#I’m yearning for us to craft together side by side - to have those moments where we both bask in each other’s presence without saying a word

[oooohno]

(sorry i saw you post about crocheting and couldn't help myself ily sorry if this is ass forgive me)

Sitting thigh to thigh on the couch next to Sugishita, you tilt your head curiously, putting aside your current project to appraise his. What was once an old t-shirt is about to become something new, the sleeves and collar cut off of it. 

You love this about him - practical in nature, a good man with a heart as big as he is. The love inside of you ebbs and flows like a river, keeping you glued to his every movement. You technically started crafting before he did this evening, plopping down with your crochet bag a few minutes before he sat down next to you with crafts of his own in mind. The two of you have worked in peaceful silence but you find yourself drawn to him, unable to look away.

You watch as he precisely ties each of the flaps into a knot, each end pulled tightly to ensure everything will remain secure once he flips the fabric inside out. The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips, a loose strand of dark hair hanging down his shoulder despite your best attempts to tie it all off of his face before sitting down to begin working.

Catching yourself exhaling dreamily, you glance away to hide your smile, focusing on the rows of stitches sitting in your lap. Keeping from sneaking glances proves difficult the longer you test yourself though and your eyes gradually drift back to him, trimming the excess off of each of the knots that have built the support at the bottom of the work in progress bag.

“It looks good so far, Kyo.” 

He nods, eyes focused on his task. You decide to do the same, finishing the last of the stitches in the row that will officially complete your current project, tying them off just as you feel his eyes on your hands.

“It’s for you.” 

You extend the headband in his direction and he takes it with a sheepish half smile, thumb and forefinger rubbing the soft yarn he knows you selected with him in mind. The practicalities of your nature make him feel all the more supported and loved, safe and secure in a place where he can bloom into the man he truly is beneath the tall dark shadow he carries.

“It’s funny you say that because this…” Hee reaches to his side and picks up the bag, bunching it in his hand. “Is for you.”

He smooths out the cotton and flips it inside out, showing you the design on the front of the bag. An ages old shirt designed for a community wide clean up, little pink stains splattered just above the screen printed graphic. You remember the day you first wore this like yesterday, plucking it from his closet during one of your first sleepovers and 

“Is that the shirt from…?” You ask and Sugishita nods, chuckling. “Yeah, from that first time eating one of Umemiya’s ridiculous watermelons.” 

You lean forward, collecting the tote bag. Taking it between your hands with a grin, you look over the painstakingly perfect cuts and effort put into making it something you’ll continue to enjoy forever, something he created after you fussed at him for making his own life unnecessarily hard. 

“Remember how he had to haul it in on his shoulder?” 

Kyotaro asks you with a chuckle, sliding the headband you made for him onto his head. It’s a better fit than you expected. The strand that was dangling over his shoulder is tucked back and away, now hanging down his back. Setting the bag aside, you crawl across the sofa on your knees and position yourself on his lap with your calves tucked beneath your knees on either side of his legs.

“I remember what a mess we made eating it.” Tucking a few errant strands of hair beneath the headband, you beam up at him while he nods in agreement. “Stained this shirt so bad you could never wear it again.” His dark eyes dart from the bag back to your pretty face, his hands naturally falling to your hips to hold you in place on his thighs. “Maybe this could be the next best thing.”

Giggling, you lean forward and kiss him, grateful for those big hands to steady you. Another kiss, and another, and just a few more and you have to break away to catch your breath.

“The headband works,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss you again. “Keeps it out of my face.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes your thighs flex on either side of him, itching for comfort and relief, all too aware of what that look means. A few beats pass and you find yourself being gently placed on your back on the couch, thighs spread and pajama shorts pulled halfway down.

“Let’s see who is the messier eater, Nana.” He taunts, hair pulled off of his face and giving you a view at the slope of his nose and the smirk on his face. “Can’t ruin this the same way you ruined that,” he looks upward toward the headband and downward to the bag which draws a giggle from you that is quickly swallowed by a salacious moan when his face dips between your thighs.

Hdnddndjbdudbeudue ueueueueueue KENDALL!!!! What if I sob and cry and whine and wail and yowl and DIE?!?! You can’t just drop this in my inbox, my fragile little heart can’t take all this 😭

I LOVE YOU!!!!!

[yandere-sins]

Tough Love

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

Another lovely anonymous commission, acting as a prequel to this story! Thank you for commissioning me again ♥

Characters: Yandere!Dragon!Shinguji Korekiyo x Boyfriend!Gokuhara Gonta x Reader Words: 3282 Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Threatening, Body distortion

Gently and mindfully closing the door behind him, Korekiyo took a deep breath. Having brought both of his new humans into their respective rooms, it was now time to wait and see what would happen. He didn’t think of himself as too harsh when he grabbed them off the ground, carrying them off to his castle. But even so, the shock and stress might have caused them to blackout. However, even if there were minor injuries, Korekiyo was confident he could treat them by now. Kiyo’s steps echoed through the silent corridors of the castle, his right hand brushing over the doors lined up on the wall. Everything was prepared and ready for them; there was nothing they’d lack while staying in this castle.

It had taken years for him to become so comfortable with what he was doing, his first few tries having ended in disaster. Never again did he want to repeat what happened, even if that meant he had to be more careful, more prepared, and more distant from his subjects. Part of him wished to be closer to them more than ever. Still, year-long experience had shown that humans and dragons could never coexist peacefully. He would never be able to go into a city without fearing getting speared upon sight, even in his humanoid form. To some degree, he could understand their fear. All of their experiences with dragons had been negative. But at the same time, he had never wanted anything more than to learn from the humans and understand them like no one of his kind had before. Compared to him, humans were so fragile and easily withered, like flowers in the winter. And Kiyo was the frost, yearning for sunny days.

Perhaps this time, it would be different, seeing that there were two of them. His previous studies had shown that connections between humans were vital for their well-being. At the same time, his presence as a dragon didn’t seem to have the same influence on them. They wouldn’t accept his companionship or love, no matter how well or bad he treated them. But now that he had the chance to observe what it was like, perhaps he’d be able to use it in the future as well. It would be interesting to see and compare those two to the knowledge he had acquired so far about singular humans, even if it would take time and patience - two things he had plenty of. Nonetheless, he knew he couldn’t be too lenient with them. Too many had opposed him before; he couldn’t risk losing these two because he was growing soft. Tough love, that’s what the humans called it, right? 

It would be exactly what he’d use on them.

Your head was still throbbing when you opened your eyes. It didn’t come as a surprise, but it was awful nonetheless. No one liked waking up feeling like shit. Warm sunlight shone upon you as you turned over in your soft bed, clutching your sides when you felt the sharp pain left on you after being grabbed by a dragon. Had you been rescued? Were you even alive? The images were still vivid in your mind; the chaos, the screams, and Gonta’s hand holding yours as you two were running away.

Gonta!

Sitting up straight, you instantly regretted being hasty. Of course, your body couldn’t keep up with the sudden movements after all that happened, but your mind grew frantic as you thought about your boyfriend. Straining your eyes, you made out the layout of the unfamiliar room you were in, furrowing your brows as the questions in your head multiplied. It was a nice room, probably the nicest one you had ever seen in your life. Finely crafted amenities, vivid colors, and pristine conditions - just like what you’d imagine a fairytale would look like. Where were you? What happened after you blacked out? Was Gonta taken too? Had someone rescued you and put you in this room so you could recover? Looking down at you, you still had your usual clothes on you, even if they were sullied with dirt. Why would someone put you in such a fancy bed this way?

It almost made you feel bad to sit in the clean white sheets with your dirty clothes, but it wasn’t the time to worry about how hard it would be to wash the stains out of the sheets. You lifted your legs off the mattress, trying to stand up, feeling the backlash of being knocked out. Even though it felt weird and a bit painful, you could determine with relief that nothing was broken. Taking weak steps, you made your way towards the exit of your room to call out to someone, ask what was going on. And maybe, find the one person you wanted to be held by most.

The door swung open quickly as you pushed the handle, no pulling or tearing like you were used to from the sometimes stuck doors all around your village. Everything seemed so immaculate. It was almost intimidating. Stepping out, you found yourself in a long hallway filled with doors. Paintings hung from the walls of places you had never seen. Even if you guessed before that this was no small house, you were still amazed by how endless it seemed to be. However, even if there were traces of living - books and plants decorating the hall - you couldn’t see anyone. “H-Hello?” you asked, your voice hoarse from screaming so much when the dragon captured you. 

No response.

Overcome with a weird feeling when no one answered you, you tried again without success. A mansion as big as this should have servants running around, right? Meeting anyone would calm the anxious rumbling in your stomach, but this way, you didn’t know where to go or what to do first. Suddenly, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approach you from the front, and you noticed the intricately decorated door. Before you could step up to it, it swung open, revealing a very familiar face. The shudder of your name fell of Gonta’s lips before he hugged you tightly, and you sunk into his arms while a heavy stone fell off your shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he sighed, relieved, sniffling a little. 

It took a while before you two could let go of each other, but you were so thankful for feeling his warmth, knowing he really was there with you. No matter how strange and scary the situation had seemed at first, knowing you weren’t alone made everything better. “Do you… still remember anything that happened after… you know?” you asked as you separated from him, and Gonta’s expression turned apologetic as he shook his head. “It’s okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. Gonta gave a heavy sigh as he leaned into your affection, and you could feel how relieved he was too. “I thought… I really thought…” he mumbled, his face twitching in pain.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You didn’t want him to think about these things. About the ‘what if’s and the ‘could have been’. Hell, you didn’t even want to think about these things yourself, and you knew that they’d only cause you both suffering. All that mattered was that you were reunited and a little less lonely in your confusion. 

It came as a surprise when a sudden clap interrupted your moment of togetherness, and you looked to where it was coming from alerted. It was strange, and you hadn’t noticed anyone before, but a little down the hallway, the figure of a man was sitting on a delicate white bench, a closed book in hand. He slowly looked up, your eyes crossing. Never before had you seen such a pristine-looking human, very different energy coming from him. Having spent all your life in your village, you found it hard to discern if this was simply the aura of a noble or something else entirely. 

“I am glad to see you woke up,” he spoke as he stood up from the little bench located between two doors. “I was worried about you two.”

“Where- Where are we?” was the first question on your mind, your hand gripping a bit tighter into Gonta’s shirt as the man approached. 

“My castle. Your home,” was the curt answer you received, however, the man didn’t stop walking, eventually passing the both of you who stepped out of the way respectfully. “What do you mean?” you replied, but the man kept walking down the long corridor as if he had heard nothing. 

“You may explore as much as you want. I hope it will be to your liking,” the man stated, finally coming to a halt in front of one of the many doors, opening it before giving a short glance back towards you and Gonta and ultimately disappearing inside what laid behind. You heard the click of a lock as the door closed and looked at Gonta helplessly. “What did he mean?” 

However, Gonta didn’t have an answer for that either. “I’m not sure, but Gonta doesn’t like it…” 

You had to agree with your boyfriend, who seemed to grow more anxious by the second. Taking his hand in yours, you squeezed it reassuringly before suggesting, “Let’s look around, maybe we’ll find a way out,” and he nodded, giving you a squeeze back.

Many doors wouldn’t budge as you tried to open them, but the few rooms you were able to enter didn’t help you two much on your pursuit for a way out. One led to a long banquet hall, only containing a seemingly endless table surrounded by more chairs than you could count. Another one hosted more books than anyone would ever be able to read in a lifetime. As wondrous as it was, all of these rooms didn’t help soothe your own anxiety, much less Gonta’s. It became more evident with every passing chance that something was wrong, even if neither of you wanted to admit it. You just held hands tighter, hoping that the next door would be the key to go outside. 

“Look!” Gonta called out as you searched through the office you two had stumbled upon. Perhaps it was just your own desperation, but you wanted there to be something in here to help, even if it was just a key for one of the locked doors or a map of the layout of the ‘castle’ you were in. But even after skipping through the books, some too hard to read and in questionable languages, there were no clues left behind that would point to your whereabouts. As if this place was isolated from everything. Stepping up to Gonta, he pushed away the curtain for you, big windows being revealed behind them. 

“Oh…” you gasped as you looked outside, seeing how high up you two were. It might not have been an exaggeration after all when the man told you it was his castle, considering there was a tall defense wall surrounding the building and endless fields of gold-shimmering wheat surrounding it. Inside the walls, you could only see the flourishing gardens lying beneath, decorated by colorful flowers and a small river bed winding through it. Just like everything inside the castle, it was astonishingly beautiful with flowers you had never seen before, but it didn’t deter you two from the main point of interest.

“That’s… a big wall,” Gonta mumbled thoughtfully, and you agreed with a shake of your head. Not only was it tall, it also consisted of firm, solid blocks of stone, without even a hint of aging on them. Of course, you couldn’t tell how good the condition of the outside of the wall was, but just from looking at the inside, you figured it would be hard to find a nick in it. “Do you see an exit somewhere?” you asked, stretching your neck to look as far as possible in hopes of seeing a tower or the huge gats you imagined castle walls to have.

“There is none,” a voice rang out from behind, and you turned around, startled to see the same mysterious man from before approach. Neither of you had heard the door open, and yet here he was as if he appeared from nothing. “When my humans kept trying to get out of the castle, I put a boulder in front of the exit. Now, only I can come and leave as I please.”

“Who are you?” you yelled at him, standing protectively in front of Gonta, who flinched when you raised your voice. However, the man’s words rang alarm bells in your head, and the bad feeling you had before intensified. Something about him wasn’t right. Even if it was just a slight difference, he didn’t appear as human as you would have liked him to be. Especially now that you got a better look at him, your gaze clearer than when you had just woken up, he simply felt off to you. 

“I am…” His voice trailed off as he hesitated to finish the sentence, bringing a finger to his lips in contemplation before shaking his head almost as if he was disappointed. “Have you not thought about it yet? Very well, I shall tell you then. I am who brought you here. You may call me Korekiyo.”

“Brought us… here?” you muttered, the sudden grip on your shoulder startling you, and you looked back at Gonta, who was shaking as if he had seen a ghost. Oh, you realized, your eyes widening in shock and surprise as you gasped, “The dragon!” before quickly covering your mouth with your hand.

“What-” you croaked, as you were left speechless momentarily. You felt your pulse quickening, but having Gonta behind you gave you back some strength and composure to not panic. In the very worst case, you two would make a run for it. Even Gonta knew how to act quickly, and his strength would not be useless when trying to get out. The only important thing was that you two stuck together no matter what. You could make it if you were together.

“What do you want from us?!” you yelled accusatory, brushing your hand over Gonta’s on your shoulder in comfort for both of you. “Why did you bring us here?! I- I demand to be let go, right now!”

“Why would I?” was the man’s - dragon’s? - simply answer, and he stepped forward, effectively cornering you two between the window and the office table. “You’re here to keep me company, and I can’t wait-” Holding out his hand, you saw it coming too close to comfort to your face, making you flinch away from it and bringing you and Gonta into a backwards stumble. “-to see how you’ll do,” he finished his speech, leaving you none the wiser. His hand remained in the air for a moment longer before the dragon curled it into a fist, taking another step forward.

“We’ll get out!” you announced. You had no plan and no idea how you’d manage such a deed, but neither would you accept whatever your captor planned for you two so ominously. 

A strange gleam appeared in the dragon’s eyes as you spoke rashly about your plans, and with another step, he was in front of you. Perhaps it was just a trick of your eyes, but you thought to see him change as you looked at him, a wave of shimmering scales erupting from his skin before disappearing again and his face deforming briefly into a much more grotesque form. It left you speechless until you felt both of Gonta’s hands clawing into your shoulders before he pulled you away while another hand wrapped around your chin. 

“Don’t forget at whose mercy you are.”

He was so close now that you could feel his hot breath against your skin, your body instinctively starting to shiver. Even if you pretended to be strong and courageous, your subconscious knew better as to not fear the predator in front of you. Even if his fingers were soft, claws were protruding from his nails, and his grip was merciless. It resembled when he grabbed you and dragged you off as a full-fledged dragon before you lost consciousness, a memory you’d rather not remember. 

Gonta was the one to break you two apart, his arm wrapping around you as he pulled you back and close against him in an effort to protect you. You couldn’t see his face, but with how desperately he was holding on to you, you realized that he was beyond worried after witnessing this exchange. There was only a small gap between you and the dragon now, but his touch did not linger as he looked up at Gonta, who quickly began to stammer an apology. “We- We won’t! So please…” 

It was unclear if this satisfied the dragon, but he let off, crossing his arms behind his back again. “As long as you know how you should behave, it’s fine.”

Way too quickly, the dragon composed himself, not even heaving a heavy sigh despite the displeasure of being confronted by you. The deformities you thought to witness stopped, as well as the shimmering gleam of scales. He was almost back to looking like a ‘normal’ human, despite being the farthest lifeform from it. “You may explore the open rooms and sleep in the ones you woke up. Or share them, I don’t mind. I’m sure you’ll find the amenities quite comfortable and interesting, but do let me know if you need anything.”

Turning on his heel, he seemed unbothered to turn his back to you, even though you were seething with the desire to ram something into his vulnerable body at that moment. Part of you was scared, but the other was angry and confused, wondering what would happen and why you were here in the first place. If only… you hadn’t survived. Maybe it would have been better that way.

But you couldn’t think like this. Not when there was another person who needed you.

Supported by Gonta’s arms, you tried to stand on your wobbly feet alone when the dragon suddenly turned around to you again to add something to his words, making you flinch as his piercing gaze fell on you especially again. “Make sure you come when I call,” he spoke demandingly, with no room to argue. This was an absolute order, one you wished you could ignore, but it only amplified the fear inside you.

When the door finally closed behind Korekiyo, you collapsed, unable to keep your composure as tears of shock filled your eyes. Gonta sunk to the ground with you. The only comfort he could offer was holding you tightly in his embrace, his head dropping on top of yours. At least for a little bit, you could hide inside his arms, but a million questions kept coming while you tried to calm down. You wished you could just go to bed and sleep, the nightmare finally being over when you opened your eyes again. But Gonta’s warmth reminded you this was no dream, only making you more agitated.

“What do we do now,” Gonta muttered into your hair, and you were so desperate to give him a positive answer, for a moment, you managed to lie to yourself.

“We’ll find a way. Maybe… maybe he’ll just let us go after a bit.”

It was the best you could do, but a lie nonetheless. You didn’t know what would happen, but the only thing you have in this situation was hope. 

Hope that it wouldn’t be as bad as the scenarios playing in your head.

[theresthesnitch]

As long as you love me

A/N: Another entry for @harryandginuary Bingo.

This is definitely not what this prompt was trying to get us to write, but I started typing and... Well, you'll see. I'm also dying to hear your thoughts on this, so leave me a comment, send me a message, write an angry post.

Read it (and comment and kudos!) here on AO3

Prompt: O 68. You invited me to your brother’s/sister’s wedding as a plus one because we’re hella best friends but we end up making out at the afterparty and now everyone thinks we’re together so ...you want to go out for a drink sometime? Try this whole couple thing out?

***

“Harry, would you like to dance?”

Harry looked up at Ginny from his reclined position in the chair next to her brothers, and she saw the shadow of pain cross his face before he broke out in a bright smile again. She didn’t think George or Charlie noticed, even sitting a few feet away from him. He was a much better actor than she had expected him to be, all things considered.

Harry took her hand, and she turned and led him out onto the dance floor. Facing him, Ginny placed her hand on his shoulder, and, still clutching her other hand, Harry hesitantly touched her waist. As they started to move together, Ginny thought that her family and all the guests around them would only see what they wanted - the two of them so in love and dancing the night away. Ginny ducked her head and closed her eyes, avoiding seeing the smile on her mother’s face or the whispers that passed between Angelina and Fleur. It was too hard when her heart lay broken in her chest.

What they did not know, could not know, was that this was the first time she had been close to Harry in nearly two months.

“It’s a wonderful wedding,” she said, trying to do something to break the tension between them. “Hermione’s dress is just beautiful.”

“It is. She’s always been beautiful.” It didn’t sound like Harry was talking about Hermione at that moment. His voice was hard, though when she looked at his face, there was no trace of it. He wore the mask well.

“They seem really happy.” Her voice was quiet now, the questions and the uncertainty that still lingered between them seeping into her words.

They were quiet for a long time, moving slowly, smiles plastered on their faces to keep up the charade. The last two months hung between them, the proverbial hippogriff in the room. Two months since they had broken up, torn apart by competing work schedules that kept them from seeing each other more than a night every few weeks. Neither one of them had fallen out of love, but neither wanted to commit to a relationship where they were more alone than they were together.

They had decided to keep it a secret for now, so close to Ron and Hermione’s wedding that it seemed unfair to spoil the mood. Perhaps it was just further proof of how much it wasn’t working between them that no one had even noticed. Not seeing each other in those two months, dodging questions when pressed by family, had been easier than the last several months of their relationship.

Even still, Ginny’s heart yearned to pull Harry closer, kiss him and claim him again. She loved him - she had always loved him and loved him still. It was intrinsically unfair that, after all they had been through during the war and since, they couldn’t make it work. Love simply wasn’t enough.

“I’ve been asked three times tonight when I’m going to propose to you.” Harry’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “It probably would be more, except Bill and Charlie were there when George sprung it on me.”

Ginny swallowed hard past a lump in her throat. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry responded with a sad lift to his voice. “I winked and smiled in what I hope was a mysterious and misleading way.”

“I’m sure it was fine. No one seems to realize.” She swallowed again, and looked away over Harry’s shoulder, where she caught the watery look on her mother’s face as she watched the two of them dance. “While we were all getting ready, mum and Hermione kept making sly comments about what my dress would look like and how my hair would look on my wedding day. I kept trying to refocus on Hermione and her dress, but Hermione said it helped distract her from her nerves.”

“We have to tell them. We can’t keep hiding this.”

“I know.” Ginny laid her head on Harry’s shoulder, hoping the gesture looked intimate rather than as desperate as she felt. “But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Harry agreed. His hand slipped from the spot it held lightly on her waist around to the small of her back, and he drew her in closer to him. She did not pull away.

They continued dancing, even after the song ended. A new song started up and neither one of them made any move to break apart. The slow swaying and the close press of their bodies allowed Ginny to almost forget the deep pit of sadness inside her belly.

It was hard, when your reasons to be apart were not that you wanted to be but that you simply could not be otherwise. They avoided breaking things off for months, in spite of the fact that they both saw the problem, but there just hadn’t been time for them to really connect. Either Ginny was traveling with the Harpies or Harry was squirreled away with the Aurors hunting some leftover Death Eater faction. They so often couldn’t even write letters because an owl would give away Harry’s position.

Eventually, they were getting updates on each other from the rest of the Weasleys on their forever alternating weekends back home, or little messages left in their kitchen, and they would go weeks without seeing each other in more than passing. It was not conducive to a healthy relationship, as much as they both wanted it to work.

There was no massive fight. They didn’t hurl hateful comments at each other. They didn’t shout or yell or scream. There was only the final vocalizations that this wasn’t working anymore, and the quiet negotiation of how to split their shared lives. They agreed to keep it quiet until after the wedding, and Ginny decided to stay at her room in Harpies’ headquarters until then. In the space of a twenty minute conversation, they were done.

Ginny chanced a glance up to Harry, and found him intently looking back at her. His green eyes were shimmering, and though he looked happy and at peace, she knew him too well to miss the storm behind his eyes. She reached up and placed a hand on his face, cupping his jaw and running her finger over his cheek. He leaned into her hand slightly, closing his eyes and accepting the small touch. Without thinking, she stretched up on her toes and placed her lips on his in a soft, chaste kiss.

A heartbeat after their lips met, she felt Harry freeze against her, and she realized what she had done. They may have put on a brave and loving facade for her family, but they had a silent agreement against such intimate gestures. It was too hard, and too easy, to slip up.

She started to pull away, already crafting an excuse or an apology in her head, when Harry began moving again and kissed her back. He moved quickly, with a heat to his kiss that Ginny recognized and met in kind. It was quickly becoming the kind of kiss that would no longer be appropriate in public - on the dance floor, in front of her family - but Ginny didn’t care. Harry was kissing her again, and she was kissing him in return. It didn’t even matter that they had broken up -

Ginny broke the kiss suddenly. They had broken up. They didn’t get to kiss like this anymore. They didn’t get to kiss anymore.

“Sorry,” she muttered, pressing her face to his shoulder. Harry didn’t respond.

They danced the rest of the song, and when it ended, Harry stepped away, gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She watched him walk to the edge of the dance floor, clapping Ron on the back and throwing a smile at Hermione as he walked by the spot they were dancing. It was lucky that they were so wrapped up in one another, Ginny thought, because there was no way otherwise that Hermione would miss the look on Harry’s face. He slipped out the door of the marquee and disappeared into the night.

Ginny wandered over by the drink table, grabbing another as she casually circumnavigated her way around the room and out the same door Harry just left through. She didn’t see him immediately outside, but followed part instinct and part inane understanding of Harry toward the makeshift quidditch pitch. As she walked through the row of trees, she found him pacing furiously back and forth. He glanced up when she walked in, but did not slow his steps. She leaned back against a tree, waiting for him to speak.

“You can’t kiss me.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“I mean it. We aren’t together anymore, and that means that you don’t get to kiss me.”

“I know, Harry.”

“Do you? Because we just kissed in front of your whole family, and we’re about to go tell them that we are over, and you’ve got a lot of angry brothers that are going to hold that kiss against me.”

“I’ll tell them that it was me.”

“It won’t matter.” Harry was still pacing, speaking as fast as his feet were moving. “It won’t matter because I kissed you and they’re all going to wonder why we were kissing like that if we aren’t together. They would be right, too, because why are we broken up when kissing you feels like that? I thought I knew, but then you kissed me, and Ginny, I don’t know which way is up anymore.”

Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, his feet staggered between hers, their legs pressed together, and his hands were on either side of her face, tangled in her hair, drawing her up until her lips were a breath away from his. His piercing green eyes were fixed on hers, and she couldn’t look away.

He spoke softly now, so quiet that she stilled her breathing to hear him even though he was only a bit away. “I know that we broke up, and we are here just as friends and to keep this farce up for your family, but then you kissed me like that and…” He trailed off, and his eyes flicked down to her lips again. “Tell me why we can’t try again. We can make a go of this again. We can try harder. We can do it.”

“Harry,” she breathed out his name on a sigh, and wrapped her hands around his wrists. “It’s not that I don’t love you or don’t want to do this. But we tried, and it didn’t work. That kiss in there doesn’t change the fact that our schedules don’t work. We never see each other, and I can’t be in a relationship with only the memory of you.”

Harry’s eyes closed, as though not seeing her would stop her argument from being true. “Then we make a change.”

“What change, Harry?” she asked. “Am I supposed to quit being a Harpy? Are you going to quit being an Auror? We’ve chosen these paths, or they’ve chosen us, and they just don’t work together.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you will what?”

“Quit. I could quit.”

“Harry…”

“No, really, I could. I don’t need the money. I don’t need to do this job. I put in my time hunting Voldemort. I could quit.”

She pulled his hands from her face, and kissed the inside of his wrists before dropping their hands between them. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No, Harry, and I wouldn’t let you.” Ginny looked up into his eyes again. “You love what you do. You wouldn’t be happy if you quit, and I don’t want to be the reason you aren’t happy.”

“You are the reason right now.”

Ginny closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. “I know, but it will get better. I can’t let you change who you are for me.”

“Even if I want to?”

“If I did, you would regret it. Maybe not immediately, but you would resent me, eventually.”

He didn’t respond. For a moment, they stood together, heads pressed together and hands linked between them. It felt like goodbye, though neither one of them dared say it. If they didn’t say it, there was still a chance, a hope, that maybe it wasn’t goodbye forever.

Ginny felt herself pull away, and before she could see whatever silent message his eyes were sending her way, she turned around and walked away.

[septiembrre]

I'm a little late but I just saw your post from a year ago about latinx rep in good girls and its sad reflecting back on it and how the show could've done better. Rio was just another stereotype, I hate how he was ambitiously latino and there was just no connection to his culture. Was he first, 2nd, or 3rd Gen? If he was 1st Gen it didn't make sense to have the family speak English. One thing that always annoyed me is how OOC he was at times and how the writers purposely made him out to be like some brown aggressive misogynistic man. They didn't bother making him complex. In a way I'm glad the show got canceled. As a Mexican woman the way Rio was written was racist.

Wah, I’ve been sitting on answering your ask. I wanted to tease your ask apart and respond to it sentence by sentence. But... my brain kept rechazandolo, so now I have feelings dump instead.

Since Good Girls ended, I have been parsing through how I feel about S4 and GG overall — sometimes more positively, sometimes more negatively. Then, I flip to reminding myself it’s not that serious (it's just tv! this is supposed to be my leisure activity!). Then, I waffle back to reflecting.

So, no textual analysis just feels and whining under the cut. I know folks are still mourning the end of the show and I don't want to yuck anyone's yum. Tagging with #ggnegativity.

My short answer is that Good Girls is my beloved, sometimes joyful, sometimes hurtful, complicated little show. Even now that we’re no longer getting new episodes I’m wary of sifting through the information we have about Rio because it’s a mess and it seems like a lot of his character was poorly thought out (ahem, all those dumb messages from Bill Krebs confirming multiple instances of lack of intentionality or care!).

I say this because I was tempted to start responding to you by riffing off of your comment with, “y'know, now that you say that, I think he’s third or fourth gen…”, pero who cares? And the point was never specifically about what gen he is, or even more specifically about... lol, I was going to say it doesn't matter what nationality he was, they just needed to pick one. Ugh, but the wording of that is too glib. The lack of intentionality behind these details feels sanitized to me, it feels very white gaze, it feels lazy.

However, I could have forgiven a lot of this weak character construction if his baseline, plot-related characterization on-screen was more consistent. But, Rio was often used as a plot device in a way that often fell flat for me, a weekly recurring bogeyman whether his antagonism made sense or not. On one hand, I feel for the creative team, because I think they were in a hard place, trying to avoid romanticizing Rio, and trying to seemingly backtrack the sexualization of him in Season 2, but... Idk, it's complicated.

Retrospectively, it’s sitting with me how much Good Girls is rooted in whiteness. While it's something I discerned before (lol, most obviously with 2x13 and in S3 with Lucy's disposability), you know how some shows get to their third or fourth season and finally start investing in their marginalized characters? It’s a crappy thing to hold out hope for, they're crumbs! But, I was. And we did get some Rio worldbuilding. But, ultimately, it felt weak to me -- under-conceptualized or under-worked.

For example, I liked Nick as a Bigger Bad who drove Rio and Beth together. I also thought that Nick's non-existent moral code was a lovely foil to Rio's, and that this contrast humanized Rio in a way that he needed. It also cast a new light on Rio's behavior of the earlier seasons, outside of Beth's perception in a way that I thought was healthy and needed. Great, meaty stuff! However, Nick and Rio's relationship came across as shallow to me. There really did not seem to be a lived-in quality to their scenes. The show really struggled with that element overall -- even with the three lead protagonists (their decades-long history with each other and interactions between their families being largely absent). I wonder why they made that choice.

It's strange because on the flip side we got a hefty amount of contextualization for MLM guy Vance and Annie's bf Kevin... Even that cop who Mick killed! All white men, too.

Me da pena.

Or maybe the thing that bothers me is that those scenes between Nick and Rio didn't center Rio's perspective effectively? Despite the one-on-one scenes being outside of Beth's framing (Rio being a secondary character typically tethered to Beth's story arc), there still was a lot of distance between Rio and the viewer? Like I think of Vance in his kitchen with his wife and child, and the way we as viewers were brought into that to empathize with him, and I think of the distance of Nick+Rio boxing scene or the scenes at the bar. Argh! It's hard to pinpoint without the textual analysis I feel too grumpy to do. It was such a narrative choice to keep Rio aloof and I side-eye it.

Anyway --

Overall, the writing room/show creators/decision-makers didn't seem to consider Latine/x/a/o viewers throughout the crafting of Good Girls and that sucks. It really feels like I'm being told to conform to the white gaze in watching the show, and after 2x13 that makes me feel prickly and defensive. A part of me yearns to do a rewatch to map Rio’s character (and inconsistencies) but I still yield joy from Good Girls — it’s been my main comfort story during the pandemic. I also rendered joy from Season 4 specifically — some of those scenes between the leads at the end were phenom!!

I am leaning into what's bringing me joy right now, so I feel hesitant to stew in critique, even while I also feel some sort of need to make sense of the hurtful racializations. I have a compulsion to write them all down on the same post or list -- somewhere where I can see them all at once and understand. But, at the moment, it’s not a use of my time and energy that feels good. Opting into fics and writing is bringing me a lot of joy during hard times.

I have to close with one final whine, that I am SO fatigued with television options right now. I find myself desperately wishing for more TV out there whose priority audience isn't only white folks. Good Girls isn't alone in its treatment of Latinx characters, or alone in mishandling characters of color or gay characters, or prioritization of empathy for white het male characters, but certainly, creating something more thoughtful shouldn't be so hard.

[moonchildsaurora]

When Monsters come out to Play

✤ Trickster!Hongjoong + reader (feat. Wooyoung) ✤ genre: Dead by Daylight AU // horror, angst (not really tho), survival mode ✤ t/w: sfw, rated M, contains: swearing/depictions of violence + blood/unhinged minds/death scene/mentions of weapons ✤ count: 1.9k+

a/n - have y’all seen Trickster from the dbd game? I would betray everyone in game for that man. So this piece is heavily inspired by that character & his lore, my mind is still reeling that the creators really did THAT. A few tweaks from the canonverse but hope you guys enjoy this wild ride! 💙

✛ play these vibes: Sub Urban - ‘Cirque’, P!ATD - ‘Emperor's New Clothes‘, Gi-DLE - ‘Oh my god’ ✛

Neon lights streaked across his face and dark ash hair, illuminating the silver that hung around his neck. Sharp kohl-lined eyes fixed on the two other figures dancing heartily around the karaoke booth, singing at the top of their lungs. Although one could argue that their borderline screams could be passable as so.

However, it was music to his ears and a hunger woke from its deep slumber. This feeling that was on the crisp of being foreign to him because he has not yearned for something this badly for quite some time now.

“I need it.”

The shrill cadence of the laughter from the figure who nearly tripped over his own feet, in a harmonious duet with the other’s. A soprano-like noise escaped your mouth when you fell from grace unto the lap of your newly-acquired friend who narrowly moved his wild berries cider out of harm’s way.

“I want it.”

You missed the rapacious glint in his eyes as you shouted at the other howling male, who was now in a heap on the couch and microphone dangling from his hand. You turned to apologise, with a peck on his cheek, to your angel of music. As you had so kindly dubbed him upon your first meeting. Peals of laughter fell from your lips when his onyx-dipped nails squeezed your sensitive sides. He was buzzing, not just from his drink but the sudden inspiration to create once more.

The spotlight has returned and centre stage beckons him home.

Yes, he wanted it.

“All of it.”

“C’mon! This way,” Wooyoung heaved sharply, tugging you with haste round the corner.

His grip on your hand, though sweaty, was desperately firm. Survival instincts had kicked in for the both of you, forcing adrenaline to fuel your exhausted bodies to run.

Agonised screams plagued the foggy darkness around your surroundings. Another fallen prey in this twisted game of cat-and-mouse you were forced to participate in. You didn’t know exactly how many others were stuck in the abandoned industrial site either. One minute Wooyoung and you were having a late night study at the local library, before the lights cut and so did your consciousness.

A manic laugh that echoed through the grounds and jerk of your arm wrenched you from your hazy thoughts.

Wooyoung held you close to him, signalling for you to stay hushed. He peered around the metal storage container to see if the coast was clear, not that the fog allowed anything to be visible more than beyond a few feet ahead. So he had to rely on sound and visual tracking of any sudden movements.

The dead silence was unnerving.

You had barely stepped out around your hiding spot once you’ve both deemed it safe when Wooyoung hissed in panic, “Watch out!”

You were dragged to the hard ground, scraping your palms on the gravel before what felt like a bee zipping past the crown of your head. The metallic thud caught your attention enough to swerve to look behind you. Where your head had been just a few seconds ago, now had a neon blade embedded right through the steel panel.

“Fuck! He’s coming, we need to go. NOW!”

The manic laughter seemed to be echoing all over your surroundings now, and not being able to pinpoint the direction whilst having to run blindly in the dark probably wasn’t the ideal plan for your survival.

Your breath hitched when Wooyoung’s hand suddenly slipped out from yours.

“Wooyoung!” you cried out for him.

“RUN!”

A forceful shove pushed you away from the initial direction you were heading towards, causing you to be thrown off balance and stumble onto the damp ground. The sounds of more cussing and a scuffle could be heard. You scrambled backwards, away from the source.

Scarce beams of moonlight filtered through the holes in the roof provided limited light to help you navigate your way around, using your sense of touch to avoid running into objects. Your mind screamed for you to turn back for Wooyoung yet the logical side of you knew he’d be mad at you for not using the window of opportunity he so freely gave to escape.

“He knows how to fight, he can handle himself.”

False comfort was the only thing you could offer yourself then. Skidding round a corner, you almost bowled someone over had they not latched onto your shoulders first.

“Please! You have to help me!”

The young woman was hysterical and dug her nails into your skin as she had her iron grip on you. Seeing her up close you were quick to notice both her arms and clothes were stained dark crimson, whether or not that was her own – you couldn’t tell.

“He’s going to kill me! He’s going to KILL ME!”

You winced as her voice became progressively louder. That fool was going to give your location away at this rate. You tried to wriggle your way out of her hold, which proved to be a wrong move, for she threw herself against you and shook you silly.

“Get me out! I didn’t do anything wrong. Why is he doing this?!” The tears that cascaded down her grimy face mixed in with the blood and left trails of red.

She sure was getting on your nerves.

“Shut it! You’re goin-“

“There you are my little mouse.”

The both of you froze. Like deer in headlights upon hearing that sickly silky voice purr out from the shadows. The young woman immediately drew back and hid behind you, as if you were a pillar of defence against this predator. Her hands that still clutched onto the back of your top trembled so intensely, you wouldn’t be surprised if the seams were to split open.

Hongjoong took his sweet time stepping towards you. Twirling those neon blades deftly around his fingers, metal glinting dangerously whenever it caught the moonlight. The scattered beams acted as spotlights and this was his stage to run. You’d thought a paint job had gone wrong for the mess of reds, both fresh and dried, marking him from his obnoxiously bright coat to his bare toned torso to the heels of his boots.

“Aren’t you having fun?” giggled Hongjoong, making a gesture to his foggy domain by spreading his arms wide out.

“What do you want from us?! You monster!”

Her cries added fuel to the already burning flames, ironically extinguishing out the last of your patience.  

“Call me something I don’t already know darling.”

The tip of his tongue darted out to lick the blood smear at the corner of his mouth.

That playful grin that had grown to be your favourite on him now looked so sinister. Hongjoong pointed one of the blades directly at you, “It’s time for you to join your little friend, I’m sure he’s already dying to reunite with you.”

“Don’t leave! Please don’t leave me!” the woman buried her face in your back. You didn’t reply to the woman but reached behind to firmly grasp her wrists. She mistook this for reassurance and to your relief, dropped her hands from your back.

Oh, how easy was it to lay the bait.

“What did you do to Wooyoung?”

Hongjoong might’ve expected you to be angry or even hurt, considering you three grew to be somewhat friends over time. Wooyoung and you had taken him under your wings when he was new to the town, and this was how he repaid you? Instead, you held his gaze and your voice didn’t waver when the question came out. If he was surprised he did not show it.

“I wanted a sample, of his music. It didn’t hurt…much…to get it!”

And the crazed twinkle reappeared in his foreign golden orbs, replacing the gentler brown eyes you were used to.

“And I want one from you too! In fact, both you and Wooyoung will be the main features of my next musical composition. I always save the best for the last, but…”

Hongjoong unfolded a fan of blades and drew his arm back into a pre-throw stance, “I’m just a tad impatient tonight and you’ve made me wait long enough angel.”

You found yourself facing down several blades making a beeline for you. To hell with the theatrics if Hongjoong thought he had waited long enough. You had done yours far longer, for the pure satisfaction of being able to rip the limelight away from one who thrives in it – in the perfect moment.

Within the few milliseconds you had left, you harshly yanked what you still had within your grasp to the front.

The applause died down and silence consumed the area.

Hongjoong tilted his head with curiosity and eyes widened by a miniscule at the scene before him. A choked gurgle. The blades had all found their marks on a new target and the corners of your lips curled up as you felt the life drained from the woman’s body before it went limp. Finally, the pest ceased to exist.

“Oh Hongjoong…”

There was a vicious edge to the tone of your voice now, and you let the ragdoll of a body fall into a heap by your feet. You bent down to pluck one of the blades from her body and nonchalantly inspected it. Not really having a care that the pool of red was starting to creep towards your feet.

“…Or would you rather I address you as, Trickster?”

A flicker of surprise, or supposedly irritation, passed over his features. Hongjoong clicked his tongue and slowly dropped his arms back down. What were you exactly playing at? This was his game, not yours.

“Word’s been around. And hearing about the Trickster perked our curiosity…so of course we just had to meet you.”

The puzzle pieces were starting to click together – Hongjoong merely became an actor in this script you gave him. Having Wooyoung and you cross paths with Hongjoong was a crafted intention.

Yet, what made the seeds of anger burst under his skin more so was the climax you denied him.

Hongjoong let out low grunt when one of his knees gave way under him, effectively bringing him down. A hand roughly grabbed the back of his freshly dyed silver hair and forced his head forward.

“When in the presence of the queen, you should be bowing. It’s only courteous, no?”

The dolphin-like laugh followed wasn’t hard to recognise who it belonged to. Another flick of his wrist, Wooyoung manoeuvred Hongjoong like a marionette. Thin, almost-invisible strings gleamed under the tiniest fleck of moonlight. Hongjoong would’ve attempted to sever his ties free but at what cost? Wooyoung prided himself in giving the cleanest cut each time he got bored of his new toy.

You scoffed at the nickname Wooyoung used, with slight affection.

“Hate to burst your bubble hon, but you’re not that special,” Wooyoung continued his mocking. Stepping aside to let you crouch in front of Hongjoong, he watched on with eagerness as you tilted Hongjoong’s chin with his own neon blade you were holding from before.  

“Little musician, you’re the new kid who strolled into our playground. And…”

Hongjoong’s eyes darted to look over your shoulder, at a few other figures who started to appear out of the dark. You tapped his chin to garner his attention once more. His golden eyes met your now, brilliant ruby red ones. A venomous smile stretched across your lips with your pupils forming into slits.  

“…unfortunately, there isn’t enough room for another monster to play around this part of town. “

“However, should you put on another show somewhere else…” suggested the one wearing a white crow’s mask, voice deceptively child-like.

You hummed at the idea. Fingers slowly tracing the playful grin that was already growing back on Hongjoong. It’d be a waste to get rid of such a pretty face wouldn’t it?

“We’d gladly come as your audience when you take the centre stage once more.”

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set

VARIETY: Neither Elizabeth Olsen nor Jurnee Smollett are strangers to having to really stretch their imaginations to dive into complex characters and even more complicated worlds.

Both have superhero films on their résumés: Smollett portrayed Black Canary in DC’s “Birds of Prey,” while Olsen stepped into Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch’s shoes for Marvel’s “Avengers” franchise and then some — including Disney Plus’ first Marvel series, “WandaVision.” They are both now Emmy-nominated for projects that tasked them with jumping through time, blending genres and telling epic love stories (Olsen with “WandaVision,” Smollett with HBO’s “Lovecraft Country”). And, even though they are up in different categories (Olsen in lead limited series/TV movie actress; Smollett in lead drama actress), both of these shows are one-season wonders, leaving the performers and their audiences wanting more.

Olsen and Smollett dissected all that of when Variety brought them together post-nominations to talk about their celebrated roles and surreal playgrounds.

You both had a lot of magical or otherwise surreal elements to interact with on your shows. What did you actually have in front of you to react to on set?

Jurnee Smollett: We were very fortunate on “Lovecraft Country” because the whole VFX team worked so hard to create an atmosphere that was also practical in our space. I remember on Episode 3, the exorcism scene, we shot it over a course of three days and, while there was not a man in real life with a baby head on him, you’ve got the wind machines and the pictures are blowing and all the special effects makeup is being touched up. Atticus [Jonathan Majors] has pretty much turned into a rabid dog and I’m doing this spell with my ancestors and whether they were shooting behind us or shooting the elements, we were at our max capacity regardless because that’s just how we approach the craft. It was such a big sequence to shoot that that’s when the actor in you has to advocate for your instrument. I did go to the director and say, “Can you jump in and cross shoot Jonathan and I?” As an actor it is our job to shoot however many takes, however many angles you need, but then it is also our job to advocate for yourselves. And I love playing in this space because you get to use your imagination you get to go to crazy places. Because even while the practical elements are there; you get to go to crazy places. But I was grateful for the practical elements because it’s just so much easier.

Elizabeth Olsen: Did they have pre-viz so you knew what some of the supernatural elements looked like?

Smollett: With the Shoggoths they not only had a pre-viz for us, but for some of the scenes they had massive sculptures, like a dude standing there in a green suit with a Shoggoth head. The pilot we didn’t have this puppet, but by Episode 8, maybe we got more of a budget or something, but eventually we did get a puppet — which was really cool because you could see, “This is the moment his mouth is opening.” But also, Misha [Green], our showrunner, she just wants more blood, more dirt. She’d try to get them to blow spittle at us.

Olsen: That’s so gross!

Smollett: This concoction of Shoggoth spit, throwing it in front of this wind machine. I find the more practical stuff we have to work with, it just helps so much. And then there were the moments where it’s like, “No it’s just a green tennis ball and an X, and go.” How about you?

Olsen: For all those little things in the air and stuff in the ’50s, it was really important to our director [Matt Shakman] that we did everything ala “Bewitched.” It was all camera tricks, it was all wires. Our head of special effects had a lineage of a father who [did] special effects before him, and so puppetry and wire work and stuff like that were things that were already in his vocabulary, but we would have our special effect guys who are used to blowing things up and putting things on fire just balancing and making sure things aren’t swinging but they have to move. Even in the ’70s when she’s pregnant and everything’s in chaos, we really had a picture on the wall going in circles; they just figured out things with magnets.

When we were filming the finale, it was during COVID, during the fires last summer, and we shot Kathryn [Hahn’s] side at the beginning of the episode when she has my boys with her magic — we had to shoot them out because you always have to shoot the side with the kid out and also Kathryn was doing wires for the first time and of course it was with a corset and it was really hot and really bad air quality and so she had to be sent home by the medic at the end of the day. And so, on my side we were running out of days, and I think we had 35 minutes to shoot my side and my reactions to all of that, and there’s quite a bit of back and forth and throwing myself to the ground and hitting a different mark that will then stitch with the stunt double being pulled. I did a weird one-woman show sans kids, sans Kathryn. Our stand-ins were such a huge part of our show and I was so grateful to have them they’re reading lines with me, and our director, Matt Shakman, was like, “If you feel like you can’t do this, we’ll just do this tomorrow.” That gave an adrenaline rush to me and it just became, “I’m just going to do it.” There’s a lot of fear when you’re like, “Oh I don’t have the elements and I am on my own, literally.” But I’ve had to do this before and I’m just scared to do it because I feel stupid. But I already look kind of stupid — I’m shooting things out of my hands — so why don’t I just lean into it as full as possible and just do it and find it in some core, guttural space of desperation? That day was bizarre, but I was actually very happy that I didn’t put it off. I feel like sometimes as actors when there are things that make us nervous it’s like, “Oh we don’t have enough time to explore so let’s do it the next day if we can,” and then you’re in your head all night about it. And so, it’s nice to just do it, even if it feels silly.

Smollett: I’d imagine surrendering and using the fear and all that that you were feeling probably served you so well in it.

Olsen: And don’t you feel that, though? When you feel unsupported you just want to break down in tears and you’re not supposed to break down in tears or you’re not supposed to have those it’s those feelings in the moment, but there are other times where it is really useful and there’s something freeing about channeling it in some way.

Smollett: Yeah and it’s that word you just used: freeing. Being able to surrender — leap and the net will appear. And you’re right, if you would have gone home, you probably would have come back the next day and you would have overthought it. There’s something about using the adrenaline in that moment that I don’t think you can really teach an actor to do; it’s just experience. Because we go and we prep and we do all these things, and then you get to the set and there’s one distraction, two distractions, and those are the elements that just through experience you’ve learned to use.

But I have to say, when I was little, I used to go to sleep every night watching Nick at Nite and “Bewitched” was one of my favorite shows. I did not expect you guys, at all, to go to land of “Bewitched.”

Olsen: I didn’t either. I’m so grateful to it. I felt like I like forgot my body as an actor. You’re a very physical actor, so I feel like you probably don’t have that experience because you just seem so connected and free whether it’s on stage or doing action. And I really felt disconnected from my body until “WandaVision.” I was like, “Right, I have posture; I can walk; I have legs — all of these things are going to be telling the story and it’s period and so I get to move differently.” It’s been a while since I needed to create quite a different character, and it felt so good to wake up my body to the full character work.

Just watching you in the first episode on stage, I was like, “God damn, I want to feel that free on stage with a song and with an audience.” I’m a self-conscious actor when it comes to extras and things like that. There’s something about it where the crew’s the family, and with extras, I feel so vulnerable. And you seemed so at ease and in control and confident. It made you understand her fierceness and how fearless she was.

Smollett: Thank you so much! It’s so interesting that you point that out because, for me, singing in front of people terrifies me. It truly is one of the things that terrifies me the most. The thing about Misha’s writing is, she finds a way to teach you so much about a character in such a small amount of time. And in that first sequence we learn so much about Leti, from that fearlessness you talk about, the ease that she has in herself and in her person, but then you learn so much about her hypocrisy and the contrasting ideas that are at play inside. She’s a very complex one. In the scene with her sister where she’s talking about having dreams of pioneering into an all-white neighborhood in 1955, but she can’t afford to may for socks. [Laughs.] She didn’t come to her mother’s funeral, and yet she’s here yearning for some sort of family connection. And so, I just remember reading that and feeling so drawn to her and feeling like it’s a side of myself that I needed to unearth — there’s a Leti in me that I desired to actually be, but sometimes am not. And it’s interesting because through Leti, she really forced me to do so many things that I hadn’t done before and really become more fearless, become more unbound. It was just such a very cathartic experience for me.

Olsen: I felt that way with getting to do this sitcom comedy part. I felt like I was touching my childhood version of myself who was a ham doing children’s musical theater, who just who just like played for the laughs or whatever — that part that I don’t access at all, really, when filming. And Kathryn Hahn was such a force and Paul Bettany raised to the challenge, as well, of these comedic performances that were really physically funny. I started to get more comfortable — in the ’60s, ’70s, really got comfortable — and it was so much fun to touch that child that maybe was told too many times, “Oh, you’re such a ham” or you just felt like your big personality as a kid was not OK or wasn’t as appropriate. And so, getting to play with that was really freeing and very fun. As you were saying, there’s a release I needed to have, and through the comedy I was able to have it.

How did this sense of empowerment affect how you carried your own characters’ power? Was there something your character that inspired you to advocate for yourself or did advocating behind-the-scenes inform in-world behavior?

Olsen: I felt very lucky coming into this, because this is a world I know. And so, where my voice of advocacy came in was for actors who are coming into the world — like Teyonah [Parris], wanting to make sure that she had everything that she needed to understand where her character was going because this was a character that’s going to continue [and] if she had everything she needed for stunts. And then similarly with Kathryn, she didn’t realize there was someone who she could use to teach her hand gestures for her magic. And so, she was feeling nervous and lost, like, “How do I do this thing?” And I was like, “Oh, how do you not have that information!?” And then having a conversation with whom you need to on the crew up top and figure out how to keep everyone else feeling like they had everything they needed. And luckily, because this was a show with characters that Paul and I had before, the pieces came together and it was a situation where your voice is welcomed and heard.

From “Sorry For Your Loss,” the TV show I did with Facebook, I now have a producer voice that I can’t shut up. I now just need to talk to ADs a lot, and I need to talk to line producers a lot. I realize that I like having — especially if I’m No. 1 on the call sheet; if I’m a primary part — all of the information so I can understand why decisions that seem weird are happening, or else I’m going to get in my head about, “Why are we doing this this way? I just let people know that off the bat now because it makes me less of a control freak, having information. And it is a team effort and I think the actor’s value has changed in that in that respect. There’s a lot more opportunity for women to be vocal now, and so I’m just really seizing that opportunity.

Smollett: It was a very personal growing experience for me. It was time of transition [and] I’m still going through that transition in my life. In order to truly surrender and do the text justice, there was so much I had to bring to the altar every day to sacrifice. I remember talking to Jonathan about that, and he would refer to it as allowing your heart to break and hoping that the Holy Spirit would put it back together. She was essentially a woman trying to navigate her womanhood but she was never actually allowed to have a childhood. She was habitually abandoned by her mother and didn’t know her father and there’s something in that parental-daughter split that I found myself really relating to. Oddly enough like Leti, I was estranged from my father for years. He eventually passed away, really before there was that healing and so, oh man, it brought up so much shit with Leti. How does she see the world? She sees the world through the eyes of an abandoned child. With Leti, that made her overcompensate; with Jurnee, it made me shrink a lot. When you talk about that artist child, those of us who have been in this business for so long, you take on all the sensors. And I found myself just trying to love her a little more. One of the things I admired so much about Leti is this desire to love herself — this real desire to own herself unapologetically in a world that told her she was too Black and female, to exist in her entirety. It’s still a transition that I’m in, but I definitely feel so grateful to have been able to walk through some of that and navigate through some of that with Leti. But that’s, I think, the blessing and the curse of being an artist. You’ve got to be willing to bring your whole mind, body and spirit to it; nothing’s off limits.

Jurnee, the last time you spoke with Variety we were all assuming you’d get to return to this character, but now that HBO has said it’s not being renewed, do you have unfinished business with her?

Smollett: It’s no secret I’m heartbroken. I loved Leti and of course would have loved to continue playing her. But I am so incredibly proud of the work that we all created together — it feels so special and unique — and I am finding peace in that. We’re artists and there’s an endless well that dwells inside us— and there’s so much that’s out of our control. And I think I’ve done this long enough and I’ve experienced enough heartbreaks to know you don’t get attached to the results too much; you just try to stay in a moment. And I feel just so proud and blessed to have been chosen to go on this ride with these collaborators, so I am more so in the place of gratitude than loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, “WandaVision” was a limited series but Wanda Maximoff is a character you have been coming back to for years, Elizabeth. How do you approach that longevity — the changes in her, the changes in you and the interest in revisiting her at all?

Olsen: I’m 32 and I was 25 — so seven years ago — when I did the first one. There’s so much change that I’ve had, even as an actor and how I approach work and, I think, honor work so much more in the last five years, four years of my life. [Jurnee’s film] “Birds of Prey” feels like such a female-empowered thing, so I feel there’s a really incredible energy to beginning it, but then with me you hear people make comments about Marvel movies and it affects your own process. “WandaVision” really shook that up for me and made me reinvest.

Smollett: I so want to know your process with that because the comic book space was new for me. I’d been a fan; I’d seen all your movies and the other movies. How did you navigate all of those voices? Because they can be very loud.

Olsen: Luckily and also frustratingly my character was always this emotional anchor to a piece of the story. It was like the heart, if there’s a heart. Paul and I were the only romance that was really fleshed out in those movies. And so I just treated it like I would anything. And then, we have a really fun time filming “Avengers” And so it’s really goofy and the Russos are great. And so we, it feels light-hearted, and it feels like we have the last laugh at the end of the day. But when it comes to the reinvesting, that’s the whole mind game, right? Because you just hope that it continues to have this quality control, but the more the more things get made, you’re worried about that. Especially because I did a show on Facebook that was scripted, and I didn’t love the way they handled it. And it was hard. And so second season, we went back and we literally, as a team of producers, had meetings with people who ran Facebook Watch about where we thought they could improve. We had a whole presentation for them. And then eventually, they were like, “We’re not doing scripted anymore.” And so I didn’t have the greatest experience being a part of the launch of another streaming service. And so, the Disney Plus part made me nervous and then bringing these characters that are so big to television made me nervous. But Kevin Fiege explained to us that that they were not going to cut corners, and they’re going to try and create the same attention to detail, and they did. And I think it was really important for them to have that care for these first three shows that they were putting out because it was defining a new thing for them. And so, we were taken care of.

I think more for me with this with the reinvestment moving forward, I never had a six-movie or nine-movie thing; it was always two or three at a time — those were my contracts. And so, it’s always a really conscious decision. I wrapped “WandaVision” on a Wednesday and flew to London on a Friday to continue playing this part [in “Doctor Strange 2”]. I could have used getting out of the mindset, though, because they were totally different utilizations of the character and people would have had more time to understand “WandaVision” had we not just wrapped. And so there’s just a lot of, “We covered this in ‘WandaVision…’” It’s bigger than me, there’s lots of threads that are continuing on after me that I’m not aware of, and so it’s always about, “What can I get from this journey with this character that maybe I haven’t tapped into yet with her?” That’s where I keep approaching things from, so that I feel like I have some sort of strap-hang — that I can know that there’s going to be growth of some kind, even though it all maybe looks the same to other people. There is that conscious decision to learn a new element of this woman, or even of myself as an actor — something that I want to explore that I can bring to it.

Your passion for acting is apparent and you both produce as well. What about directing?

Smollett: I would love to one day. I find myself currently being incredibly excited about producing and ushering new voices and excited voices. I don’t know that I would want to direct myself — that’s a whole other skill. I remember watching Denzel Washington, who directed me in “Great Debaters” but he was also in it, and at that point he had such a command of his instrument that he was able to do that. But it’s a lot. And I remember him telling me, before directing himself, he went and made himself watch all his films just so that he could stomach this idea of watching himself in the editing room. And so, I love the idea of storytelling; I’m obsessed with just telling stories, but I don’t know that I would self-direct.

Olsen: I find myself still loving producing so much because I love asking questions and poking holes and thinking about reorganizing of storylines, things that I feel maybe need more structure. I loved writing essays in school so much; it was like something that I found creative because it was about putting so many different sources into a braid that could maybe create this larger conversation or thought at the end. And so, that’s how I look at scripts. That’s really satisfying enough for me, to play that role. I think one day I’ll think about it more honestly, what it what it would mean to be a director. I fear that if I were to do it anytime soon, I wouldn’t have the tools that I would want. I do ask lots of lens-y questions because I’ve really only been working for 11 years and only recently have I tried to really understand the art of what lenses to choose and why and what it makes an audience feel based on what you’re choosing. I want to have a better, more holistic understanding of [that] before attempting [directing] because I do think it’s such an art and just because I understand the structuring of a story or how a set works, I want to be able to provide the the image in my head. I don’t know if I have that skill yet, but I am curious about feeding it and nurturing that.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[littleeyesofpallas]

SO.... HEROINE'S JOURNEY. YA?

There are a few approaches to the Heroine's Journey and they're all a little wonky as fuck.

is to look at old myths about Heroines and find patterns in them, the way Campbell found patterns in Hero myths. Problem here is that there's much less narrative consistency in those, and they're generally a little less common, and so there's not as much of a pattern to distill into a neat little diagram.

is to craft a psychological model for little girls coming of age, akin to the one the Hero's Journey provides for little boys, and work off that. This is nice, but tends to lack the weight and kind of viral catchiness of the mythologically derived formula

is just to genderswap the Hero's Journey, or to put a Heroine through the Hero's Journey as is. These most often fall apart on account of having zero critical assessment of what the plot being acted out is or how it functions. No one learns jack squat, no one grows, and as a shitty cherry on top the plot just looks derivative. (Looking right at you, Force Awakens.)

The old mythic approach is generally ignored for being far too loose. It also tends to revolve around awkward at times sexist narratives of purity and purification as a process, the role of healing, mending and forgiving flawed and often outright antagonistic individuals, preservation and protection of the home, and consequently a lack of real adventure. It very often ends in an ascension to goddess-hood by way of or for the ends of some kind of self sacrifice. I'm not super keen on this for a number of reasons, not the least of which being the narrative trend in which a woman's role is give herself up for the good of others... But worth pointing out here is that the myths that can be referenced that don't fit these themes are so wildly different both from the proposed core formula and even one another that they don't outline a new or alternative trend at all. Women that kick ass in myth absolutely exist, but they tend to be unique rather than formulaic, be that for better or for worse...

Funny enough Zelda: Skyward Sword utilized this in a fascinating way. As Link goes through a very conventional Hero's Journey, really beat for beat, in his pursuit of the missing Princess Zelda he continually gets to the end of a dungeon to find that Zelda was just there, but he missed her and she's moved on. And in fact each time this happens we learn that Zelda had her own reasons for visiting all these temples and sure enough this background plot that Zelda has been acting out is the mythic Heroine's Journey.

Seeing the two acted out in tandem, and showing how the two actually facilitate and serve one another in a bigger picture is actually a really brilliant way to tell these old stories. Zelda's quest has added urgency because we know that as she progresses, the encroaching evil is only barely being beaten back by Link. and Link's Hero's Journey is given new importance because his Meeting with the Goddess isn't just about shipping him with Zelda, it's about saving Zelda from the consequences of her self sacrifice.

The distantly Jungian derived model is actually only as old as 1990 and came about as a centerpiece in a women's self-help book. Maureen Murdock suggests this process:

Shift from feminine to masculine

Identification with the masculine

Road of trials

Experiencing the illusory boon of success

The descent/meeting with the goddess

Yearning for the reconnect

Reconciliation with the masculine

The union

In which the girl has to adopt masculine agency in order to act upon the world in the way man are expected to and girls are not. She adventures with these masculine skills/features at hand. She feels fulfilled by these conquests, but then must face the idea that masculine conquest is not a valid or meaningful kind of accomplishment. She has a conflict of self, dives deep into the self to meet with her own feminine side, now long repressed. She learns to want to be a woman. She confronts the flaws of the masculine pursuit she's been on. She learns to embrace both gendered identities and is at peace.

This thing has so many little bumps and hiccups and things to get caught up on. I'm really not fond of it. It's a product of its time and its writers' predecessors' biases and already kind of misaligned premises. (Btw this is a huge contributing factor to the plot of Revolutionary Girl Utena.)

The second version is generally exemplified in the Heroine's Journey formulated by Victoria Lynn Schmidt. I'll be totally honest, I'm not as familiar with that one. But it was written to more directly mirror Campbell's Hero's Journey in its cyclical nature and use as a writing template (where as Murdock's was decidedly less focused on story telling applications) and it's major pitfall is that it really doesn't seem to have any kind of "universal" mythic origin, and so kind of lacks the punch Campbell's implication of myth speaking to the innate human psyche in the universal familiarity of its trends.

Illusion of the perfect world

Betrayal/disillusionment

The awakening

The descent: passing through the gates of judgment

Eye of the storm

All is lost/death

Support

Rebirth/moment of truth

Return to a new world

Like I said, I'm just less familiar with this one in practice. It doesn't feel like a terrible plot or character arc, and there are aspects of it that I really like, even. But it doesn't really feel like it particularly "fixes" any of the problems at hand with its predecessors.

And the third one, I mentioned is typically just bad and stupid; a creative decision made in pure ignorance. When removed from any psychological context the motions of the plot become meaningless. But a fascinating case of sort of doing it was Disney's Moana. Not because it genderswapped the Campbellian Hero's Journey but because it chose to merge the myth Hero and Heroine's Journey together, and yeah, in which a little genderswapping happened to be involved.

Moana's role is to "stay" and be mother to her people, to protect and preserve, to purify and heal and forgive... BUT in a beautifully deft twist she discovered that preserving her people's way of life means heeding the call to adventure/call of the sea, means venturing into the unknown to learn new things and conquer trials... it means meeting with The God, Maui (instead of the Goddess) means confronting The Mother (Instead of the father) but instead of defeating her like a Hero, healing her like a Heroine. It really beautifully juggles the two cycles in a way that doesn't give either one supremacy over the other, in the truest Reconciliation/Union of proposed masculine and feminine. (Yes, the Te Ka/Te Fiti reveal was 100% a textbook Vader moment.)

But of course the big pitfall this, and the original Hero's Journey fall into is the assumption of some kind of deeply essential gendered aspect of psychology, and not separating elements of biological impulse as they relate to psychology from the heavy HEAVY filter of socialization. On the one hand, I still believe the Hero's Journey, and some variations of the Heroine's Journey(s) can absolutely be utilized in writing in a deeply meaningful and largely accurate and affecting way. But I'm also very much in favor of seeking out alternatives to these in ways that pursue more of that universal appeal that Campbell thought he'd tapped into. But that is yet another rant entirely...

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

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

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

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

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

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

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

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

Because it definitely was one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, 

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Um…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go.” 

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

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

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

She couldn’t say no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

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

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

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

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

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

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

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

“No,” she said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And when it died out,

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

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

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

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

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

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

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

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not falling. 

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

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

Right. In front. Of her face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

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

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

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

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

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

    Perfect. 

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

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

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

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

    .

    .

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

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

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

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

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

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

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

   “Y/n!” 

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

   Grey sweatpants. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll catch you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Lead the way.” 

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

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

    “S’very nice back here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?’ she hums. 

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

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

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it,” she said. 

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

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

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

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

“When do you get a break?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

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

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

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

“Two drinks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

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

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

    “Harry, I-”

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

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

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

    “But it’s your home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

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

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

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

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

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

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

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

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

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

    Like

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

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

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

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

    No. why? she responded.

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

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

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

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

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

.

.

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

Maybe.

.

.

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

She cried. 

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

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

It said:

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

.

.

Friday. 

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

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

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

.

.

Saturday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I,” she stutters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

“But-” Harry protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

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

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

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

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

She says it teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Said, what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

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

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

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

[sebastiansmistress]

꧁𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙖����𝙝𝙞 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞����𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨꧂

NOTE: these are made up but are influenced by previous headcanons i’ve seen before.

these headcanons are mainly my ideas so if you post about them please be sure to tag me!

also, you can follow my tiktok. it’s the same user as this one!

be sure to tell me what you think and comment who else i should do ☺︎︎

—

how he asked you out:

akaashi asked you out while you were both at the library studying for an exam the next day. you were in your favourite sweats, crocs, your hair wasn’t done. to put it plainly, you weren’t dressed up in anyway shape or form. you were a stressed out mess; constantly procrastinating and complaining. he of course, went out of his way to assure you that you were doing fine but it wasn’t working. he couldn’t help himself but laugh at you which ticked you off slightly; only making him laugh more. in that moment, akaashi realised that you were the one for him.

when he finally brought himself to pop the question after hours of studying, your tone completely flipped. you were a flustered mess because you felt the same way. ‘akaashi! why would you ask me now? it’s supposed to be a special moment!’ which is when he replied ‘but this is special because i’m with you right now’. you appreciated the sentiment but you still detested the idea of him asking you at that moment.

he promised he’d make up for the fact that he asked you out at such an inconvenient time for you but he said that it felt right in the moment. but he was over the moon when you said yes

your first date:

akaashi made sure your first date was going to be one for the books because he wanted to make up for the library fiasco.

it was early september, nearing the end of summer and akaashi wanted to savour the last days of this season. he asked you out to a picnic date where you promised to supply a beverage of choice while he handled the food.

upon arrival, akaashi greeted you with a hug that was pure and innocent.

he was carrying a picnic basket which stood out to you. it was very plain yet it was laced with a sage green ribbon and had a lavender plant intertwined in the straw. it was definitely akaashi’s style.

when you asked him about the picnic basket, he said it was his grandmothers. he told you the story about how she used it when she went on dates with his late grandfather. it was supposedly tradition for them to go on dates and use that very basket. ‘that’s such a beautiful story akaashi. i’m so sorry for your loss..’ he replied with ‘don’t worry about it y/n. perhaps we can carry out their legacy and make it our very own tradition’ . the sentiment was very sweet making your heart thump. you also yearned for a romance like theirs.

you both settled down at a spot under a very large weeping willow tree, secluded from everyone else. you brought out a checkered baby pink picnic blanket and set everything down. akaashi opened up the basket and revealed its contents. he had specially prepared bento boxes for the two of you and even packed additional snacks. it was perfect. when you asked him if he’d made the boxes himself, he smuggly said ‘yes i did’ with a fat smirk plastered on that pretty face of his. in that moment akaashi unveiled his self-approving side. the bento was delicious but you were too stubborn to admit it.

when he asked where the drinks you chose were, you pulled them out of your bag rapidly. you decided that ramune sodas were the most fitting for the date so you brought a whole variety with you. the flavours ranged from melon, lychee, strawberry and grape. ‘pick which ones you want!’ akaashi picked two; lychee and strawberry. he was clearly a man of taste.

after you both finished eating, he pulled out a deck of cards. it was only fitting for you both to burn off those calories by playing a competitive game of uno. ultimately, it wasn’t a very good idea considering you both were merciless when it came to any form of competition. even still, you were no match for him. he was the undisputed king at the game. he happened to be effortlessly good at everything; including uno! ‘y/n, i’ve never met someone as bad as you before!’ he made multiple remarks about how your technique was flawed and how you just weren’t good at playing the game at all. ‘oh shut up keiji! you’re clearly cheating!!’

after multiple rounds of uno; which ended with akaashi’s winning streak of 7, he pulled out two small canvases, an old book and a water paint pallet along with some glue. akaashi never admitted it but he loved painting in his spare time, along with reading old novels. so he decided to mesh the two things he loved the most: ‘okay, this is some old rinsed out book i had lying around, how about we use it to make something beautiful?’ he proposed that you both make small paintings of your surroundings while including sappy quotes from the romance novel. in the end, you’d both exchange your works and cherish them as keepsakes in loving memory of your first date.

when it was nearing towards the end of the date, the sun began to set radiating soft hues of orange and pink across the skyline. the view was a sight for sore eyes and as you both sat their admiring the sky, you noticed akaashi looking over at you, staring at you contently. you didn’t want to say anything so you just pretended like you didn’t notice but in reality you could feel your cheeks go bright red. you looked over at him and he gave you a reassuring smile.

as you both packed up your belongings, you were hesitant to leave. you really enjoyed your date and akaashi noticed that you didn’t want it to end. so as a cute gesture, he carved out your initials on the tree with the fork he’d used earlier that day. ‘akaashi.. what are you doing?’ you looked over at him, tilting your head slightly at an angle. he looked back at you and gave you a soft smile ‘marking our territory. this is going to become our tradition remember?’

akaashi escorted you out of the park walking with you; side by side. you two were very close to each other, on the verge of coming in contact. you walked together in silence and admired the views. that’s when you slowly felt his fingers reaching out for yours. you gazed back at him in confusion. ‘c-can i hold your hand?’ his voice was light and tranquil yet it was clear to you that he was nervous. you nodded in response. akaashi took you by the hand and led the way; interlocking his fingers with yours delicately.

akaashi’s love language:

akaashi isn’t big on the eccentric things in life. he’s never been one for big parties or going out to densely populated places. he’s very reserved and prefers to spend his time with you alone. you could be doing anything together but as long as you are within reach, he’s more than happy. some of your best memories together are in your livingroom, cuddled up watching romance animes.

he doesn’t say i love you very often but he truly loves you with all his heart. a way he communicates this love for you is by recommending books for you. he’s been a bookworm his entire life and his favourite thing to do after reading novel is giving it to you to read. on numerous occasions, he’d give you a book just for you to finish it within a couple of days. nothing warms his heart more than hearing that you enjoyed the book. he loved discussing ideas and debating beliefs after finishing the books. sometimes you have conflicting ideas which really expands his mind in a way he never thought anyone could.

another way he loves to show you he cares his by hand crafting you care packages whenever you’re feeling under the weather (whether that’s monthly due to mestruation, or when you’re feeling sad). akaashi’s other guilty pleasure is arts and crafts and over the years he’s gotten especially good at it. so another way he loves showcasing his love for you is by making you a basket filled with goodies when you’re feeling sad. he’d hand deliver them to your door like a gentleman and sometimes leave cute notes with them too. (all those romance novels have gotten to him clearly)

favourite memory together:

his first time saying ‘i love you’ was when you were both babysitting. you were babysitting bokuto’s nephew who was practically a mini bokuto who’d just discovered the skill of walking. he was running around, constantly knocking things over. this mini bokuto was a falling hazard on his own but he was a ray of sunshine just like his uncle. due to his wild mannerisms, you both made sure to baby proof the whole area to ensure his safety.

you left him to watch cartoons and you went to tend to akaashi in the kitchen. he’d hidden while you were both preparing dinner. this left you both in a state of confusion and worry. you were sure you didn’t see him leave the livingroom.‘come on little guy! you can’t stay hiding for ever!’ you called out. you scanned the whole house in search for the little munchkin, but nothing.

that’s when akaashi went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl filled with small fish shaped crackers. ‘oh, i see how it is, i guess i’ll have these crackers all to myself!’ he called out. that’s when the little smurf emerged from behind the couch with a bright smile plastered on his face. ‘BOO!!’ he called out. ‘there you are! you little bedbug! you’re getting good at hide and seek aren’t you?!’ you bopped his nose delicately and he giggled. you were relieved to see him. akaashi reached out to him and sat him next to him, while he snacked on the crackers.

the three of you ate together, played games and watched some more cartoons. bokuto 2.0 was very fond of you and insisted you cradled him to sleep. at this point it was getting late and he would’ve been very tired after a day filled with festivities. you yourself were exhausted and found yourself deep asleep. akaashi had just finished cleaning up and walked in on you both asleep on the arm chair. he admired your willpower when handling him and he grabbed the boys little owl ‘blankie’ and placed it above you both; cocooning you both in the fabric. he planted a small kiss on your forehead and that’s when he said he loved you. he was so overwhelmed with emotion and his mind trailed off; thinking of you two of you in the future, having a family of your own.

i hope you guys enjoyed these headcanons, it’s currently 3:35am and for me it was worth staying up late :)

i’m all for doing a second part or starting a new character but please tell me what you guys think of them!

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Alt-pop newcomer LVRA (pronounced loo-rah, real name Rachel Lu) has shared her first new track of 2021, ‘DEAD’. Following up on 2020’s debut EP LVCID, she explains: “There’s a unique power you gain when you stop caring about what people think of you. It’s an ongoing battle, though, and ‘DEAD’ is about the conflict between the fantasy of not caring and how you feel in reality. The video captures that, with a version of myself who has her shit together and another that is fighting to survive.The use of red represents fear in the human condition, but in Chinese culture it also symbolises happiness. One rarely comes without the other.” The track – a cultural mix that matches LVRA’s heritage with bleeding edge ultra HD pop – is the first taster of a second EP, which is set to follow later this summer. You can check out an Oscar McNab (Lacuna Common, Oscar Lang). directed video above. [via Dork]

Los Angeles artist Wallice follows debut single 'Punching Bag' with new coming of age anthem, '23'. Wallice finds herself caught between two places on fresh cut, '23'. “Too old to be a runaway”, but also too young to consider herself as grown up, the 22-year old yearns for a past that still has not happened yet. Working with producer David Marinelli since her return to California, Wallice has crafted a sound that is unique without taking itself too seriously. An angst-driven remonstration at the powerlessness of her age, '23' is also the clearest stamp of her musical identity to date. The expression of this purgatory is a cathartic garage-rock headbanger complemented beautifully by Wallice’s playful lyrics. “I just can't wait to be / all grown up and 23,” she admits in the song’s irresistible chorus. “Tell me what is wrong with me / I miss my Ohio fake ID”. In artfully portraying the limbo state of the age, Wallice describes the events in her life that have led to her own disaffection. “It’s hard not to compare your own professional success to that of your similarly aged peers. I dropped out of university in New York after studying Jazz Voice for a year, and my dad was VERY disappointed, to say the least, so it was hard not to feel like a loser in that sense. “The specific age 23 doesn’t have any milestones associated with it, but it’s more the idea of just looking forward to the future,” Wallice continues on the meaning of the track. "Much like how people ‘reset’ every new year, it’s comparable to be ‘older and wiser’ with each birthday, but instead of constantly looking to the future, it is important to be happy with where you are”. [via Line Of Best Fit]

Coach Party have shared their new single 'Everybody Hates Me'. The Isle of Wight group are gearing up to release their incoming EP, with After Party pitting their potent indie pop influences against bittersweet lyricism. Out shortly, the EP is teased by new thumper 'Everybody Hates Me', with Coach Party adding a neat gloss to their guitar pop sound. Out now, 'Everybody Hates Me' comes equipped with a neat video steered by Daniel Broadley. Vocalist Jess Eastwood comments: “‘Everybody Hates Me’ isn’t a metaphor for anything; it’s literally about those times when you convince yourself that everyone, including your best friends don’t actually like you, and your self-confidence is so low that you don’t even blame them. Disguise that sentiment in an up-beat singalong, and there you have the third single from our new record. The video is a direct extension of the song. It swings between the insecurities of feeling like you’re not good enough amongst your friends, and the sense of unity you get from those same people when you finally wake up from your rut. Everyone feels that way from time to time, but you gotta remember that sometimes your irrational self is going to take over. And when it does, try to remember that you’re awesome, and your friends really are your friends.” [via Clash]

Pussy Riot have gone hyperpop on their latest song 'Toxic'. The Dorian Electra collaboration features glitched out production by Dylan Brady of 100 gecs and tackles a relationship gone bad. Written, directed, and edited by Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova, the music video features jarring, bloody imagery matching Brady’s production. “Care about yourself, cherish your mental health, and stay away from relationships that poison you!” Tolokonnikova writes in the YouTube description. “Amen.” In the song’s lyrics, Tolokonnikova tells off an ex. “You are my daily poison so annoying,” she sings. “You’re even more toxic than my employer.” The hook continues the theme. “This combo is deadly — ’cause we used to be friendly,” Electra laments. “And now my heart is a weapon / You made me… toxic.” [via Consequence of Sound]

Baby Queen has dropped a brand new track, ‘These Drugs’. Bella Latham’s second new track of the year – following up on the anthemic ‘Raw Thoughts’ – she explains in an Instagram post: “This is a story I really needed to tell you and I didn’t know how to for a long time. When I first wrote this song, I honestly didn’t think I was going to be allowed to release it or that releasing it would be a particularly good idea. It just felt really important and that��s all I’ve ever wanted music to be; so I knew I had to share it with you.I was in a very bad place at the time… very depressed and convinced I wasn’t a good person and didn’t deserve good things. Life is different now. I’m happy. I’ve learnt that the antidote to my misery is gratitude and caring about myself even when I don’t want to, until it becomes a habit. It’s natural to look for escapism but there’s more freedom in working to build a life you like… and by that I literally just mean learning to love yourself. You, with all your scars and all your regrets, are home to an actual life! You’ve been through so much and you’ve come out the other side stronger because of it – it’s remarkable really. You’ve got to invite the sad parts of yourself in to have a tea party with you. Don’t ignore them and cover them up. If you don’t look at them, they’ll make themselves seen! You are so worthy of love and I hope that if you don’t see that yet, you will learn to in time. Anyways guys,” she finishes, “this is all very intense. I love you very much and I hope you can understand and relate in some way.” [via Dork]

Greentea Peng has shared her new single 'Nah It Ain’t The Same'. The UK neo-soul voice is an outstanding talent, someone who pushes herself further into that hip-hop / jazz nexus with each release. Produced by Earbuds, new single 'Nah It Ain't The Same' is out now, one that reflects the chemistry she has with her live band The Seng Seng Family. Dipping into drum 'n' bass, her vocals have a calming, beatific feel, with 'Nah It Ain't The Same' tugging at matters personal. She comments: “Deliberations of a (hu) MAN, subject to the pendulum's swing, I give you ‘Nah It Aint The Same’ off my album MAN MADE. An expression and exploration of my utter confusion and inner conflicts amidst shifting paradigms.” Greentea Peng stars in the new video, with Machine Operated sculpting the video. [via Clash]

renforshort has debuted a brand new single, ‘virtual reality’. The first taster of a forthcoming second EP, the track sees her “connect” with Kellen Pomeranz (Pom Pom), Jesse Fink and Beabadoobee collaborator Pete Robertson. “’virtual reality’ is a song that tackles many topics. But at its core, it really is about anxiety, routine, boredom, isolation, loneliness, and fear,” she explains. “I think a lot of people have a very unhealthy relationship with technology because it’s never really been restricted enough to consider mental health and overall health, and that has fucked so many people up, now more than ever. Ever since I was young, social media has played a major role in my mental wellbeing, and I became so accustomed to it, it became a part of my routine and it came before everything else. The moment I wake up, almost instinctively, I check my phone. Depending on what I see in the morning, basically determines how I’m gonna feel for the rest of the day. I hate it. But I can’t stop. And what’s most ironic about this all is you’re likely going to read this on social media or listen to the song on some sort of electronic device…” [via Dork]

Flock of Dimes has shared the second single from her forthcoming album Head of Roses, out April 2 via Sub Pop. Following recent single, 'Two', 'Price of Blue' is another standout from Wasner’s second solo LP, an album that showcases her ability to embrace new levels of vulnerability, honesty and openness, combined with the self-assuredness that comes with a decade-plus career as a songwriter, producer, multi-instrumentalist and prolific collaborator. It comes accompanied by an unearthly new video filmed in black and white, co-directed by Wasner with Graham Tolbert. Wasner says: “This song is about trying, and failing, to connect. It’s about the ways in which, despite our best efforts, we misunderstand each other, and become so attached to stories that we’re unable to see the truth that’s right in front of us. And it’s about the invisible mark that another person can leave on your body, heart and mind long after their absence. It can be difficult to make sense of the memory of your experience when the reality on the surface is always shifting—when the story you’re telling, or the story you’ve been told, unravels, leaving you with a handful of pieces and no idea how they used to fit together.”

Berlin-based indie-soul five-piece, People Club, announce their new EP Take Me Home, which is due May 7 and the band are sharing the title-track and new video. The title track 'Take Me Home' is a song about the realisation of mortality in old age and the cynicism that often plights the elderly after losing their loved ones and being left alone with their regrets. It is accompanied by a music video shot by long standing collaborator, Felix Spitta. Speaking of the process the band say, “Once again we worked with our very talented friend, Felix Spitta, who also shot the video for our last single Francine.  We basically spent a day fooling around at his house with a smoke machine and an old tape TV camera with a red filter.  The result is hazy and disorientating, just like this year has been so far.”

Introducing MARY., the dreamy alter-ego of musician and songwriter Stef T. The self-produced debut track, ‘Day to Day’, interlaces elements of electro-pop and R&B with a voice that enchants, along with an official video filmed, edited and directed by David Risdon and Charlie Rose Creative. Reading like a page in a diary, ‘Day to Day’ offers a candid and emotionally raw glance at being overlooked as a woman in a man’s world. She is put together, glamorous and poised on the outside, but on the inside she is simmering like a pot ready to boil over, fed-up and on the brink of snapping. Speaking of the track, Stef T explains, “’Day to Day’ is a reflection on what it is to be a woman in a role where you are always unseen; constantly giving yet never receiving. As woman, we are often undervalued for our day to day work in all aspects - as mothers, in relationships, in our careers; having to push extra hard to get the basic recognition and thanks that we are entitled to. This song is a commentary of a large part of my life where I settled, sacrificed and worked, only to be used and taken for granted. It is about learning to survive a toxic relationship, discover your own individual worth again and reclaim the power that you gave away to someone else. Producing this song myself is the only thing that made sense in context with the intention of MARY. as a project. She is an entirely self made, independent woman, who does it all and doesn't need a man to confirm that she's doing a good job. This is something I have personally struggled with, so I created the MARY. persona to feel more empowered in my storytelling as an artist, in an industry without a large visible number of female-identifying producers.”

Los Angeles based dream pop trio Tashaki Miyaki have just released a single and video of the title song from their forthcoming second album, Castaway, which will be released on April 23 via Metropolis Records. Singer, drummer and producer Paige Stark states that the song “is about the challenges of romantic love and how we are all bad at it in one way or another. The idea of a castaway in all this is that no one understands the relationship except the people in it, so you really are stuck on an island alone together there. Maybe you make it back to the mainland, or maybe you stay on the island.” Stark also shot the Sofia Coppola-inspired video on film, adding: "I wanted to tap into all the feelings that can come up in love relationships: anger, sadness, loneliness, vulnerability, stillness, joy, romance, longing. The actress in it has a beautifully expressive face and I've known her for a long time. I knew we would be able to create those moments together. I wanted it to feel like the camera was her lover, capturing her in various private moments, moods and feelings.”

With her Vanilla Shell EP celebrating its one-year anniversary last month, Danish-Chilean composer Molina is back with another abbreviated record in the form of the new single 'Cold,' featuring vocalist Jonas Bjerre, arriving with a pair of B-sides. The brief collection of songs continues her simultaneous journey inward toward the roots of Chilean music and outward into her own unique vision of the future. The project lands with a video for the A-side, which dreams up bizarre fantasy iconography in the tradition of Grimes and Björk to complement her subdued take on these artists’ out-there recordings. Blending ambiguous electronic sounds with the familiar drone of cello and Bjerre’s backing vocals, the track’s distinct persona may have more in common with the experimental soundscapes of artists like Jenny Hval or Julia Holter. [via Flood]

Maisie Peters has debuted her brand new single, ‘John Hughes Movie’. Described as the first single from her soon to be announced debut album, it’s a song about unrequited love, inspired by the legendary film producer and his classic coming-of-age teen comedies like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles. The track comes alongside a video co-written by Maisie and director Louis Bhose (Loyle Carner, Arlo Parks, Lewis Capaldi). Maisie explains: “I wrote ‘John Hughes Movie’ when I was 17 about a house party that I had gone to. It’s a really honest depiction of being a hopeless, melodramatic teenager, being awkward and drunk and getting your heart broken by people you don’t even remember anymore. John Hughes films encapsulate that foolish romantic energy of high school and everything that I, a small town English wannabe Molly Ringwald wanted to be, but was not.” [via Dork]

Chloe x Halle have shared the music video for their song 'Ungodly Hour.' The video was debuted on Wedneday night's episode of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and shows the Bailey sisters going underwater for a sci-fi-style visual filled with choreography and elaborate adventures at the bottom of the ocean. Watch the Alfred Marroquín-directed video above. [via The FADER]

South London's Josie Man has returned with sentimental new single 'Cuts & Bruise', marking her first release of 2021. 'Cuts & Bruises' follows October 2020's 'Grow' single, and is accompanied by a Andrea Mae-directed video that shows couples enjoying tender moments, including Josie Man and her boyfriend. [via Line Of Best Fit]

Jessie Ware has shared a new short film for her song 'Remember Where You Are'. Her album What's Your Pleasure? arrived last year, a disco-fuelled missile that presented some much-needed good vibes amid lockdown. The songwriter returns to the record for her song 'Remember Where You Are', a soulful and uplifting slice of UK songwriting. There's now a full video for the song and it's steered by BAFTA winning director Dominic Savage. Starring British actress Gemma Arterton, it opens on Valentine's Day and finds the star wandering through deserted London streets. A glimpse of hope and renewal, it taps into the growing feeling that this time, lockdown might be coming to a permanent end. "It was a real pleasure to collaborate with Jessie and Gemma on this short film that is inspired by Jessie Ware’s beautiful music. It was also inspired by the real feeling that was felt when we filmed in the deserted streets of eerily strange lockdown London on a Saturday night/Sunday morning,” Dominic said. “The feelings and emotions in the film are a true reflection of what that felt like, and what this time invokes. Sadness, nostalgia, pain and defiance. But when we climbed Primrose Hill and the sun started to rise above the city, there was real hope and joy for a future that will surely be ours. Listening to Jessie’s music. There is no doubt of that." Jessie adds... "This song has always meant a lot to me and I was determined for other people to hear it and for it to be single. I am so touched by how many people have embraced this song, particularly when it's one of your favourite actresses and an acclaimed film director. Working with Gemma, Dominic and their team has been an absolute joy. To have them realise my song with a beautiful ode to London and the longing for human touch and interaction couldn't be more of a compliment. It's a truly cherished piece of work." [via Clash]

Jaguar Jonze has shared her new single and video 'CURLED IN' ahead of the release of her second EP ANTIHERO on April 16, both via Nettwerk Records. 'CURLED IN' presents all her best qualities at its outset. From the track’s rip-roaring, slicing guitar to her perfectly forceful, omnipresent vocals, 'CURLED IN' is a pure cathartic release. "Tear me apart, just tear me apart," she all but demands: "I've never seen wrong be done right." She's fulfilling her simplest needs, and it's freeing. "It's a bit of a twist for me to be a masochist." As a survivor of abuse, these words' unafraid power is all too apparent and an engaging statement to hear expressed.

Following the release of eclectic and impressive debut singles 'ASOS,' 'Right Time,' and 'Papercut,' rising left-of-center pop singer and songwriter Dava returns with a fresh and bold new single 'New Ceilings' available now via Sony Music's Disruptor Records. The moody anti-pop record was co-written by Dava and Mike Adubato (Del Water Gap, Grace VanderWaal) who also produced the track, and is the latest off the Los Angeles-based musician's forthcoming debut EP, Sticky, due out later this year. On the inspiration behind her new single, Dava shares, "This song was written about survival and staying true to yourself. I was having a hard time financially after moving to LA and my phone was shut off while on my way to this session. I was upset with myself for prioritizing music when I really needed the money from driving Uber to stay afloat." She continues, "The day I wrote 'New Ceilings' I was angry and I wanted a song that felt empowering and validated all the work I had put in up to that point. I ended up choosing different songs for my project but when I revisited this one year later, I felt it needed to be heard because of how authentically it embodies my struggle."

London-based Fifi Rong, a multi-talented avant-pop songstress, has shared the video for her stunning single, ‘Another Me’. Directed by Rok Pat, the video for ‘Another Me’ is stylistically simplistic, as Fifi Rong uses her own body as a medium of art, painting herself and inviting the simple imagery of waterside reeds and plants. A tranquil mysticism embraces the single as Fifi Rong acts as a gentle siren, luring the unsuspecting in yet known the inevitable outcome of the relationship. Speaking of the concept behind the single and video, Fifi Rong tells us: “In any doomed romance, timing is always mysteriously wrong. This is my first full CGI music video and it visually portrays the elusive nature of the character surrounding the key message: 'you won't find another me'. The undertone of the song displays a sense of pride and confidence in the character’s melancholy. Dressed in nothing but petals, I wanted my character to symbolise purity, nature, truthfulness, vulnerability and the divine feminine form. Acting as a rotating statue, I wanted to mark the passing of time and seasons as if a unique and lonely piece of art on display.”

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, suchawannabe56!

For @suchawannabe56. I really hope you enjoy. This fic has them both being so soft it literally hurt from cuteness at some points of writing.

Read On AO3

*****

and he holds him close just to keep the world at bay

“Magnus.”

The name was breathed between cracked lips, an almost whine as fingers shakily darted out to try to grab at his soulmate. Magnus froze, casting a glance over his shoulder to find the half-asleep Alec, hair messily curling into his face while his eyes stayed closed, breathing softly.

It was early, light just barely seeping through the curtains and towards the golden sheets of their bed.

Magnus had never quite been able to disbelieve the notion that Alec had been crafted by the Angel himself, sculpted so perfectly into someone who put Adonis to shame. He couldn’t find it in himself to deny it, staring at the vision made so at peace and half-tangled in the sheets.

He loved the mornings, when the loose curls of Alec’s hair hadn’t been smoothed back and forced to behave and his breathing was slow and easy, relaxed and delicate in sleep. A sight so few would ever be graced with, a blessing of magnanimous proportions.

“Don’t go,” Alec said in a painfully small voice, almost pouting. He was reaching out even now, arching his neck from the pillow and eyelashes fluttering as he clung to Magnus like he was the only grounding thing in the world.

Magnus huffed out a breath of laughter as he slipped back into bed. Breakfast could wait. He could easily summon a full course meal in lieu of cooking, something he didn’t have to leave bed to do. He tangled his legs with Alec’s and snuggled back under the covers. With a thought they wrapped around him, tugged by a swell of magic that had Alec sagging back in relief, eyes softening.

“Where else would I go?” He teased as he brushed Alec’s hair out of his eyes, huffing when it immediately fell back as his husband shuffled deeper into the blankets. Nowhere else has you.

Alexander gave a sleepy hum, and drifted. Magnus pressed a kiss to his forehead and buried his face in the crook of Alec’s neck, wrapping his arms around and holding tight. He felt the tension slip from his Alexander’s shoulders beneath him, the way a hum rumbled in his chest as he snuggled ever closer to his warlock.

Magnus couldn’t tell you when it started. But at some point, Alec had affixed himself to Magnus’s side and sought cuddles out like he needed them as surely as he breathed. When he slept, he latched onto Magnus like he was the most precious thing to be found ever, limbs wrapping tightly around him and pulling him close as he breathed those adorable snuffling snores against his skin.

He always, always sought out the warmth of Magnus at his side, pressed himself close, and settled in pure relief the moment he found that contact. As though Magnus was all he needed to keep fear and nightmares and restlessness away.

And Magnus, knowing Alec had been a light sleeper all his life, found no small amount of joy in the fact that when he reached up to softly brush Alec’s hair to the side, cup his face in the warm sunlight when he awoke first, that Alec hummed happily and remained blissfully asleep.

He knew he was safe here, with Magnus.

So he settled. He always did like this. With Magnus holding him, desperate for his morning cuddles. He would pout when he didn’t, when he was deprived of Magnus holding him and snuggling him for long enough, and Magnus knew firsthand.

He couldn’t help but delight in it, in some ways. Knowing Alec felt comfortable enough to let Magnus know he was upset. That he’d come to expect affection from Magnus, when he had been confused and terrified (try as he might to hide it) when he was first given such attention.

Magnus trailed a finger along Alec’s deflect rune, magic coiling protectively about him as it always did. Alec was his, his magic screamed, theirs. Soulmate.

Alec shuddered beneath his touch. Tiny shivers, small things, and he absolutely melted every time. He nuzzled closer to Magnus, leaning into contact with pleased hums and drinking up every fleeting brush and affection touch with an eagerness that left Magnus giddy.

It’s not as though Alec didn’t reach out too: a hand on his shoulder, threading their fingers together, initiating kisses.

Alec was always so responsive for him. Magnus couldn’t help but delight in it, revel in the thrill of Alec’s beautiful little noises and his instinctual reactions. The shudders that went beneath him, watching relief and awe flicker his face and him visibly relax, eyes slipping closed for a blissful moment he breathes in as tension leaves his body entirely.

The little shivers and goosebumps simple brushes could give him delighted Magnus to no end, and he’d never stop adoring Alec’s gorgeous expressions after Magnus kissed him.

Alec was something glorious to behold, and something he will never tire of seeing.

His soulmate, his Alexander was a vision like this, dark hair hit perfectly like golden light in a way that almost made a halo above him. His face was touched with a soft smile, something genuine and more blinding than anything in the world in a way that has Magnus’s heart fluttering in his chest. In these sleepy moments, hazel eyes crinkling at the edges as he stared at Magnus with helpless affection, was a moment he knows he’ll want to keep in his mind forever. His hair was slightly messy, fluffed in that delightful bedhead that set Magnus’s heart swelling as he remembered he was the one who got to see this.

It’s perfect.

He’s perfect.

“Good morning, my love,” Magnus could feel the moment he stirred, more genuinely this time, and he threaded their fingers together with a blinding smile. He dropped his forehead against Alec’s with a huff of laughter.

Alec looked down at Magnus’s hands as though he were awed at the notion he got to have this, blinking hazily before he smiled bashfully back at Magnus. “It most definitely is,” he whispered.

Magnus nearly choked on his next breath, before his smile turned mischievous. “Oh, I’m sure,” he teased smoothly. “Not a chance it can’t be without a pretty boy such as yourself here.”

A shudder ran along Alec’s spine at that, something that was delightful to feel beneath his hands and Magnus smirks. He delighted in garnering those little reactions from his husband, watching when after careful prodding a delightful pink flush spread his cheeks or he ducked his head away with his lips quirking in a smile.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood was a gift to behold and Magnus, more than anything in this world, wanted to spoil him. He wanted to give Alec nice things, the best. It seemed Alec didn’t get the script, or, possibly, couldn’t conceive the notion someone would want to look after him.

Alec was strong. There’s no denying that- even beyond his prowess in the battlefield, he made a powerful leader and strategist and diplomat.

That didn’t stop Magnus from seeing someone starved when he looked at Alec, the way he froze and leaned into Magnus’s touch with unveiled yearning, face softened and desperately pressing closer as though he’s almost afraid it might disappear.

He wasn’t used to softness.

Magnus would give up everything a thousand times over to give him such things.

Alec’s had his heart from the moment he swept off the stage to pull him into a dramatic kiss, with every ounce of fire that screamed he was dying for it. Since he offered Magnus the omamori charm with that delightful smile and crinkled eyes. Alec has always, forever, and eternally laid claim to his heart in a way no one else ever has or will.

Alec was his.

The endline.

The final.

The only.

For all the loves he shared, all the wonderful people he’d been with, Alec was the man he would hold forever in his heart and never let go. The last of his loves. Hell forbid, if something happened to Alec, Magnus knew Alec would be the one he never let go of.

Alec was it for him.

The only person in the universe, so perfectly and endlessly brilliant, that could fit him so.

His husband. His soulmate.

Alec had not been used to affection. But Magnus was damned if he let that stand, and thus, he didn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” the words were curious, Alec tilting his head to one side. Magnus glanced up, at the way loose curls tumbled into his eyes and blinking slowly and lazily from sleep (and Magnus hoped, joy). The warlock debated for a moment, rocking his head back and forth.

Magnus tangled his legs with Alec’s, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing their foreheads together with a blinding smile. “You,” he breathed honestly before stealing a quick kiss.

It was warm. Perhaps too warm, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not with the flutter of Alec’s laughter against his skin and his own answering smile and the warmth settling into his heart. Not when he watched the delightful relaxation that ran along every inch of Alexander’s frame. When he saw him shiver under fleeting touches, as he thumbed softly over his cheek and ran a tremulous hand through his hair.

Alec’s eyes slipped shut as he leaned into it with a noise that sounded all but a purr of contentment.

“You’re beautiful, my little one,” Magnus said without thinking about it. Alec’s eyes snapped open, flying to Magnus’s. When he opened his mouth to respond, Magnus pressed a finger to his lips. “Ah ah ah, you’re going to let me finish.”

Alec flushed a delightful crimson as he forced himself to swallow hard. That term of endearment might be a keeper, Magnus decided with a grin.

“You’re perfect. My darling boy,” he whispered in awe. “You are everything to me, Everything I’ve wanted. Everything I never knew I could have. You are kind, one of the most selfless individuals I’ve ever met. You do so much for others without ever pausing to take a breath for yourself. Brave. So damn stubborn you drive me mad in the best possible ways. You… are stunning, my love. Not just in personality, but I do hope by now you know I think you so in all ways. Your eyes hold enough colors to make their own worlds, and your training has definitely paid off in a great many ways. And that deflect rune is sin on you, darling boy.”

Alec had dropped his gaze during the speech, biting his lip hard. Magnus kept a careful eye on things, watching the way Alec flourished under the praise, trembling, shaky. The pet names always were a pleasure to use, particularly finding ones Alec would tolerate. The air in the room was painfully soft. Vulnerable.

Alec allowed himself to be vulnerable here. “Magnus,” he protested. Magnus wouldn’t be all too surprised if said blush stretched all the way down his chest. Alec did like that, he noted. Not always, perhaps, but he loved being called pretty boy and ‘my little one’ garnered more than a significant reaction.

“I’m in love with you. My soulmate.”

Alec shivered at that. “Yours,” he swore. “Always yours, Magnus.”

With a throaty growl, he lunged forward to tug Alec into a fierce kiss. When he pulled back, breathing heavily against Alec’s lips, something flashed in hazel eyes. “You’re mine too,” Alec said firmly. “Just as surely as I’m yours.”

Magnus huffed on a choked laugh, twisting it into a smirk. “Of course, my love. Far be it from me to deny you,” he teased.

Alec snorted at that. He seemed intimately aware of that fact, surrounded by the thousands of things Magnus had given him, fought to make him believe he deserves.

Alec may not be used to luxury, but Magnus had centuries of experience and he had no qualms of putting it all to use, his wealth, to make a life of comfort personally for his Alexander, between wars and demons and darkness, warmed by the light of their own adorations.

Magnus rolled on top of Alec, tucking his chin against the junction between Alec’s neck and collar. He breathed in the familiar sandalwood and felt a smile tugging his lips, the mix of sweat and shampoo and the undeniable scent of the both of them.

It was nice like this. Just the two of them, together. Alec had begun to idly trace runes against golden brown skin with a fingertip, thoughtlessly. “You’re in a sappy mood this morning, aren’t you?” His lips quirked slightly up to one side.

“Well, I was just thinking,” Magnus leaned up to brush their noses together, watching the soft little grin that fluttered Alec’s face. “Of how much I love you.”

Magnus felt the way Alec’s breath hitched at that. “Sap,” he accused again. Magnus’s eyes softened at the edge, crinkling the way Alec always adored.

“Always for you,” he said roughly.

Alec realized with a start that he was tracing love runes against Magnus’s skin. He flushed, fingers jerking back and fluttering for one moment before, blushing furiously, he began drawing other runes. Protection. Strength. Promise. Loyalty. Love once more. “I don’t want to leave,” Alec confessed in a small voice.

Magnus couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at that. “Then don’t,” he decided simply, voice muffled. “Stay here with me.”

Alec seemed to snort on some delightful laughter, one Magnus heard clearly despite his shadowhunter’s best attempts to muffle the sound. “Magnus-” His voice cut off when Magnus pressed a kiss against Alec’s skin. He leaned up, something warm and pleased rumbling in his chest awfully akin to a purr. He could hear Alec’s stuttering breaths beneath him as Magnus trailed light kisses up his neck and along his deflect rune, nipping Alec’s ear lightly before pulling away to meet his gaze.

“I’ll never complain about having more time with you,” he stated simply before swooping down into a kiss.

Alec hummed into it, the vibration sending sparks beneath Magnus’s skin as he eagerly swallowed any and all noises Alec made. When he pulled back, his smirk was just on the side of mischievous. That was all the warning Alec had before Magnus pulled him up into another kiss, something fiercer and he bit Alec’s lip, not hard enough to cause any real pain but enough to have him groaning into it.

Alec stammered some nonsensical sounds, swallowing hard before he managed to gasp out, “Magnus.”

“I do love hearing you say my name,” Magnus purred with a teasing glint in his eye.

Alec huffed a little, cheeks still delightfully warm before he kissed Magnus softly on the lips, just once. They needn’t say anything else. They had no plans to go any further this morning. Magnus couldn’t stop himself from placing a few more kisses on the sweet face in front of him before he dropped his head to Alec’s chest, feeling the way the loose chains dragged against Alec’s skin.

It wasn’t safe to sleep with necklaces on, but when he sensed Alec was waking he had the wherewithal to snap them into place. Going by the way Alec’s eye softened and he dropped a finger to run reverently along the nearest chain, it was a good decision.

Magnus knew Alec loved the sensation of his necklaces brushing his skin. Ever since the first night they’d had sex together, he knew the way Alec lit up with it. Alec loved his jewelry, loved idly spinning Magnus’s rings while their fingers were threaded together. He loved them the same way he cherished Magnus’s makeup and magic. He loved the look of them on Magnus, gold and silver and beautiful materials.

Magnus couldn’t deny wondering what Alec would look like, decadent, refined, radiant adorned with beautiful necklaces and rings.

That was his specialty, his comfort, and he’d never push Alec to try anything he didn’t want. Seeing the ring perched on his finger, the band that he brushed every few minutes as though assuring himself it was there, that marked Magnus as his husband was more than enough.

Alec took Magnus’s hand in his and wordlessly spun the heavy ring with an ‘M’ imprinted on it between his thumb and forefinger. Magnus softened, watching the way Alec’s gaze dropped to peer wordlessly down. His lips were parted ever so slightly, face raw and open in a way that had Magnus melting against him.

“You’re beautiful,” Alec told him honestly, voice rough. Magnus huffed out a startled breath of laughter, cat eyes glinting.

“Why thank you, my love,” he mused with a pleased grin.

“When I first met you my first thought was that you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen,” Alec breathed in confession. Magnus shifted, rolling onto his side to gaze back at Alec, dropping his glamour as he listened intently. Alec looked distant, mind a thousand miles away but no less awed by the man at his side even now. “Before- before I saw you, with your magic like that and you turned to face me with that jacket and the- the eyeliner and everything, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled. Not until you spun to face me after you took down that Circle member. I don’t think I could tell you even now. But it was perfect. You were... incredible. I couldn’t tell half of what was coming out of my mouth, and I was convinced I was making a fool of myself but it was perfect. I wanted you. I wanted to get to know you and spend time with you and I- I was terrified of what you meant because people didn’t just make me smile or want me.”

“I suppose I was a little,” Magnus trailed off with a pained look. “Zealous at that point.”

Alec laughed, something wild and free that had Magnus’s heart stuttering. “I don’t know if I would have picked up on anything less,” he put his fingers just under Magnus’s chin, thumbing gently along the skin there before he reached up to cup his cheek.

“Your eyes,” he whispered, tracing a thumb just along the soft skin beneath his eye. “Are full of starlight. I remember looking at them and thinking that I was wrong, you weren’t the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, you were the most beautiful man there ever was.”

And now it was Magnus’s turn to flush. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he wanted to drop his gaze, look away as a bubble of embarrassment caught in his throat, but he was frozen under the weight of Alexander’s soft expression.

“Alec-”

“You are,” Alec said adamantly. His words were hushed, awed, expression all but reverent. “They were so bright. Molten gold, like a supernova, one of the collapsing stars they talk about in books captured for a moment. I wanted to look into them forever and memorize every detail and I couldn’t breathe for how much I wanted you. ...There was no doubt I could ever love you, Magnus. You’re beautiful, magical, the best man I know. There’s no universe with us in it where I am capable of not loving you.”

Magnus found his throat unexpectedly tight. He shook his head sharply with a wet laugh. “Are you sure I’m the only sappy one this morning?”

Alec shrugged, tipping his head concedingly.

“You bring it out in me.”

Magnus was all he ever wanted. He buried a kiss into said husband’s hair as their grip on each other tightened. Later, they’d have to get up. Face the world. But it was enough right now, wrapped in each other’s embrace in the warmth of each other’s love. They could stay here, up in their cocoon protected from the world for each other.

“I’ll stay with you. For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll stay by your side,” Alec whispered. The rune he found himself tracing, once, twice, and now for the third time was the wedded union rune.

“Forever, then,” he whispered.

Alec smiled. “Forever,” he echoed, and it sounded like a promise.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 6)

The world takes her to the seaside. It does so with a force that she doesn’t expect. But then, she hasn’t expected to stay in Wu Jing as long as she has. She isn’t sure how she had gone from vowing to be at Chin city within the week to making excuses to stay in Wu Jing. She sighs, who is she trying to fool, she knows why she has tethered herself and she is both afraid of and exhilarated by it. She was anyhow. She looks into the waves as she casts a net out. It would seem that she is no longer welcomed in Wu Jing. She supposes that it was only a matter of time before that happened. She is the only firebender in the village and not everyone takes kindly to it. She is under the impression that a good handful of them only tolerated her because they were under the impression that she’d be leaving soon.

She drags the net back in, it is significantly heavier, a good sign. “You’re a natural.” The captain comments, she helps Azula pull it back in. “You sure that you’ve never done this before?”

Azula nods.

“Maybe in a past life?”

She shakes her head, “in a past life I was a dragon.”

The woman chuckles, “ain’t mean ye couldn’t ‘a been a fisherman in a different one.”

Azula shrugs. “I suppose.” Though she sincerely doubts it.

“Yee don’t talk much.”

She shrugs. “Just here for some coin. I’m not trying to form bonds.”

“I take it the las’ bond yee formed didn’t end so well? People take to the seas when they wanna forget the land.”

“We’re on a short fishing trip, I’ll be back on land by sundown.”

“So ye ain’t runnin’ away from something?”

She empties the fish and throws the net back to the waves. The captain disappears back below deck and Azula slumps over the rails. The wind brings a flutter to her hair and the scent of fish to her nose. The ship hits a wave and the seaspray brings salt to her lips. It leaves her feeling sticky and dirty. She yearns for this trip to be over with so she can take her earnings and go. She has caught such an excess that she will no longer have to fret over meals nor the tears in her clothing and holes in her shoes.

Perhaps she has done well by leaving Ojihara and his rancid turnips. That loathsome man...She reels in her net again. She is going to be mighty sore by the end of this endeavor.

“Need some help with that?”

“I can…” she huffs. “I can do it myself.” It is a full body effort by now but she almost has her catch. She hears the ripping of a rope and curses. The Water Tribesman hustles towards the net and holds the severed ends together. He looks away just long enough. She slams a ball of fire into the rails, the kickback throws her onto her back, but the net, brimming with flopping fish, comes with her. She winces, and lays dazed for a moment.

“Are you…?”

“I’m fine.”

He casts a glance at her haul of squirming fish. “Yeah, with a catch like that I imagine you will be.”

She gets to her feet and cringes, her pants are rather uncomfortably soaked through and she hasn’t a change of clothes. She won’t have one until she makes it back to the inn.

“Have you been in our village long?”

She shakes her head. “And I won’t be staying long. I’m not a fishing village sort.”

He quirks a brow.

“I can catch a few fish, that doesn’t make me a good fit for…”

“Then perhaps you’d be suited for the Tribes?”

“Absolutely not!” She replies abruptly. “I’m not trying to stray that far from home. Even if I were, I can’t imagine that the cold would do my fire any good.”

“Well I think that you’d be good for a fishing village lifestyle.”

“Your judgement is poor.”

“So your social skills.”

She gives a haunty sniff, bristling at the odor of fish. “Which is precisely why I shouldn't join a fishing crew in the long term. I won’t have myself tethered in one place and to a handful of people.” Even as she says it she feels for the stone in her pocket. She ought to chuck it over the side of the boat.

The man’s face softens. “Can I help you collect your fish?”

“You may help me, but only because I don’t like how their scales feel.”

“I take it that you won’t be skinning them?”

Her nose crinkles, “skinning them?” She looks at her hands. They aren’t clean nor are they smooth and soft anymore. But they aren’t yet bloodstained and shredded by scales. “I am going to sell them and someone else can have the pleasure.”

“Who are you?”

“Cheyul.”

“Where do you come from, Cheyul?”

“The Fire Nation.”

“I know that. But which part.”

“Just help me with these.” She gestures to the fish. By the time they reach the docks, the fish are packed neatly into crates and ready for selling.

“Where were you before you came to this village?”

“Why do you care?” She snaps. Her eyes don’t leave the men and women working to bind their vessel to the dock.

He shrugs. “I suppose that it’s because I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“Stern, uptight, hard to get along with? Then you have met many firebenders.” She lifts one of her crates and carries it towards a one of several dockside buyers for weighing. “I’ll have more.” She mutters and the buyer nods.

The Water Tribesman manages a half smile and sets another crate down. “I was going to say guarded and...sharp. I don’t know, there’s just something different about you.”

Different, she thinks. And when she thinks of different, she thinks of the things that make her so. These are the same things that make her a monster. The same things that she is trying to out pace. The things that pursue and catch up to her no matter where she goes. “You’re like all of them.” She mutters. “I’m different and you’re like all of the rest.”

“How do you figure that?”

She sets her last crate down and stares him in the eye. “You want to get to know me and when you finally do, you realize that you were mistaken. That, that isn’t what you want at all.”

The buyer grins and hands her an extremely generously heavy pouch. She staches it away in her satchel.

“How do you figure?”

“I’ve learned to tell.” She turns from him and strides away.

“Who hurt you?” He asks.

“Who hasn’t?” She returns. And who hasn’t she hurt? Of course Ojihara would detest her. Of course they all would. And for what? Because she didn’t want to babysit his grandchild? Really it was a no win situation; either she ‘wasn’t earning her keep’ or she’d be outcast for managing to  traumatize the child. Decidedly, she hates children. Loathes them. They are needy and fussy and all too curious.

“So you left because you’ve been hurt? Where are you going to go and how long do you think those coins are going to last?”

And adults are even worse.

“They’ll last me long enough to find another quick job.” She hastens her pace. “It’s none of your concern.”

“So you’re just going to keep on running?” The man asks. “I thought that firebenders were supposed to be brave and head on. A tribesman...we stick to our values.”

“You assume I have values.” She cuts herself short before she can add, ‘of my own.’ It might be that he is right, at least to some degree; perhaps she should return to the Fire Nation and concede. She has gone searching for something and she hasn’t found it. She hasn’t even figured out what she is searching for. It might be that her purpose, her destiny lies in a cell or a padded room.

“You don’t have anything that keeps you attached to anywhere?” His tone softens.

“I’ve got nothing at all.” She takes another step. The stone in her pocket knocks against her leg.

That night she learns the depth of a small thing.

.oOo.

She studies herself in the mirror. Her reflection is elegant and pretty, decorated and done up to the fullest. Rubies on golden chains sparkle on her ears, her fingers, and around her neck. They glisten in her hair and shimmer on the bulky silk folds of her gown. They have, once again, evened the color of her skin and crafted a sharpness to her eyes and lips. It is almost as though she has never left at all. She thought that it would have been comforting to revel in a vision of the past. To see her old, unblemished face peering prestinly back at her. It only feels as though she has erased something...

“Satisfied?”

Azula rubs her lips together and shakes her head.

“What is it? Do you want us to apply more makeup?”

She shakes her head vigorously.

“Less?”

She hesitates. She nods.

“You’re not backing out, are you?” Zuko asks.

“Why would you think that?”

“You’re having your makeup washed off.”

“I wanted less of it.”

He furrows his brows as her servants remove a healthy layer of concealer.

“I thought that you…”

“They will be staring at me from a rather large distance. They won’t notice much.”

The clean layer and layer away to her satisfaction. Until she is almost barefaced. Until a touch of eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick remain. She brushes her fingers over her cheek.

The servants exit and a team of fire sages come to take their place. “Lo and Li will begin the introductions, you will emerge when they speak your name. We recommend that you start making your way to the balcony…”

She lets the man finish but she knows the workings of it well enough. With her nod the sage replies, “I shall tell them to begin.”

It is Sokka who fills their vacancy. “You look nice.” He smiles.

She clasps her hands over her knee. “Thank you.”

“You’re really tense.”

“It’s my natural state.”

He chuckles though she isn’t joking.

“Are you sure that you don’t want me or Zuko to accompany you?”

“I don’t need hand holding, Sokka.” She doesn’t quite mean it but she speaks with an extra bite.

“Just...ya know offering.”

“Offering once was plenty.” A series of claps accent her words and she knows that the twins have made it to the balcony.

“I can also come out if you’d like.”

“I don’t need your coddling either, Zuzu.” Doesn’t need it and feels sick at the thought of having it. Of standing rather plainly next to him in his opulent and awestiking regalia. Of being quite ordinary and unaccomplished. She faintly wonders if he had thought the same during his homecoming.

“We have searched every stretch of our Nation and beyond our land. Our search had turned up nothing and we had assumed the worst.” There is no glory to boast. No heroic deeds to tell of. Nothing substantial at all really. Nothing worth announcing. “What we have found is that a phoenix can rise back on its own.” They make it sound more glorious than it is. Azula supposes that, that is their job. She rises, her stomach gives a small flop. Zuko offers her an encouraging smile and Sokka mouths a good luck.

They pause and she pauses, hand gripping the fabric of the curtain. She closes her eyes.

“Now after six long years,” Lo says.

“She is ready to return to the public’s eye!” Li finishes.

“Your princess, Azula!” They both finish.

She gently pushes the curtain aside and slips onto the balcony. Her eyes scan a wholly silent crowd. She isn’t surprised to be met with a very un-Fire Nation coldness. Her footfalls echo about the plaza as she makes her way to the railing. Her hands curl around them, the wind stirs her hair chopsticks, sending their lavish ornamentation tinkling. And then the crowd erupts. Not into the hateful sneers and yells that she had anticipated but a rather thunderous clapping. They are pridefully noisy, it is almost dizzying. She grips the rails tighter. And tighter still when she looks off into the distance and sees that the statue of her father has been demolished, probably melted down and reshaped into one of Zuko.

“Would you like to address your people?” The twins offer.

Azula’s stomach lurches a second time. They haven’t told her that she was to do so, though she supposed that she should have figured as much. She almost shakes her head but the crowd falls silent again. And she is silent. The world is all too still.

Her lips part and she tilts her head up, bearing the scar on her neck, and inhales through her nose. “I have been to a good many places.” She says at last as she peers over the crowd. It is very different from when she has last stood up here. Spots of green and blue mix with red. Eyes of gold, green, and blue fix on her with anticipation. “It is a pleasure to be home again. Home in the greatest nation with a rekindled knowledge that the Fire Nation is the crown jewel of the world.” She pauses, almost leaving it at that. Her fingers brush over one of the two trinkets she has tucked into her gown. She has garnered another round of approving claps and remarks, mostly from the red specks. She waits for them to go silent. “Though I suppose that there are many other jewels that are tantalizing in their own respects.” And now the blue and green join.

She reaches into the folds of her gown and feels for her stone. She grips it tightly while holding her head high until the twins beckon for her to return inside. “You will be seeing more of me.” She concludes as her subjects bow.

“You did amazing!” Sokka exclaims.

“I hardly did anything at all.” Azula shrugs. “These things are all for show.”

“They weren’t booing you.”

“Is that the reception you tend to get?”

“People love me!” Sokka declares.

“If you say so.”

.oOo.

“You feel better now, don’t you?”

Azula reclines on the sofa and lets her hair down. It is true, she does feel much less tense now that a public appearance isn’t looming over her head. “I feel well enough Sokka.” It very much helps to be out of that gown and in something less excessive, less restrictive. She rests her head upon the arm rest and closes her eyes.

“You are happy to be back, right?” Zuko asks.

“Why does everyone ask so many questions?”

“Because you’re hard to read and don’t give clear answers the first time around.”

“I just got back, Zuzu. I haven’t decided how I feel about it.”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t enjoy the pampering!” Sokka declares as he quite brazenly takes a seat. He doesn’t wait for her to move her legs, opting to simply sit on them instead. She frowns and gives him a rather solid kick. He jolts and she curls her legs up. He sits back down.

“It is nice.” She replies. “I missed being clean.” She brings her sleeve to her nose and inhales the fresh scent of various flora.

“I liked your speech.”

“It wasn’t much of a speech. Just a few carefully selected words.” Though careful is a bit of a stretch considering that she hadn’t pre-prepared them.

“It was still nice.” Sokka says.

She shrugs.

“Can you tell us about what you did in the Earth Kingdom?”

“Is lunch almost ready? I’m quite hungry.” She moves her hand from behind her head to her belly. “Dumplings would be nice.” She hasn’t had them in ages. Not fresh and steaming to palace perfection.

“Sure, I’ll let the cooks know that, that’s what you want.” Zuko replies. “It’ll be nice to sit at the table together again. Mai and TyLee will be there.”

“Of course.” She says simply. She snatches up one of the decorative pillows and holds it to her chest. She wonders how it is that she had come to expect that she wouldn’t be seeing either of them again. She wonders how it will be received if she simply stole away in the night and disappeared again.

[nerdyhuntress]

Make Me Your Villain, Alina (Darklina Fanfic)

After taking Ravka's throne, Alina visits the Darkling and asks him for something. Rated E for explicit sexual content! You have been warned!

First posted on Archive  (https://archiveofourown.org/works/33385627)

The stag collar rested firmly on her shoulders as she walked through the hallways. Alina's heart was pounding in anticipation. Even though it wasn't strictly forbidden, she had no idea if she had permission to enter his chambers without prior consent. She vaguely wondered if he would be irritated with her. After taking Ravka's throne for himself, Alexsander had grown far more hostile sometimes. He was ruthless in overthrowing the former king and all the Lanstovs. But then, there were other days where he was calmer, cheerful and much more like himself. He would bring her flowers and chocolates, while the two spent hours in the sun-drenched meadows of Ravka until night fell.

Alina hoped that this was one of those days.

After a few minutes, she arrived at his door. Her fist was poised to knock, but she immediately hesitated. What if he was busy or upset? She shook her head, reminding herself that he probably wasn’t working at the moment. Alina steeled herself and knocked on the door. In the quiet hallways, it was immensely loud and echoed through the palace’s top floor. She heard his voice inside, asking her to enter the room.

Alexsander’s office has not changed since the last time she was here. A tall bookshelf full of ancient books and scrolls stood in the left corner. The dim lighting helped sustain the aura of mystery and medieval. His large desk was at the end of the long room and the large window behind him offered a spectacular view of Ravka. Alina sometimes felt in awe and impressed with him, especially since she had admitted her feelings to him.

Her husband was currently scribbling on a parchment, refusing to meet her gaze. She awkwardly cleared her throat, hoping he would acknowledge her presence. Instead, he continued writing as if she wasn’t even in the room. Irritation and frustration began to swell up inside her, but she forced herself to remain calm. After all, he had taught her that patience was one of the most important virtues. Alexsander taught her that every single night in bed, but she still managed to impress him in different ways.

A minute passed and he still hadn’t looked up from his important work. She stomped her feet in annoyance and slammed her palms down on his desk. That simple action triggered a frown on his calm visage. Her husband looked up at her as a small smirk danced on his lips. Saints, how she wanted to kiss him at this very moment.

“Can I help you, moya solnishka?” he asked cheerfully, a hint of danger lacing his tone.

“I’m here - I mean, I wanted to see you,” she explained, stumbling over her words as she blushed.

His attentive gaze on her was tantalizing, but it was a little terrifying. He could be so unpredictable sometimes with his ministrations and punishments. Alina could feel the bruises on her thighs and backside just beginning to heal after nights of passionate lovemaking. She yearned for him to ruin her, to take control and to make her feel absolute ecstasy. Sparks fluttered in her heart and she felt herself growing wetter between her legs.

“You wanted to see me?” he repeated slowly, unsure if he heard her correctly. “For what exactly, my little Sun Summoner?”

She has no idea what’s coursing through his mind at this moment. Is it frustration or anger for disrupting his work? Or maybe he’s just as excited as her. His gentle smile is as refreshing as cool water on a hot summer night. Alina perched on the side of his desk, attempting to craft the right words to explain her situation.

“It’s just - well, you’re so busy sometimes,” she said slowly. “I feel like we don’t get enough time together during the day. You’re off bringing peace to Ravka and I’m just sitting around. Waiting for you to come back. I feel so….lonely sometimes.”

There it was. Her deepest emotions came to light after so many months together. A deep frown creased his brow as he took in her words. Finally, after a moment’s thought, he set aside his parchment and stood up. He looked positively regal in his black kefta, sweeping behind him as he walked with a firm posture. She wanted him to take it off immediately and ravish her already. Alina was tired of waiting for him.

“I’m very sorry, malyshka. I had no idea that you felt this way,” he whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her skin. “Let me make it up to you. What do you crave, dearest?”

She moaned as his hand brushed her bare leg and lifted the hem of her kefta. His deft fingers seeked her warm heat and he grinned widely when he gently stroked her clit.

“My, is all this for me?” he asked eagerly.

Alina nodded, but he immediately retaliated. His firm hand came down on her backside, giving her a sharp slap for disobedience.

“How many times have I told you, solnishka?” he whispered darkly, shadows drawing closer to the pair. “Use your words when you speak to me.”

“Yes, master,” she moaned. “I - it’s for you. All of it. I want you to - to take me.”

He pulled away from her and she felt disoriented. Regret washed over her and she wished he would touch her already. Alina felt as if she would collapse or faint if he continued this slow pace. She was desperate for an orgasm already, but deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give her one until she was absolutely broken. Until she was absolutely submissive to him.

“Then remove your kefta,” he said firmly in a sharp tone. “Now!”

Alina jumped off his desk, immediately complying with his words. She feared the consequences if his orders weren’t followed. With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her kefta and dropped it to the floor. Now, she was only clad in her underwear, but his stern gaze was disapproving. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she revealed every inch of herself to him. Alina took off her bra and panties as goosebumps trailed up her skin. Only her stag collar remained. Finally, after she was absolutely naked, he came forward.

His kiss was electrifying, promising a night of pure passion and delight. As usual, she allowed him to take the lead. Alexsander’s rough, domineering hands were powerful. He placed a leg between her thighs and the friction was absolute heaven. She yearned for him to put his cock inside her. Then, once again, the pounding ache was unbearable, but he pulled away from her abruptly. It was like being denied water or sustenance in a dry desert. She whimpered and stared at him, silently pleading for a release. Her eyes widened and she hoped he would touch her again.

“You’re so desperate,” Alexsander chuckled. “I like that. But at the same time, I can’t have you like this, Alina. It’s improper and rude. I think you deserve to be punished for this.”

She began growing wetter and rubbed her thighs, hoping to relieve a little tension in her clit. Her husband frowned and forced a hand between her legs.

“If you do that again, I won’t let you come at all,” he growled, giving her a vicious slap to her clit. She whimpered again and moaned, clutching the collars on his kefta.

“Yes, master,” she said softly, eyes fluttering in sadness.

“That’s better,” he said in an approving tone. “Now, bend over the desk.”

Alina walked to his desk and bent over. He swept aside his work, leaving an area for her to lie down. It was a little uncomfortable and the cool wooden table felt strange on her warm body. She jumped when he pressed a gentle hand on her backside, forcing her to bend down more. He groaned in delight and a small grin came over his face.

“That’s better,” he whispered, looking at her from all angles. “Just how I like it. Now, count for me, solnishka.”

Without warning, a sharp slap hit her right buttock and she gasped in pain. Alina turned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but his other hand was fiercely gripping her throat. He restricted her airway as a dizzying sensation filled her mind. She was in her subspace now, desperate for pain and pleasure that only he could give her.

“Well?” he growled, fingers digging into her throat.

“One!” she gasped, struggling to speak.

He nodded in approval and hit her again. The pain was like an ongoing fire that was excessive and brutal. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she allowed them to fall down her face. Sharp sobs racked her body as she continued counting his strikes. It was a simple task, but the unbearable pain made it so difficult. Finally, after thirty strikes, he immediately stopped. She moaned, craving his touch once again, even if he struck her again.

“Have you learned your lesson, Alina?” he said in a soft voice, slowly stroking her hair. “You were such a good girl, taking your punishment well. What do you say?”

Alina gulped. “Thank you, master. Thank you for my punishment.”

He nodded, lifting her up from his desk. Even if he only struck her backside, tingling pain gently caressed her entire body. Alina felt herself growing wet between her legs. It was dripping down her thighs and he could tell he was extremely pleased with her reaction. Suddenly, he lifted her in his arms and gently placed her entire body on his desk. She was so sore and tired that she didn’t bother to protest or ask him. Alina willingly submitted herself to his control.

Alexsander grabbed her legs and forced them apart, allowing himself full access to her wet heat. He leaned forward and stroked her clit with his deft fingers. She gasped, squirming away from his touch. Even that simple act managed to send electrifying shocks of pleasure through her body. He growled and leaned forward, licking her wetness with his sharp tongue. He tasted her clit as if it was a fine delicacy and he could never be satisfied. The cool desk was a strict contrast against her warm body. Her master feasted on her until she was approaching a wonderful orgasm, but he pulled away at the last moment. Alina whimpered and stared up at him, pleading for a release.

“Not yet, solnishka. I want to release myself inside you,” he explained, his hands firmly gripping her waist. “Turn around and bend over the desk again.”

She nodded and compiled immediately. This position was less enjoyable, but she wasn’t going to complain when he was about to put his cock inside her. Alina moaned when she felt him slowly enter her wetness. She was so soaked after he ate her out and her body was begging for an orgasm already. Once he was inside her, Alexsander didn’t waste a single second. He pounded into her with ferocity and power as if he had something to prove. His hands were gripping her waist so tightly that she knew he would leave bruises. Each morning, she awoke sore and tired, but ready for another round again.

“Yes,” he moaned, gripping her hair tightly and eliciting a sharp, pleasurable pain in her soul. “Give yourself over to me, dearest. Let me have you.”

She nodded and relaxed her body. He continued pounding into her until she felt herself on the precipice of an orgasm. Thankfully, her master was incredibly merciful this time and allowed her to come. Her release slowly built up from an ember into a sharp flame, sending waves upon waves of ecstasy across her body. The tingling sensation remained from her head to her toes and she nearly blacked out for a second. She was dimly aware of him pulling out and coming all over her ass. Deep, heavy breaths filled the room as the two relaxed and basked in the afterglow. Silence fell upon the couple as Alina closed her eyes and sighed in relief.

Then, her master gently touched her as he procured a clean rag to clean off his release. She stayed silent and allowed him to do his work. Once he finished, he tenderly pulled her off his desk and lifted her limp body into his arms. Alina rubbed her face into his chest.

“You alright there, solnishka?” he whispered gently, tucking strands of hair away from her face. “Was it too much?”

She stared at him with reverence and shook her head, biting her lip. “No master, it was perfect. I loved every second of it.”

He grinned in approval, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. Alina loved it when he was so warm and caring after a passionate, rough round of sex. It made the pain and humiliation bearable, since she knew the reward was worth it. The trip to their bedroom was quick and they didn’t encounter anyone along the way. Alexsander laid her on his dark silk blankets and kissed her on the lips. Drowsiness suddenly came over her and she relaxed in his bed.

“Sleep, my love,” he said quietly, looking at her with the deepest affection in his eyes.

Alina closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.

[propsandmayhems]

illicit affairs (pt. 2)

here is the second part of my jordelia fic inspired by illicit affairs by taylor swift! 

a/n: there is kissing and implied sex in this part 

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | read on ao3

A drug that only worked / The first few hundred times

The night was still clear by the time Lucie had shown Cordelia the new chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia and they had made plans to meet the next afternoon to train. Will tried to insist on having the carriage brought around to take her and James back home, but Cordelia eventually persuaded him to allow them to walk, explaining how she wished to take in the rare night without rain. They were walking arm in arm, and had just turned off Fleet Street when James finally spoke, “Would you care to join me for a nightcap when we get back?”

Cordelia knew what this would lead to. On the night of their wedding, when they were finally alone, he had brought the subject up. “Daisy,” he began, resting on the chaise lounge in the sitting room of Herondale Manor, where they were spending a week for their honeymoon. He had changed out of his wedding gear and was relaxing in white shirtsleeves and black trousers. “If I asked you to accompany me to my room, what would you say?” 

At first, she just gaped at him, astonished at his forwardness. Next, she felt a rush of anger toward him, for assuming she would just give herself to him if he asked. Then she remembered the night at the Hell Ruelle, and how it felt so good to lose herself in James, even if it wasn’t real for him. “I would tell you yes, James. The entire Enclave already believes we’ve consummated our marriage, so what does it matter?”

He let out a short laugh and lazily reached out his hand. “Well come here then.” 

She stood from the sofa she had been lounging on and made her way diagonally across the room to the chaise James was lying on. He had his head resting on his right arm, and his ever-present bracelet sparkled behind the edges of his hair. His left arm was held out across his body, waiting for Cordelia to take his hand. She had changed out of her wedding gown before they departed the Institute, and she was wearing a tea dress in dark green - another one of Anna’s selections. Before they left, Lucie had also helped her in locating all the pins in her hair, and her curls now fell loosely around her shoulders. She reached James and placed her hand in his. “Would you like me to help you up?”

“I’m quite comfortable here. Why don’t you sit?” 

“On your lap?”

The only illumination in the room came from witchlight sconces that lined the walls, and they caused James’s eyes to glimmer in a way that reminded her of the stars in the sky over Cirenworth. “Yes, if that’s alright with you.” 

She gave him a nod and hitched her skirts up with her free hand. James watched her with half-lidded eyes and tugged on her hand. “Bring your leg over,” he instructed. She settled on top of him, legs on either side of his waist, her skirts billowing out around them. “Are you okay with this?” He asked, and her heart warmed at him continuously checking in on her. 

“Yes, although I do believe it would have been a better option to retire to the bedroom, this chaise is quite narrow and I feel like we are going to tip the boat.” 

This brought a small smile out of him, “I can assure you, the chaise is quite stable.” 

“What, have you tested it out with someone else?”

His smile fell, and she thought she saw hurt flash across his expression. However, he blinked and it was gone. “No, you-” he began, then stopped. Disconnecting his eyes from hers and raking them down her body. Unclasping their hands, he moved both of his hands to rest on her thighs under her skirts. He brought his eyes back up to meet hers, and for a moment she thought she saw real desire reflected in the shimmering gold, “just let me know at any point if you want me to stop.”

With that, she leaned down and captured his lips in hers. She brought her hands up to tangle her fingers in his inky black locks. She gave a few strands a gentle tug and was successful in raising a low moan from the back of his throat. He moved his hands further up her thighs, leaving a trail of fire on her skin wherever he touched. His roaming hands came to rest on her lower back, his fingers fanning out so that he was gripping her hips. Her breath hitched and her lips parted, surprised at the new sensation. James took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He tasted of champagne and the sweet icing from their wedding cake. 

She untangled her hands from his hair to begin working on the buttons of his shirt. The top two were already unfastened and her surprisingly steady hands made quick work of the third before James broke away from her with a groan, slipping his hands back from under her skirts. Leaning forward, he pulled sharply on his cuffs, popping the buttons off. He then took his shirt by the collar and ripped it over his head, sending the remaining fasteners Raziel-knows-where. Cordelia dropped her jaw and barely silenced a giggle that was rising in her throat. “James! By the Angel! Bridget is going to find those buttons and she’s going to know what we did in the sitting room!”

James, his torso now bare, had once again reclined into the soft fabric of the chaise lounge. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, and his eyes expressed the same intense wanting as they did that night at the Hell Ruelle. His eyes seemed to be glowing as if they were made of the same molten gold a blacksmith would use to craft a sword. He reached out a hand and twirled a firey curl around one of his long pianist’s fingers. He used the grip on her curl to tug her down close to him and with a gasp, she lurched forward. Quickly, she placed her hands on his exposed chest to prevent their heads from bumping into each other. In her new position, she and James were nearly nose to nose, their breath tangling together. He moved his other hand up to join the other in tangling in her hair, as his eyes searched her face. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper and sounded as if he was struggling to form any words at all. “Well, Daisy, as you said before, what does it matter?” 

With that, their lips collided together once again with a renewed fervor. Shortly after, James finally led her to his bedroom where her tea dress was abandoned and they explored every inch of each other. 

Since that night, they had spent many more evenings together. Just as she had the first time, they always justified their escapades with the same whispered phrase; what does it matter? And at first, it didn’t - Cordelia would let herself slip away and become a part of James and he a part of her, as whenever they were together she felt that he truly desired her and none of this was a lie or a sham. Yet, recently she couldn’t deny how he looked at her during the day; as if they were just two friends sharing a house. Everything she did to try to draw his attention only raised a simple ‘you look beautiful’ from him. 

She continued to look forward as she answered his question. “No, James, not tonight. I’m tired and I have plans to train with Lucie early tomorrow.” This was a lie - she was not tired at all and didn’t have to be at the Institute until lunchtime tomorrow, but it was the first time she had refused his offer and it had the desired effect on him. He stopped short, the movement abrupt enough that it caused her to swing to face him as their arms were still intertwined at the elbow. 

Looking down at her, he scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “Is everything alright, Daisy? Have I done something to offend you?” 

Cordelia yearned to take his face her hands and smooth the crinkles out of his eyebrows, but she forced herself to remain still. Keeping her voice as casual as she could, she replied, “No. It’s just as I said before, that I am tired.” 

James opened his mouth to reply, but quickly closed it. With that, they once again started forward to finish their walk home - now surrounded by a thick silence.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Field of Poppies Part 4

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 4: The Shelbys go on holiday to the summer fair. 

             With school on summer holiday, Polly was at her wit's end with the children. While they mostly played outside, they’d always be in and out of the house banging around, tracking mud on the floor, coming in with scraped knees, or crying about something being unfair. Meanwhile, Finn was starting to walk and was also wreaking havoc, pulling on everything not tied down and making quick getaways.

            So, it was decided they would spend some of the holiday on the road with the Strong family. Of course, Tommy and Arthur weren’t exactly pleased. Seeing as the betting shop was just getting up and started, they couldn’t afford to lose out on money. Polly insisted and said Danny and the other men could handle a few weeks.

            Going on seven months pregnant, Amelia was a bit apprehensive about traveling out to the Welsh countryside. However, Tommy assured her that if she were to go into an early labor, she was in capable hands, probably better than any doctor in Birmingham. It was enough to sway her. They all needed a break from the city’s smoke and mud. Some fresh air was bound to do them good.

             And oh how sweet the air smelled once they were finally away from the city limits. Amelia had been to the countryside before but had never joined Tommy’s family to see their kin out on the road. Her parents would never allow her to be near other Travelers, especially ones who tended to be more nomadic in nature than the Shelbys were.

            But Tommy had told her enough stories as a child to make her interested. He tried to scare her with the stories they would tell around the fires. Try to explain the excitement of spring and summer fairs. It seemed like another world when he described it all. To be out in the Welsh wilderness, sleeping under the stars, riding horses all day, spinning yarns about fairies, it seemed to be a child’s dream.

            Now, Amelia was much more aware of the struggles Tommy’s extended family faced. The prejudice and poverty. None of those issues mattered as a child. They had blinders on so they wouldn't see the ugly side of life. All they saw was the fantastical magic the world still held onto. She yearned to have that innocence back but there was no going back.

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            On the second day of traveling to the Black Mountains, Tommy was steering the vardo with Amelia sitting beside him. He held the position naturally, letting the reins be an extension of his arms as he guided the two horses along. Arthur was on another horse, riding along while Polly and the other three children stayed in the back of the wagon.

            “Good to be outside, aye?” Tommy struck up a conversation as a lull in the muggy afternoon settled on them.

            “Oh yes.” Amelia nodded. “Good to see the clear sky instead of smoke.” She joked. "I forgot how blue the sky could get sometimes." 

            “Get used to it. ‘Cause when we’ve got everything going with the shop, m’gonna buy a house out in the countryside.”      

            She smiled. “Is that right?” It wasn’t the first time Tommy made bold claims. Once money started rolling in from the betting shop, he started promising things that sounded outlandish even to Arthur. He promised a brand new luxury car to John, a new five story house for Polly, as many horses as Ada could want, and now a house in the country.

            “Like a cottage. Mum, dad, and I used to rent one for the holidays out in Wiltshire.” She recalled. “Cute little place.”

            “No.” He shook his head, the cigarette in his mouth practically just a bit of ash. “One of those fucking big ones. Like royals have. Dukes 'n whatever they are.”

            “Oh, Thomas, please.” She giggled and nudged him.

            “I’m serious!” He chucked the last bit of his cigarette. “Big place, dozens of bedrooms, proper kitchen, riding stables, maids, cooks, everything. We’ll live there with the baby. He’ll have room to run ‘stead of being cooped up in Small Heath.”

            It sounded wonderful to Amelia, like the stories he used to tell about traveling. But it was so far-fetched. “Can we focus just on what we’ve got now?” She wondered. “Tommy, I’m okay with making do with what I’ve got…and what you and your family have given me.” She touched his knee.

            He glanced over at her, his blue eyes so bright in the summer sun. “You don’t think you deserve more than this?” He wondered. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice big house, proper holidays to places like France?”

            “All those things would be nice but if I never get those things then I’ll be fine. I’m okay with what I have now.” She smiled at him to reassure that there wasn’t anything he needed to prove to her or promise.

            Tommy sighed and his eyes returned to the grassy path ahead of them. “I know the baby’s not mine but…I don’t want any other kid to go hungry like we did. Ain’t right how we were brought up. And if I can change that for my family and for the baby then, why not?”

            Amelia felt she wasn’t in a place to tell if he was right or wrong. So, she leaned over to kiss his cheek affectionately. “You’re a good man, Tommy Shelby.” She said softly. “A very good man.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            They met up with the Strongs at their camp and together they moved North to go to the Appleby fair. Ada chattered on to Amelia the whole ride there about how fun the fair was. There were crafts and fortune-tellers and horses, horses, horses. She would see all of her cousins and other distant relatives that they only got to see once in a blue moon. They’d race horses, swap stories, share laughs, and her brothers would box with the Lee boys.

            Although the trip took a little under a week, Amelia was in good spirits the whole way there. Tommy was practically a different person out in the countryside. He knew how to survive in Small Heath and knew how to survive outdoors just as well. He let loose a bit, not bothering to dress up and going barefoot a lot of the times. He smiled more and played with his siblings. It was as if he had left all his worries back in the city.

            Amelia thought he was so beautiful in the sun. His smile brightened ten fold, his eyes sparkled, and he moved as if he didn't have any stress on his shoulders. It warmed her heart to see him play-wrestling with John, riding horses with Ada, and picking up Finn to spin him around. For a moment, she pictured her child in the scene. A little boy or girl toddling after Tommy, looking for his attention. Tommy scooping them up and holding them close, just as a father would.

            All she could do was smile and keep her wide-eyed fantasies to herself. But it was so easy to get caught up in the magic of the forests and fields. It was so easy to get caught up in the smile of Tommy Shelby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

            Ada was right, there was a lot to be said about the fair. Intricately and brightly painted vardos lined up and many people were milling around. There were people washing their horses in the rivers as children played and splashed one another by the banks.

            After a long journey, Amelia wanted to stretch her legs. Tommy walked with her along the river as the rest of the family prepared camp and watered the horses.

            “Pol said your feet might be hurting these days.” Tommy’s aunt was his go-to to get any pregnancy answers.

            “They’re a bit swollen, the heat doesn’t help,” Amelia admitted. Although getting to walk was nice, she was starting to get flushed in the heat.

            “And uh…any word from home?” He kept his eyes to the ground, kicking a stone along their way.

            “While we’ve been on the road for over a week?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t gotten any messenger birds.”

            Tommy chuckled. “I meant when we were back home. I mean, we haven’t talked about it much.” He pointed out.

            Her smile faded. “No, I haven’t heard from them. I don’t know if they know where I am but I figured…well, I figured they would’ve thought to try and find me in Small Heath. I don’t know where else I would’ve gone with nothing in me pockets.

            “And the father?” They hadn’t broached the subject before because Polly insisted that he leave the matter be. But curiosity was just too damn tough to ignore.

            “Tom, I told you…”

            “Tommy Shelby!” Someone crowed out ahead of them. Three young men about Tommy and Arthur’s age stopped them.

            His face soured when he saw who was calling him. “Will.” He muttered obviously not in the mood to talk to them.

            “I heard the Shelbys were coming, how the hell are ya?” Will appeared to be the oldest of the three, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair.

            “Fine, fine.”

           "And he's got someone up the duff." Will smacked a hand to his forehead when he saw Amelia. "Shelby, Shelby, Shelby. What a shame! You have to learn how to pull out or these things happen, Tommy."  He tutted in Shelta. "She is a sight though."

            Amelia suddenly felt very self-conscious about the baby bump showing. Of course, she ought to be showing at her stage of pregnancy, but she wasn’t keen on embarrassing the Shelbys. Especially if Tommy wasn’t actually the father.

            “Watch your fucking mouth.” Tommy spat venomously.

            The Lee brothers jostled each other, pleased that he was fighting back. “Still got that mouth on ya, Tommy Boy, haven’t ya?”

            “Fuck off.” He wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist to steer her away from the brothers. “Fucking lowlifes never know when to shut their mouths..” He muttered under his breath.

            “Still got a fight in ya then? Or are ya too scared to step into the ring with me?” Will taunted after him.

            Amelia felt Tommy’s arm stiffen and he stopped in his tracks. Her eyebrows knit in worry. “Tom…” She warned.

            But he slipped away from her and turned to face the brothers again. “Name a time.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

            “Ah, it’s never too long ‘til Tommy gets into it with one of the Lees at the fair.” Arthur punched his brother in the arm. “Lucky you got practice with those Birmingham Boys, aye?”

            Tommy avoided Amelia’s questioning glance even though he could feel her eyes on him.

            Polly didn’t even look like she wanted to get into the matter. Men fought at fairs, that was only tradition and it was in good fun most of the time. Besides, Small Heath was much more dangerous than a bout of boxing.

            Around the Shelbys’ camp, there was a buzz in the air of excitement. Music could be heard in a couple of different directions, people laughed and joined each other for a good time around the roaring fires and lanterns. Some girls some yards away were dancing in a circle, their long skirts illuminated by the flames.

            “When can I fight, Pol?” John asked hopefully. “I can take the Lees too!”

            “Hush.” Polly scolded. “When you’re older and you’ve learned how to box properly. I don’t want to bring you home with a broken hand.”

            John grimaced. “I’m old enough.” He muttered.

            “Men don’t pout or slouch.” She said and stood up to tend to Finn who was stirring in the vardo.

            “You gonna kill ‘im then, Tom?” Arthur smirked. “I heard he was…” He made a subtle gesture to Amelia who was talking softly with Ada. The eldest Shelby wanted to mention about how bad Tommy had it for Amelia. It was blatantly obvious to everyone. But neither of them seemed to want to admit it. 

            Tommy tossed a twig into the fire mindlessly. “He’ll learn to keep his fucking mouth shut.” He mumbled.

            “Shelby!” Someone called.

            Arthur grinned and clapped his brother on the back. “Let’s go then.”

            “Tom?” Amelia looked worried when they stood up. “Where are you going?”

            “Gonna go fight, Mel. Tommy’s gonna show them Lees how to throw a good punch”

            “But…” Her stomach went into knots. “Maybe you could stay here and-”

            “Won’t be long, Mel,” Tommy promised.

            “Fine, then I’m coming.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and followed them.

            “Not really for women.” Arthur tried to show opposition to the idea but Tommy didn’t seem to mind. Maybe if she saw him fight, she would know he could hold his own and she wouldn’t have to worry about the betting shop. No longer was he the stick-thin little teenager who was sometimes more bark than bite. No, he’d found his anger and learned to use it to his advantage.

                       The makeshift ring was lit by lanterns and nearby fires. A group was already forming to watch the show. The Lees were riling Will up who was already there, waiting for his opponent. But they all seemed to be in good nature, passing drinks and cigarettes, laughing, and cussing.

            Tommy pulled off his undershirt and handed it to Amelia to hold. She was a bit stunned to see he had a tattoo on his chest. The sun-like lines were certainly new as far as she was aware. But she didn’t mention the ink.

            Arthur was handing his brother a flask, Tommy downing the contents before ducking under the rope.

            The crowd of onlookers was a bit rowdy, pleased to see young blood fighting like real men. Bare knuckles, no weapons, how it was meant to be a Romani man. A good show of tradition.

            Amelia felt her palms start to sweat. Will was a good head taller than Tommy was and seemingly more muscular by his build.

            However, Arthur, standing beside her, looked less than concerned. “He’ll be alright, Mellie. He’s taken down bigger fuckers than this one.” He promised.

            Amelia had seen Tommy fight before, but the last time must’ve been when they were only thirteen. The wiry boy had a habit for picking fights and never staying down even when he was bleeding or had a broken bone. She never seemed to mind seeing him fight while they were in school. But seeing him in the ring with someone bigger than him, it made her stomach flip-flop.

            And Tommy drew out the suspension. He allowed Will to get in a couple of swings, but he dodged them. His size allowed him to be quicker and more agile on his feet. The two circled around each other, fists up by their faces. Will looked smug with himself, confident that he would win. On the other hand, Tommy had fire in his blue-eyes. He wasn't fighting to have a few laughs. 

            “Hit ‘im, Tommy!” Arthur roared after his brother dodged a couple more blows.

            Something changed in Tommy’s eyes as he threw a punch. Amelia could hear the blow land even over the boisterous crowd. She winced and ducked her head a bit. When had she ever been afraid to watch a fight? She must’ve egged on a few scuffles in her day. Goading Tommy to kick in the teeth of the school bully. But when Will landed a punch and she saw Tommy’s head jerk back, she cringed and hid her face in Arthur’s sleeve.

            She could still hear the contact of punches, the sound of the men spurring them on, and the grunts from Will and Tommy as they fought. But she couldn’t bear to watch it.  

            It only took a few minutes before someone was shouting.“Oi, oi! Get ‘im off!”

            “Tom, c’mon, that’s enough!” Arthur moved from Amelia and got into the ring.

            She looked up and saw Tommy on top of Will, pummeling his face. Arthur ripped his brother off.

            "Got fucking devils in them. Those fucking Shelbys are rabid." Someone nearby remarked.

             "Aye, get it from their father. Murder in their blood."

             "Do not let me hear you talking about her again." Tommy threatened in Shelta before he finally let his brother steer him away from the ring. He spat on the ground, leaving the Lees to help an injured Will off the ground. 

            Coated with a sheen of sweat, Tommy was breathing hard. Even in the dim light, Amelia could assess the damage. It seemed Will had taken the brunt of the fight. Tommy only walked away with a bloody lip, a bruise forming on his jaw, and some dirt sticking to his torso.

            “Go wash off and calm the fuck down,” Arthur ordered before heading back toward the camp.

  ~~~~~~~~~~         

            Amelia followed Tommy to the river so he could wash the blood and dirt away. She lingered behind as he knelt down on the bank and splash cold water over him.

            “What did you say to him?” She wondered.

            “Nothing.” Tommy shook the water from his hair and wiped his hands over his face.

            “Well, you said something, Tom.”

            He stood and took his shirt back, using it to dry off a bit. “It was nothing.” He said again.

            They stood in silence for a bit. Music still hung in the air as the night wore on. There was an uproar from the crowd, signaling the start of another boxing match.

            Curious, Amelia stepped toward him and splayed her fingers out over his tattoo, following the direction of the lines. “This is new.”

            Tommy felt like his skin was on fire even after the cold douse of water. He couldn’t find the words for a long moment, simply watching her slender fingers trailing over the inked lines. “I-uh…you can’t tell Pol about it.” He tried to hide his stammer. “She’ll fucking kill me.”

            Amelia laughed softly and withdrew her hand. “Alright.” She agreed. “Your secret is safe with me.”                    

            He smiled and threw on the shirt to conceal the tattoo. “C’mon.” He murmured and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

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[sophisticated-creepy]

Love is Stranger than Fiction by: Melissa Sain

         Lola threw her mass of fiery locks into a messy bun on top of her head. She was finishing fastening the last few buttons of her denim smock paired with her brightly floral frock as she entered the sales floor, her manager there waiting at the checkout counter, ready to greet her.

         “Perfect timing,” she began. “I just got off the phone with my son’s school. Tommy has the flu and I need to go pick him up. Are you okay if I leave you to watch the store by yourself? My husband can’t get away from a business meeting so I have to be the one to get him.”

         “Of course! Go take care of your family,” Lola agreed. She wasn’t afraid to run the business by herself. At most, there had only been three people in the store at once, and the customers were usually amiable. Lola’s manager Stacy was owner and founder of the boutique of finely crafted perfumes and other delicate assortments, wittily naming the store Lotions and Potions. She needed an extra hand once she expanded the product line and happily took Lola on as part-time manager. Now, Stacy could work during school hours and be home in time with her kids and husband in the evenings. The boutique closed at six, so Lola wasn’t robbed of her evenings either.

         “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much that helps me,” Stacy exclaimed. “It’s been a super slow day. There’s only one lady here, and she’s just looking,” she informed, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Call if you need me, okay?”

         “Go!” Lola laughed, shooing her manager out the door. “I’ve got this.”

         “I owe you,” Stacy called back as the door shut behind her. Lola chuckled as she watched her manager scurry to her car and drive away. Turning from the large storefront windows, she set her focus to the customer, a little old lady who was squinting at a shelf of body lotions.

         “Hello, there,” Lola greeted in her slightly higher pitched sing-song voice she saved specifically for retail as she made her way to the lady. “My name is Lola. What can I help you find today?”

         “Do you have any coupons for me?” the old lady demanded with a biting grumble reminiscent of crunchy gravel.

         “Uh…no, I’m sorry, our store doesn’t offer coupons,” Lola responded, taken aback by the customer’s lack of social graces.

         “I’m just looking,” and she shuffled off to squint at a different cabinet. Lola let her be and slowly walked away.

         And to think, I gave up a day of writing for this, she thought to herself. She walked to the back of the store near the register, where resting on a back counter was a record player used to serve as the ambient music for the shoppers. Lola selected a vinyl of a local band and placed it on the turntable. One of the perks of working by herself was that she could pick the music for the day. Normally she played something folksy, or occasionally she would get a wild hair and play Schubert’s piano concertos. For now, she selected music that best fit her mood, and today, she picked something chipper to go along with the spring in her step. As she was lighting a candle reminiscent of lemongrass and cedar wood, she heard the jingle bell lilt of the front door opening, the chimes above the doorframe signaling the arrival of customers.

         “What up, weirdo?” greeted the new voice. Lola smiled at hearing her best friend.

         “Hey, Modesta,” Lola greeted.

         “I come bearing gifts,” Modesta sang as she made her way to the counter. Her chocolate colored hair bounced off her shoulders as she sashayed across the boutique. In her hands were two large cups of coffee.

         “Hand it over!” Lola begged lightheartedly, reaching for the beverage. “Thank you.”

         “I see business is booming, as usual,” Modesta joked, looking around the near empty store. “How do you manage these crowds all by yourself?”

         “It’s a challenge,” Lola replied, matching her friend’s sarcasm. “Seriously, though, thank you for this,” she added, raising the to-go cup slightly to indicate the refreshment.

         “Any time. So, do you have anything for me to read today?” Modesta asked, jumping straight to the point. She smirked mischievously, not hiding her intentions in the slightest, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

         “Not today I’m afraid. Sorry,” Lola apologized. Modesta was the only person with whom Lola allowed to read her stories. Lola wrote with her soul, and trusted few with her words, however, the pair had grown up together, best friends since the sixth grade, more like sisters, if truth were told. Modesta had seen Lola through heartbreak time and time again. She understood that these short little one-offs were a way for Lola to heal and process life’s challenges while at the same time growing her craft as a writer. It was an honor watching her friend develop as a wordsmith, and now that she had hit her stride, Modesta was completely addicted to the wonderfully charming exploits of this make believe marriage. Lola used these free-writes as a way to verbalize her desires in a relationship. One infamous ex in particular, Chad, had clearly shown her what she didn’t want in a lover: an inattentive, complacent, shallow, self-centered coward, and instead, used her imagination to create her heart’s yearnings for a perfected-partnered match, regardless of his fictional status: passionate, intelligent, witty, and a smile with just a touch of magic.

         “What’s this next story about? Is it a dueling sword fight? A pirate adventure? Oh! Are you writing a sequel to the picnic at midnight? I absolutely loved that one.”

         Lola laughed. “No, nothing like that,” she said. “At the moment I’m trying to figure out how to get my imaginary husband’s dick inside of me.” The little old lady was near the counter where the two were talking, and gave Lola one of the fiercest squints she had ever received before going back to glare at a cabinet of bubble baths. Both Lola and Modesta had the most difficult time stifling their giggles.

         “Girl, you know I love you, but maybe it’s time you found the real thing.”

         “You know I’m not ready,” Lola reminded. “Ever since Chad---.”

         “Ever since Chad, nothing, honey. I’ve read your writings, remember? You’re ready,” Modesta stated. Lola rolled her eyes, sighing exasperatedly. That oh-so infamous Chad was Lola’s first. Her first everything. Her first date, her first real kiss, her first lover. They were high school sweethearts, together even in their early college years, and like all young newly dating couples, they thought their love was strong enough to weather any storm. They believed no matter what obstacle was thrown at them, they could face it together in triumph. Love was on their side, after all, and nothing could stand in their way of happiness. That is, nothing could stand in their way of happiness except a blonde, rail thin, five foot ten Tinder goddess who just so happened to be three miles away from his location.

         “It’s been over a year,” Modesta stressed. “I just want to see you happy.”

         “I am,” Loa defended.

         “I’ll believe it when I actually see you hitting the dating scene once in a while,” Modesta retorted playfully. “It helps if you go outside every now and again too, you know.”

         “Rude. It’s not like I’m some basement troll who never sees the light of day. I go outside plenty, thank you very much.”

         “All I’m hearing are excuses, Lola. Cut the crap and go on a date for Christ’s sake, please. Jack and I want to double.”

         “Well, I am so sorry that my lack of a social life is putting such a crimp in yours,” Lola replied with mock indignation.

         “I would settle for you having at least a sex life,” the brunette quipped. “If you’d like, I can give you directions to the specialty shop Jack and I frequent. I’ll even recommend some of the more fun inventory so you can get in some practice before the real deal. Clean out those cobwebs, if you know what I mean,” she waggled her eyebrows lewdly. “Just make sure you’re stocked up on batteries.” The door chimes began tinkling as the front door was pushed open, just as the conversation was taking a turn down a lane that was sure to be glowing in a heady shade of red.

         “Good afternoon, ladies,” greeted Jack, Modesta’s boyfriend, as he came sauntering happily into the boutique. “What are you gal pals talking about on this fine afternoon?” he asked, making his way to the counter. He gave Modesta a quick kiss on the side of her head as he approached.

         “Batteries,” Lola answered.

         “That’s…weird. Anyway, did you ask her yet?” Jack asked the woman whose shoulders were wrapped comfortably under his arm.

         “Ask me what?” Lola inquired.

         “I was just getting to that. Lola, how would you like to visit the Renaissance faire this weekend with us? Jack has some extra tickets if you’re interested.”

         Lola gasped with excitement. “I would love that! Yes! Thank you! God, I haven’t been to the Ren faire since high school.”

         “Well, you’re going to want to be there this year,” Jack proclaimed. “I’m playing the part of the royal court jester.”

         “Total typecast if you ask me,” Modesta cut in. “He’d be better fit as a jousting knight.”

         “Modesta has a part, too,” he continued. “She’s one of the soothsayers.”

         “Now that’s typecasting,” Lola interjected, pointing a knowing finger at her friend. “But, wait, does that mean you’ll both be working the whole time?”

         “I’m only working the booth half of the day,” Modesta responded, “so, yes, you’ll be by yourself until lunch time. But, I figured you wouldn’t mind. You know, now you can wander the grounds freely, get some inspiration, and maybe do a little writing.”

         “That does sound like fun,” Lola agreed. “Okay! I’ll do it!”

         “Awesome! Here’s your ticket,” Modesta said, handing over a slip of paper from her purse. “We can drive over together. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

         “Thanks again, guys,” Lola said, taking the piece of paper her friend offered. “This is going to be so much fun.”

         “There’s just one rule you must abide first and foremost in order to gain entrance: you are to dress in costume.”

         “You don’t have to tell me twice to play dress up,” Lola laughed.

         “It’s going to be a whole new experience, one that you’ve never seen before,” Jack piped in. “Ever since new management took over five years ago, let’s just say the faire has become a lot more immersive.”

         “And, who knows,” Modesta continued, dropping her voice and leaning in over the counter, “maybe you won’t have to resort to batteries by the end of this adventure.”

         “A-hem,” came a gravelly cough by Modesta’s elbow. The tiny old lady, who had been forgotten by the women, roughly slammed a bottle of bubble bath onto the counter. She squinted up at Modesta with eyelids so tight one would have assumed they’d been sewn shut. “A hunk of meat is no good unless you have a fine ass to grab onto.” She shot a squint at Jack, who physically flinched from the look. “It seems like you don’t have a problem in either department, dearie.” The old woman cackled, paid for her item, and shuffled out of the store, leaving the three friends in stunned amazement. Lola and Modesta turned to one another and burst out loud in laughter.

         “Wait, what just happened?” Jack stood in the middle of the store, scratching his head, confused, while the two women continued to laugh for a solid five minutes. 

~~~