#i’m seeing of montreal in a few days too probably going to shit my pants

[ducksstab]

yeah they music taped

#the music tapes #elephant 6 #i’m seeing of montreal in a few days too probably going to shit my pants

[aggresivelyfriendly]

If The World Was Ending-WNTC Non-Canon Outtake

Hi! So I had to! Hope you like it, if you do, come talk to me! Or scream at me. All my love to @dirtystyles, long live tripod writing!

Reblogs are love!

This didn't happen - but this song and the current state of affairs made me crazy enough to imagine it, and then Harry and Jo kept talking in my head. So, here we are!

Who Names The Colors Extra: If the World Was Ending.

She's scared. Fucking terrified, mostly because she has zero idea, not a single one about what is going to happen tomorrow, let alone what happens next, next week, next month, if there will be a next year.

Jo wants Harry.

Jo wants Harry in a way she has worked really hard not to. She has given him his life, the possibility of a future.

And now, in this moment when everyone's future is completely uncertain and maybe not going to resemble the world of yesterday, may not happen at all, she just, it doesn't fucking matter. The fact she can't give him a baby, that their ages made all the things she wanted for him possibly impossible, and all the family drama and tension is totally irrelevant. Feels totally unimportant. It doesn't fucking matter. She could get the virus on a market run and she could be sick for a few weeks, or she could stop breathing. She has no way of knowing which it will be, or how long life will be interrupted. She feels helpless, hopeless, future less.

It's probably not that dramatic. By next year, everyone may remember this like a nightmare. But right now, this moment, with cases climbing and death tolls ringing and a government completely fucking it all up, that seems far away and maybe not true.

Jo wants Harry.

If the world is ending, he's all she wants.

Maybe not all she wants, but the list is short. What she would do if this was it. She imagines the last night time especially. The things she'd do. Call her son in Greece, see him happy, scared but happy with Sean, and tuck her ever growing sassy pants daughter into bed, and come downstairs to tea Harry has made her.

His tea was always better, than all the tea she's made on her own. "Made with love's why." He'd smile and wink and dimple and melt her. In the fantasy, he's folding laundry or finishing dishes too. Because, God she misses the partnership she glimpsed too, and she's too tired to do it all alone most days. Though it's easier now that Zoe's school aged.

He'd help her, though, always did, while feeding, watering, fucking, and holding her through all the angst she is feeling. Through the sky falling.

She nearly calls him. But Jo has no idea, not an inkling of where he is in the world. She doubts he's still in Montreal. That was a year ago. It was meant to be a 6 month intensive program. There were others she submitted him for that she knows he was good enough to get into no matter when he rang them interested.

If he is abroad, that terrifies her, too. God, what if he's abroad, and can't get home? Or is sick, fuck, sick alone? Though he is in a low risk group she says out loud and wraps an arm around herself, squeezes her shoulder to distract from the contraction of her heart.

London, he might be in London. She knows he should move there, be part of the art scene. Jo is just not sure if that's where he is in his journey yet. She's not sure why she thinks she knows anything about where he is, or might go, or how he will chart the course to the future she forced on him, gifted him.

They talked about it, or course. They talked about everything. Except when they just understood.

London. If he's in London, it's cruel, because he won't be moving: lockdown orders have just gone out. He'd be so close but so far. Expats are flying in, going home and quarantining. This option had been offered to Ethan. But it didn't make sense for him and Sean, they were safe, and in the home they'd made. If Harry's abroad, unless he's shacked up, ouch, he'd come home to Anne. But, if Harry's in London, he's stuck away from his family. Unless he's settled and happy there instead. Anne might be ok with that state of affairs.

Jo's not.

She doesn't believe that, it's not been that long, since them, not really. She wants him to be happy, with somebody else, but not so soon. She's not over it remotely well enough to contemplate another body in her space, mind, or person. May never be able to fathom somebody not Harry.

She imagines Anne is out of her head worried.

Anne, she could just call Anne. It will be weird, but if it's just to check on Harry, she can do it. Only slightly, ridiculously awkward. But Anne knew, the devastation for both of them. She won't be wholly surprised. It's just a phone call to check on him, Harry never need know. Anne will not tell, Jo's sure. His mother wants them apart, forever.

Jo's heart squeezes again.

As a mother, she understands. As the unsuitable love of someone's life, well, she can't.

But, none of that matters. Because it feels like the world is ending. Jo just needs to know he's alright. First and foremost, that he is ok.  And then she needs to know something for herself. Her selfish self. That he'd come over if he could, to hold her and be with her the way they both wanted but couldn't have. Because none of the consequences matter, not right now.

He will not likely be able to get to her, so it's just the comfort of their love, or his huge heart all for her, still.

She's dialing Anne before she can stop herself. The land line, the one Anne gave her when she'd come to ream her, and had offered loving kindness instead.

"Hullo?" Her heart stops, stutters, blooms.

She hangs up.

Holy fuck, he is here. He is home in their little village. Good, good for Anne. "Oh my god!" She yells to the air, because now the proposition is real. The possible fulfillment and rejection, real. Would he come over, now the world's ending, stay the night? The rest of the horrible uncertain trials they are facing be damned, can go to hell, if he would come hold her tight. Her breathing is rapid and she's concentrating on slowing it down. God, what if he wouldn't come over. Had wised up, decided they weren't what she knew them to be.

What if he would come over?

Neither matter, in any case, she's hung up. It's ok, he doesn't need to know it was her.

The phone in her hand buzzes. Anne S. reads the call log. Does she answer?

How can she not? Her whole body feels better, knowing his is close. She sends it out to him, it overrides her nerves about everything, including answering. Even his presence, that she received via strong voice through the receiver, not weakened by sickness, worry, or sorrow, bolstered her. She feels better all ready. She might be able to have more though, than his calm. Jo might be able to have him, a real moment with him. Maybe lots of them, a day that feels like moments because of the way time suspends when they commune.

She catches the call just before it gets shunted to voicemail.

"Hello?" She says, her voice is thin, the only force in it, hope.

"Jo?" He gasps and her tears leak down their cheeks.

His voice. Her name on his lips.

"Hi!" She tries to steady her voice. It doesn't work and his breath tells her she's unsettled him.

"Is everything ok? Zoe ok? Why're you calling my mum?" He inhales loudly. "Sorry, that's rude. I just, god, wasn't expecting your call. Not that it's not lovely to hear your voice, baby."

They both suck in a breath at that. "I was..." How does she say this? "I was worried?"

"About my mum?" He asks, his voice lined with hope as well.

"Well, yes." She says, hopes he hears what she is not saying the way he always did.

He laughs suddenly with something like joy in his voice. "It's alright, I've already asked about you. So no need to be embarrassed." He swallows. "Ever."

"Yeah?" She asks.

"Yeah, you're a brave little thing, calling my mum to check on me." He teases.

"Um, she told me to call if I needed help, she was kind to me." Jo glances down. Shit, it's so late.

It was almost bed time, and their custody agreement didn't end, even in a pandemic. She needs to make sure Zoe hears her voice say she loves her. For the same reason she had called Anne. "I know where you get it from. She has every reason to dislike me—"

"She doesn't dislike you, nobody could dislike you, Jo."

"Oh, well, I think that's an opinion. You're biased." She stops herself.

"Because I love you?" He asks but keeps talking so she can't answer. "It's true though, you're impossible to dislike." He whispers. "Impossible not to love."

"Har- Harry." She looks at the ceiling and hears him groan. "I actually have to go, I didn't plan this at all." She sighs.

"Well, I assume you have nowhere to be?" God, he sounds light as a feather, she could fly.

"Yes and no. It's time for my goodnight call to Zoe. She's with Colin."

"She'll come home though, some point, right?" He asks, urgent. "I hate to think of you alone at a time like this? Where's..." He gulps. "Where's Ethan?" He sounds like he's swallowing glass.

"Greece, stayed there, he and Sean are safe, still able to work, so they stayed."

"Oh Jo!" He sighs. "Baby, are you all alone?"

"No, no, I'm not." Not really, just physically right now.

"Who're you with?" His voice is dark for a moment, thick like his voice box is coated in mud.

"With?" Oh! He thinks a man is with her. He's swallowing his reaction. "No one at the moment, I just, Zoe comes home Monday. But we were talking about initiating the summer schedule sooner." She slows down. That won't make sense to him, he's not privy to the details of her life anymore. Doesn't need to be. "But anyway. She's there and I like to call, have my voice be one of the last things she hears at the end of the day."

"And you need to see her face before you sleep. " It's not a question.

"Yeah, um, but I called you, your mum, without checking the time and her stories are probably over." She explains.

"Ok, that's, thats ok, thanks for calling, Jo." His heart is in his voice. That outsized prize in his chest. She wishes with her whole heart she could keep his.

"Yeah, bye, um bye, Harry." She swallows. Her own emotions coating her throat. "Take care, please." Can he hear the plea in her voice?

"You too." He says in a way she feels. Like all his unspoken hopes for her are in the two words. That she not just to survive the virus, but to be well, and happy, just not with anyone else. Jo's projecting. Those are her unspoken prayers for him. She pulls the phone away and the call ends on his end just before she touches the red button.

She never got to ask him, if he'd come over.

That's all well and good though, because it's real now. He could come over. He could not come over, too. Jo sits for a moment, the oxygen sucked out of the room. That would be worse, definitely devastating. It's good she didn't get to ask. She shakes her head, glances at the time on her phone. She needs to call Zoe.

Her daughter's bright face is a brilliant distraction. Though the pull of the call, Harry's call, the things he said, how he said them, and all the things they didn't say is stronger. Jo gets her motherly reassurance, and smiles for her baby, but her mind is elsewhere.

"Night bug! Can't wait to see you Monday!" Jo's heart squeezes and she signs off the zoom. The leave button feels so final. She keeps herself together when Zoe can see her, no matter what. She hates this, the entire custody thing, that it was necessary, and some days she hates that the entire thing happened. But she can't regret Zoe, or the divorce or everything after. She also can't regret that Colin decided somewhere along the way he wanted to be more involved, needed to be. Though some days, especially these weird isolation days, she hates that she can't just hunker down with her baby and be wrapped up in baking or tik tok dances or crafts, puzzles, whatever Zoe was into. Instead, she has to be separated from her bud.

She sighs and pulls her old bones off the ottoman; she's tired. The nightly routine done by rote while she yawns, flicks lights and clicks locks.

Her heart stops and then defribullates when she gets to the back door.

Through the triple diamond shaped glass is his unmistakable shape.

Harry.

Because if the world is ending he'd come over, right?

"Harry?" The question is only in her voice, not in her heart. Course he'd come.

"Miss Jo." She must make a face, because he steps forward and takes her hand. "Jo, I..." He looks for words to say, "I thought we could paint," he tries to smile for her. "or something?" God, he looks like every dream she's had of him, mostly. He's different, it's been a year. He's shorn his locks, his hair is almost high and tight. His lovely hair gone, she mourns it, the silk of it through her fingers, like water rippling on her skin.

The cut looks good on him, of course it does, everything does. His jaw is exposed, his cheekbones amplified, and the green of his eyes is so golden, she's rich. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." She blurts out, because of course the answer is always yes. Yes Harry, have me, my life, my always. But not at the cost of yours. Have my right now.

What is anyone's always right now?

Which is why they are here.

So, now he is in her kitchen and they stare at each other. There was a time, she recalls, when he would have her on the table, or at least a stool by now. But, it's been a while and a lot of time and broken heartbeats have passed.

"Tea?" She offers for something to do; she sets about making his brew when he nods. Her hands and feet carry her around her kitchen without much thought while she concentrates on what happens next. He's come over, right. Now what? She's waiting for the whistle, when he steps close behind her. His heat warms her for a bit. She forgets she's out of her depth, least his body is familiar, but, "you smell different." She can't stop herself saying.

"I had to change it." He smells her hair. "The other reminded me of you. All the times you mentioned it." He swallows. "You smell the same."

I couldn't change it, it reminds me of you. "Yeah," is all she says. When his arms come around her waist and his chin hooks over her shoulder, Jo feels lighter than she has in, well it's been more than a year.

"How you doing, baby?" He asks against her cheek. And he is not asking about right in this moment, it's everything, how's her art, and her kids, and their relationships, and her job, and most of all her missing him?

The smile takes her face. "I'm alright actually. Really." She summons her courage, says. "I miss you, all the time." She turns and wraps her arms around his neck, her face laying against her bicep, so she can gift herself a view of his face anytime, when she is ready.

Harry kisses her temple. "Me too." And they stay like that, resting in the embrace like it's a balm on a healing wound, for long deep breaths of each other.

When the kettle blows, she pulls her face back and offers him a peck. He smiles before softly bussing her lips and loosening his arms to let her turn around. He eventually has to let his arms drop as she busies herself making the tea - the leaves, and the dunk - serious business. He follows her to the fridge when she gets out the milk. "Same?" She looks at him, he's been looking at her since he arrived, he's always looking at her, in his mind's eye, or on canvas.

"I forgot how beautiful you are." Her gaze drops and she's so glad she got the gall to call his mother. Knows when they have to part again it will be worth it, to have had him in this moment of uncertainty. He is her constant.

She was never more certain than of her feelings for him, his for her.

"Not to steal your words, but me too." The moment's not awkward, just leaden, she rolls her eyes and smiles at him, "now then, same tea?" They do tension like she can't believe, every moment pregnant with possibility.

"'Course, it's not been that long. Only my geography has changed." That makes her almost spill the milk, he means geography like a map. Jo she never thinks of his geography as where he lives, she thinks of the body she mapped under his clothes. Her territory.

"Has it?" She asks and places the milk down, slips her hands under his t shirt to check.

It's bold. She's only ever been so fearless, selfish, with him.

He catches on quickly and the smug smile creases his cheeks in the way that always got her wet. Still. "Would you like to check?"

He doesn't actually give her a chance to answer, his hand is in her hair and he's taken her mouth. She knocks over the milk, the lid isn't tight and drops leak out.

It's both uncharted and the only home she's known. He kisses the same, but tastes just a bit different, like he has a new diet with new habits. Things she might not know, but she does know that when he nips the middle of her lip, it mean he wants her to open her mouth. Jo pulls back to look up at him instead. The thumb on her jaw drops to her neck and the possession makes her weak.

"Lover?" It's a question. His eyes close and he puts his forehead to hers and kisses the tip of her nose. "Har-Harry?" That ones a provocation.

It works. He hoists her up onto the sink sill and jostles the tea cups. Milky tea on the homely countertops.

"We're making a mess!" Harry whispers, breath over her lips.

"Didn't we always?" The color of his eyes is devastating.

"Let's go make a different mess, baby." She nods and he lifts her back up his hips and takes the familiar journey to her bedroom. He walks the counted steps from memory, consumed in the kiss, when his knees don't meet the mattress, his eyes pop open. "Where's the bed?"

Jo points.

Harry stops and looks around. "It's different."

"Yeah." She sighs. She supposes she is negating this change a bit. But this feels like a reprieve and she hopes it's a balm instead of a burn to her missing him muscles. "I miss you. All the time—" She starts to explain.

"Yeah, me too." He interrupts.

"I missed you so much at first I had to, to.."

"I know, baby." He kisses right over her heart. Pulls her arms free and her top over her head. Repeats the kiss. "Of course, I know."

That's the bitch of it all, he does know. He knows everything, all about her, every inch of the body he uncovers. He mapped the curve of her waist, knows that the underside of her breasts makes her writhe when he runs his chin over it, arch when he licks it, and tremble when he sucks. The replay is the same on her nipples, only forceful. It makes her react like a taut bow, she may buck him away. He keeps her still through it, to endure the activation of his prior knowledge . The nips and swirls and eye contact while he favors her breasts, all the things he remembers how to do to her.

Her hips are pistoling. She knows what she needs, has needed for too long to remember how this feels. Too recent, resplendent, to ever forget.

But Jo also knows Harry, and he's in a patient mood. Or worshipful, she supposes. His favorite ritual he is about to perform on her body.

His rite takes him over her belly. Earlier, the lack of curls on his head had only given her a momentary ache, until they didn't make tendrils of fire over her abdomen, slither through the crease of her thigh when he made his way down to start on his knees, at her feet. Her supplicant. The caress to her instep is the beginning of his atonement. The attention to the bends of her knees and then the back of her thighs is a confession.

He adores her ass, and her back. She's onto her knees and pushing back into his body when he gets to her upper shoulders. The supplication is too much to bear and she needs more, every inch of him to merge with her, divine their purpose.

"Har-Harry! Please?" She can feel all of his length in the crack of her ass and it's not where she wants him, but he can do anything he wants with her. It is all a prayer, their worship, even his denial of her pleas. Her glides along him draw a grunt though, gnaws at his patience. She's proud but disconcerted. He's not talking? He always made a joyful noise when he loved her before. "Lover, you ok?"

"I'm," he catches her chin and turns her face into him. "I'm awestruck, Jo."

Their lips mingle just after the breath of his speech ends. She feels him shift behind her, line himself up, anoint his dick with her dew. "Baby?" He asks. She kisses him in an ecstatic state, nods like a sinner taking the wafer , even before he presses the tip in. When he does, she shivers in delight as they commune.

"Oh, lover!" She sings a hymn to their homecoming. Her melody and verse are sighs and moans. He harmonizes with her. Comes to a near crescendo, leads her to a refrain, slower, changes the song. She's on her back now, wide open and ready to receive his message. Instead, he rhapsodizes down her front body again, the chorus quicker. Her cunt is the receiver of his word, and his tongue does something magical while he leads her to the pre chorus. "Oh Harry. Your mouth!" She babbling and praying he doesn't stop, does stop, don't stop, please stop, until she cries an hallelujah.

Thank God she called.

She baptizes him when he takes her through the shakes back to heaven.

Her trance like state is barely broken when he comes to join her, join them. "Jo, you're glorious. I love you!" He swears his oath when he brings them back together. All of him within all of her, and creation too. She grips his face while he rocks into her, needing to see the riches of his eyes. The gold is electric there and she knows he will always come for her, her gold standard. That though he thought their preciousness gone, it was just underneath the weight of the world on top of them.

Now with him on top of her, they've found a new deposit. A shorter vein of richer gold.

They have to relish it, this gift, heaven on earth before it's over.

He does that thing, takes them to that plane, where time doesn't matter, the pandemic makes time sort of irrelevant anyway. What are mere hours between pilgrims?

They go through transfigurations, she's the altar, then the priest. Then him. In all sorts of shapes, their te deum unfolds, refolds, comes undone.

Jo is undone beneath him, unmade, and exhumed as his.

"You're so golden, Jo." He whispers into her ear when his joy and his energy run out.

He falls asleep on top of her, a fugue in the continuing rhapsody this interlude gifted them.

She cries a little, tears of joy. She doesn't want him to go yet. Not until Zoe comes home. That's when their clock runs out, their world ends. It's not fair to put her through it. Zoe missed him so much when he left. Asked about him ceaselessly, them regularly, still rarely.

Jo tells him so. "I'd like you to stay, through Sunday."

He holds her close and nods to nonexistent music in answer. The whole weekend is a symphony to what was, could be.

Some of their overtures are meals cooked for each other, cuddles on the couch, cusses in her bedchamber, a long afternoon with clothes on their backs and paintbrushes in their hands until they found a favored canvas in each other's skin.

He filled in the half heart he found on her with his tears, then with his kisses.

"Let's make a bigger one?" He suggested, and they used her camera, painted their paired halves whole on each other and photographed it. There are a few without looking their faces she will print out and frame, or put into one of the art books she is selling. She loves them so much, that they were complete for a while, she has to have proof.

They call each other by name, a lot. The names vary with the theme, the moment.

But, above all, Jo realizes he is the one she'd call, if she had only moments left. She'd spend them with him.

Their coda is her call and his response.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #wntc feeeeels #wntc #who names the colors #if the world was ending #if the world was ending- extra

[anotherfiveyears]

10: Carry That Weight

The long hallway gave him time to watch her as she walked ahead of him. She was definitely taller than he remembered her, though she was wearing heels. It was like she had grown into her body, the sharp angles were now soft curves and the young adorableness had morphed into the fox in front of him. He was staring at the way her ass moved in her tight dress when he noticed she was limping a little like she was favoring a hurt hip or leg. Had she fought off the swamp monster to get his wallet back and been injured? Maybe he needed to take her to get a rabies shot. He laughed at his own joke and she turned to give him a questioning look.

"You okay?" he asked, biting back his smile. "You're limping a little."

"Yeah, just a bit sore," she said quickly, then stopped in front of a door marked 2112. "You know it's funny, I totally thought of you when they gave me the Rush room."

"How the hell did you even get this?" She was only nineteen, there was no way they'd rent to her alone.

She shot him a wicked smile. "My ID says I'm 25."

He nodded at her but was still thinking about her limp. Had he hurt her when they... she wasn't limping before they... wait... oh fuck. Oh, fucking shit. Oh no. "Anna...," he asked carefully, his voice shaking a bit, "back there... at the club... us... was that...?"

She played dumb as she dug for her hotel keys in her bag, "Was it what?"

"Was that your first time?"

She cleared her throat and turned the key. "Sorry, I probably wasn't much fun," she said quietly.

He stood dazed in the hallway, replaying the night in his head. He had actually taken her virginity on some filthy desk in the back of a dingy dive bar and he hadn't been very nice about it. The sound she made when he was first inside of her rang in his ears, making him cringe.

"Are you gonna come in or can I close the door?" she asked.

He mechanically walked into the room, barely registering that she had lied about having two beds and slumped onto the lone queen sized bed. "Anna, I'm so sorry. If I had known..." he looked around as if the room would explain for him. If he had known he wouldn't have touched her, he would have left well enough alone and said his goodbyes then and there, let some other idiot have what he himself didn't deserve.

"Don't be sorry," she said, leaning against the bed to take her heels off. "I'm glad it's over with."

"But it wasn't... you know... romantic," he replied, feeling like an idiot when she laughed loudly.

"So it's not always like that!" she teased. "I'm gonna take a shower... unless you want to go first?"

He shook his head and waved her off, wanting to be alone with his self-loathing. The shower churned on and the sound of water splashing off skin drifted into the bedroom. He listened for a moment before thinking maybe he could make it up to her. Shrugging out of his clothes, he quietly slipped into the shower behind her. He felt his heart in his throat at the sight of her, but his stomach dropped when he noticed the wisps of blood circling the drain. She stared back at him with wide eyes, pulling her long hair off her back and over her shoulder to try and cover herself just a little. She looked scared and a little shy, but without all the makeup and tight clothes, she was his Annie again.

All it took was one arm outstretched for him and he was on her, kissing every inch of skin he could reach while she held him to her. This time he was gentle, holding her up against the tile wall and easing into her as if she were made of glass. Her nails dug into him again, though this time it wasn't from pain. He smiled against her lips, thinking he would forego a shirt at his next gig to let everyone see her scratches on his skin before remembering there were no more gigs for him. The band was done and so was he. Maybe he should forget Seattle and take Anna home. They could get married and start on those eight kids he had promised her so many years ago. But the thought of him being a washed-up musician at 21 made him falter and Anna gasped when he suddenly pulled back, setting her feet back on the shower floor.

"We should go to bed," he said quietly, unable to meet her eyes. He wanted to just go to sleep and get this hellish night over with.

"I guess I have a lot to learn," she tried to laugh it off while handing him a towel, but her smile didn't linger any longer than it needed to.

They dropped side by side onto the bed and lay staring at the ceiling for a while before Anna was the first to speak.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He groaned and lifted his hands to cover his face. "No..." If this wasn't the worst day of his life so far, it was definitely in the top five.

Clearly embarrassed, she yanked the sheets up and around her neck making him feel even more guilty than before.

"Come here," he muttered, hoping that just putting his arm around her would ease her anxiety. He was exhausted, but the moment he felt her against him he knew his body would think otherwise.

"David?" her whisper trembled a little. He answered by pressing his lips into her forehead, then wondering what in the hell possessed him to do so.

"I'm glad it was you," she breathed.

"Yeah, me too." He was glad that it was him for several reasons, most of them selfish. Tilting her chin up to kiss her lips, he wondered if there was a way to tell Craig Williams that Anna had chosen him after all.

In a fit of bravery, she threw her leg over his hips and trailed kisses down his neck to his chest. Fearing she would continue south he held her to him, mumbling something vaguely romantic about wanting to kiss her instead. Truthfully, he was scared she would show some skill in that field and he would always wonder who she had practiced on.

She surprised him again by sitting up and looking down at him with her bottom lip between her teeth. "Okay so how do I...?"

He couldn't help but laugh at her. She was so innocent, yet didn't feel the need to hide it. "Jesus, Anna," he chuckled. If she wanted lessons, he was now a more than willing instructor.

"Sorry," she giggled a little but her eyes went wide when he sat up, bringing them face to face again.

With one hand positioning himself beneath her and the other holding her arm, he guided her down until he was fully sunk in her. He watched her unsuccessfully hide the pain on her face and gently kissed her. "It won't always hurt," he promised.

Anna let out a long breath and smiled, careful not to move her hips too much. "Oh, thank god."

He shifted a little beneath her, watching her eyes close and lips part just so. He thought she couldn't be any sexier than she was right then because she wasn't trying. She let her damp hair fall in her face and he raked it back with his fingers, holding her head to pull her into a kiss while gripping her hip to guide her into a rhythm.

A shadow of a smile graced her lips as he dragged his thumb along her jaw. "Something funny?"

"Just trying not to think about what made you so good at this," her smile now a full grin. "Or who..."

"Whoever she was, she wasn't as sexy as you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical of his comment but also encouraged by it as she began to move at her own speed while shoving him back down to the bed. He watched her for a bit, letting her find a pace she liked and committing it to memory before copying her move and pushing her backward onto the foot of the mattress. Her hair fanned out around her as she giggled and a familiar sense of happiness spread through him. She might have been a virgin just a few hours ago, but he was new to this as well. He had never been with someone he actually cared about. All the times before it was a fleeting moment in some van or crash pad, once under the actual stage his friends were performing on, but they were never comfortable enough to laugh together or hold a conversation during or after. He resumed her original pace, hoping she was getting as close as he was.

"David...," she panted, her voice strained and tense like the rest of her.

He turned his head to whisper in her ear, "Relax, baby. I've got you."

She was hesitant but the moment she did as she was told, she hit her peak. Ever the heart of the rhythm section, he kept his steady pace as she rode out the storm raging inside of her. The incoherent moans gradually became decipherable and her words led him straight to his own edge. David, I missed you so much, I should have never-, I never wanted to-, oh, David. Where her words were ardent and lustful, his were sharp and needy. Fuck, Anna, I missed you too, I needed you, no one ever felt as good as this...

He didn't realize until the moment his hips ground to a stop against her that he wasn't just fucking his teenage sweetheart, he was making love to her. He waited for the regret that blindsided him earlier at the bar, but it never came. Just a sense of calm accomplishment that he was responsible for the dreamy smile on her face.

"What was that?" she whispered, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.

"You've never done that either?" he laughed and rolled off of her. Should have stuck with me, Annie. I would have shown you that years ago, he thought.

She shook her head, "Can we do it again?"

"You? Yes. Me? No," he might have been only 21, but he was spent. He curled up next to her and pulled her close, resisting the urge to kiss her again. "Can I ask you something?" he whispered. She shifted a little in his arms and he felt her nod against his shoulder. "Why did you wait so long? Why didn't you sleep with Craig Williams?" He was surprised that the name still felt like venom on his tongue. Jimmy had mentioned one night in a drunken phone call that Anna had been a few dates with him and that it looked like they were in love, resulting in David destroying his kit at a gig in Montreal.

"It just never felt right."

"And some dirty back room in a bar did?"

"It just...," she said softly. "You felt right. I didn't think this is how it would happen, but... I don't know. Maybe subconsciously, I was waiting for you to come home."

"Will you at least tell me why you never took my calls?"

She smiled sadly and traced his collarbone with her fingertips. "This is your thing, David. You're a musician and you belong out there, away from Virginia. We both know that girlfriends only stand in the way of that and we both know I won't be that girl."

"You couldn't have told me that at the airport?" he remembered how badly that hurt, pathetically waiting for her in front of his new bandmates only for them to tease him all the way to fucking Germany.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "I couldn't break up with you at the airport. I thought it would be easier if I just didn't go."

He laughed sharply and rolled away from her, "Well you thought wrong."

"You've been okay though," she offered, propping herself onto an elbow. "You're in a great band, you've released an album... Dad can't keep it in stock at the shop," she added softly.

"He's not hiring is he?" he asked bitterly, staring up at the ceiling.

She was quiet for a moment and then asked, "Band break up?"

"Bassist ditched us this morning."

"So now what?"

"I have one option, but it's a long shot," he shrugged.

"I'm headed home in a couple days if you want to tag along," she offered.

"Thanks, but the audition is in Seattle," he suddenly remembered that she had retrieved his stolen wallet from the swamp monster. "Thanks to you I just might get there."

She smiled at that and leaned down to kiss his cheek, "They're going to love you."

**

He woke before the sun came up the next morning, wrapped tightly around Anna's heavily sleeping frame. Staying motionless as long as he could stand it, he soaked up everything about her even though he knew it would hurt like a motherfucker later. He gradually unwound himself from her, tucking her tightly into the bed among the pillows and blankets before getting dressed. It took everything he had in him, but he didn't look back before leaving and locking the door behind him.    

#anotherfiveyearsfic

[austinpanda]

Our Plan Requests A Do-Over

News Alert: Z and I are rethinking our decision to move to Spokane. Specifically, the Spokane part. Spokane has many fine qualities, but it occurred to me that we picked it for reasons that bear scrutiny. As near as I can tell, we picked Spokane because:

We had a good time when we visited Seattle, and appreciated their refreshing zeal for not incarcerating pot heads. We would like to have moved there, but it’s too expensive. Spokane was the cheaper alternative.

The weather, which would include a few snow storms each year. Then again, Spokane was supposed to have a high of 107 degrees today, so my guess is, the snows will stop once we get there thanks to global warming.

Parts of it are pretty, access to mountains, scenic beauty during each of the FOUR seasons, etc.

So, we wanted to move to Spokane because it was inexpensive Seattle, and had a bit more snow, and natural beauty, mountains, etc. It occured to me yesterday that other places, too, may have snow, weed, and nature shit. And if we’re willing to move to Spokane, Washington from Austin, Texas, then we’ve established we’re okay moving pretty much anywhere in the continental US of A.

So we began, as you might expect, by looking at a map of the country showing which states had legalized medical and (potentially important) recreational marihuana. We want cold weather, we want to be close to Canada, and we want to be able to afford a non-embarrassing home. And we want some pretty nature shit about.

A word on weed: In case it needs explaining, this is something (weed) that I feel strongly about. I have reasons. I don’t particularly like doing anything illegal, because pound-me-in-the-ass prison. I’m in Texas, after all. I assume certain counties are within the law to execute me by firing squad for having a doobie in the cup holder. So if there’s a place in my own country where I can engage in my passionate pursuit and not have to do so outside the law, I think nothing could make more sense than to go there, and find a life, and consume the stupid drugs, and just do my best to make sure I’m not using it as a gateway drug to heroin, or giving it to kids (who should have to pay for it, like everyone else), or using it before driving the school bus, or whatever.

We endeavored to force ourselves to look around the country for other places that matched the criteria we want. And it turns out, if you don’t want the top left corner of the country, the top right corner might work too, so...Maine.

There are drawbacks. I’m pretty sure Maine still has that pants-crapping insane asshole of a governor who once said Obama hates white people. And (got this second hand from husband) the asshole governor has twice vetoed the weed, but a third attempt is occurring, and it looks to have succeeded, and dispensaries should open by the spring of next year, 2019, just in time for my 50th birthday.

Maine has lots and lots of snow. It has scenic beauty. It’s halfway surrounded by Canada, and almost all the cities in Maine are small and look like a Christmas postcard. And, it has something I never really dared to dream for; it’s a day’s drive to New York city. And it’s about a half day’s drive to Boston, which I assumed I’d never see. Cape Cod, the North Atlantic, Vermont, Nova Scotia, Montreal...It would all be shit I could drive to.

So now we don’t know what city we want to move to, and thus, we’re a bit fucking tortured by this. However! Now that the weekend is about to start, we’re going to set a goal, and it’s probably going to be to pick a state. Washington, or Maine, or...other. Any input is welcome.

#spokane #maine #gaza #honduras

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 13) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 75, Part I”

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Rob Russells, Julian Casablancas, Peter Collins  & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Slow burn, some touchin’, some dirty talking, fluff, kissing, cursing, i assumeeeee..

A.N.: I’ve written three chapters of Mitch and Y/N on their first day in New York, while on break, so far and they are literally my favorite things in the world. I hope you enjoy them too.

Summary: The recruits get released for a weeklong Spring break. Mitch and Y/n go to New York.

Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen

"Alright, Y/n, what do you have?" Stan asked, standing in the front of their classroom. You had done this three years in a row now and already knew that your cover story worked. "I am going to go up to Manhattan to see my friends from Columbia and just like the past two years, my cover is that I work for the State Department and work overseas a lot and that's why I am never all that accessible and cannot talk about my work in detail."

"And as always, that works for me.. Enjoy your break." Stan said, as you sat down and folded your arms, waiting for the next person to share their cover story. "Remember, the cover story needs to be good enough that it could be real but won't elicit too many unanswerable questions from even your nosiest family member. It's for your protection, their protection and the protection of the Agency... Who's next? Julian?"

Julian stood. "I am also going up to Westchester in New York to see my parents, and they think I am coming back from a Syrian relief mission to see them for five days... Then I leave to go back."

"Have you been to Syria?" Stan asked.

"No, sir."

"Then how are you going to answer questions that they have about what you've seen over there?" Stan pushed, trying to find the ways in which Julian's cover could be blown.

"I was going to read the New York Times on the train up, sir. My parents aren't naturally inquisitive people. If I embellish what I've read in the papers, that will be enough to upset my mother and force my father to drop the subject altogether. Plus, now that I can speak some Arabic, I think they'll be convinced."

"And if they want to see pictures?"

"I'm not over their to take pictures, sir. They can google what Aleppo looks like these days themselves." Julian spoke dryly and mouthed off all the time. Stan wasn't fond of him, but you always thought he was funny. You chuckled in your seat as Julian answered all of Stan's questions in a monotone voice

Stan shook his head. "Fine, you can go. Sit down." He scanned the room. "Clemens."

"I am going home to Wisconsin to see my family. I was an attorney in Madison before I came here, so I'll tell them that I have been trying to pass the Bar here in Virginia so that I can become a Supreme Court lawyer. They'd understand why I haven't spoken to them if I was studying."

"You'd have a better chance of me letting you go to Mexico and hire prostitutes than you going home with that shit excuse for a cover story. Sit down. Think of something better and you can leave, but until then: no Wisconsin for you." Clemens raised his hands in the air in front of him, gesturing like he didn't know what was wrong with that story. Stan pointed to Rob, and Clemens sat back down. Rob explained how he wasn't leaving town because his parents were on vacation so he was planning on trolling D.C. bars for girls. Stan reminded him that he still needed a cover story, and made Rob sit down. "Mitch."

Mitch stood, folding his arms in front of him. You tried to hide your excitement over the way that his hands, when folded under, made his biceps look even bigger. You blinked a few times, unable to keep the grin off of your face, and quietly put your head in your arms on the table in front of you. "You good, Y/n?" Julian leaned over and whispered.

"Mhmm. Just tired." You mumbled without raising your head.

"I'm going up to see my brother and he thinks that I have been traveling for the past year and a half, but before I actually did that, I got a job at the State Department, so I was going to use that as my cover too."

"Alright, very good. You can go." Stan said, then moved on to the last two trainees. Mitch sat back down and looked at you, head still buried in your arms, and chuckled to himself. "The shuttle leaves in a half hour and it will bring you to downtown D.C. You can get to the train station or airports or car rental places from there, and we'll see you back here in a week. For those of you who did not get permission, I leave tonight, I will drive you downtown if you can come up with a better cover before 1900 hours. You're dismissed."

Everyone began to disperse, and Mitch watched as Stan walked up to you and Julian.

"Have a good break, Julian. Y/n can I have a word?"

You nodded and stopped. "What's up?"

"Are you sure that you don't want to come down with us? I know Meredith and the boys would love to see you."

"Yea, I haven't seen my friends in so long, I just wanted to hang out."

"Are you going to see Beth when you're up there?" Stan asked about his daughter.

"Oh, Beth isn't going to be in North Carolina with you guys?" You lied. You knew Beth was going to be in New York because you were introducing Beth to Mitch this weekend.

"She was supposed to but couldn't get out of work.... if I can't convince you to come to the Outer Banks, can I at least convince you to take your car up? You don't have to take the train."

"I wanna take the train, Stan. It's fine." You told him, not divulging that you wanted to take the train because Mitch was taking the train.

"Alright, kiddo. I'll see you in a week then."

"Say hi to Aunt Mere and everyone else for me." You smiled.

You spotted Mitch, Julian and a few other trainees in the large ticket window area of D.C.'s Union Station. You looked up at the board and saw that the Amtrak train to New York City's Penn Station was finally boarding. You picked up your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, and handed the ticket agent your boarding pass. You glanced to a parallel boarding line and saw Mitch. You bashfully smiled and took your ticket back. You sat down in a two-seater against the window and placed your bag on the seat next to you.

"I love that you pick the one that doesn't have any seats behind it."

You looked up and grinned. "I like to know what's going on around me. It's not like I can just take the spy hat off.." You fake whispered and then watched as Mitch stuffed both of your bags in the overhead compartments, his shirt and jacket lifting just enough to tease you with his abs and happy trail. Just enough to turn you on. You bit your lip and ran your hand up your leg as Mitch sat back down. He saw the desire in your eyes.

"Oh... someone's in a mood." Mitch said with a grin as he rested his left hand on your knee.

"I'm just excited to be with you and you look so good, and I.." You couldn't even finish your sentence without attacking him with a kiss. You pressed your body against his, feeling his hand run up your leg and just under the hem of your short navy blue leather skirt. You felt his right hand hook it's fingers into your hair as he pulled you harder against his lips. His tongue pushed in between your lips as you slipped your fingers through the neck of his button-embellished gray thermal shirt and dug your fingers into his shoulder. Mitch stopped to catch his breath, and pressed his forehead against yours.

"Oh god." He whispered between huffs. "Don't bite your lip at me like that. This outfit is killing me enough as is." Mitch grinned and shook his head at you. You were wearing a short and tight navy blue leather skirt, a loose and semi-sheer marled gray t-shirt, gray knee-high socks, black booties and a black lace bra that you could see through your shirt; your favorite bomber jacket was hanging on a hook next to the window.

You grinned from ear to ear as you rubbed his thigh over his khaki pants, purposefully trying to still turn him on. "But I'm just so excited about our week away. I want to get started now." You pouted and fake whined.

"Y/n, trust me, if it wasn't the middle of the morning and this train wasn't packed with people, you'd be in my lap with your tight little pussy riding my cock right now."

"Promise?" You bit your lip since you couldn't be biting his.

"Promise." Mitch pulled you in for a peck on the cheeks and then leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes and holding your hand in your lap so that you couldn't rub up on him anymore. He needed to calm down or else he probably would find a way to fuck you right then.

"Shit..."

Mitch opened his eyes and felt you yank your hand out of his. "What?" He looked at you and you were staring out the window.

"Of all the cars on this train, he had to get on this one? Are you kidding?" You whispered, while pointing in the direction of the aisle in the middle of the car, but not looking away from the window. Mitch saw Julian placing his bag in the compartment above his seat. Mitch nodded at Julian and Julian nodded back, then sat down on the opposite end of the train car.

"All aboard. The 9:13AM train from Union Station, District of Columbia to Montreal, Quebec, making stops in Baltimore, Dover, Philadelphia, Trenton, New York City, Albany, Buffalo, and finally Montreal. We will be departing the station in approximately three minutes. All aboard. Conductors, please check your signals." The announcement broke over the speakers.

"Is it weird that we're sitting together or do you think he saw anything?" You asked, worry spreading across your face.

Mitch shook his head. "I think it's fine... and Julian is your friend, right?"

"I mean, yea, but you never know what people will do."

"It'll be fine." Mitch gave you a quick smile. Then stood back up. "You want your book?"

You shook your head. "I'm going to catch up with the news on my phone." You watched as Mitch reached back up into the compartment, his shirt lifting again, and dropped Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo on the seat, the latest book that you had given him to read. "You are seriously going to have to sit down. I'm gonna maul you, and now I really can't since Julian is sitting right over there." Mitch grinned, closed the compartment and took off his jacket. "Oh, seriously?! You're doing this on purpose." You huffed and sat back in your seat, feeling the train jolt forward as it started on its journey.

Mitch tried to rest his coat on top of your silky bomber, but both ended up falling off the hook and onto the floor with a thud. "Sorry, babe. Do you want your phone?" Mitch asked as he bent over and picked up your jackets.

"Yes please." You said as you watched him hang his coat on the hook first.

He fished in your pockets and pulled out your phone and keys. "Why do you have so many keys?" Mitch asked, confusion spreading on his face as he saw you take them out of his hand. He hung your jacket on top of his and sat back down next to you.

"Well, this is to the garage." You began flipping through the keys, about a dozen in total. "These are the keys to Stan's office and then the master key to all of the buildings at The Barn. This is to Beth's house, and this is to the Hurley's house in Virginia, where I lived. This is the key to my safety deposit box and my P.O. Box. This is the key to my Dad's hangar, and this is the one to the safe that holds all the car keys, and this is the one for the LES apartment." You tucked the keys back into your pocket after listing them off.

"What?"

You laughed. "What can I say? I'm welcome a lot of places."

"Your Dad's hangar and what Lower East Side apartment?" Mitch looked confused.

You inhaled and then looked at Mitch. "So you saw the BMW the other night. It was my Dad's. He collected vintage cars and cars he thought were cool. I inherited all of them, and Stan picked out the BMW from the lot and gave it to me when I got my driver's license in high school, and it's just the one I use the most often. I was actually thinking that if you and Steven wanted, I would bring you to the hangar tomorrow, let you see the cars... maybe take one of them out and we could drive it the rest of the week?"

Mitch smirked. "Steve would lose his shit if you did that." You smiled and nodded. "What’s the apartment though?"

You pursed your lips and pulled at your socks. Mitch took your hand in his when he saw you fidgeting. You smiled up at him again. "I still own the apartment that I grew up in."

"Really?"

You nodded. "It's this big two story penthouse in this tall, old building downtown and my Mom grew up there, and when her Dad died, she got the deed, and when my Mom died, I got the deed.... I literally haven't been there in years though. It's fully furnished and everything, I just can't bring myself to sell it."

Mitch half frowned. "Did you live there in college?"

"No, I rented a place in South Harlem, closer to campus. The only people who have been there since I was in high school are the cleaning crew that I hired to come in once a month and dust and kill the spiders, whatever."

"Do you ever plan on moving in there?"

"Maybe one day. It's a beautiful building and a nice area. We can drive by it if you want."

Mitch shrugged, not wanting to make you do anything you were uncomfortable with. "It's up to you... What do you want to do while we're up here?"

A smile spread back across your face, and you let out an excited moan. "Ugh, everything. Well, I want to hang out with Steven, I want to see 1984 on Broadway, I wouldn’t mind taking a drive out to either the Hudson Valley or Long Island, and I promised I'd hang out with one of my girlfriends from college, so you can spend the day with Steven that day. I want pizza from John's on Bleeker, oh my god, just like a donut from Dunkin Donuts, meatballs from The Meatball Shop, cake from Herb in Chelsea, vietnamese food from Jimmy's downtown, Shake Shack... oh my god, I read that there is a Shake Shack in Penn Station now, if we could make that our first stop, I'd love you forever." You didn't even realize what you said as you rambled on about all that you wanted to do while you were home.

Mitch smiled, but didn't say anything. He wanted to kiss you but could feel Julian watching from a distance. "So basically, you want to eat?"

You pressed your lips together tightly, furrowed your brow and nodded. "I am so sick of the food at The Barn."

Mitch laughed and went to kiss you, but stopped half way through, realizing what he was doing. Instead, he leaned past you and pulled the curtain closed. He hoped that was subtle enough, and that Julian hadn't caught his near slip. He licked his lips and leaned back in the seat, reclining the chair back. "We can definitely do all of that."

"I also would like to have a lot of sex." You looked at him seriously.

"Steve's going to love that." Mitch laughed.

"Yea, we may have to get a hotel room.." You said, as you reached for your phone and began scrolling through The Associated Press' news app.

The next chapter is literally one of my favorite chapters I will ever write. Day 75 is the literal best. Also, now I’m hungry. :(

@chivesoup @confidentrose @alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @kalista-rankins @parislight @cleverassbutt @damndaphneoh @mgpizza2001 @chionophilic-nefelibata @ninja-stiles @sarcasticallystilinski @teenage-dirtbagbaby @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @alizaobrien @twsmuts @rrrennerrr @sorrynotsorrylovesome @lovelydob @iknowisoundcrazy @5secsxofamnesia @vogue-sweetie @dylrider @ivette29 @therealmrshale @twentyone-souls @sunshineystilinski @snicketyssnake @xsnak-3x @eccentricxem @inkedaztec @awkwarddly @lightbreaksthrough @maddie110201 @hattyohatt @amethystmerm4id @completebandgeek

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #the recruit aa #dylan o'brien #mitch rapp fan fic #mitch rapp smut #mitch rapp fluff #american assassin au #american assassin fan fic #the recruit #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski #mieczyslaw stilinski #teen wolf #fan fiction #fan fic writing #fan fic #the maze runner #were-cheetah-stiles #stuart twombly #dave hodgman

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK]

[EF.com LINK]

I actually didn't see much of her for the next week. First and foremost, because Comeau took a week off to go do something arty so his shifts fell in my lap, and secondly because…

Well, I don't know. She just wasn't around. It started to worry me after the first few days. Did I just act too surly and actually drive away the only ray of sunshine in my otherwise drab world? Listen to me wax fucking poetic. Been talking to Steph too much, maybe.

But when she popped back up again, it was where I was least expecting it.

I had gone into Tim Horton's to use the washrooms — that's all, I think they're just barely better than the swill at Starbucks and equally overpriced. While I was peeing, I heard from the next stall…

"KIM?!"

So this next thing isn't all that easy for me to tell you about. I let out a HUGE fart. I mean, she literally scared it out of me so I think I can be forgiven, but the entire washroom went pretty quiet right after that was pretty loud. Just about the most embarrassing moment of my short, sweet existence.

Clearing my throat, I tried to make my voice higher and reedier, like an old lady's voice. "Sorry, dear, I don't know who Kim is!"

"Come on, Kim, I know it's you! I can see that freckle on your toe!" My toes scrunched in on themselves, digging into the flip flops. "Too late!"

"Why would you even have noticed that?!" I demanded, hating that she caught me like this. Seriously, if the toilet flushed and sucked me down into an unknown subspace pocket, I'd have been grateful.

"Last week, while we were kicking back at your coffee table and listening to music?" Her running shoes scuffed nervously at the tile. "Noticed you have a freckle there since we weren't doing much of anything else. Dunno why, guess I just think it's cute."

"I have plenty of freckles. Why is this one cute?"

"Because it's in the middle of your middle toe? Not really sure…" Then I heard her flush. "So, whatcha up to?"

"Trying to pee. Which I did, a little prematurely. But at least I already had my pants down, so I guess it could have been way worse. Why, what about you?"

As I emerged from the stall, I expected her to be out there already. But she was going, "Hang on, just getting things situated…" There was a little rustling, and then she emerged with her arms spread wide, as if giving a glorious reveal…

Wearing a barista uniform. For the antichrist conglomerate slowly devouring Canada.

"You work here now?!" I exclaimed, glancing up and down the brown-and-black uniform, at the little visor perched atop her head. "Why? I thought you had a job at Second Cup."

"I had to quit when I went to uni," she said reasonably as she went to wash her hands, glancing down at her slacks and then back over at me when I joined her at the sink. "But um, I wanted to have a little more spending money when I get back for my second year, y'know? And Second Cup is fully staffed right now, and so is Delicious Cup — I already asked. And with Julie working there…"

"Nah, I get you." Seriously, somebody needed to smack some sense into Powers.

Towelling off her hands, she asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you hated Timmy."

"Well, 'hate' is a strong word…" An accurate one. Though I'll admit, I got some really shitty service in Montreal one year that kind of solidified it from disinterest to hate. "Just needed to use the can."

"Right. Well, we do have one of those!"

"Yeah. Um…" My voice was quavering a little, I felt stupid. "Sorry for… y'know, when I…"

"Didn't say 'pardon me'? It's cool," she laughed. A sigh of relief erupted from me; I really was grateful she didn't make me say it, or say it herself. "This is the place to do that, right?"

Nodding, I towelled off myself. It was weird. We were being weird, and I couldn't quite figure out why… until she put her finger on it for us.

"But yeah, starting the job has been pretty crazy. I meant to drop by sometime this week, but with work, and my mom's birthday, and stuff…"

"Oh, don't worry about it," I said with a smile of relief. She wasn't ditching me. That shouldn't have mattered as much as it did, but I was seriously soothed to know that. "Been quiet around No-Account." At the last second, I stopped myself from adding "without you" to the end of that.

"I'm really, really sorry. But I can make up for it! This week is less crazy. Wanna go to the zoo?"

For some reason, that made me chuckle. Something I almost never do lately, and her suggestion of going to the zoo was enough. "Really? But it's so far away, and so pricey…"

"I just got my first paycheck. My treat, to make up for being gone lately."

"Well…" Again, she did that weird thing where she enchanted me with her warmth and enthusiasm so much that I couldn't say 'no'. "What day? I'll probably be working."

"Then you pick. I get off at five today, so that's not enough time, but I'm off Saturday…"

"Me, too. Around noon?"

"Sure," she answered with that sweet, shy smile that made me want to flush her down the can. "Meet up there, or at your place first?"

"We can just meet there." I turned toward the washroom door, but something was holding me back. "Um…" I wanted to say something about how much I missed her, even though I didn't fully comprehend why. "Hey…" I wanted her to know that despite how shitty of an attitude I had sometimes, I really truly valued our fucked-up, almost-one-sided friendship.

And while I was stammering, trying to get past my hangups, she hugged me from behind. "Yeah." Then she released me and held the door open. "My break's probably way over by now."

"Right," I sighed. "Go back to slinging brown water. See you tomorrow."

"See ya!"

And she went back behind the counter, while I went down the street shaking my head so violently that it almost came loose and bounced across to the other side.

                                      ~ o ~

The zoo was fine. I'd visited it before, of course, but it had been years. More or less you can expect the animals to do the same things they did the last time, so it's not like a repeat visit will reveal anything new.

But the animals ranged from cute to interesting; giraffes and cheetahs and hyenas, oh my. Knives wanted to look at literally everything, and who was I to stop her? This was the reason we came, so it would be dumb for even me to act like that was strange of her. Meanwhile, I walked around with an iced capp I got from near Tundra Trek and mostly watched her reactions, skipping around in that white babydoll tee and jean shorts, eyes wide and mouth flapping about how much fun she was having, and how big this animal was or how small that one was. That was the real attraction for me.

Which began to worry me a little. Really, this whole thing with Knives already did. Not because I was developing some big gay crush; I didn't think that was it, and I'm no homophobe. But if I wasn't crushing on her, then what was I doing? This was such a weird friendship, and kind of the opposite of the casual relationship I normally enjoyed with my sparse acquaintances. Something about it was so… intense. But that was probably all Knives, and very little from my end. She was a force of nature.

Once we had seen and done most of everything there was to do without paying extra, like buying souvenirs that nobody would care about in two days, we headed back to catch the bus toward our respective homes. When she brought up dinner, I almost jumped on it.

"Let's do Sneaky Dee's. It sucks, but if we get there early enough, it might not be deafening and full of annoying college kids."

"Like me?"

"Yes, like you. One is enough."

"Hmm, I was gonna head back to my house, but…" Her cheeks bunched in a smile. "You think we could get Stephen or Julie to show up? Make it a real reunion."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess."

Her smile slipped a notch. "Do you not want them to come?"

"Nah, it's fine. Even if Julie is a cunt lately, especially to you."

"That's just Julie," she laughed it off. Not that I thought she should have; the way she acted toward Knives was totally unacceptable, and I still wanted to give her a piece of my mind about it. "Just Stephen then."

Shrugging, I stretched my arms overhead and crossed them behind my neck as we rode along. "What about Neil?"

"He probably wouldn't want to see me. Too many awkward memories." Then she cleared her throat to push past that detail. "Steph could come, though."

"Sure. She's been acting like she wants to hang outside of practices and shit lately. So… I'll invite her, maybe Stephen and Joseph. Julie can eat a bag of dicks."

That seemed to startle her slightly. At first, I thought maybe I had gone too far, but instead she whispered, "I've never heard that phrase before. It's hilarious! Because like, a whole bag of dicks!" She giggled, and I giggled with her. Sometimes I just couldn't help it around that doofus.

                                      ~ o ~

Not too much later, we were in Sneaky Dee's. It's kind of a grubby hole, but the food is pretty good, drinks are medium-cheap and sometimes they play decent music. Steph showed and so did Stephen, though Joseph stayed back because he was busy "mixing". Probably a lie, but who cares? Knives made a dumb joke about "Steph and Stephen", which made Steph laugh while Stephen and I just rolled our eyes at each other.

It was nice. We talked about the Sex Bob-omb days, and the Sonic and Knuckles days before that. Made noises about getting a band together ourselves, but with Dynamite Headdy doing as well as it was, Stephen had no real motivation to spin more plates.

Everything was going fine… until we started talking more in-depth about the end of Sex Bob-omb.

"Haven't heard from him since then," Stephen confirmed as we stared at the mostly-empty plates, patting our stomachs. In his case, scratching at his stubble. "Can you live in subspace? Like, I still don't really understand that whole thing very well."

"No, I don't think it's a place you get to stay," I went on. "Of course, I've only been there once or twice. Scott dragged me through a door so we could escape from a crazy samurai." I tried not to glance at Knives, and she didn't seem to notice, either.

"I think there are subspace pockets along with the highways," she said as she sipped at her lemonade. Guess she was serious about not drinking. "But there aren't buildings or restaurants or anything there. So they must be living somewhere in normal space, right?"

Steph shrugged, leaning against the table on her elbows. "Wouldn't know. Never had much experience with it myself. So Scott dragged you through, Kim?"

My body was already freezing up, a response to being needled about my past with Scott so much. "Yeah."

"He was always kind of self-centered, in that dopey, doesn't-realise-he-is way," she mused as she stared across the restaurant at the back of the neon sign in the window. "Even when you two were dating…"

"Oh yeah," Knives said as she turned to me. "You never talked about that much." And I didn't want to now. But she wasn't going to let it drop, was she?

"What is there to say? He was an idiot, I was an idiot for not seeing how much of one he was. He liked to pretend that he rescued me from Simon to make himself more 'heroic'. I'm better off without him."

"That's what you say about Jason, too," he laughed, and I felt myself growing even more earnest in my desire to be silent and not have to react to any of this. "And… that's probably true. Sometimes I worry about Hollie going through the same thing eventually."

"She deserves it. They both do."

Pointing her fork at me, Steph said, "You always do that. Blame everyone else for all your problems. Not saying they're all your fault, either, just… maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle?"

"Always," Stephen sighed.

"Well, I think you guys are being too hard on Kim," Knives put in with a little pout, picking at the communal plate of nachos. "Scott dumped me, too, and he wasn't very smart about how he did it, but that's just Scott; he doesn't know how to handle serious stuff until he can't avoid it, I think. That's not her fault."

"Yeah, you and she both dated Scott," Steph said with a slightly suspicious smile. "Funny that you're hanging out together now, despite that."

"Why is it funny?" It was a genuine question, not an accusation. Of course it was. Knives was such a wide-eyed marshmallow.

"Uhhh, because normally you don't get along with your ex's exes?"

Shrugging, Stephen grumbled, "I get along with Julie better than most of you do."

"That's because you turned out to be gay."

"What does that have to do with it? We still broke up when I started dating Joseph."

"Have you ever noticed all our names start with an S, a K, or a J?" Knives observed out of nowhere.

"Yeah… well, except for Neil."

"Or those other guys," Steph said. "Like Lucas Lee, and the other people who Scott beat up?"

Stephen shook his head. "No, they don't count."

"Why not?"

"They aren't part of 'us', they're the bad guys," he went on reasonably, gesturing to the table with an open palm as if the gesture would help sell his argument. "But then they still do that supervillain thing." When both Steph and Knives kept staring at him in confusion, he sat up a little straighter in the hard wooden booth. "You know… Lucas Lee, Roxie Richter, Gideon Graves… Ken and Kyle Katayanagi. That thing."

"Alliteration," she breathed. "The highest form of evil."

"Ohhhhh," Knives said with a hand in front of her open mouth. "That's so weird how I never noticed! But what about Todd Ingram? I mean, I hearted The Clash At Demonhead, so I remember him better…"

"He's the outlier. I mean, not every villain has to adhere to the trope for it to be a trope."

"What's a trope?" Steph asked. But Stephen wasn't listening; he was staring at me, eyes squinting slightly. I tried to ask what he was staring at…

But I couldn't. My lips wouldn't move, and my eyes wouldn't blink. Nothing happened despite my best efforts.

"Oh shit," he whispered. "Kim turned to stone again."

                                       To Be Continued…

#kim pine's precious little knives #kim pine #forkanna writes #scott pilgrim vs. the world #knives chau #forkanna the writer

[angelofberlin2000]

Interview: ‘John Wick: Chapter Two’ Director Chad Stahelski Discusses the Man, the Myth, the Legend

A long but VERY interesting article/interview!!!!

http://www.slashfilm.com/john-wick-chapter-2-director-chad-stahelski-interview/

Interview: ‘John Wick: Chapter Two’ Director Chad Stahelski Discusses the Man, the Myth, the Legend

Posted on Friday, February 10th, 2017 by Jack Giroux

John Wick: Chapter 2 isn’t a sequel that delivers more of the same. There are familiarities, but it’s more like the same engine in a slightly bigger, more stylish, and more aggressive car. The simplicity of the first movie remains, but the titular character finds himself in a larger and more dangerous world this time. The world, which takes a few ideas from Arthurian mythology, grows along with John Wick in the sequel.

Director Chad Stahelski, who co-directed the first movie with the uncredited David Leitch (Deadpool 2), shows audiences a different side of the character, while also delivering on the quality action sequences audiences now expect from a John Wick film. The director ups the stakes and increases the scale in the sequel without ever abandoning the titular character’s arc during all the beautifully orchestrated madness.

We recently spoke with the 87eleven co-founder at the press day for the sequel. We discussed finding the right story to tell, the film’s opening and closing action scenes, the influence of Buster Keaton, workshopping scenes with Keanu Reeves, and more with the filmmaker. Below, read our Chad Stahelski interview.

How did you decide on John Wick’s introduction in the sequel? 

We’re big fans of silent movies, or silent storytelling, or visual storytelling as opposed to just exposition. So I had to reveal what we’ve already determined is kind of a mythological figure. Once again, let’s just stick to what we know, we’ll just do it with … When I say action I just don’t mean stunts, I mean let’s just tell a story [visually]. It’s a wacky city.

I was trying to make a movie that was a good introduction to those that hadn’t seen the first film. So how do you introduce that wacky world that half the audience is in on and the other half is not in, and satisfy both? So we’re like, all right, let’s do a little bit of action. Let’s figure out what would be an interesting way to show them you’re not in for a Bourne or a reality-based action movie. It’s a little wacky, so let’s start with some wacky aerials. We’ll come down, and as a little nod to our established audience, we want everybody to know that we’re making fun of ourselves. We’re gonna start with Buster Keaton.

I went to Montreal on a scout for something different. Up there they had all these great projections going as part of an art thing in Montreal. We went to New York, and we saw all these kids from the NYC film school, and it was awesome, they’re just walking around with his little projector on a little red wagon. It was really funny. With a little generator, they’re projecting all these silent movie images up on buildings and taking pictures, and that was part of their art project. Like, that’s fucking genius. Yeah, I just talked to the kid, “I’m gonna steal your shit, man.”

So I was like, I’m gonna get the right to a Buster Keaton film, and I’m gonna project it on a wall, to let everybody know out there we’re making a fun action movie. We’re gonna tilt down off that, we’re just gonna see it fucking crash, and we’re gonna get right into it with “What the fuck is going on?” And then we want to do what I call The Shark and The Fish. We’re gonna design the music so it’s, “Da, da, da, da, bo, bo, bo, da, da, da, bo, bo.” So you see this little guy, “Why is he being chased by this car? Ahh!” And it’s like, “Oh my God, the shark’s chasing the fish. What’s going on? What’s going on?” And then we’re just gonna slam them in the car, and everybody goes, “Whoa.” And then John Wick’s gonna get up. All right cool, that sounds like an interesting way of doing it. But that’s not it, we’re not gonna show his face, and you’re gonna go, “Who the fuck is this guy?”

And then we’re gonna get into, let’s see who can we get? We need a very mythological, we need an orator, we need an Ian McShane. And Keanu is friends with Peter Stormare, and like I’d work with Peter on Constantine, and we’re like, “He’ll never do it. I know he’ll never talk to us.” And Keanu’s like, “Actually, Peter came up to me in the gym the other day and goes, “Why am I not in John Wick 2?” So, I’m like, “You’re kidding?” Keanu’s like, “No, no, I’m serious.” I’m like, “Don’t fuck with me. You’re serious?” He’s like, “No, no, no, really you should call him. Call Peter.” “[Stomare voice] Chad, what’s going on, my friend, I’d love to be in your movie.” We’re like, you’re shitting us. I said, “Okay, well I tell you what, you’re gonna be the orator, you’re gonna introduce John Wick to us in this.”

Derek, I, and Keanu all sat down, and we wrote, “The man, and the myth, and the legend.” And we wrote this little intro about how to recap the first movie. “He killed my brother, my nephew.” We wrote that. We’re just gonna do it as a cool little intercut.

What it’d take to get the rights to the Buster Keaton film?

Phone call.

Just a phone call?

I have a great line producer, a guy named Jeff Waxman, who literally went in and said, “Are you’re sure about this?” I was like, “Yeah!” A couple of phone calls, and we paid the licensing rights, it was very, very easy. Actually, I was shocked, too. I was like, “Really, it was that easy?”

Derek mentioned some other story ideas for Chapter 2. What other ideas did you all discuss? 

Oh my god, brother, you don’t have enough time. I think we started talking about a sequel in January, like literally right after the holiday. The movie opened in October. We were working on different projects at the time trying to finish our second unit career. We didn’t know the first one was gonna do good. So that Basil Iwanyk, the producer, got us all on the phone and said, “Look, we gotta start talking about this. The studio is very interested in a second one.” We had committed to engage it should we find an idea that was was worthwhile. It wasn’t gonna make a mockery of what we had done in the first one, which is always the fucking danger, right?

Right after the holidays, we started getting together. We all had ideas of cool characters and stuff, that was no problem. The world development, great. I already had like ten pages of notes. Storywise, was John Wick saving a cat, were we killing a dog, were we rescuing a baby, does he fall in love? We really got into the plot side of things. And to tell you the truth, six months later in June we still did not have a coherent plot. We were kinda shitting our pants. The studio was kind of pressuring us to start shooting that fall. And we were adamant that like, look we’re  — and I mean everyone, even the studio — not going into this with just a B action plot, like it’s gotta be something that fits our world.

The ideas that had been chucked were anything from comical, to absurd, to kind of cool, just not us. Like, in any other action movie that was grounded it probably would have made sense. You know, about money, about taking over the city, about all … it just felt false to us because it wasn’t mythological. It didn’t sound larger than life.

Then we were bitchin’ to Keanu one day going, “Fuck, dude.” He’s like, “Look, what did you like about the first one?” “What do you mean? You know what I like about it, you were there. What are you talking about?” He’s like, “What did you like?” I was like, “It was super simple, and it was based on a myth. It was a Greek myth. It was, you know, dog, love lost, karma, go kill people who killed dog.” He was like, “Enough said. Figure it out.” You know, yeah, the fucker’s right. Keep it simple.

So Derek had introduced this idea about a marker, about a story we had told about in the stunt community, and it had happened once when I was in a stunt group. One of the older stunt guys had passed away, and they did something called a remembrance coin. It’s about a silver dollar size, it has the guy’s name printed on it and says, “In loving memory of ‘individual’s name.'” And when the stunt guys would go out and drink, one guy would pull out the coin, whoever didn’t have the memory coin would have to buy the round. Just a, you know, goofy way of remembering somebody, whatever it is.

And Derek took that a step further to something called The Marker, and we took that as a bond on life. So it was like a favor, it’s a bond, it’s a check you write with your life. It was taken in a different way. He wanted to use it in a different way, and we’re like, we love that idea, there’s something mythical that it’s a talisman. There’s something cool about that. You trade your life for a favor. And we’re like, well, wait a minute. John Wick got out. We’re not doing a prequel. We wanted to, just didn’t fit quite where we were at. We’re like, okay, he gives that for the favor he did to do the impossible task to get out, and we’re gonna hold that. So if the first one didn’t have it, and the second one didn’t have it, that’s very karmically apt to what the kind of mythology we’re doing. So we just kind of ran with that in creating a very, very simple story, like John owes someone a favor.

The sequel builds on ideas from the first movie. It’s not like some of the standalone Bond films or other sequels. Do you see these chapters telling one story?

What you’re talking about is the episodic theory, like Magnum P.I. The story is Magnum’s doing something, bad guys do something, solves the case by the end of the show. Or, nowadays TV is it’s three seasons of day to day to day continuing the story. I’m a fan of both ways, depends on the project. This I see 1, 2, and 3 is part of the same ongoing story, where we find him now. Granted, 1 and 2 take place within the same week. Number 3 may be a little bit more of a duration for John to get lost in the world then come back.

We basically almost have a prequel written, but we’d save that for other aspects of the property. Lionsgate is very interested in doing a John Wick TV show, and that seems very appealing to us to give those creative ideas to that entity. I think that TV could really expand on what that is, great, than we could in just a two-hour film. We’d like to wrap up the story we’re telling now and then maybe save all our prequel ideas and our impossible tasks for that medium.

You mentioned you had pages and pages of notes before Derek started writing. Were there any memorable ideas in those notes that didn’t make the movie? 

Oh my god, about nine pages of it. Nine or ten pages, so plenty for number 3. One of my favorite things, and definitely Keanu’s favorite scene, happens in Rome. Before he goes to all the other assassins, he goes to a very Vaticanesque-looking building where he asks permission from certain clergy, religious clergy. We’ve tied in the ancientness and the mythological world of religion into our thing. It just bumped a little bit on the overall plot, because it was a little too ambiguous, so it was taken out. We also had a B-plot when we shot the film about how Santino was trying to control the flow of gold coins. Tied into those scenes,  there’s a great scene between Riccardo Scamarcio and John Leguizamo.

Unfortunately, when we thinned down and really streamlined the plot, that B-plot didn’t fit, so we had to lift the scene. It was a really fun scene between John Leguizamo and Ricardo Scamarcio, but that scene didn’t quite make it. It was in Aurelio’s garage. John Leguizamo gave a fantastic soliloquy that unfortunately, we didn’t get to keep in the film. There are two characters that I can really expand on in the third one, one is John Leguizamo’s character, Aurelio, because he’s such a big part of the first film, and Lance Reddick character, as our concierge in The Continental.

The major second act action scene in Rome is almost exhausting, in a good way. What did it take to prep that sequence? 

One thing, I love music, to the point of ridiculousness. That’s why we did the club scene in the first one. I think music is a great motivator, especially when you’re in a, not just a club scene, but music in general I think can tell a lot of the story. It can give it tone. And number two, we have a shitload of classical music that’s been electricized a little bit. Like, the last scene in the museum is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Summer, I think. That was done through synthesizers and actually done with firearm percussion, instead of drums. We use Haydn, we use Chopin… there’s a ton of different classical music in this.

I always wanted to do like an opera, but when I said opera, I think the producers thought I meant more classical opera. No, I want to do like Tommy, like a rock opera, and I want to do a gunfight. I don’t want to do a club scene, like the first movie, I want to do a coronation, and we wanted to design something that was about live performances, and only for our underworld. Whereas in Collateral, Tom Cruise would fire a gun and everybody would run for cover, this is all our world, so if somebody’s shot in the head, they’d cheer. This is like surreal, and like everyone’s staring at me like, “What the fuck? Is this a Dr. Seuss fucking LSD thing?” I’m like, no man I want to do a rock opera.

Cassandra [Nostalghia], the girl we see doing the opera, she’s the girl that did the vocals in the first movie for a lot of the soundtrack, for a lot of the score. So I asked, “How’d you like to do the performance?” And the wacky guy playing the guitar, that’s Tyler Bates, he’s my composer. He’s the one who did all the sound effects for Guardians of the Galaxy, 300, and John Wick. I was like, “So, why don’t you guys fly to Rome? We’re gonna put you on stage for the concert, you’re gonna do that, and in the middle of it, John Wick’s gonna come through and we’re gonna have a gunfight.” They’re all staring at me. And on top of that, it’s gonna be in 2000-year-old ancient Rome. It’s like, you’re never gonna find a place [like that]. It’s like, ah, get my line producer, we’ll fly over to Rome, we’re gonna talk to everybody.

The Colosseum was off limits, the Vatican was off limits. We go to Caracalla Baths, which is one of the oldest ruins in Rome. Our local producer there, a lovely man, took us in to meet the curator. They have a lot of events there. The Boston Symphony’s been there, The London Opera’s been there, so we thought maybe there’s a chance.

As she’s walking us through it, we’re like, “Look, we would like to do a big stage right here. We want a lot of light towers. We want to put 500 people in here, and then we want our lead character to run through this.” She’s like, “Oh great. What’s he doing?” “Well he’s going to be running from bad guys and he’s gonna be shooting two, three dozen people in the face the whole time.” She’s like, “Okay that’s great, that’s great. Just try not to step on those ruins coming through the grass here.” “Okay. Oh … you sure?” She’s like, “Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s great. Sounds fun.” “[Confused] Okay, um. We were also looking for this place. We kinda had this image of him going through Ancient Rome, the sewers, the catacombs.” She says, “Oh yeah, come with me right downstairs.” “What? In the same location?” “Yeah, you’re standing right above them.”

So where you see that stage in the movie, directly, in the real world, those catacombs are directly under that stage. In movies, that never fucking happens. You gotta do like three or four locations to put it together on film through editing. We’re like, “Really, we go around that stage, step through this hole, we’re in the …?” “Yeah.” “All right well down here we want to kill two or three dozen more people, but with automatic weapons and a shotgun.” She’s like, “Yeah.” “How old are these?” “Oh, 2,000 years.” “Okay, well this isn’t …” “Oh yeah, this is one of the oldest places in … This a sacred place.” “But you …?” “Yeah, yeah, try and just … You can’t dig. You can clear, but you can’t move any ancient stones.” “Can we put lights on here? Can the stunt guy… But you don’t understand when you shoot something …” “Oh yeah, it’s been here 2,000 years. You ain’t gonna break it.”

Like, we couldn’t move a leaf in Central Park. But now I can throw 20 stunt guys against 2000-year-old ruins with a shotgun. That’s kind of how that sequence came about.

To me, it was one of the funnest moments ever in my film career. Standing on that stage looking out over, having Tyler Bates and a real rock band behind me, playing music as all the extras are having a good time. Just kinda like, “Holy shit, somebody pays me to do this.”

When John Wick goes underground in the tunnels, it’s dark but, unlike a lot of action scenes set in the dark, you can tell what’s happening. 

We have a fantastic cinematographer, Dan Lausten (Brotherhood of the Wolf), who spent two weeks down there with the action team coming up with a lighting scheme that was … I like shadows. I like dark, but as you brought up, sometimes dark means you can’t see. We did movie dark, which means you can see, and we did that with different shades of blue and green, as you saw down there. So you can see into the black.

The movie is gorgeous, by the way. 

Dan and I spent about four months designing the colors. I learned more from that man in a show than I’ve learned in my whole career.

What did those four months involve? 

I do something called the lookbook. I do pulls. I go on the internet, and I found every art, photography website that you can possibly access in the time allowed to a normal human being. Bring out colors, and palettes, and set pieces that are aesthetically very pleasing to me. Then I hand, literally, 8,000 photos to my cinematographer and we spend weeks going over each one. Then we devise a color chart, and what the scene means, and where we want to do it. Dan and I get on every plane and find these locations. He starts designing, and designing, and designing and then he’s gotta make it happen on the day. He’s worked a lot with Guillermo del Toro, who in my estimation is one of the best world creators in the business. What was the Guillermo del Toro movie came out right before we came out?

Crimson Peak.

Crimson Peak, yes, thank you. I didn’t overall love the film, but the look of the movie and what he had done with color, and how everything could be so black but yet you could see so deep with the little of blue or red. I was just mesmerized. Again, we look a little too critical at things, so you can’t really enjoy the film. Sometimes you’re so busy looking at how it was done. I remember watching Crimson Peak completely taken out of the movie by how good the lighting and the world was. I was mesmerized, like who the fuck lit this thing? It’s beautiful, and it was Dan Laustsen. I was like, how do I get this guy? I was amazed. I figured if he could do that with just simple set pieces, what could he do with old ruins and action?

Dan was an incredibly collaborative man who just loved to light, what we call now, in camera. There’s a lot of lighting process being done post, in something called digital intermediate. You know, computers. Dan lights as if he’s lighting for film, very, very much in camera and on the day. So when you’re looking through the camera, you’re looking at what you will get. To find that kind of artistry nowadays is fairly rare.

How about the final action sequence? I imagine with those reflections and those tight spaces it was a challenge. 

Six months of prep. From development to actualization, and then another six months of post, meaning visual effects on how to get people out of reflection. It was a little tricky. We absolutely knew it was going to be difficult. It was a huge process between myself, Dan Laustsen, cinematographer, and Kevin Kavanaugh, our production designer. I could tell they were the right guys when I hired them.

I said I wanted to take Enter the Dragon and twist it on its head and add in lights and color, and neither one batted an eye. Like they go, “Ah, cool. We should do this.” And Kevin was, “All right, well let’s do it three dimensional. Put a stair, you know, [M.C.] Escher …” A very famous architect, or conceptual drawing artist. We want to do an Escher staircase, an infinite staircase. I’m like, “Well that’s a great idea.” And Dan was like, “Well, mirrors are boring, let’s put LED lights everywhere, and we’ll change the color, and we’ll project.

We all went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and there was this video exhibition. We’re like, well not just lights, let’s put a video in there that’ll change colors and flash and make it all weird. We’re like, yeah, it’ll be like a disco. It was just a bunch of really smart, creative men putting their heads together and coming up with something really cool.

[Spoilers Ahead]

Are there any scenes without action that took extra time to get right in the editing room?

I really like, and I don’t think it was the hardest, but I like the Gianna bath scene, just because it was so uncomfortable, and to try to do it tastefully. You know, the whole point of that, even the music, was meant to make you feel uncomfortable. When she slits her wrists and all, it’s supposed to be, “Ooh, I don’t want to look at this.” But, it’s cool, and it’s also making you see a little inside to who John Wick really is.

You see him be compassionate. 

Yep. To bring something out, yet hard but soft … It was tricky. That was probably the hardest thing for me to nail tonally. I’m happy with he way it came out. Did it work? We’ll see. The Central Park scene was fun.

You’re as interested in that character as the world, which is a part of why I think that scene works.

And that holds a lot to … I find that interesting about Keanu, and anything he does. The trick is now that I know Keanu has a quality that people like to watch, how do you express it? Dan and I were very, very aware of that and how we shot Keanu, and how we wanted to track with him, and how we always wanted to put him in between things, and how we wanted black to go as red and red to go as black. You know, we’re very self-aware of that, and hopefully, that comes across.

How do you and Keanu Reeves prepare for a moment like the bathhouse scene? Do you both have many discussions beforehand? 

Yes, but it’s usually not on the day. Again, being a newer director, I wasn’t sure on the process. Keanu gave my partner Dave and I a great deal of education on the first movie. Pretty much, “Hi boys, I love you, but this is how you talk to actors.” Because we were used to stunt talk, which was, “Fuck you, move your ass. Hit this mark. Don’t fuckin’ miss. Left, right, up, down, now.” Very direct so you cannot be misunderstood because people’s lives are at stake. That’s not the best way to talk to actors.

Keanu taught us how to workshop, and how to really work a scene, meaning, for the Gianna scene, Claudia Gerini the actress, we brought her to set a week ahead of time, showed her the set roughly before it was really built, brought her back to the hotel and spent the next two days just going over [the scene], rehearsing, just in the hotel room, and talking and laughing, and figuring the best way to do it.

Before that even happened, Keanu, Derek, and I had spent weeks working on the scene, what’s important to say, what it is. The scene was much larger. What you’ve seen is the whittled down, right to the point version of it, which I think is even better. We usually start with much bigger scenes and try to get through what is important and what helps the audience stay true to the character and what rings true to the audience.

Keanu is very, very good at workshopping. He’s very good at talking about a scene. When you engage in Keanu Reeves, or with Keanu Reeves, from day one of development ’til this coming Monday when we premiere, he’s involved. We may be shooting the Laurence Fishburne scene, but when he’s on break, he’s like, “Okay, now let’s talk more about the Gianna scene.” He’s very, very involved, which is great. So by the time you do show up, just like the action, we know what we want to get out of it. Then if something’s not working, again, you’re not trying to get it done, you’re trying to buy yourself time creatively so that you’re not getting it done, you’re creating it, you’re getting it better, you’re workshopping it.

By the time we go there Keanu can come up and go, “This isn’t really working for me.” “No, it kinda is, but maybe we should just shorten it, and maybe you should try to walk over here, say this, and then hit him with that line.” Then that may not work, but then it gives Claudia an idea to go, “You know what, that may not work, but what if I took off my dress here and I give the line about Helen here, and then I get in the bath.” And Keanu goes, “Great. And then I’ll walk … Okay, I get it. So rather than me say it, let me come over and hold your hand.” And that’s how that little piece [went], you know. Rather than anything else Keanu wanted to sit by her, but look, he’s changing the gun hand, and then he holds [her hand], and then he still shoots her, without changing a facial expression. Those are ideas that are all in there, but how they get developed is through a lot of talk.

***

http://www.slashfilm.com/john-wick-chapter-2-director-chad-stahelski-interview/4/

#keanu reeves #chad stahelski #john wick 2 #slashfilm

[harmoury]

Transcriptions

06.06.13 - Iceland I have been awake for 30 hours now, and everything is getting weird.  Everything is beautiful and ridiculous  (indecipherable) I just want sleep Anxiety aside haven’t shit my pants  eyes rolling backwards and shoulders turned in like asphalt and frost together at last make it to check in so I can finally check out.

28.07.13 - Montreal I listened to your song sitting side-saddle head bowed on a bed in Montreal curtains cracked to keep my hangover at bay. I miss the way things used to be I miss my  creativity 12.08.13 - Train from Hamburg Planes and airports other side of the world with everything else old. Everyone’s got barbed wire fences and there are no handles on doors as my friend tells me “There is a serious culture of distrust here.” 27.12.13 - Thunder Bay HOSPITALS and clogged ears and trying, dying to  get better in the Valhalla Inn The room’s so dry I can taste  my cracking tongue And the snow is too quiet to fall too cold to blow So it’s me and the TV for days counting cabs and doctors in this wasteland  so far from home. 11.05.14 If you aren;t what you want fuck it you are  something and that’s something 21.04.15 Always been told the only thing worse than my luck is my timing But I survived  a time when everything was possible and nothing was probable. 24.12.15 the last few years lived my life in the jaundiced light of NO SMOKING

and FASTEN SEATBELT signs. 19.11.16 and yeah, things are going well but I’m still constantly  worried that itch is actually my appendix, seconds to burst and maybe one day the pressure change inside the metal tube will simply tear me apart Total exhaustion. For some reason, writing. Does it need to be good if it’s written down? Because it’s written down seldom at this point but here it is. I am in love. This I know.  It is a great thing to be in. Losing where I am because of this exhaustion Frantic. Frantic. Spew it out litter this page with shapes and maybe someone reading  someday will give it meaning If I had to chisel it I would not. Because that’s too much work and I’m going to bed. 15.01.17 RUN. Two steps underwater clawing forward until the tide abides, and slides back over your silhoutte Spend half the day  a slave thanks to the moon. But the joke is on it, stuck in orbit hopelessly circling the EARTH wobbling it’s way  into another day. 25.06.17 We’re all here yawning in the falling debris trying to make a buck and be something It’s always easier  to do nothing. “I believe in something, but I don’t know what it is” Same old apathy in a new hotel. 20.07.17 - Terceira - Azores She wakes up because I’m thrashing around kneading sheets with my hands and my feet. and my torso is a pogo stick or some bouncing thing and she’s not mad. she’s not irritable she just calmly reads to me until I can fall asleep Do you see? This girl is actually Atlas with the whole fucking  world on  her back. 01.03.18 - Barbados The air is heavy heavy with birds heavy with water Beer is sweating and dripping to the honking of the airport PA Public Address. Static. 01.03.18 - Barbados Smoke and Mirrors Writing. Eloquence by omission or some such slight of hand. 01.03.18 Somewhere down the line I heard or read or imagined some romantic  making mention of “sunkissed bodies” It stuck with me. I woke up this morning to the rooster the ocean air pushing the sun through the curtains just enough to make them dance (If I had to judge,  I’d say they’re better than me When she took my hand the night before and tried to teach me salsa) We’re waking up to leave this place. Sun kissed. Tan and blotchy red. Skin pocked from mosquito bites and heat rash. ------- Her shirt is hanging on rising over her shoulder blade and pooling by the sheets. And I’ve never been  so jealous of a fucking shirt. 01.03.18 I keep asking  if she’s alright because I know she’s not alright Because I know that things have changed. “The devil’s in the details” That guy. The Devil. He’s there as she flinches when I touch her He’s there watching her get irritated when  I kiss her He’s there when She rolls away as I curl in close He’s there saying goodnight to her, So she forgets to Say it to me. He’s there when I’m up at night pacing, sick to my stomach for no reason other than I might wake up  tomorrow and not have her in my life... He’s there. And who the fuck does he think he is... 16.05.18 - Glasgow I tried Everything. Drinking. Not drinking. Medicating. Being clean. Eating clean. Running. Yoga. Travelling. Distraction. Indulgence. Spending money. Fuck I’d spend every cent of it if it would bring you  back but here we are at the end of another book this one took 8 years to get through. No longer the person I was No idea if I’m better or worse for it. but here I am in a cafe in Glasgow waiting for the toilet to be free So I can piss and try and find  a new book for 8 more years of bullshit  rambling, pining, lists Never seem to be able to write the triumphs So this book lives in defeat hoping no on will ever read it Scared someone will Who knows. I miss that girl entirely.  Broken hearted I guess.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hi! So I had to! Hope you like it, if you do, come talk to me! Or scream at me. All my love to @dirtystyles, long live tripod writing!

This didn't happen - but this song and the current state of affairs made me crazy enough to imagine it, and then Harry and Jo kept talking in my head. So, here we are!

Who Names The Colors Extra: If the World Was Ending.

She's scared. Fucking terrified, mostly because she has zero idea, not a single one about what is going to happen tomorrow, let alone what happens next, next week, next month, if there will be a next year.

Jo wants Harry.

Jo wants Harry in a way she has worked really hard not to. She has given him his life, the possibility of a future.

And now, in this moment when everyone's future is completely uncertain and maybe not going to resemble the world of yesterday, may not happen at all, she just, it doesn't fucking matter. The fact she can't give him a baby, that their ages made all the things she wanted for him possibly impossible, and all the family drama and tension is totally irrelevant. Feels totally unimportant. It doesn't fucking matter. She could get the virus on a market run and she could be sick for a few weeks, or she could stop breathing. She has no way of knowing which it will be, or how long life will be interrupted. She feels helpless, hopeless, future less.

It's probably not that dramatic. By next year, everyone may remember this like a nightmare. But right now, this moment, with cases climbing and death tolls ringing and a government completely fucking it all up, that seems far away and maybe not true.

Jo wants Harry.

If the world is ending, he's all she wants.

Maybe not all she wants, but the list is short. What she would do if this was it. She imagines the last night time especially. The things she'd do. Call her son in Greece, see him happy, scared but happy with Sean, and tuck her ever growing sassy pants daughter into bed, and come downstairs to tea Harry has made her.

His tea was always better, than all the tea she's made on her own. "Made with love's why." He'd smile and wink and dimple and melt her. In the fantasy, he's folding laundry or finishing dishes too. Because, God she misses the partnership she glimpsed too, and she's too tired to do it all alone most days. Though it's easier now that Zoe's school aged.

He'd help her, though, always did, while feeding, watering, fucking, and holding her through all the angst she is feeling. Through the sky falling.

She nearly calls him. But Jo has no idea, not an inkling of where he is in the world. She doubts he's still in Montreal. That was a year ago. It was meant to be a 6 month intensive program. There were others she submitted him for that she knows he was good enough to get into no matter when he rang them interested.

If he is abroad, that terrifies her, too. God, what if he's abroad, and can't get home? Or is sick, fuck, sick alone? Though he is in a low risk group she says out loud and wraps an arm around herself, squeezes her shoulder to distract from the contraction of her heart.

London, he might be in London. She knows he should move there, be part of the art scene. Jo is just not sure if that's where he is in his journey yet. She's not sure why she thinks she knows anything about where he is, or might go, or how he will chart the course to the future she forced on him, gifted him.

They talked about it, or course. They talked about everything. Except when they just understood.

London. If he's in London, it's cruel, because he won't be moving: lockdown orders have just gone out. He'd be so close but so far. Expats are flying in, going home and quarantining. This option had been offered to Ethan. But it didn't make sense for him and Sean, they were safe, and in the home they'd made. If Harry's abroad, unless he's shacked up, ouch, he'd come home to Anne. But, if Harry's in London, he's stuck away from his family. Unless he's settled and happy there instead. Anne might be ok with that state of affairs.

Jo's not.

She doesn't believe that, it's not been that long, since them, not really. She wants him to be happy, with somebody else, but not so soon. She's not over it remotely well enough to contemplate another body in her space, mind, or person. May never be able to fathom somebody not Harry.

She imagines Anne is out of her head worried.

Anne, she could just call Anne. It will be weird, but if it's just to check on Harry, she can do it. Only slightly, ridiculously awkward. But Anne knew, the devastation for both of them. She won't be wholly surprised. It's just a phone call to check on him, Harry never need know. Anne will not tell, Jo's sure. His mother wants them apart, forever.

Jo's heart squeezes again.

As a mother, she understands. As the unsuitable love of someone's life, well, she can't.

But, none of that matters. Because it feels like the world is ending. Jo just needs to know he's alright. First and foremost, that he is ok.  And then she needs to know something for herself. Her selfish self. That he'd come over if he could, to hold her and be with her the way they both wanted but couldn't have. Because none of the consequences matter, not right now.

He will not likely be able to get to her, so it's just the comfort of their love, or his huge heart all for her, still.

She's dialing Anne before she can stop herself. The land line, the one Anne gave her when she'd come to ream her, and had offered loving kindness instead.

"Hullo?" Her heart stops, stutters, blooms.

She hangs up.

Holy fuck, he is here. He is home in their little village. Good, good for Anne. "Oh my god!" She yells to the air, because now the proposition is real. The possible fulfillment and rejection, real. Would he come over, now the world's ending, stay the night? The rest of the horrible uncertain trials they are facing be damned, can go to hell, if he would come hold her tight. Her breathing is rapid and she's concentrating on slowing it down. God, what if he wouldn't come over. Had wised up, decided they weren't what she knew them to be.

What if he would come over?

Neither matter, in any case, she's hung up. It's ok, he doesn't need to know it was her.

The phone in her hand buzzes. Anne S. reads the call log. Does she answer?

How can she not? Her whole body feels better, knowing his is close. She sends it out to him, it overrides her nerves about everything, including answering. Even his presence, that she received via strong voice through the receiver, not weakened by sickness, worry, or sorrow, bolstered her. She feels better all ready. She might be able to have more though, than his calm. Jo might be able to have him, a real moment with him. Maybe lots of them, a day that feels like moments because of the way time suspends when they commune.

She catches the call just before it gets shunted to voicemail.

"Hello?" She says, her voice is thin, the only force in it, hope.

"Jo?" He gasps and her tears leak down their cheeks.

His voice. Her name on his lips.

"Hi!" She tries to steady her voice. It doesn't work and his breath tells her she's unsettled him.

"Is everything ok? Zoe ok? Why're you calling my mum?" He inhales loudly. "Sorry, that's rude. I just, god, wasn't expecting your call. Not that it's not lovely to hear your voice, baby."

They both suck in a breath at that. "I was..." How does she say this? "I was worried?"

"About my mum?" He asks, his voice lined with hope as well.

"Well, yes." She says, hopes he hears what she is not saying the way he always did.

He laughs suddenly with something like joy in his voice. "It's alright, I've already asked about you. So no need to be embarrassed." He swallows. "Ever."

"Yeah?" She asks.

"Yeah, you're a brave little thing, calling my mum to check on me." He teases.

"Um, she told me to call if I needed help, she was kind to me." Jo glances down. Shit, it's so late.

It was almost bed time, and their custody agreement didn't end, even in a pandemic. She needs to make sure Zoe hears her voice say she loves her. For the same reason she had called Anne. "I know where you get it from. She has every reason to dislike me—"

"She doesn't dislike you, nobody could dislike you, Jo."

"Oh, well, I think that's an opinion. You're biased." She stops herself.

"Because I love you?" He asks but keeps talking so she can't answer. "It's true though, you're impossible to dislike." He whispers. "Impossible not to love."

"Har- Harry." She looks at the ceiling and hears him groan. "I actually have to go, I didn't plan this at all." She sighs.

"Well, I assume you have nowhere to be?" God, he sounds light as a feather, she could fly.

"Yes and no. It's time for my goodnight call to Zoe. She's with Colin."

"She'll come home though, some point, right?" He asks, urgent. "I hate to think of you alone at a time like this? Where's..." He gulps. "Where's Ethan?" He sounds like he's swallowing glass.

"Greece, stayed there, he and Sean are safe, still able to work, so they stayed."

"Oh Jo!" He sighs. "Baby, are you all alone?"

"No, no, I'm not." Not really, just physically right now.

"Who're you with?" His voice is dark for a moment, thick like his voice box is coated in mud.

"With?" Oh! He thinks a man is with her. He's swallowing his reaction. "No one at the moment, I just, Zoe comes home Monday. But we were talking about initiating the summer schedule sooner." She slows down. That won't make sense to him, he's not privy to the details of her life anymore. Doesn't need to be. "But anyway. She's there and I like to call, have my voice be one of the last things she hears at the end of the day."

"And you need to see her face before you sleep. " It's not a question.

"Yeah, um, but I called you, your mum, without checking the time and her stories are probably over." She explains.

"Ok, that's, thats ok, thanks for calling, Jo." His heart is in his voice. That outsized prize in his chest. She wishes with her whole heart she could keep his.

"Yeah, bye, um bye, Harry." She swallows. Her own emotions coating her throat. "Take care, please." Can he hear the plea in her voice?

"You too." He says in a way she feels. Like all his unspoken hopes for her are in the two words. That she not just to survive the virus, but to be well, and happy, just not with anyone else. Jo's projecting. Those are her unspoken prayers for him. She pulls the phone away and the call ends on his end just before she touches the red button.

She never got to ask him, if he'd come over.

That's all well and good though, because it's real now. He could come over. He could not come over, too. Jo sits for a moment, the oxygen sucked out of the room. That would be worse, definitely devastating. It's good she didn't get to ask. She shakes her head, glances at the time on her phone. She needs to call Zoe.

Her daughter's bright face is a brilliant distraction. Though the pull of the call, Harry's call, the things he said, how he said them, and all the things they didn't say is stronger. Jo gets her motherly reassurance, and smiles for her baby, but her mind is elsewhere.

"Night bug! Can't wait to see you Monday!" Jo's heart squeezes and she signs off the zoom. The leave button feels so final. She keeps herself together when Zoe can see her, no matter what. She hates this, the entire custody thing, that it was necessary, and some days she hates that the entire thing happened. But she can't regret Zoe, or the divorce or everything after. She also can't regret that Colin decided somewhere along the way he wanted to be more involved, needed to be. Though some days, especially these weird isolation days, she hates that she can't just hunker down with her baby and be wrapped up in baking or tik tok dances or crafts, puzzles, whatever Zoe was into. Instead, she has to be separated from her bud.

She sighs and pulls her old bones off the ottoman; she's tired. The nightly routine done by rote while she yawns, flicks lights and clicks locks.

Her heart stops and then defribullates when she gets to the back door.

Through the triple diamond shaped glass is his unmistakable shape.

Harry.

Because if the world is ending he'd come over, right?

"Harry?" The question is only in her voice, not in her heart. Course he'd come.

"Miss Jo." She must make a face, because he steps forward and takes her hand. "Jo, I..." He looks for words to say, "I thought we could paint," he tries to smile for her. "or something?" God, he looks like every dream she's had of him, mostly. He's different, it's been a year. He's shorn his locks, his hair is almost high and tight. His lovely hair gone, she mourns it, the silk of it through her fingers, like water rippling on her skin.

The cut looks good on him, of course it does, everything does. His jaw is exposed, his cheekbones amplified, and the green of his eyes is so golden, she's rich. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." She blurts out, because of course the answer is always yes. Yes Harry, have me, my life, my always. But not at the cost of yours. Have my right now.

What is anyone's always right now?

Which is why they are here.

So, now he is in her kitchen and they stare at each other. There was a time, she recalls, when he would have her on the table, or at least a stool by now. But, it's been a while and a lot of time and broken heartbeats have passed.

"Tea?" She offers for something to do; she sets about making his brew when he nods. Her hands and feet carry her around her kitchen without much thought while she concentrates on what happens next. He's come over, right. Now what? She's waiting for the whistle, when he steps close behind her. His heat warms her for a bit. She forgets she's out of her depth, least his body is familiar, but, "you smell different." She can't stop herself saying.

"I had to change it." He smells her hair. "The other reminded me of you. All the times you mentioned it." He swallows. "You smell the same."

I couldn't change it, it reminds me of you. "Yeah," is all she says. When his arms come around her waist and his chin hooks over her shoulder, Jo feels lighter than she has in, well it's been more than a year.

"How you doing, baby?" He asks against her cheek. And he is not asking about right in this moment, it's everything, how's her art, and her kids, and their relationships, and her job, and most of all her missing him?

The smile takes her face. "I'm alright actually. Really." She summons her courage, says. "I miss you, all the time." She turns and wraps her arms around his neck, her face laying against her bicep, so she can gift herself a view of his face anytime, when she is ready.

Harry kisses her temple. "Me too." And they stay like that, resting in the embrace like it's a balm on a healing wound, for long deep breaths of each other.

When the kettle blows, she pulls her face back and offers him a peck. He smiles before softly bussing her lips and loosening his arms to let her turn around. He eventually has to let his arms drop as she busies herself making the tea - the leaves, and the dunk - serious business. He follows her to the fridge when she gets out the milk. "Same?" She looks at him, he's been looking at her since he arrived, he's always looking at her, in his mind's eye, or on canvas.

"I forgot how beautiful you are." Her gaze drops and she's so glad she got the gall to call his mother. Knows when they have to part again it will be worth it, to have had him in this moment of uncertainty. He is her constant.

She was never more certain than of her feelings for him, his for her.

"Not to steal your words, but me too." The moment's not awkward, just leaden, she rolls her eyes and smiles at him, "now then, same tea?" They do tension like she can't believe, every moment pregnant with possibility.

"'Course, it's not been that long. Only my geography has changed." That makes her almost spill the milk, he means geography like a map. Jo she never thinks of his geography as where he lives, she thinks of the body she mapped under his clothes. Her territory.

"Has it?" She asks and places the milk down, slips her hands under his t shirt to check.

It's bold. She's only ever been so fearless, selfish, with him.

He catches on quickly and the smug smile creases his cheeks in the way that always got her wet. Still. "Would you like to check?"

He doesn't actually give her a chance to answer, his hand is in her hair and he's taken her mouth. She knocks over the milk, the lid isn't tight and drops leak out.

It's both uncharted and the only home she's known. He kisses the same, but tastes just a bit different, like he has a new diet with new habits. Things she might not know, but she does know that when he nips the middle of her lip, it mean he wants her to open her mouth. Jo pulls back to look up at him instead. The thumb on her jaw drops to her neck and the possession makes her weak.

"Lover?" It's a question. His eyes close and he puts his forehead to hers and kisses the tip of her nose. "Har-Harry?" That ones a provocation.

It works. He hoists her up onto the sink sill and jostles the tea cups. Milky tea on the homely countertops.

"We're making a mess!" Harry whispers, breath over her lips.

"Didn't we always?" The color of his eyes is devastating.

"Let's go make a different mess, baby." She nods and he lifts her back up his hips and takes the familiar journey to her bedroom. He walks the counted steps from memory, consumed in the kiss, when his knees don't meet the mattress, his eyes pop open. "Where's the bed?"

Jo points.

Harry stops and looks around. "It's different."

"Yeah." She sighs. She supposes she is negating this change a bit. But this feels like a reprieve and she hopes it's a balm instead of a burn to her missing him muscles. "I miss you. All the time—" She starts to explain.

"Yeah, me too." He interrupts.

"I missed you so much at first I had to, to.."

"I know, baby." He kisses right over her heart. Pulls her arms free and her top over her head. Repeats the kiss. "Of course, I know."

That's the bitch of it all, he does know. He knows everything, all about her, every inch of the body he uncovers. He mapped the curve of her waist, knows that the underside of her breasts makes her writhe when he runs his chin over it, arch when he licks it, and tremble when he sucks. The replay is the same on her nipples, only forceful. It makes her react like a taut bow, she may buck him away. He keeps her still through it, to endure the activation of his prior knowledge . The nips and swirls and eye contact while he favors her breasts, all the things he remembers how to do to her.

Her hips are pistoling. She knows what she needs, has needed for too long to remember how this feels. Too recent, resplendent, to ever forget.

But Jo also knows Harry, and he's in a patient mood. Or worshipful, she supposes. His favorite ritual he is about to perform on her body.

His rite takes him over her belly. Earlier, the lack of curls on his head had only given her a momentary ache, until they didn't make tendrils of fire over her abdomen, slither through the crease of her thigh when he made his way down to start on his knees, at her feet. Her supplicant. The caress to her instep is the beginning of his atonement. The attention to the bends of her knees and then the back of her thighs is a confession.

He adores her ass, and her back. She's onto her knees and pushing back into his body when he gets to her upper shoulders. The supplication is too much to bear and she needs more, every inch of him to merge with her, divine their purpose.

"Har-Harry! Please?" She can feel all of his length in the crack of her ass and it's not where she wants him, but he can do anything he wants with her. It is all a prayer, their worship, even his denial of her pleas. Her glides along him draw a grunt though, gnaws at his patience. She's proud but disconcerted. He's not talking? He always made a joyful noise when he loved her before. "Lover, you ok?"

"I'm," he catches her chin and turns her face into him. "I'm awestruck, Jo."

Their lips mingle just after the breath of his speech ends. She feels him shift behind her, line himself up, anoint his dick with her dew. "Baby?" He asks. She kisses him in an ecstatic state, nods like a sinner taking the wafer , even before he presses the tip in. When he does, she shivers in delight as they commune.

"Oh, lover!" She sings a hymn to their homecoming. Her melody and verse are sighs and moans. He harmonizes with her. Comes to a near crescendo, leads her to a refrain, slower, changes the song. She's on her back now, wide open and ready to receive his message. Instead, he rhapsodizes down her front body again, the chorus quicker. Her cunt is the receiver of his word, and his tongue does something magical while he leads her to the pre chorus. "Oh Harry. Your mouth!" She babbling and praying he doesn't stop, does stop, don't stop, please stop, until she cries an hallelujah.

Thank God she called.

She baptizes him when he takes her through the shakes back to heaven.

Her trance like state is barely broken when he comes to join her, join them. "Jo, you're glorious. I love you!" He swears his oath when he brings them back together. All of him within all of her, and creation too. She grips his face while he rocks into her, needing to see the riches of his eyes. The gold is electric there and she knows he will always come for her, her gold standard. That though he thought their preciousness gone, it was just underneath the weight of the world on top of them.

Now with him on top of her, they've found a new deposit. A shorter vein of richer gold.

They have to relish it, this gift, heaven on earth before it's over.

He does that thing, takes them to that plane, where time doesn't matter, the pandemic makes time sort of irrelevant anyway. What are mere hours between pilgrims?

They go through transfigurations, she's the altar, then the priest. Then him. In all sorts of shapes, their te deum unfolds, refolds, comes undone.

Jo is undone beneath him, unmade, and exhumed as his.

"You're so golden, Jo." He whispers into her ear when his joy and his energy run out.

He falls asleep on top of her, a fugue in the continuing rhapsody this interlude gifted them.

She cries a little, tears of joy. She doesn't want him to go yet. Not until Zoe comes home. That's when their clock runs out, their world ends. It's not fair to put her through it. Zoe missed him so much when he left. Asked about him ceaselessly, them regularly, still rarely.

Jo tells him so. "I'd like you to stay, through Sunday."

He holds her close and nods to nonexistent music in answer. The whole weekend is a symphony to what was, could be.

Some of their overtures are meals cooked for each other, cuddles on the couch, cusses in her bedchamber, a long afternoon with clothes on their backs and paintbrushes in their hands until they found a favored canvas in each other's skin.

He filled in the half heart he found on her with his tears, then with his kisses.

"Let's make a bigger one?" He suggested, and they used her camera, painted their paired halves whole on each other and photographed it. There are a few without looking their faces she will print out and frame, or put into one of the art books she is selling. She loves them so much, that they were complete for a while, she has to have proof.

They call each other by name, a lot. The names vary with the theme, the moment.

But, above all, Jo realizes he is the one she'd call, if she had only moments left. She'd spend them with him.

Their coda is her call and his response.

He'd come over, right.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #wntc #who names the colors #coronavirus edition #if the world was ending