#/ I love sparkling sylvia eyes ;;

[aro-pokeverse]

Alola? To be honest I've never been here, but I'll give it a go since the ads showing the region is diverse and beautiful. Maybe with Kitie, maybe with the whole company.

Also... I have online friends here. They were Espeon and Umbreon, but they love opposite times. Would be nice to met them in real life!

Oh, also, thanks, I like it here, though it's a bit lonely without Kitie... I wonder where did she go...?

Sylvia approaches Nat. She SO exited to see the human. "Hiiii! How's goin'? It is sure is really nice place. Anyways, your golden jewelry is... SPARKLING!" Her eyes are sparkling with smile.

[They were genuinely bashful about it, fidgeting with the bands on their wrist.]

I don't normally wear gold, I've always had a weird relationship with it. But after heading out to Alola recently, I decided to give it another go.

I hope you're liking things though! If you need anything, you're welcome to ask.

[selfless-solipsist]

Honeyed Confessions

He was a man with a hundred names, yet none of them were his own.

Wander x Villain Reader [Chapter 4]

╰┈➤ This is just a quick lil' chapter (it doesn't mean anything.. obviously)

Link to AO3:

Chapter Four: Yet Unseen, They Fade From Sight

The crystals fell all around them on a small, mysterious planet with an atmosphere unlike any other, where the rain was a stunning cascade of crystalline diamonds.

The sky above was a rich, deep violet, tinged with iridescent hues of pink, blue, and green, as light from a distant sun filtered through. The air was cool but charged with a soft, otherworldly energy, creating a constant, gentle shimmer that seemed to dance across everything in sight. The first few crystalline droplets appeared as glittering points of light, falling from the sky like stars plummeting to the surface. They descended slowly, creating a shimmering curtain as they caught the sunlight and refracted in every direction, casting rainbows of sparkling colors onto the landscape below. The sound was a soft, melodic tinkling, like delicate chimes or the gentle clinking of glass, as the diamonds made contact with the surface.

It was truly mesme--

"Let's make something clear between us, sweetheart." The zbornak practically spat out the last word, like it left some kind of bad taste on her tongue. Her hands were gripping the other woman's jacket, their faces inches apart.

"I don't like you."

...m-mesmerizing?

"Clearly." But ___ didn't even look bothered. She wasn't intimidated by the alien female at all. Or concerned that she was being threatened. In fact, she looked almost... amused? Her lips curled into a small smirk, the lights from the crystals illuminating her features.

Why were they having such a lovely conversation?

Well...

Wander had been pestering his villainous maybe girlfriend about going on a small 'date' to a planet that had diamonds falling from the sky instead of actual rain (how neat was that?), after a while she agreed - but hesitantly of course. And the nomad figured that it could also be the perfect opportunity for the two people closest to him to meet. So now, as they finally found themselves on that amazing meeting, he had gone off alone to get some gifts, leaving Sylvia and the villainess together, and it was... tense.

To say the least, that is.

Sylvia didn't like any of this. The fact that Wander was hanging out with someone as sinister as the human woman, and clearly having a great time with her... it was unacceptable. She was sceptical ever since the beginning, when she heard that the woman who was stood up on that blind date was a villain. And even more so concerned, when Wander revealed to her that he wanted to court the female as well.

"You're taking advantage of him." She said through gritted teeth, her gaze deadly.

"Taking advantage?" ___ responded with a raised eyebrow. "How, exactly?"

Sylvia huffed, before rolling her eyes. "You're playing with him! Getting him to like you, just so he'll do whatever you say! Or you're just using him for..." She trailed off, taking one of her hands off of the villainess to make a circular gesture. "...who knows what twisted goals you got!"

"Twisted goals? Really?" The other one asked. "What kind of twisted goals do you think I have?"

"Well, you're a villain, aren't you?" Sylvia retorted, as if that was the only explanation needed. "That means you're up to no good."

"And?" ___ said, a hint of mirth in her voice. "Being a villain automatically makes me some kind of evil schemer, huh?"

"Don't try to play it off like you don't know what I mean, you- you scoundrel!" The zbornak leaned in even closer, practically snarling the words as her grip on her clothing became almost bruising. "I know your type."

"Oh, you do?" The villain retorted, now downright amused. "And what is my type, exactly?"

Sylvia let out a frustrated hiss. "You're sneaky... manipulative.. just waiting to take advantage of the first naive fool who crosses your path. And thatfool..." Her hands shook as her grip on the human woman tightened. For a moment it even looked like as if she was contemplating punching her face in, but then... her pupils trembled lightly and then...

She let go.

A small sigh escaped her lips, her gaze turning to the side, to see Wander cheerfuly bouncing on his heels in a small booth with all kinds of trinkets, chatting away with the salesman (the nomad was helping the man with picking out the necktie for his wedding or something, as per usual). The sight alone made Sylvia contemplate the whole situation for a second, and then her gaze gradually softened.

...

"...is my friend." She finished.

...

___'s own gaze followed Sylvia's, her eyes settling on the oblivious nomad. He was busy with the salesman in the booth, cheerfully picking out the items he wanted, unaware of the tension developing not too far away. And because of that... she was softening up herself. Because she had no ill intentions when it came to Wander after all.

"You're lucky he's like that." The zbornak's voice was different now, no longer filled with bitterness or anger, but a hint of concern. "He trusts everyone easily... and he'll give anybody a chance, no matter how evil they are."

"He does, doesn't he?" The villainess said, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. She watched as the man bounced over to one of the tables, picking up an intricately designed crystal to inspect it. The faintest trace of a smile appeared on her lips and then vanished.

"Too easily, sometimes." Sylvia muttered, also watching as the man admired a crystal trinket, before turning to run to another stand and falling flat on his face. "He takes risks and then gets himself in trouble because of it."

"A risk-taker, huh?" ___ smirked again, watching as the man scrambled back to his feet and began bouncing to the next stall- "-And there he goes." She remarked dryly, as she watched Wander trip on his own feet.

"He's gonna get himself hurt if he keeps doing that." His best friend sighed, her worry resurfacing. "Then he just gets right back up, dusts himself off and goes back to being so... cheerful and-"

"Naive?" The human suggested, the smirk on her face never faltering.

"Yes." The zbornak snapped. "He's too trusting, too naive... too gullible."

"...You just listed three different ways to say the same thing."

"It still stands." Sylvia said firmly, her expression hardening once again. "You better not have any ulterior motives."

___ let out a small sigh, before looking back over at the nomad who was now admiring a crystal necklace, his face practically pressed against the glass case. "And why do you think I'd have any 'ulterior motives?'"

"Because that's what villains do." The zbornak retorted. "Use people, manipulate them, stab them in the back as soon as they're not useful anymore."

"And who says I'm like that?"

"You're a villain."

Sylvia said with finality. Her hands clenched into fists again as the man gave the seller a cheerful wave and then started bouncing back towards the two women, his cheerful humming audible in the air.

"I guess that means I'm evil, then."

Sylvia actually growled at that. "You're dang right you-"

But any further retort was cut off by Wander's cheerful voice calling out from not too far away.

"Whatcha gals talking about?!"

The zbornak immediately froze, her gaze going to the giddy nomad who was suddenly standing right in front of them, completely unaware of the tension surrounding him. "Oh- uh just, you know-" She said, her voice forced and unusually strained. "...stuff."

"Oh, that's neat!" He replied with a bright smile, apparently not finding anything unusual about the zbornak's behavior. "Darlin', I got sumthin' for ya!" He quickly dug into his hat, before pulling out a small crystal trinket that was shaped like a bat. He held it out to the villainess with an eager, wide-eyed grin.

The human's sly expression faded, slowly being replaced by something else as she took the object with almost surprising gentleness. She didn't say anything, but her eyes were surprisingly soft as she stared down at the present in her hands, as if it was something precious.

Sylvia couldn't help but stare at the scene, an uncomfortable feeling stirring inside her as she watched the man smile so lovingly and the villainess respond with some form of affection.

She wanted nothing more than to stop it, but...

Ṯ̵͌͜h̷̞̓e̴͇̖͒r̶̎̕͜ȅ̴̹͛ ̶͖̫̥͂̌͑w̶̻̾̃ã̸͜ͅs̶̰̎̽͝ ̶͎̊̎͠ṋ̸̡̭̕o̵͇̮̮̓̋t̴͖̼̀̈h̷̨̘̜͐̒̌ȉ̸̜n̸͙̓g̵̥͕͂ ̵̲̳̟̾s̸͙̲̯̉͗̇ḧ̶̬̖́̾e̸͉̞͉̊ ̵̩̈̒̈́c̵̨̖̑ȍ̸̳ȕ̸̗͚͈l̶̘̍̄͝ͅd̷̙̾͘ ̶̛̪̖͂̓ḋ̸̫͈̮̈́͝ȍ̵͎.̷͇̲̪̏̓

Wander's face lit up as he watched the female inspect the trinket with a soft, appreciative gaze, her usually cold exterior fading. It was one of those very rare moments when the man's heart felt so full that it ached, and his smile widened as he watched her finally lift her gaze back to him, her eyes still tender. "Well... do ya like it?"

It was a rare sight to see the usually cool and collected villainess at a loss for words, but in that moment she just... stared at him for a moment, her expression completely different from her usual cockiness or indifference. It was... softer, gentler, with a hint of gratitude.

"I..." She began quietly, before falling silent again. And then, finally, she spoke up. "...It's perfect. Thank you."

The man's face broke out into a look of utter happiness. Hearing her say she liked it had his heart soaring, making his face feel all warm. "Yer welcome, darlin'!"

Sylvia just stared at the exchange, her eyes wide as she watched Wander grin from ear to ear. Despite the whole situation still being incredibly worrisome to her, her heart throbbed as she saw the soft and loving look in his expression, and the uncharacteristic gentleness in ___'s.

Even if it was coming from a... villain.

"And I got somethin' for you too, Syl!"

The alien woman blinked, feeling her heart flutter as he called out to her. "For me?" She spoke up, sounding a bit surprised, though a small hint of excitement could be discerned in her voice.

"Yup!" Popping the 'p', he reached into his hat again, rummaging around for a moment, his tongue sticking out of his mouth while his brows furrowed in concentration. "Got it!" He exclaimed as he pulled out a small crystalsheeptrinket. With a big smile on his face, he held it out to her with eager anticipation.

Sylvia blinked as she stared at the... sheep. The most random thing he could have picked out for her. "...A sheep." She said flatly, but not unkindly, as she finally took it from his hands.

He just nodded, apparently unaware of the irony of picking a sheep of all things for the most temperamental and irritable zbornak in the universe. "Yup! I picked it out especially for you, Syl!" He chimed, smiling at her and looking quite proud of his choice.

His friend continued to stare at the trinket for a moment, her expression still somewhat flat. But then... surprisingly, it softened, a hint of affection appearing on her face. "... Thanks, I guess." She said quietly, before casting a sidelong glance at the man, who was just looking at the two of them with a cheerful and completely innocent expression.

Wander bounced on his heels as he watched the zbornak examine the trinket, his face breaking out into a big grin once she thanked him. "Yer welcome~!"

He was... so optimistic. So cheerful. 

S̶̮̳̰̹̤͔̞̳̊̿́̏͛͛͛̚o̶̭͇̞̊̆̇̌͌́.̵̪̦̯͖͇̱̇͊̀̍̔̈̄͊.̷̧̢͎̲̻��͉͎̳̃͌̍̈́͆̐͘.̷̹̈́̅͋͐̀̉̄͝ ̸̧̨̧͚̺̭̋̈͂́̍̏̔͝ḭ̶̢̖̠̐̂̒n̷̡̦̣̹̜̭̫̾̋̒̐̄͂̈n̸̥͙̟͐͐̓o̷͖̙̩̻̖̽̅̄̀̚c̷̣̙̟̳̗̘͇̬̍̏͛e̸̙̭̣͖̗̜̊̆͝n̶͓͛̎t̸̢̯̯͊͜͠.̶̛̯̩̤͎̿͝

Sylvia looked down at the small trinket in her hands again, unable to keep the hint of affection from appearing on her face. The trinket really was... cute. But more than that, the fact that Wander had actually picked out a gift specifically for her made her heart swell. But then the feeling of uneasiness crept up on her again, making her eyes harden as she looked up at him.

"Wander..." She couldn't help but start. "Why the sheep?"

The fuzzy alien blinked, looking a bit surprised as he looked down at the gift in the zbornak's hands. "Oh! Uh, well it's cuz... it just felt like... the right one, ya know?" He was still looking at her with that same obliviousness and innocence that seemed to mark him.

At that his companion blinked, staring at him with an unreadable expression again. But then, she just... sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looked down at the crystal again.

"Only you can find meaning in the most random things."

The words were spoken quietly, almost murmured under her breath. But they were sincere, rather than sarcastic. And Wander, being Wander, only smiled again, seeming to take her words as a compliment.

"Yup! I tend to do that~!" He agreed with a cheerful nod, right before noticing that ___'s attention was still fixated on the trinket, like she was lost in thought. He quickly moved his hand towards her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "A'ight, c'mon darlin'. We still gotta go to the crystal caves!"

Sylvia had to repress the urge to scoff as she watched her friend grab the human woman's hand and then skip off, chatting away as if they weren't just having a conversation with a villainess. She couldn't help but feel a rush of irritation as she watched them walk ahead of her, Wander completely oblivious as usual. "... this is going to end badly..." She muttered under her breath as she followed after them.

She could feel something wrong in the air, and her irritation was only growing. She didn't see the stray crystal flying towards her face as she followed after them, until...

"OW-- FLARP!" 

Yeah, this whole planet wasn't such a beautiful place after all. 

[whinlatter]

trick or treat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ginny and the hummingbird: a meta

“Oh, look!” said Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar. Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draft, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

have wanted to write something about this moment with ginny in the department of mysteries for bloody ages so decided this trick or treat challenge was as good an excuse as any. the meta below explores the symbolism and significance of the bird in the bell jar in the series, and what it means for ginny and harry as characters. thank you for this @evesaintyves! 🐦

TW for brief discussions of mental health and suicidal ideation

‘He knew it at once by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Harry’s eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room… He led the way forward down the narrow space between the lines of the desks, heading, as he had done in his dream, for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as he was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind…

this tiny moment of ginny captivated by the plight of a hummingbird trapped in the bell jar in the room of time in the department of mysteries in OotP is one of my favourite scenes in the whole bloody series. it’s such a tiny, overlooked moment that raises a whole host of interesting world-building questions and potential character insights at a pivotal point in both harry and ginny’s character development. if we understand the different rooms of the department of mysteries as dedicated to those aspects of existence that are most mysterious and perhaps least explicable by magic (love, death, time…), it’s clear we’re supposed to think about the contents of the jar as a question.  the symbolism of the jar, the current of the wind, the hummingbird doomed to forever hatch but never to fly free, and especially the significance of having ginny be the character most entranced by it… it’s my lifelong hyperfixation, it’s the reason why all the chapter titles in beasts are bird-themed, it’s the reason i can’t sleep at night, it’s… the ginny and the hummingbird scene. so let’s ramble about it! 

what is the significance of the hummingbird in the bell jar?

i’ve broken this down into the following elements: the jar itself, the hummingbird, the progress of the bird, and the wind.

the jar itself: the enormous crystal jar of course suggests confinement of an object or creature for display and examination. the presence of a seemingly live bird existing within it is really evocative, too, because animals placed for display in bell jars are usually dead - it certainly makes me think of age of discovery taxidermy and famous museum collections of natural scientific material held here in the uk (often retrieved during colonial voyages and conquests). obviously, this is the department of mysteries, where wizards undertake research into mysterious magical queries, so the jar serves as an example of something that’s being studied and examined by department staff. but invoking the bell jar as an image, especially in a book that explores trauma and mental distress more than any book in the series, does inevitably bring to mind one of the most memorable images in twentieth century literature: the bell jar of sylvia plath. plath’s bell jar is a metaphor for the experience of being inside a person’s own tormented mind, within one’s own madness, a feeling of being isolated and trapped with nothing but thoughts of mental distress and of death. the text says the jar is ‘quite as tall as [Harry] was’, drawing the jar and harry’s own body together in a brief parallel in the reader’s mind. of course, that plath’s bell jar is such a specifically gendered construction that serves to illustrate the experience of female madness is also interesting to think about here, because it’s specifically ginny who is most drawn to the jar. OotP is the first book in the series that has ginny very briefly reveal her own private, lingering battle with her difficult traumatic memories and experience of extreme mental distress, alienation and torment. that it’s ginny who is transfixed by the bell jar i do not think is incidental. when the death eater later trips and falls into the jar, we discover that the jar is not made of crystal at all, but instead something magical, because the death eater’s head goes right through it without injury (more on what happens to him in the next bit). so the bell jar seems to give the illusion of a cage. that it’s the death eater’s head that penetrates its surface only futher reinforces these associations of the bell jar as some kind of equivalent of the human mind. 

the hummingbird: why a hummingbird! hummingbirds aren’t native to the UK, so having this bird under examination be a colourful, prominent beaked hummingbird adds to this sense of the ‘exotic’ (and of colonial discovery). the hummingbird itself has all these lovely sensory associations with colour and beauty, the humming sound of its wings in flight (suggesting a delicate nimble strength), and with flavour and the extraction of sweetness through its lovely long beak. the hummingbird represents a positive image of an endearing creature in pursuit, a stand-in for personhood, of a sympathetic living creature attempting to make its journey. because i am horrendous, i have spent too many afternoons rummaging around for the hummingbird in literature to try and think more about what the hummingbird is doing here. plath herself actually draws on the image of the hummingbird in her poem miss drake proceeds to supper, where she uses them to conjure up ideas of life’s fragility, describing a woman on a hospital ward, walking barefoot  towards a dinner table ‘among her secret combinations of eggshells/and breakable hummingbirds’. 

the most notable usage of the hummingbird as a motif in literature is by emily dickinson, where it features repeatedly in her poetry and correspondence. in ‘a route of evanescence’, dickinson describes the flight of the hummingbird - in transit and constant motion,an exoticised, sensory feast:

A Route of Evanescence, With a revolving Wheel - A Resonance of Emerald A Rush of Cochineal - And every Blossom on the Bush Adjusts it’s tumbled Head - The Mail from Tunis – probably, An easy Morning’s Ride –

the photograph above is taken from annie leibovitz’s 2011 collection of photographs called pilgrimages, which explores, among other things, the influence of emily dickinson on leibovitz’s work. (i’ve never really thought much about annie leibovitz, but this short blog on leibovitz’s photographs of hummingbirds in relation to dickinson is v interesting). dickinson is, of course, known for poems that engage explicitly in themes of death and natural, animalistic imagery (in the interest of the author being intensely problematic, condemnable and eyewateringly annoying but not dead, it’s worth noting that jkr is almost certainly aware of dickinson’s work, and i do wonder if this is a deliberate invocation. but we move)

the progress of the hummingbird: the endless birth and rebirth of the hummingbird, surrounded by a room of clocks and time-turners, is clearly supposed to invoke ideas about the passage of time and growth. the death eater whose head ends up in the jar ages backwards, his head becoming that of his own head as a baby (cue that great moment where harry goes to attack him and hermione goes ‘you can’t kill a baby!’ - she now views the death eater as an innocent). the hummingbird is born over and over again, rises on the current of the wind in the jar, but never succeeds in its flight. it’s not clear whether the hummingbird intends to escape from the jar, but it certainly can’t continue its progress in its life - it never makes it far down the life course, instead being returned, over and over, to the egg which bore it. 

the wind: the wind keeps blowing continuously - it is otherworldly, wind made up of glittering light. the wind is probably the most elusive aspect of the jar. is the wind supposed to represent time? is the wind something else - a different guiding hand, an external force over which the bird has no control and which determines the course of the bird’s life without any hope of intervention or redirection? it’s striking that the hummingbird keeps trying, over and over again, to make some kind of progress, before being returned to the confines of the egg. is this a moral point, about the constant pursuit of something - something sweet; in the canon of liberalism, of ‘the good life’, as a moral condition as well as a symbol of prosperity’ - against the wind’s wishes that try to blow it off course? maybe - but the wind seems to guide the hummingbird throughout - both in its birth, but also in its return, like the bird is at the mercy of the wind throughout.is the wind a stand in for some kind of omniscient god or external universal force, then? this is the bit i’m least satisfied thinking about, but which i will continue to ponder on my walks/in the bath/for hours as i try to sleep xoxo

…“Keep going!” said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg’s progress back into a bird. “You dawdled enough by that old arch!” she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.’

then there’s the why ginny question that i’m still very much stuck on. the bird could be seen as a stand in for something that unites the young characters of the series, a coming-of-age, a progress through time from childhood through to adulthood throughout the duration of the series (given the fruitlessness of the hummingbird’s plight, that’s certainly an interesting idea). ginny is not alone in being interested in what the characters find in the department: she, like many of the others, is intrigued and curious about many aspects of the department’s work, including the veil (“On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny’s arm, Ron Neville’s, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door…”) but while the narration notes that harry, luna, neville and ginny are all drawn to the veil, the great symbol of death and barriers between the mortal world and the beyond, it’s so striking that only ginny seems entirely captivated by the hummingbird’s plight. what about ginny as a character suggests a singular interest in the progress of the hummingbird? does ginny - girl in flight - see herself in the hummingbird? is this one of the examples of foreshadowing ginny’s association with life, birth and family – maybe, but that’s kind of an unsatisfying answer, given the hummingbird seems to symbolise much more than that (and isn’t a linear illustration of birth, growth, life, and death). i did think that the hummingbird sort of mimics the life of fawkes the phoenix - reborn from the ashes, over and over again - with the phoenix obviously having a role in ginny’s rescue from the chamber. but i’m not happy with that either - fawkes is not that significant to ginny at any other point in the series (other than fawkes’ cry during dumbledore’s death, the night harry sets in motion his decision to accept the role of the chosen one and sever ties with ginny: ‘And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since Dumbledore had died…’, HBP)

lastly – what to make of this conflict between harry and ginny?  harry, impatient to get to sirius, orders ginny away from the jar she is so entranced by; ginny calls him out on his hypocrisy, reminding him that he also slowed down to observe and ponder the veil. obviously it continues this theme of antagonism between the two of them that runs throughout ootp: they argue constantly in this book in very delicious ways, and ginny calls harry out on his hypocrisy two other times including this one (‘lucky you’ and ‘you’re too young’). while the narration does note how interested in the veil ginny is, it’s clear that harry is much less interested in the jar and the hummingbird than ginny, who is singularly captivated by it. so if harry is most interested in the veil, and the mystery of death, what does it mean that what most interests ginny is the mystery of time? i don’t know! and i would love to know other people’s thoughts, because i cannot make head nor tail of it. what do you reckon, folks?

[beautouslysandy]

Set Up To Be

Dallas Winston x GN!Reader

By-Sandy

Warnings: Might be language

Word Count: 715

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-Your best friend, B/F/N (best friend name) has seen you go through traumatic breakups to toxic relationships with trashy boys. -Tour B/F/N is dating Sodapop Curtis. She is happy and in love but can’t help but notice that you aren’t. Y’all have been friends since grade school and she would give nothing more to see you happy, and not for it to fake or temporary. True happiness.

-Sodapop is not real close with Dallas but ever since Sylvia, Dallas hasn’t been himself, they were never the real real thing but what she did to him wasn’t right. Sodapop feels bad, and he thinks that you and Dally are a good fit for eachother.

-B/F/N happens to think otherwise, she knows Dallas type and doesn’t want you to end up with tears and empty ice cream pints…again. But Sodapop told her, to trust him. And she did. Let’s see how this goes?

-You are perky, bubbly, and outgoing person. You have the brains and the beauty. Your parents have a steady income, you live a nice generously sized home with a white picket fence. On the outside, you have the life everybody is praying for. You are what everyone wants to be. (A soc) -Dallas is rude, obnoxious, and….a delinquent. That’s what your parents call him. He doesn’t have his parents, he dropped out of school a long time ago, can’t hold a job and sleeps on people couch’s. But he doesn’t care what people think or he did until he met you. (A greaser) -Complete opposites but Sodapop thinks it would work so….

••••••••

You were at the concession stand at the Nightly Double with B/F/N, y’all were deciding what to get for a snack. You, B/F/N, Sodapop and Steve were watching the movie playing tonight. Y’all are all close and have a lot of fun together. You are estatic that your best friend had finally found someone, which she well deserves but you can’t help but notice her looking at you every now and then like your a kicked puppy. She is worried, again.

A guy you were dating, broke up with you, predictably. It’s how it always ended, you have never broken up with someone…it’s always you…getting dumped. This time the guy you dated all of for 5 seconds, cheated on you with some random girl at a party last night. He ended shortly after, good for him but bad for you. You were in tears but not over the guy but over the fact that you couldn’t find one decent guy that was willing to date you longer than 2 months.

“Y/N..?” B/F/N asked worriedly as you were asking for two large popcorn and 4 cokes. ”Hmm?” You hummed as you took your money out to pay

“I was talking to Soda and…he wants to set you up with someone….”She said hesitantly

“Sodapop said this?” You said looking at her with surprise as you grabbed the snacks and drinks with the help of your best friend.

“Yeah…in fact he is talking to the guy right now…” She said almost apologetically

You sighed and took a bit of popcorn “Tell him I said thanks but I am gonna pass.” You said with a sad smile

“No, your not.” She said shaking her head with a sigh “You are going to talk to him and make the most of it…..okay? For me.” She said pleadingly with a sparkle of determination in her eyes

“Fine.” You agreed softly as she smiled widely “Great!” She gleamed walking over to Soda and the tall brunette with the drinks You took a deep breath and walked over, you were a bit flustered as your best friend's boyfriend had set you up with a date.

When you got close enough to make eye contact with the brunette you could tell he was thinking the same exact thing.

“Hey..”He said smirking with his hand behind his neck

“Hi” You said smiling at his smirk

Once you all sat down and the movie began, it was not so awkward. “My name is Y/N..” You said trying to create a conversation with the brunette because you could feel B/F/N's eyes watching the two of you.

“Dallas.” He said shortly as he lit a cancer stick You nodded, he clearly wasn't interested in a side conversation “So... you're a Soc...like Soda’s girl?” He said looking you up and down with a grin. Clearly judging your well-picked-out outfit. “A what?” You asked confused, you have never heard this term well you have but the term has never been explained to you

“A soc...you know, the south side of town?” He said looking at you stunned as he took a breath of his cigarette

“Oh...I am from the South side but I dont think that qualifies me as a “Soc” You said signing air citation on the word soc

“Hmm. Well you are.” He said smirking “Okay and you aren't?” You asked now intrigued by these stereotypical titles

“Glory, no! I am a Greaser...” He said with a tone of hurt

“Oh..." You said clueless

••••

Dallas Winston wasn't as bad as everyone made him out to be. He was sweet a bit snarky but that fine, you can see past it. You and Dallas have been hangout on your own time. You didn't really read into much because friendships with you always lead somewhere that is never good.

Dallas made you feel safe, and you felt you didn't have to put up your guard around him...you...could be yourself. You were falling in love with Dallas Winston, and you had no clue whatsoever.

You got the whole package, butterflies, flushed pink face, stuttering, and everything yet you had no clue. The best part is that he felt the exact same way, but he knew.

The question is, will Dallas Winston say anything, or will he let you slip away?

[rose-demica]

Heya! So I stumbled across another A/B/O / Omegaverse story app and got hooked on one of the stories. Then the thought came to me, where would Kyoya Ootori fit if he were in that universe? The answer? I don't know... I would love to here other peoples opinion! Let's discuss where Kyoya would fit?

Here though, is the one shot that spawned from that thought and wouldn't leave me alone until it was written. Huge thanks to the amazing @mariekoukie6661 for checking over this and making sure I had my omegaverse facts right. (I did not, and now might need to do more research). Divider a gift from the lovely @buckys-zomdoll.

Fandom: Ouran High Host Club

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Violetta Tatsuya (OC, part of a larger fic that will appear one day).

Kyoya frowns, catching Violetta as she glances at him, before returning her gaze to her manilla folder and giggling. She’s been doing it for the past - 8 minutes and 43 seconds by his count, and he’s had quite enough. What could she possibly be doing that was causing this much amusement? She had barely said hello, and hadn’t gotten up to greet him when he arrived, instead folding her folder shut while he came to her. She’d given him the briefest kiss before apologising, saying she really needed to finish up with this case and then she’d be all his. Not abnormal, he often had to wait, and he didn’t mind, he had more than enough to do himself of course. But laughing!? At him? Is this really a case? Has his father done something embarrassing and he has yet to hear about it?

He looks up, locking on those violet eyes and holding them in place when she looks at him again. She meets his gaze, laughter making her eyes sparkle more than they normally did. He watches the micro-expressions on her face as she tries to repress her laughter, but soon enough her nose crinkles as pearls of laughter escape her lips, head thrown back. 

“THATS IT!” He stands, snapping his laptop shut. “What is so funny?” He expects her laughter to stop, but it doesn’t, she only laughs harder, doubling over before falling off her chair. He waits, clenching his jaw as his anger grows. 

“Wait-” Violetta gasps, holding up a hand, visable over her desk. “I need help.” Not one to deny his lady in need, Kyoya steps around the desk, offering Violetta a hand, She takes it, leaving the folder on the ground as he helps her to her feet, an arm wrapping around her waist and holding her to him. 

“Pray tell,” He speaks through gritted teeth, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her gaze to his. “What could possibly be so amusing about me?” There are tear tracks through the makeup on her cheeks, liquid simmering in her eyes as she squeezes them shut, trying to muffle the giggle that rattles through both of them. 

“Alright, so-” She doesn’t open her eyes as she starts to speak. “I’m working on a copyright case involving stories-” 

“Wait, what branch of law do you work in?” He thought she did business law, but she’s been looking at all sorts of cases recently. 

“Business mostly.” She opens her eyes to look at him, smiling a little, but not breaking down into laughter this time. “But I check over lots of cases, from all branches. My firm offers everything after all.” He nods, and she waits a moment before continuing. “Have you heard of something called Omegaverse?” The blank look on his face is answer enough, and he watches the corners of her lips twitch. “Sylvia’s complained about it a few times. Essentially there are werewolves, and within those werewolves, they’re split into groups. The one I’m working in just have Alpha’s and Beta’s, but some have Omega’s. Alpha’s are big boss wolves, generally lead the pack, generally only one in a pack. Beta’s are their right hand, Omega’s are just normal wolves, although sometimes they are abused and treated as servants.” 

“I do know how the Greek alphabet goes, my love.” He replies, so far none of this explains why she is laughing so hysterically at him. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Violetta raises an eyebrow, daring him to keep speaking, but he stays quiet, which only causes her to burst into laughter once more. 

“Violetta.” He growls warningly, “You’re testing my patience.” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down once more. 

“Right. It’s ridiculously sexist by the way. Most of what I could find are on those reading apps you have to either pay for or wait a stupidly long time for. And of those, rarely ever is there a female alpha, they mainly serve as Luna, which is just basically the Alpha’s mate. But, why can’t a female be Alpha, or Beta in their own right, why do they need to rely on a man? I really need to find a bunch with a female Alpha just to see-

“Violetta.” He cuts her off before she can start rambling about it. This still hasn’t explained why she’s laughing at him. 

“And also this mate thing. I get the whole theory, you have a soul mate - or sometimes several, which just seems counterproductive. And if you did have a soul mate, someone who is perfect for you in every sense of the word why would you reject them? Not only that, but they frame your mate as being a gift from the moon goddess, so isn’t rejecting them therefore also rejecting and spitting in the face of your goddess like-” He presses his lips against hers, silencing her. Her body softens in his hold, leaning into him, a hand sliding into his hair as she kisses him back. 

“Why were you laughing at me?” He whispers, pulling away from her. 

“Not at you per say-” He cuts her off with another kiss. “I haven’t even mentioned the mate bonding thing yet-” 

“They bite each other on a special gland that cements their bond and makes it known to the whole world. Generally while having sex.” He interrupts, her eyes go wide as she looks up at him.

“You did know!” Violetta steps back out of his hold, stooping to pick up the folder from the floor. This time it’s him chuckling at her. “You would have your answer by now if you’d said so!” 

“This is more amusing.” There is no way he’s telling her exactly how or why he knows about this whole ordeal. ”So.” He takes a step towards her, ducking his head and staring intently. “Why?” She gulps, taking a step back. 

“I was hypothesising.” Violetta brings the folder between them, shielding herself. “You see, I’ve been trying to figure out where you would fit in the universe.” What? His feet stop moving, eyes going wide. “Theoretically you’d just say Alpha and be done right? But Kyo- you are just so amazing at being a Beta. I mean, if you look at the Host club, you’re absolutely the Beta. You defer to Tamaki, he has the ideas, you make them happen. Then in real life,.. Heck, you’d make a fantastic Luna.” He feels his jaw drop, but he can’t control it, can’t bring it back. She thinks he’d be a good Luna?! “I could be the alpha, I would have you as my Luna in a heartbeat.” He forces himself to close his jaw, back straightening. Violetta should take it as a warning, but she’s laughing at him, again! “But then you look at your Shadow empire, and Alpha doesn’t seem so far stretched.” She raises a hand to her eyes, dabbing at the tears that escape. 

“Stop it.” He takes a step closer, but she doesn’t notice, eyes closed as she tries to control her giggles.

“But like, I just can’t imagine you as an alpha, barking orders, refusing to take smack from anyone, being all growl-y and possessive and demanding. It just... it doesn’t fit.” He reaches out, snatching the folder from her hands. Her eyes fly open just in time to see him fling it over his shoulder, paper flittering everywhere. “Kyoya!” He grabs her as she goes to move past him to collect it all back up, lifting her off her feet and throwing her onto her bed. 

Her eyes are wide as she watches him stalk closer, mouth opening to say something before stopping. With one hand, Kyoya undoes his belt, pulling it through all the loops before throwing it aside. 

“Not alpha enough?” He growls, dropping down onto the bed and crawling over her. A squeal leaves her lips as he tucks his head into her neck, jokingly biting before sucking the skin into his mouth. “I’ll show you.”

[strictlybecca]

Hey I love you!! Have you considered writing Donna Noble organizing 14th doctor’s first official family birthday party? What about Joe and Nicky cooking together? Buck and Eddie clothes sharing?

hi bb i love you!!!! 💕 thanks for filling my brain with all the best thoughts, you are the goddamn best. here's the doctor's first birthday with the noble-temple crew:

It’s honestly the look on the Doctor’s face when he steps into the back garden and sees old friends and new (he and Ms. Tabitha from down the road have taken to sharing gardening tips and shortbread recipes) and the darling little bunting Rose made to loop around the pergola and the carrot cake Shaun baked that afternoon with fourteen sparkle candles sticking out jauntily. (Crookedly, Donna thinks, but knows the Doctor will think they’re perfect.)

Donna rather hates that she’s become a happy crier, but seeing her little family so ridiculously pleased and smug, seeing the Doctor beaming his stupid little face off - it’s all a bit too much. She pretends she’s just futzing with her mascara but waves her mum off when it looks like she might come over to pester her. Instead, she lets herself just look.

Rose is grinning madly with her arm linked through the Doctor’s as Shaun claps him on the back and gives him a good shake. She can’t hear what they’re all saying, but they all break into the kind of giggles that are so common in her house these days. (“Oi,” she’ll end up yelling up the stairs, hearing their laughter from a floor away, “Can we cackle as we wash our hands? Dinner’s ready and it’s getting cold!”)

“You,” the Doctor says accusatorially, when she finally wanders over, his face twisted up in her favorite of his little boy gleeful smiles. “You did this.”

“I helped,” she allows with a shrug, looking self-satisfied and not trying to hide it in the slightest. “But it was Rose’s idea. And Shaun insisted on the surprise bit. I’m mostly shocked neither of them spoiled it.”

“They have been running around furtively for the past few days,” the Doctor agrees. “I just assumed they were trying to hide something from you.”

“Pfft. They know better by now.” They fall into a comfortable kind of silence that comes easier these days, watching as Mel and Wilfred share a grin over some glasses of lemonade and as Sylvia and Shaun bicker lightly over how to cut the cake. “Still good, Spaceman?” she asks quietly, nudging him with her elbow. She’s not asking about the party, but she knows he knows that.

It’s been about a year since he came to stay and although she’s loved every second of it - though teaching the Doctor to do laundry was a nightmare none of them ever want to repeat - she still worries. (Eyeing Sylvia fussing over Rose halfway across the yard, she sighs. She comes by it honestly at least.)

“Oh Donna,” he says, turning to look at her directly, his face in a kind of helpless grin. She can tell he got a little too much sun last weekend at the beach and there are freckles dotted across his cheeks that she’s not sure she’s seen before. His eyes crinkle up at the corners and there’s a spot on his jaw where he missed shaving. He looks a little like a nutter, to be honest, in his suit vest and slippers, but she loves him unreasonably. “It’s the best.”

“Of course it is,” she sniffs, cracking a smile only when he loops an arm around her shoulders and drags her in to his side. They watch the party like that for a little while longer, knowing they have all the time in the world to stand and let their wobbly blue planet spin and their days slip idly by.

[andallthatmishigas]

Top 5 The Nanny moments

I've been rewatching recently and there's so many I love so so so much.

in Mommy and Mai, Fran and Max have an exchange that just makes me melt where she asks why he has an extra little sparkle in his eye and he says "Because I'm looking at you" and they make out and it's very hot

The entirety of the London episode

When Max finally says I Love You (and doesn't take it back)

Bette Midler chasing Fran around the house

Tbh this rewatch is giving me such a great appreciation of Sylvia. She's so fucking funny. Any time she's onscreen, I'm very happy.

[swirly-potato]

This is a story about a changeling and his sister.

Not so long ago there was a woman who wanted so desperately for a perfect family that she did the unthinkable. She made a deal with the fae—they would give her what she wished for, but at a terrible price: When the child turned thirteen, the fae would come to take it away.

True to the agreement, the woman had her firstborn—a lovely, laughing baby boy with curly rowan-brown locks and a face covered with freckles. She waited, but the fae did not come to mark the child, so she raised the child as her own, gleefully thinking she had outwitted the High Court.

Three years passed, and the baby boy grew strange and fretful. His hair was now unruly and tangled, and he shrieked whenever his mother tried to comb it. He turned difficult and stubborn, with hands that pulled and yanked and a mouth that screamed and bit but never spoke. His mother, who had begun to view the child as a curse from the woods, contented herself with caring for her second-born—another girl, with clear, sparkling blue eyes and hair as yellow as summer sun. She named the second child Sylvia.

Sylvia’s hair never tangled, she never arrived home covered in mud and dirt, and she never cried—but she never laughed either, not that the woman noticed. Meanwhile, the older child—growing quite resentful of his sister—found himself drawn to the woods, pulled by a mysterious feeling that he could not quite place. 

The boy’s fingers continued to twitch, and his mouth continued to move—creating beautiful harmonies that drew nature itself to him. But his mother hated the noise, and, being a very proud woman, locked him in his room whenever he sang. She called him cursed child, witchblood, hobgoblin, faeryspawn, but never his name—which he picked for himself, a lovely name, Rowan.

When young Sylvia was thirteen, the High Court came to collect what they were owed. Her mother fell at the feet of the terrifying creature before her and begged them to take her son instead. The fae refused. We have come to take your child, it said, and although the boy is your son, he was never your child to you.

Young Rowan, who was now a man of sixteen, whose charm and sensitivity and song had formed him into a capable youth, stood before the slavering magical being. Sylvia hid behind him, crying and confused, blue eyes sparkling not with sunlight, but with terrified tears.

“Why have you come to take her?”

It was the bargain, the fae replied.

“No.” Rowan raised his chin and looked the creature in the eye. “Why have you come to take her? What will you do with her once she is in your world?”

I do not know, said the fae. Perhaps she will be a worker, or a pet, or a slave. Perhaps—its eyes gleamed in a way that the youth greatly disliked—she will be a lover for one of the High Court–

Its words were cut off abruptly by the impact of Rowan’s fist to its face. 

The magical creature sputtered in anger. You dare—

Once again, its words were stifled by the impact of Rowan’s other fist. 

“The bargain says that a fae will take Sylvia away when she turns thirteen,” he said menacingly. “Can that fae not be her brother?”

You have made an enemy of the High Court, changeling boy, threatened the fae (already halfway out the door). For your own good, pray that our paths do not cross again.

Rowan turned to his younger sister and the woman who called herself his mother. Timid Sylvia shook with fear, while the mother shook with rage. The latter stabbed a finger at him. “You ruined it,” she snarled. “You ruined everything. My perfect family. My perfect daughter—”

Her beloved golden Sylvia flinched away from her.

[sheplayswithlifee]

Charleigh arrived at Elixirs and Brews, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness about meeting her blind date, Sylvia. As she walked inside, she noticed the bar was bustling with people enjoying their drinks and conversations. However, Charleigh and Sylvia had agreed to sit outside and enjoy the pleasant weather.

Charleigh spotted Sylvia sitting at a table near the entrance, and she approached with a smile. Sylvia looked up and returned a polite smile, though her body language seemed slightly guarded. They exchanged greetings and sat down, settling into the outdoor seating area.

"So, how's your day been?" Charleigh asked, attempting to break the ice.

Sylvia shrugged, replying, "It's been alright. Just the usual, you know."

Charleigh nodded, trying to find common ground. "Do you have any hobbies or interests that you're really passionate about?"

Sylvia seemed thoughtful for a moment before responding, "Hmm, not really. I'm more of a homebody, to be honest. I enjoy reading and watching movies."

Charleigh's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love reading too! What kind of books do you enjoy?"

Sylvia hesitated before answering, "Well, I'm into dark psychological thrillers and horror. I like books that mess with your mind."

Charleigh's smile faltered slightly, as she wasn't particularly fond of those genres. She tried to find something else they could connect over. "Hmm, how about movies? Any favorite genres or directors?"

Sylvia pondered for a moment. "I'm a huge fan of independent films and documentaries. I appreciate thought-provoking storytelling."

Charleigh's heart sank a little, realizing their interests were diverging even further. She made a valiant effort to keep the conversation flowing. "That's interesting. Have you traveled anywhere recently?"

Sylvia shook her head. "Not really. I prefer staying close to home. I find comfort in familiar surroundings."

Charleigh's disappointment was palpable, as she enjoyed exploring new places and cultures. Their incompatibility became increasingly apparent, and the conversation started to dwindle.

As Sylvia excused herself to go to the bathroom, Charleigh watched her walk away, assuming she would be back shortly. However, minutes turned into an unusually long wait. Charleigh began to feel a sense of unease as she realized Marissa wasn't returning.

Concerned, Charleigh decided to check inside the bar, thinking that perhaps something unexpected had occurred. She stepped inside and glanced around, searching for any sign of Sylvia. However, she couldn't spot her anywhere.

Charleigh's eyes wandered around the bar as she prepared to leave, feeling a mixture of disappointment and curiosity. That's when her gaze fell upon a beautiful dark-skinned woman sitting alone in the corner, engrossed in her knitting. Charleigh couldn't help but be drawn to the sight, as she had a passion for knitting herself.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Charleigh approached the woman with a friendly smile. “Strange place to create.” She said to start conversation.

“Only if you intend to really make something. It’s more of a conversation starter.” She smiles.

"What are you working on?"

The woman chuckled. "Oh, just a scarf. I've been trying to get the hang of it, but it seems to be giving me some trouble."

Charleigh's face lit up with excitement. "I'm actually pretty good at knitting. Would you like some help? Maybe we can figure it out together."

The woman's eyes sparkled with delight. "That would be wonderful. I could definitely use the help."

Charleigh reached into her inventory and pulled out her own knitting needles and yarn. As they worked side by side, their conversation flowed effortlessly. They exchanged stories, discussing their love for creative endeavors and the solace they found in crafting.

As they continued knitting and conversing, Charleigh couldn't help but feel a genuine connection forming. Their shared interest in knitting served as a foundation for a deeper conversation that transcended their initial encounter.

Time seemed to pass quickly as they worked on their respective projects. By the time they finally finished, the woman's scarf had transformed from a tangled mess to a beautiful creation, thanks to Charleigh's guidance.

The woman admired her finished scarf with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much for your help. I don't think I could have done it without you."

Charleigh beamed with pride, delighted to have made a positive impact. "It was my pleasure. I'm glad I could assist you. And thank you for allowing me to join you."

They both chuckled, and Charleigh extended her hand. "I'm Charleigh, by the way."

The woman shook her hand warmly. "I'm Arianna. It's a pleasure to meet you, Charleigh."

[almalvo]

STAR TREK: DISCOVERY | S1E3 "Context Is For Kings"

[I will react to each episode individually and in full, raw reception and then post as is unrevised here onto my tumblr for the full span of every and all NuTrek episodes and series that have been and will be released. If this falls under your field of interest - I welcome your company in joining me. Enjoy the ride.] -------

Rated "mature" huh. [suspicious face] man seeing the starfleet symbol ugh man look outside its so pretty i love the colours i keep saying this but i looooove the colourssss ugh these effects are so are SOOO whoa nice suit on the pilot the filming style is odd in DISCO pacing wise rn still but whats cool is it no longer feels like that almost stagnant "another day in star trek" type feeling. everything feels very specialised episode by episode - very "limited series" - cuz it is. what ship is this it looks kinda like an idic pin from underneath NCC OH SHIT ITS THE SHIPPPPPP OHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKK THIS IS DISCOVERY?!!?!??!?!??! OH MFUCK ITS NAME IS AFTER A SHIP YEAH OK DUH BUT ALSO WHAT THE FUCK ugh this intro listen youll read this probably the next 50 times over how i just gawk at the everything that im eating right now with my eyeballs the Discovery ship has such an odd shape no but its literally IDIC the ship but also its SOOO cool to see the evolution of the ship designs until we land at the PERFECT ratio of NCC-1701 Enterprise.

fuck that just made me think - oh SHIT---

ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh who HO\ WHO WHO LEADS THIS SHIP WHO WHOOOOOOOOOO LEEEAAAAAAADS THHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS SHHSHSIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP whoa eyes with pretty reflection/not reflection nvm who is this????????? gabriel lorca? ok sry not to be underwhelmed but i am too eager its my fault alright mr. lorca - lets see what you about. i have never seen someone just eat fortune cookies like an everyday snack in a wooden bowl. discovery has a very interesting feeling, more..

door just shut in her face wow WHO ELSE IS ON THIS MASSIVE SHIP THOUGH NO NO NO ALSO ITS A FUCKING SCIENCE VESSEL. SCIENCE. VESSEL. SCIENCE. Whos this lady? aw she seems cute sylvia tilly? aw poor gal id shake her hand yo i like these beds mickey nah nahhh no thanks sylvia. sylvia. listen. dont be weird now. black alert. intersting what the hell ? its so PRETTY THOUGH whoaaaaa WHAOSSSS WHOAAA yeah no WHAT the hell IS going on on this ship please do tell??? new replicator hi saruuuu he is very fitting as first officer what are you eating? hahahahahhahha wow they nailed that one blueberries huh yeahhhh not me thinkin he eating larvae or somethin nope no sirrr i like the bowl hes eats from from though ugh hes so TALLLLL hes such a nice stick

idk why the title image of this show with burnham giving the vulcan salute only NOW is hitting me with its potential significance

fearing a black woman huh idk bruh come on now star trek not today bro not today

stamets why does this name sound familiar tf is this so fuckin weird though must we be so discriminatory tho lmao this stamets? whats this sparkle wahts happening stamets are you gay sir are you gay damn sir wonder what you gon do also burnham giving the vulcan brow ugh itll be so cool to have holographic text though? man how can we get that to work without a backlight of aerosol straal? straal and stamets. excuse me. ARE YALL LOVERS ??? ARE YALL A'LOVIN??? KISSY KISSY? YALL BOYFREEENNNNS??? lurkers lol ok. lurker such a fuckin nerdy word lmaooo stamets and straal huh. i got my EYES on you ew also give me that starfleet towel WHERE ARE YOU BURNHAM THIS LOOKS SO FUCKING BEUATIFUL OH MY GOD I HAVE ENVISIONED SOMETHING SO MUCH LIKE THIS ONBOARD STARFLEET SHIPS LIKE WE ALL HAVE OH MY GOD that put a chilll through my spine in a wonderful way

lorca has a mouth and rbf eyes like Homelander his face kind of reminds me of homelander lmaoo hi sylvia yall need to smile a bit mroe lol you better apologise the green screening is almost perfect but the border is still there the border of sylvias face against the greenscreen behidn the glass is too hard when its blue outside when irl the face woul have a light that really diffuses about the curfature of her face anwyays astromycologist fascinating. i like what hes talking about though tickles the science degree in me hahaha man what is this research im so curious what project is lorca up to? ugh so juicy im SOOO curious ugh shuttlepod looks fucking sexy. alright whos gonna die in here. whos the redshirt in this away party. whoaaa the mangling is nicee WHAT WAS THAT oml star trek horror though is SUCH a grand idea fuckkkk meeeee bruh this deadspace or what no lie i like the OG bat'leth design more of the blades splayed INWARDS than out

thats big bruh this is liteally deadspace its not gorn in here right lol its not right idk gorn gorn. gorn can do this right thats the first thing i thought when i saw any of this damage. sylvia you brave owowowoww NEVER MIND WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT someone give me a star trek indie horror game RIGHT NOW DO IT ill fucking do it if no one does ill fucking DO IT. oop well guess we know who the redshirt is. broo the way their bodies are twisted like that is wickedddd i dont think ive seen bodies STRETCHED and wrung like a towel before stamets is so calm he dont give no fuck. stamets my man what have you BEEN through?

big space mole looks like a fuckin cow-size tardigrade JEFFERIES TUUUUUBEEE burnham's composure is crazy ugh she recitin what? it better not be another "literary classic" bullshit. this is literally a giant tardigrade. ugh look at the bridgee i love this shot from the outside in why it blurry at the end tho ay ooo who this freeza droid XD GIVE ME THOSE BOOTS YO i want my room to be the bridge oh my god if i had money id remodel my house and make my room the bridge the viewscreen would be my personal theatre fucking bigass monitor projection did I hear that--- TRI TRIBBBLEEEEE EAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAAEAAAAAAAAAAAA THAT IS A FUCKINGGGG TRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ONNNNNNNNNNN HIIIIIIS DESSSSSSSSSSKKKKKKK they really are just having this conversation with a tribble just chillin on his desk son. i knew that sound anywhere oh my god GIVE ME ONE RIGHT NWO GIVE ME A BLACK ONE RIGHT NOW.

FUCK. bye tribbleee oooo in-ship transport what is this box what is the research what the fuck is happening. that is so pretty ohh intersting organic propulsion this is fascinaatingggg oh i really like this lorca has great delivery i BELIEVE in his role god the magic of masterful actors. love it WHOA THIS IS TOO FUCKING BEAUTLFUL NOOOOOO TAKE ME AWAYYYYY oh i love this pacing just now this whole scene was so good im so enamoured right now ugh its so nice to see creative cinematography why the tendrils on saru though what purpose do they serve wtf man wonder if we gon have more that typical star trek alien sexy-time lmaooooo ugh alice in wonderland really when we done with this shit :/ sylvia you wanna be captain? u know what - maybe you might be. if you dont die getting there. (you didnt hear that from me ahurghurghurgunrguhg-)

FOSTER FOSTER MOM AND HER SON??? YOU GREW UP WITH SPOCK????? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK WHYYYYYYYYYY HOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YOU TELLIN ME BURNHAM IS KIRK'S SISTER IN LAW GET THE FUCK OUT

imn losin it whoa dead spcimens who whats in ITS THE GIANT TARDIGRADE sir you did this on purpose what you plannin lorca whats your grand design ughhh the scale of this ship though ugh EAT ME UP no i like that scene a lot though the one with cap lorca talking to burnham in the box - please intellectual star trek lore on mainstream play with modern techonological representation PLEASE oh im so intriguedddddddd.

bring it the fuck on.

kirk's sister in law, what even the fuck--

[clem-fandang0]

ENHYPEN 8TH MEMBER

Members Profile: Millie

Stage Name: Millie

Birth Name: Jung Millie

Korean Name: Jung Min-Yeon

(Face Claim: Kim Dayeon of Kep1er)

Position: Main Vocalist, Centre

Birthday: 24th August 2003

Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Chinese Zodiac: Goat

Height: 173 cm (5'7")

Blood Type: A+

MBTI: ESFP

Nationality: British-Korean

Representative Animal: Mouse

Facts about Millie:

Millie has a twin brother and an older sister, but she's closer with her brother (Applicant Profile)

Born in London England. She moved to Korea with her brother when they were 15 because she wanted to pursue a K-Pop career and her brother wanted to become an actor.

Training Period: 1 year, 8 months.

She ranked 3rd in the final episode of I-LAND with 1,179,633 votes.

Lovelies is Millie's fandom name created by fans.

Education: St Albans High School For Girls, Hanlim Multi Art School.

Habits: Chewing her lower lip (in interviews, the members can be seen pulling her lip from her teeth), flaring her nostrils when she's mad, smoothing her left eyebrow when concentrating.

Millie's favourite colours are purple and maroon.

Her family have a pet dog named Sylvia and a cat named BB.

She is a former SM Entertainment (2017-2018) and BigHit Entertainment (2018-2019) trainee.

Her role models are The Boys' Q, TXT's Taehyun and BTS' V (Applicant Profile).

Millie's charm is speaking English to the members to help teach them, but also forgetting words in Korean/English and filling them in with the other language.

Specialty: Singing, dancing, eating quickly and ice skating and badminton (Self-Revised Profile).

Hobbies: Watching TV shows that she's already watched, dancing in the rain (Self-Revised Profile).

Charming Point: Impressions, sparkling eyes, wink (Self-Revised Profile).

Her nicknames are Mills, Millington (Jake), Milton (Jake), Millicent (Jake), Minnie, Yeonie, Neo (Self-Revised Profile).

Likes: Jungwon, Jake, all the members, chocolate, massive hugs, forehead kisses, kimbap and ENHYPEN (Self-Revised Profile).

Dislikes: Being lied to, staying inside when it's raining, people bad-mouthing England (Self-Revised Profile).

Her motto is "Oh well..." (Self-Revised Profile).

Click here to read more about Millie

[littlemissnoname13]

Blaise’s Cup of Tea (D.M)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: some mentions of alcohol, very mild sexual themes, nothing too explicit, Draco being a fûxkboy ,Draco being a huge simp

Summary: where Draco is secretly in love with his best friend’s fiancée

Word count: 2122

A/n: had this idea in the shower and I couldn’t help myself. The blog has been a mess recently and for that I apologise.

For Draco Malfoy, a typical night usually consisted of three things. 

First, a glass of his favourite spirit; preferably scotch in his hand.

Second, a cigar tucked in between his fingers

And third, a random girl in his bed chambers. It didn't matter if his company for the night shared the same interests as him, it didn't matter if she liked him for who he was or if she liked him solely for being the heir to the massive Malfoy fortune. 

Come morning, he would never have to see her again anyway. 

His Father, Lucius always chastised him for bringing a different girl as a plus one to social events. Even Narcissa wasn't all too pleased about her son engaging in all these hedonistic activities and bedding random girls. 

The friends he’d grown up with were all well on their way to settling down and having children while he was still not even close to having a serious relationship. 

“Why can’t you be more like Zabini?” Lucius would say, everytime the Malfoys sat down for a family dinner. Narcissa would agree to this while expressing her desire for grandchildren and Draco would have to refrain from choking on his dinner. 

Blaise Zabini, was happily engaged to longtime girlfriend Daphne Greengrass and they were busy planning their Summer wedding. 

Every time Draco would meet Blaise for a drink, all he’d talk about was Daphne, the wedding, floral arrangements, invites and party favours. Just last week, Blaise even confessed to having already thought out names for his future children. 

Taking a final sip of his scotch, Draco placed his glass on his desk and returned to his bed, where a random brunette girl was peacefully asleep. 

He took a few moments to recall her given name in his mind but this attempt remained futile. He couldn’t even remember how he felt while they were doing the deed a few hours prior. 

His father was right, he was slowly turning into, for a lack of a better term, “Pig person.”

As he quietly slipped into his bed next to the brunette, he started to think about all the one night stands he’d had in the last few months. 

One night stands are appropriately called one night stands for a reason. He knew that. 

But it wasn't his fault he couldn’t get that one particular night from four months ago with that one particular girl out of his system. 

It had all started out so innocently. 

A chance encounter at a bar, alcohol fueled conversation, his hands on her hips on the dance floor and his lips on her lips by the end of the night. 

He’d never before met anybody so charming yet painfully frustrating in his life. 

Y/n. Y/l/n. 

Distinctive features, expressive eyes and lips that quirked upward with a wicked smile.She had one of those faces that had the capability of engraving itself into one’s subconscious and the way her brows furrowed in annoyance indicated that she might have been aware and unnerved by it. 

In the few hours he’d spent with her, she’d stimulated his brain with her wits and intellect. She’d made him care about uninteresting things like the witch burnings in the 14th Century. She’d challenged his predetermined notions and world view.

Everything about her was vivacious.

Her effervescence reminded him of a freshly opened bottle of sparkling Rosé on a hot summers day. Crisp yet sweet if you took in a moment for the flavours to sink in. 

And Merlin was this girl could kiss!

The way she gently nipped on his lower lip and teasingly traced her tongue left him with something more to be desired. 

Nothing happened with Y/n that night. Nothing except feverish kisses and whispers of “I want you.”

They’d spent the whole night talking. He’d never spent the night with a girl and not done anything before. 

And she’d left before he could even manage to open his eyes the next morning. 

She’d disappeared without a sign or trace.

Nothing but her fruity fresh scent on his pillows remained to remind him that she was in fact real and not some hallucination. 

Draco went the the very same bar again the next day with his hopes held high. He wanted to see her again. He needed to see her again. 

But to his utter dismay, y/n never showed up. 

Soon, it became a habit of his to go to the bar and wait for her.

He’d gotten so desperate at one point that he even interrogated the bar keep about the girl that had seemingly managed to capture his attention in the span of a night. 

But no matter how hard he tried, Draco never got any answers. 

She became nothing but a distant ghost of a rather blissfully perfect night. 

Just when he was about to toss away the memories of y/n and her pretty lips inside a locked and chained box in his head, he heard his house elf appear with a pop into his bed chambers. 

“Master Malfoy, this letter just came for you.” The elf said quietly as he stretched out his arm to hand Draco a sealed envelope. 

Draco would have told his elf off for appearing in his chambers in the middle of the night but decided against it when he saw the scrawl of Blaise’s messy handwriting on the envelope. 

It was two in the morning and a rather odd time for Blaise to be sending him a letter. 

Assuming that it must be something urgent, Draco quickly ripped open the seal and unfolded the letter. 

Draco, 

I write this with a heavy heart and I write this with nothing for company except a bottle of bourbon. 

Daphne left me this morning. 

The wedding is off and it is all my fault. 

To be honest, It did feel like things were going too fast and we were jumping to life altering decisions without taking the time to think and contemplate. 

After thinking all day, I have decided to get married after all. 

Your mother has been rather kind and offered to set me up with a girl that is supposedly “perfect for me.” Although I definitely trust her judgement, It would be great if you could “assist” Narcissa in her search. You are my best friend after all. 

B.Z.

By the time Draco was done reading Blaise’s letter, the girl sleeping next to him had started to toss and turn in her sleep. 

~~~

When his mum flooed into his residence the next morning, Draco’s company for the night, who was named Sylvia by the way, was just on her way out. 

Sylvia was rather laid back and was looking for nothing other than a rebound. Draco had offered her tea but she’d politely declined stating that she had brunch planned with her friends anyway. 

“And who is this charming young lady, Draco?” Narcissa asked. 

“She’s Sylvia and Sylvia was just on her way out.” Draco said in a clipped voice before literally shoving an annoyed looking Sylvia into the fireplace. 

“It was nice meeting you Mrs. Malfoy.” Sylvia said in a calm and polite voice, with floo powder in her hands. “See you around Draco.” 

“And I thought, you were finally serious for once.” Narcissa sighed before sinking down into one of the many chairs Draco had in his living room. 

Draco wanted to say something sarcastic in response but he bit his tongue and held it all back. There were more pressing matters at hand that required his attention. Like helping his mum find an appropriate match for Blaise who has so casually placed such a huge responsibility on his shoulders. 

The responsibility required him to go on multiple, rather tiresome “dates” set up by his mother. 

The first girl he met mistook him for Blaise. 

The second girl he met confessed that she was being coaxed into the meeting by her overbearing parents and had a secret Muggle boyfriend that she loved with her whole heart. 

The third girl he met was one of Blaise’s ex girlfriends.

The fourth girl turned out to be one of Draco’s own one night stands that had ended on a sour note.

It was safe to say that Draco returned to his mother that night with his shirt stained burgundy from the wine she’d poured over his head. He deserved it though.

Narcissa even agreed that he’d deserved it because she broke into a chuckle when her son walked into the Malfoy Manor with drops of wine falling from his blond hair. 

“Well this is a disaster.” Draco muttered to his mother who gave him an accomplished looking smile in return.

“This was a Disaster.” She quipped, before leaning towards the coffee table to pour herself some more tea. “Luckily, I’ve already found someone I deem to be a suitable partner for Blaise.”

“You have?” 

“I have. I too have been pulling some reins and meeting people personally for Blaise. He is like a son to me after all.” 

“Looks like I got splashed with a vintage red for no apparent reason then.” Draco muttered before using his wand to summon a clean cotton shirt. 

Narcissa simply shook her head at her son and stood up from her chair. “I’ve actually invited her for tea today so that you’d be able to meet her as well. Why don’t you fix your hair and put on a clean shirt before she gets here hm?”

Draco knew there was no point in arguing with his mother. 

When Narcissa Malfoy wanted things done, she’d sure as hell go ahead and get them done. A true Slytherin she was. 

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and used a cleaning charm on his hair. He would have preferred to shower but he didn’t really have the time to dilly-dally around.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He heard a voice say, just as he was about to put on his clean shirt. 

It was a familiar voice and it raised prickling goosebumps all over his exposed flesh.

The goosebumps were a natural reaction to hearing a voice he’d replayed over and over in his head every single night for the last four months. 

In front of him stood Y/n Y/l/n in the flesh. Very much real and not a ghost of his imagination, clad in a blush coloured midi dress with a sweetheart neckline. 

He opened his mouth to answer but his mother beat him to it. 

“Welcome to our home. Sit down, have some tea with us.” Narcissa said in her best hostess voice and all Draco could do was force his hanging jaw shut. 

~~~~~~

The next few hours felt like the longest yet shortest few hours of his life. 

He was still processing the fact that he had in fact seen the girl, the ghost, the memory right in front of his eyes, wearing a dress that made her look like a scene in a vintage film. 

His palms were sweaty, his head was reeling, his throat was as dry as the Sahara and he could barely pay any attention to a word his mother was saying. 

“Draco?” Narcissa cleared her throat when he failed to respond. “Draco dear, are you listening?”

“Yes mother.” He replied curtly before taking a sip of his tea in a desperate attempt to soothe his throat. 

After what seemed like another torturous hour of tea and polite conversation, you thanked Narcissa for having you and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek before taking the floo network. 

“The Y/l/n family has been a friend to our family for years.” Narcissa commented. “I think Blaise would be rather fond of y/n. What do you think, Draco?”

He wanted to tell his mother about the time he spent with you four months ago.

He wanted to tell her that he was ready for a serious relationship if it was with you. 

He never really cared for the colour pink but it suddenly felt like a rather nice colour. 

You were witty, clever, sincere and extremely gorgeous. Of course Blaise would like you. He’d be a fool not to. 

After taking a few more seconds to carefully contemplate the situation at hand, Draco finally opened his mouth. 

“Yes, I think Blaise would like Y/n.”

Narcissa looked at him with a satisfied smile and the weight of a fully grown giant landed on Draco’s shoulder. 

Maybe you weren't Blaise’s cup of tea.

Maybe he’ll get back together with Daphne. Yeah, that would be perfect. 

But what if he didn’t?

Could Draco live his whole life knowing that he was absolutely smitten with his Best Friend’s soon to be Fiancée?

~~~

Draco/ General HP Taglist: @maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @dlmmdl @desiredmalfoy @trainintersection @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @lolooo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dracomalfoyisindahouse @the-bisexual-bitch @sycathorn-slush @lalunemoonstone @supermisunderstoodoceans @belladaises @riddleswh0r3crux @justreadingficsdontmindme @axdxis @97santoki @laceycallisto @haroldpotterson @thetipsysaquatch @darlingmalfoy @letsmariya @malfoysbiitch @turn-to-page-394-please @malfoysgem @m4lf0ym1lk3rs @ameliasbitvh @slythermuf @wolfstar_lb @underappreciated-spoon-321 @yiamalfoy @louweasleymalfoy @fa-me @dracoswhore007 (sorry if I missed anyone. Please look into your privacy settings if I was unable to tag you. Love you all. x )

Join my tag list here . 

Alternatively, you can message me if you’d like to be added or removed from my list.

Read my other stories here.

Lots of love as always,

Vi

[dollwritesarchive]

Hi I love your work I was curious if you could write something where Reader is training with Sylvia and gets hurt and Sylvia takes care of them 💞

shatter : SL

fandom marvel

featuring sylvie laufeydottir x reader (f)

rating sfw

content warning angst, descriptions of injuries and blood

summary Sylvie is devastated when she hurts you

word count 900 / drabble

attention please reblog & give feedback!

“It is just a bit of blood,” you mutter, bottom lip pulsating and split. you can taste it in your mouth— the sickening, coppery flavor that coats every last tastebud on your tongue and leaves a thin film against the inside of your cheeks, over your teeth. it hurts, much more than you would admit, especially when you see Sylvie’s expression.

her countenance is stricken with guilt, twisted into a frown with her brows furrowed as she kneels beside you, using a section of her cloak flipped inside out and wrapped around her hand to dab at the trickling rubies from the corner of your mouth. the last thing you wanted was to let her know that it hurt.

“I’m all right. Let’s go again.”

but Sylvie shakes her head, turquoise gems nestled in her features examining the injury she’d manifested, the damage she’d done to your face. “No,” she mutters, “no, we should stop.”

“Over a busted lip?” you demand, incredulous. Sylvie says nothing, but nods as she sweeps the crimson from your chin. “I’m fine, honest. You didn’t mean to—“

her eyes flicker upwards, to meet yours, and an ocean of remorse floods them. you can see the tears pushing to free themselves from her ducts, but have been unsuccessful. you pause, take a breath, and approach it with a softer tone. “These things happen. I should use this as a learning experience, we shouldn’t stop. I want to keep going.”

“A learning experience? Look at your face!” Sylvie exclaims, her tone uneven and broken. “You’re bleeding and it’s— it’s my fault.” she pauses, looking away, ashamed of herself, before she stands up. “Come with me.” she urges, offering both of her hands. you take them, graciously, and allow her to pull you to your feet, guiding you like a toddler who’s fallen and scraped their knee to the gilded well nearby. tilting the bucket, sparkling and clear water flows from it as if poured from the sky. “Here, rinse the… blood out of your mouth.” she nearly gagged on the word, as if saying it aloud would make the injury worse.

you look at her, swollen lip giving you a more childlike and pouty appearance by default, and gauge her countenance. it’s contorted in disappointment; she looks at your wounded mouth as if she had broken a priceless heirloom. complying with her demand, you hold your palms out beneath the bucket and she tips it again. the first handful you bring to your lips is beyond shockingly refreshing. Asgardian water tasted purer than any other in the universe, you’d bet. cool and crisp. you have to convince yourself to swish it around in your mouth instead of simply swallowing it, your throat envious of the hydration in your cavern. when you spit it on to the ground, the blood that puddles at your feet is diluted and watery, pink and translucent. after, you take another handful to sip on, savor thoroughly in your cleaned mouth, and swallow down.

“Good,” Sylvie murmurs. she still doesn’t seem satisfied. “Now, let me see.” her hands almost seem demure as they both reach for you, cupping your face on either side, to angle it upwards towards her. her eyes narrow as she looks at the cut.

with a soft sigh, and placing your hands over hers against your face, you whisper, “stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m made of glass. Like you’ve chipped me.” you reply, and tilt your face to give her palm a tender peck. “Stop convincing yourself that you’re going to shatter me.”

the princess is silent for several seconds, eyes darting from your couplet to your gaze and back again. her own pair are wet with potential tears, her bottom lip quivers. “What if I shatter most things?” she whispers, uncertain, “what if— what if everything I touch is broken upon contact; I’ve chipped you now, but what if I shatter you next? What, then?”

“You won’t.” matter of factly, your hands flee to rest upon the sides of neck, thumbs rubbing against the fabric of her turtleneck. “Because your touch has never been my destruction, Sylvie. It has been my healing, always. You will never ever shatter me.”

her long, dark lashes flutter; you can only assume that she is batting away what might become tears, but with a dip of her head, her lips coast over yours. they are extraordinarily cautious when scraping against the split in your tier, as if caressing it in a silent apology. you kiss her back, more ardently with your hands holding the nape of her neck and pulling her close, to assure her that you need no coddling. that you are not so fragile as she thinks.

it was only a moment later that she withdraws from the kiss, but cradles your face in her palms. willowy digits rub at the warmth of your cheeks. “If I ever hurt you again, I- I don’t know what I’d—“

shaking your head, you’re quick to shush her with another brief, but passionate kiss to her soft lips. she tastes of Asgardian wine and fruits, an incredibly sugary flavor that you loved to leave on your lips. “None of that,” you whisper against her lips, “none. A spot of blood and a little scrape from sparring isn’t hurting me, my love. You could never hurt me.”

[diva2007]

i haven’t introspected or really talked about myself on here so i answered this favorites questionnaire. read if you want

@ringtailes​ @virgeauxsun​ @weepingvines​

yall can do it if u want u dont gotta tag anybody idc fjeiofewjfo

1. Favorite candy? dark chocolate

2. Favorite song? ptolemaea by ethel cain

3. Favorite food? sushi or a decent caesar salad

4. Favorite drink? an iced caramel macchiato, or apple sparkling water

5. Favorite band? Artist? fleetwood mac or ethel cain

6. Favorite movie? scream

7. Favorite book?

the bell jar by sylvia plath

8. Favorite restaurant? chick fil a. love homophobic chicken

9. Favorite person? myself

10. Favorite hair color? Eye color? black hair and green eyes

11. Favorite website? bulbapedia

12. Favorite board game? Video game? clue and silent hill 2

13. Favorite sport to play? To watch? i don't. iceskating

14. Favorite school subject? literature 15. Favorite state? City? new orleans, louisiana

16. Favorite number? letter? 7, A

17. Favorite animal? bears

18. Favorite TV show? reba

19. Favorite quote? "who can face the sea and not inherit its loneliness?", olin ivory

20. Favorite nickname? honey

21. Favorite store? target

22. Favorite color? pink

23. Favorite article of clothing? i like a good turtleneck sweater

24. Favorite type of perfume or cologne? chanel no 5

25. Favorite memory from this year? all of the times my cat has curled up next to me to sleep.

26. Favorite age? these are ridiculous questions. 45.

27. Favorite trait? a homogenous one

28. Favorite music video? what???

29. Favorite time of day? midnight

30. Favorite Tumblr? my own, of course

31. Favorite phone brand? apple

32. Favorite shoe brand? louboutin

33. Favorite fashion style? i wonder what op would answer this question with. "goth"? the avant garde victorian style looks of dior fall/winter 2007 haute couture

34. Favorite pattern? the one i'm noticing in these questions.

35. Favorite gift? the gift of foresight

36. Favorite humor? blood

37. Favorite chip brand? Flavor? kettle brand salt and vinegar peak

38. Favorite band to see live? i'm poor

39. Favorite teacher im an adult

40. Favorite celebrity? im an adult

41. Favorite news station? WHAT

42. Favorite DIY? my mother birthing me

43. Favorite instrument? cello

44. Favorite genre of music? deathcore

45. Favorite season? autumn

46. Favorite experience? level 35 dark grass audino OHKO on lucky egg

47. Favorite shirt? a slightly unbuttoned men's button up, navy blue, sleeves folded at the elbow

48. Favorite bottoms?

myself

49. Favorite interpretation of love? a tongue on my clit and fingers buried in my cunt

50. Favorite existential thought? we create god through our praying to him and the moment we stop, he ceases to exist.

51. Favorite scent? gasoline

52. Favorite human interaction?

prayer.

53. Favorite music genre? didn't you ask me this already

54. Favorite compliment? "you are the most interesting person i've ever met"

55. Favorite insult? "if i were you i would have killed myself a long time ago"

56. Favorite phone app? NOT wordscapes thats for sure

57. Favorite type of phone? my own

58. Favorite reading position? doggy style

59. Favorite sex position? i made that joke too soon. also doggy style

60. Favorite pair of shoes? love thy neighbor

61. Favorite animal? i know for certain you asked me this already. i love my cat

62. Favorite body feature (on yourself)? YESSS a good question. my tits

63. Favorite body feature (on others)? that cock

64. Favorite YouTube video? lasagna cat

65. Favorite YouTuber? i bet you'd like it if i said jerma wouldn't you

66. Favorite meme? is anyone even reading this

67. Favorite Tumblr post? the one i'm making as we speak

68. Favorite typeface? monospaced

69. Favorite selfie? absolutely not

70. Favorite holiday? valentine's day

71. Favorite computer brand? hal

72. Favorite lyrics? "Playing in the swamp of alligator blood Behind our house in the marshy lawn He'd always hold my head Under the water a little too long 'Cause he wanted me to be all guts, no glory "All survivor, no guilt," he said But he calls me his crocodile tears While I'm chained up to the bed"

73. Favorite moment? this one.

74. Favorite advice? my mother once told me to never bluff with a gun.

75. Favorite message you’ve ever received? purity is what you make of it. god loves you all the same.

76. Favorite message you’ve ever sent? i love you more than anything.

77. Favorite outfit? nothing at all.

78. Favorite aesthetic? menhera

79. Favorite musical instrument? hmm

80. Favorite car brand? ha

81. Favorite fandom? ew

82. Favorite emoji? ✨

83. Favorite hobby? poetry

84. Favorite TV show character? jughead riverdaleF JFWEIOJFWEIOFJ

85. Favorite book character? jughead riverdale

86. Favorite movie that’s coming out? how do i know if i like it if it hasn't come out yet

87. Favorite designer brand? versace

88. Favorite dessert? tiramisu

89. Favorite kink? not on main

90. Favorite dance move? raise the dead

91. Favorite diet? cocaine addiction

92. Favorite rap verse? does anyone actually answer these

93. Favorite drug? see question 91

94. Favorite country? City? lebanon

95. Favorite feeling? being choked while i cum

96. Favorite picture on the Internet?

97. Favorite phone and/or computer background? i like a good calendar

98. Favorite weather? overcast snowy

99. Favorite mode of transportation? boat

100. Favorite console? wii was superior

[aboutnothingness]

The moment Freddie realised he was in love with Jim or maybe the first 'I love you' they shared? 😍😍

(I love how you write btw ❤)

Oh thank you darling! I’m so sorry for how dreadfully long this has taken me to write. I hope (if you see this) that you’ll enjoy it! ❤️💖

(many thanks to @just-a-poor-boy-queen for beta reading 🤗)

What did my fingers do before they held him?

What did my heart do, with its love?

– Sylvia Plath, Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices

Freddie is bundled into Jim’s arms, small and warm and achingly beautiful. He is, Jim thinks, the oddest creature.

Freddie had come only a few moments ago, skin glistening with sweat, perfectly flushed. All of that—the divine image of passion, its effects… How can someone be breathtaking and then… utterly vulnerable? This waif in his arms, he was ever so lucky to meet—to be doggedly pursued by, if he’s being honest. But that doesn't detract from what he’s found, who he’s fallen for. A rockstar to the rest of the world, yes, but to him a marvellous man, a sparkling spirit. A mystery.

Jim isn’t stupid. He’s rather observant, in fact, quick-witted. So, he caught on to how to handle Freddie within weeks—he saw through that slick veneer of confidence and self-assurance. Though he’d never say it aloud, never breathe a word of his suspicion to Freddie, it seems to Jim that Freddie is in dire, desperate need of a steady hand and continual reassurance. How, Jim wonders, can he make him happy? Can he keep him, or, rather, will Freddie let Jim keep him, hold him? Not just now in the aftershocks of pleasure, but on rainy afternoons and dew-sweet mornings?

He does want that, come to it. Absurd a notion as it—who, after all, in their right mind would think two men could have anything akin to normal? To waking up together every morning, to going to bed every night—sometimes innocently, too. Well, he’s not entirely mad, but he’s also not entirely sane—look who he’s ended up with, after all. Who he has, admittedly, gone head over heels for.

It’s not like this is a sudden thought, either. No, he was firmly on open terms with Freddie in the beginning—he had to be, what with all of Freddie’s galavanting, his jealous escapades. There had never been an agreement, no definitive talk—men like him, well… they didn’t do that sort of thing, did they? It’s not like with a woman… Though there was a certain manipulation with Freddie—not surprising, plenty of men liked to have their cake and eat it too—it wasn’t like that. A game to be played, yes, but a desperate one—an aspect of careening off a cliff-side –

That was what had given it away, finally—Freddie’s need for stability. Jim wasn’t run off so easily. He didn’t want to be played though, that he wouldn’t stand. Freddie seemed taken aback by that—hackles raised, even—but he’d come around soon enough, found something in Jim worth sacrificing part of himself for; or revealing, perhaps. He is shrouded, draped in endless veils behind the Palace gates—Jim probably doesn’t know the half of it.

Freddie shifts in his arms, gets closer—an impossible feat, entwined as they are, but Freddie manages anyway. He has laid his head on Jim’s shoulder, baby-soft hair brushing Jim’s bare shoulder. Like a feline, those cats Freddie loves, that he misses “dreadfully dear” in bustling, erotic Munich. A soft exhale. Jim runs his fingers through Freddie’s hair—gently, only a whisper of touch. He’s always gentle with Freddie, can’t bear not to be given how everyone treats him. Like he’s disposable, something to be used up and swiftly discarded. Jim won’t do that, can’t, even—it’s not in him.

Freddie is much, much too precious.

He should know it, too, should be told solidly every day. Every day for the rest of his life.

“Freddie?” Freddie shifts, delicate head leaving Jim’s shoulder to peer into his face. Those eyes—those eyes…

“Yes, dear?” Only inquisitive, no longer alarmed.

“I love you.”

A silence—a long, endless pause. The clock on Freddie’s side table has stopped ticking.

“I –“ Freddie stops, eyes betraying fear, uncertainty, a fragile heart, a fontanelle of hope.

“I love you, Freddie.” Jim was gentle before, but now he’s firm. Please believe me, trust me…

“I love you, too.” Quiet and broken—that’s how it comes out. On a silken, shaky breath. Seconds reel, time catches up.

And then Freddie is kissing him, savagely almost, overwhelming—as if they’ve only moments, as if this is their final kiss. Jim’s hand is in that soft-as-a-feather hair and he’s slowing Freddie down, easing him into a kiss that is pure love. No desperation, only sweetness, and an endless, unspoken promise.

I don’t know you, I never will probably, but I’ll love you until you’re sure of it, until all your hurt is cast away. Exiled by my hand.

[marlahey]

under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren.  masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly.  There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary.  You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.”  “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.”  He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan.  “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.”  “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night.  He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?”  You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”  “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.”  You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.”  Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe.  He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror.  Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet.  “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead.  She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied.  You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open.  “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?”  As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.”  “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?”  She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks.  “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson.  “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax.  Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room.  Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.”  Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.”  You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return.  He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.