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ohbutwheresyourheart · 2 years

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Fertile Wounds - Part 1

@n0isy-gh0st requested creepy Willy/Madeleine and I am nothing if not an overachiever so here is part 1 of idk how many parts. Welcome to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss hours. It's gonna get fucked up.

In the wake of the Golden Ticket tour, over ten years since they last met, Willy and Madeleine have begun to reconcile. The sweetness of their reunion, however, is soured by Madeleine's realisation that something is very, very wrong in the factory, and with Madeleine herself.

WARNINGS: Body horror, gore, unreality/gaslighting.

Madeleine knew most people were discomfited, at best, by her tattoos. It was why she normally wore long sleeves while working in Elysium (not so much Rapture; the primarily studenty bar clientele was less likely to be put off); to uphold the image of the warm, inviting patissier. A woman made of honey and spun sugar.

Underneath her clothes, she was covered in brambles with thick, wicked thorns. They were expertly rendered and looked sharp enough to draw blood. Despite being just ink on her skin, Madeleine had noticed people thought twice about touching her after seeing them. Which suited her just fine.

So it didn't surprise her to notice the sidelong glances the Buckets passed between each other. Wondering what she, with her arms full of thorns and her cynical attitude, thought she was doing there in Candyland. All save the youngest Bucket; Charlie was too young to grasp the full nuance of everything that had gone into her tattoos but he looked at her sometimes as if he had an idea of the broad strokes. Madeleine had seen him turn that knowing gaze on Willy, too. She wasn't sure what to make of being on the receiving end of it herself, but it wasn't as uncomfortable an experience as she would have expected. Charlie was a perceptive and remarkably good-hearted child.

What Willy thought of the thicket of thorns that had grown over the original wildflowers during their time apart, Madeleine was equally uncertain of. He hadn't said a word about them so far, although he occasionally traced a finger along a twisting stem, deftly avoiding the thorns. When he kissed her, he found the few patches of bramble-free skin to press his lips against. Madeleine had left the space on the back of her shoulder untouched; the berry-coloured lip print remained, and he took it as an invitation.

How did Madeleine feel, these days? Tired, mostly; weary of clutching her pain so close to her chest and pretending it was a shield. She yearned to drop it and allow herself to feel, fully and freely, once again, but so many years holding the same defensive position had cramped up her muscles: she couldn't just decide to stop being cautious.

And yet. When she woke up next to Willy, the taste of candy apples in her mouth, it became harder and harder to think of reasons not to stay forever. Madeleine would lie there, thinking fiercely about the businesses she had built with her own two hands - hers, truly and only hers - but her pride melted away all too quickly when she looked into Willy's sleeping face. The unbridled joy that never failed to illuminate him when he woke up and saw her.

Harder and harder to pull herself away. Easier and easier to listen to Willy when he asked her to stay. At times, it felt like they were back in the old days, the good days; the handful of months when everything at the factory seemed to be going so well and they were on top of the world together.

Sweet and good and smooth, like buttercream on her tongue.

That was why it took her so long to notice something wasn't right.

They didn’t sleep together right away - despite the knowing looks from the older Buckets, those first few nights really were essentially a sleepover - but, when they did, it was just as Madeleine remembered. Except hungrier, maybe: they had a lot of time to make up for.

Afterwards, they got to know each other’s bodies again. Willy traced a careful finger along her brambles, deftly avoiding the thorns. He didn’t say much, but there was an awful, knowing look in his eyes. Madeleine had become marginally more capable of being known in the past decade, however, and she managed to meet his gaze rather than physically and verbally deflecting as she used to. That earned her a smile, small and sweet as a new summer strawberry.

“I think these could flower again, you know,” he remarked. “I’ll just have to be careful ‘til then.”

“Don’t worry, the thorns only cut people I don’t like.”

As for Willy, he was much the same as before; still a hair too skinny, worn thin by the sheer intense mania of being Willy Wonka. Madeleine enjoyed running her fingers through his longer, silky-soft hair; enjoyed, too, the very familiar way he melted into her touch like a cat. The reason for his perpetually gloved hands became clearer - the chemical stains that had begun to take hold in the old days were much clearer and stronger now. Each tapered, elegant finger was blotchy with shades of purple, yellow, green, blue, magenta. They looked bruised, if you didn’t know better.

“Tie-dye fingers,” she teased him, just like she used to, kissing each fingertip in turn. “You hippy.”

What did shock her was the scar: an ugly, knotted puncture wound on his side, as if something had gone for his liver. Which, it transpired, was exactly the case.

“A big old wangdoodle got me while I was exploring Loompaland. I woulda been a goner if the Oompa Loompas hadn’t found me: wangdoodles are the most toxic creatures in the world, it’s why they go for the liver.”

Madeleine lay back as the story washed over her. She’d seen the Oompa Loompas - even grown accustomed to them - but Willy’s stories still carried a sense of unreality. Could it really be possible he discovered a completely unknown country populated by horrendous monsters and cocoa bean worshipping little people?

And yet. If anyone can achieve the impossible, it’s Willy Wonka - and he did say he was going to the ends of the earth.

Whether it was true or not, Madeleine was willing to believe. Willy wove the story so deftly she couldn’t see the seams even if she squinted. Sweeter, then, to take it at face value; to be swept up in the dream. Just like old times. The thought sent a pang through her.

“So were your travels worth it, Gulliver?” Madeleine was proud of how light and inconsequential she managed to keep her tone. The ends of the earth. So far, just to be away from her and the mess she’d made.

No matter. He was back now, and so was she.

Willy chuckled, oblivious to her inner conflict. “I sure felt like I’d woken up in Lilliput at first. I don’t think they knew what to make of me any more than I did them. Lucky for me, the chief at the time was a curious kind of guy and he wanted to talk to me - well, eventually. It took a while for me to learn their language well enough to get anything across.”

“They speak English now, though.”

“Yeah, they learned pretty fast once they arrived here. Honestly, I was really impressed, ‘specially since they just had me around to learn from. They’re clever little guys and gals. Took to the factory work like they were made for it, too; you’d never guess Loompaland was just jungle as far as the eye could see.”

Madeleine rolled onto her side, leaning on her elbow. “Have you ever been back?”

“I went back and forth a few times to bring the Oompa Loompas over here. They wanted to send an expedition party first; it made sense, they’d never been outta Loompaland before, and they wanted to make sure I wasn’t gonna do anything awful to ‘em. So those guys had to go and report back and then they took a vote on all of them moving out to the factory. They’re very democratic, the Oompa Loompas - natural union members,” Willy added with a wink. “You’d approve.”

“Yeah, I heard the office staff have a union. I tried to poke my head in once after five to grab some files, I thought they were going to come after me with pitchforks.”

Willy laughed again, although it was now a much more awkward sound. For once, he was the one who couldn’t meet Madeleine’s eyes. “Yeah. That… That’s ‘cause of you, actually. Well, kind of. I — I mean, I knew how hard you worked, but it wasn’t until I had to do it myself…” Willy grimaced. “Maddy, how’d you do it?”

Oh, no. No. Not this. Not when everything was so sweet and good. Madeleine tensed. Her heart was already beating faster, her breath catching in her throat. No. Not this, not now.

Of all the times for Willy “Never-Talk-About-The-Past” Wonka to decide he will, after all, talk about the past.

“Badly,” she reminded him, aiming for flippant but knowing at once she’d missed the mark. “Remember?”

“What…” Willy sat up, all traces of post-coital languidness gone. “No — Madeleine, you can’t think — it wasn’t your fault! It was those damn spies, and the bank, and those useless investors—”

“You don’t have to coddle me,” Madeleine cut in, pushing herself up to sit against the pillows with her knees pulled up to her chest. “If you’ve forgiven me, that’s fine, but don’t pretend you didn’t blame me — didn’t have reason to blame me… Look, can we just not talk about this? Please?”

She couldn’t sit there and listen to him try to make excuses for her. She knew the narrative and she accepted it: she fucked up, came this close to costing Willy his dream forever, and in return he cut her loose as a liability he couldn’t continue to shoulder. It hurt more than anything else in her life - came closer to killing her than the overdose did - but it made sense. If Willy didn’t hate and blame her back then, why leave? It turned an act of considered cruelty into one of random malice, which made it so much harder to swallow.

She couldn’t stand to hear any of it. The accusations or, worse, the gentle avoidance of placing blame. The pity. She’d rather die than be pitied, and no matter that she had been plenty pitiful in her life. Pride was all she had, wrapped as tightly around her as the thorns inked into her skin.

“Madeleine.” Willy’s voice was soft; not with gentleness, but as if he was too afraid of what he was about to say to speak it any louder. “Have you thought I blamed you all this time?”

A sound erupted out of Madeleine; you couldn’t call it a laugh, not that clash of broken glass. “If you didn’t blame me, why did you leave me behind? I — I understand, okay?” Madeleine forced out, voice cracking. “You didn’t sign up to deal with — that — you wanted out, I understand—”

Stop talking - stop it, stop it - you’ll make it worse - you’ll prove how much is still wrong with you - SHUT UP!

But she couldn’t; like vomit, the words rose up and just keep coming, the dam of brain-to-mouth filter completely breaking down. Madeleine opened her mouth and words spewed forth. What remained of her conscious mind could only watch, as horrified as Willy, by this brand new mess. An image of herself as a broken bottle of wine on the floor flashed through her mind, red liquid seeping into a cream rug: irreparable.

“I understand,” she repeated, because she needs to stress this above all else. “I ruined it — I ruined everything—”

“Maddy — stop — just listen—”

Willy reached out, grabbed her arm — and immediately released her with a savage cry of pain. He yanked his hand back, cradling it to his chest. A dark red ribbon ran from his hand down his arm and dripped onto the bedsheets. It was so sudden and so incomprehensible that they both simply stared for a moment before realising—

“Oh my God, you’re bleeding — how — why — oh, God!”

Madeleine, reaching for his hand to see the damage, recoiled when she saw the huge thorn sticking clean through Willy’s hand. It looked impossibly big, the length of a finger, the end red with blood. Pushing through her horror and revulsion, Madeleine took hold of his hand and tried desperately to remember what you were meant to do with a puncture wound — did should she push the thorn out one way, or the other, or leave it alone entirely? Every second of indecision, more blood pumped out of Willy's hand - on him, on her, on the bed. Willy himself just stared in mute horror; finally, he raised his eyes to look at her.

“They only cut people you don’t like,” he echoed, voice dull.

Madeleine woke with a start, gasping for breath. The bedroom was shadowy and she was not alone; Willy sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. At once, Madeleine grabbed for his hand, holding it up and squinting in the dim light: it was ungloved, and unharmed. Madeleine stared at it, uncomprehending.

“What…” Madeleine didn’t even know what to ask. How much of what just happened was real? She was no longer naked, either, she realised belatedly; she was wearing her pyjamas. “Willy, what…?”

“It’s okay.” Willy’s voice was as warm and sweet as melted chocolate. He threaded his fingers through hers, pulled her hand to his lips to kiss the palm and then folded her fingers down, as if to keep it a secret. “I’m gonna make everything okay, Maddy, I promise. I mean it this time. You’re gonna be happy here.”

“I hurt you.” Madeleine couldn’t take her eyes off his hand. There wasn’t even a scratch. It was a dream. And yet, it didn’t feel that way.

“No, no, you didn’t,” Willy assured her. “Nothing bad can happen here. Not to us. Not ever again.”

Madeleine couldn’t think. She felt — syrupy, now, after the initial adrenaline burst; detached. The questions and concerns were all there, but kept at bay behind a pane of glass. Like when she was double- and triple-dosing on alprazolam. Had she—? No, she can’t have, she hadn’t had a prescription in years, the doctors wouldn’t give her one anymore. But losing track of time, unreliable memories: they had been signs, before, she was taking far too much.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” she confessed, driven to an honesty that would be impossible if she were in her right mind. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing bad,” Willy repeated. The way he said it made it sound like a mantra. His eyes, wide and a little fearful, only lent further credence to the notion. “Nothing bad. I promise. I promise.”

“...No,” Madeleine said slowly, groping for coherent thought. “I—I did, I hurt you — again — I need to… need to…”

“Sleep,” Willy cut in. He swallowed, hard, and squeezed her hand. “Please? Try to sleep. It’ll be okay in the morning. It really will. You’ll see.”

“Vouloir, c’est pouvoir, my dear; give me your will and I’ll show you the way.”

When Madeleine woke next, it was to bright light. The vast majority of the factory did not receive any sunlight, but the lights had been programmed to brighten and dim to reflect the day-and-night cycle of the outside world. Madeleine estimated it was mid-morning.

As she stretched and shrugged off the last vestiges of sleep, she was struck by a sense of unease that she could not place the source of. Within a few minutes, however, it had dissipated entirely. The lingering remnants of a bad dream? She'd had more than a few of those in her time. Madeleien was just glad she hadn't woken up with a head full of nightmare images.

On the contrary, she felt great: well-rested and content. The only tiny fly in the ointment was that she didn't wake up next to Willy, but he was a notorious early riser and had probably been at work for hours already. While she slept on in slothful indolence... well, it was her weekend, technically.

Still, Madeleine reflected as she clambered out of bed and went through to the bathroom, she'd have a word with him about finding something she could help out with. Just sitting around the factory discomfited her; she was so accustomed to being busy that she couldn't acclimate herself to having nothing to do.

It made her smile to see her toothbrush next to Willy's; her favourite toiletries once again populating the bathroom cabinet. Was that even... yes, the marshmallow and sugar plum scented bubble bath that had heralded the end of many delightful evenings stood next to the enormous bath. Hmm, that might be giving her ideas...

Madeleine reached out for the bottle, intending to take a sniff to prompt a few more of those memories — and stopped short, frowning at her hand. What was...

There, in her nail beds: semicircles of rust. Of, she realised with a lurch, dried blood.

An image flashed into her mind: Willy's hand, pierced and bleeding. Then, like that was the key in the lock, the rest of the memory gunned through her mind's eye. Madeleine's breath hitched and her legs weakened; she half-collapsed to sit on the edge of the bath. Her heart pounded in her chest, blood rushing in her ears.

He'd promised she hadn't hurt him. He'd promised it hadn't been real... no, wait, he hadn't said that, had he? Not in so many words?

But there hadn't been a scratch on him.

But, if it hadn't been real, why was his blood quite literally on her hands?

But how could it have been real? Did she really think a thorn had come out of her skin and attacked Willy? That was insane. No... no, she'd... she'd cut herself, or something, and not noticed. Scratched herself in her sleep and drawn a bit of blood. Something. Anything. Anything at all other than this madness.

Madeleine, in the wake of the episode that got her sectioned and resulted in Willy fleeing the country, had at times had a tentative relationship with concepts like time and memory, but hallucinations was an untapped market. She would like, very badly, for it to stay that way.

Then again, which was the worse prospect — that she was going mad, or that it was all somehow real?

Nothing bad can happen here, Willy had promised.

Except, one way or another, it already had.

#you'll be free (if you truly wish to be)#madeleine #willy #willy wonka #charlie and the chocolate factory #technically an au of an au #the 'real' post-movie installment will (hopefully) be a lot more uhhh healthy #but we'll see because I do love fucked up relationships

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pasta-stuffed-possums · 2 years

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We Were Never Functional Anyway Fanart!

This is going to be a long post haha. Fair note, I’m going to also post this on Ao3, but I have to have the art somewhere first, so Tumblr!

One of my favorite Supernatural fics I’ve ever read is “We Were Never Functional Anyway” by @inkbleeder, or BleedingInk on Ao3. If you stalk my tumblr, you might’ve seen the occasional mentions of some big project I’ve been working on for, like, a year. And this is it. It’s not really done, but I did all I could lol.

Also, since this is such a long post, I’m going to try and do a “read more” thing. So fingers crossed that works.

Okay, assuming that worked, here’s the post. I read “We Were Never Functional Anyway” a while back, and decided I would make a little fanart. It all started with this drawing, even.

Yeah. It’s cropped weird. But regardless, I drew that thing. And then decided I liked it enough I would do a full-body drawing of Meg and Castiel from the fic.

And that’s adorable. I just kinda. Fell in love with the story even more? So I did a few more random concept sketches. One aspect of the story I just adored was the cats, Mr. Whiskers and Mephistopheles. So, I decided to draw the big angels.

And I just. Love them. So I decided to do just one more little bit of concept drawing. Miss Periwinkle’s house! Keep in mind I’m absolute garbage at drawing houses and such.

Okay, so that’s the last thing, right? Well... It was right around then that I decided to do something. I decided I would try and draw one drawing for every chapter. Like an illustration of sorts.

Fair note, I ended up not being able to do that in the slightest. I just don’t have the means to do that. But either way, after months and months of work totaling almost a year, plus countless sketch pages I won’t be posting here, I finally had a whole folder of these. And decided I should just post them, since I doubt I’ll ever really finish it anyway.

Without further rambling and ado, here’s the chapters I drew.

Chapter 1

This one was taken from the scene in the first chapter that the Winchesters walked into, and it felt just insane enough to draw reference from. It’s also good proof of how subpar I am at backgrounds that aren’t nature, haha.

Chapter 3

Yup, already skipping around. This one is drawn from the nightmare scene, in which the kids go to bother Sam after Castiel has a bad dream. I got a good laugh out of the mental picture of Meg just plonked ontop of Sam like that in the dark. So yeah.

Chapter 4

One of the hardest chapters to do, simply because there were so many perfect moments. But in the end, I just had to do the fireworks scene described as they got back in the car.

Chapter 5

“Come visit us sometime, boys.” That line just made me smile a little. The entire description of Rowena during this part, like a disheveled mother, was really a nice touch. Plus baby Crowley.

Chapter 7

This one was from the scene where Castiel goes to Dean in the middle of the night for advice. I liked the idea that he has all these thoughts, and Dean is just. tired. idk, I thought it was kinda funny.

Chapter 11

Easily my favorite drawing I did for the entire series. The Kite Fight was just a perfect scene with just the right levels of everything. I adored the whole thing, and couldn’t help but to draw it. Seriously, even as proud as I am of this drawing, it doesn’t hold a candle to the original story.

Chapter 15

Again, I just love the cats. The descriptions of Mephistopheles curling around Meg’s neck like some kind of weird scarf is just *chefs kiss* perfect. Plus Mr. Whiskers. I never quite got the same sort of definitive way to draw him like I did Meph, but I still like it.

Chapter 16

Charlie was so amazing in this fic. Just the best aunt there ever was. I liked the end of the chapter, where the problem has been contained, and she is asleep with Cas and Meg. Just sheer fluff.

Chapter 17

In my original files, this one was titled “Julian_about_to_get_his_shit_rocked” and I think that’s a pretty good title. Peggy is such a good character, and I love that it was Castiel, not Meg, who ended up fucking up Julian. It’s just so sweet.

Chapter 18

Sam and Meg moments are always just perfect. Not to mention the cats. That little hug in this chapter, with Meg declaring he was still her favorite, was just perfect. I cannot overstate just how much I love this story.

Chapter 20

Crowley was so funny through the whole story, and I just adored when he was vibing with Mr. Whiskers. Ignore the weird cat proportions, I did my best haha. Still, it’s just so sweet.

Chapter 23

This is the last one I did, and I think it feels fitting enough. The Christmas Family Photo. I know I keep restating how much I love it, but I really do. Dean and Charlie having a funny-faces battle, the antlers, everything.

And that’s all the drawings. You wouldn’t think it took so long based on the quality, but you’d be wrong. I hope the author likes these, and I hope that anyone else seeing this goes and checks out the story!

#supernatural #supernatural fanart #supernatural sam #supernatural dean #supernatural charlie #supernatural castiel #supernatural meg #art #digital art #fanfiction #fanfic fanart #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #charlie bradbury #meg masters #rowena supernatural #crowley

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hellas-himself · 16 days

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15 questions for 15 friends

Tagged by @pikapeppa ily💖💖💖💖

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes! My mom’s aunt Paula except my mom switch the u out for an o. I was supposed to be an Angelica lmao

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Last night! Ateez was performing at Coachella, and I was watching it live on YouTube. I just love them so much😭😭😭 their music has gotten me through so much the last few years, like if you could have soulmates with music and a group, it would be them.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS? 👧🏻

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED? I never got into sports because of asthma but I love swimming and I always wanted to learn archery, but in school, girls weren’t allowed to do it 🙄

DO YOU USE SARCASM? So much so that sometimes my family can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic or not lmao I mean, my friends can tell so idk 🤷🏻‍♀️

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? The vibes lmao idk sometimes it’s their hair or their makeup or like something they’re wearing.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR? Brown

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Depends honestly. I love happy endings, but I like spooky shit. I learned the hard way that books that have the word haunting in the title does not always mean ghosts. Was not thrilled lmao

ANY TALENTS? Idk tbh lmao I guess I draw and write. I can cook 🤣 I used to sing, and I do actually miss it.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? New York

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES? Reading (on a slump again so this feels like a lie), writing and drawing. Playing video games, cooking and baking.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? Nope. I choose not to have any due to health and also because the trauma™️ my dad ate my rabbit as a kid and I decided at 5 years old I’d never get another one lmao 🤣 I swear I went to therapy and told her about this but idk now I’m just so used to it, I don’t feel the need to have one.

HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5’4 I think. My ID says 5’5 but I wore shoes when I got that.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? English and art. English teachers were always the ones who made school bearable. And art class was just the best. I do enjoy history also.

DREAM JOB? In this economy????? Lmao no but I honestly have 0 idea what I would do. I’ve never enjoyed any job I had- I worked because of necessity and to provide for my family, never because it was a “dream” to work there. I’ve been out of the work force since having my kid and so now, I don’t even know what I would do. 🫠

I don’t know who to tag because it’s been forever- so if you see this, go for it and tag me so I can see it 🫣

#tag game #about me #tumblr game

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

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4/29/23

Late night, got caught up watching RP again. It's not the end of the world, I had planned to do something nice for myself today because of how difficult things have been the past week, so having a nice chill day was a good break.

I finished the desire path project. I think. Big projects never feel done-done, you know? It feels like music, there's always more you can add. That's something one of my mentors, my sculpture teacher in college, taught me that really stuck with me and helped me a ton with my creative process. "Art is never 'finished', only stopped." You can always do more, you can always edit, you can always refine, you can always release a 2.0. So... things can often never feel "done", because... "done" doesn't really exist. But the flip side of that is... you can always come back and work on it more! You lose accomplishment feeling of finality, but you also lose the "I can do better" of finality.

So yeah, I finalized the editing... actually most of it I did after my journal last night. Until really late. Impulse decision, but it got done quick. Today, I put together an outro graphic with my Instagram and my Patreon and exported. And it looks good. I think. That's the thing with video editing - in addition to animation, good lord - you stare at the same footage day-in and day-out, over and over, and you just get saturated in it. Music is the best example of this because of the short form. If you're working on a really complex piece and you are listening to the same song over and over and over for days and days, you just start to see every single blemish in it. Especially if you made it yourself. And sometimes, you start to think it's lame, or it just flat out annoys you. It happens. There are lines in the voiceover that I feel sound... forced. There are pauses that are unnecessary. There's some phrasing that I would reword, like saying... hiking "truly" has had a big role in my life or something. Like... I rarely say "truly" conversationally. Shit like that. To me, after listening to it over and over and over, it's grating. But I have to remind myself, someone viewing this for the first time will not pick up on that. And even if they do, they won't have the same reaction.

So yeah, that piece is done. And honestly, that was basically my day. I decided to just chill today. I've been doing a lot of work. A lot of drawing, music, busting ass on this project. So, I did a little Risk of Rain, but mostly just watched Twitch and hung out.

Still struggling with sleep. Idk what the deal with the earplugs is, I'm trying to give them a few days for me to get used to them, and I'm falling asleep okay which is great, but I keep waking up every few hours... and I don't know what's doing it. It just kills the restfulness of the sleep I'm getting, I feel. Idk.

So yeah, no big profound deep-dive on the meaning of life tonight. Just triple-checking the project to make sure it's where I like it, then planning to upload to YouTube and figure out some kind of promo something for Instagram to go with it. Hard to really do that when, you know, you can't link shit on Instagram... so... I have no clue how to get people from Insta to actually watch my YouTube video... And if I post it on Insta... then why would people go over to YouTube to watch it again? Does that even matter? Do people even watch 12 minute videos on Instagram? Do they have the attention span for it? I don't know shit about this. Ugh.

You know what, I've had this idea bouncing around in my head the past few days. I should set up shop over here. With my art shit. I can cross-link YT videos here. I can embed Instagram posts here, I'm sure. I'm comfortable here, it feels like there's a lot of art here. I've been floating the idea for a while, I just... this journal is a bit of an... experiment. Aka a project. And part of its purpose is to stay disconnected and under its own alias. So... I'm still figuring that part out, I guess.

So yeah, we'll see what tomorrow brings, I'll try to crack that nut when I wake up.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

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pacifymebby · 2 years

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Hiii! Okay so basically we didn’t even end up doing what we were going to do last night we just ended up staying at his place and baking and then we did end up going all the way but not without difficulties. Big tmi coming up!! I don’t know if it’s me?? Like how I’m angled (I’m pretty sure this is it I seem to be angled oddly) or because I’ve never had sex before?? But we just could not get it in. Once we finally did get it in and get a rhythm it was quite nice and he just naturally got to a rough pace that I liked. But the only problem was I still couldn’t cum. Like he made me cum before so I was more worried about making him cum than me but still we tried multiple different positions and to no avail for me. Even on top which I’ve heard is the easiest way for it to happen?? I guess that’s kinda normal though not being to from just penetration alone. And in the end he didn’t even end up getting to cum which I felt sooo bad about. He didn’t seem to mind though. He seems to be more about enjoying the moment than the end result which I’m not against and I’m sure I’ll get used to! I think I’m just kinda used reading and seeing a perfect scene of start to finish where both people finish. Idk I guess I really like the idea of finishing together but that’s probably not really realistic. But yeah I was so much less self conscious this time!! So that was nice!! It was so hard to say goodbye though as we didn’t have any time to like cuddle afterwards :( I really hope we get to see each other on the weekend! Lol sorry this was so long - age gap crush anon

Nah that sounds like such a cute cute evening I love it!!!

Okay so I have this problem too and omg me and B have a running joke about it at this point between him always struggling to get the condom on and then when it comes to it, us not being able to get it in and stuff. I think this stuff is way more normal than people think, and no one talks or writes about it much (me included maybe I need to change the way I write the groupie haha)

It could be to do with the fact it was ur first time and you may have been nervous. Sometimes I can't tell when I'm tight down there and B has to tell me it's happening and like then he'll try to help me relax and stuff (but never before he's checked I definitely want it) (also his way of making me relax before u go ahead and think it's cute, is by sticking his finger up my nose or in my ear to make me laugh, because then it completely divert anxious thought paths haha) (it's dumb af don't try it haha)

But yeah, it could be that you're over thinking it and you're not relaxed down there, which isn't your fault at all and isn't a bad thing, vaginas just be temperamental wee bitches at times.

Another thing could be if he's a wee bit too soft? Sometimes that happens and like, often for the same reasons as you being too tight. But my advice here is just like, don't read into it, it's not to do with you at all and definitely isn't particularly linked to whether he's into it or not either. It's the case with B quite often and generally as well it means that stuff lasts longer too I think haha

Something I've read that me and B haven't tried yet is that propping your pelvis up with a pillow gets you at a better angle for missionary sex, so this could help when it comes to getting it in. And also it allows deeper penetration and can make it wayyy more pleasurable.

Also something I've found right is that the more me and B have had sex the easier all of this has become as we've gotten to know eachother and eachothers bodies better if that makes sense?

It doesn't happen all the time but sometimes I find that we'll be naked, and just messing around and if he's between my legs and generally in the right area, it can, with encouragement, just slip in really naturally.

Something that helps me too is if like, when hes getting lined up, he kinda takes his dick and draws a line down from my clit until he finds my hole and again, can just push himself in kinda naturally.

I think just trying to push it in like one of those kids peg/hole toys doesn't really work that well sometimes.

But honestly don't worry you'll get used to eachother!

What's important is that you enjoyed yourself and your first time was fun.

Onto the cumming business, I think we're taught to think that sex is entirely about procreation therefore the man must cum and that's the most important thing however it just isn't.

I think sex is best viewed as this intimate act which brings you and your partner together, it's this private, close experience you share together and like, it's more about being vulnerable with one another and like sharing that intimacy with eachother. Making eachother cum is fun, and obviously like it's all part of it. But it isn't central to the experience really.

Like sometimes me and B have sex and neither of us cum, we just kinda know when we've had enough and we're tired, and like, that is as good as when we have sex and he cums. Ive never cum from just penetration alone, not with B or with anyone else and I think that's completely normal.

I'm fairly certain most women find that penetration alone isn't enough?

I've cum with B inside me once through being on top and him playing with my clit whilst I rode him, but even then that's way more difficult than they make it look in the movies haha.

Most of the time the way it works between us is that he like, makes me cum pre penetration, multiple times, so that by the time we're having sex I'm over stimulated and like, him fucking me is like, helping me ride out said orgasms?

But again, I think that sex is more of an experience as a whole thing and not purely about cumming. And what you said about your man kinda just being there to enjoy the experience is actually a really good thing.

When me and B first got together, because we both think we're probably on the asexual spectrum somewhere (like neither of us have ever been into one night stands or just having sex for the sake of it) we had a conversation about it, because I was para he didn't even want sex and like I didn't want him to feel obliged and he was the same about me. And we kinda talked about how like, we v much want to be having sex with one another, but that we aren't bothered about whether we both cum or whether we cum together or anything like that, that for us it was entirely about sharing this intimate time together and feeling close and connected.

Like, how I was saying the other day, more often than not after we've had sex he will stay inside me and we'll stay really close together and just kind of enjoy being naked together hugging eachother and feeling the whole skin on skin thing.

Like the other day he told me that that was one of his favourite parts of the whole thing and how close he feels to me just holding me like that. (I did nearly die)

Like I think not cumming, or him not cumming or not cumming together is more normal than we think and accepting that and bejng happy together just sharing the experience is super healthy and good.

But I know what you mean about feeling bad about not making him cum. I still get like that with B sometimes, like, I've gone down on him for a full half hour before and he hasn't cum and it's not me at all (because I've also made him cum in 30 seconds before doing the same thing) it's just the way shit works sometimes.

The same with me, sometimes he can make me cum in like 30 seconds and sometimes I just can't. Like it's all completely natural and I think in our heads we view sex as a 3 step children's story of like, penetration, in and out, cum (the end) and that's just not it at all. Also wouldn't it be boring if every time u had sex it happened in the same routine, totally predictable?

Idk again I hope this has been somewhat helpful!!! Do not worry about tmi at all I think I probably tmi on here all the time!

I hope u see him at the weekend too!!

❤️❤️

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

Note

Hiii, could i have a request for how the gang members would react to meeting a historian or explorer in the wild?? thank you! I love your blogs sm!!

anon ily <3333 i went wayy overboard with these but i regret nothing bc this was soo cute and fun to write. I hope u enjoy and i made it gn for everyone. I only did the VDL boys for this but if enough ppl like it i might do the girls with something similar idk yet?

Dutch Van Der Linde

Dutch first laid eyes on you when you were hanging off the edge of a cliff after slipping when you got too close to the edge. He immediately ran over to you, helping you off the cliff and getting you settled back on your feet.

He seemed genuinely concerned and agreed to help you safely record the rock carving that was on the side of the cliff face, keeping you from falling.

You were a historian and had been studying these mysterious rock carvings after meeting an equally mysterious man, Francis Sinclair.

You didn’t see much of Dutch Van Der Linde after that until you ran into him again in Saint Denis in the saloon. He remembered who you were instantly and started up a conversation about your work where you chatted away for hours.

You became very close after that and he often accompanied you to Museums and fancy fundraisers that you were invited to.

He’d always get dressed up and complimented your finer outfits which was such a difference to the field gear you’d have on. You’d spend all night chatting away over nice champagne and dancing together before actually engaging with other guests but you didn’t have a care in the world with Dutch in your life.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur finds you standing in the middle of a field, flipping over rocks and staring numbly at what appeared to be a map in your hands.

When he approached you he soon learnt you were a young amateur explorer about to get your big break with a treasure hunt but you couldn’t find the gold bars for the life of you.

Arthur gave you a heart warming smile and held up a gold bar after retrieving it from his satchel having felt a little bad that he’d discovered it not a week before you.

The two of you laughed about it, calling yourself a fool for trying to find it for so long when it was clearly missing— the thought that someone took it clearly never crossed your mind.

Arthur was always a gentleman however and promised to make it up to you. After taking you to dinner and getting to know him better, you spent the next few days camping out and finding a new treasure together.

You travelled through caves and through valleys of flowers to find this treasure. Sometimes it was so beautiful that the two of you just stopped by a stream to let your horses rest and enjoy the scenery.

When you finally found the treasure you gave Arthur a big hug in excitement which caught him by surprised but he happily returned. He let you keep the treasure and wished you luck with more exploring but of course that wasn’t the last time you saw Arthur again.

Charles Smith

Charles meets you one day while you’re out surveying wildlife. You specialised in conservation, wanting to study and protect animal species.

Fresh out of the university from Saint Denis you’d been dying to get out of the confining city and explore the heartlands. That’s where a kind gentleman named Charles Smith had offered to protect you and show you around the herds of bison you’d taken to studying.

You spent days together riding the over the hills and following the herd as they travelled. While you were Charles told you all about his family and the respect and love they have for the beautiful creatures.

It was amazing the array of knowledge Charles knew about bison and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face as he told you about the characteristics of the bison. You rushed to take notes in your journal, knowing that all that he told you would help you study and protect these animals.

“Do you think it’ll actually do any good? The work you’re doing?”

“One can only hope Mr.Smith but I will do everything in my ability to protect such beautiful creatures.”

Even when you had to return to the city for study you constantly wrote to Charles, staying in touch and keeping him updated with all your work. It was hard to say goodbye to someone you’d grown close to but you made regular visits to each other long after that.

John Marston

You first found John in the saloon after a long day at work, in desperate need of a drink. Being a zoologist you instantly noticed the scars on his face and would’ve guessed a wolf was the animal that caused the damage.

The two of you instantly started up a conversation and shared all kinds of stories. He told you about being up on the mountain while you showed him the scar on your arm from your run in with a cougar.

You were collecting a compendium of all the animals across the heartlands and during the months you worked on it, you ran into John more than once.

He was always curious about your work and you often spent time together in the afternoon sun, showing him the animals you’d found so far.

“What about the stray dogs in town or do you only deal with cougars and wolves?”

“Well they’re animals too aren’t they not?”

Even though you couldn’t see John all the time, he often came along with you to see the wildlife and covered you when you were around particularly dangerous animals and you enjoyed every second you had with him.

Micah Bell

When Micah met you he had absolutely no idea what you were on about. In his mind the whole idea of a palaeontologist is ridiculous and made up, much less the fact that you chose to read books and study in your spare time.

At first he doesn’t do anything but mock your work but after running into you time and time again he finally started to come around.

He grew more and more curious when he saw the drawings in your sketch books of dinosaurs and even more so when he laid eyes on the fossils. But knowing Micah, he’s still incredibly stubborn.

“Ain’t no way that thing is real.”

“One needs an open mind to comprehend what’s prehistoric Mr.Bell. It requires a certain practice.”

Every so often on your work you’d run into Micah who’d be riding around on his horse, just passing by. By now you’d consider him a friend and your face lit up as he pulled a small ammonite fossil from his bag.

It wasn’t really your area of expertise but you could tell he wanted to impress you and seemed almost nervous as you examined the fossil. Nonetheless you could tell it was real and you let him keep the small fossil as a reminder of you until the next time you saw him.

Javier Escuella

Javier meets you when you’re down my the docks, trying to capture the sunlight and noticed him fishing.

Not wanting to disturb him you kept out of his hair until you heard him cheer loudly at a catch he managed to pull in. In your particular interest in animals, you couldn’t help but ask if you could take a photo of the fish he’d caught.

From then on the two of you became friends, often running into each other as you tried to capture landscapes and wildlife.

You’d always spend the day together and you’d show him how to use a camera while he showed you how to fish and play the guitar.

When you spent time apart you’d often write to each other to fill the gap. You’d always send pictures with little writing on the back of them while he sent you poems and songs that he wrote for you, promising to play them for you next time you’d meet.

In your personal journal you have the first picture you ever took of Javier, kept safe between the pages. He’s standing along the docks, facing the away from the water as he holds up a large sturgeon and a large smile.

You and Javier always stay in touch and after he told you of his chaotic and dangerous time in guarma he made light of it by telling you about all the different wildlife he saw while he was there.

Bill Williamson

Bill stumbles upon you in the wild by accident. He’s out scouting a lead when he ended up getting lost through the shrubbery and found you examining flowers closely.

When you told him you were a botanist he looked as if you’d just spoken a different language to him because he didn’t have a clue as to what that meant. Bill always made you laugh fondly at the confused look when you told him all the scientific names of flowers.

In Bill’s mind, a flower was a flower. There was purple flowers and blue flowers and even red ones but they didn’t have their own names.

The next time Bill ran into you he brought you what he thought was a bouquet of white flowers. Instead they were actually a species of weed that was poisonous when eaten but it didn’t stop you from smiling and hugging him which was the intended purpose.

In light of that incident Bill was actually curious about some plants, trying to learn about them more. When Bill went exploring with you he pointed out some of his favourites and you picked a few to put them in the brim of his hat for him to take him back to camp.

When you run into him again Bill tries to give you another flower, this time actually understanding the plant he’d picked was a Vanilla Flower Orchid or the Vanilla planifolia but he never learnt how to pronounce it unlike you.

With a high blush Bill placed the flower behind your ear and you pulled him into a hug, being careful not to crush the beautiful flower.

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forestlingincorporated · 3 years

Text

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People.

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them.

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent.

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.)

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction.

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children.

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically.

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation.

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear.

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect.

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?)

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but...

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7.

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.)

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics.

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two.

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about.

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural.

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries.

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance.

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other.

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent.

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart.

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist.

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well.

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child.

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive.

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you.

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt.

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh...

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating?

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting.

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t.

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so.

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet.

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom.

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought.

#Tim Drake #janet drake #jack drake #robin #Red Robin #character analysis

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raggaraddy · 3 years

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Idk of I/someone else has already asked this but how would the yanderes react to having a mute s/o

Mute

A/N: Hi Hi. Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy it! 💜💜💜

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, abuse, unhealthy relationships, blood drinking, descriptions of medical care.

Line: Mini-Rap Line (Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin)

Alpha! Namjoon

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Namjoon asks, trying to mask the genuine irritation in his voice.

It's been 8 days and you haven't said a word to him. Now, if you weren't talking at all that would be one thing, but you were specifically not talking to him, and would talk to other people with no problem. Trying to make it as pointedly obvious as possible that you were avoiding him and him alone.

The blatant disrespect of this was driving him mad. But he had never set a rule that directly stated that you have to talk to him or reply to him, and he knew that you would only fight it further if he instituted the edict now.

For you though, you were having the time of your life making him suffer. It was rare for you to have so much control between the two of you, and you were abusing it to the fullest. Especially given the reason this all started.

A week ago you were whining because he wouldn't let you go to the town fair without him. An unreasonable decision he made. Because as you tried to point out, you were going to be surrounded by the pack anyhow, and the excuse he gave for not going was a very unnecessary border run that anyone else could do in his place. While he wants to deny it, you know the real cause for his refusal though. It's because you sounded too excited about seeing your new friend at the fate and he was jealous. Even though she was another girl, for whom you had no romantic feelings, he was still jealous. And petty. You could see it in the way he mentioned her name or his face when you spoke about her.

But even with all that, it was his injustice that really made you snap. The exact words he said to you as you tried to reason your point, were; If you're going pout I don't want to hear another word from you. Basically, he told you to shut up just because he couldn't come up with any valid rebuttals and he didn't want to lose. So fine, if he wanted to be a dick, you were going to simply take his own instruction and hyperbolize it.

And his frustration was worth every moment of silence.

While he was hoping not to further blow this out of proportion, Namjoon was trying to break your silence by being strict towards all your other undesirable behaviour. Disciplining you for each and every rule you broke. Hoping to wear you down, or at the very least provoke you into another argument so that he could claim victory.

He was giving you time outs, taking away your electronics, making you hold quarters to the wall, refusing you junk food and sweets, making you stay by his side the entire day and so on. Fully running through all of his most infuriating and childish punishments. But no matter what he did, you remained defiant. And he was at the end of his rope.

Sitting in the kitchen, you were talking with the Gamma and two other wolves during a patrol break. As Namjoon was putting lunch together, you were happily observing his clenched jaw. However, the aggravation their Alpha was exuding was putting the wolves on edge and they were trying to include him in any way they could. Asking his opinion on topics as trivial as shoes, in the hopes to offset the irreverence you were showing.

When they asked him which of two brands he prefered, you interrupted, sick of their transparent attempts.

"No one cares what he has to say." You snip turning your back to him. For the first time in days, you were referring to him, and all the attitude you had stored up was pouring out in those words. You didn't take a second to think about what you were really saying though.

With an almighty crash, Namjoon smacks his hand into the benchtop, catching the side of the plate causing it to shatter. All three wolves and you jump. Quickly the words replay in your head as you see their wide-eyed gawking. Then the realization hits, you were safe being underspokenly disrespectful, but being outrightly so... he had rules set about that, and now you'd just given him the right to punish you in the way he had been itching to.

Grabbing your arm before you can protest he drags you upstairs to your shared bedroom. With weak shoves and refusals, you stay determined not to utter a single word. But as Namjoon pulls onto the bed, dragging you over his lap, as he lifts up your dress and tears down your underwear, you recognise that it's not time to play anymore.

Ignoring your shouts, your foul language, and eventually your cries for him to stop, he holds you down and smacks your ass raw. After about 20 minutes and once he's reduced you to tears, he finally lets up.

"Apologize," he demands. Still crying, you're too out of breath to reply at once, and that pause costs you. His hand comes down on your bruised ass again making you scream. Your cries turning into whimpered hiccuped apologies as you cling to the tear-soaked duvet.

Satisfied with your change in attitude, Namjoon at last stops. Not letting you run away like you want though, instead he has you straddle his lap, his legs carefully spread so your bruised butt doesn't have to sit on anything.

"Do you understand why I did that Y/n?" He asks softly pulling you into his chest. His hand running over your back.

You know why he did it, but you're too bitter to answer him and can only muster a grunt.

"Still not speaking to me, huh?" He smiles knowing he has already won whether you wanted to admit it or not, "Because if you're going to continue being disrespectful, I don't care if your ass is still glowing, I will bring you back up here."

You can only grunt again. Hating him, while you nevertheless cuddle in closer not wanting him to stop comforting you. He chuckles feeling your energy. Fiddling with your clothes and hair to realign and neaten them.

"Beautiful," he purrs in your ear, "If it really means that much to you, I will have someone cover me this Friday so I can take you to the fair." He consigns, kissing your forehead. You finally look up to him, head tilted and mouth slightly open. "Do you want that?"

Looking down and away, you're pouting a little but you push the word out. "Yes,"

"Okay, I will. But you have to be on your best behaviour from now until then." Namjoon winks.

You lost, but you still got what you wanted in the end. So maybe you can chalk this up to a draw. And at the very least you've found a way to get what you want in the future. So maybe that can be considered a win.

Assassin! Yoongi

Because of your disrespectful outburst, Yoongi had told you that you were not allowed to speak until he says. So far you were 4 weeks into your 5 week deadline.

Initially, it was an unyielding torment to have to be silent. A few times you had slipped up and spoken. Each and every time, Yoongi was quick to respond. He would lock you downstairs for as many days as words you spoke. Luckily, the most you said at one time was 5 words. And he still fed you while you were down there. So while it was horrible, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Steadily though, you found it became easier. While you weren't allowed to speak, you still needed to be able to communicate with Yoongi, so he allowed you to nod and shake your head, and smile. It was restrictive, but strangely enough, you found it becoming comfortable. Because you couldn't speak Yoongi expected less from you. You didn't have to search for words when he spoke to you in an attempt to make him happy and overall, it made your interactions less stressful.

With you not speaking, he was speaking less also. So for the past few days, you have been enjoying a wordless dialogue that you and Yoongi were having. And at this point, you were feeling more relaxed and not missing talking at all.

Although waking up this morning you came downstairs to a horrible sight, that made you wish you could scream.

Yoongi was collapsed on the floor. Stretched out on the kitchen tiles in a puddle of his own blood. Covered in bruises and cuts. His torn up T-shirt soaked in blood.

3 nights ago he had left for a job. With the ease between the two of you, Yoongi didn't lock you up when he left, although he didn't downrightly state that as the reason. He must have come home sometime last night, but clearly, you didn't hear him.

Rushing to his side, you're looking down his unconscious battered form with no idea what to do. This is nothing you know how to deal with.

With how long you have been without speaking it feels wrong, unnatural even when you think about doing it now. And you can't bring yourself to release a single word. So you do what you can to try and get his attention, and to wake him up. You shove him, clap over his head. Lastly and desperately smacking his face a few times, sighing in relief as it pulls him back to consciousness.

Groaning, his eyes look to be spinning from light-headedness. Stiffly he tries to get himself upright against the wall. Seeing his intent you help him. Pulling him, you slip a little in the puddle of blood. Your hands and feet are already covered in it. Your limbs trembling as you hold your hands away from your body. Looking down at him with pleading eyes, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Medic kit," he breathes, each puff heavy and wheezed.

You nod, spreading a trail of blood through the house to his bedroom. Collecting the duffle bag in his closet that is filled with a surgeries worth of supplies and running back downstairs, you drop the bag at his side, unzipping it for him.

While you were gone he's torn his ripped shirt off. Among the cuts and scars that already litter his pale chest, he has a deep long cut that runs diagonally down his torso. It looks like basic first aid was already applied, blood-drenched gauze stuck on the worst and deepest parts of it.

"I'm gonna talk you through this," he pants, with a struggled smirk, "Maybe wash your hands first, cause if I die of infection, I'll be pissed." His playful banter feels so out of place, not just for the scene but for him. Although, you're not going to question how he wants to deal with a life-threatening injury, and the ridiculousness of you being the one that needs to help him. If he wants to joke to cope, fine.

Nodding and wide-eyed through the whole run-down, it takes everything you have, but you stay calm and stop yourself from crying.

Thankfully time has seemed to stop the bleeding. As you remove the bandages the lacerations have somewhat clotted. Going step by step, you follow Yoongi's every word. First, you clean the area with a bucket of water and a cloth. Then apply an antibiotic ointment, that smells really gross. Washing your hands once again, you lower beside him, and realize you've only just gotten to the worst of it.

While the bleeding has stopped the cuts above his belly button and his hip are deep enough, the fat is exposed.

"You gonna be able to do this?" Yoongi asks as you hold the needle and thread with a tremble in your hands that is painfully obvious.

You nod, taking a deep breath. But even after 3 more of them, your exhales are still coming out shaky. You are in desperate need to calm down and your sure he can't get mad at you in this circumstance, so you're going to try what you've seen on T.V. Standing, you rummage through the cupboards and pull down a bottle of whisky from the top shelf. Watching Yoongi closely as you open the cork, giving him the chance to stop you. But he doesn't so you gulp down a few mouthfuls, shivering as the taste flows down your chest.

You're not sure if it helped your hands, but you feel a little better. So that's enough.

Returning to his side, slowly Yoongi talks you through suturing the openings. A traumatic experience you hope to never repeat. The sensation of the needing pushing through the layers of skin will surely never leave your head though.

During the stitching, you were surprised that Yoongi didn't flinch or react in any way. You're unsure if it was because the area was numb or because he was restraining himself to not freak you out. But in any case, you were grateful.

After everything and nearly 2 hours, you finally move onto bandaging.

Both of you are now able to slump back, thoroughly exhausted. For the longest time after the final step, neither of you move. You're still horrified, leaning against the wall looking over the armature medical aid you've given Yoongi's chest. Almost feeling a sense of pride through the unrelenting urge to vomit.

"You know," Yoongi grunts, shuffling back, lifting only his head to rest against the same wall. "If you wanna finish early and talk now, I think you've earned it." He chortles dryly, with a straight line smile.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, you laugh uncomfortably. Honestly, after this, you'll be happy to have the next week without speaking.

Vampire! Hoseok

You couldn't take much more of this.

It was endless and he was ruthless.

Night after night Hoseok was coming to you. Drinking from you, hurting you in so many ways, and leaving you. If you were lucky, he'd remember to feed you his blood before he left. If not, he'd let you remain broken, making you suffer through the day.

With everything that you had to endure, you were tired of being tired. Exhausted of being exhausted. Scared and sad all the time, and hating a life from which you had no means of escape. But even with all of this, you were still holding out hope that there had to be some way to lessen your suffering. You had to believe that if you wanted to keep your sanity. You just had to figure out what he wanted.

So far you had seen no depth to him. All you had learnt was that he enjoyed your misery too much. It was like a game to him. Every sound you made, every cry, every time you begged or screamed at him, or fought him, it would only encourage him. He was trying to coax a reaction, to draw out your fear. And with no other form of control, you wanted to see what would happen if you took that away from him.

You theorized that if you did he would get more vicious, but then he would get bored. Best case scenario; he would let you go. Worst case; he would kill you. And somewhere in the middle; he would keep you only for your blood. But any of these were better than the hell you were living in now.

So partly with a plan in mind, and partly out of sheer exhausted terror, you stopped speaking. It was going to be impossible to stop all sounds. There was no way you could stop yourself from screaming or crying or reacting, but you could control the words that came out of your mouth.

And for over 2 weeks now, you haven't uttered a single word.

With the sun high in the sky and being ready to sleep, you come back to your room, jolting as you open the door. Seeing Hoseok sitting on the bed.

In an unnatural flash, he's behind you, goosebumps prickling on the back of your neck. Grabbing a chunk of your hair he jerks and twists you, moving you to face him. His other hand comes up pressing his fingers into your cheeks harshly enough to make your mouth open. Keeping your jaw spread, he moves and tugs your head inspecting inside at all angles.

"Hmm, I was just checking if I cut your tongue out and forgot. But it's there." he uses his hold on your face to throw you back. Crashing you to the floor. "So you're choosing not to speak to me." He chuckles eerily.

As soon as you hit the floor, you scramble to your feet. Struggling to do so with an injured leg, but knowing it's safer to not let yourself remain on the ground or he'll most likely stomp on you.

You croak quickly silence yourself, forcing yourself to not speak and maintain your desperate strategy. Bracing yourself instead like you're facing a wild animal.

He marches forward, grabbing the arm you hold out. You'd rather he break your limbs than your organs. But he uses the arm to yank you forward, his right fist hooking broadly, your head snapping to the side, blood flying from your mouth. "Still not going to speak baby?" He yanks you back, hitting you in the exact same way. And a third time, your mouth gushing blood inside and out. "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" He laughs switching his target, this time aiming at your torso. Each time dragging you back into place so he can properly hit you again.

Smacking the back of his hand into your head, he lets your fly into the floor this time. Clicking his tongue as he squats, hovering over you. "Baby, it's not as fun when you're not begging me to stop," he says icily. "Maybe I'm not hurting you enough."

Finally, he's giving you the assurance that you were right. Which means just like you thought, he's threatening to become more vicious. So you can endure that, or you can try something extra and see what happens when you outrightly give him everything he already takes.

Gently and so very carefully you lift your arm to his chest, gradually and painfully getting yourself onto your knees. Watching you do so with such difficulty and while you're trying to maintain eye contact with him, Hoseok is too amused to interrupt you.

With the taste of blood flowing from your mouth, you lean in nervously, expecting at any moment to have your body broken in two. Your heart thumps enough to hurt as you lightly kiss him. Leaving a stamp of your blood on his lips. Too scared to even blink as you monitor him. With a curious expression in his eye, he licks lips clean, a trace of a smile raising the corners of his mouth.

Not receiving a negative reaction you continue. Hoisting yourself up again you begin to kiss him slowly, your tongue flicking his lips encouraging him to open his mouth. Deepening the kiss the moment he does. Kissing your blood between the two of you.

Your hands are shaking, your legs are trembling, and you feel sick with fear, but he seems to be stable. And it seems to be working. As tenderly as you kiss him, he is kissing you back the same.

After several minutes and as the pain of holding yourself up gets to be too much, you lower down, terrified that any movement could evoke a change in his response. Keeping your eyes fixed on him, you tie your hair back into a messy bun.

The smirk on Hoseok's face is fully grown as he watches you with complete intrigue. You've never been the one to initiate anything and he is beguiled by your actions.

Coming back to the same height you don't return to kissing him, instead you press your chest to his, clinging one hand into his shirt to keep you balanced, and the other wrapping around his neck to bring his mouth down to your shoulder. It's a wordless invitation that he accepts eagerly, sinking his fangs into the slope of your neck. Too sore and tired to cry out, you can only pant through the bite.

As he drinks, your hands drop and his tighten around you to keep you up. But the second he's done, he releases you and lets you fall to the carpet.

Your eyes open as you hear the bedroom door. However, you see Hoseok stall. Pursing his lips while looking over his shoulder at you. To your surprise, he turns back and in a delicate manner you did not think possible from him, he lifts you up, carrying you to your bed.

Tilting your head up, he presses his lips to yours and your first thought is one of dread. Assuming that he's not finished and he only came back to have sex with you, thinking how much it's going to hurt in your condition.

Pushing his tongue into your mouth you can feel right away that the blood pouring into your mouth is not yours but his. His tongue lapping yours, feeding you his blood the same way you did to him. Healing you in a way he never has before.

Steadily you can feel all your cuts and breaks startling to heal. Clarity returning to your sight and your breath again flowing easily. As your energy returns you begin to reciprocate the kiss. Both out of a feeling of success and clinging on to the taste of his blood, which has come to trigger a feeling of relief within you. Having attached the flavour with the sensation of having your pain taken away.

Abruptly, Hoseok pulls away, getting up without another word or look. Leaving you alone, laying in shock.

It was a reaction unlike any you had expected, but for the very first time, he was damn near humane. So you would have to try that again and see if lightning strikes twice.

Playboy! Jimin

"Ta-da" Jimin bursts into the bedroom with a small black paper bag in his hand and a massive smile on his face. He jumps on the corner of the bed snatching the remote from you and turning the tv off with a click over his shoulder. "Look, Angel." He hands it over, putting the gift in your lap.

Looking down at it, you sigh internally, leaning back you choose to pointedly ignore it. Resting your head against the headboard, you close your eyes.

Lifting the bag by the handles Jimin swings it between his fingers over your head trying to place it in your eye line. "Look, your favourite." He shakes the brand in your face, the joy in his eyes gently fading into guilt.

For 5 days now, you had been stuck in bed. During an argument about your job, Jimin was once again trying to convince you to quit. His points were the same as always. That you didn't need a job because he could pay for you. That you lived with him, and he would buy you heaven and earth. He meant it in a sweet romantic way, but you couldn't help but take it in a 1910 housewife kind of way. You knew that mostly the reason he wanted you out of work was that he was very greedy with you and hated you being around other people. He didn't like that you weren't there to keep him company and entertain him at all times.

Honestly, those 8 hours out of the house, even though you were down to 3 days a week, were so revitalizing. Jimin could be a lot of work. And he was getting more and more controlling about who you saw and when you could see them. Apart from work, it had been 3 months since he last let you go out or see any of your friends by yourself. And you were fighting to hold onto this last little bit of freedom.

However, you will admit in the attempt at making your point solid, you said something incredibly stupid. He said he paid for everything, and you said you needed your own money in case you ever wanted to leave him. And he took that about as well as you'd expect.

"Come on, this isn't fair." Jimin pouts. "I said I'm sorry."

What really wasn't fair was that he hit you, kicked you, and screamed at you. Demanding you apologize and promise to never leave him. But you were coughing up blood, too dazed to even comprehend his words at the time. And when you didn't answer he growled you can't leave if you can't walk as he threw you down the stairs.

It's only by a miracle that you weren't injured as permanently as he intended, but still, he had done plenty of harm. Your ribs and stomach were black and purple. Your face was cut up with your lips split and your jaw swollen. Your arm and hip were also deeply bruised and sore. But with all of this, you truly have no idea the full extent of the damage because Jimin refuses to let you go to the hospital.

So, due to your injuries and your own principles, you hadn't spoken to Jimin since you woke up.

The first day he was remorseful and apologetic. He pleaded and begged for you to forgive him. He tried to hold you and love you and take care of you, but despite the pain and the fact that you really couldn't take care of yourself, you refused him at every turn. On the second day, he was already becoming annoyed that you wouldn't let him near you and kept ignoring him, and on the third day, he yelled at you for being difficult, trying to put the blame for his reaction on you. Yesterday, when he saw that gaslighting you wasn't getting him what he wanted, he went back to being sweet and doting, having had better luck with guilting you in the past.

This means today when his presents don't earn him your forgiveness, he should be right on track to getting pissy again.

He pulls a small box out of the bag, flicking it open. "Ta-da," he smiles. Only to be met once more with your active avoidance. "Look," he whines holding the ring box up but your eyes are closed. "Y/n look!" He barks.

You're not going to, though. He always does this. Buys you something to resolve his guilt. And if for even a moment you express gratitude or pleasure in it, he takes it as complete forgiveness. Then when you haven't actually absolved him, he accuses you of being difficult or a spoiled bitch. Even ignoring him you know he's going to make a problem of that too, but at least this way he will have to keep suffering in his shame.

During the last few days, you've been thinking hard about why you're with Jimin. For a moment, you even thought about packing your things in the middle of the night and leaving him. Moving back in with your old housemate, returning to full-time work and picking up your life where you left it. But thinking that, even with everything bad Jimin can do, it hurt your heart.

He's yours. And out of all of the people in the world, you're his.

Really there weren't too many times that he freaked. And he only did it because he loved you too much, or because you said something cruel like you did this time. No, most of the time he was so sweet. He listened to you, and he really cared about everything you had to say. Even the smallest problems he wanted to help with. He was normally so kind and gentle and he treated you like a princess.

No matter how hard you looked you would never find anyone who treated you like Jimin did.

So even when he lost his temper, you knew you just needed to hold out, because soon everything would return to regular.

This time he just overdid it. And that's why you were punishing him by not speaking to him. Because you knew it was important to stand up for yourself.

There's a flurry of sudden movement and a hefty bang across the room. Your eyes jumping open, Jimin has thrown the ring and the box into the wall. His frustration exploding in a rampage as he attacks your makeup table. Sweeping everything off it, stomping on anything fragile that hits the floor. Throwing the table over he hurls it into the wall, finishing it off by booting his shoe into the mirror over and over until it cracks.

Turning back to you, his hands curled up by his side, it's unnervingly apparent that he is fighting to restrain himself. Even now, as you lay in bed broken, in his rage he is still considering hitting you again.

But you're pretty sure he won't.

Jimin has just never been good at dealing with consequences and he is worse at dealing with the guilt that comes because of his actions. Without you pardoning him, he's going mental. Which is good, because that means he's learning.

"Whatever," he yells, "just fucking forget it." Barging out of the room he slams the door ferociously behind him.

He may be acting harsh, but you know that more than likely he will be going out to replace everything he just damaged. And he'll buy you something even better than a ring to say he's sorry.

And as long as he doesn't hit you again, you'll know that he really is sorry and in a couple more days when your mouth is healed, you will be able to forgive him. Then the two of you can move on from this and it will be as perfect as it can be.

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honklore · 3 years

Note

hello! i just found ur blog and omfg i’m in love with your writing style! may i pls have some soulmate au hc’s for a reader who’s an artist? (i’m indecisive so you can choose who the hcs are with!) so like (insert cc u write for here) has got paint stains on his hands and like assorted sketches and stuff on his skin all the time from his soulmate. ty so much!! :]

masterpiece | quackity

(gn reader, quackity is the loml, reader is so talented but v messy, chat teases q to no end, quackity is the biggest softie in the world but refuses to acknowledge it, plantain slander)

listen to: rainbow connection (cover) by sleeping at last

sweet quackity :((

it starts when he’s eighteen, and it happens like almost immediately

he got these splotches of purple on his hands and his mom was like ?? are u getting into fights ?? are you okay???

and q rlly doesn’t mind aside from the weird questions when the colors are a little too close to red or purple

but!! nowadays mostly you just sketch w a pen

it’s during your classes usually,,, ur an art history major and you need something to occupy your hands (which is actually why you started drawing in the first place)

so during the day quackity will acquire lil sketches of famous paintings,,, or sometimes originals,,, but they’re always washed off before the day is done

sometimes random art facts/theories/studies but he has no idea why someone would write him about van gogh’s use of color

*cue u aggressively scrubbing your skin in the shower bc you always forget how permanent the ink is*

quackity is sort of... hesitant when it comes to writing on his skin. esp with streaming, he’s scared that fans will react badly ,, that negative thought keeps him at bay most days

but sometimes he writes lil notes on his legs,,, where chat won’t see anything ,,,, and they’re always either rlly sweet or rlly weird

(hope ur having a good day)

(hey bestie :P )

(soulmate my beloved)

(will u be the howie mandel to my dr. phil)

that last one made you genuinely worried for your future

badly drawn picture of a duck holding a briefcase (this is me)

which confuses you but as he draws more, you begin to associate him with ducks, and sometimes the duck wears a tie, and sometimes a beanie, and one time he had a giant blue axe which kind of concerned you

but you digress

when you get stressed u finger paint

and it’s just a way to create chaos and feel the cold paint on your skin like idk it’s relaxing yknow :)

quackity is streaming

and he doesn’t realize what’s happening. he’s reacting to attaway general,, and he’s kind of invested

it’s only when he pauses it to make a point that he notices

and he tries to hide it but chat notices right away

panicked!quackity

it’s not that he doesn’t trust chat he just knows things can get negative quickly and he wants his space to be free of that

but someone donates “artist q?”

and quackity lets the joke run

he stands up and pulls the mic super close to his mouth

“i’m in my artist arc chat! nihachu watch out >.>”

“CHAT WE’RE POPPIN OFF I AM A PAINTER NOW I PAINT”

it’s literally so silly bc q knows that chat knows but they’re letting him do his bit

and later that night he checks twitter and artist q is trending, but quackity’s soulmate is also trending

it’s all mostly supportive, and there’s already some rlly endearing fan art of quackity with paint all over his hands

quackity private tweet: ❤️❤️❤️

and he gets a lil confidence boost after that

answers questions abt u on his alt

tells the story of his mom thinking he was getting into fights

“guys paula is still my number one and my soulmate will just have to understand that”

“we already agreed we would both reject each other for taylor swift chat it’s fine”

answers donos and doodles on his hand

which he can do now bc chat knows!!!!

(you’re so talented your honor)

(have you ever seen attaway general?)

(charli d’amelio is in it)

(charli d’amelio is in it shit dixie sorry)

and you’re like !!! it’s on my hand !!!! it’s not hidden at all !!!

this image is so endearing to me like you’ve got paint stains all over your hands and quackity’s scrawl is filling in the empty spaces like he didn’t want to interrupt your work

duck with a beret, a mustache, and a paintbrush (this is me now)

ik he is going to share the most mundane things in a way of showing his love

(i listened to this song the other day)

(i bought a literal plantain today those things are big as shit)

(update: not good :/)

(i’m writing lore)

(i have an exam tomorrow)

just :(( sweet quackity wants u to know every little detail abt his life bc he wants u to know him

and you reply when u can

(added to my playlist!)

(i like plantain chips but i’ve never had the fruit alone)

(rip buddy :/)

(lore? like fnaf?)

quackity finds out you know extensive fnaf lore and the two of you stay up arguing about which is worse: the bite of ‘87 or the bite of ‘83

both of your legs look like newspapers that night and it takes a lot of scrubbing to get all of those off

one day you’re painting smth and quackity randomly gives you his discord

(add me and we can watch game theory together and see who is right)

the two of you end up watching it and getting in call with each other

when you hear his voice it’s like everything falls into place

he fills in all the empty spaces,,, answers all the questions you didn’t realize you had,,,, and he’s so wonderful that you find yourself missing him dearly whenever he’s not on call with you

you join him in calls on his streams sometimes like for jackbox or when he’s cooking

“CHAT MY SOULMATE IS A CHICA KINNIE”

you stop joining him on calls on his stream /s

but chat loves you and always takes ur side over q’s

you get tons of followers on your art account and you even get to sell some of your paintings!!

ur new favorite colors to use are blue and yellow i don’t make the rules

but everyone starts to catch on and they find it really sweet

you catch up on quackity lore solely for him and declare yourself a c!quackity apologist

you’ve definitely retweeted the meme that’s like “if villain bad why hot”

when u guys meet quackity kisses your forehead :((((

when you

a drawing of two ducks holding hands (this is us)

thank you for the kind words and for requesting !!!

#quackity au #quackity fluff #quackity x reader #dsmp fluff #dsmp au #dsmp x reader #mcyt au #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader

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littlemisslipbalm · 3 years

Text

“your turn”

Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.

A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.

gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk

Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated

Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))

Harry Styles was a romantic.

He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.

He hated weddings.

Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.

Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.

Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.

By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.

He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.

When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.

When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.

When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.

“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.

Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.

“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.

Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”

He nods back to her, “They must.”

Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.

“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.

“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.

His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.

He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.

The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.

“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.

When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.

The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.

When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.

Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.

It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.

Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.

“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.

“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”

Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.

“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”

Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.

“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.

He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.

The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.

She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.

There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.

No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.

In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.

That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.

She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.

He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.

He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.

“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”

She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.

“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.

“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.

“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.

Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.

His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.

“It was a joke,” he shrugs.

“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”

“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.

“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.

“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”

He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.

“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.

“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.

“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.

“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”

“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.

“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.

“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”

“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”

“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”

“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.

She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.

“I’ll bite,” she relents.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”

She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.

“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.

He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.

“I’m twenty-five.” She states.

Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.

“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”

“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.

He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.

“I’m from California.”

“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”

She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”

Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.

“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.

She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”

“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.

“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”

He nods eagerly.

“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”

“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”

She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”

Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.

She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.

“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”

He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.

“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.

She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.

His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.

“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.

She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.

Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.

So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.

“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.

Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.

“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.

“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.

“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.

Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”

Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”

They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”

“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”

Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.

Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”

Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”

Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”

“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.

Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.

Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.

“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.

“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”

Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”

“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”

“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”

Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.

“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”

As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.

“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.

“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.

“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.

“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.

“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”

Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.

“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.

“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”

She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.

“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”

“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”

“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.

Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”

Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”

“So it was you!”

“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.

“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”

“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”

“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”

Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.

Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.

Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.

“Hello?”

“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.

“Who’s asking?”

“...Harry.”

“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.

Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.

“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”

“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”

“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.

“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.

She laughs.

“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”

His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.

“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.

His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.

She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.

She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.

He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.

“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”

“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.

Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”

She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.

Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”

“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.

“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”

He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.

She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”

“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.

She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.

“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.

“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.

Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.

She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.

Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.

At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.

“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”

Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.

“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”

“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.

“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”

The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.

She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.

They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.

“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.

He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”

Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.

“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.

“Rori,” he responds.

“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.

His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.

“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.

Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.

Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.

She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.

“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.

She had been the answer to all his questions.

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