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells. 

   She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

   “Y/n!” 

   Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants. 

   Grey sweatpants. 

   Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath. 

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.” 

   “Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

   “You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.” 

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him. 

   With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room. 

   Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice. 

   She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in. 

    When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

   Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

    Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it. 

    “Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands.  Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

   “Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

    Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

    “Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

  He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

  “Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.   

    “Lead the way.” 

    So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

    “S’very nice back here.” 

    “Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?” 

    “Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm. 

    “So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

    “Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises. 

    “Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

    “It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table.  “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items. 

    “No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?”  Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand. 

    “Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.” 

    “Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in. 

    “Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

    “You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.” 

    Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck. 

“What was that?’ she hums. 

    “‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.” 

    Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty. 

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

    “You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time. 

    “Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.”  She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind. 

“Stop it,” she said. 

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other. 

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.” 

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?” 

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?”     “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said. 

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold.   Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his. 

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in. 

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

    “Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

    “Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink. 

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.  

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream. 

    “The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?”     “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

    “Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!” 

    “Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

    “So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break. 

    Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

    “You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

    “Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.” 

    “Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with  a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with  his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.” 

    Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her. 

    “What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

    “Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

    Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup. 

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

    “Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron. 

    “Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

    Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

    The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth. 

    “Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.” 

    “How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in. 

    “Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

    “W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his 

    “‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.” 

    “Harry, I-”

    “Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her. 

    “Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression  unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

    “Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

    “But it’s your home.”

    “I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

    Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job. 

    “Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter.  “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle. 

    “Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.”     The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

    “Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.” 

    “You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could. 

    “I do not sound like that,” He whined. 

    He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head. 

    “There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars. 

    “So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

    Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really.  Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.” 

    “Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

    “Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel. 

    They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye. 

    He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response. 

    “Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’. 

    “Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two. 

    She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased. 

    “No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world. 

    Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead. 

    “SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

    She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too. 

    “I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s  lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out. 

    “Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door. 

    Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise. 

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

    She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck.  The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

    She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles. 

    Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her. 

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him. 

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

    And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way. 

    However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book. 

    Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

    Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

    Like

    This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment   

        Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through. 

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

        Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

    No. why? she responded.

    so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink. 

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out. 

.

.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

.

.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it. 

She cried. 

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with 

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name. 

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

.

.

Friday. 

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her? 

She said yes.They were set to meet next week. 

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers. 

.

.

Saturday. 

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes.  It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date. 

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house. 

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills.  A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.  

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name. 

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.” 

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them. 

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad. 

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her. 

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing. 

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver. 

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white. 

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.”  He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing. 

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice, 

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms. 

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him. 

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister.  His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening. 

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners. 

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it. 

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.” 

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him. 

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n. 

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels. 

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?” 

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8,  Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. 

“I-I,” she stutters. 

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low. 

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?” 

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess  and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but  Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door. 

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face. 

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed. 

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through. 

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library. 

“Y/n?”  Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.” 

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know. 

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce.  “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.” 

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots. 

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge. 

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink. 

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.” 

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back. 

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream. 

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry. 

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her. 

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long.  Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision. 

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her. 

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.” 

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.  

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster. 

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her. 

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek. 

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him. 

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?” 

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy. 

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her. 

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.” 

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her.  The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.” 

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct. 

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro  ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blog #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #one direction fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #hazza styles #hazza blurbs #daddy harry

[swiftgronmasterpost]

Glee Live Tour Part 4 - The ShirtGate Essay Dianna published to the felldowntherabbithole Tumblr

Inserting a cut because this thing is long

or skip Dianna’s gay panic and click here to keep reading the masterpost!

June 2, 2000

What does that day, month and year mean to you? President Bill Clinton used that particular day to declare ”Gay and Lesbian Pride Month”. Nine years later, on June 1st, President Barack Obama spoke to incorporate an even wider group. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered citizens alike could all have this month for recognition, respect and appreciation. However, I am aware that not all minds meet equally about the rights and respect that we should pay to others. As each generation leaves their footprints, and paves the way for what is to come…to some, change is an impossible idea or action to put in motion.

You know what? Often, this unfortunate reality is because of learned behavior! As much as we may often preach that we like to speak for ourselves, or outside the box, how many times have you caught yourself, or someone you know repeating the thoughts of another before them? Sometimes without proper information? And how many times have you felt that perhaps further knowledge on an issue or subject matter might result in a different voice, a different understanding? Perhaps even going against the ideas they’ve learned, heard, or grown up around? We have the ability to fly planes, send astronauts into space, develop technology such as cellphones! Things that once were unfathomable. I can sit at this small computer and type this message. Once I push send, this message can be seen by anyone who’d like to engage, all across the WORLD.

As many of you know, we (the Glee cast) have been storming the country at whirlwind speeds to put on a forty-two show, month-long tour. It has been a constant reminder of why we do this. We’ve witnessed the impact our show has had, from the very beginning, to these moments, three years later. You LOVELY & AMAZING fans! Just indescribable. The love, affirmation, and dedication you provide! We see it all, value it all. Trust me, we do! On stage, the excitement that we absorb from your ball of energy brings our adrenaline levels to highs that often-times, we aren’t sure we can reach. Bottom line, we love you guys. And our crew! Without this diverse group of hard-working people, this venture would be impossible.

Yesterday was June 11th, and we were tackling our newest location, Toronto! We had finished our first concert of the day, and I was about to take a moment to relax before the second. On the way to our dressing rooms, I passed a stack of shirts lined up on the merchandise tables. The white T’s were modeled after shirts we wore in a performance set to Lady Gaga’s, “Born This Way.” This sparked an idea. And that idea ended up on stage.

Kindness moves mountains. Acceptance opens doors, makes room for change, diffuses misunderstanding. Every day, people commit hate crimes because of misunderstandings. Hate effects the target, and consumes the person behind the gun. It is crazy to realize that we have been in war for almost our entire existence on this planet. Many times for reasons of greed and hate.

Anyone that has experienced the death or abuse of a loved one can tell you that, “IT HURTS BEYOND EXPLANATION!!! AND WE SHOULD DO EVERYTHING IN OUR POWER TO MAKE ANY CHANGE POSSIBLE.” Raise your hand if you’ve spent nights crying yourself to sleep, raise your hand if you’ve felt as if you’d rather hide in bed all day than face the people that make you feel small or powerless! Raise your hand if you’ve felt as if you’d rather lie to people than tell them the truth about who you really are, because at least you wouldn’t be the victim of hateful behavior or prejudice! And raise your hand if lying feels almost as bad.

I was not raised in a family that accepted prejudice or hatred. For that, I thank my Mom and Dad each and every day. Look, we are human, we make mistakes. I will gladly shout from the rooftops that I AM NOT PERFECT. Nor will I ever be. But I can happily say that to my knowledge, I do not ever intentionally cause people pain. I love my family, my friends, my co-workers…and they all consist of girls AND boys. I do tell them that I love them. Yesterday, during our second show,  Instead of wearing my usual shirt during “Born This Way” I decided to wear one that said “Likes Girls”. It should actually have read, “Loves Girls”, because I do. The women in my life give me things that the men in my life can’t. And vice-versa. No, I am not a lesbian, yet if I were, I hope that the people in my life could embrace it whole-heartedly. And let me tell you, I can easily spill (quite comfortably) what I admire, respect and think is beautiful about any of the women in my life. Piece of cake!

Last night, I wanted to do something  to show my respect and love for the GLBT community. Support that people could actually see. Which is why I decided to change my shirt for the show. I happened to read a few comments that were posted on twitter. Many of you asked, “why?” This is my response. I am not asking for you to agree with what I am saying, but if you are listening, thank you. That is all I can ask. And a step further would be to take a moment to (honestly) answer the questions that I have raised. We can’t always put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. But we can try.

I am lucky to live in a place where I can wear almost anything that I want to express myself, and that jail is not a probable consequence. Which makes me feel as if I should exercise my right to do so every now and then. Think of the people that have died because of their passion and heartfelt hopes of change? So many good men and women. All because of an inherent wish for tolerance, love and support.

Our show celebrates the GLBT community. We are proud to be a part of something that embraces an often avoided topic. Hate is terrible, especially when we pass it down to a new generation of innocents. Recently, I heard a lament about San Francisco. How SFO just didn’t sound like a fun place to be, or visit, because that person wasn’t gay. Wait, really???? I wanted to laugh! But that would have been a response that wouldn’t have encouraged that person to be open-minded. To see that perhaps, their statement was foolish? Why won’t San Francisco be fun for you? Do you think the whole city is gay? Do you think they will judge you? Won’t feed you good food?  Perhaps they won’t let you have fun, the way THEY have fun?

Sadly, we’ve gotten letters from people who explain that they love the show but hate the gay story-lines. That we shouldn’t be polluting their children’s heads. To this I’d sometimes like to sarcastically reply, would you also like us to tell them that a stork is dropping off our offspring? That the sky is purple? That it is not practical to be true to yourself, because there are mean people in this world that will make them feel wrong for being honest? That instead of embracing themselves, they should lie to the world? THEY should be the ones being untrue and unhappy?

I believe that if you are bringing a child into the world, you should be willing to accept them in any reality. Whether they are Black, White, Asian, have four fingers, are disabled, gay….that the only wish should be for a happy and healthy baby. We are each other’s children. Unless someone has committed a violent or hateful act, why should we judge? We can so quickly resort to anger, often, the product of a whole other issue. Most often, an issue with our own self.

I understand that I am sitting behind the protection of this computer screen, in this hotel room, and to many I might sound “preachy”. Especially now that I have written an essay. I hope my intentions sound pure, and just. I speak, because I am passionate. I write with this passion because I know how it feels to be hurt, to be depressed, to not value yourself, or your feelings. If any of this has inspired or moved you, even just made you think….I encourage you to tweet or reblog a picture, quote, anything that you feel will continue to spread the love. And if any are interested in tracking the chain, perhaps visualizing the greater collective, include the hatch tag, #letlovein.

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. - C.S. Lewis

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. - Lao Tzu

Fortune and love favor the brave. - Ovid

AND remember that sometimes….

People need loving the most when they deserve it the least. - John Harrigan

To thine own heart be true. Many thanks for your time, your love, and the gift you’ve given me.

Sincerely,

Dianna Elise Agron

Click here to keep reading!

#shirtgate #essay #2011

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

About BTS at UNGA:

Well, that was an uninspired speech. It was the same crap they’ve been saying about COVID since 2020, with some new parts about the “lost generation” that were nice, plus an encouragement to take action against climate change which sounded so hypocritical coming from people who promote consumerism, sign brand deals with companies like McDonalds and Samsung, sell albums and merch made of plastic and polyester, etc. BTS have never really spoken up about caring for the planet. To me, they’ve always seemed like they were very insensitive to these issues. I’m not saying I’m the most interested person in climate change either, but I wouldn’t want to give a speech on it. 

President Moon’s speech definitely sounded nice, but also hollow. All that talk about inclusion and I wonder if Korea is finally going to pass that anti-discrimination bill (which I’ve read they might now, but president Moon stayed silent on it last year). Again, I hope those efforts against climate change on South Korea’s side are for real.

I know climate change is not the easiest to tackle - obviously - but we should stop pretending we don’t have the solutions - at the very least some of them. People dodge responsibility and taking action by framing the problem as too complex, but the solutions are kind of obvious, aren’t they? They involve crossing some very powerful people, and making sacrifices overall. 

Anyway, the PTD performance was really nice, but I can’t see how it is supposed to help the world heal or whatever. I know they’re artists, but how can they end a speech by calling PTD their personal solution or answer to our youth’s problems? It’s a bit much; one song can’t possibly do that much (especially with those kinds of lyrics, it’s not like John Lennon’s Imagine or smth), and PTD is not even their most popular song. Dynamite would’ve made more sense, since it had real impact. It just seemed like a way to promote PTD - tbh they’ve been aggressively promoting the song in any way possible. 

I’m sure people will say I’m being overly cynical, but how was that a good speech? It was adequate, at best. I didn’t expect to be mind blown but I wanted something better. 

PS: The way Jungkook turned his entire body towards Jimin when the latter spoke...cute...  He’s so consistent. 

#bts #text

[sepedarodatiga]

I have a draft on my tumblr that’s been sitting for months. It’s about TROS and TLJ. Since that John Boyega interview just came out, I think it might be time for me to re-write and post that draft. I’m going to be “defending” Rian Johnson here, so if that’s not your thing, just ignore this post.

First of all, I was a Reylo shipper. Again, if this is not your thing, do move on... I ship Reylo only for one reason: the film (TFA) wants me to ship it. To me, there are obvious fairytale motives with sexual undertones between Rey and Kylo Ren. That is what I think and I’m not going to debate about it here. But I mention this because of what John Boyega was saying. He kinda say that his character was sidelined in TLJ, because he didn’t get to be the main hero along with Rey or perhaps not becoming Rey’s love interest. To me, his character was already sidelined in TFA, he was never meant to be be the main hero and/or love interest. I understand that there can be different interpretation about this and I accept that. But this is my interpretation of TFA. I have come to terms that this story is a story about two white people and won’t force it into otherwise.

Of course I don’t know what happened in the film set and I don’t know the interaction between him and the directors or producers. But storywise, I think Rian Johnson gave Finn a good arc in TLJ considering that (I think) they were setting up Reylo in TFA. He created Finn’s own arc that doesn’t revolve around the two white main lead. And I think to Boyega, that means sidelining his character. But it’s hard for me to fathom how Rian Johnson is the racist one compare to JJ Abrams (at least when I compare the films, again, I don’t know how they are in person obviously). We all know that he gave us Tico sisters and Jessica Pava. He brought Asians into the fold. And this is what I wanted to talk about in my unposted draft. He did more than that. He also attempt to remove or minimize Orientalist imagery in his Star Wars and I felt that this hasn’t been talk about much. You know, those sandy planets with camel-like animals, barbaric aliens with no advanced tech, or a geisha-like alien queen.... we didn’t see those in TLJ.

I only realised this after I watch TRoS. You know why, because those Orientalist imagery.... it came back. With a vengeance. Pasaana anyone? Come on... it doesn’t get more Orientalist than that and it doesn’t get more “whity mighty” than that. I had to deal with Rey being a Palpatine and I had to deal with Pasaana. One of the worst movie experience in my life.

Also, a bit of intermezzo... That “last name” scene in TROS is very white centric. Not everybody even in planet Earth uses “last name” or “family name”. Guys, I don’t have a family name. My name consist of three and not one of them is my father’s name, nor my husband. I was not obliged to take my husband’s name when I got married, and my son does not have to bear his father’s name either. Some people from my ethnic group only have a single name and that’s it. So you can imagine how I feel when I watched that ending right?

Anyway, back to our program, I mean, we are talking about Rian Johnson here. You know.. he made Knives Out? He shits on white people and their privileges. He made Rey a Nobody. And this made me realized that he actually subvert the fuck out of Rey and Kylo’s relationship. And this is why I said that I was a Reylo shipper. I realized this when I started thinking about how he handled the relationship between Ransom and Marta.

Long story short, Kylo is Ransom. Adam Driver is Chris Evans.

Johnson does maintain and went through with all of the sexual innuendos between him and Rey, but completely subvert the conclusion of it. Kylo and Ransom stays “evil” and the heroine did not indulge their evil tendencies. So yeah, Rian Johnson “gave” us Reylo but then he is also the one who completely annihilated it. And as a Reylo shipper, that’s fine for me. I understand his reason of not liking white privilege and dynasties and status quo, and Ben Solo is all that thing.

#rian johnson #star wars #orientalism #the last jedi #the rise of the skywalker #the force awakens #john boyega #anti reylo #even though i'm a reylo shipper

[dippedanddripped]

Debbie Harry doesn’t believe in harbouring regrets. “I have made many, many errors, but nobody leads a perfect life,” she reflects down the telephone from New York. “So, should I regret anything? No. It is a waste of time. It really is a waste of time.”

Dial back to the turn of the 70s and the life that Harry led before fronting Blondie – prior to her image being burned onto the retina of popular culture – was colourful to say the least. “I was so desperate to live life,” she says of her time spent hanging with the outcasts and artists of downtown New York. “I was jamming in as much experience as I possibly could and I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. I learned a lot.”

The old Bowery music venue CBGBs has long passed into music folklore as the place that called the likes of Television, Patti Smith, and the Ramones their house bands. It was also where punk and new wave progenitors Blondie cut their teeth before they sashayed into the wider world with the protean panache that would make them a household name. Classic singles such as “Heart of Glass”, “Call Me”, “Atomic”, and “Rapture” have been responsible for more worldwide rug-cutting than an industrial carpet tool. To imply that they were merely a solid singles band is to do them a cardinal disservice, however.

And although they’ve always cocked their attention to the things ahead of them, Harry and her Blondie cohorts have spent a lot of time looking back just lately. Harry’s long-awaited autobiography, Face It, hit the shelves last year, and Blondie co-founder and one-time partner Chris Stein published Point of View: Me, New York City, and the Punk Scene, a photography book featuring personal snaps taken during the band’s pomp in the 70s and early 80s. “We can’t keep on touring and doing club dates the way that we used to. It would be physically impossible,” Harry concedes. “Living through this pandemic has certainly made us take a long look at the value of what we’ve got with our body of work.” Asked if it is a process of attempting to frame their legacy, she admits it’s something that they “have to do”.

This deep-dive into their canon has culminated in a mouth-watering archive set, Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982, slated for release next year. Coming in four formats, it promises to include extensive liner notes, “track by track” commentary by the entire band, a photographic history plus rare and unreleased bonus material. The group will also go out on the road – coronavirus permitting – for an autumn Against the Odds UK tour with Garbage.

The artist born Angela Trimble was put up for adoption only a few months after she was ushered into the world in the summer of 1945. A loving New Jersey couple took her in, rechristened her Deborah Harry, and raised her as their own. She grew up in a suburb that she “never left”,  was voted best-looking girl in her high school yearbook, and oscillated within a social circle that consisted of “many of the same people” throughout her childhood. “I was somehow shy within that,” she recalls, “(but) somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that!’”

Harry travelled by bus as a curious teen to nearby Greenwich Village, imbibing the febrile inner-city atmosphere. In 1965, she graduated from junior college with an associate of arts degree and New York’s allure became too enticing to resist. She decamped to the bright lights of the city and made ends meet with a succession of odd jobs, including secretarial work for the BBC, waiting tables and an infamous nine-month stint as a Playboy Bunny.

The period was a traumatic one, too, with Harry enduring an ex-lover-turned-violent-stalker and a near-miss with serial killer Ted Bundy (although Bundy’s identity is contested by others). In her memoir, she writes candidly of the time she was raped by a man wielding a knife while on her way home from a concert with Stein. Music offered a vessel for her creativity, and she spent time as part of girl group The Stilettoes and folk ensemble Wind in the Willows before her meeting with guitarist Stein which set the foundations for Blondie. Their classic lineup was completed by Gary Valentine (bass), Jimmy Destri (keys), and Clem Burke (drums).

“Somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that’” – Debbie Harry

Although they self-identified as punks, the parochial and nihilistic mandate as promulgated by the genre’s militant diehards never fit Blondie comfortably. The group looked outwards from the moment they started, drawing inspiration from their cosmopolitan city. Their sound was a melting pot pulling at the seams of culture’s fabric, and they would weave their own patterns from it.

Harry agrees that their eclecticism was down to good fortune in coming from the ���metropolitan area of New York” where they ingested “a lot of musical influences”. Taken as a whole, their catalogue bears this out. Blondie never stood still musically – yet never sounded like anyone else – and they loaded their songs with more hooks than a fisherman’s trawler. 1976’s punchy, eponymous debut married surf-rock textures with 50s girl-group sensibilities, and their palette had expanded exponentially by the time of seminal third album, Parallel Lines (1978). Eat to the Beat and Autoamerican followed, by which point they could boast flirtations with disco, rocksteady, funk, hip hop, and more within their enviable output.

When asked to pick one track that encapsulates the essence of Blondie, Harry opts for their 1981 US number one single “Rapture”. “What happens in ‘Rapture’ is very comprehensive,” she says. “It took a form of music that was, or still is, very modern and can be very political. Rap and hip-hop songs back then didn’t have their own songs. Rappers would just rap on somebody else’s music. (‘Rapture’) was crafted specifically for that rap. Until then that hadn’t been done. It was a breath of fresh air.” It stands as one of the things in her career that she feels “very good about”.

Blessed with the sort of features that could sell sand to the Saharans, Harry’s appearance caused a stir from the band’s earliest days. “That’s part of showbiz,” she says to me, trying to downplay it. “We always had an eye for that, the entire band. We always had an idea of making a look that represented our sensibilities and links to British pop and mod.” Maybe so, but it was Harry alone who was immortalised by Andy Warhol in one of his iconic silkscreen prints, and who posed for era-defining photographers including Robert Mapplethorpe and Anne Leibowitz.

Did the disproportionate attention she attracted ruffle feathers within the Blondie camp at the time? “Yes and no,” Harry remembers. “We were all happy that it was working. I suppose there was a certain amount of competition or jealousy but ultimately, no. I think that’s a better question for Clem or one of the other members in the band. Of course my relationship with Chris was so close that he was very happy about everything.”

The band’s wheels eventually came off after their muddy and unfocused sixth album, The Hunter, dashed against the commercial rocks in 1982. They had to abandon their subsequent tour after Stein became gravely ill with a rare autoimmune disorder, pemphigus vulgaris, that proved extremely difficult to diagnose. Blondie had no option but to bow out of the public eye, and they broke up quietly.

15 years later, with Stein fully recovered, the group reconvened and released a critically acclaimed and commercially successful comeback album, No Exit. They even topped the UK charts with lead single “Maria”, but faced tussles with erstwhile members at the time too. Former bassist and co-writer on “One Way or Another”, Nigel Harrison, and guitarist Frank Infante attempted to sue the rest of the band over their omission from the reformed lineup. And when Blondie were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, Infante grabbed the microphone to express his ire publicly.

Fast-forward to 2020 and the settled iteration of the band are working on a new album with John Congleton, who produced 2017’s Pollinator. Does Harry have a formula when it comes to songwriting these days? No, as it happens. “When a phrase or a sentiment makes me respond emotionally or physically, I write it down and I save it,” she explains. “At a certain point, I’ll sort of review things. A lot of times I like to just work with a rhythm track. Just a drumbeat or some kind of drone-y rhythm, a groove. Other times people will give me a rough sketch of some chord changes – an idea that they’ve got. I seem to work in a lot of different ways.”

Thanks to her effortless chic and timeless looks, Harry’s relationship with the fashion industry has been a mutual love-in since forever, and she recently announced a revival of her partnership with ethical fashion designers Vin + Omi – the duo responsible for her profane ‘STOP FUCKING THE PLANET’ cape worn at the Q Awards in 2016 and throughout Blondie’s Pollinator tour. They have teamed up for a new sustainable clothing line entitled HOPE, and her enthusiasm for the project is palpable. “I love Vin + Omi,” she says. “They are so creative and adventurous. They have this desire to prevail and do things that are smart and modern in terms of recycling and making energy count. I think that is brilliant.”

As a fledgling bee-keeper, the plight of the bees is also something close to Harry’s heart. It was one of the reasons why 2017’s Pollinator was, well, named exactly that. “You’re either being stung by a bee or you’re going to eat its honey,” she chuckles softly, marvelling at the absurdity of the contrast. “But bees and water are two issues we cannot escape from. We should be concerned with finding better ways of living, using our resources in the best way possible.”

Help is coming, she hopes, through the election of Joe Biden, who is “firmly attached” to the idea of helping the environmental cause – and she believes his ideas can help the economy, too. “I’ve been saying for quite a long time that solar and wind power are renewable (energies) that can create jobs,” she says. It’s a far cry from her feelings towards outgoing President Trump and his “daily infusion of bullshit” and “thunderstorm of endless diatribes”.

“One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP”) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time” – Debbie Harry

What strikes you when you speak to Harry for an extended period is not only her warmth, but her unexpected humility for someone so staggeringly famous. I reference a Bob Dylan BBC interview from the 80s in which he observed with sadness how his fame had the ability to change a room’s energy and how he missed seeing people act naturally around him. She paws the comparison away, saying she’s nowhere near famous “to the degree of Bob Dylan”, whom she calls “such a megastar”. This could sound like false modesty coming second-hand, but in person it feels like a sincere statement, even if it is a little bewildering coming from an international icon. She will concede, however, that she has “definitely noticed and felt something like that” and has often wished she could simply be “a fly on the wall”.

There is also an inquisitiveness that makes the conversation a more two-way affair than your quote-unquote typical ‘interview’. She fires questions back at you, not as a deflection tactic, but to expand and explore a topic further. This happens when conversation turns to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s ubiquitous “WAP”. A recent interview had her fangirling over the track, but Harry’s feelings no longer appear to be as clear-cut and she wishes to discuss the song further. “I love it and hate it at the same time,” she now shares. “One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP’) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Everything is revealed and maybe sexual explicitness has come of age.”

Pushed about what she dislikes about “WAP”, she says she would “hate it” if any young girl or woman was hurt by the song’s message. “I think that, in a way, men have to know that women think like this, and that there is this component,” she says, “but I would hate it to mean that everyone should be treated like this. I don’t think anybody should be hurt by sex”.

Harry has long championed the LGBTQ+ communities. When she refers to her dearly departed friend and Hairspray co-star Divine as a ‘drag queen’ in Face It, she acknowledges the term in some instances is no longer accurate or politically correct. I suggest that it can often seem as though the evolution of our language is speeding up in the digital age – by necessity, of course – and ask her if online culture fills her with concern when it comes to using the right terms. “Yeah, (because) in many cases it can be a slip of the tongue, especially for an old dog like me! Things do move so very, very quickly. It is hard to keep up,” she observes. “Fortunately, I have a lot of godchildren!”

Speaking of younger generations, Harry likes to think she’d have coped with social media if she were coming up today, but is thankful that she had her “dark cocoon” in which to “bloom out of”, a place where she was able to “ripen”. “When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not,” she says. “It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth. For good or for worse, who knows?”

“When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not. It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth” – Debbie Harry

One thing that remains is her fierce level of self-criticism. “I always want to do better,” she declares matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been very critical of everything. I hear things or look at them and say, ‘Oh God, it should have been that (instead).” Maybe this hypercritical inclination is what still drives her forward. “I honestly don’t like resting on my laurels. I like working and I like creating. I always beat myself up about not being more creative or more prolific.”

When looking at the bounty of projects she has lined up, no one in their right mind could put Debbie Harry and laurel-resting in the same sentence. Aside from the new album, archival set and fashion project, the paperback edition of her autobiography will be released with a brand-new epilogue in April of next year. (Just don’t ask her what’s in it – “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ll have to look it up!” she says with a laugh.)

The signs are that the musician is done looking into the rear-view mirror, though. Time may be passing, the tide may be higher, but Debbie Harry is doing more than merely holding on. Her eyes are locked to the future and she’s positively thriving.

Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982 will be released next year; Face It is out now via Harper Collins

#debbie harry #blondie #Vin + Omi #ethical fashion #explicitness #music blog

[fangirlinglikeabus]

every target novelisation....2!

planet of giants by terrance dicks ok so i think that the reason that this is...good, and an unearthly child was...not good, is because this was written 9 years later when like. other, non-terrance dicks people were also novelising stories and he wasn’t just grinding them out on an industrial level. planet of giants isn��t one of the greats of doctor who but this is a competent adaptation - it doesn’t add much but it does flesh out what’s already there, giving us some backstory elements and making the appearance of giant insects and bodies seem a bit more dramatic than they could manage in 1964. unfortunately it also alters my favourite line from the story (‘i don't know how you know, you're supposed to know!’) and the doctor is weirdly hostile at the beginning (he’s looking forward to ditching ian and barbara, he responds to barbara’s observation ‘drily’ like he’s being a bit sarcastic over her, um, *checks notes* noticing important details). also, dicks describes this in the opening as ‘the doctor’s most grotesque and terrifying adventure’ and i’m like...planet of giants? really??

doctor who and the dalek invasion of earth by terrance dicks ok this one legitimately doesn’t change much at all. it cuts down on some things (including the doctor’s end speech being shorter - i’m assuming that’s a space thing), fleshes out on pov bits as you can in prose, gets rid of the smacked bottom line. bizarrely there are a few times that susan calls her grandfather the doctor which...i’m pretty sure wasn’t there originally. aside from all those small details, yeah it’s basically the same, but it’s well adapted for prose (i genuinely think it stands as a novel in its own right), and depending on your reading speed it might actually be a nice, shorter alternative to the television version - it was around 45 minutes less time for me. some general things i wanted to comment on: the resistance is explicitly shown as kinda gender segregated (exclusively women are preparing food when we first see it) which irritated me; the description of parliament as a symbol of ‘human progress and tradition’ reminded me of blood harvest having the lords/commons system as the Ideal Form Of Government, in terms of how terrance dicks thinks (this may only interest me? idk i very probably spend too much time thinking about the political views of this particular dead dr who script editor); there’s a use of holocaust here that’s technically accurate to what the word literally means but it felt weird to me to use it.

the rescue by ian marter oh man i’ve been busy and this took me aages to read. it kinda...diverges increasingly from the original story as it goes on. we’ve got some scenes with the seeker crew (incidentally one of them says ‘ass’ and i was like???hello???you’re allowed to do that in a dr who book from 1987???), and then most of the expanded stuff is in the climax. dr who and bennett have a full on brawl! ian, barbara and vicki visit a destroyed didoi city on their way back to the tardis! mysterious silver figures! a giant worm encounter! incidentally, this does have way more of a downer ending than the original because it’s strongly implied that the last two of the didoi were killed by seeker crewmembers who fired in a panic, after which the report that forms the epilogue ends with “goodwill to all persons” to give us a taste of bitter irony. so that’s kinda grim. um...there’s actually a lot of little changes and minor expansions to this one as well so off the top of my head: we learn more about why vicki left earth (global warming :/), sandy is a lot more threatening-looking than on screen, the crashed ship gets its name changed to astra-nine, ian and barbara hold hands briefly, barbara’s fall really leaves her beaten up. i like the seeker crew comparing the tardis briefly passing them to various non-police box objects from the future (although the link to china is a bit eastern world=alien association for my tastes), dr who telling vicki ‘give that pretty face a wipe’ is clearly him attempting to cheer her up and it’s not meant to be weird but i found it weird. finally, i’ve gotta say i appreciate ian marter’s commitment to ‘mildly unsettling’ in his descriptions of tardis materialisations. this was the last novelisation he wrote before his death (the book’s dedicated to him) and mild criticisms aside, i do think he’s a good writer and he brings an interestingly different angle to the series. 

the romans by donald cotton oh my god. how do i even start this. i’m not even going to try cataloguing all the changes because this isn’t even close to a straight adaptation. it’s told in the form of various documents collected by tacitus - the doctor’s diary, ian’s journal that he keeps to prove to the headmaster at coal hill that he and barbara haven’t just eloped (i’m not joking, this is the textual reason for it), an assassin’s letters home to his mum, nero’s scribblings, and various other little details. vicki and barbara get less attention than on screen because we don’t see much from their perspective (vicki unfortunately doesn’t even get to chase the assassin out, she just screams in this), and the nero assassination plot is exclusively confined to being mentioned in the epilogue. it’s also a lot broader, or at least consistently broader, which means that ian’s side of things is treated a lot more lightly (which i was personally fine with) but also that we still get nero’s predatory behaviour being played for laughs. there’s also a few comments about women early on that i was unhappy with, and use of fat as an insult. generally, though, i thought this was great! there were a lot of things that i don’t have space or time to include here but i really liked. i guess i’d consider this as a companion piece to the tv version rather than a replacement, which some of these do basically serve as. they tell the same basic story, but they’re so different in a lot of ways that i think it’s worth looking at both. i just checked my notes and remembered this so content warning: poppea sabina’s first section references suicide.

doctor who and the zarbi by bill strutton ok so i think the web planet is boring. i don’t know completely why, i don’t think it’s any one thing, it has some interesting ideas, but it is! it’s fucking boring! anyway, we have a bit more casual sexism in the novel, we’re missing that fun convo about aspirin between vicki and barbara, but really i don’t think it adds or changes much - like even the chapters correspond pretty much exactly to the tv cliffhangers. i guess it’s competently written prose-wise, but i genuinely can’t get over my conviction that this story is boring. am i being unfair? maybe! i like some of the early atmosphere, though, and i appreciate a book which refers to ‘the ship tardis’ (lowercase) and ‘doctor who’ throughout the entire thing. oh yeah, and i encourage you all to look up the illustrations for this. i don’t know who that woman is but she’s definitely not vicki.

doctor who and the crusaders by david whitaker ah yes, the infamous ‘susan married david cameron’ novelisation. tbh i don’t like the crusades and this has the same problems - i don’t care about the english, el akir is every orientalist stereotype whitaker could possibly cram into one man, and That’s Not How A Harem Works. do i think it’s the most egregiously racist doctor who story of all time? probably not! it certainly has sympathetic arabic characters too. but i prefer most other historicals, at least. however, if that isn’t you, i’m sure you’ll get something out of this. there aren’t any particularly extreme changes to the plot structure, although it’s missing some later scenes at the english court, but it’s well written and probably if you like the original you’ll enjoy it more than i did. there’s some dated language surrounding black characters, though, i’m not a fan of the whole ‘we aren’t so different’ speech ian has (because it rests on ‘we all believe in a higher power’ which uh. i don’t. guess that means i’m not ‘civilised’. also generally i don’t like the argument that we should respect each other because of what we have in common - you should respect other people whatever!), and the prologue at the beginning where they muse on history and destiny assumes that the english invaders and the arabs are both equally right in their own ways (the doctor outright says this!)

the space museum by glyn jones so, i really like the space museum. mainly for vicki’s revolutionary fervour, but there are other reasons too. however, i don’t think that this really adds enough to be of interest - although we do get some information about the two alien species’ biology, and a bonus explanation of why everyone speaks english (the moroks briefly considered invading earth so programmed some earth languages into their translation system). there’s a bit more wandering around the museum, some minor tweaks and expansions in other areas, an underground tunnel scene where we learn a bit of the planet’s backstory...ian and the doctor are very snippy to each other in this, which i find funny. oh yeah, and there’s a bizarrely meta bit where ian comments on poor dialogue? basically, this is a book i enjoyed, but really it just makes me want to watch the space museum instead of reading it. just a heads up, there’s a character who briefly considers suicide to get out of his bosses being angry with him. 

the chase by john peel ok before i get started i need to establish that the cover for this one slaps. anyway, i don’t respect john peel at all but this was...alright? doesn’t expand much plotwise (although i suspect both the sand monsters at the beginning and the plants at the end have slightly more to do) but we get a fair bit of pov stuff. unfortunately lacking ian’s dad dancing and hi-fi the panda, the marie celeste bit is no longer played for comedy (barbara angsts over it) and even though the two paragraphs dragging morton dill are kinda funny i’m not sure how i feel about him being committed for claiming he saw daleks. ian and barbara’s departure plays out a little differently. steven is blond for some reason. we learn as well that daleks are charged by solar panels (at least they’re pro-green energy??)

the time meddler by nigel robinson pretty competent, straight down the middle novelisation, although that is tempered by inserting some weird sexist bits for steven and also lowkey being nostalgic for 11th century england at a few points? it’s also a bit more violent than we see on tv, and if anything the rape is more loudly implied, so heads up. other than that, there are a few minor embellishments (we’re explicitly told the dr and monk recognise each other, vicki tells steven that the tardis is important to her because it’s her home, a few differences between the monk’s tardis and the doctor’s are described, vicki views steven following her as a triumphant victory in their power struggle which i personally find funny), and there’s a prologue (recapping steven’s arrival in the tardis) and an epilogue (which delays the monk’s discovery of the broken tardis because he walks to hastings first to try and get involved there). i had fun, but it’s not a must read. 

#doctor who #classic who #first doctor #susan foreman #ian chesterton #barbara wright #vicki pallister #steven taylor #laura reads dw books #target marathon #this took me aaages and i don't even have an excuse lol i finished uni weeks ago #anyway sorry if this is a bit rushed i'm literally leaving for somewhere in five minutes and i wanted to get this out first

[consumedkings-archive]

Ultimate OTP Meme

i’m doing this because @baeogorath told me they would sue me for emotional damages if i did so take some cora/elliot content (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿) softness under the cut and also red i hope u rue the day u told me not to do something

General

Rate the Ship: Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? ○  until the bleak, cold, black end, because elliot is a Lifetime Bitch

How quickly did/will they fall in love? ○ immediately upon laying eyes on each other beating the shit out of people

How was their first kiss? ○  shy, but cute. they’re soft only for each other and the chemistry was impeccable

Wedding

Who proposed? ○  elliot; her love language is gift-giving and with her bad experience with marriage, the ULTIMATE devotion and gift to give is marriage.

Who is the best man/men? ○  joey hudson for sure

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? ○  as red mentioned before, sharky would be furious if he wasn’t the maid of honor so of course elliot would uphold that

Who did the most planning? ○  elliot; cora would spent .000005 seconds about to say how she doesn’t want to do it and elliot would IMMEDIATELY take full reign

Who stressed the most? ○  i’m going to say cora just based off of red’s prev. answer--elliot doesn’t stress once she’s there and cora gets cold feet : ‘ )

How fancy was the ceremony? Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. scarlet honeysett 1.) supports the marriage and 2.) would never let her daughter have anything less than a near-immaculate wedding, but elliot would try and reign her in.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? ○  i want to say john but i know that elliot and cora would send him an invite out of pure, unadulterated cruelty. so probably only joseph.

Sex

Who is on top? ○  definitely cora. elliot feels comfy enough around her to let go of some of that control.

Who is the one to instigate things? ○  probably elliot; she’s pretty touchy-feely when she’s happy

How healthy is their sex life? Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now don’t @ me red you know it’s the truth

How kinky are they? Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head you bet your ass that since elliot likes cora being in control it happens

How long do they normally last? ○  elliot likes to take her time; she doesn’t like to rush through things, whereas cora is a very busy, so it’s somewhere in-between. elliot probably gets her to slow it down a little more often than not when she’s feeling particularly needy.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? ○  bruh you know elliot ain’t out here keeping track, as long as they’re both happy

How rough are they in bed? Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. elliot is a sucker for pain

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. with cora, elliot loves softer moments; being held etc, the number would probably be higher if cora wasn’t so resistant to being vulnerable

Children

How many children will they have naturally? ○  MANY dog children, at least one horse, if cora lets her elliot would have a whole gaggle of chickens

How many children will they adopt? ○  elliot is absolutely terrified of having kids because her own mother was such a failure, so like??? how would she know how to be a mom. but she’d do it if cora asked, maybe like just one.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? ○  they’re pretty equal on sharing child duties.

Who is the stricter parent? ○  probably cora; elliot is a flower-child at heart and likes to be the cool, fun parent, whereas cora provides the structure.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? ○  both of them, but mostly cora. elliot cannot be allowed to participate in truth or dare because she has no regard for her own safety, but she’s a worrying parent.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? ○  elliot!

Who is the more loved parent? ○  elliot will say both of them, but she’s so soft and prone to hugs/arts and crafts projects that it might be her, though it’s VERY close.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? ○  both of them. elliot is hugely intense about PTA--not necessarily being a participant in events, but making sure her kids are getting a fair shake. she’s easily tiger mom and cora has probably had to intervene in elliot popping off on another parent more than once.

Who cried the most at graduation? ○  definitely el; she’s v v soft.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? ○  again, el. cora’s more of a hardass than she is and she’s always thinking back on the days SHE used to get in trouble, so she likes to give them some wiggle room.

Cooking

Who does the most cooking? ○  el, but she shouldn’t be.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? ○  elliot. she’s weird about her food, cora will eat just about anything.

Who does the grocery shopping? ○  agaaaaaain elliot. cora would live entirely off of the green planet earth if she had it her way, but elliot needs things to make lemon bars and big batches of soup.

How often do they bake desserts? ○  the one good thing el’s mom ever did for her was give her the lemon bars recipe, so frequently. and baking is a de-stresser for elliot.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? ○   cora is a big meat eater, elliot is definitely more of a salad eater. this means every meal is both things and that whatever one doesn’t eat, the other will finish off.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? ○  probably cora; elliot is a bit scatter-brained when it comes to anniversaries and she doesn’t think very highly of them anyway and no matter what it is, elliot adores it.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? ○  cora. el is a big homebody and doesn’t like going out if she can help it.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? ○  cora, although elliot is not far behind.

Chores

Who cleans the room? ○  el; she’s a big tidier. consistently, throughout the day, definitely not a compulsion

Who is really against chores? ○  cora, which is fine because elliot has a specific place she likes everything to be anyway.

Who cleans up after the pets? ○  elliot.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? ○  cora.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? ○  cora, because she’s so worried about get picked apart by guests. elliot is used to it thanks to her mom, so she always gives cora a big pep talk prior.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? ○  cora. the couch is the one place elliot doesn’t like to go.

Misc.

Who takes the longer showers/baths? ○  cora, but elliot will join her as often as she can to maximize hot water.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? ○  elliot, like clockwork, because she can’t stand the dogs spending all day with nervous/frantic dog energy.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? ○  cora likes to decorate fervently, elliot likes to neurotically take them down.

What are their goals for the relationship? ○  elliot is a big romance softie; she saw cora bash a man’s face in and it was true love, and she feels safe with cora which she doesn’t feel that way hardly ever. being stuck in constant fight or flight means cora gives her a sense of stability and stops her from second-guessing herself. i think cora probably just likes that elliot is so soft and also so willing to beat the shit out of someone for her.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? ○  cora. elliot wakes up at 7 at the latest.

Who plays the most pranks? ○ if any, probably cora; elliot is not a prankster and her idea of a joke is surprising her with a kiss or something. 

#ch: cora stammos #ch: elliot honeysett #i would die for this crackship and john seed can pry these girls from my cold dead hands #we need a ship name..... #coriot? #baeogorath #I HOPE UR HAPPY NOW #i hope ur happy with what u have done #fc5 ocs

[melancholydreadfuldream]

seven devils dreaming

Fandom: Doctor Who

Summary: DW AU. You have a new assignment, to keep an eye on a man called John Smith. Easy, right? That’s until the truth is revealed behind who John Smith really is. The most dangerous man in the universe, the trickster of the world, the last of the Time Lord, the oncoming storm called the Doctor, trapped in a human state.

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x Reader

Warning: ooc, deception, mention of sex, a possibility of dark!doctor, obsessive behavior, mention of torture.

A/N: Honestly, this is also a nonsense of a fanfic indulging in the idea of dark!doctor. But I couldn’t write very well hence this will be a painful read. But I’m gonna post it anyway because I am evil.

Ugh, I was bored. I have been inactive ever since my last mission 2 month ago. I have been assigned for desk duty which is such a waste of my potential. I am one of the best actives in the Division where I work. And yet here I am sentenced into desk duty as punishment for punching the jerk-face that is my client during my last mission. In my defense, that jerk-face deserved it. That man was horrible and it was times like this I hated my job, to protect bad guy like him. Though in my line of work it was actually all about the pay day.

The base where I work is located in some alien planet with permission from the local. We got along with the local fairly well. The Division offered protection in exchange for the space we occupied for our headquarter.

The Division consists of both alien and human, we are all to work together to monitor the happening in the universe and sell information to those who seek it and depending on the clients, we are to step in to stop the chaos or cause it. We are no shadow proclamation or even time agency. In fact, the time agency hated us but still sometimes they also used our service.

Someone dropped a folder on my desk right in front of me.

“Look like you got your wish, (last name), you are off desk duty. That is your new mission.” Luke said. He is one of my co-worker in analysis section. He is not an active like me. In Division, we called our field agents an active.

I picked up the folder with excitement and frowned when I saw the contain. “Babysitting duty? Again? Why me? Can’t someone else do it?”

Luke is annoyed. “Would you prefer desk duty then?”

“I will take it.” I quickly said.

“Good. Because you don’t actually have a choice. The big guy upstairs ask for you specifically for this assignment.”

“The big guy did? Is this another punishment?” I asked in exasperation.

Luke shrugged. “Wasn’t that bad. You get to be undercover the duration required to keep an eye on that guy.”

I pulled the picture of my target. A handsome man called John Smith. “Is that a fake name?” I asked. The man in the picture is actually good looking, an eye candy, so maybe it won’t be so bad.

I read the detail regarding this John Smith. A human. A history teacher for a school in Beacon Hill, a small town on Earth. He also work as a librarian.

“Ugh, boring…” I complained. “What is interesting about him that someone pay us to keep an eyes for him?”

Luke shrugged. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“But this guy sounded boring. His lecture probably put his students to sleep.” I mocked. “Also, ‘keep an eye on him by inserting active on his daily life’. Please don’t tell me I have to be undercover as a teacher?”

“I felt bad for your students if that is the case…” Luke said in flat tone.

“Hey!” I yelled offended.

“You actually can pick how you are planning to insert yourself into his life.”

I grinned mischeviously. “I want a job where I get to kick bad guys in return for watching over that boring man.” I gasped dramatically. “A private investigator. I always wanted to be a PI.” I grinned. “(Name) (last name) PI.”

“Glad to see your finding amusement in this.” Luke said but his tone is anything but glad. “How are you meant to watch over him if you go after bad guys?”

I shrugged. “I will make it work.” I picked up the picture again. “I’m about to rock this guy world.” I said with a huge grin.

Had I known who John Smith really is, I would have refused the job. But I was set up.

&&&&

“The Doctor is indisposed. He won’t be causing us trouble. And I have employed actives to distract the human doctor.”

“Make sure it stay that way.”

&&&&

Inserting myself into John Smith’s routine is fairly easy. I ‘met’ him during his time working in the library. I was there for research. I introduced myself as a PI who just moved in town.

John is polite and awkward but very helpful in my research.

I thought it would be fun to be PI but considering I was in a small town, there is hardly any excitements here.

As a PI, mostly I got bored at my office which I rented on the second floor of a bar. The place is quite large so that’s where I stay for the night.

I didn’t stalk John all day because I didn’t want to catch attention of the people of town so I hang out in the bar and befriended the bartender. Small town, people like to gossip, so I have to be extra careful, newcomer tend to catch the town people’s eyes. At least, the bartender is cute and friendly, his name is Holden.

My first case is to find a missing cat much to my chagrin. The second case is slightly more intriguing, to investigate a husband affair.

In between, I always made sure to go to the library for my 'research’. I got to speak with John a few times now and he is hilariously awkward with women. Some women in Beacon Hills evidently find him eye-pleasing and love to flirt with him. After I saw how he dealt with them, I realized I can’t be outright flirting with him. He would just shot me down like he did the others.

Though, I supposed I have a better chance because John is definitely interested in me when I mentioned that I work as a PI.

He is curious why I moved into the small town of Beacon Hills and I said I needed a fresh start.

&&&&

John found me lurking around at the school where he teaches.

I told him I have a concerned parent as my client who want me to take a look at their son’s life, fearing he’s involved with the wrong sort of crowd.

John, as a teacher, is rightly concerned and offered to help especially when, surprise surprise, the boy in question is actually one of his student.

Well, I was supposed to keep an eye on him too so him volunteering to help is helping my case. Two birds one stone kind of thing. I was pleased with myself.

I found out I was wrong about John though. His lecture didn’t put his students to sleep. He has a funny way to make history interesting. And it does help that he is good looking so most of his female students are very attentive to listen to his lecture in hope to get a praise. He is very likable among his students. He is one of the students’ favorite teacher.

John discreetly pointed to the boy, Clarke, his name. I turned to watch over the boy and he did look too distracted. John is concerned and he wishes to talk to the boy. Of course, it didn’t end well. Teenagers. They want our attentions and they don’t want it too. I watched as Clarke get mad at John and left.

So I followed the boy, he is my job after all. I wanted to get paid so I have to report the case as soon as possible. I have some other boring clients I need to deal with too beside Clarke’s parents. The soonest I finish with all of them, the quickest I could establish my reputation as PI here and get accepted by the town. Then I can finally focus back on my primary mission, John.

Of course the son of the client ended up in trouble and I have to intervene. Though I ended up in jail for starting a fight with the local drug gang. The parents are right, Clarke did get into a mess with the gang and now they are blackmailing him. Once I found out what they have on Clarke, I politely asked them to hand over their blackmail material to me and they laughed in my face. So I violently asked with my fist instead.

The Sheriff glanced at me in displeasure as I stared back at him from behind the bars. I could tell he dislikes me already, probably think I’m trouble. Well, he’s not wrong.

John surprised me when he come to the police station to bail me out. He seemed on a good term with the Sheriff that the old man actually let me off the hook.

“Thanks, I owe you one.” I said as we got out of the police station.

“You didn’t owe me anything, Miss (Last Name). You are doing a good thing after all…for Clarke…”

“Yeah, just call me (Name). I didn’t do it for Clarke. I’m being paid by his parents, remember?” I dismissed his claim.

“Still, you saved him from the gang. I’m grateful for that.” John turned to glance at my face. “That look hurt.” He tentatively touches the bruises on my face.

I winced.  "Should have seen the other guys…“ I said with a laugh.

“I really can’t say I’m approve with how you deal with the gang though…” he said in firm tone.

“Ah, you are one of those pacifist people, huh?” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far…but I do believe in less violence and more talking.”

“No wonder you are a teacher.”

“What’s wrong with being a teacher?”

I shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. Well then, Mr Smith, thank you again for your help but I gotta go…”

“Call me John.”

I blinked and then shrugged with a small smile. “See you around, John.”

“See you soon, (Name)” He actually pick up one of my hands and kissed it like a gentleman from those classic movies. “Take good care of yourself.”

&&&&

The next day, while I was hanging out on the bar nursing my drink, I spotted John entered the bar. I raised my eyebrows at him. He didn’t strike me as the type to go to a bar sort of person. Too gentlemanly. He seated himself beside me without invite.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you suppose to teach Beacon Hills’ bright young minds?” I asked teasingly.

“I have a free period.” John replied as he glanced at me. “I feel concern for you.”

“Me? Why?”

He shrugged. “So what about you? No client today?”

“Nope.” I said. “Can I buy you a drink, John?”

“Sure.”

And from then on, we become sort of friends. I hang out on the library in lazy afternoon when my work as PI is slow. He hang out at the bar at night at my request whenever I need to wind up. I also invited him to my office to have a look around.

“Sorry, the place is messy…” I said.

“It’s fine. I’m the one who is intruding…” He glanced around the room. “You sleep here?”

“Yeah, can’t afford separate living space and office.”

John hummed. “Nice place though.”

“I know.”

&&&&

“So what’s with you and the teacher?” Holden, the bartender asked one day.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Lately I saw you hanging out a lot with him. Are you seeing him?”

“Just friends.”

“Friends that hang out most of the times?” he asked in obvious disbelief.

“we find kindred spirit in each other?” I spouted out bullshit.

“Fine, if you don’t want to tell me…” Holden shrugged with a pout. “You are alone today?”

“yeah. John has a teacher gala thing.”

“He didn’t invite you along?”

“Not my thing.”

He finally left me alone to deal with the other customers.

&&&&

John is adorably awkward. He told me about a fellow teacher at the school, Joan, who seem to be politely flirting with her.

“Well, if you like her, flirt back.” I said.

“I don’t know…”

“Why? Do you have someone you like already?”

“No, not really.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I think the school has rules about fellow teachers getting together…?”

“Screw the rules…” I said. “If you like her, you should give her a chance. What if she is the one for you, John and you missed your chance because of some rules?”

“I suppose…” John looked reluctant.

I rolled my eyes. “Do you need my help with her?”

John’s eyes widened. “No!” He practically yelled.

“Geez, okay, no need to yell…”

“Sorry.”

&&&&

John started seeing Joan so he started to spend less time with me.

When I reported this to my handler, Luke, he gave me an earful about it. So I had to do something.

I stalked both John and Joan on their date. I started to investigate Joan for dirt. I have to sabotage their relationship. Not my proudest moment especially since I was the one who push John into dating her. Eventually they broke up and John return to hang out with me, nursing a drink together over his short-lived romance. Though I get the feeling John isn’t entirely too troubled with the break-up.

&&&&

I finally established my reputation as a PI in Beacon Hills when I 'rescued’ a child from a kidnapper. Honestly, it was just a coincidence. I just happen in the wrong place right time kind of thing.

I become sort of famous because of what happened. My picture is in article on local newspapers. The Sheriff is actually start to look at me differently and acted all nice with me.

John gazed at me with admiration as if I have suddenly become his heroine or something. He took me out on a dinner. I told him to meet me in McDonald for burgers much to his astonishment. I think he want to take me to a fancy dinner but I hate that.

I started getting more clients as a PI. The Sheriff also started to invite me to help with his cases. I started getting into my fake job a little too seriously now, almost neglecting my primary assignment.

Luke, for some reason, seemed to know and reprimand me to 'up my game’. Ugh, I don’t like this part because that meant I have to start getting romantically involved with John to keep him with me.

So during a night while he’s hanging out on my office while we drank alcohol together, I kissed him. He kissed me back. But he acted like a proper gentleman, telling me that I was drunk and it would inappropriate of him to take advantage.

John is acting weird lately, like those lovesick fools. He become more affectionate with me, holding my hand, caressing my hair, smiling adorably at me, stuff like that.

I should be happy because he’s acting exactly as I expected him to but I like him as friend and It just so weird to change the dynamic. But I know I have to make the jump on that.

&&&&

John is upset with me. He’s actually mad because I didn’t properly acknowledge what we have, whatever that is.

“Do you like me, (name)?”

“Well, yeah, you are my best friend, John."

"That’s not what I meant and you know it.” John looked frustrated. “I want more from us. And I would like it if you want it too…”

I wanted to hit myself in the head. I should just follow the mission and become his girlfriend but I genuinely like him as a friend and I don’t want to pretend to love him. Even though for the sake of the assignment, I have to. I can tell John is losing patience in dealing with me. I have been brushing him off lately and then being affectionate next. And I said assignment, but really its all about the payday, isn’t it? Part of me feel horrible because I do consider him as friend but another part of me, the sensible one, forced me to face reality. John is just an assignment, not a friend at all. When the time come, I would have to left him behind.

John displeased with me and left, refusing to talk to me.

Now what? If he is mad with me, it would be a bit hard to keep an eye on him. Luke is going to give me hell for this. But I did accepted this assignment so I have obligation to see it through at any cost.

&&&&

I got a client, a young lady who is afraid of her husband who apparently a very influential individual in this town. The husband abused her hence she wishes for a divorce. But the husband refused so the lady, Mary, wishes for me to discreetly get a dirt on the husband and blackmailing him into divorcing her and left her alone. So I made plan for a stake out on the husband.

I saw John and he is being cold toward me on purpose. I don’t like it.

I got dirt on the husband but I wasn’t careful and was found out. His henchmen attacked me while I was walking home alone one night. Had it not for John I would have got hurt a lot worse. It was the first time I wonder if John has a dark side. The calm way he handle the henchmen with precision movement to disable them while still give them a whole of hurts is kinda…amazing but also scary.

I gaped at him. “John?”

John walked toward me and sat down beside me on the ground. He gently touched the bruise on my neck from when they tried to strangle me. “I really wish you would be more careful.” He said with a sigh.

“Thank you for saving me…” I whispered.

“Just because I’m still mad at you, doesn’t meant I don’t care about you. Because I do care, (name)…”

“I…care about you too, John.”

“But you don’t love me…”

“Do you? Love me?” I asked.

John didn’t answer for a second. He sighed. “I like kissing you. I want to kiss you some more.”

I chuckled at him and winced as I stroke my neck. I closed my eyes and thought on the night we kissed. I don’t know if I want to kiss him again but right at this moment, I very much wanted to.

“We should report this to the Sheriff and you need to go to see a doctor.” John said in concern.

“No to both.”

John glanced at me in disbelief. “These men just tried to kill you.”

“Hazard being a PI? Means I’m doing my job right…somewhat…” I said with a hoarse tone.

“Not funny, (name).” John said firmly. “Look at you, you can barely talk. You really need to see a doctor.”

“Ugh, too much paperwork.”

“I will handle the paperwork.”

“John, I really just want to go home, you know? I’m beat up…” I said tiredly.

“Fine, but you’re coming home with me.”

“Fine.” I agreed to tired to argue.

&&&&

I glanced around John’s house. It was a bit small but lovely. I saw a few sketches on the coffee table. It was sketches of some alien in nature. My eyes widened. John is suspicious after all. I thought he was an ordinary human but he knew the existence of alien? The drawing of Daleks, Cyberman and many other alien species. It was really good though, the drawing. I didn’t know he could draw so well.

“What is this?” I asked as I waved one of the sketches.

“Oh, it was just a doodle.” John said. “You knew years back there are alien invasion on Earth. Those are supposedly eye-witness account of how the alien species look like.”

“You never encounter any of them?”

“Nope.”

I picked up a drawing of a young girl. “And who is this?”

“Rose…” John whispered solemnly.

“And who is Rose?” I asked.

John didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Nobody, apparently…just someone that didn’t exist.”

I frowned. I have a feeling there is more about this Rose. So while John is distracted, I took the sketch into my pocket, intending to ask Luke to investigate her.

John prepared a warm bath for me and tend to my wounds afterward. He also gave me some hot tea to calm my nerves. He gave me one of his pajamas for me to wear to sleep.

“You can take my bed, I will sleep on the floor.”

“Your bed is big enough for two. We could sleep together.” I said.

John raised an eyebrow at me.

“You know what I meant.”

He grinned.

I shook my head. “I’m tired. I will go to bed first.”

“I will join you later.”

“Just a warning, I snore.”

John chuckled.

&&&&

That morning I woke up with John’s arms somehow has envelop me. I turned to look at his sleeping face. I couldn’t help the small smile on my face. I discreetly removed his hands and move out of the bedroom as not to disturb him. It was still a bit early.

I took my bag pulled my smartphone and took a picture of Rose drawing and send it to Luke with a text to find out about her. Then I made coffee for myself.

Shortly after, John got out from his bedroom, with adorable messy hair, looking a bit in panic. He stopped short when he saw me chilling in his kitchen drinking his coffee.

“Hey…” I greeted innocently. “Coffee?”

He gazed at me and actually sighed in relief. "I thought you left the house…“

"What if I did?”

“I would have hunt you down.” He said with this expression I can’t decipher.

I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or serious. So I decided to change the subject to my case, the reason why I become a damsel in distress for John.

“I am a PI. This is what I do. And frankly I love it. I’m not gonna stop doing what I do just because some guy decided I was in the way.” I said when John expressed how dangerous my line of the work are.

To tell the truth, if I ever left Division, I could see myself working as PI.

&&&&

I managed to get back at the guy who tried to have me killed. I blackmailed him in regard of his illegal business, forced him to divorce his wife and make him agreed to give said ex-wife generous amount alimony.

He agreed very reluctantly but I know he won’t just let me go for blackmailing him. I know he will try different ways to hurt me but for now he will back off.

John is worried and tried to stay by my side whenever he can to make sure I will not be in danger. But he can’t do much since he has school to teach and other stuffs.

I reassured him that they won’t get the drop on me again.

&&&&

This small town lately become a hotspot for crime. Robbery, kidnapping and murders. And I used to think small town means less excitement. Now it feel like too much sometimes.

My relationship with John is still shaky at best. All because I couldn’t fully open myself to him. How can I? I’m living a lie. John might know my name and the fake background of mine but he doesn’t know the real me.

And John obviously is not what he said he is either. Sometimes i catches a glimpse of someone scary within John. It made me pretty curious to try to find out more about the true John. I suspect John’s identity is a cover up. But even as I suspecting this, I started to have all this confusing feeling for him.

&&&&

The nerve of her! That Joan! How dare she said that I’m not worthy of John? Who does she think she is acting all high and mighty?

When I told John about it, he grinned childishly. “You’re jealous…” he said, pleased and wrapped a hand around mine.

I scoffed at what he claimed. Why does John look pleasantly happy with the thought of me being jealous? It was kinda annoying me.

But to tell the truth though, Joan is right, I can’t imagine why John could ever love someone like me. I’m a mess.

&&&&

“The Doctor’s companion has contacted Jack Harkness for help in locating the Doctor.”

“Stall them. Divert their attention. Create a chaos near them. Do not let them find out the location of the Doctor. The plan must not failed.”

&&&&

“DON’T YOU DARE RUN AWAY FROM ME!!” I yelled on top of my lungs while I ran after the bad guy.

My target, upon hearing my banshee scream, ran faster. Only to fall spectacularly with a trick by John who happened to be in town while I was doing my thing.

John, who heard me screaming like crazy, glanced up from his conversation with a fellow teacher. He smiled in amusement upon spotting me. He saw who I was after and did thing I can explain, creating some sort of chain reaction with stuff around him which ended up with my target fell within my reach.

“Hah! Got you, jerk-face!” I yelled as I grabbed him.

Joan winced at my language.

John grinned as he approached me. “What are you doing with him, (name)?”

“Isn’t obvious? He’s a fugitive. I’m a bounty hunter at the moment.” I said with a grin.

John smiled fondly at me.

“How did you do that by the way?”

“Do what?”

“That thing you do… I don’t know what it’s called anyway, but that is awesome!” I said.

“Happy coincidence?” John said with a shitty grin.

I saw Joan from behind John, watching us with a look of disapproval which make me suddenly have an idea to annoy her some more. I pulled John down toward me and kissed him much to his pleasant surprise. He kissed me back. I saw from the corner of my eyes of Joan leaving the scene. I grinned into the kiss.

“What bring this on?” John asked.

“For your happy coincidence.” I said teasingly.

“Get a room.” My target scoffed.

I turned toward him. “Oh you will get a room, alright, off to jail you are.” I grabbed him and pushed him to the direction of the police station. “See you around, John.”

“See you tonight, (name).”

&&&&

I was drunk the first time I had sex with John. What the hell was I thinking? It was so embarrassing. I was upset because of a case. I lost a client that I personally get attached to. I failed her. I was so upset and I drank a lot.

John took me upstairs to my place where I shamelessly (at the times) seduces him with (oh dear, someone kill me please) a lap dance and basically being a tease till he agreed to bed me. John is a proper gentleman and at first has refused me, claiming he didn’t want to take advantage of my drunken state. Apparently I told him to hell with proper and if he didn’t bed me, I would find someone who would. And after that, I distinctly saw his eyes darken with possessive desire and he did exactly what I asked and more.

I have got to admit John is an excellent lover.

&&&&

I was pissed at John for suddenly proposing me with marriage. We haven’t even know each other that long to even start talking about marriage. Hell, there isn’t even a talk about it yet and here he was, cornering me with a proposal?! What.the.hell? And when I acted surprised and confused and absolutely against it, he got really quiet and withdrawn. When I asked him about it, he gave me the silent treatment. Seriously?

He acted like a maiden I deflowered or something and now demanding I marry him as a responsibility.

I sighed in frustration. At the risk of calling myself bitchy, I really think John is too needy and I don’t like it. He’s wonderful man but why is he in a hurry with our relationship? And in the first place, this isn’t actually a real relationship!

I contacted Luke and asked him how long I am meant to watch over John and if I really have to go through a fake marriage with him. I actually got order from the above to do it. Do everything within my power to make John happy and make him stay attached to me.

&&&&

John got shot, because of me. He was protecting me from a drive-by shooting. I was trying to talk to him but he stubbornly ignoring me and then he did that, protecting me again. How could he be so stupid?

I was getting emotional as I waited for him in his hospital bed. This was supposed to be a simple assignment so why did it went too far like this? John got hurt because I choose to be a PI while inserting myself in his life.

Thankfully his wound is not severe. When he woke up, I said 'yes’ to him. At first he is confused but when he realized what I meant, he smiled brightly.

After he got out of hospital, he become more affectionate with me even in public. I don’t do PDA, I only did that before to piss that Joan.

I was suspicious with the shooting though. Things seemed to happen around me and John which kind of pushes us together. I asked Luke if he or someone from above arranged that but he had no idea. He did promise to poke around for me.

&&&&

Thankfully we both agreed on a small wedding. In fact, I vetoed wedding dress. I wore a simple white dress on the day of our marriage and we signed on a piece of paper I didn’t bother to look twice with a fake priest arranged by Luke.

I moved into John’s house. We shared a room together and I settled into our marriage life. John still disapproved of how I handle my PI job from time to time especially when he found out I got hurt. One day, I got home with busted lips from my interfering a fight between crazy divorced couple and the dark expression that flashed across his face literally give me chill. I explained to him that it was just an accident and he really need to stop having constipated face every time I got a little hurt.

John is evidently angered by me dismissing his concern. He grabbed both of my wrists and demanded I paid attention to him. I flinched at his reaction and he apologized sort of.

Thankfully, afterward I only got small cases like tracking a missing dog or stolen family heirloom. The school is out on holiday. John wanted to assist me in my work. I narrowed my eyes at him unhappily. It is almost like he want to take over my life or something. But then when I saw the childlike delight on his face when he found the missing dog or successfully retrieving the lost item, I ended up allowing him to come along.

“You’ve got to teach me about that happy coincidence trick…” I said.

“(name), I wouldn’t know how to. I just do it.”

I pouted. “Just say that you didn’t want to teach me that.”

John and I accidentally got involved with a very scary pregnant woman whose water broke and she was cursing everyone during the entire birth while the ambulance is nowhere to be found. But the look on John’s face though when he deliver that woman’s baby… I almost worried that he’s going to demand we have a children but thankfully he didn’t.

John always gazed at me with that genuine expression. No one ever look at me that way before, no one but him. I told him as much. He would kiss my neck gently and told me that everyone who couldn’t really see me for me is a fool.

And I wonder if he really see me. I lied to him, I still do, but did he know? I become unsettled at the thought of being played by him. I become determine to find out why they wanted John observed and who he really is.

&&&&

Luke is frantic when he called me about Rose. Rose was that man’s companion. The Doctor. The most feared man in universe, the face-changer, the man who is capable of being kind as much as he is able to be cruel. I froze when I saw the many known faces of the Doctor on my tablet and one of them clearly is John.

I discreetly scanned John while he was sleeping and found out he is a human, only have one heart. But the Doctor has two hearts. What the hell is happening? Someone has turned him into a human. But who? And for what purpose? Are they planning to kill him? But why assigned the Division to keep an eye on him?

I groaned in frustration. What is the big guy even thinking to accept a job that involved the Doctor? What the fuck is wrong with him? He had made me a target for the Doctor’s wrath for when he returned to his true self if that even possible. I was really, really frightened by the Doctor. I heard the stories and it wasn’t good. I know he is capable of being kind but from my side, I only ever heard his famous cruelty of no second chance.

The Doctor is a good man. That was everyone always said. But they also said he is the most cruelest man ever. When he suffered lost of his companions, he snapped and enraged at the world. He called himself the Time Lord Victorious and that the law of time is his.

Although he’s getting better, according to rumor, that he’s making amend and taking both old and new companion again, saving people and planet and whatnot, the Time Lord Victorious still existed in him and still come out to play from time to time. And that is what make the Doctor is properly frightening.

I found out that his current companion is Martha Jones and Mickey Smith. So I grabbed my vortex manipulator and went to investigate them. From what I can tell, they have lost the Doctor. I was off my game apparently because someone put a gun on my back. I recognized him as one of the Doctor’s former companion, Jack Harkness. He found me lurking around and caught me.

They interrogated me. I have no choice but to tell the truth about John when Jack force-feed me a truth drug. They demanded I bring them to John.

&&&&

“Hand off my wife.” John said coldly as he pointed my gun toward Jack and the others when he saw me being kept as prisoner after we entered our house via vortex manipulator.

When Jack, Martha and Mickey realized that John really did not recognize them, they let me go. They were surprised to learn that John had married me.

John fussed over me. “Are you alright, (name)?"

I didn’t say anything. It was my first time seeing him carrying a gun and for some reason, he frightened me greatly. I tried to calm myself.

The companion furiously asked me what did I do to him even though I am as clueless as they are. Jack demanded that I take them to the Division and to the client that asked us to keep an eye on John.

John demanded everyone to shut up. He glanced at me, expecting me to explain but I didn’t. I refused to look at him. It was Martha who tell him all he needed to know.

John looked calm after he learned the truth from Martha. He scrutinize me with his eyes. "So it was all a lie.” He said, sounding strangely not surprised.

“You are way too calm about this.” I said. “Are you sure you really have no idea?”

John looked pissed now. “Would you like me to be angry, wife?” he spatted the word with venom.

I flinched. “You are the one who asked me, remember?”

“And do you even love me or was it all just an assignment to you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!”

I looked away. “It wasn’t real.”

“You’re lying.” he said, almost pleading me.

“Am not. Ask Jack, he forced me to eat a truth drug. I can only speak the truth.”

Jack confirmed it.

John looked sad and defeated. I wanted to hug him but all my instinct is telling me to run. I could see it within John, the being called the Doctor, and I am afraid.

&&&&

I was forced to help figuring out what happened to the Doctor and who turned him into a John.

Martha said something about chameleon circuit? And something about a watch with perception filter. But John and I never saw a watch like the one Martha described.

I have no choice but to enlist Luke. He is pissed at me for ruining the assignment and for involving him with this mess. I glared at him. I blame the Division, what kind of idiot would willingly agree to mess with the Doctor in the first place anyway? The big boss should have his head cut off for being massively stupid.

&&&&

One mess after another later, we finally found the information regarding the Doctor’s Time Lord consciousness. Jack basically has to threaten to dangle the big guy off the window before he told us about the client who made the payment for John case.

I was surprised that John willingly agreed to follow on it despite knowing the return of the Doctor means the end of John Smith. John has not talked me to me since I told him everything between us wasn’t real.

Luke provided John with the tablet containing information regarding the Doctor. And he learned about Rose. “She was real…” he whispered in awe.

I almost felt jealous. Almost. I know I didn’t have a right to be jealous. So I turned away from him to focus on other things.

&&&&

I have no idea how someone got the drop off the Doctor. Apparently during an adventure with Martha and Mickey in some alien planet, they got ambushed by a young woman called Kovarian and her army. She tricked the Doctor into a chameleon circuit of her own. The Doctor is smart but he knew he can also be thick sometimes. He had no choice but to follow along Kovarian’s demand if he want to keep his companion safe.

Kovarian had promised to let Martha and Mickey go after the Doctor follow through with the chameleon circuit. And so he did. His time lord consciousness was stored into a special hourglass and the energy is being used for experiments. For what purpose, no one know.

True to her words, Kovarian did drop Martha and Mickey on Earth where they frantically contacted Torchwood for help in locating the Doctor. What they didn’t know is that Kovarian also dropped the Doctor turned human on Earth under watchful eyes of the Division. The companion had thought that she would have taken the Doctor off on another planet.

&&&&

I managed to retrieve that damned hourglass and I pushed it on Martha’s hand. I was done with them. I was done with John freaking Smith and the Doctor. While everyone is thoroughly distracted with breaking the hourglass and the time lord consciousness forced its way into John, I ran. I was a coward. I couldn’t stand any longer be in their presence.

Kovarian, having lost and cornered, decided to hold the Earth hostage. Now, they really need the Doctor to save the world.

&&&&

I cursed the big boss for putting me in this position. I packed up my stuff and decided to go on the run before the Doctor come for me. I picked up a bio damper to throw him off my signature in case he decided to track me. And I ran and I prayed and I hope he never bother with me.

But, of course, it was only a matter of time before he find me. Luke warned me about the Doctor coming to Division demanding to meet with the active called (name) (last name). I ditched the communication device I had on my person knowing its likely Luke’s warning call is traced by the Doctor. And I ran again.

That dreaded day finally come when I saw the Doctor’s Tardis one day.

John, no, the Doctor got out of the Tardis. He was alone. He glanced at me and said, “Hello, wife.”

“I didn’t want any trouble, Doctor.” I said quickly. “I didn’t know that John is you. Had I known, I would never…”

The Doctor regarded me curiously. “You are afraid of me.”

I didn’t reply as if that is not obvious considering who he is.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I know you didn’t have anything to do with Kovarian.”

“Then why are you looking for me?”

“I just would love to talk…”

I stared at him flabbergasted. “Talk? About what?”

He shrugged. “You are my wife.”

“It wasn’t even a real marriage!!” I snapped. I probably shouldn’t have said that but I was really frustrated and confused with the Doctor.

“It was real for john so it was real for me.”

“John is not even real person!”

The Doctor shrugged again as if he can’t see that he’s upsetting me greatly or maybe he know but didn’t care. “You took care of me, sorry, John. And even if it wasn’t real to you, I would like to say thank you.”

I was confused with his line of thought here. What? Shouldn’t he be super mad at me or something?

“I would like to offer you a chance to travel with me in the Tardis just this once.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He looked surprised, his mouth hang open.

“Why would you spend all this time looking for me? Just to say thank you? I’m not stupid, Doctor. What do you really want from me?” I stared at the Tardis behind him. “Are you trying to trick me to get inside the Tardis so you could punish me or something?”

He looked saddened. “You really saw me as the bad guy here, huh?” He noticed some bruise I have on my wrist. He moved to touch me but I stepped backward. He didn’t take another step. “What happened to you?” He gestured to my wrist.

“None of your business.” I spat furiously. I wanted to kick myself in the head for poking the bear.

A dark expression crossed his feature.

I gulped.

He composed himself into a calm and polite manner. “I would like to show you something.” he said as he raised a hand toward me.

I stared at his outstretched hand. “Do I have a choice?”

He didn’t reply for a few second. “I promise you will not be harmed. And if you come with me, you will not regret it.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to accept his words. It was stupid of me.

&&&&

He took me to that night, in the past, the first time John and I had sex. I didn’t recognized it at first. The Doctor brought me to a place, the place where I lost my client and he told me to save her.

I was flabbergasted by him again. “Isn’t that against the rule of time or something?”

“Are you really gonna argue about the rule of time with a Time Lord?” he asked back.

So I did as he asked. I saved my client. But past me had no idea, she still think the client died.

The Doctor arranged for my client to leave town and start a new life.

I didn’t understand why he did this. “Why?” I asked.

“I remembered this night. The night you come to me, sad and lost. I remembered thinking I hated seeing that expression on her face. I want to make her, you, happy just as you made me a happy man that night.”

I blushed when I realized what he’s implying. My mind couldn’t help but having a flashback of that night we spend together.

The Doctor smiled at me. “I would really like it if you come with me, (name). Travel with me in the Tardis. Have adventure together, saving people. I know that’s the reason you love being a PI. Stay with me and we can go anywhere anytime.”

A warning bell rang in my mind for a while now but, being the idiot that I am, I ignored it in favor of that handsome face smiling beautiful lies at me.

&&&&

The Doctor is fiercely protective of me. He didn’t take it well when someone took me as hostage or when I got hurt by someone else’s hand. That part of him reminded me a lot of of my times with John. It also made me very uncomfortable.

One day, I found a piece of paper and I recognized it as my fake marriage certificate with John. But why did the Doctor keep it? And then I frowned when I noticed the signatures on the certificate. What should have been John Smith’s name is now written and signed as the Doctor. What?

I confronted him about it.

“I told you it was real for me.” He said.

“It wasn’t real! This is a human marriage custom! You are not even human!” I yelled furiously. I don’t know why I was so angry over this marriage thing. I felt like I have been imprisoned and I didn’t even realized it. “How did you even change the name in the first place?” I asked. “In case you don’t know, the priest who officiate our fake wedding is also fake. So this paper…” I waved it around. “…is meaningless!!”

“He was a real priest. I made sure of it.”

Did he seriously crossing his own time stream just to make sure we have a real marriage? I can’t believe it. He really creep me out right now.

“It is still legal and binding. You are my wife.”

“Like hell I am!!” I yelled. “I’m not your wife! You are an alien and thus the marriage is invalid!”

“Not to me.”

“You can’t do that! You can’t just decide on your own which rules apply to you and which didn’t!”

“Does it bother you that much to be married to me?” he asked. “Do you hate me so much?”

“You are frightening me.”

“I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. I would never harm you willingly.”

“Take me back.”

“What?”

“Drop me back on earth or wherever, I don’t care! I just want to be away from you.”

The Doctor looked hurt but to my surprise he dropped me back on earth. “I will come back for you when you have calm down.” he said.

I wanted to scream. “No, Doctor, I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t.”

Oh I believe him. He is not going to let me go just like that. I started to mentally making a plan to run. But he took one look at me and he knew.

“Don’t run from me, (name).” He warned. “No matter how far you run, even to the end of time, I will always find you…forever.”

“Well, Doctor, considering you are immortal and I am not, I don’t think you will have forever.” I said cruelly.

He flinched at that. He gazed at me with a profound sadness that made me feel guilty. And then a darker expression replaced it.

I froze under his gaze. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t say that last bit.

The Tardis vanished out of sight and I can finally breath easier.

&&&&

I contacted everyone I know and begged them to help me hide from the Doctor but one word of the Doctor and they all shut me down. They wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of Time Lord Victorious.

Not even the Doctor’s companion willing to help me.

“I don’t know what he see in you.” Jack replied with disgust. “But you obviously make him happy. Even though you seem to bring a darker version of him out…”

No, I am not, I wanted to scream.

“After losing Rose, you are the first he allowed himself to love…”

And that gave me an idea. If I could get Rose back… I heard she was trapped on the other universe. If I could get her back here, then maybe he will let me go. According to Jack, Rose is the light that make the Doctor a better person. If she is here, then maybe whatever darkness the Doctor harbour will be gone and I will be set free.

With that new mission in mind, I ran again from the Doctor while discreetly trying to enlist help in opening a breach on the other universe.

The Doctor always found me, like he promised. He rescued me from danger sometimes. He traveled with someone called Donna now. He introduced me to her but not as his wife to my great relief. He gave me a look that said to behave so I obeyed.

Donna excitedly greeted me. She was a nice enough woman and I like her. She begged me to travel with her in the Tardis, claiming she need a woman’s company.

I had no choice but to agree.

&&&&

Turned out I didn’t have to do anything about Rose. Because she is coming to our world herself. The fierce woman who love the Doctor and the woman he still loves. I can smell the freedom already.

The brightened smile on his face when he saw her is annoying to me. I don’t understand why I still have such complicated feeling for the Doctor. I tried to pushes my feeling down.

Then the Daleks happened.

And then there is a meta-crisis doctor who decided to call himself John. Both version of the Doctor are stupidly in love with Rose, I can tell. Does that mean I am a rebound?

I don’t know why I am so upset. Getting away from the Doctor is what I want, right? Was I in love with the idea of the Doctor loving me or do I truly have feeling for him? I closed myself and thought of the times with John. I did enjoy his company. I also enjoy the Doctor’s company. But what does this mean?

Then everything spiraled out of control. The Doctor had to seal the breach to the other universe but he left both Rose and metacrisis doctor on the other side.

No. Just No. This wasn’t supposed to… I was so confused.

In the end, I was left alone with the Doctor once more now that Donna is also gone, having her memory erased. Seeing him standing alone, the loneliest man in the universe, how could I keep running from him?

So I stayed in the darkness with him.

&&&&

I was screaming.

Why am I screaming?

Pain. So much pain.

Where am I?

I forced myself to open my eyes. I was restrained to a medical bed and there is sort of machine whirred around me.

I froze when I saw him. The Doctor. But he wasn’t alone. There are other people I didn’t recognize.

“We will have our forever, (name)…”

The Time Lord Victorious allowing the experiment on his so-called wife in order to prolong her lifespan.

I shouldn’t have put that thought about 'not having forever’ in his mind. Now I’m paying the price.

He didn’t lie. He didn’t harm me. He let them do the the dirty work for him.

I sobbed and screamed again.

A/N: I was listening to Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine on a loop while writing this hence the title.

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