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neutron-stars-collision · 9 months

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Epilogue - Always You

Chapter 20; Masterlist Summary: One December evening, Vengeance climbs into your apartment through the window. That's regular occurrence by now. What isn't regular, is the conversation you share. Warnings: 18+ (sorry, the gremlin in my brain insisted I describe some of that), swearing. Author's Notes: So, this is the official farewell. This epilogue turned out to be kind of an 'evening in the life of', but I think I needed that. Even if only just to say goodbye to those two. It's 6k of headcanons and fluff, so I hope you enjoy 💕 Once again, thanks for sticking around ✨ A playlist will follow bc of course I have that too. Feel free to let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5

(gif credit: @1038276637)

No amount of thinking and consideration could have ever prepared you for the reality of being Bruce Wayne’s partner. Or girlfriend, a term you had sometimes relished teasing him with. If only to get that same deadpan look, complemented by a pink blush on his cheeks and one sentence reply.

Always the same: “You’re much more than that to me”. Every time the answer made you blush too, overwhelmed with love and hopefulness like never before. Because, as it quickly turned out, Bruce treated this seriously, daily putting in work to make sure whatever you had would survive.

And it did, at least until the rain showers had been replaced by snowfall, and the white coat covering most of Gotham almost made up for the plummeting temperatures. Long enough for you to get used to the idea that a solo night at your place did not mean loneliness. It did not even mean that you would be alone for that much longer, for, as it happened, Bruce’s patrol now sometimes led to your apartment instead of the Terminus. It was a substitute for the nights when you opted to stay at your place instead of perusing the Tower. All the heads-up he would give would be a quick text sent between the hours when you were likely still awake. But it was all you needed, instantly perking up at the idea.

That night was like that, as you were informed by a message on the burner phone: “I’ll come by after 2”. Easy fate to achieve - waiting for Bruce until 2 am. Although, the slow passage of time made you groan for the umpteenth time as you found it still to be only 1 am. An hour. A whole bloody hour. Your head dropped onto the table with a dull thud. The waiting for him was the worst part of it all, perhaps only next to the constant anxiety that filled your veins whenever Bruce was playing the part of Batman. Mostly because you never knew whether waiting up on him in the cave would be to get that desired kiss and help him with the amour or whether it would entail cleaning the wounds and bandaging the cuts. You already had a fair share of both. And there was no point guessing which you preferred.

Your favourite nights, by a large margin, were those when Bruce stayed home. Or at least stayed long enough to go to bed with you. Those were the nights of discoveries and enlightenment, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Always wanting more. Luckily now, you did not have to deny yourself what you had become addicted to. And the list was growing exponentially. Like the fact that after that first night when you had confessed your feelings for Bruce, the three words had only gained power. Enough so that when you whispered them at just the right time, with Bruce still buried deep inside you and inching towards his release - they were all the trigger he needed. All sense of control seemed to disappear as soon as you reminded him you loved him. And for that, the affection only grew.

You knew that was very much mutual.

The other discovery, which had led to many sleepless lonely nights, spent squirming under the covers, was that once Bruce had understood that he truly was the best you ever had, a new level of confidence was unlocked. Some might even call it smugness. But you could not possibly mind a bit of cockiness when it got you a man who would tease you with his fingers and mouth till you were a whimpering mess. And then, only then, he would lean in close, let his mouth brush your heated cheek and the shell of your ear, and whisper: “Come for me”. A request. A command even. You had no choice but to obey. Not that you didn’t want to. By now, the exact way he had spoken had become a go-to soundtrack to all your daydreams. A weak substitute for when you were apart.

It was still better than nothing.

Glancing at the watch to check the time, you were easily brought back from the pleasant recollections. It was almost 2 am. Not long now. You did not need a mirror to confirm your mouth stretched into a dumb smile. The reaction was involuntary at this point, transforming you into that type of lovesick individual you always scoffed at. The irony was infuriating. Feeling the tell-tale shiver of anticipation, you made one final lap of the flat. Smoothing out the bedsheets (even though neither of you cared about it), taking out the short-rimmed tumbler (in case he did want that whiskey you offered before Halloween) and dragging a hand through your hair to detangle any knots (even though he had seen you with bed-hair and mascara stains on your cheeks). Only then you could say you were ready.

And right on time, too, for before long, you heard the familiar light knock upon the window frame. A smile broke out on your face as you crossed the room to unlatch the window and stepped back. This part always made you laugh. You knew why Bruce deemed the window a better way of entering your apartment, but it was still a strange spectacle to witness. Using the grappling hook, he would lift himself to the level of your building and gracefully slip in. The only downside? The melting snow created puddles on your floor. This time you were prepared, a sweeping mop in hand.

The first glimpse you caught was a smile under the cowl. A look so strange for Mr Vengeance himself, yet something you had grown accustomed to. You returned the expression with ease, watching as he jumped in feet first through the window frame and landed on your floor with a quiet groan. That, too, was a sign – this night had been rough. Before you could process the realization, Bruce strengthened up and took off the cowl. As always, that first shared glance made you shiver. The smudged black makeup was smeared around his eyes, hair messy and unkempt, begging you to arrange it. There was no reason to wait.

“Hello, you” you closed the remaining gap and placed your hand on his shoulder.

The material felt cold and made you shiver as you rose on your toes to level with him. Bruce’s eyes traced your every move as he wound his arm around your waist, keeping you close and secure.

“Hey,” the whisper you got in return was the last thing you let him say before you crashed your mouth into his with a satisfied hum.

The coldness of his lips did nothing to stifle the spark of fire slowly building in your veins. As always. Carefully you let your tongue trace his bottom lip, prodding at the seam till Bruce opened his mouth, inviting you in. The familiarity of the feeling was enough to let you drop the remaining weight from your shoulders and sink into him, tasting and consuming all you could. All that he was willing to give you.

Bruce responded in kind to the tempo you had set, caressing your tongue with his and lightly nipping at your bottom lip. He felt like home. Even with the melting snow dripping onto your clothes and the hard edges of the armour digging between your ribs. The need to continue was stronger than anything else. Until neither of you could get deep enough breaths to continue.

You drew back with a quiet whine, frustration adding spikes to the warmth in your chest. The blue of Bruce’s eyes staring back at you smoothed the feeling, instantly making you notice the glimmer in his gaze. The love that was no longer a secret between you. It was impossible to escape the blush blooming on your cheeks and the pick-up in your heart rate. Ignoring the urge to hide from his perceptive stare, you returned to the task at hand.

One assessing look was enough as you raised your hand to cup his cheek and then up to comb through the hair falling into his eyes. You carefully brushed it away from his forehead, barely managing not to drown in the grateful look you got awarded. The only way of avoiding the shame of losing your mind and doing something utterly stupid like falling to your knees before Bruce, you grabbed the mop and pushed it onto his chest with a simple instruction:

“Now mop the floor” you eyed the growing puddle at your feet with a critical eye, adding, “You’ve made a mess” without waiting for a reply, you turned away towards the kitchen.

Just in time to hear the answer.

“Yes, ma’am” you did not need to see him to know he was smiling.

Approaching the counter, you opened the cupboard and eyed the contents. It was too late for a meal, but when Bruce visited, you would always share a drink before retiring to your bedroom. It was only a question of choice. What suited him better on this particular December night?

“What’s your poison tonight?” you asked and turned to face Bruce, finding him leaning the mop on the wall and the floors shiny and swept (naturally), “Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?” the first two had been staples on the menu, the last one was an inside joke.

An option you always gave him for the sake of it. And also, because you were yet to see Bruce Wayne relax with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Early on, he had told you he did not indulge in that too often, seldom, in fact, because alcohol did not exactly help the difficult thoughts springing in his mind at every possible chance. You knew the feeling too well, so you never pushed. But maybe-

“You know what?” Bruce’s question interjected your internal monologue as he eyed the tumbler you had taken out earlier, “Maybe it’s time. At last,” raising his head to meet your searching gaze, Bruce grinned.

Even now, when smiles no longer were rare, you still treasured each one. Mostly because they lit up Bruce’s beautiful face like nothing else, throwing everything into perspective. It was a point of personal pride you made him smile like that.

Without waiting for Bruce to change his mind, you took the bottle off the shelf and grabbed a second glass to fill. Two ice cubs per drink clinked in the tumblers as you poured the rich brown liquid and turned to hand it to him.

“Cheers,” raising yours to toast, you sent him another pleased smile.

You did not need to discuss the arrangement, wordlessly taking a sip from the glass and placing it back on the counter to free your hands for the next step in the routine. Bruce mirrored your moves, patiently waiting for you to start taking off the armour pieces. By now, the process was almost second nature. You did not need his directions, easily following the straps and buckles to undo them. Each plating would end up on one of your chairs, a dark heap covered with the cloak. Only once Bruce was left with the black thermals, you drifted to the sofa and fell against each other on the cushions. Multiple points of contact at every spot. Calves, knees, thighs, hips, and shoulders. At the least.

At first, you did not talk, quietly soaking in the calm. It quickly became evident that Bruce valued his peace, and each nightly escapade was enough to drain his battery. Both physically and mentally. That is why when he returned home or to your place the priority was letting him rest. Usually, you would put the tv on as background noise, but tonight as soon as you turned your head to look at Bruce, the remote control was frozen in your hand.

Suddenly it struck you. The strangeness of the moment in its entirety. It was nothing you could have foreseen, not in a million years. And yet, it made perfect sense.

You must have stared for too long because the next thing you registered was Bruce looking back at you with an incredulous glim in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, his hand landing on your knee to gently stroke the skin beneath your pyjama pants. A question followed:

“What’s that look for?” the curiosity in his tone made you smile, barely resisting the urge to hide your face in the crook of his neck to avoid being stared at.

Especially by someone who could see through each wall you ever tried to raise. By now, you never even tried anymore, aware that it was pointless. Bruce (somehow) wanted all of you, so that is what he got. You could only hope he would never change his mind.

“It’s a lot to take in,” shrugging with one shoulder, the one not tucked against his side, you chose the safest answer.

All the while knowing Bruce would not let that be the end of that conversation. You only had to wait approximately 10 seconds for the follow-up question.

“What is?” you had to admit he was good at this.

Interrogation techniques that somehow fit right in the dynamic between you. And made it impossible for you to hide from him. While the thought had been terrifying once, it was almost easy to get used to. Almost being the keyword there.

“Oh, you know” feigning nonchalance, you chose to pace your answer, taking your time with the reveal, while watching him closely, “Having Vengeance in my living room” was the most obvious of hang-ups, something you did not think you could get accustomed to. Each time you saw tv coverage of Batman or had your work colleagues develop a piece on the vigilante, the thrill of realization felt like something new, something you had never experienced before. Now, you let your gaze stray to the half-empty tumbler in his hand, adding another layer to the confession, “Serving whiskey to Bruce Wayne” lifting your eyes to catch the growing smile on his face, you allowed the fondness seep into your tone. The feeling was almost drowning out the disbelief that still tinted your vowels. You never expected to get rid of that either, “Having that same Bruce Wayne as my boyfriend…” it was strange to let the term roll off your tongue this freely, but the strangeness could not contend with the happiness you could see in his eyes. It was enough to make you grin, the conclusion to the speech coming up effortlessly, “Never once saw that coming” no lies were to be found there, “I need to stare a little longer to make sure you won’t disappear on me now” the excuse was flimsy, but it had the intended effect.

Bruce smiled and pulled you closer again, your body falling against his chest like always. The warmth of the embrace kept the chill from settling in your bones. His arms tightened around your waist as he rested his chin on your head and let out a content sigh.

“I won’t” there was no need to question him, all sense of doubt disappearing like melting snow when he added, “I like you too much,”

It was both what he said and how he said it. Like it was no big deal. Like the admission did not cost him anything. Like the character evolution you had witnessed in Bruce was something he was proud of. Something he took joy in if only because it mattered to you.

That was a little difficult to get used to.

So much so that instead of facing the affectionate admissions head-on, you chose to go for a joke, using it as a protective veil:

“Damn, never imagined Bruce Wayne would be such a softie” you lightly swatted him across the chest, not expecting the delighted giggle that would erupt from your throat when he caught your hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m not” it took one look at Bruce, registering the slight pout and the petulance in his eyes, to make you abandon the pretence.

You dove in for a kiss, pressing your mouth against his in a quick, firm peck balancing just on the right sight of not being too greedy. Or distracting for the conversation you were still hoping to have with Bruce.

“Sure, babe” you placed another kiss on the apple of his cheek, slightly tinted pink, and changed the topic, “So, how’s Gotham? Any hot goss I should know about?” you bated your eyelashes as a complimentary show of begging.

Not that Bruce would otherwise deny you the answers. He never did that, which quickly made you the second most informed individual in the city. After the Batman, of course.

Bruce shifted slightly - a sign you had come to associate with the conversation taking a more serious turn. Placing a comforting hand on his knee, you waited as he gathered his thoughts and replied:

“There’s some talk of the Penguin putting most of his resources into bringing back the drops business” you frowned, already knowing what a mess would result from such a move. Although, unfortunately, it sounded plausible, “I’ve got addresses to scout that might be their new labs” Bruce glanced at you, awaiting a comment.

And potentially wordlessly asking whether you wanted to accompany him during the recon. It was something you did together, from time to time. An unusual way of spending time and a first-hand opportunity to gather information for work. And if the pleasant side-effect were the heated kisses shared in the shadowed alleys, then it was nobody’s business but yours.

You already knew it was a yes if he asked.

“That’s probably something you should share with Gordon” instead of voicing that, you chose to offer him reasoning.

The close cooperation between them was still a surprising development. But it was getting stronger and sometimes made you wonder whether the GCPD lieutenant would not be the very next person to learn Vengeance’s identity. So far, Bruce denied it, but you knew better than to take his word for granted. After all, decisions changed.

“And I will. But once I’m sure there’s truth in what I’ve been told,” Bruce shrugged, a brief hint of petulance in his tone making you grin.

Bruce Wayne also did not seem to change. Not completely.

You could never let a chance like that pass you by. Shifting yet again to sit up on your knees and face him, you dropped your voice a notch, giving it an appropriately seductive timbre:

“Good boy” before Bruce could react, you patted his head and dragged your fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands.

That was another key phrase of your relationship. The magical two words, if used correctly, gave you complete control over Bruce. As it turned out, the Wayne heir was incredibly susceptible to praise. You could never have too much fun with that knowledge.

You watched with growing satisfaction at how he shuddered, the two words already having an impact. Bruce blushed, and his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, the reactions would have been difficult to discern from the poker face he had slipped back on. But it was much harder to fool you.

Bruce knew as much. He shrugged off your hand with unnecessary care and turned to glare at you. The twitching corner of his mouth was an easy giveaway.

“Careful there,” the warning in his voice was another trick taken straight from the toolbox.

You already knew what this was. The rules of the game were familiar by now. You did not have to fake the heat blooming in your face at the tone Bruce had implemented. All you had to do was give him your brightest smile and amp the innocent flicker in your eyes to fit the intent. That was always fun.

“Or what?” enjoying the way his eyes followed your every move, you placed your hand on his chest, pressing it flat against the fabric to feel the heartbeat, “You’re going to jump me?” as the question left your lips, your fingers begun tracing their path up the length of his thigh.

More often than not, that was how those precious nights between you began. With a ridiculous conversation and increasingly risky touch, getting rid of the remaining inhibitions. Not that there were many left.

You could see Bruce ponder the assumption, using the ball you had placed in his court. The decision was strictly up to him. You liked to remind him from time to time that you both could share the control equally. And that whatever he chose did not change anything for you. You were there for the long run.

“I’d love to” he reached out to brush the stray hair from your forehead, eyes showing hints of remorse that spoiled the answer before he gave it, “Not tonight though, sorry” it was impossible to miss the subtle wince on his face as Bruce shifted on the sofa.

That told you all you needed to know. Your hand stopped all its wandering, resting atop his thigh and tracing lazy circles over the black fabric. You knew that before you both went to bed, you would need to take out the ointments bought specifically for evenings like that and ask Bruce to take off his shirt. And it was alright. Fine, even. Because seeing Bruce Wayne shirtless was a perk of every kind of evening. Full stop.

Hoping the convey the feelings through the softness of your gaze, you allowed yourself one last joke. One final tease to satisfy the need and drag that shy smile out of its confines.

“You’ll pay for your crimes soon enough” Bruce let out a breathless laugh, and you felt like the luckiest being on the planet.

Yeah, you never saw this coming.

***

It was well past 4 am when you finally turned off the ceiling lights in your bedroom and joined Bruce on the bed. Sometimes that part, the brief conversations whispered with your heads resting against the headboard, felt almost like the domestic future you never expected to have. Like the word, which began with an m and ended with an e. You were still too scared to say it out loud or even in the quiet of your mind.

Ignoring the thought now, you quietly settled against the pillows and turned to stare at Bruce. He looked as if he belonged there, nestled underneath your woollen quilt with his damp, dark hair falling in strands over his forehead. Your heart throbbed in your chest. It was almost too good to be true. Fearing another wave of feelings you could not control, you broke the silence with whatever sentence you could think of:

“You know there’s this gala Réal is hosting before Christmas…” admittedly, it was something you had wanted to bring up to Bruce.

It has been on your mind since the mayor’s announcement via press release weeks back. After the election and everything else that followed, she had taken decisive steps to fix the city. One of them was inviting the elites and the journalists to the charity gala this December. Although you were sceptical about the effects, the intents alone were admirable.

You knew Bruce had received an invite. But if that were not common knowledge, the myriad of emotions passing through his face at the reminder would have been the giveaway. You could easily discern discomfort, uncertainty, and fear among them. Without thinking about it, you took hold of his hand resting on the covers and squeezed it. That was a common way of assuring Bruce that you were there, of offering him comfort when he would not ask for it first. After what felt like hours of silence, Bruce let out a tortured sigh and replied:

“Yes, of course. It’s only every other day that Alfred reminds me I should show up” from that dejected tone alone, you could recognize that it was a touchy subject.

And that Bruce had already made up his mind about doing everything he could not to go. Unfortunately for him, with this case and with many others you were on Alfred’s side. You made a quick mental note to mention it to the butler the next time you saw him.

“Well, you should” as soon as you spoke, Bruce sent you a glare and let out another pained groan. His penchant for dramatics was something you never expected but was incredibly happy to discover, always making you laugh, “I know, I know, but… I mean, I’ll be there” once the bit of information was out, you winced. It was a stupid thing to add. While it was true, the fact was entirely unnecessary. For obvious reasons, “Obviously we can’t go together… which I don’t mind, by the way,” nervous laughter broke through the surface as you unconsciously moved away from Bruce and fixed your gaze on the swirling patterns of the duvet “I knew what I was getting myself into with you, so…”

And you did know. You never expected to ramble around Gotham’s public events holding onto Bruce’s arm. It was not even something you actively yearned for, finding the desired happiness and peace in those quiet private moments instead. It was another case of your mouth having a mind of its own and an incontrollable want to fill the gaps between reasonable sentences with bullshit. It was far from the first time that had happened.

Maybe that was why what Bruce said next did not surprise you but only made the pricks of conscience worse.

“I’m sorry” the apology was filled with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

You knew that he meant it. In his eyes, something as silly as keeping your relationship secret was another way of letting you down. Of not being enough for you. It was another thing to nag him in the quiet of his mind when there were no distractions. You knew what that was like all too well. Before Bruce could drown in the spiral of his own making, you leaned in to cup his face and spoke:

“No, Bruce, I… I love you” the admission was an easy thing to say these days, falling from your lips like the tears you had once shed over it, “Nothing changes that. Plus, there’s an exciting potential in taking some time away from the other guests by perusing the bathroom” you wiggled your eyebrows comically, delighted to see him smile “It’s just a suggestion,”

It felt like a relief when Bruce grinned and gave you a forehead kiss.

“I’ll think about it. I promise” giving his hand another squeeze, you accepted the truce and made sure to meet his gaze. The tone Bruce used told you that was only just the beginning, “You’re not the only one who didn’t see this coming” slightly changing the grip on your hand, Bruce caressed your knuckles in broad, repetitive strokes.

The shyness in his eyes was familiar by now. Although, still, his openness could surprise you. Like just now. With an admission that he had no obligation to make yet seemed eager to anyway. You tightened the hold on his hand and asked:

“Yeah?” wincing at the wavering voice, you could hardly conceal the surprise in your gaze.

Because that was a line of conversation, you never expected him to follow. At least not tonight. But it did not make you any less curious, always happy to get another glimpse into the workings of Bruce’s mind and heart. Those were utterly precious. It was pointless to even think about getting rid of the gaping mouth and the dazed eyes.

Judging by Bruce’s smile, there was no need to try either.

“Yep,” he nodded and raised his arm in an invitation, soon followed by words, “Come here” you did not hesitate in scooting closer and letting Bruce pull you to rest with your back against his chest. You could feel him nosing along the tendons in your neck, voice slightly muffled yet still audible “You’re absolutely terrifying” you could picture his gleeful smile with your eyes closed.

The joy in his tone felt infectious. It was easy to say he meant it. That being called terrifying was one of the highest honours Bruce could bestow on you. You leant into the lingering kiss he pressed to the nape of your neck and breathed out the reply:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it” stringing together the words and ignoring the fire torched in your lower stomach from something as simple as his lips on your neck were too difficult a feat to achieve.

It became apparent as soon as you became aware of your breathless voice and heard Bruce’s low chuckle resonating through your body. It was a sound you came to like, very much. It meant he was finding you amusing and decidedly good enough. It was something to shove in the face of struggling self-confidence that could always try a little more.

“You’re terrifying because, with you, I can’t hide behind the cowl and pretend I don’t exist” the sincerity of the statement was enough to make your heart trip over itself in your chest.

Without thinking, you raised your clasped hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckles. A few days old scrapes scratched the skin of your lips. It felt real.

“Is that a good thing?” you had to ask, even if only to prolong the fragile moment.

Because no matter how much you enjoyed the loudest of nights and the blatant confessions, poignancy was something else entirely. Something you would always chase after if it stepped into your sights. Like just now.

“Yes, because you make me braver” Bruce did not hesitate, his grip around your waist tightening just a little bit as he continued, “I’m pretty sure you know this, but you’re the only person that gets to see me. The real Bruce Wayne as he’s supposed to be” you did know that which did not make the knowledge feel any less groundbreaking “It’s just that I know I’m not enough. For you-” it was once he started saying utter bullshit, that you had to interject.

That was not acceptable. Not on your watch. Gently peeling Bruce’s arms from your waist, you turned in his lap to straddle his hips and placed your hands on his shoulders. He did not expect that. You could tell as much from the hitch in his breathing and the widening eyes. Bruce still took it in his stride, steadying you with his arm around your shoulders, the other hand tracing invisible pathways along your thigh. You knew he was struck into silence, unable to do anything but wait on your next call. Something about the power you possessed over him was intoxicating if you did as much as stop and think about it.

Most days, you simply did not.

“You’re really dumb, but that’s okay” without hesitation, you cupped his cheek and carded your fingers through his unruly hair, smiling like an idiot. Because in the end, it was quite simple, you were astonished Bruce did not know it just yet. You waited for his blue eyes to meet yours and whispered, “You’re everything to me,”

It was an easy synonym to the familiar I love you, and to the less apparent I don’t want to imagine my life without you. It was the only way you could tell him the extent of his importance. The only way you could try to without dissolving into tears or doing something stupid like asking him to marry you. You did not think that would be quite the right time for it.

Bruce’s answering smile, softened by the persisting edges of disbelief, told you that you made the right call. He understood. As always. Unlike your very first kiss, you moved simultaneously, colliding somewhere in between with strangled gasps. Your tongues met in an electrizing touch, igniting the fire in your veins and making you fall against him with a whimper. Bruce swallowed the sound, his fingers buried into your hair as his tongue traced the sharper edges of your canines. As if he did not have the inside of your mouth memorized by now.

You could only step into the dance, letting him set the pace. His warmth overwhelmed your body as you kissed his lips with the hunger and thirst of a dying woman. Because that was the next best thing you could think of to show him you meant it. Because the pressure of his mouth against yours and the taste of his tongue sometimes were the only things that felt real. Real enough to make you believe hope could persist. That it had a place within your reality. With each kiss, each confession, and each day that passed with Bruce, hope slowly replaced the longing that used to fill your heart. You could only trust that one day it would be eradicated.

Your kiss stretched until it was nearly impossible to breathe. Then, and only then, you nipped at Bruce’s lower lip and softened the bite with the swipe of your tongue before parting. His eyes looked beautiful when nearly swallowed by the gaping black of his blown-out pupils. And it was all your doing. You always took pleasure in the seconds just after the kiss, the few ticks of the clock when Bruce had to forcibly shake himself awake from the spell you had put him under. You could see it in the slight shake of his head, clearing the daze in his eyes and the deep breath he took before even trying to speak.

You rested your forehead against his, the pounding heart slowing down. Until everything that was left was a pleasant hum of the passion coursing in your veins. There was no need to act on it, so you let yourself exist and bask in the warmth of Bruce’s body against yours. When he finally spoke, you were almost composed:

“See? Terrifying” happiness shone in his blue eyes as Bruce raised his hand to let his fingers trace the edges of your features.

It was impossible not to lean into his touch, greedily taking every ounce of tenderness Bruce would offer. He always took that additional second to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, soothing the kiss-bruised skin. You could hardly stop the satisfied purr that rose in your throat.

Instead, you tried to focus on the sentiment. On how much it must have meant for Bruce to admit. Without needing to think about it too hard, you knew you understood the feeling. That the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest could be summarized with one response. One that Bruce would see through easily. One that would show him that you have this in common, too.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek and whispered the reply:

“Quite right, too,” the unspoken meaning shone through the gaps between the vowels, highlighted by the slight waver of your voice.

When Bruce tipped your chin and met your gaze, you knew you made the right choice. Another ounce of hope replaced the longing. Another heavy sigh became unanchored and took flight within the safety of his eyes.

As the snow covered the city outside, you became aware of two things. 1) It was good to be seen if the gaze that pierced through your soul was kind. 2) Bruce Wayne could be many things, but above all that, he was yours. And that was enough.

175 notes · View notes

the-nysh · 2 years

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You gave your opinion about Fubuki's hair and outfits, so what do you think about her sister? Honestly I like Tatsumaki's design more, the curly bright green hair is very original character design.

Yes! So green is already my fav color, and Tatsumaki has one of those very strong, minimal designs that you can recognize at a glance just from her silhouette alone. So she's already very fun to me. (Including her character parallels with Garou~) I love how she has the RANGE to go from looking like she’s harmless, to a demonic deity, to a funky octopus and complete gremlin...sometimes all within the same chapter!

And I personally love her hair, because it thematically FITS with her swirling tornado maelstrom theme. The more freely bonkers gone on her hair like that, the better~ (Which to me looks super fun to draw; I probably would have absentmindedly doodled her swirls in my school notebooks all the time when I was younger~) So that means the way her 4-tailed dress swirls in the same way as her hair matches her theme too....so I honestly don't really have many other alternatives in mind for her main outfit's design...(maybe more practical leggings or stockings?? to cover up when cold? hmm) ANYWAY these are some of my fav Murata doodles of her:

Because I like her chibi gremlin form and YES for going bonkers on her swirling hair, but also....rare PONYTAIL TATSU! Cause I love when Murata puts her in more casual outfits (referencing actual Japanese street fashion) because she looks both super cute and highly fashionable. With pride as a typical girl just living her daily life the way she wants to. So it's very fun to see her in more casual outfits (including hoodies & pj's) and different styles than just her default octopus dress all the time - cause once again, she has the range to rock many fashion styles.

Also I prefer when she's colored in glowing apple green + black (vs dull/soft mint green - no, BOOST her bright power & saturation to the max! in contrast to Fubuki's darker forest green), because that aesthetic reminds me of Huke's for the character Dead Master in Black Rock Shooter. (That's also probably why I like seeing Tatsu rendered in that same type of grunge - actually, I'd like to see her rendered in Huke's dark gothic style anyway just for the grins.) However, if she were given a white dress to wear at work (like when Raven in Teen Titans wore white)....whoa she'd be glowing with a completely different type of deity vibe for a change!

#opm #tatsumaki #anonymous #replies #more char design and fashion notes for tatsu #both her hair and dress swirls fit her tornado theme #but now that i think about it fubuki's tape hair tufts resemble psychic vectors too

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 8 months

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HELLO!! Could I possibly get a matchup for HSR, Howl’s Moving Castle and Legend of Zelda?

Pronouns: They/Them

Sexuality: AroAce

Zodiac: Gemini

Appearance: Short/medium length curly brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin tone, freckles, 5”7-5”8, dresses in alt fashion (Whimsigoth, Faecore, lovecore+grunge mix).

Personality: Usually outgoing, gets overstimulated easily, always tired, blunt, hyper fixates on one thing for several months, loyal, blasts music all the time, chaotic but polite, drinks energy drinks like it’s water.

Likes: Music, horror games, friends, clothes, cooking, sewing, sugary drinks, sweet food, fruit, comfort food, going out with friends, socializing (usually).

Dislikes: capitalism(eat the rich<3), law enforcement, bland food, being bored, boring people.

Hobbies: cooking, sewing, listening to music, being chaotic, divination(tarot)

Hi Wiste! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took a while. I hope you like your matchups!

In Honkai Star Rail, I match you with...

Caelus is the more introverted person to your more extroverted nature. He usually keeps to himself while socialising so having you there to carry the conversation is a good thing for him.

Really good at helping you with your overstimulation. He knows what sets you off and does his best to help you avoid these things as much as possible.

If you do get overstimulated, Caelus is good at helping you settle back down. He’s got a naturally calming presence and knows all the best places to get away from everything.

I see Caelus as someone who doesn’t have a huge sweet tooth but enjoys sweet treats when he has them.

Whenever he gets to a new planet, he’ll always find out what the local delicacy is and pick up two so you can share them later that night.

In Howl's Moving Castle, I match you with...

Howl’s personality matches your surprisingly well and while this leads to greater understanding, it can also lead to conflict sometimes.

We’ve all seen what his room looks like; anyone would get overstimulated in there. So he doesn’t hold it against you if you don’t want to spend too much time in there with him.

He loves cooking with you. But of course, with Calcifer present, it’s never just the two of you so he’ll invite Markl to join you and it’ll be a “family” event.

I also see Howl as someone who would enjoy sewing. He’s got a really specific fashion sense so it’s often easier for him to just make his clothes, that way they’re exactly what he wants.

He’s also more than happy to teach you what he knows about divination (which is quite a lot). He’s a pretty decent teacher since he’s teaching Markl. Markl is also happy to help you out if you get stuck.

In Legend of Zelda, I match you with...

Link’s another one who I can see sewing. He often has to do repairs on his clothes after a fight so he's reasonably handy with a sewing needle.

He enjoys sitting next to you and working on your respective sewing projects. He likes the peace it brings.

WHile he may initially seem like he may be boring since he doesn’t say much, he’s actually a really interesting person to be around. Between his natural gremlin energy as well as the random prophecy of the week, there’s always something going on.

Your outgoing nature is a good thing when paired with Link’s infamous silence. Somehow you always know what he’s thinking and what he would say in any situation so you act as a sort of translator.

This guy is great at cooking! Link loves cooking for you as well as cooking with you. He knows all your favourite meals and makes them for you wherever you’ve had a busy day.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #request #honkai star rail #caelus #howl's moving castle #howl pendragon #howl jenkins #legend of zelda #link

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cryptic-michael · 1 year

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Asks: 🔮🌸🧡✨

Thank you Lave!!!

🔮-Whats your dream job?

Id love to be an artist/writer for a living but I gotta there first....but for a "realistic" job as my family says, probably a library or antique shop! They're so quiet and nice and fun!! And I love them!! Something about lots of nick-knacks, and odd things...or loads of books it just seems so nice!

(a dream job would be painting and writing books, publishing them, and playing guitar and stuff at little clubs and learning drag but I doubt I could ever do that, so I'll happily settle for a library job or something)

🌸-Best commitment you've ever received?

My mom said I look like Hozier and it did something to me that was the best feeling I ever had in my whole life!! And that was like two months ago!! It just it made me feel so good, I love her calling me her son/daughter and "You look like a boy" it's so normal but soon good, and being told, "You look like Hozier" wow that's amazing!!

(another fun compliment I've gotten is typical "Oh wow your a young lady now!" Which the first time I heard was nice but now it's dull...but another fun one is sometimes I get compared to an old actress and that's always fun just because it's cool! Granted it's my family saying that but still)

🧡-A colour you can't stand?

Wonderful question, very hard....If we're going off of names? Burgundy, it's less so a hate more so a, "Why? Are you named THAT!" because burgundy seems like it should be brown to me not red..

If we're going off colours to mix from scratch? All of them Just any ANY shade of purple....it is a STRUGGLE!!!

If we're going off genuine harrass for a colour? My mortal enemy?? Salmon pink... "Why salmon pink?" I hear you ask..BECUSE!! I'd get into SO MENY argument in the gym! Because it was a popular colour for the sports girls to wear of have bags of!! And I always thought it was a weird orange! I had Salmon god damn pink! It's a crime against my eyes!! It looks orange to me! Like a weird orange! It shouldn't be pink!! Salmon isn't pink!! If you cut it open it's orange!!

✨-Do you have any nicknames?

Loads!! Ever since I was little!! Nae-nae, munchkin, monkey, hobbit, little sister! Then when I got friends they'd call me, "Time traveler", and also "Britalian" and then I had a band director and most of my band class call me, and know me by, "Marinara" because the director couldn't say my last name. Then I have one friend that calls me Marko! And another calls me a little gremlin!

I got Nae-nae, because my middle name is Beanè (bee-nae/be-nay) and it was just a fun thing for my family to say and call me!

Munchkin came from my dad! Because I was little! And he also called me little sister(despite me being an only child) because it was from a video game he played and i loved watching him play it.

Monkey is from my mom! Because I'd climb and crawl all over there like I was a monkey aparntly and so everyone called me that because I did it to everyone! She also called me her little Hobbit because my hair was short and curly like a Hobbit's hair! The amount of times she called me Frodo...

I dressed very 90s grunge and talked odd and knew a bunch of random obscure history facts so my friends cllaed me a time traveler and I loved it! The "Britalian/brit-talian" is British Italian! I sounded British and always drank with my pinky out regardless of if it were tea or not! And then constantly are pasta at school and would do little hand guesters, so they called me Britalian!

That's also how I got Marinara! That and it sounds like my last name!! But my love for it Italian food sparked two nicknames!

Marko!! Ahhh I guess I have big Marko the lost boys vibes!! It started after they researched the film!

Little gremlin, I am, I definitely am!!

Hope you loved learning about me and alllllll my 20 nicknames!! And all that!! Thank you Lave!!

#ask game #thank you lave!!#you two know you gou are...and others who call me or know me as marko.....#jerodie calling me a little gremlin FUCK YEAH I AM!!!#thank you!!!!

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frosted-night · 3 years

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Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one. This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

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raccoonium · 3 years

Text

Izzy’s Dag-Dag The Artist… Tag

I was tagged by @poisonedsimmer !

By @morgynemberisagenderfluiddaddy

~ Rules ~

Show us a rendition of yourself in your own art! Can be anything! Sims render? Random stick figure? Picrew? Go nuts! (Just be sure to tag the artist if you use someone else’s picrew!!!!) Tag the blogs you want to know, and don’t be a dick that’s it! Also, feel free to answer as vague or in-depth as you want. And if you don’t want to answer a question for any reason just don’t vibe with it! Skip it if you wanna! Also make sure you tag me and use #dagdagtheartisttag so I can see it!!!!!!!!

~Questions~

1.) Do you prefer to be referred to by your name or blog name?

Blog name or just Raccoon!

2.) Where are you from?

Somewhere over the rainbow

3.) Do you have pets? 👀

Four furballs, three of them are brothers and of course I had to name them after Kingdom Hearts characters (Sora, Vanitas and Xion), and then there’s Gremlin

4.) Tell us about your “dream”.

So I had this dream once when I was little that I was going with a car but always around the same building and I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t going fast or anything dangerous but the car couldn’t stop. Nothing spectacular.

yes I know what kind of dream it means but no i don’t feel like asnwering it so have this free random thing

5.) Aside from art, what are your hobbies?

Is playing videogames considered art?

6.)Does anyone irl know about your blog?

Yes but noone’s interested enough to check it out

7.)Do you know anyone from your blog irl?

Sadly no.

8.) What are some fun facts about you?

Not a fun one, just a fact. All of my OCs have a tiiiiiiny part of myself. Might be stuff I like or stuff I don’t. Stuff I am or stuff I wish I was. Or stuff I wish that I never will be. You’ll never know~

9.) What’s your day job?

I won’t say but the best part is when they pay me for taking a shit

10.) Do you have a celebrity look alike?

Elmo probably

11.) What’s your aesthetic?

I’d say messy but grunge makes it sound less bad

12.) What kind of artist are you?

Uh. I like drawing but I gave up on it a while ago. So now I try to learn 3D stuff.

13.) How did you get into your form of art?

The current one because I was stubborn on wanting to make hairstyles for sims.

14.) What do you watch/listen/read/anything else while you create?

Either rock/metal/jazz music, videogame music or jazz versions of videogame music. Or some stream in the background.

15.) What is your favorite of your own creations so far?

A 18+ Soriku drawing I made a while ago that I won’t show here, and for sims stuff I think it’s the 2009 hair because it was much needed lol

16.) How would you describe your art style?

Fucking mess choose an art style already.

18.) What meme would you use to describe yourself?

17.) What is more satisfying to you coloring or outlining?

Since I’m a WIP bitch and almost never finish anything, I painted too little, so outlining wins.

19.) What character from any media form do you most identify with?

Courage the cowardly dog.

20.) If you were on the run, what would you change your name to?

Funny enough it’d be Axel.

21.) Have you ever or do you want to change blog names?

Already did~

22.) God forbid Tumblr decides to pull a MySpace and lets us have page songs, what song would you choose?

La ley innata by Extremoduro I don’t care y’all don’t know shit about spanish that’s THE masterpiece along with her newborn brother Mayeutica.

23.) Oh yeah, I’m still on the MySpace train and I’m starting discourse! Who’s your top 8?

First of all fuck you second of all i’m not tagging. No particular order, many different reasons:

@/gunthermunch

@/poisonedsimmer

@/oydis

@/drosims

@/simandy

@/ladykendalsims

@/slade-the-neko

@/pixeles

24.) Did you understand those references or did you have to look them up? (I’m fully away I’m ancient, but are you?)

I lived the MySpace era but it was not my kind of website so not really

Dag dag?

25.) One last question; why are you like that?

I just go with the flow

Now tag tag!!!

No this is kinda personal so just do it if you feel like it and I’ll read it if you @ me!

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justafairytailofinnocence · 3 years

Note

I'm fluid in both Sexuality and gender 🤟

I'm both a scorpio and libra (born right on the cusp) and im an INFP. I border being an ambivert but i lean a tad bit more on the introvert side. Im a pretty intense person especially when it comes to close relationships. I'm obsessive and overprotective as well but in more subtle ways. Im quite the gremlin as well, I can be a bit wild. Im sarcastic but I mean well. I use humor to cope with depression. I have a small history with suicidal thoughts and tendencies but for the time being im doing quite well.

Im an artist and a writer. I love sketching and coming up with story lines. I also love music my go too music is usually 70s rock. Im a fan of alternative music to as well as indie. I love cryptids and otherworldly things ( I love mothman).I have daddy issues (just gonna sprinkle that in here). Im a navy brat so im used to moving a lot and due to that staying in one place to long gets me agitated. Im a very neutral person when it comes to good vs evil because i can see and feel for both sides. Usually I won't get involved in the fight but more so with the people in the fight.

As for what i look for in a partner im an introvert and someone who has ADD i dont really talk much but I enjoy company especially when they don't mind that my favorite pass time is napping. I want someone to nap with honestly. Someone who can match my weird. I value humor and a tend to do a lot of teasing myself. Someone who trusts me enough to show their soft side to and let me protect them. Maybe someone to go on midnight adventures with and give me neck kisses. Also someone hopefully as big of a mess as I usually am.

I kinda hoard info on people so I can use it later (really helps when it comes to gift getting). Im not good at showing feelings so I tend to buy things for people to show i care or to say sorry. I have pretty bad insomnia but I nap a lot at the same time.

I have long red hair and hazel eyes and im 5'4. I have a inverted triangle body. My style is hippy grunge and I can lean more femine one day and more masculine the next it just depends on how im feeling. I wear jackets a lot too my favorite kind of jackets are worn leather ones.

If I had to choose a song that represented me well I think it would be "Pork Soda" by glass animals.

oh and here are the requested details

-A picture of your wedding dress and theirs

- Dialogue about the scanario

-Added gifs (more interactive gifs to see how you would hug,kiss, interact, etc.)

- Your theme song (I will choose a theme song that represents the two of you.)

-A oneshot (will be included seperatly but if you send me a name then I can write a oneshot based on a scanario you want acted out.)

Thank you so much 💓

Hello my dear thanks for the request for marvel I ship you with:

Bucky Barnes 💖

- your history is quite big being in the agent field isn't nessersily easy especially when your not used to people. However you both had training within he shared his problems and you shared yours. Long behold love affair.

- your both emotionally connected almost like he doesn't even have to know how you feel he just wants to be their with you.

- going on dates he's very fond of your style the hippy grunge is all about the looks you have such a beautiful style that compliments his.

- your work attire:

- your date attire:

- he would be protective of you often trying not to be overprotective but due to his state he can't help it.

- the two of you would be so badass together often wondering how he got to meet someone as lucky as you.

- he would just want to hold you in the room often the two of you just sitting their in silence.

- he would have his first kiss with you after a mission.

Bucky: hey darlin how are ya~

You: oh good are you alright *smiles*

Bucky: uh yeah just um wondering about you is all

You: i-

Bucky: y/n I have something to tell you

You: oh and what is that?

Bucky: I've, always liked you. Y/n your beautiful, you've always been beautiful.

You: *looks into his eyes* oh bucky

Bucky: *leans in planting his lips on yours*

- he would know how you feel when the two of you are alone. He would often wonder how your life would've been without him.

- you both shared difficult pasts but since you opened up to him he became aware and fell in love with you.

- after every mission your dates would include soft touching and kissing. He knows what it's like to feel out of place but with you he knows what it's like to feel human.

- your wedding was in secret due to hydra and the cops after him. He swore to protect you and love you until the end of the line.

- your hippie wedding dress attire:

- your children would have red hair with Bucky's eyes. They would be super assassin's often wearing black suits with snipers.

- your theme song:

- this is an included oneshot of the two of you:

About: Bucky and y/n were sleeping together when all of a sudden Bucky remembers his past. All the horrible events he would relay it to y/n in bed.

Bucky remembered it all that night all the shootings, killings and mass murder. He felt shivers just thinking about it. Tony's parents flashed in his mind as ghosts.

The ghosts appeared white with blood trickling down their head.

"YOu DId THiS" Miss stark points to the soilder. "Youuuuuuuu...." She screams, lunging towards Bucky.

In a fit of fear Bucky woke up covered in sweat running down his face. Y/n was sleeping beside him peacefully. Bucky runs his metal fingers over their cheek. "Y/n...I'm sorry" he whispers into their ear.

Y/n couldn't hear his murmur in a groggy state they mumbled. "Buck not now" y/n turns to their side. Bucky felt bad waking them up. But he needed to tell them about the horrible things he did.

"I've killed so many people y/n, all of them clawing at my throat for revenge" he whispers once more.

Sitting on the side of the bed he puts his hands to his head. "y/n Ive killed-" as suddenly he felt a soft hand touch his face.

"don't worry about the past we've all experienced bad things some time before" she whispers. "We need to look forward to the future and base our actions on becoming who we are" as y/n groggily kisses his cheek.

"your only human buck, your not a bad person you have the same feelings and emotions as all of us" as y/n hugs him. "Your a wonderful husband that's all I could ask for" y/n smiles.

Bucky turns to his side wrapping both arms around y/n's waist. He didn't say anything only holding them there as they lay silent in the bed.

"thanks y/n I love you" as he hugs them with full content. "Uh huh let's sleep now, we have a mission in the morning buck" they roll over to the side sleeping.

Bucky for the rest of the night slept peacefully. He didn't need to worry because he had the one person he fancied right next to him.

And that person's name was y/n. The one who saved him, who make him human.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta 💫

#marvel matchup #Marvel matchups open

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paint-lady · 3 years

Note

Once you get this you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly, and send it to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable).

Alrighty then 😊

1. I'm a talented and skilled artist and will continue to grow in this trade until my final day.

2. I have been described as the following and i beam whenever I think about these:

"a little chaos gremlin" "feral art baby mutual" "wholeheartedly outspoken" "amazingly confident" "able to weave the goofiness of what we do in the shadows with incredibly hard hitting personal horror" "incredible storyteller" "someone I'd get stuck in a faerie circle with and know my last moments before the wyld hunt would be cool" "a careful listener" "creative projects are in capable hands" "a real sweet bab" "the baby tank" "my favorite weirdo"

3. I have super high enthusiasm and energy. No effort just the vibe I give off. Professional goofball.

4. Exploring gender has let me feel so much more comfortable in my own body. I like toying with both femininity and masculinity in my wardrobe. I like being androgynous when I want and being feminine when I want. It's been very freeing to let my body hair grow and not feel as strong a need to cover up when I go places. It is strange, I wanted to cover my body up when I was younger when I felt this overwhelming pressure to be a girl "correctly." Now I have a grunge vampire painter looks and business casual gay tm for work.

5. In the last two years I have grown so much more unapologetic about who I am and what I do. And that has given me a lot more confidence and strength to do the things I want. And that's a good place to be.

#steph answers questions #thanks for the ask!

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katrinawritesthings · 3 years

Text

Onjongtae; none pizza with left boob; PG

“On me specifically, do you have a favorite boob?” Jonghyun asks.

“Yeah,” Taemin says automatically. “Obviously.” Why wouldn't he have a favorite boob?

Taemin isn't exactly spacing out, but he's not exactly attuned to his surroundings, either.

Or rather, he is extremely tuned in to his surroundings, and not at all attuned to himself as an existing human. Which isn't that bad, considering. He's at his desk in the bedroom, playing a video game. And by playing a video game, he means he hopped onto a train track that runs through the entire old western style map of the level on a loop about half an hour ago and has just been watching his character go around and around in circles that whole time. It's very stimmy and good.

He's also listening to some nice soothing metal music playing quietly from one headphone into his left ear, and with his other ear, he's listening to Jinki and Jonghyun’s muffled voices through the bedroom wall. They've just been hanging out and talking to each other for a while, casual, unintelligible, cute.

Though, as Taemin listens, he thinks they're getting quieter? Or they're leaving? He pulls all of his focus to his right ear, and, yeah-- their voices aren't getting quieter, but they are getting far away. He wonders where they're going.

Less than a minute later, he finds out when there's a knock on the bedroom door. He blinks slowly, taking his eyes away from where they've been slightly blurring out of focus on the TV screen and looking at the closed door instead.

“Yeah?” he calls.

The door opens and standing there, unsurprisingly, are Jinki and Jonghyun. Jonghyun is smiling, easy, relaxed, and Jinki has a particular set to his jaw that suggests he's been pouting.

“Hey, gremlin boi, three questions, real quick,” Jonghyun says with no preamble, walking in and resting his elbow on the dresser, his other hand on his hip. Jinki steps up to stand next to him, arms crossed. He looks as defiant as Jonghyun looks confident.

“One word answers only,” he adds. Taemin looks between both of them, still a little out of it, but also intrigued. He nods up and down a few times and then watches Jonghyun lift one finger.

“On me specifically, do you have a favorite boob?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Taemin says automatically. “Obviously.” Why wouldn't he have a favorite boob?

“Obviously,” Jonghyun says over his shoulder to Jinki, clearly smug. He brings his hand up from his hip and just holds it out in front of Jinki, palm facing upward. Jinki opens his mouth, looking incredulous, staring at Taemin like Taemin has personally betrayed him, then sighs and fumbles in his butt pocket. He pulls out his wallet, opens it, pulls out a 20, and slaps the bill into Jonghyun's hand. Jonghyun’s smile grows a tick larger as he looks back to Taemin and holds up a second finger. “Which boob is your favorite?” he asks.

Taemin’s eyes glance down to his chest, like he can see either of Jonghyun’s tiddies through his grunge rock t-shirt, like he even needs to see them to know what the answer is.

“Left,” he says, looking back up. This time Jonghyun doesn't say anything, but he smiles even wider, turning again to raise his eyebrows at Jinki, who makes a suffering sort of noise in the back of his throat, pulls out another 20, and slaps it into Jonghyun’s hand even harder than the first time. Jonghyun puckers his lips and gives Jinki the tiniest, smuggest air kiss before turning back to Taemin a third time.

“Why is the left boob your favorite boob?” he asks.

And this one Taemin hesitates on, but only a little bit, and only because it's soft and it embarrasses him to say it out loud.

“Heartbeat,” he says quietly. He likes Jonghyun’s left boob because he can rest his head on it, small and soft and squishy, and listen to his heartbeat underneath it.

“Oh my fucking--” Jinki hisses before Jonghyun can even finish smiling his hardest yet, cheeks all puffed up and flushed pink and eyes reduced to sparkling little crescents. He digs in his wallet again, this time pulling out a ten, then a five, and then two ones, slapping them all Into Jonghyun’s hand and grumbling all the while. Jonghyun watches each one on its little journey, then smirks and cocks one eyebrow.

“You owe me $3,” he says. Jinki groans again and puts his face into his hands. then Jonghyun smiles bright and dazzling and enamored at Taemin. Fanning himself with his newly earned $57, he flutters his lashes and says, “Fourth question. Bonus question. Do you want to walk down the street with me and get dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, hell yeah,” Taemin says, perking up instantly. He loves food. And he loves Jonghyun. He double loves getting food with Jonghyun. Jonghyun blows him a much more affectionate air kiss than his first one and pulls out his own wallet to slot his money into.

“Jinki, honey, darling, lovely love of my life,” he says delicately as he does so, playful little smile on his lips. “Would you like to come with us? I'm buying.”

“God,” Jinki hisses into his hands. He lowers them with a long, heavy sigh. “Sure,” he says, little, defeated. Jonghyun smiles as pleasantly as ever, lifting both arms into the air with his wrists bent at dainty angles, foot popped cutely behind him. He drops his arms around Jinki’s neck, smooches his jaw, and then lets him go to come forward and grab Taemin's hand. Taemin quickly turns off his video game and takes it, reaching with his other hand to gently poke Jonghyun’s left boob through his shirt.

As Jonghyun tugs him out of the bedroom, he slips his arm around his waist and into his butt pocket. When Jinki follows them, he mirrors Taemin’s position, his arm crossing over Taemin’s to slip into Jonghyun’s other butt pocket. Jonghyun is pleased pink to have two hands on his butt and he slings both of his arms around their shoulders. He's too short to do it without making each of them bend awkwardly, but both of them let him do it anyway.

“Can't believe you have a favorite boob,” Jinki mutters as they walk down the hallway. Taemin snorts quietly, grinning at him over Jonghyun’s head.

“Can't believe you don't,” he says.

#jongtae #onjongtae #jongyu #ontae #jonghyun #taemin #jinki #onew #fluff #pg #: )))))))#ydw

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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Note

WAAAAHH congratulations on 300, jac ! you deserve it and more, mwah. may i ask for a ship from the golden trio and marauders era if it isn’t a hassle? thank you <3

my name is miliane but i go by liane. (she/her). i’m a 5’4, ravenclaw, bisexual, brown eyes, brown hair, morena skin, who loves anything art-related, astronomy, reading books, binge watching, music, styling my clothes (i’m stuck between kidcore, y2k, cottagecore and indie) and eating food (more than necessary). i’m a sarcastic twat who’s often misunderstood bc it’s basically my mother tongue, but i’m a nice person. INFP-T. and when it comes to relationships, i would love a guy who’s gonna be willing to put up with my impulsive bs sometimes lol, like sneaking out in the middle of the night to eat at the kitchens, watch movies together and dance like we’re the only ones left. he wouldn’t force anything out of me til he and i know that i’m ready. and i would rlly love if he would give me one or two of his hoodies, and he would spray them with his cologne bc he knows that i love the way he smells, and maybe sneak in a small note for me to read in the pockets. i love forehead and nose kisses, i’m a goner for those. pet names are one of my weaknesses, (love, lovely, darling, babe, baby)— and i’m yours. i’m not much of an affectionate person as i didn’t have much of it during my childhood, so simple handholding and hugs would make me a bit flustered and awkward but very much appreciated. (PFT- i just copy and paste this whenever i see a ship post <3)

Ahhhh thank you sm!!! ❤️🥺 (ships under the cut)

Celebration

Can I just say, “I’m a sarcastic twat who’s often misunderstood because it’s basically my mother tongue but I’m a nice person” is 1) an amazing sentence and 2) makes me fully believe you were made for these two

I ship you with: James Potter

James is such an impulsive guy

So hell yeah you’re going to be sucked into his shenanigans

He’s going to pick you up at your common room

Midnight

And bring you to the kitchens

But like, under the invisibility cloak (and you are 100% riding on his back)

Of course you can help pull pranks with him and the Marauders

“You’re brilliant love! Those snakes won’t know what hit ‘em!”

James totally loves dancing to music

At random times of the day

LATE NIGHT DANCE PARTY IN THE DORMS

Hope you like the Beatles

Because that’s the only band he religiously listens to

All his clothes are also yours

He will actually die when you show up wearing his quidditch jerseys

Seeing POTTER across your back

Kills him

“It pains me to admit this, love, but you look better in my own clothes than I do.”

James is big on touch

So like constant hand holding

You’ll be studying or reading and his head will rest on your thighs

Loves playing with your hair

You should play with his hair too

Tucks your hair behind your ear

At the same time he’ll kiss your forehead

James potter looks at you like you’re his whole world

And it’s so obvious

He actually stutters around you

He’s big on saying I love you, so be prepared to hear it like 24/7

Tosses you notes across the classroom with just little hearts doodles all over them

Many many many cuddles

I ship you with: George Weasley

You and the Weasley twins and Lee are like the three musketeers if there were four of you

You are George together is just absolute chaos

George loves breaking into the Ravenclaw tower, but he usually flies his broom all the way up their

“Babe, the door hates me, so now we gotta take the long way down.”

He is going to wink at you across every single room

Insufferable

But you love the tall gremlin, don’t you

He almost never calls you by your real name anymore

Usually it’s babe or baby

But sometimes

He just calls you something crazy that can range from

Honey bunches (said with the most amount of sarcasm)

To hot piece of cave troll

Don’t ask me why, I just get that vibe from him

Not only do you get your own Weasley jumper in your favorite colors

But George gives you his of course, I feel like he smells like cinnamon and gunpowder

And that’s exactly what his clothes smell like

Your spot is 100% the top of the astronomy tower

In the middle of the night

Cuddled up never the edge

His fingers rub circles across your knuckles

For some reason he’s big on kissing your knuckles

Like a Victorian gentleman

George only knows Wizard artists, so please for the love of Merlin introduce him to Muggle artists

He’s more into like grunge/alt

But he trusts your judgment

He totally knows how to braid hair because of Ginny

So he loves doing new things with your hair

Putting flowers all over that he picked from near the black lake

“Look so pretty, baby.”

Cuddles cuddles cuddles cuddles

You basically live in his dorm room

Everyone is so jealous of your relationship

Because you two are the CUTEST

I hope you like your ships, and thank you so much once again ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#spxllcxstxr 300 followers

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edengarden · 3 years

Note

Hey! I would love to get a haikyuu matchup if possible <3

3 good qualities

- most people tell me that one of my good qualities is that i make most of my decisions based on logic rather than emotions and therefore also feel free to call out close friends if i think their behavior is unjustified

- i suppose i am someone people often feel quickly comfortable with? Even though i seem fairly boring and dull at first people tend to open up with me quickly and enjoy coming over to my place

- i am laid back and able to sympathize with others fairly well. I am in a way the ‘dad’ of the group. Due to a lot of struggles growing up i am able to often sympathize well with others problems and lend them a shoulder to cry on along with some playful advices to lighten the mood

3 negative traits

- i am a procrastinator which always gets me in big trouble. I am lazy too, always extending things to do until i have no time anymore

- i am insanely unorganized and messy. Sometimes my room looks like someone tried to rob my place. I have a hard time keeping tidiness and organization in my household

- due to my insecurities and pessimistic nature i tend to self sabotage myself in a lot of ways, which is also often a pretty big bother for close friends, of which i only have a handful due to my very introverted nature

1 hobby

I mostly watch anime and cartoons in my free time as well as read manga. Crime shows and psychology also interest me

My music taste

I listen to pretty much everything except for pop and rap! I have a thing for more indie or grunge sounding music along with some anime openings mixed in to cheer me up

Appearance

5’0 pierced, brown long hair with long bangs and big glasses?

Traits i like/ do not like in others

I like people who enjoy deep talk and can sit in silence with me, but can also push me a bit to go more out of my comfort zone. What i do not like in people is arrogance and selfishness, neither can i stand people who are constantly loud 💀

My hogwarts house is hufflepuff and my signs are sun virgo as well as rising&moon scorpio!

I’m matching you up with Konoha!

Is he organized? No, not any more than you are, but he’s also not the type to not call you out when it gets like, REALLY bad. This guy’s good for keeping an eye out for you and your own behaviour the way you do for others, since being pragmatic sometimes might not be the best way to go about things. You’re more logical, and Konoha’s more on the emotional intelligence side, you two balence yourselves out!

Is he loud? No, but god, HIS TEAMMATE IS— you and him are the Bully/Keep Bokuto in Line Team. Especially if you’re somehow linked to the volley club yourself.

Akinori loves, loves, LOVES how tiny you are compared to him. Hugs from behind are a must, and when he realizes he even has to lean down just to get his chin resting on the crown of your head, he’s swooning. He’ll keep bringing up your height difference and if it annoys you, all the more reason to bring it up! He’s a little gremlin who’ll find things to tease you with, and when you complain about it, he’ll always pull out the “but that’s what makes you so fun!” Excuse

#haikyuu #haikyuu matchup #konoha akinori

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jawllines · 5 years

Text

"Its a bit dark I suppose," she admitted, waving her hand around lamely, "And the ceiling lights are more ominous than comforting at night and it feels more like an evil lair than a cozy bookstore."

His smile only grows bigger, "See? M'not an all gloomy, knife on the wall, grunge monster -- got me soft gooey spots too. Have a few art pieces I think you might like t--"

"Oi, don't get too big for your britches, I don't need an interior designer." She nips him off but he doesn't take any hurt from her words, only getting closer to her and raising the chair, moving it over a good chunk before setting it back down and holding onto it, nodding towards the chair and her face twists in confusion, "What?"

"Get on the seat then," he pats on it, "If you won't use me for my wonderful vision yet, then you can use me for my chair steadying hands."

Y/N's heart warms some, "Yet?" She repeats, plucking another nail out of the box and taking hold of the hammer again.

Harry shrugs, "Got hope you'll come to your senses."

Y/N has a bookstore and Harry owns the shop next door

Y/N's had it.

Absolutely had it!

When everyone told Y/N she shouldn't open up a bookstore beside a tattoo parlor, she let their worries float in through one ear and right out the other. She'd figured that they were just worried she was looking into opening up a business and the part of town she was on could be a bit shoddy at sundown, but the rent out for space was cheaper than anywhere else and it was right across from a bakery and café! Who didn't want to go to a bookstore after a nice cupcake and a half decent latte, to pretend they knew the first thing about Ernest Hemmingway in front of their smart friends and ultimately leave with a book that'll sit on their shelf for a total of five hours (they'll come back eventually, asking for a refund, and she could persuade them with a book more suited to them -- it's happened more times than she could count, honestly)? It was the perfect place to start out small, then escalate bigger and bigger. She had total faith in it!

But how was she supposed to do that when there was metal playing top volume at 9AM in the fucking morning?

There was always smoke clouding the outside of her shop, ashes in her flowerbeds, and men with piercings and tattoos all over their faces looming around. It wards people away like bug repellent. . .the days that the parlor is open are the days business can be ridiculously slow, yet the days that they're closed -- well, the door’s bell is chiming so often she questions whether or not she should take it down for her ears sake. It's those days that keep her running both moneywise and physically since she's running it primarily herself. It's those days that let her know that its the gremlins next door that keep people from even trying to come over.

Y/N loved books. She loved the intricate stories, interwoven plot lines, and unique writing styles. She loved being so enveloped within a universe that she's been reading for hours and it's felt like a blip of thirty minutes, not wanting it to ever end, and endlessly searching to see if there was a sequel (or if there was going to be one). Falling in love with the characters, hating others, rooting for none of them and all of them simultaneously. Being so stressed out that she has to stop herself from reading a few lines ahead to makes sure everything was okay (failing terribly), changing positions about twenty-seven times, reading as she walked to the bathroom to pee and barely wanting to put it down to wash her hands. She loved feeling immersed like she was completely involved in the story, and she knows she's not the only person who feels that way.

So she majored in business, got a loan from the bank, and opened up a bookstore. If she could spend the rest of her life helping people find the book that does that for them, then she would be happy -- it'd always been her dream.

Which is why this was so frustrating -- for them to be so careless around a dream of hers. She'd written several polite letters that she posts up on the door in the morning before they open, but even though they're not still on the door by afternoon, her politeness is being blatantly ignored. It's so frustrating. So absolutely frustrating, that she could scream!

Y/N had tried everything. Had brightened up the storefront with more posters, changing the awning above the doors and windows, added more art and posters, planted more flowers so that looked welcoming and bright even despite the dark, blacked out windows and ashtrays right next door. Nothing could deviate the noticeable decline in sales on the days the tattoo parlor is open as well.

So when she finds more ashes in her hydrangea, she's had just enough. Stomped her way over next door, even though it was about five minutes to open, and shoved her way through the parlor door. She'd never been in here before, so she wasn't quite certain of the layout, but right up front was a small counter with a smooth granite finish atop of it, and a gruff looking man sitting behind it, two large gauges in her ears and a swirly tattoo decorating his forehead. The entire essence of this place was dark; all broody and deep shades of purples, reds, and blacks. Their stores might be connected by one wall but couldn't have appeared more different -- Y/N was trying to lure people in with a muted olive hue, and here they were with a massive knife glistening and dripping with a jam shade of blood painted on their front wall.

"Listen," she began immediately, pointing her finger directly at him and wishing she'd worn something more intimidating like an exaggerated satin lapel Armani suit tailored to fit, but she doubted that would fair well heaving boxes around all day so she had to settle for a worn tee, The Great Wave sketched out on it in black ink, "I know you guys are running a business and I know being rough and rugged is your aesthetic and you were here first! I get that! But I'm running a business too and my business is books and reading and quiet not loud, blaring Black Sabbath at top volume for the whole block to here. And if I find one more cigarette ash in my god damn hydrangeas I'm going to fucking --"

"Hello," a voice rings from behind her, startling her to a jump and she sees the eyes of the man who she'd been yelling at (who seemed rather unfazed) flicker over behind her, "What do we have here? Riktor here cheat on you? The naughty devil can never keep it in his pants."

When Y/N turns around to confront the face, she takes in a deep breath. The guy before her is pretty. . .maybe too pretty to be working here and the only indication of him possibly working here is the shirt he wears that sports the logo and the ink running up and down his arms, plus a tattoo gun that he's polishing with what looks like a scrap piece of cloth, massaging it diligently across the stainless steel tip. . His eyes are a very clear, light green like what one might expect to be the jewels of a mermaids earrings, and lips that didn't even look kind of chewed up -- like he'd never known stress in his life. Two perfect, smooth shades of pink skin to a strawberry milkshake that pullback in a simper, watching her closely and waiting for her next move but her brain had slowed trying to process that a could have been the cute boy next door archetype was for some reason in a very grungy shop such as this.

The words he'd said to her finally set in her head, however, and her brows reset in their irritation, "I'm Y/N and I own the shop next door and --"

"So you're our little book bee? The hydrangeas are beautiful."

She pauses for a moment, taken aback, "Yes," she decides, "Yes, they are beautiful, but they can't be beautiful when there are ashes in them."

The man pouts his lips, own face looking disgruntled by this, "Well that won't do. We've got ashtrays right out front for a reason, but I'll see about moving them to the back and changing the smoking area around there."

"Yeah," she says, maybe a little to forcefully, still geared up for a fight but she was bewildered by the very sudden change in tune. Y/N had kind of been expecting a huge argument and yelling and maybe her storefront to be spray painted, but he was -- this boy was. . .being very suspiciously understanding, "That would. . .that would be good." Her shoulders relax, dropping, "And the music --"

"Far too loud," he nods slowly, raising his hand, "I tell them but they never listen to me. Long as I'm here it'll be down but when I'm gone they crank it right up. However, you have my full permission to come over here and yell at them. Say Harry sent ya, they should put it at a suitable volume."

Y/N's pointing finger lowers slowly, and she wonders if her face conveys how truly alarmed she is that he's being so approachable and considerate. While there is always the possibility that he's doing it to get her off of his back and back to her shop so they can get to work, his face suggests he's being sincere, so she lowers another defensive barrier that she'd boarded up to get herself to come over here. She gives one final nod, "Okay, good -- um -- thank you very much."

"Anytime," he shifts the cloth and tattoo gun to one hand, holding out the other, "Nice t'a finally meet you neighbor."

"Nice to meet you." She took his hand in her own, giving one firm shake before turning on her heel and hot tailing it out of there. Had she been around him any longer, she's sure she would've said something stupid given the chance, because he was way too fucking cute and she was not having that. She doesn't like when talking to someone makes her feel nervous -- Y/N actually makes a point to not feel nervous when she's speaking with someone -- but this boy. Well, fuck sake, she's still a little jittery as she reenters her own store.

She doesn't know if she could ever face him again, actually.

. . .

"You need to find another person to work here," Ayla saddles up on the front counter next to the register, one leg on either side, swinging them back and forth obnoxiously while Y/N was crouched over thumbing through a box of The Devil All the Time's hardbacks. She was counting them because she was fairly sure they'd shorted her by four books which would not have been a problem if hardbacks weren't the price of a limb. Ayla had come over to "help" but as always, her definition of help resorts to chatting with her with one of the bakery cookies held in her hand, watching while Y/N heaved and huffed big boxes of books around, "Get 'em to do all the grunt work and have yourself a latte while you read in the back room."

Y/N rolled her eyes, pausing on 26 to answer her, "M'good by myself for right now," she responded, looking up from the box to set her gaze on Ayla, watching her pick the dirt from beneath her fingernail, "Besides, teaching 'em how to do things the way I want them is such a bother, I'd rather do it myself."

"Still, you gotta be lonely," she shakes her head, "It can get so quiet in here even when there are customers, and y'know too much silence can drive you mad, I read."

She opens her mouth to respond, when a very distinct sound of a guitar riff floods muffled into their ears and her face sets into a deep frown, "How could it be quiet when I've got a shop neighbor who won't turn the music down?" Her voice escalates in sound every word, shaking her head slowly, "Y'know, I thought maybe the owner was actually genuine and really nice, but m'positive he's working today and the music's still blaring! How can they even focus on that going on? Won't the vibrations of the damn soundwaves fuck them over? They've got needles to people's skin, they should be focused."

It'd been a week since she'd gone over there and it was good for a few days; he stuck to his word about the smoking, putting the ashtrays in the back but that didn't really stop the few stragglers who were walking up to the place with a cigarette, so there were still buds on the sidewalk but it definitely had been better. However, the music was still loud and grating and nobody wanted to look at books when there were muffled rumbles of what she's certain is Led Zeppelin shaking her walls.

"They've got amazingly steady hands I heard," Ayla throws one last glance towards the vibrating wall before lulling her gaze back to where Y/N is squatted, "I dated a girl -- remember Rita? She used to be at tattoo artist and her hands were incredibly durable. . .she could go for hours knuckles deep inside me."

Y/N goes back to her counting, her finger on the binding of the book she'd left off on but she couldn't find the number she'd left off on, "I do remember Rita," Y/N murmurs, wracking her brain and tapping at the binding with the tips of her fingers, "She called me Prude Pringle for three weeks 'cos I refused a drunken threesome with you lot."

"A threesome?" Her face skewers, "When was that? Why'd you say no?"

"Back in August. Said no 'cos I was the only sober one and a little birdie once told me she couldn't partake in a threesome because she's too jealous for it."

Ayla nods, leaning back, "Good call -- 've I ever told you-you're a great friend."

Y/N opens her mouth to tell her to say it again but it's in that moment she realized that she definitely lost count and she's almost positive that the music got even louder! So instead of that, she slams her palm down against the bindings, "Fuck sake!" She nearly shouts, shoving herself up from the ground and dusting off her pants, "I'll be right back."

She charges over to the door, "Wait, shouldn't you jus' call and complain?"

Her suggestion is lost in the chime of her door's bell, again wishing she'd worn something more gruff and grungy than what she has but such is life she supposes. So she bursts through their open door in a shirt with a realistic gray octopus sat on a pile of books, surpassing the front desk man -- Riktor -- and heading towards the back, where the music was coming from. There's a low, throaty voice of someone trying to stop her but she ignores it, coming past the curtain threshold, and there she finds herself with a group of. . .well, of tattoo artists. There's about three hunched over bodies -- one working on adding an additional flower onto an arm's sleeve, another inking what looks like a balloon on someone's hip, and another who's giving an ankle tattoo, what looks like a hammer and a nail. A few other people are just sitting about, on their phones, combing their fingers through their hair, another throwing a whole bottle of water in one go.

All of them ignoring that she'd stormed in. . .all of them listening to music at top volume.

"Excuse me," she tries over the music, and when she barely gets a flicker of a glance, she goes louder, "Excuse me!" Again, there's no response, so she scans the room for the stereo, spotting it in the corner beside a man with black inked all up his neck. She goes for it without thought, twisting and winding around stools and chairs, taking the volume dial and spinning it low. That catches their attention, and the resounding noise of the tattoo gun's needle cuts off completely, "Excuse me," she finally states with a huff, "Could you please keep the volume a little lower? It vibrates the walls when it's up so high."

She gets a lot of blank stares. . .a lot. . .and wordlessly, the man who was sitting beside it leans over and turns it right back up, even louder than it had been before, everyone going back as they had before she'd come through. Y/N is infuriated! She asked so fucking nicely, how the hell could they just ignore that? Was it the octopus shirt?

In the next few moments, she doesn't think. Instead, she turns back towards the stereo, leans down and reaches behind the speaker before yanking the plug from the wall and the music cuts off completely.

When she lifts back up, she deadpans the lot of them.

"Harry sent me." She snaps before walking out, slipping beneath the curtain, sparing a glance at Riktor who has his brows raised and when she pushes through the door, almost running into a body. A body that is very much Harry, who has his fingers curled around the top of two bakery bags, brows furrowed.

"Y/N?" He looks concerned, and she wonders if it's written all over her face that she's irritated, "What's wrong?"

She looks at him, and his stupidly gorgeous eyes, and his way too pretty mouth, and just shakes her head, "Nothing's wrong, I took care of it."

She leaves it at that.

. . .

Y/N feels a little guilty later on. Not entirely guilty, because it felt good to shut it off entirely and she hadn't heard a peep from them otherwise, but guilty enough that she had thought about writing a note suggesting that they just switch the stereo to a wall that they're not sharing, but she stops herself. They'd probably just roll it in a ball and toss it in the trash anyway, so instead of writing a note, she worked on setting up the new display for The Devil of All Time and throws around a few ideas about how to draw people in with a poster or something detailing that this was going to be a movie soon.

Ayla had gone home after praising her for being a badass, leaving Y/N to her thoughts. A good amount of customers flowed in but it was a Monday and Mondays were always pretty slow (business picks up as the week goes on so she'd been expecting as much. So she does some housekeeping and wonders if she should hire someone to at least speak to when she's bored, but the thought of another person in here kind of gives her the willies. This store was her baby. . .her cute little, chubby fingered, drooly, bed wetting baby and the thought of letting a stranger step a foot near her innocent little baby to destroy it with their grubby hands got right under her skin. Y/N's better at working alone, she thinks, and she doesn't know how much she'd fair as a leader if she felt a teensy bit bad about taking initiative yelling at a ton of grungy tattoo artists.

She's suckling on her bottom lip, staring at a blank poster board and figuring she should probably take her little art project home rather than stay here any later than need be, when there's a jingle of her door's bell, and she looks up to see none other than Harry. Harry who looks very. . .very guilty, lips drawn downward, and Y/N opens her mouth to ask what he was doing but he holds one hand up, the other preoccupied with a rolled bag similar to the one from the bakery he'd had earlier in the day, "Before you rip me a new one, I just want to apologize. I had them turn it down all this morning and I leave for lunch and I don't doubt they twisted the knob all the way up again. I told 'em I would take the damn stereo away if they kept it up." He tears the beanie from his hat, combing his fingers through his hair, shaking out the curls, and waving the bag he'd brought, " So I brought you a piece of Boston Cream Pie. Told 'em they better be nice to you too, 'cos you're our neighbor and they ran off the last cute little boutique we had and. . ." he looks around, gaze fluttering about the room, "S'kinda dark in here, Pet, you should get some more lights -- ooh, do those yellow fairy ones, isn't that what they're called?"

Y/N's head tilts to the side, brows furrowing as she takes the bag from him, "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, sorry, off topic I know, I just thought this is a college town and y'know how they're suckers for fairy lighting; innocent little things, as soon as they get out they tear 'em down and pretend nothing happened."

Y/N tries not to show on her face that she definitely has fairy lights strung up in her flat, as she responds, "S'fine, um -- yeah, I'll look into that," she shakes her head, placing the bag to the side and unrolling it, reaching in for the pie and the fork, "Sorry about tearing the plug from the wall, hope it didn't short circuit or anything."

His eyes go wide, "No, no! No apologies told you to tell them arseholes I sent ya and that you did." He lowers himself before her familiarly and Y/N's brows raise, not expecting him to go ahead and make himself comfortable but not terribly turned off that he did. Though she was quite. . .taken by him -- enough so that she was sort of dry-mouthed as he stretched his leg out, leaning back and holding himself up with the palm of his hand behind his back. The ripped holes in his blue jeans pucker up, the cuffs of his jeans pinch rolled down to a very clean pair of pink socks and loafers. Once she sees the bottom half of him, she focuses then on the top, seeing him in a worn Pink Floyd shirt and he's just so. . .boyish, she can't get over it. "What're you staring at? Have I got croissant on me face?"

While he reaches up to swipe away at nonexistent crumbs, she shakes her head, "No, no," she reassures him, "No, s'just -- um. . .you don't look much like you'd be a tattoo artist. Or be the boss for that matter," her brows dip in, "Not like that's a bad thing, its just compared to the aesthetic of your parlor you kind of. . .stray from the part."

For a moment she wonders if that was rude but Harry doesn't seem all too bothered by her statement, poking at first his eyebrow and then his lip and nose, "Had a few piercings believe it or not. But I was with a girl a while back who absolutely hated them and I had 'em out so long that the holes closed up." He sighs, waving his hand over his face, "Would've gotten them pierced again but I found people find me much more approachable without them in, so I didn't bother."

Y/N's face skewers, shaking her head as she caps the sharpie she'd been working with, "That's shit," she mutters without thinking, finally popping open the plastic container with the pie, "You shouldn't have changed yourself for a girl's sake. If she really cared for you, then she wouldn't mind the piercings." She's digging the fork into the pie, wondering why it felt so easy to talk to him. . .he had a sort of charming way about him that sucked her in easily -- or maybe it's because she had nobody to talk to for hours on hours, being left with her own thoughts for way too long makes her rather susceptible to speaking without really being prompted to, "I mean, if I was crazy about a guy and he had like. . .like Nirvana's entire discography tattooed on his face, I wouldn't care if it made him happy, y'know? S'a shame thinking the world and all its people are s'pposed to bend at your will." She slips the pie into her mouth, realizing that maybe he didn't technically ask for her input at all, and her heart almost drops to her stomach because the last thing she'd want to do is make enemies with the one person who's on her side, "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

She looks up expecting him to look pissy, gathering his things to leave, but instead, he's smiling, looking pleasantly surprised, "No, no, don't apologize. Wish I would've had you 'round when it was happening to me, would've done me some good."

And if she's honest. . .maybe she really should hire somebody, because she also (apparently) becomes very pushy and involved in other people's lives because she goes on to ask, "Well, what happened between you two? If you don't mind me asking." She pushes some of the whipped cream off the top of the pie, "I love a good romance story."

Snorting, Harry chuckles, "You're a bloody trip, y'know that? Just sat down and you wanna know all my nitty gritty feelings," He doesn't make any move to leave, "Your blatant and unapologetic interest is refreshing, however, so I'll give you it. I'm more or less an open book but this "romance" was more like a dark drama -- was the farthest from healthy." He shakes his head, "Would've brought a beer with me if I'd known I'd be getting into it, but basically, I met her when she'd come in for a tattoo on her ankle -- a little boat on her ankle -- and we sort of clicked right off the bat. She gave me her number at the end of the tattoo, kissed my cheek, and I was proper swooning. Everything was really good for a while too, like we would go on these cutesy little dates and then elaborate ones and when we had sex that was nice too but after like the second-month things kind of went to shit."

"She told ya to take out the piercings?" She guesses and he nods, a somber smile starting at his mouth.

"Started there, sure. Told me to take them out because they looked dumb or summat -- made me seem like a brooding teen punk is what she said, but I was so moony-eyed for her I took 'em right out without a second thought. At first, she loved haring what tattoos people got, and then she said I talked about work too much, but when I stopped she accused me of cheating on her instead of going to work. After convincing her I wasn't and I would never, we'd sleep together, cuddle to sleep, wake up in the morning and it'd start all over again. Started feeling like she wanted me to quit work altogether, stay with her at home all the time. . .would suggest it in the morning then cry when I left and blow up my phone all day." He shakes his head, "Won't say I was a saint, 'cos I definitely wasn't. Started ignoring the calls and messages after a while until I finally told her I couldn't do it anymore."

Y/N frowns for him, tutting her tongue, "A right mess. You were right to end things, 'cos if you don't have trust what do you have?"

"It's like I walked in and opened up a Nicholas Sparks book," he jests and she furrows her brows at him, "Like y'know just what to say, huh?"

"I'm very smart," she gives a fake gloat, "S'why I bought a shop next to an incredibly loud tattoo artist's whose customers like ashing in my flowerbeds. I'm full of grand ideas."

The jab makes Harry's lips stretch wide around a grin.

. . .

If someone had told Y/N while she was in high school, that her job would entail strolling in at seven in the morning, when the sky had just barely mottled a lavender, hazy dawn and wearing her cheap bear slippers -- she'd say they were crazy. Yet there she was, equipped with a box of nails (because they were much cheaper than command hooks), a hammer, and ten boxes of fairy lights so that she could lighten up the essential essence of the store. No matter how much she didn't want to admit that Harry was right about the lighting, he was, and she wasn't dumb enough to pass up an opportunity to make this place feel more home-y.

Harry was. . .interesting, Y/N thought. While she's ambling over the juniper colored rug (one she'd splurged on at the furniture store off main street, wool with a cotton-latex backing -- the man who had sold it to her somehow convinced her it was okay to spend the extra money for it to be 100% real and for a frazzled, newly bank loaned Y/N, she decided that wool was cool), she thinks about the time they'd spent together. He'd stayed a little while after he'd told her the story of him and his ex, waited for her to finish off the pie and reached for the container and stuffed it into the bag he'd brought it in. "As much as I'd love to stay, I really gotta hit the hay. M'right knackered," he'd stretched out his body with a loud, groaning hum and his eyes even watered some with the gratifying burn of it, "You should go get some sleep too since it's only you working here."

"How'd you know that?"

He'd snorted and rolled his eyes as he gathered his things, "Please, you're the only one I ever see coming in and out of here every morning and night, plus you just spent an hour talking to your obnoxious neighbor like we're old friends," he shook his head, "Need someone to talk to throughout the day or you'll go mad -- thought I could tattoo by meself and now I've got more than five knob heads working for me."

Y/N isn't sure what kind of weird mentor/mentee relationship was beginning to germinate between the two of them but she had no idea how to feel about it. On one hand, it's nice to have because while college does a well enough job of teaching you how to run a business theoretically, stepping into it on your own was a whole new world. Harry had been through the trials and tribulations of opening a shop, starting something, getting people there, and finding an aesthetic for his own store -- he could help her with some things, she's sure of it, and she knows that if she ever had a problem regarding being an owner, he'd most likely be the first person she sought out for advice. There was something undeniably charming about him, it made it easier to hear his ideas rather than wanting to tell him to shut the hell up and let her run her own store, hence the reason she's here so early hanging up string lights.

On the other hand, she fears he's only buttering her up so she doesn't file some complaint regarding his employees. Did he think she'd really go to the police? Or was last night him trying to feel out what kind of person she was and how far they might be able to push her before she does? She'd like to think that he was a hundred percent innocent in her intentions but she just couldn't ignore the flitters of doubt in her mind. Someone as winsome as he is doesn't not know that they could get what they want if they played their cards right and she wonders if he was pulling out all the stops on her -- bringing her pie, sitting with her on her rug, and entertaining her with a story knowing full well she'd be a sucker for it because, well, she owned a damn bookstore.

Despite all that, he was good company at the very least, and not too terrible on the eyes, so she figures -- even if this is him doing some sly buttering -- she'd let him come around. At least until he started to annoy her.

While Y/N lugs an old kitchen chair from the supply closet, she reckons that she needs to buy something of a small ladder for her endeavors such as this. There were a few stepstools she had placed strategically around the store, but they only went high enough for the bookshelves rather than for above them and along the junction of the ceiling and wall. She slides the chair up against the wall after spotting an outlet and prays that it's not wobbly as she plucks a nail from the box and holds it between her fingers, keeping the hammer secure against her palm as she hoists herself up. A small squeak leaves her in alarm when she thinks the chair is about to tip but the leg had only left the ground a fraction of a millimeter so she was fine for now.

The prospect of someone working for her was continuing to feel more and more like a good' she'd have someone holding the chair steady for her as she finally stopped tricking herself out and slowly pushed herself upward, straightening out her legs and positioning the nail just a few centimeters down from the ceiling. She pinches it loosely with her finger as she taps the blunt end of the hammer against it in gentle taps, seeing no need in wailing on it, especially when she wanted it at a slight incline so the chances of the wires slipping off and her having to get back up on this chair were slimmer.

Once she's finished the first, she's proper proud of herself. Is taking a minute to admire her work when the very sudden and alarming sound of her bell chiming and the sound of her squawking cry as she jumps and clutches onto the wall masks over the intruder, until she looks over and sees none other than Harry himself with wide eyes, "Oh, my bad Love, didn't mean to scare you."

"Could you at least knock?" she groaned, brows furrowed with a hand limply covering her chest, "We're closed, go home."

Harry snorts as he watches her dismount from the chair, catching herself on the wall once again, "Well, I was just coming 'round to open up, and I saw you nailing into the walls while standing on a very wobbly chair in what appears to be slippers and I came to offer my aid, if you'd like it."

"I'm fine," she told him, pushing the loose strands of hair that tickled at her face backward, trying desperately not to stare at him for too long. He looked like he just woke up and it was cute; he had sleep puffy eyes, fluffy, noticeably freshly washed hair pushed back by a pair of unnecessary sunglasses, swamped in a hoodie much too large for him and a yawn stretches his mouth out, "Why are you here so early anyway? Do people get tattoos at seven AM?"

Shaking his head, Harry sets down the sketchbook that she just now realized had been in his hand and a few different pencils, including a pencil sharpener and it only just hits her that Harry must draw and design a lot of that tattoos that he does, "Trying to do a few new designs for the wall but I get too distracted when m'at home, so I come 'round here before it opens. The vibe is. . .like, good for the brain, y'know?" Y/N nods, even though she doesn't know and she watches as he looks from the nail to the hammer on the seat, to the boxes of lights she'd ordered online, and a grin pulls at his mouth, "You took me advice, ey?" He looks proud of himself and Y/N can't decide if it's really cute or really annoying.

"Its a bit dark I suppose," she admitted, waving her hand around lamely, "And the ceiling lights are more ominous than comforting at night and it feels more like an evil lair than a cozy bookstore."

His smile only grows bigger, "See? M'not an all gloomy, knife on the wall, grunge monster -- got me soft gooey spots too. Have a few art pieces I think you might like t--"

"Get on the seat then," he pats on it, "If you won't use me for my wonderful vision yet, then you can use me for my chair steadying hands."

Y/N's heart warms some, "Yet?" She repeats, plucking another nail out of the box and taking hold of the hammer again.

Harry shrugs, "Got hope you'll come to your senses."

She gives him a soft shove to his shoulder only to find he's incredibly sturdy and she doesn't know how to feel about that either.

"Just don't stare at my ass, yeah?" She tells him, pushing herself up onto the chair again with no squeak required because the chair doesn't shift.

He gives a mocking, exasperated sigh, "Damn, the only reason I offered my help was so I could objectify you a little eensy bit."

Y/N laughs harder than she should and when she looks down at him, she can noticeably see his ego being stroked, and yeah, he's far too cute right now. She can't tell if she wanted more to coddle him to her chest and shield him from the world, or to be the one who is coddled, but she sweeps the idea of it from her mind just as quickly as it'd come. She wasn't looking to pursue the idea of any crush her mind and heart decided to concoct in an effort to finally do her in. Plus she's got no time for a relationship anyway. When it came to being with someone, she believed that it was something that took time and care -- like gardening almost. Planting the seed was the easiest part, but then you had to tend to it; water it daily, stroke it's petals tenderly, assure it that it's going to blossom so beautifully and once it does, you have to work even harder to not let it wilt.

How could she give the proper love and care to anyone when she's trying to work the garden of her bookstore? Nobody deserved to be second to that of a store when it came to their significant other, and from how mindful, thoughtful, and sweet Harry was. . .well, that wouldn't be fair to him either.

That's to say if he even liked her in the first place.

She shakes her head at herself -- why is she even thinking like that? Probably because he was looking all soft swallowed up in his hoodie and sweatpants, and he's helpful and kind and it's not often you meet boys like that. Usually, there's a catch and she's waiting for Harry's -- for him to be a closeted asshole who's magnanimity only scraped the surface but deep down he was nothing but molten, murderous evil. Maybe he was a homicidal maniac worming his way close to her so he could get her alone, lock her in a cage, and starve her out? Or he'd get her from behind, bludgeon her with a hardcover book just for the irony of it.

But then she looks down, sees that he's watching her hands and not her bum, his gaze flickering to her own before the corner of his lips draw back in a cordial gleam, "Your handy work is top caliber," he remarks, nodding towards where she's left the nail in the wall, "Bet your fingers are strong and skilled from all the page turning."

A huffed laugh comes from her nose, chest puffing out with it.

He couldn't hurt a fly.

. . .

Y/N needs to hire someone.

She knows she does, and Ayla nor Harry would let her forget it, but she's too proud! Told herself she could start and run a business with no help and had intended to keep it that way, but there was so much that was entailed regarding all of this it was going to drive her up the wall. Like when she's finally gotten taken off hold with Baker & Taylor's helpline to let them know they sent her forty copies of Fifty Shades of Grey and it's predecessors when she most certainly did not, but she has to step away from the phone because someone can't reach a copy of Dean Koontz's latest novel. Or when she's trying to multitask cleaning up someone's spilled coffee off the rug (assuring through a myriad of their apologies that it was fine, it's why she had purchased the industrialized carpet cleaner met for the tracked stains of a Great Mastiff's colossal muddy paws in the first place), setting up an automatic payment for the electricity (which had sparked in price considering the lights lining the walls but with this came more night time visitors so it evened out), and realizing that there were three people waiting patiently in line for her to check them out.

Having at least one other hand would be beneficial, but again, she could only stress how hard it would to find someone she trusted with her snotty nosed baby of a bookstore. Who would she feel comfortable leaving alone if she had to run errands? To run the store when she was home sneezy and feverish? To open up the books and not damage their binding with the box cutter like she'd almost did a handful of times (before specifically requesting they put a protective wrapping over the shipments so she didn't have to play the surgeon game of "let's not nick an artery" book-edition). The only person she could even kind of imagine was Harry of all people, and he was busy running his own thing next door!

She guesses she could put a help wanted sign up front, but she would draft up the application herself, and including a questionnaire seemed necessity at this point. At the very least so she could feel out what kind of person they'd be and whether or not they'd be able to click, or if they would share her intense and immense love for books and reading. If they're to work here, she wants it to be to their enjoyment as much as it's for their paycheck, which is a lot to ask from some people, especially in a college town.

Hiring someone seems worth it until she imagines the first time they manage to do something like knock an entire bookshelf over, and then she thinks she'd rather work around the clock 24/7 than dare let anyone who isn't her do anything ever.

All of this is weighing like two fifty pound dumbbells on her mind as she's sat on the ground, starting a new project rather than actually dealing with the problem at hand. A few weeks ago she had bought a decently large basket but had nothing to do with it so it'd just been sitting collecting dust in the corner of her room until an idea struck her of its purpose. She'd put books in it, sure, but books that are wrapped up all nice and neat, with only a short description of it scrawled out over the paper. There's one thing she's come to learn to be a reader herself, and that is no matter how hard someone might try, they will always judge a book by its cover. The story could be exactly what someone was looking for -- the right amount of suspense or romance, horror or comfort, a plot that would keep you intrigued, and a page-turner that you'll never want to end -- but you could pass it right up because you don't like the fruit bowl on the cover. Y/N reckons that every time you're in a bookstore or in the library, you're bound to pass what could've been your all-time favorite book, just because the cover hadn't had you arsed enough to pick it up.

So she bought all the supplies for it and waited until closing, as always, to set herself up on that green rug. She'd moved the display table on it (strategically moving the books atop of it on the checkout counter) off to the side to give her the maximum amount of space for the thick brown recycled wrapping paper, her four rolls of scotch tape, the bumblebee printed scissors she'd brought from home, and starting with twenty random books she'd plucked off her shelf as to not overwhelm herself. Y/N had successfully completed three books with a permanent furrow in her brow before she heard the gentle rapping of knuckles on glass, looking up to see Harry's silhouette and his face pressed against the glass, mouthing let me in and point at the knob.

Her mood almost lightens immediately at the sight of him, placing her palms flat on the ground to push herself up on wobbly legs (she'd been sitting cross-legged for at least an hour) and walk to the door, unlocking it with the keys in the deadbolt and twisting the knob. "Jesus, are you ever home?" He questions as he steps in, "When did I help you with the lights? Two weeks ago? Don't think you've left since."

"You're not the only one who gets distracted when you're at home," she responds, relocking the door before retreating to her makeshift craft center in the middle of the floor, "Why wrap books when a bowl of popcorn and endless movies are at my disposal?"

"And the popcorn is far too buttery for you to be doing both," he adds thoughtfully.

Y/N snaps her fingers and points at him, "Bingo," she holds the edge of the paper down with her socked toes as she grabs for the tape dispenser, running the sticky side against the sharp teeth and nicking at the pad of her thumb in the process, "Why're you always wearing a beanie?" She asks him, referring to the olive green knit that's tucked atop his head, "You've got such pretty soft curls, don't hide them."

It takes him back some, she can tell, and she starts to wonder if she should've said it at all but a soft smile worms onto his lips and he manages to look way too cute like that, reaching up to pull at the top of the beanie, letting his hair fall about freely. It wasn't particularly unruly -- just soft brown tufts, that must be killer to run fingers through -- curls sprout around his ears, growing down towards his shoulders. She'd never seen hair like his; it was clear he took care of it and she'd reckon he'd used a hair mask or two, because it appeared healthy and clean, "Thank you," he murmurs sincerely, "Didn't think people much liked them -- get told to get a cut about every other day."

Y/N scoffs, "Well tell 'em to shove it. I like them, they suit you and I don't lie. Only cut your hair if you want to, but if you like it, who gives a rat what people think?" She shakes her head, ridding herself of the frustration building within her at the prospect of someone being rude enough to tell Harry to get a haircut when he clearly likes it long, trying to soothe the way she'd grumbled over by moving on with, "Anyway how was tattoo-ing today? Any fun stories."

Harry settles his keys down on the ground where he soon places his coat after slipping it off his shoulders, leaving it in a heap that he then sits beside, "I would tell you if I didn't think you were deflecting, but I got this aching feeling that there wasn't a furrow in your brow jus' 'cos you were wrapping books."

She wonders how he does that -- he's got an eye for people, she guesses, and she thinks having a secret that you have to keep from him was probably akin to one of the layers of hell. Y/N had never felt so cut open around him; like he'd pried her apart from the inside out, looking inside, knowing everything before she had a chance to even voice it aloud at all if she even knew it herself yet. Hell, she could make a book metaphor but it seemed a little on the nose as she's sat amongst a shit ton of them.

"Hey," he hums, catching her gaze with his own, and he looks so. . .gentle -- concerned and soft and sweet, "Y'know, you can rant and vent to me about stuff, yeah? Owning a business can be rough and not many people know the actual tribulations of it; never see past the whole, "you're your own boss!" aspect of it so I get it." He puts a finger in the air though, "However, if you're about to say something poor on yourself, I'll have you know that you're doing very well thus far from the amount of people leaving here with paper bags full of books, and to come to a college town that's absent of any small, homey little bookstores when they're discovering their comfort in things that are cozy was a well-planed move. You've accomplished so much already and you should definitely be proud of yourself."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, her free hand going to tuck the hair behind her ear, "Thank you," she responds, "That means a lot." And it does! For someone to say that you're doing good when you've started something so much bigger than you -- it feels nice. Like the hug of your favorite sweater, or the way it feels to place your head against a feather filled pillow. Y/N couldn't believe how easily Harry has nearly resorted her to mush, so much so that she nearly forgot her problem at hand, "I just. . .I think I need to hire someone but I don't really want to." She takes the permanent marker from underneath her knee, before writing on the copy of Kathleen Hale's No One Else Can Have You:

Awkward Teenage Disappearing Mystery

Very Creepy

She pushes it off to the side as she continues, "Like, the help would be nice, but then I have to like them, and trust them 'cos this place means so much to me and I've put so much work into it that I can't just let any old stranger come in! And what if it's a college student and they invite their stupid drunk friends over before close? I can just see my lamp being destroyed and then I'd have to scold them, but I'm shit at yelling at anyone, I don't think anybody takes me seriously and its not like I could dox their pay even if I really, really wanted to but I can't fire them either for one little mess up. Like what if they need the money y'know? On those Myer Brigg's type tests I always get stuck on the one where it asks if you'd have trouble firing an employee who was shit at their job but loyal and I had always imagined it really could go either way, but how am I supposed to decide whether or not someone has a job?" Pausing, she knuckles worriedly at her eyes, shaking her head, "But I shouldn't even be thinking about that because I don't even have a fucking employee yet, so. . ."

Once he's certain that she's not going to say anymore, Harry speaks up, "This is the stuff they don't really tell you when you get a business degree, yeah? It's hard. . .working by yourself is hard and working with people is hard, and it sucks trying to find who suits you best as your first employee. My first was Riktor. . .proper hated the bugger," he leans backward on his palms, tilting himself sideways so he could stretch his legs outward, "He had a fouler mouth than mine and I thought he was a prick, if m'honest, but when I saw him do a full sleeve of the most beautiful work I'd ever seen, got a chance to really talk to him, and found out that him n'I have loads in common. You just have to give whoever you hire a chance, pick their brain a little, you'll understand them more as a person so if they do make a mistake it isn't just some mindless bumbling idiot."

A frown tugs at her mouth, "Why do you always know what to say?" She grumbles and he laughs brightly, warm, wiggling down in her gut and fluttering butterfly wings lick and tickle her insides.

"M'bloody smart, s'why," he drops his lid down in a wink, "Now, explain to me what you're doin, so I can help," he tells her, "For the time being, I'm your employee, I work for five cents an hour and require constant affirmation that I'm wrapping correctly."

Harry helps her, even though he's shit at wrapping (they both find this out at the same time) and even though he asks a lot of questions and worms the endings out of her despite how much she both simultaneously loves and loathes ruining books for people. But it was nice -- he was nice -- and it makes her feel quite soft. Softer than she likes to feel in the presence of anyone. . .Y/N prides herself on not losing herself in the thoughts of a relationship, putting herself first in all things, and it can't be seen as selfish because who would she be putting second if she was alone?

But Harry was like a pest. A squirmy little bug that has settled in her, and planted imagery of them going home together rather than leaving each other after this. To continue their conversations. . .laughing and teasing and cuddling and maybe Y/N could be held one night instead of falling asleep buried beneath her covers trying to keep warm.

Though she eventually remembers that she likes having the bed to herself and she'd probably get too sweaty anyway, so she shakes the idea from her brain.

Harry brought her from these thoughts though when he had plucked the last book from her pile, looking at it with brows raised before turning it to face her, "On Dublin Street, ey? This looks pretty saucy," he peers at the back, eyes scanning over the description, immediately lighting up as he reads from it, "Braden Carmichael is used to getting what he wants, and he's determined to get Jocelyn into his bed." He flickers through a lump of pages with his thumb, bending the book backward some as he does, "Didn't know you were into such filth, Pet."

Y/N rolls her eyes, "I haven't read it, but Ayla swears up and down that it's the best thing she's ever read in her life so I figured I'd put it in."

He holds it in his hands, front to back, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a handful of bills, "I'll buy it off you."

"What?" She tilts her head but he's leaning forward, placing the money into her hand and closing her fingers around it, "Oi -- what're you --"

"Let's start a book club," he remarks decisively, a short nod of his head, "Just you and me. We'll read a few chappies, talk about it, and we'll start with this book right here."

Her mouth falls open, shaking her head, "Harry, I don't even have time to read books that I want to read, much less --"

"Then make time," he cuts her off, shaking his head some, "You love reading, don't you? Don't let what made you start up this store in the first place get swept under the rug. We'll read however many chapters we decide on and meet up for coffee on Sundays to discuss. This will kick it off, then we can move to books that we are actually interested in, but for now, we'll do a tester. Have you got another one around here?"

She doesn't really get a chance to tell him that yes she does, it's on the third shelf over from the desk on the erotica shelf (a cute little sticker labels it), because he's already stood up and ventured it out himself. It was true -- Y/N hadn't been able to read much since she initially got this place up and running, and she missed it terribly but it felt like it would be a chore more than anything some nights. It'd be easier to just turn off her brain than get invested in the stories she grows to love so much. And that's rubbish! Absolute rubbish, because she should be making time for the one thing that has always been her thing. She doesn't want to end up resenting this bookstore or books in general, just because she lost sight for what made her want to do this in the first place.

Y/N wonders aloud why Harry has made a habit of fixing problems she didn't even know she had yet, "I need you to start having problems too," she tells him, half joking, half serious, "Then I can start helping you out and this isn't so one-sided."

Harry grins at her, shaking his head.

"You help me," he responds, "You just don't notice when you are."

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she feels so anxious. She and Harry had spent plenty of nights together, sat on her carpet and chatting with one another for hours into the night, pursuing her random projects and brightening up the store. He even stops by during his lunch breaks -- will bring some food for her even, mostly because she rarely leaves for lunch herself and sometimes forgets to pack her own. It had been routine almost, and she'd never felt nervous when he appeared at her door, smiling wide.

But now, when it comes to them meeting at the café to discuss this book though, she feels all types of tense and nervy. Y/N had left twenty minutes early, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling on it hard as she made her way to the café. She briefly considered calling Ayla to soothe her nerves, but she knows Ayla would merely gas her up thinking this was a date when it wasn't. So she just tries to shake off her jitters and treat it like she's going to work, only instead of turning right on Grand, she keeps straight along the cobblestone path to the Mud Mugs café she had suggested as their meeting spot.

(It was a cute little nonprofit shop with killer lattes and milkshakes that she's been trying to wheedle the recipes out of one of the baristas for at least a year but he won't budge.)

Once she pulls the door open, she first scans the area for an empty spot for them to go to, before she realizes that Harry was already there, tucked away in a booth in the far corner with a mug of his own and one that's full across from him. Her heart feels full as she walks up to him, letting her purse slip from her shoulder down to the inside of her elbow, and towards her hand with her fingers curling around the straps. Harry looked incredibly pretty, which she is beginning to realize is a trend with him. His shirt is worn and black, light washed blue jeans cuffed at the ankles, and plain white shoes with baby pink socks, a pink beanie that matches it tucked on his head. She wonders if she should ask him to go shopping with her because she's feeling like a walking toddler in her overalls, but when he notices her arrival he grins at her, looking her up and down, "Well, aren't you just the cutest thing?"

Y/N rolls her eyes, taking her seat across from him, "Shut up," she grumbles, before leaning over the table, taking the top of his beanie and pulling it upward, "What'd I say about these, huh?" She settles the mussed curls with her hands, patting it down and rearranging them until they sat less messy on his head, leaving it all soft and washed, "They're cute, let them breathe."

"Okay, okay boss," he pats at his hair, making sure it felt at least partially how he wanted it to, patting at the beanie and slipping it over to the side, "I ordered you a white chocolate latte, but if you want something different I can get that."

"No, no, thank you these are my favorite," she assesses the situation, seeing that he's got the book out, bright post-its stuck out of the pages, his own latte half gone already. His hand is palm down to the table, fingers splayed, showing off the big brassy rings decorating his fingers and she tries not to let her mind wander someplace filthy. Especially when his fingers curl up, knocking on the laminate tabletop decisively before starting.

"Let's get right to it then, what are your thoughts?"

The look he gives her is one that reads I already know what you're going to say but she says it anyway, "I'm just. . . just so confused," she shakes her head, like she's trying to rearrange her thoughts, "Like are they sixteen years old? Why is it so important that he saw her naked?" Her brows furrow, and he's listening carefully like she's making an analytical thought and he's drinking it in, "It's not like he saw her pussy out, he at most saw her tits and they're acting like he walked in with her bent over, cheeks spread an all."

It makes Harry chuckle, "So you don't find it super, completely, totally wild and embarrassing when someone walks in you naked?"

"I mean it's embarrassing but not over two pages embarrassing," she leans back into her seat, "Like back in college, this boy I was kinda friends with kinda just worked together in class with walked in on me while I was changing and all he did was squeal, went back to my living room and we pretended that it didn't happen. Easy as pie."

Harry snaps his fingers, "That's because your guy wasn't a prick, but this Braden character seems like an asshole. I hate him already, the cocky bastard." He shakes his head, "S'like he was created just to be a creepy bloke."

Y/N all but slaps her hand down on the table, "Right! He's liked an Edward Cullen without all the charming vampire bits."

"Crazy thing is, tha's exactly what I was thinking."

They continue on for a little over an hour and its fun -- a whole lot of fun, actually. Y/N wonders why she had even been dreading this in the first place because she should know to trust him by now. He had good ideas and good thoughts and a good everything, really -- or at least that's what it surely felt like. The two of them just fell into things so easily, she was having trouble remembering that they'd only met a month or so ago because the way they moved and spoke in sync almost, was something that could take years for two people to accomplish it. To add on to all of it, he felt like the kind of person where she'd be able to sit in silence with him and not want to crawl out of her skin because of it, which is a very damning feat for most, given Y/N can find reasons to be uncomfortable in almost every situation.

In these moments with him, she wasn't stressed about work, or bills, or anything really, and she could only hope he felt the same.

"This is a blast," Harry had spoken with his vocabulary joking but the meaning behind them sincere, dragging her from her reverie, and apparently dragging the thoughts directly from her head, "We'll keep doing this yeah? And we'll have to hang out other than this too -- the guys at the parlor would love you, I can feel it in my bones." For a moment he pauses, quiet like he's thinking, then remembering, and then suddenly, with a click of his thumb and forefinger the excited gleam on his face when he'd first suggested this appeared, "Come to the club with us this Friday."

Y/N's mouth opens, almost closing but she just barely gets out an, "I -- I don't know Harry, that's not really my um. . .don't think m'very good at clubbing, is the thing. Not really my scene."

"You don't have to be good, you just have to have fun, and I'll be there, so it'll be fun" he informs her, and she thinks he may be hypnotizing her with the soft green gaze of his, feeling as if he'd cracked her open and begun peering into her soul -- his eyes were too damn mesmerizing, she's almost certain that he was something out of a story. Certainly not human, but a mystical being with promises of magic and dust that turns you all shades of pink and purple and the absence of all worries that you could ever think to have. If eyes were windows to the soul, then Harry's soul is all types of alluring and compelling. She had half the mind to wonder if he were a vampire or summat. . .he'd suit the role nicely. "And since you'll be there, then it'll be even more fun."

Though she's uncertain, she doesn't dismiss him right off the bat. Maybe it would be good for her -- she could invite Ayla, who's always complaining how she's no fun anymore. It might be fun even. . .outside of her otherwise natural habitat and she had kind of wondered what Harry was like around his real friends. Not just his weird, work neighbor friend who she's fairly certain he only talks to her because he can spread some of his wisdom that would otherwise be bottled up inside him. They were kind of in the same spot job-wise, so it must be good to relinquish some of the aches and pains he's experiencing with someone who also does, or even just to see that she's doing a little worse off in sorting some stuff out -- he probably finds solace in the fact that he's not at that point in his career anymore.

This makes her worry though -- what if he likes her just as a work friend? She'd definitely had friends like that, where they do better justice in the setting that you met them in, opposed to the outside world. Like that one really good friend in your math class that you would never, ever in your life think to go to the mall with. Or the boy that helps you pass time at your part-time retail job in the mall, where both of you barely bat an eyelash at each other when you pass one another on campus. What if they go out together and he finds that she is much better as just his work friend? Or she finds the same? What if he's a raging asshole in a club and the glorious image of him is crushed to smithereens? The thought of it bums her out.

But then he's looking at her with this tender, warm gaze, words coming from his mouth like little caresses as he says, "Of course, ys don't have to if you don't want to, but know that I'd enjoy your company." He puts his elbow on the table, his hand pressed to his cheek, looking at her in an almost dreamy like manner and she's about a hundred percent sure it's unintentional which is twice as aggravating as it would've been otherwise, "I think we'd have a good time together."

He's got her, "I'll think about it," she responds, which always means yes, and the smile that she tries to suppress must give her away because Harry bursts into a full-blown grin.

"Thank god, I've been wanting to spice these club visits up for a while now," he rolls his eyes, "Can only handle Eliza and Zig's melodramatic blackout breakups so many times before they start becoming humdrum and prosaic -- I'd like to see your reaction to it actually," Harry twists the ring on his middle finger with the pad of his thumb, "And I've kind of been wondering what a clubbing Y/N would be, if m'honest. Can't decide if you'd be the quiet, contemplative author type in the corner people studying or summat or if m'g'na be seein' you on the high tables in one shoe, an obscure song on, singing every word."

Y/N pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes, shaking her head as a distant memory threatens to prickle her brain from a very disappointing night in college junior year, "I was one of them once and it was an ugly night all around," she admits.

"Well, you've got t'a tell me now." He leans in but she shakes her head adamantly.

"Maybe if you get me drunk enough Friday."

. . .

Y/N is a little drunk.

Not too drunk; she could still walk by herself and she was fairly sure she would remember this night tomorrow morning at the very least, but it was just enough that she felt like she was floating on the tips of her toes spindling through the atmosphere on cloud nine. She was sober enough to be very aware of Harry's presence at her side all night but far gone enough to not overthink it too badly. It was a happy middle that she very seldom got to experience at any given point of her week.

The night had started off well enough-- Harry came around to pick Y/N up, simultaneously complimenting and giggling at her choice of attire (she brought out a different pair of overalls just to humor the both of them, "Let's get drinkin', at this here club, I've got t'a be back at the farm by cock's crow!"), and drove them to his place, where she got to stay all of three seconds because his mate had come to pick them up. She was only able to experience the messy trough of his living room, littered with clothing and soda cans for a moment in which he uttered bashfully, "I sort of forgot to clean up." And when she was opening her mouth to tell him it was fine, there was a honk outside.

A man called Zig picked them up in a car a little worn for wear, with a loud clanking engine that she would have most definitely side eyed zooming down the road had she been walking somewhere, but he was nice enough. He had got out of the car and pulled the back seat forward, waving a dramatic mocking hand in swivels with a bow, "Your chariot awaits you," he'd gruffed out, voice mixed with an indistinct accent (like he might be Danish or Norwegian in root but Y/N didn't know enough about either to decipher it).

"Oh, Zig, m'honored," Harry tuts his tongue, a gentle hand on the small of Y/N's back as he helps her climb in, "It's not a trashcan for once."

Zig's face skewered up like the words stung, "Well, you said the book bee was coming and I figured the last thing she needed was to ride in a messy car," he closes the door when Harry climbs in beside her, helping her yank the seatbelt across her chest and clicking it in before his own, and when Zig opens the car back up on his side, "Especially when she has to spend a night with us max volume music listeners."

Y/N felt herself flush warm, "I'm sorry about that --" she had begun but Zig held his hand up, turning to face her some as he shifted the gear into drive.

"Ah, don't apologize. We were pricks and Harry gave us quite the upbraiding for it too."

This made Y/N feel both good and bad simultaneously. Good because Harry had been telling the truth, and the fact that he had somewhat had her back before they even got to properly know one another made her feel warm. Bad because that means she was about to go hang out with a handful of people who got yelled at by their friend/boss for listening to their music too loud. What if they all resented her for it? Sure, Zig didn't seem to care but she had worried about everyone else claiming her to be annoying or summat.

She ended up worrying for naught though because everyone proved to be very kind to her, despite their past grievances. When they'd got to the club, her, Harry and Zig were both greeted with an exuberance that she had never encountered before. They had reserved a booth in the far back left of the club, at a sweet spot where the music wasn't overpowering their conversation and there weren't drunk college students clearly underage falling all over them. The lights were muted purple and blue hues, with spots of red that cast down in random spots, and while all of it was colorful and intriguing, Y/N had never felt more out of her element in the beginning. They were all nice enough, poking and prodding at her brain some, figuring out what kind of person she was, and a few times she was even able to make them laugh (whether it be with her or at her she couldn't be sure but she soaked it in none the less and booked on it being with her because she can be damn funny when she wants to be). She'd been sat beside Harry, who was sweet as ever, checking in on her every so often with a firm squeeze to the thigh that sends tingles up her leg.

Y/N hadn't been planning on really getting drunk at first. Had been content with a few drinks until she was on the pleasant side of tipsy -- but it had spiraled fast when Harry had left her side. She'd never felt more like she needed a security blanket more, eyes widening when he is whisked off to the dance floor before he could make it back to their table after using the loo and she realized that she was with a group of people she'd only just met. Zig was still chatting with her but part of her felt it was because he and Eliza (his girlfriend) had just had a nasty little argument in front of everyone and she was the only other person sat beside him. It's when Y/N looks out to the floor and sees Harry either courting or being courted by a brunette in a sparkly slip dress that things take a turn for her.

This feeling began to fatten inside her; like dark black ink staining her insides, the foul taste of jealousy on her tongue. She doesn't know why she feels jealous even -- she thought she'd been doing a semi-decent job reminding herself that they were merely friends and this wasn't anything more than that. That he had invited her so that she could have a good time, not because he had this secret, fiery love for her that he was too fearful to admit aloud and hoped a little liquid courage would push him towards it. This wasn't a book she was reading, this was real life, and boys don't think in real life. Most of them turn a certain age and bulldoze through people in pursuit of finding their person. . .barely any genuine heartfelt men out there that could compare to the likes of any romance novel written.

So she took Zig's offer up on another shot. And then another. And another. By the time Harry had ventured back to the table, absent of his new friend and slipping back into the empty space beside her, she was floating and her insides were warm from the alcohol. Harry seemed a bit drunker himself, grinning wide and loopily at her, "Hi beautiful," he'd hummed amiably, "Are you having fun?"

"Mhm," she nodded to him, "Riktor thinks that whale noises to sleep are very soothin' but I've convinced 'im that blizzard noises are good too." Her brows furrowed with a thought, "Hey, who was supposed to want to be my employee? Didn't you say he'd be here t'night?"

That's when Y/N was introduced to Niall, whose deep Irish accent explained why he didn't even seem touched by the three pints he'd downed in their time there. He had maybe gone a little too in depth as to why he needed a job (he lost his, can't tattoo for shit so Harry's parlor was out of the question, and his girlfriend kicked him out after a messy breakup) but Y/N still asks if he'd fill out an application for her because it was her first time doing this and she wanted to do it by the books and he had agreed, "I look forward to workin' with ya, if ya pick me," he had told her and she decided then that she probably definitely would (but she was also drunk and is just proud of herself for not offering him the job right there).

Throughout the night, Y/N felt that they liked to poke fun at Harry a lot, whom took it lightly but she's beginning to realize more why he wears beanies or is a little blushy face when she compliments him in any way. They can surely rip him one when they want to, from the slow way he talks sometimes like he's tasting his words before he says them, to his favored pink socks in his loafers, and above all, they tease him for his soft, curls. It almost enrages her to some degree, when they tell him he needs to cut it, or that the manbun wasn't "it", and while she knows its just some teasing between friends, she can see even through her drunk brain when Harry stops enjoying the jests and is resorting to soft little smiles and halfhearted chuckles until they finally move on to a different topic.

It's when he's begun fidgeting with his head and asking people if they had an extra hair tie or beanie perhaps that Y/N decides that she's had enough of it. Pushes her mixed drink to the side and pats on Harry's thigh, "Budge up, then," she urged him, "Going to the toilet." Harry slips from the booth but instead of heading off in the direction of the restrooms alone, she grabs him by the wrist, pulling him along with her. He lets out a few confused noises but ultimately letting her lead him with trusting ease. The bathrooms are tucked in a dim lit hallway with predominantly red lighting and for some reason the marbled black floors that they had been on changes to a stain mottled carpet. Instead of taking him into the bathroom, she instead pushes him down some, up against the wall and looking at him seriously.

"Are they hurting your feelings?" She questioned him, talking in an octave higher than she normally would due to the booming speakers on the other side of the wall and he feigned confusion, tilting his head.

"With what?" He asked in return and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"You know what," she pushed and he curled within himself, looking down shyly because he did know what and that makes her heart feel like cracking in her chest. She reaches up, cupping his face in an overly affectionate manner before starting a reel of drunken affirmations, using both hands to tilt it up to face her, "D'ya like your hair?" She asks him, and when he does legitimately look confused this time she reiterates, "Do you like it long?" He barely thinks it over for a second, nodding his head gently and she hiccups, "Then don't listen to them. Same goes with your socks or how you speak. They're things that make you, you and if you like them then who gives a rat's ass what they think about it?" Adding a loving cheek pat, she leaves it with one more thought, and another soft hiccup, "They're only teasin' and they're your friends but teasin' can hurt sometimes too. Let 'em know when they're taking it too far, okay?"

Harry stared down at her with a certain look oozed from his eyes. She couldn't place her finger on what it was exactly, but it's the same look he gives her when she spits out a fact to a question that had just popped into his mind, or when she explains in detail the elaborate plots of some of the books she's read. Its soft and carries warmth -- close to adoration or a fondness but she wouldn't want to put herself on a pedestal with that -- and it makes her want to kiss him. Plant one on his sweet, pink pouty mouth and taste the bitterness of the dark liquor he'd thrown back just a few moments prior to her pulling him off.

"Thank you," he leaned forward, pushing their foreheads together for a moment, "Thank you." He repeated again.

The rest of the night, Harry was planted at Y/N's side and decided he seldom wanted to go anywhere without her. They were leaning into one another comfortably, relaxed, still chatting as a part of the group but also their own sector of thought and stories and jokes that made them a mess of eye-watering giggles. When a joints being passed around and Y/N doesn't take a hit with a polite, "I don't do that much anymore," (instead of going into an in-depth discussion on how she'd read a book solely about the lungs front to back and panicked to the point she'd handed the rest of hers off to her college roommate to do as she wished with it), Harry patted her thigh and gave it a small squeeze.

"Good," he'd murmured, just low enough for her to hear, "You're a good girl, yeah? Don't need this stuff," It had resonated deep within her, threatening a shiver down her spine at the slow syrupy way he'd said them and when she laughs a huff through her nose with a small nod, he grins, "Need'a just be me and you more, m'lungs would be aces."

"Your lungs are already aces," Eliza responds (at this point having made amends with Zig), passing the joint to Harry, "You don't inhale any bloody smoke."

Harry declines it this time around (though he had taken a puff earlier on when they first lit it up), in favor of tucking further into her side, "You smell too good to be around these heathens. . .like cupcakes or summat." A laugh leaves her, shaking her head and she wants to tell him no, that he's the one who smells so good. Wants to tell him how his scent is so lovely and so prominent that she thinks about it before bed sometimes, and in the least creepy manner, it soothes her weary mind to sleep -- but the words lock up in her throat. Instead, she only smiles gently and revels in the warmth of him glued next to her.

At some point his fingers had begun to play with strands of her hair (after asking her permission first), marveling at it and speaking to her softly, like he wasn't doing it. Had they been at home somewhere and not in a smoky club she would have filed this way in a book of sweetest moments she's ever had. He's looking at her like she was made of glitter, a soft gaze as he whispers how he thinks she's doing wonderfully with the bookstore and going on an anecdote of how she was handling running a business much better than him in his first few months. He tells her several times in several different ways that she was basically "kickass" and it's just too sweet. Especially when he begins gloating to Zig, Niall, and Eliza that he gets to see her almost every day. "Nice, pretty face," he hums, "I could only wish to have a face like that, yeah?" She turned, hiding her face some in where his armpit and chest meet, feeling his chest vibrate with a laugh.

By the time everyone was ready to leave, there were a handful of designated drivers, one of which being Riktor who was much sweeter than he had originally seemed. He held her hand, helping her step off the small drop from the booth they'd been in, and guided her and Harry (who had his arms secured around her shoulders) to his car. He drives them both to Harry's and Y/N's too tired and floaty to panic about the fact that she'd brought nothing to sleep in, or how Harry probably only had one bed and not a particularly comfortable looking couch. Would sleeping beside him be so bad though? She doesn't think so. Thinks it might be quite nice to share a bed with him, dipping her nose into the covers and breathing his scent in deeply.

Harry makes a game of getting them inside, running his fingers up her sides in a tickling manner that makes her shriek and scamper ahead of him. He seems to love that though, the drunken stumbling bound of his feet close behind her until she made it to his door and realized that she didn't have the means to get inside before he did. Swinging around she bats away his playful hands, "Fuck off, fuck off!" She laughs and he flashes her a big old grin, turning around to wave at Riktor as he drove off before unlocking the door and letting them in.

This time Y/N gets to look a little bit more at her surroundings. It was a bit messy but not a pigsty, just some tidying could be done to the living room and it'd be good as new she reckons. He's got two lamps on either side of his three seater couch, a beaten plain navy with a small tear in the arm, a shaggy rug that is large enough to cover most of the hardwood flooring, and a small coffee table top of it. His TV is rather large and it looks like he'd been watching something on Netflix but forgot to turn it off when they'd left, its tucked in the corner on an entertainment center diagonal from the couch. Her eyes flicker along his walls -- a large tapestry of dark, intricately woven vines into some atypical design her brain couldn't conceptualize as anything at the moment, a few art pieces that she'd never seen before and upon closer inspection, she sees his name written in the corner of the most beautiful designs.

"Harry," she all but gasps, leaning in, gently touching her fingers to the edge of the frame it was in, tentacles opened up like the petals of a flower, so realistic it looks as if she could reach out and feel the slimy texture of it beneath her fingers, "This is amazing! I -- I've never seen anything like this before."

"Thank you," he murmurs happily, "I only hang up the ones I'm proud of."

She only fawns over his paintings a little more before she ends up following Harry to his bedroom, where he flops down onto the mattress with a umph and slings his arm underneath his head. Y/N shuffled awkwardly on her feet, standing in the doorway, unsure of what she was to do with herself. It's not until his head lulls to face her, that he waves her over, "Hop on in, Pet, don't have a queen size just so you can stare at it."

"You're sure you're okay sharing a bed with me?" She asks him and his face scrunches up.

"Are you a blanket hog?" He inquires seriously and when she shakes her head, then he nods, "Then of course I am. Now get your cute bum over here."

A fire is sparked to life in her veins as she makes her way over to him. The thought of sharing a bed with Harry was something that crossed her mind more than she'd like to admit it did, and she shivers when the intrusive ideas of something more happening in this bed try to swamp her mind filthy. She ambles over to the other side nervously, crawling in beside him, lying atop of the soft down comforter in her overalls, shuffling some to get comfortable. It may be a queen size mattress but she finds that there's very little space between them, especially when Harry flips over onto his side and beckons her to do the same, "So what'd you think of everyone?" He prods, like a teenager at a sleepover, hair splayed out on the white pillow cover, "Did they treat you well?"

Y/N nods quickly, "They were all very nice. I like Zig most I think, he was sweet. Pretty talkative."

A confused look warps Harry's face, "When were you talking with Ziggy? I don't remember that."

"S'when you were off getting courted on the dance floor," she responded, maybe a little too quickly and perhaps with a little too much fire under her bum. She hadn't meant to come off as jealous as she had felt in that moment, but she's almost certain that she did if his telling smirk was anything to go by.

"Oh, Y/N," he murmurs, reaching out for her hand and bringing it to his mouth in a very gentle graze of his lips against her knuckles and she thinks she might have gone slack-jawed as the next words leave him, "You're jealous?"

She opens her mouth to respond but her minds beginning to resort to mush, the words getting lodged, unlodged, and relodged in her throat until she can finally respond with, "I -- I don't know." Because she doesn't. . .she doesn't know because she thinks she likes him but she's been convincing herself that she didn't and it's all just fucked. Fucked because of course, when she wasn't looking for anyone she would find Harry, and fucked because she wants them to be something, and fucked that all of everything is being presented to her right now when her brain is drenched in Absolut and him and his scent and his sea foam eyes and raspberry mouth.

"Don't need t'a be," he assures her quietly, "Only got room in my heart for you, I reckon."

Y/N doesn't intend to lean forward but she does. Scooting so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath leaving his nose unto her upper lip, her vision unfocused as she gets closer to him until her eyes flutter shut and their mouths meet together tenderly. It's innocent and soft. . .the first kiss everyone imagines when they're growing up, she was experiencing (minus the being drunk and having already had her first kiss) here with Harry. She almost didn't want to sully the moment by pursuing it further but her mind renders lustful as she pushes further, scooting herself closer to him, and a whimper muffled against his mouth when his hand, decorated in those beautiful, brassy rings, lies gently on her cheek. Cradling it carefully like she was akin to the frail petals of a flower, and once she deepens it, pushing closer to his body feeling as his fingers slip from her face down the slope of her shoulder, tickling as they skim against her sides and ending at the round of` her hip, where his grip tightens. It stirs something deep in her abdomen when his fingers dig roughly into her flesh, feeling as she pulsates around nothing when he gives her a rough tug closer towards him, urging her leg around his hip and she feels his cock, firming from beneath his zipper and against her.

Harry moans against her mouth before she draws away, feeling lightheaded as air finally gusts back into her lungs, and her eyes flutter open to see that he's staring at her.

"Y/N," he murmurs, a soft snuffle from his nose as he wiggles, "You taste too sweet, you know? Don't know how m'gonna think about anything but your mouth from here on out."

Y/N thinks that will be a problem for her too.

#OKAY I KNOW ITS A LIL SHORTER THAN USUAL I AM SORRY #BUT I WILL BE WRITING A PART 2 #YAHTZEE :D #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT :)))#WOOOO #HARRY SMUT #OKAY #WOO #WRITING

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earlgraytay · 5 years

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annalise fails at fashion souls

So okay I want to preface this by saying that applying Real World historical fashion to Bloodborne is a tiny bit of a lost cause, because Bloodborne grabs fashion inspiration and ideas from 200 years of ‘whatever looks like Castlevania’; it’s like 1690-1890 easily. The tricorne hats everyone wears went out of fashion by 1800, but some of the clothing characters wear didn’t get invented until the second half of the century. Also, this is a series where mad old men ride around in wheelchairs with Gatling guns attached and eating Cthulhu’s umbilical cords turns you into a slug.

But if you do apply Realistic Historical Fashion to the world of Bloodborne, it reveals something about Annalise, namely:

the Queen of the Vilebloods is a fucking gremlin.

So like, okay. If we look at the costumes that the “living” characters are wearing, they draw a lot from the middle of the 1800s. Say, 1850-1870.

I’m not sure if that short cape is anachronistic for menswear, but short capes like that were very popular for women in the 1860s...

the cravat on the Top Hat Hunter’s set is very mid-1800s, as is the frock coat...

And Eileen’s Crowfeather set is obviously influenced by medieval plague doctors, but it’s also influenced by military uniforms from the 1800s- particularly from the American Civil War.

(Keeping in mind, of course, that all of this is grunged up, be-buckled, and anachronistified for Rule of Cool.)

And, while we don’t have a Fancy Lady In A Ballgown in the modern era of Bloodborne for the obvious reasons, women in the 1860s largely dressed like this:

Now if we look at the Plain Doll’s dress...

The Plain Doll is dressed in old clothes, but if we assume minimal timeline fuckery, they’re clothes that a lady would have worn within living memory. And historically speaking, the Doll’s outfit is pretty accurate to that- it’s what a lady might have worn in, say, 1825-1845.

(as a side note: i am forever regretful that they didn’t go further with the Doll’s fashion decisions, because ladies in the 1830s walked around looking like they were smuggling hams in their sleeves. imagine what could have been)

So that’s all well and good, but why am I setting out such a clear timeline?

Well, it’s because, as we all know, Annalise dresses like this:

You may notice a distinct lack of poofiness. This is because Annalise is wearing clothes more typical of the Regency era- 1800 to 1815 or so. Think Pride and Prejudice, and you’ve got the time period right.

If we assume that the ‘current’ time in Bloodborne is 1860 or so... this means that Annalise is wearing clothes that are 50 years out of date. On top of this, she’s wearing her hair in a very loose ponytail- which grown women, at the time, did not do; they kept their hair up and largely kept it under a hat. Ponytails and braids were for small children.

TLDR: Annalise is running around in the equivalent of a poodle skirt and saddle shoes that haven’t been washed for twenty years, with her hair not brushed and a fucking knight helmet slapped over the top of it.

Queen of the Vilebloods? More like queen of the gremlin fashion disasters.

@aestivetic @paperchamomiles @fantasy-cartography @big-x You’re welcome.

#bloodborne #annalise #queen annalise #fashion #historical fashion #victorian fashion #regency fashion #long post #image heavy

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sweetdollfromhell · 5 years

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Chilling tales of Riverdale, a crossover fic

Chapter 6 of a old fanfic but stil alive that is a mix of Riverdale, CAOS and Archie horror. Located in season 2 and will have differences with the canon for both shows. This fanfic contains corrections for something that bothers me in the canon like the fact that Toni's actress is not a first nation (this detail is there but presented differently and I hope to use the terms correctly ), the weird thing with the multi-cultural neo-Nazi (plus I go with the comic book where Archie is Jewish), the impacts of the snake dance, Joaquim (because it's weird that these friends talk about it exactly once in 22 episodes and in a disposable sentence), for Sabrina's family, as shocking as it sounds, given the dates given, yes Sabrina's father is literally 10 years older than Ambrose in the show canon (not the actors, I know but it's worth wondering if Ambrose is aging well or if Edward is aging badly)and yes, you can find Toni or Sabrina pretty bitchy towards one or the other but don’t be afraid, no one is going to become a bad guy for the purposes of the plot, I just think they would have tensions between the two given the situation (I really like the two chararctere and I expect a possible friendship because who doesn't like Vitriolic Best buds?)Sorry, it was a long explanation, but I didn't want people to misunderstand my intentions.

*******************************************************************************************

-What do you think of Archie's plan? Asked Betty of Kevin.

-That it may come from a noble intention, but it will end badly. You know how many accidents happen because a few idiots thought they knew better than everyone else," replied the young man. -And let's just say, if I'm willing to trust Archie, I doubt a little more about Reggie or Dilton. But we're a little hypocritical of ourselves.

-What do you mean? Asked Betty surprised her.

-Hello Betty, the whole Jason Blossom case where we played Scooby-doo? Call Kevin back.

-Maybe but we must do something... Me and Jug met tonight to read some documents that will help us with the black hood case. Do you want to come?

Kevin was surprised by the invitation asking if Betty is still trying to make amends but realizes that the runaway was at her boyfriend's house. Yeah, he was going to let him benefit from the doubt.

-Isn't that going to stress your guest out?

-Sabrina? Uh, I don't know, she seems really in need of human contact, I guess he won't have a problem. We just must avoid talking about where it comes from. She almost had a panic attack when I tried to talk about it. And I hope you like cats.

Once in front of Jughead's trailer, Betty and Kevin will knock on the door. Toni open them up.

-Hello Toni," said Betty, surprised to see her there. -I didn't know you'd be here.

- Jugh told me about your project and it's a subject I'm passionate about too. I see you brought someone along too.

-Oh yes, here is Kevin Keller, said the young woman to introduce her friend who reached out to her.

-Hi.

-Toni Topaz, said the interested party, but she did not take his hand. -In, Jugh is gone looking for food for everyone and I stayed here to babysit Poison Ivy.

-I heard that! Shouted a voice in the Caravan.

-That was the goal, Toni replied.

As Betty and Kevin entered, Sabrina came to meet them. She looked much more presentable than when Betty saw her in the drinks. She had worn a vintage horror red t-shirt, a short black skirt, a big jean jacket with a wool lining, knee socks with striped , mary-James, un gold necklace and the headband given by Toni held her short hair in place.

-Betty! I am happy to see you again," said the girl smiling.

-I am also happy to see you again Sabrina," Betty replied surprised by the welcome. -This is Kevin," she continued.

Sabrina looked up at the young man with an intriguing look before reaching out.

-Hello Kevin, it's nice to meet you.

-I also like your cute grunge loli look, I especially like your Gremlin shirt," Kevin continued, watching it blush.

-Thank you, it's probably one of the most representative things in my wardrobe... Most of my clothes are practical.

-Oh what a shame, maybe Ronnie can lend you something...

Kevin kept talking with Sabrina about everything and nothing that probably lowered her defenses, Betty hoped. She went to Toni wondering what to say to her: she wanted to silence that stupid feeling of jealousy in her and become friends with that person whom Jughead clearly appreciated but she had no idea how to interact with that person. She decides to try the banality.

-I hope we have enough for everyone," she tried clumsily. -You will tell me what we owe you and Jughead.

-You will ask your non cousin, she is the one who is buying, Toni replied.

Betty was surprised to see that Toni knew the lie to invent about Sabrina's origin (she was her cousin exception if the question was asked by the Cooper or the Sheriff, then it would be Jughead's) but let it go

-Oh, that's nice of him.

-No, it's necessary. Because personally, if I were Jug, I'd throw away everything in my fridge!

-I'm not sure I understand," Betty said troubled.

Toni sighed before explaining below:

-You know the Ghoulies who attacked you?

-Yes?

-She didn't just beat them, she poisoned them.

-What? Says Betty surprised. - How? How? Are they...?

-With a mushroom junk from which she had covered her broom. They are in the hospital, Miss swears that even if it has violent effects it can be treated well and without any backlash but still. Personally, I won't eat what she's cooking just so we know more about Jolly Jane. Note, having a criminal mind could be useful even if there is a world of difference between a teenage poisoner whose primary purpose is not murder and a guy in his forties who kills by violent means such as a gun or knife. Both are motivated by punishing someone they consider having committed a crime.

Betty was speechless when she heard the revelation; it was a little too much for just five minutes.

-I... she... how did you come to that conclusion? Does it end with a request?

-Jug and I have to investigate," Toni answered proudly. -And she has no choice but to confess.

-I see, said Betty trying to untangle what she was feeling. -But you said she didn't want to kill them?

-That's what they lend and for what I learned about this thing, it seems possible but it's still dangerous. Shit, I was there when one of the Ghoulies developed symptoms, he could have had a concussion or choked on his vomit. I don't have them in my heart and I believe her when she says they wanted to see harm done. ¨Damn, they already beat him up once....

-What? Exclaimed Betty, unwittingly drawing Sabrina and Kevin's attention.

-You didn't know... Toni realized. -Sorry, I didn't mean to... Hey, you two, it's a private conversation," she said.

-Sorry, but it's a little hard to ignore when space is so limited, and no one is discreet, Kevin replied.

- Not to mention the fact that most people have the decency to talk behind their backs when they are not in the room, says Sabrina with an icy voice.

-Oh, that's cute, you think I didn't want you to know," Toni mocked.

Betty wants to calm things down in between but also asks Sabrina and Jughead for explanations while we're at it. Because right now one part is shocked by her revelations but another part that she would like to silence herself thinks it's well done for the Ghoulies. But two things stop her; the first is something that only lasts for a moment and that she is the only one who has noticed.

She had felt ants crossing her and a sudden cold and noticed Sabrina's eyes: it seemed as if the pupils were dilating... No, not really, not really that they seemed to want to pass the iris without making it disappear by swallowing only the white, but the operation started without ending, the pupil returning to its normal size so quickly. A play of light, fatigue, who knows?

The other was the sound of the door opening to reveal Jughead carrying many of Pop.

-Hi, a little help would be nice.

Kevin and Toni hurry to help while the two blondes stay where they belong.

-Toni told you what? Asked Sabrina whispering.

-That you've been poisoning people. Do you confirm?

-Yes, but only in self-defense. I'm not stupid or cruel either, Betty. I took something that's not fatal and with obvious symptoms, so they'd have to see a doctor. This way, he had less risk of complications if something went wrong. A silent aggressor is worse than a noisy one.

-It seems like you're talking about experience...says Betty was confused.

-I told you, my ancestors were pretty good at it and we kept their notes. We try to keep their knowledge alive and learn the tricks that can be used.

-That explains Toni's comment.

-You don't have to be afraid of me," Sabrina said in an almost begging tone.

Her sentence made Betty uncomfortable but not for the reason she thought she did. Sabrina seemed more frightened at the thought of being repelled than any consequence has its actions. She also had a darkness in her that terrorized her, something dark that if she pointed her dirty head at her, would drive away all those who had never had affection for her. Because Betty still wonders why Veronica was talking to her after what she did to Chuck, how Archie could say he wasn't good enough for her after knowing him all his life, why Jughead loved her and treated her as a fragile thing rather than some kind of monster escaping from the asylum. Was Sabrina just a rebellious child who became pariah like Polly or a good soul who had to learn never to let her guard down to survive like Kevin.

With hindsight, these next actions would seem very stupid, but too bad.

-I'm not afraid of you. For the moment, you haven't tried to hurt me or my loved ones, on the contrary, you wanted to protect us. So it's okay, but if you have other things you'd like to tell us that are important, it's better if you do it quickly. So that we can help you and avoid unpleasant surprises, but I would understand if you don't feel ready yet. It's just... I think it's a lot of trouble for Toni and...

-You too, Sabrina finished.

Not for the reasons you think, would have wanted to answer Betty. Because after this new information given by Toni, Sabrina could literally make the Ghoulies regurgitate their guts and bleed their eyes for what concerns her! And the one that realized horrifying her more than the idea that Sabrina was an expert in poison.

-I...

-Betty? Are you coming?

-Of course, Betty replied, giving her an emergency exit to allow Sabrina to leave the conversation.

Surprisingly, they had enough food for everyone and no one tried to tear someone else's face off. Sabrina's cat, Salem, had decided to make his presence known once the food was served, searching for it. He had managed to get some from his mistress, Betty and Kevin. As a reward, the young man even won that the animal settled on his lap by purring with satisfaction. In fact, Betty realized that the group she and Jughead had assembled was actually quite effective: Toni had experience in the darker parts of the city had several ideas or the killer could have found an unregistered weapon in addition to his interest in criminology, Kevin also shares this passion in addition to having literally grown up among the criminal cases thanks to his father and Sabrina seemed to know more about the dark history of the region whether it was Riverdale, Greendale, Sunnydale or other city in the region without speaking that Toni had been right for this criminal mentality story.

-You can find a weapon anywhere, see it taken from no one where you are and delete the number is easy with the right contacts, says Toni.

- The guy probably also has security experience because he knows so much about surveillance and if he doesn't succeed in all these crimes, he didn't leave any clues. It means that his first concern is his safety," Kevin continued.

-Speaking of which, am I the only one who thinks her motive is fake? False-Grundy of what you explained made sense in the sin department to be a pedophile but the other victims? Two teenagers taking drugs and perhaps having some adventurous caress? A single man who had a short affair with a married woman for whom he may have had real rather than purely sexual feelings and who acts like a saint the rest of the time? added Sabrina. -A little weak as sinners, don't you think? And this even if he was only motivated by lust.

-The best thing would be to make a list of everything they have in common, Jughead cut out. -It can't hurt.

Betty felt her stomach twisting as she thought back to the serial killer's letters and saw Kevin's strong gaze. She would rather keep quiet, it could have been just a stupid joke after all....

-Easy! All from Nordside and privilege! Says Toni.

- Fake Grundy came from Greendale, Moose is the eldest of six children with parents composed of a soldier and a mother who has a home daycare not what I would call privileged, corrected her Kevin. -Moose has already said that if he can get into a good university it will only be because he is good at football and they will want more minorities.

-Fred Andrew is also not rolling in gold,gave up Jughead.

- Grundy still lived in Nordside, Toni continued. -And how is this guy a minority? She continued surprised.

- His mother is an Amerindian. But she was adopted so Moose just knows the name of her tribute, unfortunately. And before you ask, they never had any government money for it because his mother thinks it's horrible to just use it to make ends meet, Kevin concluded.

-Uktena? Sabrina asked.

-I think so, said Kevin.

-Impossible, said Toni. -I am one and I've never heard of him.

-That's normal, isn't it? They were almost all massacred, only children and a few naaldlooshiis survived. The first dispersed to the four winds and the second having found refuge in Greendale. Honestly, that's the way it is in every small town, if you go through people's genealogies, discover lots of weird links and cousins you didn't know you had.

Betty almost laughed as she remembered the whole drama with her family and the Blossoms. Oh my God, she didn't know how right she was.

-And I'm going to be honest like Moose, I wouldn't have known you were if you hadn't told me, Sabrina continued. By whom, by the way?

-My grandfather, Toni answered quickly.

-Oh, so you're a Native American quarter?

-Well, technically yes," said Toni suddenly uncomfortable.

-Technically? Insista Sabrina.

-He is my grandmother's husband but he is not the father of his children, but he adopts them and raises them! So that counts, right? She defended herself.

-It makes him a good man and definitely your grandfather! But as a very white girl, I'm not going to get into a discussion about whether you can say you're culturally Native American," says Sabrina laughing.

-Are you from your origins? Oh, don't worry, don't you have to talk about Mom and Dad, just say if you have something interesting in there? Asked Toni, frustrated at having been taken to class.

-My grandfather was an American, but he lived in England where he met my grandmother who was herself a mixed English and Australian. They got married, they have my three aunts before returning to the United States and having my father. The oldest of my aunts is staying there with her late husband.

-Did she marry young or does she just have a big difference with your father? Ask Jugh.

-Both. My father and cousin must be about ten years apart. Her husband was Afro-English and otherwise we also crossed the geneological tree we have German, Indian, French and Uktena

-What's is that word you use? Nanalooshi? Asked Kevin.

-An abomination/victim! Both girls said with a heart.

-Okay. Maybe…, Betty began.

-Hey, it's my culture! These people were criminals who deserved their fate! Says Toni.

-Need I remind you that being gay or having an abortion was once a crime? Most of his people were healers for not being able to heal someone or sick people rejected out of fear? Says Sabrina.

Jughead decided to intervene at that moment:

-Maybe get back to the main topic? I don't think we can solve this issue tonight, but maybe the Black Hood issue.

The two girls stared at each other but obeyed each other. Jughead continued:

-I admit that even if there is still the possibility that only attacks people he can reach and leaves out targets like Hiram Lodge, it doesn't go with his provocative attitude.

-Overcompensation? ask Kevin.

Jughead shook her unconvinced head before turning to Sabrina.

-Sabrina, can I ask you something else with this investigation and was hoping for an honest answer?

-Wow, almost no pressure! Says Sabrina uncomfortable. -You can always try. I wouldn't lie, but I keep the privilege of pleading the fifth.

The cat suddenly stopped purring on Kevin's lap and he felt it tender. Did the animal feel the stress of its owner?

-I suspect that Greendale is not a village, but have you known anyone with a connection to the real Miss Grundy or the fake one? Her real name was Jennifer Gibson, known as Jughead.

Sabrina seemed to reassure immediately, and the cat became soft again on Kevin's lap.

-Oh, just that. I don't know Jennifer or any Gibson. I know a little bit of some of the Grundy family, but it's just that we went to the same church. I can try to answer as best I can about them if you want but I don't see anything very useful in it.

-Do you think the killer could have come from there? Suddenly ask Kevin.

-What makes you think that? Asked Betty surprise.

-He was very comfortable with this attack: he succeeded in his murder and was much more violent with it. It was a crime of passion! If the killer hadn't sent personal belongings from the other victims, I would have said it was someone who wanted revenge on her and made it look like the work of the Blackhood," Kevin explained.

-Aren't you saying this whole thing would be a plot to get rid of fake Grundy? Toni asked.

-It does seem a little big to me, says Betty.

-There may be another explanation... Sabrina whispered.

This time, the cat jumps from Kevin's knees to Sabrina's knees, who mechanically started stroking him.

-It's a little silly, but maybe the reason he took his time was because he knew no one would bother him.

-Because he attacked her at home? Asked Betty.

-Among other things. But also... It's really stupid but... It's Greendale. Let us say that the population has certain habits. Like not leaving the house after dark. Especially if you hear screams.

Toni laughs before answering:

-It's Greendale, not Los Angeles! What the hell are you gonna do if I drag you into my corner!

Sabrina looked at Toni with deep boredom and replied:

-I never said I was part of a superstitious population, on the contrary I loved walking at night! But I can tell you that I am a minority and even outside there are people who will hesitate. The city has traumas that night brings back.

-What kind of trauma?" Betty asked.

-Want to hear stories of heroes and monsters? This is far from our study topic....

-Oh no! No! I want to hear this story! Exclaimed Kevin with stars in his eyes. It's even better when it's based on real-life experience.

Kevin had always been fascinated by horror and gore, never missing an opportunity to expand his repertoire of history by the fire.

-I guess a break can't hurt, Betty yielded.

The cat jumped from Sabrina's knees to take refuge in the room, Sabrina looked at him worried but quickly recovered.

Sabrina smiled and began her story:

-The settlers would arrive in America...

-Seriously, how far do you have to start? Toni asked.

-It's just a summary to get you in the mood! So all his settlers are there to escape persecution and build a free and accepting land...It really took a hypocritical level of hypocrisy crazy enough to believe such shit. The local population is mistreated like women, pocs, other religions and everything else that comes out of their morals stuck puritanically to the impossible criteria. In this wonderful hell on earth that the trials of heretics begin, it seems, very ironic when you consider that most people have fled from these persecutions in Europe. The most famous of his trials is of course Salem and this despite who is not the most murderous, in fact he shines by his mediocrity! His popularity is probably related to his industry from the beginning turning murder, torture, rape and treason into entertainment for the whole family, go figure! Sabrina continued.

-Well, Confederate soldiers have statues, don't they? Not to mention dumb people like Christophe Colom, says Toni coldly.

-True, Toni, that's right. But good for us the rest of the story is more joyful: Greendale is not spared by this madness, the vast majority of non-Puritanical settlers had even been driven from the lands they had or they had settled by the most extremist leaving them without homes or resources and some poor souls are offered in sacrifice to their larvae addictive to the suffering of others. Hanging slowly, fighting to keep the air from their lungs, losing control of functions in front of their beaten child in front of their execution zones with religious leaders telling them to bow their heads and let the scapegoats be sacrificed for the good of others, Sabrina continued, filled with cold anger.

-Sabrina, don't bother to be so precise we just ate," moans Betty.

-Betty, you've been through worse, make fun of Kevin nicely.

Jughead attracts his girlfriend against him and Sabrina takes over:

-So many decided that they were because it was all women who were tired of shaving walls and just watched them suffer! They had to expect it badly and no consequence could be worse than what they were going through, to act. They will not flee, they will not hide and more importantly, they will no longer let people get hurt with impunity....

-One of your ancestors among them, Sabrina? Jughead asked curiously.

-Not impossible, Sabrina said with a little smile. So they broke into his so-called hunters, judges and other criminals who hide under titles. They would find them and their families: they would slit their throats, skin them alive and tear their hearts still beating from their chests! And to make the message clear, they will throw their carcasses to the same trees where their victims were murdered!

Betty looked at the storyteller in shock, so the way Sabrina told her story was disturbing. You could feel a kind of pride and respect in his words. And his expression! Betty thought she would rather have seen a psychotic smile than that kid's expression of a joke, laughing eyes and a candid smile!

-And with the bodies a note sticking on one of the bodies warning that it was not revenge, only a warning. If such horror were to happen again in Greendale or even in a nearby town or village, they would be happy to show that they had not yet seen anything! And it worked, the inhabitants of Greendale learned how to love and respect its slightly different inhabitants. Night and the forest have remained their domain and even nowadays, one can laugh at his stories, at night when the moon shines and one wonder if one waits for a cry in the distance, that sometimes perhaps just maybe, there is still one of his women who watches over the grain. And fine! Sabrina said, clapping her hands.

-Great story! I wish Riverdale had had something like that! Says Kevin with a big smile.

-Not bad, I admit that it's nice that oppressing them wins and not because of the power of love or some shit like that," Toni said.

-Not sure that people will build a museum to attract tourists with this history... Seeing children, violence is sometimes the solution, says Jughead more troubled.

-Are you saying they killed their families too? Asked Betty to horrify.

-Yes, Sabrina said as she realized the implications. -But they had done the same thing... and if it makes you feel better, as much they had peace after that, as much the women or at least the woman who organized everything had to pay for it to the leaders of her community more for overriding their permission than because they had problems with her methods. No problem has taken advantage of the benefits anyway I don't think anyone is learning anything new.

-Indeed, and it continues to this day! The minorities pay, suffer and fight while the rest benefit from advancing by posing as moral guardians," says Toni gloomily.

Jughead clumsily tapped Toni's shoulder but she seemed to appreciate the attention.

-So, your theory is that people if they heard something, they didn't do anything because of these stories? Says Betty, still trying to silence her illogical feelings by focusing on something else.

-I know it sounds stupid, but superstition is stupid by definition! Easy to say that it's bullshit in broad daylight with friends, it's a whole different story at night, alone when every shadow looks like a ghost. You don't care about people who believe in Bloody Mary but not enough to try the ritual just to prove to them that it's bullshit. My point is that maybe this guy was lucky or maybe he knew they had old monsters to use as a screen but in the end, he could kill her.

-So, we eliminate the theory that false Grundy was his only intended victim, but we add that he can come from Greendale or at least be familiar with the city? Asked Kevin.

Everyone nodded, and Kevin wrote their last notes.

-What's the result? Asked Jughead.

-Uh... male, white, in his forties, with a high probability of having green eyes, height and average weight according to the information we have, in good physical condition, knows how to shoot, knows the city of Riverdale and Grendales well, has access to private information, seems obsessed with the sins of the city which may indicate that he is religious in a way, concludes Kevin by always having a supportive eye towards Betty. -In other words, we don't have much.

-Bright green eyes are the rarest natural color in humans, only 2% of the population has eyes of this color, says Jughead.

-Ironic as a remark in a room with 3 people with green eyes, Kevin remarked, referring to himself, Betty and Sabrina, all of whom have eyes of this color. He could even have included Jughead so the look oscillating between green and blue.

Everyone stared at him for a moment Kevin who caught up:

-Hey, I'm not accusing anyone, it was just a remark that includes me too! You don't have to get paranoid.

-Yes, in addition, limiting oneself to only people with green eyes would be counterproductive. Archie was in shock, the Blackhood's eyes could be hazelnut or blue but seemed green because of the lighting, Jughead recalled.

-We should still prioritize them without kidnapping suspects because they have a different color," says Betty.

-Good idea," Jughead approved.

-Speaking of Archie, can either of you explain how the fact that his father got shot gives him the right to leave a neo-Nazi group? Said frustrated Toni.

The other four turned to Toni, shocked by his accusations.

-Toni, what are you talking about the red circle? Asked troubled Betty.

-Yes, I'm talking about these morons! Ready to attack the southside in the first movement! Toni continued.

-I didn't know that the neo-Nazis had become multicultural," says Sabrina coldly.

-Sorry? Toni asked.

-Apology accepter, Sabrina quickly said, taking advantage of Toni's poor choice of words. -But my point is that I don't understand why you call a multi-ethnic group without any iconography related to fascism or Nazism, Sabrina continued.

-And Archie is Jewish by his mother, feels obliged to specify Betty to defend Archie. Information that was greeted by a frustrated look from Tony and a satisfied look from Sabrina.

-They had hoods... Toni began.

And they were bare-chested, usually except for a bad case of Vertigo, people have the same color face and torso, the Sabrina cut.

-I was going to say that the KKK wears hoods too! Toni defended himself.

-Like many Islamic extremist groups or pussyriots, I don't see you accusing them of being one or the other, Sabrina continued.

-As soon as we could all agree that it looked like bad porn at first? Tempted awkwardly Kevin only reaping the fiery gaze of the two girls. Betty also tried to calm the situation down:

-This is the third time we've changed the subject, I think it's a sign that everyone is getting tired. We've made good progress, so why are we getting

-Sorry, but if it's to make the Southside serve as a scapegoat, then it'll be without me, Toni shouted before leaving the caravan.

-Toni, wait! Says Jughead as he goes to his suite leaving the other three alone.

Betty sighed with her head between her hands.

-Sorry," said Sabrina. -I shouldn't have corrected it.

-You didn't do anything wrong," Betty said flatly. -She needed to vent her anger one way or another, my sister is the same.

- Do you have a sister?

-Yes, Polly.

(And a brother somewhere she thought silently).

-Is it just Polly, Pollyanna or Appoly? Sabrina asked.

-Uh... Pollyanna, says Betty surprised by the question. -My mother likes the classics, Pollyanna after the novel of the same name and I am Elizabeth after Pride and Prejudice.

Kevin had a little laugh, from what he knew about Betty's mother, a novel about an indescribable optimist and another about the danger of preconceived ideas and misplaced pride seemed quite funny from Alice Cooper. Betty seemed to think the same thing because her expression seemed closer to a I know what you think than a hurt expression.

- Not everyone can have a name with a cool meaning, others like your servant are named after the top 10 popular names of 2003, complains Kevin. - What about you? Was he a fan of the movie with Audrey Hepburn? Asked Kevin.

-Maybe. But I think the important part was the A at the end," says Sabrina.

-The A? continued Kevin that Betty could see mentally taking notes.

-All the girls in my family for more than 400 years have a name that ends in A even if it means changing the spelling: Sabrina, Zelda, Hilda, Vesta, Esmeralda, Lydia, Priscilla, Evanora, Locasta Kezia, Sara and many more!

-I hope there are still some good ones left among them, Kevin continued.

-We'll see, you already must have a daughter on the way to do that! Retorqued Sabrina.

-I hope it's not too bad with Toni," says Betty as she leaves with Kevin.

-Yes, especially since Sabrina should have apologized to me. I had planned to make connections with her, replied this one.

-Did you want to hear from Joaquin? Asked Betty.

-I just wanted to know if he was okay," Kevin said hastily. -His life was not exactly easy and no matter what happened between us, I don't wish him any misfortune.

-I don't judge, on the contrary if you came back together, we could have double dates with our snake buddies, Betty tried.

-Yes, and we can visit them together in prison," says Kevin sarcastically. -Why don't you ask the question that burns your tongue?

-On Sabrina?

-On Luna Lovegood herself.

-So?

She's self-monitoring, I can confirm that, but she talks as much as I do and if she tries to be careful, she lets things slip. She comes from Greendale with her family who has been there for a long time, among the names of women she named some are obscure enough that if Spellman is her real name can find them. Plus, she was talking about doing a congregation and seems to have had a good education so probably was at school at one time or another. Hopefully, someone saw something.

-Won't it be too hard to get? Betty continued.

-My father is already contacting the Greendale police because of the black hood and I just need to ask the archives manager to send us information pretending it's for my father. Madge trusts me, I'm the gay son she never had," Kevin proudly said.

-Oh, my God, Kevin, you're awesome!

-I know but I can't promise you a result; too precise would risk attracting attention and it may be that it is really nothing. For all we know, she could be a bored mythomaniac or a kid who lives without contact with civilization because her parents are in a cult or something, Kevin reminded her. -And you will have to deal with his reaction and or the problems that will follow, Kevin reminded him.

-I will take responsibility for my actions, Betty promised.

-Toni, wait! Jughead shouted.

-What? Asked Toni frustrated but stopped anyway.

-I'm sorry about what just happened, but no one is our enemy!

-Our enemy? Asked intrigues Toni.

-I'm going to become a Southside Serpent, aren't I? And Betty defended the snakes and my father in the newspaper even though it made her threaten, Kevin made....

-Allows Joaquin to flee the city, Toni added.

-Do you know each other? Asked Jughead.

-There are exactly 3 LGBT Serpent of our age in and for all, we stick together.

-Joaquin, you...including Jughead

-I like guys but I like girls even more," smiles Toni. -And Fang is like me, but it stays between us.

-I promise! And for Archie....

-He is an idiot, and someone will end up hurting: turn into a martyr if it is someone from the north and if it is someone from the south, he will probably have run after it, concluded Toni.

-Yes, unfortunately. I intend to fix this. It's horrible what's his father’s but drowning a bunch of idiots in their own testosterone isn't going to help the situation. Neither is Sweet peas' plan.

-He is not the only one to have this point seen," said Toni gloomily. -But you can't do anything until you're an official member. I'll also have to talk to your roommate.

-Why?

Toni had a little amused smile

When they returned, they found Sabrina alone cleaning up. The cat eats with enthusiasm the little bit of staying behind.

-They left but Betty said you could do the text her, Sabrina quickly answered.

-I'll do it right away," replied Jughead, taking his phone and settling down on the sofa.

-It's all right Toni? continued Sabrina

-Not bad, don't even think of taking advantage of a moment of weakness for your cat to eat me," replied this one. -Besides, you and I must have a chat," she continued, taking Sabrina's wrist and dragging her into the room.

Sabrina stiffened under her fingers but did not try to resist, following her. Toni saw the cat watching her following her with her eyes...Stupid animal!

Toni closed the door and turned to Sabrina who had sat on the bed.

-Why this sudden desire for privacy, Antoinette? Asked the other coldly.

-Don't flatter yourself, Sabrinette," said Toni before taking a deep breath and choosing her words carefully:

-I need you to listen to me: Jughead is going to have to have an initiation to be a gang member. One of the challenges for this involves getting into his home. We won't touch you and nothing serious will happen, okay?

-For this one, said with a kind of amusing dry Sabrina. No problem! - No problem! Just let me know when I should take out my first aid kit.

- I never talked about that! Said Toni forcefully.

-So, none of the events can hurt Jughead? Sabrina asked with a big smile.

-Well... Toni began.

-That's what I thought," said Sabrina clinically. -Don't worry, I'm not judging and it's none of my business.

Toni should be happy to hear him say that, shouldn't she? Or maybe he replies that it is none of his business. But she can't do it. There was something wrong with this girl; something missing or at least had been damaged, leaving that feeling of cold and death that comes out of her. Sabrina's gaze passes over Toni in such a clinical way that she feels naked: an animal judging its prey before speaking:

-I like Jughead, he's a good person. I won't let anything happen to her, I promise, conclude this one with a smile. Then she reattached in force:

-Same, worse or better than for you?

-What?

-Your initiation? Is Jughead going to get the same one as you or is it going to be different? Sabrina continued.

Images of the snake dance reappeared in Toni's head with feelings of anger, shame and disgust. Dancing at the age of 14 in front of adult men, some of whom she considers to be family and others who had looked like a piece of meat, still haunting her today. So far from the stories of pure warriors of his grandfather protecting theirs. Again, one of the elders had told him what it was like before FP took the lead of the Serpent...

-I see...said Sabrina looking sade to the surprise Toni.

-What do you see? Toni asked dryly.

She looked embarrassed before she answered:

-Your expression... I’m sorry. It's not a good memory...

- Like when you come from? Because I don't know if you ran away from home because you wanted to live the life of a young adult novel character or if you're as fucked up as you say you are going to have to give something other than your word. Because believe me, I know what it's like to have no one and not be able to go to the cops...

Sabrina stiffened up but replied with a smile closer to the grimace:

- I gave you my hometown, didn't I? Doesn't that give me points for good conduct? And you want to take me out with the not so different after involving that I hide by boredom? Oh Antoinette, you know nothing about my situation and if you were me, you'd wish you were dead! So, you take care of Jughead and I'll be there if you ever need help to put the pieces back together again because if it were really safe, I wouldn't have the face of someone who would take him to the slaughterhouse, Sabrina continued, spitting out his venom.

-You crazy bit...started Tony who wasn't as to why she hadn't hit him yet.

(Because it would mean touching her) and Tony's gut told her that something horrible would happen if she did. The poisoning episode was probably not the worst.

-Not a you are wrong or it a lie? If you switched to insults, it's because I had a good argument.

Then seeming to find a semblance of calm:

-Everyone survives as best they can, I don't judge, I don't think I even have the right to judge others' choices anymore. I'm just asking you the same thing, okay? I want help to thank you for your help and I will leave at the slightest sign of disturbance on your part," she said, realizing that the violence of her reaction and extending her hand apologizes.

-Swear on what little I have left, Antoinette.

Toni, gave him a cold look and before saying:

-Don't you dare go out the room when we get back tomorrow, before turning his back on her and leaving the room.

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