#YOU CAN AFFORD TO SPEND TWO DOLLARS ON THE FIRST BOOK OKAY

[kteezy997]

6 Months- Part Three//t.c.

Warnings: just cursing, I think?

Another long one! Read this with your morning coffee😉

Cameron had a heyday spending Timothee's Hollywood actor money. Her books always sold really well, so she herself wasn't poor, but she still stuck to shopping mostly at Target or Old Navy because they had comfy and affordable clothes. She never splurged on luxury items. She had never touched anything like Cartier or Chanel. But Timothee was stupid rich. She had no qualms about spending his money. He had trapped her in this situation, after all, so she may as well get something out of him.

Timothee took her outside of the L.A. area to avoid paparazzi and other people that may quickly recognize him. He picked out a few staple jewelry pieces that costed thousands of dollars. She agreed to them, damn him for having great taste, she thought.

He accompanied her as she browsed and tried on clothes. He insisted on bringing a couple of bodyguards with them, even though she knew she couldn't outrun Timothee himself with his giraffe like legs.

They passed a lingerie store and Timothee stopped, nodding to Cameron and then the store next to them. He wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

"Is this your idea of flirting, Mr. Chalamet?" she asked, clicking her tongue.

He shrugged, "I'm just saying, you might find something in there that you really like." he put his hands in his pockets, taking a few steps forward, nonchalantly.

Cameron sighed, "Well it couldn't hurt to look...or maybe even try on some things. It's your money, Chalamet." She then strutted into the store, Timothee and the two guards following behind.

She tried on a black lingerie set, complete with matching sheer knee high stockings. It was so provocative and of course revealing. It was a big leap from her usual cotton Calvin Klein underwear. She'd never worn anything like this. She didn't even recognize herself in it. But it was nice to indulge a little bit. She smiled at herself in the mirror, truly liking what she saw in the reflection.

Cameron was startled as the curtain of the dressing room was thrust open. She gasped, instinctively covering her body as much as she could. In came the curly headed tall man that was overwhelmingly obsessed with her. "What the hell are doing?!"

"You were taking forever! Sorry, I'm just impatient, I guess." His eyes wandered down her barely clad frame, and he smirked, "Or maybe I just wanted to get a peak at what you're trying on."

"You're a real pervert, you know that?"

He chuckled, "A little bit, maybe."

Cameron rolled her eyes, "Okay, you've had your fun, now get the fuck out!" she pushed him toward the curtain.

Timothee took a hold of her wrists, pulling her in, ""Or what?" His green eyes narrowed at her, challenging her.

"Or this will be the first and only time you will see me in panties." she glared back at him.

He chuckled again and surprised her with a swift tug on her hair, "Cam, my sweet, I'll never hurt you, but I'll let you know that I can be a little rough. Don't test me too much." He then let her go, and made his way to the curtain. "You look fucking amazing, by the way. You should get that one."

"i don't take orders from you." she said cheekily.

"It wasn't an order. It's up to you. Is it always a knife fight every time you open your mouth?" he asked, shaking his head, looking at her.

Cameron shrugged, "Guess you'll see."

........

The guards had their arms full as they carried Cameron's new wardrobe into Timothee's house.

Timothee and Cameron walked inside together. "So, I have a dinner thing for work tonight. So it'll just be you and a few of the staff. The chef can make you whatever you like for dinner, and maybe you can take the opportunity to explore the house a little."

"I have all these new clothes and jewelry to wear and I can't go out with you tonight?" she teased, "What's the point of having me as a prize if you won't take me out and show me off?" Now she was having a little fun with him.

Timothee laughed, "No, you're not coming with me. Maybe soon, you can come out with me. Just not yet."

.......

He was gone for the evening and Cameron was left in the vast mansion, and not allowed out. She decided that she would indeed explore the place. She might as well since she would probably be living there for some time.

As she walked the halls, discovering a theater, a gaming room, and even an indoor pool and spa area, she couldn't help but start to really miss her family, and perhaps more so, her best friend, Nova. She was a party girl with a heart of gold, loyal as hell to the ones she loved. Nova was a spirited woman, always down for a good time, but even more, she was there for Cameron through everything, and vice versa.

After dinner, Cameron asked the sweet Mrs. Davis for a pen and notepad. If she couldn't have her laptop, she would write the old-fashioned way. She scribbled out some of her thoughts, realizing she hadn’t actually written about her life in years. This was a hell of a turn of events to restart journaling about.

She later watched some mindless television, and she made a mental note to make Timothee give her back her cellphone. She had to let her loved ones know that she was okay. Something more that some words typed out on a screen.

........

The next morning when she woke, there was a faint smell of alcohol in the air, and she felt something applying light pressure to her hip. She looked down and her eyes were met with a messy bed of mocha curls. Timothee slept soundly, his body sprawling down the length of the bed. His rested on her, but just barely. He was still wearing the clothes he left in last night.

"Timothee?" she said. But he didn't stir. She put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him and saying his name again, louder this time, "Timothee?!"

"Mm." he mumbled, coming out of his slumber. "Fuck." he raised up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I just wanted to check on you just to make sure you were okay, I shouldn't have. I was a little drunk, and really tired, I must have passed out in here." He got up off the bed, "I'm sorry Cameron. I'll leave you now."

"Timothee, it's okay. It's just...I'm not your property. You don’t have to check on me.”

"I know. I'll back off, I swear." he cleared his throat to rid himself of his groggy sleepy voice.

But Cameron kind of liked the way he sounded, it was sexy. She pushed that thought out of her mind, remembering what she wanted to say to him. "I want my phone and laptop back, now. Or you'll be seriously hurting, Chalamet. I know where you sleep."

"Okay, sure. You should call your mother. It would be good for someone in your family to hear your voice."

She thought it would be harder to get him to agree. "Alright. Um, can you go so I can get dressed now?"

"Yeah-yeah, I'm sorry again."

Once he left her room, she went to have breakfast, but he wasn't there. She ate alone. She found herself...missing him? What the hell was happening?

"Mrs. Davis," Cameron approached the older woman, "where is Timothee?"

"Oh, I think he's at the pool, dear, the indoor one." she answered kindly, then returned to her cleaning of the breakfast table.

Of course he has more than one pool, she thought. "Thank you. The food was delicious by the way."

Cameron used her memory to navigate her way through the mansion and found the spa area. She looked in, seeing Timothee sitting by the pool.

"Hey." she said, walking in.

Timothee looked up, pushing his hair away from his eyes, "Oh hey."

"What are we doing today?" Cameron asked, sitting down, looking at the water.

"Are we friends now?" he asked, a soft smile on his lips.

She looked at him, "What would you call us, Chalamet?"

Timothee huffed softly, "I don't know, Cam. I think I'm really fucking up my chances with you. I thought I'd be better than this. I want you to come to me, but I'm coming on too strong. I know I am."

"Ya know, I really haven't taken into account how broken you seem to be. I've been concerned for myself; I haven't thought about what you've gone through."

"Cam," he said, but she sighed. That name. “I'm sorry, I know you don't like being called that. It just slips out."

"It's okay." she smiled, "It's kinda growing on me a bit. As you were saying?"

"You don't owe me any empathy. I just wanna know you, that's all."

"Well, maybe you could ask me something about myself." she said with a giggle.

"Okay, um I noticed in your last book that you dedicated it to your grandmother. What's your relationship like with her?"

" Oh, well, she passed away recently." her voice took a on a melancholic tone.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I know that's hard. Were you really close with her?"

"Yeah, she was like a second mother. She taught me a lot of things. She introduced me to so many classic novels. She's the reason I started writing. She was an amazing woman."

"Sounds like it. Were you able to keep anything of hers, to remember her by?"

Cameron sighed, "She promised me this beautiful gold necklace she got from her mother as a wedding gift. It has a diamond pendant. It's stunning, but I don't really care about whatever value it has. I wanted it because it was hers, ya know? But my aunt Susan, her daughter, turned into a royal bitch after she died, and wouldn't let me have anything, much less the necklace."

"Shit, that sucks. Family really doesn't mean anything sometimes."

“Yeah, they can be as shitty as a stranger when greed takes over.”

They sat there together for a little while, both putting their feet in the water. The silence felt relaxing and comfortable for them both. Cameron looked over at Timothee, really looking at him. Before this, she had seen him in movies and like many people, young women in particular, she thought he was kind of cute. But now, here before her eyes, he was even more gorgeous. She took notice of each freckle on his face, the God damn jawline that could cut glass, and the curls,: she found herself wanting to run her fingers through his hair.

“So, I wanna ask you about your writing. Do you write from personal experiences? Was your grandma's passing the reason your book had such a sadness to it? Sorry if I'm interrogating you, I just think your work is fascinating.” Timothée looked at her with pure curiosity and admiration.

“We’ll kinda, I guess." she took a moment to collect her thoughts because she was caught off guard as she had been daydreaming before he spoke, "It's hard to express something creatively that you're not necessarily feeling on a personal level. And I like to write about things that I want to experience. But, most of the time, I feel like it’s just me stringing a bunch of interesting or fun words together to make sentences." she laughed, "You can really use a pen to write or a keyboard to type out the things you can never say with your mouth.”

“What’s your favorite thing to write about?” Timothée smiled and kicked his feet, lightly splashing the water.

Cameron took a breath, “Sex.” she said in a matter of fact tone, making them both laugh. “But really, I’d say romance. I love intimate moments between humans. Life can be such a mundane day to day experience with work and all the hustle and bustle, and we forget that we’re really on this earth to bond with each other.”

“You really do speak like a writer. I feel like I'm getting smarter just listening to you.” Timothee grinned.

“Hmm, you’re sweet. But you're very well spoken too. I've seen you in interviews before, you're actually invested in the films and the characters you play, it shows."

"Oh, so you know who I am?" he leaned back some, holding himself up with his hands on the floor beside him.

"I wasn't trying to stroke your ego, Chalamet." she giggled.

He chuckled, "Too late. I can't believe that the great Cameron Reese knows who the hell I am."

"A lot of people know you." she pointed out, trying not to get lost in his flirty gaze.

He leaned forward, speaking a little bit lower, "I don't care about other people."

"You make it easy to wanna be near you, Timothée, I hate to admit it.” she said, shaking her head at him.

Timothée grinned as he heard her say that. It felt like a small victory.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @chalametbich

[ratralsis]

I mentioned recently that my cat went through a sudden emergency that wound up costing me a few thousand dollars.

For a couple of weeks, it wasn't clear if he was going to fully recover. As it turns out, by buying him special prescription food that costs me about $5/day, he's doing much better now.

It sucks. I'm not happy that it's so expensive to feed him and keep him healthy. But that's how it is, and it can't possibly last forever. Since he turns 14 this month, it probably won't last more than a couple more years, frankly. But who knows. That's what I said about my other cat, who's been on slightly less expensive prescription food since January. She's 17, going to turn 18 at the end of the year.

They're both very old, and it's now costing me over $200/month just for food. It's absurd. I'm unhappy about it. I'm going to keep spending it just as long as they're both alive, because the alternative is to have them put down them for being expensive.

Which is what I'll do if either of them winds up requiring another surgery, because, while I can do my best to budget around $200/month for food, I simply can't afford another trip to the emergency clinic like I had in August.

This is where, if I had enough readers to justify it, I'd put a donation link where you could send me money. But it'd be to keep my cats alive. To cover my pet expenses. It'd feel wrong for me to ask for money for that, so I won't.

And yes, that does mean I feel a little conflicted about it when I see other people post those kinds of donation links. "Help me cover funeral expenses for my dog," that kind of thing. I just can't justify it. I know that pets are family members to a lot of people, and they're family members to me, too, but, in my case and only in my case, I feel that I'm the one who decided to take on the responsibility of pet ownership. I don't know the details of anyone else's case, so I'm just left wondering.

But, well, for now, both cats are doing alright, and, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to budget and save and be back to where I want to be in a few more months. November is one of two months in the year when I get three paychecks, so that'll help a lot.

We'll see what happens. I've been trying to find ways to earn more money this year, and, because I work in IT and tens of thousands of other IT workers were laid off at the start of the year, it simply hasn't happened yet. Maybe it'll happen soon. Who knows.

Or maybe, in a couple of years when I finish my book, I'll be able to start raking in that sweet, sweet passive income that I keep hearing about. I doubt it, though! I really, really doubt it!

That's enough of a life update for now. I'd like to get back to writing about writing again soon. My ad-supported Amazon Fire Tablet really pushed a book on me hard called Zodiac Academy: The Awakening, which I was able to download for no additional cost because I have some Kindle membership, and I made it about four pages in before the author's fixation on the first-person narrator's butt and their absolutely fucking awful punctuation (an inability to use commas, mainly) made me decide to stop reading. I'm not sure if I want to actually write about that or not, but I'm thinking about it.

I guess the series must be doing well, though. There are like ten books in the series? A lot of people must not give a shit about their authors being good at writing, which isn't shocking, but it is a bit sad for someone like me, who does.

I mean, just, like, hire a fucking proofreader. They're out there. They exist. Might even lead to enough additional copies of the books being sold to pay for the cost of it.

Okay. That's enough of everything for now.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Who is toby daye? What is this book series? You have me extremely curious.

Toby Daye, or October Daye, is the titular character of the absolutely phenomenal urban fantasy series by Seanan McGuire, and YOU NEED TO READ THEM.

Listen, I’m gonna pitch them under the cut at more length, but seriously.  

Do you like urban fantasy, Celtic folklore, and fairy tales?  

Do you like emotionally complex characters?  

Do you like creative magic, diversity, and/or well-executed romance?  

Do you like the Dresden Files but wish that it had less...Written By A Straight White Dude-ness about it?

Have you ever read a book on my recommendation and liked it before?

If you answered yes to any of the above, then don’t bother to read any further.  Congratulations, I have your next series, it’s called October Daye, get the first book on Amazon for two dollars.  Just trust me and shell out for Rosemary and Rue and come talk to me after you’ve been converted.

Now for a long pitch.

All right...listen.

Do you see up there where I mentioned the Dresden Files?  And the Written By A Straight White Dude-ness of it?  I’m gonna take a minute to drag Jim Butcher.

I love the Dresden Files.  I really do.  I haven’t read many of them, but Harry’s a great character and it’s a deeply crazy universe that I enjoy very much.  HOWEVER.  You know what I have trouble with?  How much Butcher talks about the nipples of every woman Harry ever meets. The way that there are only women who Harry wants to fuck, basically.  The frankly limited scope of characters--I think there might be one gay character in the series thus far?  Does he have a boyfriend?  Not sure.  

Trust me.  Now that I’ve mentioned the nipple thing, you’ll never unsee it.

But so this landed me in kind of a dilemma, once I realized these problems.  See, I love the fantasy noir thing, and Jim Butcher does a good job with it, but I was having a lot of trouble finding a series that filled a few vital criteria:

Original fantasy content

Detective novel

Does not treat women like props

Engaging writing style

Like, maybe one gay character who’s onscreen more than once, like maybe at least one

Which does not seem like a high bar, but most of the books I found managed 3 or 4 out of 5, so I settled.  A lot.  And I was aware of settling, but I wanted books to read more than I wanted to observe ideological purity, so whatever, right?

I N C O R R E C T

Because turns out Seanan McGuire exists.  And in her infinite kindness, she has blessed us with the October Daye series.  Which has all of those things, plus some really fascinating fantasy politics and an absolutely warm and uplifting found family plotline.  Toby goes from being a depressed loner with a death wish to living in a house full of people who love her with allies all over the coast, and it’s just...extremely nice.

The basic idea of Toby’s world is pretty simple: Faerie directly overlays our world, and that causes some problems.  Toby is a changeling, half-human and half-fae, and when the books pick up, she’s well out of her life in Faerie, having recently lost fourteen years and her entire mortal life--home, husband, and daughter--to a curse.  So she works as a cashier in a grocery store and tries not to see the pixies, as it were.

Then her friend gets killed and uses the oldest, cruelest magic available to bind Toby to solving her murder, leaving Toby with the option to either rejoin Faerie or die under the weight of the spell.  Toby, not being a fucking moron, opts for the former.

Whatever you want, these books pretty much have.  

A huge variety of family dynamics, found and blood related, ranging from “you tried to murder me but it’s okay I love you anyway” to “you ignored me for my whole childhood so fuck off” to “it doesn’t matter that we’re family because I’m going to kill you if I can” to really genuinely healthy “hey listen I’m here to support you and protect you because I love you”.

A really delightful mix of the archaic with the modern--sure, that boy might know the forms of courtly manners like a 15th century lordling, but he’s also got Opinions on Toby’s musical taste.  Hey, that faerie saw the rise of civilization, but she likes Phish Food.

T R A G E D Y.  Oh boy, wait till you get to One Salt Sea.

Romance!  Toby is straight, explicitly, and her romances are very Good in very different ways and the endgame romance is just *chef kiss* perfection.  Her endgame love interest is bisexual, explicitly.  Her squire is bisexual, explicitly, and has a girlfriend and a boyfriend.  Her [REDACTED] is a lesbian, or at least is a woman with an extremely adorable girlfriend.  One of her allies is the aforementioned faerie from the rise of civilization, who has an exceedingly sad story about her short-lived romance with a woman.  Every relationship is totally unique and engaging and reads as very real, which I’ve observed in the past as one of Seanan’s strong points--the characters very clearly like each other as people and spend time demonstrating that, rather than just having dramatic love scenes and nothing else.

This one might just be me, but I really appreciate that there’s no romantic tension rooted in cheating or vast misunderstandings or even really love triangles.  People have fucking conversations, if they’re upset.  For the brief period where there’s the suggestion of a love triangle involving Toby, the attitude of the non-boyfriend is very much “Hey, you know what, I didn’t step up before you got together with this guy, when I had the chance, so I can’t complain although I reserve the right to dislike your boyfriend.”  And that’s...so goddamn refreshing I can’t even articulate it.

The magic is super cool!  The faeries are super cool!  The high fantasy politics are super cool!  The plots are super cool!  Seanan does an amazing job of drenching fairy tales in blood and making them beautiful!

Ultimately, here’s my pitch.  This is an adult fantasy book series that loves being what it is, and it’s genuinely a joy to read.  There has never been a moment where I have been dissatisfied with the progression of it, nor a moment where I felt left out of the universe.  As Toby grows into herself and the dynamic changes, I never feel like the tension of the universe or the relationships between characters have suffered for it, nor that Toby is unrecognizable--the development of her character is seamless and genuinely uplifting.  This is a universe I could spend years in without getting bored, and a character I’ll never fall out of love with.

Read.  These.  Fucking.  Books.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Flatmates - Harry Styles

i listened to kiwi while writing it so i strongly advise to listen to is while reading as well. without any further ado, i present you this flatmate!harry fic with some steamy smut!

word count: ~9k

warning: smut

masterlist

You were desperate to find a place to live, to say the least. You’ve always had trouble remembering deadlines and important dates, and thanks to this charming trait of yours, you successfully missed the deadline of the college dormitory applications. After a day of solid panic you started looking for cheap apartments, but living off campus seemed to be something only rich people could afford. Rents were ridiculously high and you were certain you couldn’t afford to spend thousands of dollars for a room smaller than your pantry back at home. You watched ad after ad, making calls all day for a week straight, but at the end, you always went to bed with the thought that you’ll have to live under a bridge through the first semester of your freshman year.

It was until a friend of yours, Rita, who was mature enough to apply to the dormitory in time called you with the best news you could receive.

“This friend of my future roomie is looking for a flat mate. You gave me his number, maybe you could give him a call and see if the room is still available. Just tell him Kimberly gave you his number, I’m sure he’ll offer you the room on a nicer price.”

“Oh my God, you just saved my life!” you gasped, almost feeling like crying. “I owe you big time, Rita!”

You called right away, not wanting to waste any time and maybe have the room already rented by then. A deep, male voice answered the call in a soothing British accent.

“Harry Styles,” he said in a calm tone.

“Hey! My name is Y/N and I got your number from Kimberly. I’m looking for a place to live from September and I was told you have a room to rent?”

Harry sounded a little hesitant at first, asked a few questions about you to have a better picture of you, but eventually offered the room. You quickly agreed that you’d be able to move in at the end of August. You were thankful you had one less worry about school finally.

August rolled around the corner faster than you expected and in no time, half your life was packed up into boxes and suitcases as you and your dad drove two hours on a Saturday to get you all settled in your new home. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen Harry just yet. Though you did search up his name, but he was the kind to never post about himself, but mostly about guitars, landscapes and animals. His Instagram was dry, no trait of what he looked like or even the slightest hint about himself. There was only one photo that featured the outline of a guy, which makes it clear that the person was fully naked, no trace of any clothes hanging on his body, but it was completely dark, so nothing could be really seen. However the tag on the figure made you think it wasn’t him, so it didn’t matter. His Facebook seemed even sadder, barely any posts, not even a decent profile picture. You were surprised to see there are people who don’t really use social media, but you didn’t take it as a bad sign. Harry must be a private person and you had nothing against that.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move in with a guy you’ve never met before?” your dad asks as the two of you are unloading the car in front of the apartment complex. Glancing up you shrug your shoulders with a little excitement, knowing that you are only minutes away from finally seeing the person you are gonna spend your next months living with.

“He sounded like a decent person, and I really don’t have any other choice, dad. Or do you want me to sleep in a park or something?”

“God, no. You really should be more careful about those deadlines next time,” he sighs kissing the top of your head before shutting the back of the car once everything is set on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I already bought a calendar so I can keep better track of everything.”

When you first told your parents that you’d be living with Harry, they didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea, but they realized you weren’t really swimming in options at the moment so they eventually come to peace that their daughter is going to be living with a guy. They didn’t make a big deal out of it, knowing well you were an adult now practically who can make choices for herself.

The two of you manage to bring everything up to the third floor and you ring the doorbell since you don’t have your keys yet. You immediately recognize Harry’s British accent as he calls out a “coming!” from the other side of the door and a few seconds later it opens, revealing him.

Your first thought is that he is tall. Very tall and oh my! How handsome! His green eyes find your gaze and his dimples come out as he smiles at you happily. This man is surely a nice sight, you think to yourself, but you quickly bring yourself back to reality as he takes a look at all the stuff surrounding you.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me that you were here? I could have helped you!” Taking a step outside he stretches his hand out for your dad. “Nice to meet ya, you must be Mr. Y/L/N. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad nods at him shaking his head before Harry grabs a box from the floor himself, holding the door open for you.

“Come on in!”

The three of you quickly bring everything inside from the hallway and you finally have a moment to look around. It’s not a big apartment, but seemingly perfect for two people. Walking in you have a small kitchen on the left and a little dining area on the right with a simple table and four chairs around it. Further inside is the living room, it’s nicely furnished very bright thanks to the large windows across the front door. On the left there’s a door that leads to the bathroom and on the right there’s a small hallway, two doors on each side. The two rooms are exactly the same size, so there was no need to have a discussion about who is getting which room. Not that you were gonna go against Harry when he literally saved your life with letting you stay with him.

The place seems tidy and neat, it’s clear that Harry takes good care of his home and that is for sure a relief.

Your room has a double bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a built in little closet. Everything is white or a light beige color, nothing extreme and you already have plans about how you want to decorate it to make it cozier.

“I left two shelves free for you out of the three. I have a few hair products, but I figured you’d need more space,” Harry tells you when you put a smaller box into the bathroom that has all your toiletries.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

Your dad sticks around a little longer helping you unpack some of the bigger boxes, then you walk him down to his car before he leaves.

“Please call your mother often. You know how much she worries about you,” he asks as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Will do.”

“And call us anytime you need help. Two hours is not that far away, I can always come and get you.”

“I’ll be alright, dad, but thank you.”

You watch him climb into the car and he rolls down the windows waving in your way as he leaves from the parking lot. You stand there until he disappears on the corner and then go back up to your apartment.

Harry is sitting in the living room when you get back, some quiet music playing from the Bluetooth speaker as he reads a book. He glances up at you and you flash him a smile closing the door behind you.

“Your dad seemed quite okay with you living with a guy.”

“He had time to get used to it. They’re not that strict though.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking, maybe we could order some food when you’re done unpacking and just get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds great!” you smile, but can’t ignore how fast your heart is beating in your chest. Harry surely has an effect on you that you’ll need to gain control over if you don’t want to make living together hard for yourself.

It takes quite some time to unpack everything and find the right place for your stuff, you don’t even finish by the time the food arrives so you decide to leave the rest for tomorrow.

The Chinese food is all set on the table when you walk out and Harry is getting two plates for the two of you.

“Settled in?” he asks as you take one of the chairs and he sits across you.

“Not fully, but I’m getting there,” you chuckle as he hands you your order. “Thank you.”

You talk over the food, just getting to know each other and you finally get a better picture of Harry. It’s his third year of college, he is studying music and pedagogy, intending to one day use music as a helping tool for kids who have learning difficulties. He is a big fan of collecting vinyls and quite passionate about trashy rom coms.

“Really?” you chuckle when he mentions how his Netflix queue is filled with romantic movies.

“Guilty pleasure,” he nods smirking.

You tell a little about yourself too and he seems genuinely interested, which feels nice. You would have hated if he found your interests boring and negligible, but that’s not the case.

“How come you couldn’t find a roommate for so long?” you ask the question that’s been in the back of your mind for quite a while now. Both of you are done eating and you’re cleaning up the table.

Nothing really stood out about Harry just yet, it’s quite a mystery for you why he couldn’t find someone to live with him.

“Well, you could say I’m a little picky in this field. Lived with my best mate first year, and though I absolutely love him, he was horrible to live with. Felt like his personal maid the whole time. When Niall moved in with his girlfriend and I had to move on my own I promised myself I would choose carefully. Lived with a PhD student last year, he was pretty great, but he moved out when he graduated, and I couldn’t really find someone I liked since then.”

“Glad I passed then,” you chuckle as you take the dishes and start washing them while Harry stands next to you, leaning against the edge of the counter.

“You seemed like a decent person to live with, I hope I won’t be wrong about that,” he chuckles, but you can tell he is still a little scared you might turn out to be a total asshole.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too much trouble. I’m quiet like a mouse and clean up after myself.”

“That’s all that matters,” he smiles. “Alright, I have some things to finish, I’ll be in my room if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He waves in your way before disappearing in his bedroom.

You spend most of your Sunday unpacking what was left and running errands, buying groceries so you don’t have to go to the store every other day during the week. You occasionally meet Harry in the kitchen or the living room, but you both just do your own thing and it’s totally fine by you.

School starts quiet smoothly, Harry was kind enough to give you a rundown of where you’ll find your lecture halls so you don’t really get lost around campus, easily finding your way.

Friday afternoon you and Rita are sitting at a café near campus to discuss the first week of school. You don’t have any classes together, so only grabbed lunch two times all week, but didn’t have more than twenty minutes together before one of you had to run to a class. Now you are both comfortably sat in a booth with two cappuccinos and plenty of time to talk.

“So, how is living with Harry?” she curiously asks.

“He is great! Though we don’t meet that much. He has a band so he has practice three times a week, spends the rest of his time at home reading or watching TV.”

You ate dinner together twice this week, but you haven’t really had the courage to join him in the living room when he was watching TV. It sounds stupid but you figured maybe it would bother him if you were out there with him. And since he didn’t invite you either, you just stayed in your room mostly.

“Kimberly told me he is hot, is that true?” she asks with a smirk as she takes a sip from her hot drink. You immediately feel your cheeks heating up.

“Well, he surely is a good looking guy,” you breathe out.

“Lucky you! There’s not much of those in an all girls dorm,” she pouts and you chuckle. “So are you gonna make a move on him?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because we live together and if he rejects me that would be so awkward for the rest of our time living together.”

“But you can’t know for sure if he would reject,” she points out, but she can’t bring up one thing that would change your mind.

“It’s better not to take the odds. I don’t want to end up on the street.”

 As the days go by, things start to get busier in your everydays. Assignments and papers start to pile up so you have to start working on them if you don’t want to leave everything to the last moment. You become a regular in the library, the atmosphere is great for you to get into the flow and get a lot of work done.

It seems like Harry is in the same shoe, he is often in and out of the apartment, sometimes only spends home just a couple of minutes before he leaves again. However they slowly get accustomed to each other, learn the ways the other likes things and work up a schedule for things. Harry learns that Y/N likes to take a shower twice a day and washes her hair usually on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he doesn’t try to take too much time in the bathroom on those days. He also notices how she doesn’t have time to wash the dishes after herself on Thursdays when she just runs home to have a quick bite before she has to leave for another lecture, so they came to a silent agreement where Harry cleans up after her on Thursdays while she takes up on the dishes on Saturday when Harry leaves to band practice at eight.

They work well together and soon enough all of Harry’s doubts about Y/N fade into nothing and he realizes he has made the right choice with her.

Usually she stays at the library until seven on Mondays, but this week they are closing early because they are rearranging a whole department, so Y/N leaves a little after five. She pays a quick trip to the grocery store before she heads home. Opening up the door she immediately hears the music playing, one of Harry’s vinyls is twirling around in the record player and she hears the water running in the bathroom. Setting her bags on the counter she starts unpacking the groceries.

The music and the running water pushed the sound of her arriving down, Harry didn't realize that you were home early when he opens the bathroom door, singing to himself wearing absolutely nothing as he wants to go and grab a pair of clean underwear, but he is shocked to see you standing in the kitchen.

“Shit!” he snaps, hands immediately flying to cover himself as he sprints back to the bathroom quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

Your cheeks are heating up immediately even though you didn’t see anything you weren’t supposed to, the counter top covered him just right above the critical line, but it’s the first time you’ve seen his upper body completely naked.

Even though it was just a spit second, the sight of his many tattoos and the defined V-line leading down to his crotch burned straight into your mind, leaving you flustered and shy all of a sudden.

“Sorry! I should have let you know I was coming home early!” you call out turning around, as if he was about to walk out naked again. Harry chuckles lightly as he returns, this time a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to check in when you come home. It was my fault, I shouldn’t just walk around naked assuming you wouldn’t be home.”

You should, you think to yourself gulping as you turn around and dare to look at him again. You don’t see less than just a few seconds ago, his chest is glistening from the dampness, his curls are still wet and you are having a hard time not to stare at the tattoos on his lower stomach, so you busy yourself with the rest of your groceries as he walks into his room and returns in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks disappearing in the bathroom, but he leaves the door open and you hear him shuffle around, probably fixing up his hair. He uses some kind of mousse that keeps his curls perfectly and also happens to smell like mango and some kind of citrus.

“Um, not really.”

“We’re playing at this bar with the band, wanna come and watch us?” Walking out of the bathroom he switches the light off before walking to the couch and opening up his Netflix account on the TV. His invitation surprises you, but it also feels nice he wants you there.

“Oh, sounds fun! Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! I can have a table reserved for you, if you’d like,” he smiles at you before turning his attention to the screen.

“That would be great, thanks.”

You feel like after your little encounter it’s probably not the best day to join him at the TV, especially because you can’t stop yourself from blushing every time you look at him. The sight of his naked torso pops up in your mind every time and there’s no way you can just casually sit on the couch with him without your body lighting up on fire.

 Rita is excited when you tell her about the invitation, you don’t even have to convince her to go with you since she is dying to finally meet Harry. When he leaves in the early afternoon on Saturday he assures you that there’s gonna be a table reserved under your name, and off he goes to practice, leaving you alone for the rest of the day since he tells you he won’t be back before the concert tonight. Rita comes over around six and the two of you get ready together.

“You have to wear something spicy,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you while you sit at your desk applying mascara to your lashes.

“I don’t want to overdress, it’s just a bar.”

“Yeah, but Harry invited you. I bet he wants you to see him play.”

“Of course he wants, why else would he invite me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t get it,” she chuckles turning to you, hands on her hips. “He wants you to see him play because it feeds his ego. Maybe even turns him on.”

“Stop acting like there is anything between us. We are flatmates and that’s all.”

“I think he wants to be more, you’re just too pussy to make a move yourself,” she shrugs turning back to your closet.

“Stop calling me a pussy for not wanting to make it awkward for the two of us to live together. I’m pretty sure Harry doesn’t see me as anything more than just the person he lives with.”

“Then we have to change that. And I think this is the perfect dress for that.”

Rita pulls out a little black dress you bought about a year ago, but never really got around to wear it. It’s so tight, pushes your tits up way too much for your liking, you’re not even sure why you bought it in the first place.

“I’m not wearing that,” you shake your head.

“Are you afraid he might get a boner from you in it?”

“Rita!” you snap at her, but she just chuckles.

“Look, if you’re so sure he doesn’t want you like that, why does it matter what you wear?”

She has a point. It’s not like this dress will change anything and it would be nice to wear at least once in your life this stupid dress if you bought it.

Grabbing it from her hands you throw it to the bed and start undressing as she claps in victory.

You remembered right, the dress leaves close to nothing to the imagination when it comes to your figure. The fabric hugs your figure tightly, and you put on a lacy bralette that peeks out at the top of the dress, kind of covering some more from your skin, since the dress doesn’t do much in that field itself. Rita tries to convince you not to take a jacket, but you throw your denim jacket on, feeling the need to have something give you the slightest sense of being covered.

You arrive at the bar twenty minutes before the concert starts and it’s a good thing Harry reserved a table for you, because the place is packed. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or it’s just a regular Saturday evening.

The little stage is all set up, but you see no sign of Harry anywhere as the two of you settle at your table with a drink. Luckily, the bartender did not ask for an ID, he was too busy looking at your chest. At least there’s one good thing in this dress.

The drum set at the back has the name of the band on it and you smile reading it. The word ‘Stylish’ is printed on it with bold blue letters, referring to Harry’s last name, who is most likely the front man of the band.

The place is buzzing and the two of you enjoy being out at a bar concert. When the lights go down you finally spot him walking out of the back followed by a guy and two girls.

“Welcome, folks,” he greets the audience, his accent filling up the place over the chatters. A round of cheering answers him, making him smile. “Thank you for coming out tonight, we hope to entertain you in the next hour. Our name is Stylish and now let’s get down to business,” he smirks and just as he takes a step back from the mic, the band starts playing. Harry grabs a guitar himself before stepping back to the mic and then he starts singing.

They play a mixture of covers and original songs, the transition between them is so smooth you sometimes forget it’s a whole different song that’s playing. Harry is clearly enjoying the spotlight, his presence on the stage is so natural and capturing, you often catch yourself forgetting about the rest of the band.

One song follows the other and you don’t even realize how fast this hour passes by. Harry sometimes stops in-between songs, entertaining the audience with small jokes and just casually interacting with them.

“Our last song is up next, so let me take a moment to introduce the band,” Harry speaks into the mic while softly playing the guitar so it’s not completely quiet as he talks. “At the drums, the amazing and talented Sarah Jones!”

A round of applause fills the bar as Sara waves around smiling widely, before Harry moves on to the next member.

“Playing the piano, the wonderful Charlotte Clark!”

Charlotte plays a short melody on the keys matching up with what Harry has been playing, before she also waves at the audience.

“The guy who is a way better guitarist than me, Mitch Rowland.”

Harry’s comment makes the audience laugh and Mitch just nods shyly, a smile pulling on his lips under his mustache.

“And this handsome Brit who sometimes acts like a comedian,” Sarah starts leaning closer to her mic. “Harry Styles.”

It’s no surprise that Harry gets the biggest cheering and he smirks sweetly, his fingers still strumming on the guitar. The clapping and screaming slowly dies down and as Harry steps back to his mic they start the last song.

It’s quite an upbeat, funky song, you just can’t resist dancing around on your chair and seemingly Rita is enjoying herself as well, cheering with her beer in her hand. The song comes to an end and they all line up at the front of the stage bowing down together as the whole bar cheers on them as one person.

“Woah, this was… something else,” Rita breathes out once they disappear at the back and chatter fills up the place once again and the lights come back.

“They smashed it!” you nod in agreement. You figured they are good if they get asked to perform, but this was way beyond what you were expecting.

Looking around you are hoping to see Harry somewhere, but they must be celebrating somewhere at the back. Maybe he won’t even come out, you think to yourself as you finish up your beer.

“I’ll get us another round,” you tell Rita as you make your way to the bar.

There are quite a few people waiting to be served, so you squeeze yourself into the crowd and hope to get to the front soon.

“So how did you like it?”

You jump in surprise when you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, and turning around you see how close he is standing to you.

“Hi! I didn’t even see you sneak up on me,” you chuckle making him smile as he squeezes himself next to you. The two of you finally reach the front, but the bartender is serving someone a little on the left so you have to wait. “I loved it, you were like a proper rockstar up there!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and his dimples show up on his cheeks. The bartender finally gets to you and Harry is quick to order for the both of you. “’S probably better if I place the order since you’re not twenty one just yet.”

“Didn’t have any problem ordering the first time,” you smirk smugly and Harry raises his eyebrows at you before his eyes wander down your body for a second.

“I bet you didn’t in this dress.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of how daring your outfit looks, so out of reflex, you pull your jacket tighter on yourself, Harry’s smile quickly fades as he realizes that he made you uncomfortable with his comment.

“I meant that you look really pretty. Definitely makes you appear a little older though.”

“My friend wanted me to wear it, I would have been fine with something else,” you admit as the bartender places your order in front of you and Harry pays for the whole thing.

“Glad she convinced you,” he grins down at you and you can feel your cheeks heating up once again.

He helps you carry the drinks to the table and Rita quickly puts her phone away when she sees who you are returning with.

“Harry, this is my friend, Rita. Rita, this is Harry,” you introduce them and Harry shakes her head smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he nods kindly.

“Oh, same goes for you,” Rita smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“I’ll go get the rest of the band, do you mind if we join you guys here? There are no empty tables.”

“Sure,” you nod smiling before the crowd swallows Harry.

“For fuck’s sake, you have to make a move on him, Y/N!” Rita turns to you as soon as he is gone.

“Would you stop?” you chuckle.

“No! This dude is so hot I forget my name when I look at him! And you live with him! You can’t miss this chance, Y/N.”

“I’m not missing anything. We live together, it’s not worth it.”

“Not missing anything?” Rita looks at you as if you were mental. “You are literally missing everything!”

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell him just when Harry appears again, this time with two of his bandmates, Sarah and Mitch are following him smiling, hand in hand.

“Charlotte had to leave early, but this is Sarah and Mitch,” Harry introduces them as they join the two of you at the table. “And this is my flatmate, Y/N and her friend Rita.”

You all shake hands as Harry sorts out the extra beers he has ordered so everyone has a drink on their hand.

It’s no surprise, but Sarah and Mitch prove themselves to be just as cool as they seemed up on the stage. And the best thing is that they don’t shy away from sharing funny stories that include Harry.

“So have you been looking for a new place to stay, Y/N?” Mitch jokes. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of Harry by now.”

“Very funny,” Harry laughs at his bandmate’s comment.

“To be honest it’s pretty fine so far. He is a pleasant person to share your home with,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“What’s one thing you hate about living with him?” Sarah asks and Harry pretends to be hurt over the question.

“Who said there’s anything she hates?”

“Shush, I was asking her!” she hushes at him making you laugh.

“I really can’t point out anything in particular. Maybe he has been very careful, luring me into believing that he is the perfect flatmate so I get stuck with him.”

You stay for a while, just chatting and having a good time until the bar starts to empty out and you decide it’s better if you head home as well.

“We have to take care of the equipment, are you leaving or do you want to wait for me?” Harry asks you.

“We’ll just call an Uber, don’t worry about it,” you smile at him.

“Alright, see you at home.”

You say goodbye to Sarah and Mitch and part your ways with them as you and Rite head outside.

“I hope you noticed how Harry was looking at you,” Rita smirks at you when the two of you are sitting at the back of the Uber.

“What are you talking about?” you sigh leaning your head against the seat.

“I caught him staring at you quite a few times.”

“He was just probably looking at me when I was talking. Don’t try to talk something into it that’s not true.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she replies holding up her hands. “But I still think you are missing out on some amazing dick.”

You awkwardly glance at the driver who is hearing everything you say, but Rita seemingly doesn’t mind that you’re not alone.

“You know what? We should give Tinder a try.”

“What? Why?”

“If you don’t want to make a move on your hot flatmate, we need to get some satisfaction from others.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, you are not,” she chuckles. “But you will be when you match with the hottest guys on campus.”

You let Rita believe that she convinced you to sign up for Tinder, but you get out of the car with the intention of never downloading the app, like ever.

Walking into the apartment you grab a clean, oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties since your sleeping shorts are all dirty, but you were planning to do the laundry tomorrow. You decide it’s not a big deal and the shirt will probably cover enough of your body.

You take a quick shower to get off the thick smell of the bar that’s stuck on your skin, taking your time moisturizing yourself once you’re done. When you get dressed you see that the shirt does cover your bum, but if you lifted your arms up it surely shows a big portion of your ass, so you’ll have to be careful if Harry arrives.

You’re lounging on the couch watching a rerun of House M.D. and scrolling through your phone when Harry arrives.

“Hey there, rockstar!” you greet him teasingly and he just chuckles shyly.

“Is it gonna be my new nickname?”

“Well, you really were one tonight, so I think yes,” you nod making him laugh. Walking further inside his eyes stop on your bare legs and he is quick to notice that you’re not wearing any pants, like you usually do. You immediately tug on the end of the shirt to cover more of your skin, but it’s not really working.

“Ehm, I’ll go and take a quick shower,” he informs you before disappearing in his room first and then rushing into the bathroom.

Looking down at your attire you decide it’ll be better if you threw on some sweats. Harry clearly got a little uncomfortable seeing you so bare, so it’s better to cover up. You’ll just take them off when you go to bed.

Harry doesn’t take too long in there, and when he joins you on the couch you are pretty sure he took a cold shower since no steam followed him when he left the bathroom. His eyes flicker to your now covered legs, but he doesn’t say anything, just makes himself comfortable next to you.

“You like it?” he asks nodding at the TV.

“Yeah, he is such an asshole, but it’s funny,” you huff. “Hey, I took a few pictures tonight. Wanna see if you like any of them?”

“Sure,” he nods pushing himself up a little as you unlock your phone and show him the photos you took of him and the band while performing.

Some of them ended up really cool, you were able to catch the lights and their movements just the right way, especially one stands out where he was holding out a note, basically screaming into the mic, he really looks like a rockstar on that one.

“Can you send me this one?”

“Done,” you smile at him and glancing over you see that he opens the Instagram app on his phone. You watch him crop and adjust it a little bit, then tag his bandmates and finally, he posts it.

“Wow, this is the first picture on your page with you actually on it,” you tease him.

“So you’ve been stalking my profile?” he smirks at you.

“I wanted to check you out before I moved in, but your social media was no help in that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of posting that much, but this was a cool picture.”

“It’s an honor to know that I took the first one featuring you.”

“Actually, this is the second one, but it is the first one where my face is visible,” Harry tells you before turning his attention back to the TV, but the gears start to turn wildly in your mind, trying to remember which picture could be the other one.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed with your door closed, you pull up his profile and stat scrolling down. Most of the pictures fall out, because they have absolutely no trace of any human being on them. But then you stop at the one that features a black silhouette of a man, the one you thought wasn’t him.

Opening up you tap on the tag and see that it leads to Mitch’s profile, but now that you’ve met him, you’re pretty sure it’s not him in the picture. So you take a closer look and as you go over the small details, like the line of his neck, how wide his shoulders are and the untamed curls, you soon realize that it is indeed Harry in the photo.

You push down a moan when realization sets in, because that means that you’re staring at the naked silhouette of Harry and it immediately starts a fire between your legs.

“Jesus,” you whisper as you let yourself stare at the photo a little longer. You weren’t expecting it, but it’s surely making you feel some kind of way.

Locking your phone you throw it to your nightstand before you bury your head into your pillow. You have to press your thighs together quite tightly to make the throbbing sensation stop so you can finally fall asleep. Well, it takes some time before that happens and it’s quite torturous.

  Unlike how you planned, Rita finally gets you to download Tinder and give it a try. She helps you set up your profile, and though at first it feels incredibly awkward, you slowly adjust to being out there on the virtual market.

You start swiping left and right whenever you are bored during classes or you’re having a break from studying. Your matches start to pile up and soon enough you start getting messages as well. You reply to the ones you like or find funny and creative, giving them a chance, but not many end up going too far. Somehow the conversations always die down and you lose interest in the person.

Only one guy gets as far as asking you out and getting a yes as an answer. Jordan is a physics major and seemed like a nice and funny guy through the messages, good-looking too, so you decided to give it a go.

So Friday evening you dolled yourself up, put on a nice blouse with your favorite skinny jeans and black heels, ready to head out to your first ever Tinder date.

As you walk out of your room you find Harry in the kitchen in his basketball shorts and a simple black t-shirt making himself a cup of tea. The shorts are hanging low on his waist and as he reaches up to get the hones from the cupboard you get a glimpse of the soft skin on his lower waist. You quickly look away before you could have any further thoughts about what else is under the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, where are you heading all dressed up?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I actually have a date,” you admit nervously as you grab your keys and put it away in your purse.

“Lucky guy,” he smiles and you can feel your cheeks heating up again. There’s just something in the way he compliments you, it makes your knees go jelly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later? I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you tell him grabbing your jacket from the hanger next to the front door.

“Have fun,” he nods before you walk out.

 Jordan proves himself to be quite frankly the same guy you got to know through messages. He takes you to this Mexican themed bar and you are just chatting over some exciting looking cocktails, but you find yourself zoning out sometimes.

What is Harry doing right now? Is he staying at home? I should have asked if he had any plans. Maybe he is hooking up with someone right now.

You find yourself thinking about way more than you probably should and it’s making you lose your shit. So maybe this is why, or because Rita told you to just go with the flow, but when Jordan asks if you want to go up to his place you say yes.

It’s as awkward and bad as you were expecting, unfortunately. There’s a reason why you don’t hook up with every random guy you go out with once. You are totally on different pages, but when you are lying under him on his bed, you just know there’s no way out.

It’s not that he forces you, because you’re sure he would have stopped if you asked, but it would be so awkward to just walk out because you weren’t feeling the vibe. So at least one of you should enjoy it.

You should deserve an Oscar for that orgasm you fake, it’s so believable. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice that you felt absolutely nothing, just frustration and impatience, he tries to make you stay the night, but you save yourself with a lie that you have to wake up early in the morning so it’s best if you head home.

Your frustration just grows on your way home. You were really hoping to get laid tonight, so maybe that could stop you from fantasizing about Harry, because your thoughts have been wild since you found out that he is the one on that Instagram picture. It doesn’t help that he has been walking around shirtless quite a lot.

Shameful or not, you even touched yourself once thinking about him. You were home alone after a particularly boring day so you thought you’d just get yourself off. Before you could realize where your thoughts have wandered, you were moaning his name as you came hard. You couldn’t look into his eyes that day when he came home, he probably thought you were nuts, basically running away from him.

It’s almost midnight when you get back home, you were expecting Harry to be asleep by now since he has band practice in the morning, but you are surprised to see light coming from his room. As you close the front door, kicking your heels off he walks out, of course, without a shirt, his glorious body on full display.

“Hey, how was your date?” he asks as you step to the fridge to get yourself something to drink. You’ve been so damn thirsty since Jordan was… done with you, you could have asked for some water at least, but you just wanted to leave as fast as possible.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” you whine, leaning against the counter.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” you roll your eyes and Harry chuckles softly.

“Come on, it couldn’t be that bad if you came home so late.”

“Well, it did start off nice, but I shouldn’t have said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to his place.”

“Oh.”

“Worst sex of my life, I wanted out the moment we arrived, to be honest,” you honestly say, feeling a little weird that you’re talking to Harry about it, but you just want to get it off your chest.

“Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Dunno, I just… I was hoping for just a little satisfaction, but I guess I asked for too much,” you sigh finishing up your water and you walk past him with the intention to grab your pajamas and have a shower that would wash away the happenings of the night, but Harry’s voice stops you.

“Not everything is lost just yet.” Turning around you give him a puzzled look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites into his bottom lip and lets his eyes travel down your body, his intent gaze sends a shiver down your spine. When his eyes return to your gaze your heart is wildly beating against your chest.

“I mean that… I can make you feel good, if you want.”

Your mouth hangs open and your eyebrows shoot up at the blunt offer he just made. At first you’re not even sure you heard him right, but as you replay his words you realize that you indeed heard him crystal clear.

“Are you messing with me right now?” you ask, feeling like it’s all just a joke. He did not just offer to satisfy you because you complained to him about how bad your date was.

Harry takes a few steps closer to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Not really. You want to get off and I would love to be the one to help you with it.”

“But… we live together,” you say and realize how stupid this just sounded, but you hope he gets what you were trying to say.

“So? Does that mean we can’t fuck?”

The way he said that makes your legs go weak for sure. You’ve been fantasizing about things similar to this, but those were nowhere near to actually hear him propose the idea of fucking.

“But… it’ll be weird, won’t it?”

“Only if we make it.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between the two of you and he cups your cheek in his hand as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

“Harry…” you breathe out, but you already know you gave in. There’s no way you can say him no, not after weeks of dreaming about the exact same thing.

“Just stop thinking,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you hard and you gladly let his tongue push into your mouth within a second, kissing him back with the same passion. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands travel down on your sides until they reach your ass and they give it a bold squeeze, making you moan into his lips. You feel him grin as his hands move over to your thighs and he urges you to jump and so you do, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Though you keep your eyes closed, kissing him hard, you can tell he brings you to the couch, laying you down to your back, holding himself up above you. He starts kissing down your jawline and neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and you lift yourself up a bit so he can pull it off, throwing it away to somewhere behind the couch. While his lips are sucking on your breasts wherever they are bulging out from the lacy bra, his hands work fast on your jeans, undoing the button and the zipper, tugging them down until you can just kick them right off.

“Matching set? You were really counting on having a good time tonight,” he mumbles against your tummy as he kisses his way down on your body.

His right hand reaches up and cups your breast before it slides under you and easily unclasps your bra. You quickly slide the straps off and throw it to the side, so now you are lying under him only in your panties, whimpering and panting at every kiss he leaves on your body.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he hums glancing up at you, sitting between your legs as he slides just one finger over your soaking wet panties, running it along your throbbing center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathe out.

“How exactly do you want me?”

“Jesus, just eat me out, Harry!” you shamelessly moan and he smugly smirks before he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, throwing it to the ground.

Now you’re lying completely naked in front of him, and he pushes your knees farther apart, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growls as he gets closer and without a warning, he licks into you.

You moan in sensation as he starts sucking on your clit, his tongue working perfectly against your bud. Your hands find their way into his hair and you grab a handful of it in each. Oh, how many times you’ve thought about doing this!

“Harry!” you cry out when you feel him push a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out a few times before he adds another to it. He quickly picks up his pace as he keeps sucking on your clit, getting you closer to your orgasm with every lick.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even breathe.

“Cum for me, baby,” he mumbles against your wet clit and just a few more pumps later you came, screaming his name.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” you breathe out when he climbs up on you smirking.

“You think you can handle another one?” he asks, pecking your lips softly. Looking down you see how hard he is and even if you were on the verge of dying you would have said yes. There’s no way you let him get up from this couch unsatisfied after the orgasm he just gave you.

Instead of saying anything, you push on him until he is sitting on the couch and you have your knees on his sides.

“I think you are a little overdressed, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly as you bring a hand down to his erection, cupping it through his shorts and underwear.

Harry cranes his neck so his lips could meet yours again as he lifts his hips up, pushing his shorts down along with his boxers. You sit back down to his lap and his erection presses against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you ask breathlessly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I would last, I just want to fuck you,” he growls and you swear to God that was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Condom, we need a condom,” you tell him, still kissing his lips.

You get off him and he quickly runs into his room, shortly returning with a condom between his teeth. He rips the package on his way and falls back to the couch, rolling it on carefully. When he is done you swing your leg over him and get on top again, holding onto his broad shoulders. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up to your center and you give yourself a moment to admire his naked beauty right in front of you.

You look into his sparkling eyes and leaning down you kiss him hard as you slowly ease down to his length, his cock slowly filling you up fully.

“Oh fuck!” he moans at the feeling of you around him. His fingers dig deep into your waist as you stay still for a few moments, adjusting to his length. “You alright?” he asks breathlessly. Your eyes meet his and you nod a little before you start moving.

It takes a few moments to find the right pace and get yourself comfortable, but when you finally do, you just can’t stop. His hands are on your ass as he guides your hips a little and you feel the rings on his fingers against your heated skin. He buries his face into your neck nibbling and kissing on the soft skin wherever he reaches.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot, Y/N,” he grunts when you let your head fall back, feeling your orgasm slowly building up again.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum again,” you pant, picking up a faster pace, desperate for release.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me make you feel good!” he moans wrapping his arms around you as he holds you still, stopping you from moving, but instead he starts thrusting into you, his cock buries so deep into your pussy, your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling.

“Yes! Don’t fucking stop!” you scream as he keeps fucking you hard.

It doesn’t take too long until you fall completely apart and cum again, your legs basically turning into jelly. Just a few thrusts later Harry cums as well, thrusting deep into you a few more times as he moans into your neck.

You lie completely numb on him, his fingers gently stroking your naked back as you try to come back to reality. When you lean back and your eyes meet again you are still speechless.

“I’ve literally wanted it since the day you walked into this place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Really?” you giggle shyly.

“Oh, really. Seeing you around, sometimes without a bra under your shirt completely killed me most of the time.”

Your cheeks are heating up, you didn’t think he noticed when you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t be so shy, you have amazing tits, you are not allowed to wear a bra anymore around here,” he teases you grinning as you laugh and leaning down you kiss him shortly.

“I had quite a few fantasies about you too,” you admit making him raise his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Mhm, especially after you walked out of the bathroom naked, even though I didn’t even see your dick then.”

Harry chuckles lightly as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So…” you shyly start, ”what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… we live together and we just fucked. What does this mean for the future?”

“Well, I thought that next time we could do it the right way. I could take you out on a proper date, and then fuck you on the kitchen counter.”

You laugh at how blunt he is, but you love the idea he just proposed.

“Okay. Sounds fine by me.”

[hardlyinteresting]

Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

[writemekpop]

Lost in Hollywood (Part 3) | Wong Yukhei (Lucas)

Pairing: Wong Yukhei (Lucas) x Reader

Summary: Lucas begs for your forgiveness, but what if you don’t need it anymore?

Genre: Husband!Lucas, Actor!Lucas, Angst

Word Count: 1.1k

Gif: @neocitys​

Warnings: Mention of termination of pregnancy, sexual content

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 ⭐️

Crashing at Ten’s place. Will call in a few days. Lucas. 

You stared at the text in disbelief. 

How dare Lucas run away from home! He was a husband and a father of two. This was beyond irresponsible. 

It took all your might not to hurl your phone at the wall. But the thought of losing precious dollars to get it repaired was enough to make you lay the phone down gently. 

That evening, you gazed blankly at your reflection in the mirror. 

You rested your hand on your stomach, imagining how it would look in a few months. You tried to picture the baby’s beautiful face, but you couldn’t. All you could see was a big black hole of debt.  

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

Suddenly, you saw yourself. Were you really sobbing over your husband letting you down? You had to get your life together – for the kids. 

Buzzing with anger and pure fear, you rushed to your laptop and filled out applications for graphic design jobs in LA. 

A wave of sickness jolted through you, and you dashed to the toilet. You wished that Lucas was there to hold your hair like he had before... 

Your fingers trembled as you dialled up the number that you’d repeated under your breath for days.

“Hello, I’d like to book an appointment to discuss…” you lowered your voice. “A termination of pregnancy.” 

You felt like a bad mother, but there was no way you could raise this child right. Love wasn’t enough. Your gut twisted – you didn’t know what Lucas would think. 

It didn’t matter what he thought. Lucas wasn’t here.

Late on Sunday evening your phone rang. A surge of relief flooded through you. 

“Lucas?” you gasped into the handset. 

“Err… no. Sorry, is this a bad time? It’s Taeyong. Lee Taeyong, from high school.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Oh, Taeyong! Of course I remember you, we were in design club together!” 

“Yes! I saw you applied for a job in my company, and I was so surprised! I remember how talented to you were, and I wanted to say that the job is yours. I can’t wait to work with you again.”

You were crying when you hung up, but for once, they were happy tears. You were one step closer to getting your life on track. 

Just then, you heard the front door click open. 

You swiped your tears away and ran into the living room. Your mouth fell open when you saw who it was. 

Lucas had walked in. 

His caramel skin was glowing, and his burgundy hair flopped in stylish disarray on his forehead. You hate to admit that he looked handsome. 

“Daddy!” Mari squealed, running into Lucas’s arms. Lucas picked up his daughter and twirled her around. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too baby.” Lucas planted a big kiss on her cheek before setting her down. 

Lucas walked over to the play pen and picked up his son. “There’s my Teddy bear,” Lucas said, nuzzling his cheek into the baby’s soft body.

With Teddy in his arms, Lucas finally turned towards you. “Hi, Y/n,” he said, softly. 

You scowled and turned to your daughter. “Mari!” you shouted. “It’s bedtime.” 

Mari must have understood from your tone that you were dead serious because she ran straight into her bedroom.

You snatched the baby from Lucas’s arms and stormed into your room. 

Lucas followed silently behind. He leant against the doorframe and watched you put Teddy to sleep in his cot. 

When you were done, you flopped onto the bed. 

Lucas sat down beside you and held your hand. You were too exhausted to protest, so you just let him hold it. 

“I’m really sorry, Y/n,” Lucas said. 

You didn’t respond. 

Lucas curled his arm around your waist and pulled you close. You slumped into him, hating yourself for feeling relieved that you had another person to lean on. 

Lucas rubbed soothing circles into your limp body. 

“I shouldn’t have walked away from you guys like that. Is the… baby okay?” Lucas placed one hand on your stomach, and that’s when you gained the strength to slap it away. 

You jumped off the bed and balled your hands into fists. 

Lucas’s mouth hung open, just an inch. 

“What the fuck Lucas? You don’t get to act as if nothing’s happened! Do the kids not mean anything to you? Do I not mean anything to you? I should kick you out for this…” 

Lucas’s face twisted in anguish. “No, please don’t break up with me! What I did was irresponsible. But I mean… you did kinda freak me out when you said you were pregnant…”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore because…” You gulped. “Because I don’t want to keep the baby.” 

The temperature in the room plummeted. 

“What?” His voice was less than a whisper. 

“You heard what I said.” 

“Is this because of what I did?” Lucas’s voice was strained; you couldn’t recognise it.  

For the first time ever, you saw Lucas cry. Fat tears rolled down his dark cheeks, making his caramel skin glow. Even like this, he was beautiful. 

You clasped your hand onto his shoulder. 

Keeping your voice gentle, you said, “No, this isn’t because of what you did. We can’t afford another baby. And I’m not… sure yet, I just want us to have options.” 

Lucas’s head hung low. You touched your hand to his cheek and brushed away his tears. 

He sniffed before speaking. “Well… if that’s what you want, then I’ll support you.”

Then it was your turn to break. You wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. 

After a while, you realised you’d cried all your anger out. 

You just wanted your husband back. 

In that moment, Lucas turned to you and said, “Y/n, you’re the love of my life and the mother of my children. I’ll give up trying to be an actor and get a stable job and-”

You shushed Lucas with a finger to his lips.  

“Babe, there’s no need for that, because…  I got a job. It pays well enough that you can focus on acting and spend more time with the kids. Let me take care of you for once.”

“You’re amazing, Y/n,” Lucas said, his voice breaking.

Lucas leant towards you, and his lips brushed against your cheek. Electricity jolted through you.

Then his lips touched the corner of your mouth, silently asking for permission to kiss you.

You turned your head towards Lucas, and all of a sudden, you were kissing. Lucas’s plump lips moulded against yours, and his tongue pressed into your mouth.

His large hands wove around your hips, and he pulled you onto his lap.

You straddled his waist and gripped his hair tight. His hands found their home on your hips, slipping under your sweatpants to reach skin. 

Lucas was a little rough around the edges, but most importantly, he was here. 

That night, when Lucas made love to you, he promised you he'd never leave you again. And to your surprise, you believed him. 

You didn’t know what the future held, but you did know that you’d find a way through together.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dead, broke

Of all the moving, wrenching accounts of death during the pandemic, Molly McGhee’s “America’s Dead Souls,” for The Paris Review stands out: haunting, furious and sad, an rude awakening of the status quo that denies any possibility of inaction.

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

I’ve known McGhee a long time, since she worked on my book INFORMATION DOESN’T WANT TO BE FREE from McSweeneys, a professional association we renewed when she landed at Tor.

During the pandemic crisis, I’ve had two different connections to her: on the one hand, the consummate professionalism of her emails as we published my novel ATTACK SURFACE in the middle of the lockdown.

On the other hand, I knew her through her wrenching and deeply personal Twitter account of the personal tragedies she’s endured over the same period. Her Paris Review essay brings those tragedies into sharp focus and uses them to pin a huge and heretofore ill-defined feeling.

McGhee’s mother died during the crisis, but the death was the culmination of years of hardship: “[earning] less than $10,000 a year. Suffering from debilitating depression while caring for her aging parents…chronically unemployed, undermedicated, and overstressed.”

Her mother’s debts were on public display through searchable databases, and her life was haunted by both con artists and bill collectors who carpet-bombed her with calls, letters and emails.

She was too poor to fight back: her wages were garnished by the IRS “for back taxes calculated from a years-old misfiling they refused to correct.” McGhee sent her months of her salary, but it wasn’t enough.

She had no answer for her mother’s rhetorical questions, “Why are these people harassing me? What good does it do them?”

Because the answer is obvious and insufficient: “The people in power don’t care if we live or die, as long as they get paid.”

It only took two days after McGhee’s mother died for her creditors to begin harassing her for her mother’s debts. The state of Tennessee seized the house, but Wells Fargo expected her to make good on the mortgage.

The hospital where McGhee’s mother died wanted a quarter of a million dollars. McGhee, not even 26, was staring down the barrel of the weapon that had been trained on her mother, the inheritor of nothing but debt.

The debt-machine is efficient. Bill collectors found out about McGhee’s mother’s death before McGhee’s own family got word. And they’re remorseless, immune to McGhee’s “pleading, bargaining, reasoning, denying, uploading, scanning, begging, faxing, and crying.”

McGhee compares it to Gogol’s “Dead Souls,” a surreal tale of a grifter named Chichikov who buys dead serfs’ souls to sell for profit.

It’s only surreal if you’ve never been in the debt system’s crosshairs, “where one day of lost wages can compound into houselessness.”

We live in a system of winners and losers. The winners’ winnings come from debt, shielded from the system’s cruelty by “professionalism and bureaucracy” that insulate them — and their functionaries — from “feelings of culpability, not to mention empathy or curiosity.”

Poor people have less money, but the system is firmly focused poor people, because people with money can defend themselves. When McGhee went into debt to hire a lawyer, a single letter on official letterhead instantly reduced all that debt by 90% — more than $250k, poof.

It’s expensive to be poor. Take Community Health Systems, one of the largest hospital chains in America. It sues the shit out of poor people. When those people can afford lawyers, CHS loses, because it is chasing debts it is not entitled to collect.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/18/unhealthy-balance-sheet/#health-usury

CHS itself owes $7.6 billion. It turned its first profit in 2020, thanks to hundreds of millions of dollars in state and federal subsidies, and its executives pocketed millions in “performance bonuses” for a performance that consisted of getting bailed out by the public.

The Trump stimulus handed trillions to the richest people and biggest companies in America. Those companies “leveraged up” their handouts to raise trillions more and went on spending sprees, buying up struggling businesses.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

They loaded these companies up with debt, declared “divi recaps” (where you take out a loan on a company you bought on credit and put that money in your own pocket as a “special dividend”) and crashed the companies, destroying jobs and communities.

Plutes know there are three kinds of debt: workers’ debts (which must be repaid), owners’ debts (to be “restructured” away) and government debt (not debt at all, but still handy for terrifying normies with stories of “mortgaging our kids’ futures”).

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/17/disgracenote/#false-consciousness

Forty years of this approach has turned the economy into a shambling zombie, dependent on the fiction that “consumer” debts — repackaged as bonds through financialization — will be repaid, somehow.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

As an ever-larger share of the world’s wealth has shifted from the workers’ side of the balance sheet to the owners’, the ability of workers to buy things to keep businesses afloat as vehicles for debt-leveraging has only declined.

Wage-theft and stagnation, unions in retreat, monopoly, monopsony, tax-preferencing for home-owners over renters, for capital gains over wages, spiraling housing, health and education costs, worker misclassification — wages are annihilated before they’re even deposited.

With no wages left over to fund consumption, there’s only debt, and as Michael Hudson says, “Debts that can’t be repaid, won’t be repaid.” CHS can comfortably carry billions in debts, but the sick people it sues for $201 have to choose between rent and medical debt.

Every loan-shark knows how this works. The chump with $500 who owes you $500 and owes the bank $500 needs an incentive to pay you ahead of the bank. To assert the primacy of your claims, you need an arm-breaker.

The digital world has given us all kinds of fantastic new arm-breakers: digital repo men who can brick your car or your phone. It’s automated the once rare practice of evictions, creating eviction mills that run with devastating efficiency.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Creating a debt-instrument — a bond grounded in the payments from other peoples’ debts — requires that you convince investors and bond-rating agencies that your arm-breaker will terrorize the debtors into paying you instead of child-support or grocery bills.

“The cruelty is the point” isn’t ideology, it’s pure description. The system — an artificial life-form constituted as immortal colony organism that uses us as gut flora — runs on competing claims to your debt, and victory consists of terrorizing you more than any rival.

The financiers who practice leveraged buyouts destroy real businesses, ruin lives and hollow out communities. They are feted as “job creators.” The workers who must borrow to close the gap they leave are “deadbeats.” Leveraged buyouts are back, baby.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

If you fret that forgiving student loans and making college free will “saddle our kids with debt,” then you’ve been suckered.

Look. Replacing a system that starts all but the richest children with unserviceable debt with one that doesn’t is liberation, not bondage.

Since Reagan, we’ve been hiking tuition, killing deductions for interest, and shielding student debt from bankruptcy.That’s how you can borrow $79k, pay $190k, still owe $236k, and have 25% taken from every paycheck AND Social Security until you die.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid. Student debts do get forgiven, but only for those highly educated, (potentially) highly productive people who can prove that they have been so thoroughly destroyed by debt that they have no future.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#student-debt

And as McGhee reminds us, the tragedy isn’t merely that we educate people on the pretense of betting on America’s future, but really, the principle use that the system makes of the educated is as collateral for securitized loans.

If the arm-breakers who chased her mother wanted to understand that woman’s humanity, McGhee says they should start here:

“Her humor and her rage were unmatched. In the evenings, against the setting Tennessee sun, she liked to drink red can Cokes in the garden while snuffing cigarettes out against the yard’s ant colonies. She could reckon with anyone just by looking them in the eye. Men were terrified of her, rightfully so. She was sweet. In the last week of her life, when she couldn’t understand where she was or who she was talking to, she greeted everyone the same: ‘Hi, pal. Hope you’re doing okay. When can you come pick me up?’”

Take a second. Re-read that.

[corpsentry]

some thoughts (aka, things adjacent to mdzs that have been on the mind recently)

got tricked into watching cql bts and interview clips recently by an incredibly charming cast which has been great for me, but also confirmed my vague sensing from years of timeline osmosis that fandom today is batshit insane. especially the ones that spring up around real people. the way fans talk about the actors in the comments you’d think they were barbie dolls with big tiddies not whole ass human beings!!!! sure they’re probably never going to read your youtube comment with 52 likes or your omegaverse au fic but i bet they know this stuff exists conceptually and even if they didn’t— you know i’m pretty firm on my thoughts on fiction and what fiction touches but fictionalizing real people? that's reality right there. that's a Guy. don't touch Guys. touch grass

to gloss over it all very quickly my cultural identity is a bit of an eldritch horror type situation but my relationship with chinese culture has been fucked for most of my life due to a cute little bit of internalized racism, singapore’s fuckshit awful chinese language program, and Family Politics. so getting into mdzs voluntarily has been pretty lit because it’s the first time in my life that i’m meeting (what is arguably) my own culture on my own terms. like oh, okay, this language is neat. this culture is neat. chinese netizen slang is so fucking cute

this is so deeply and extremely far away from both of the above but as i rescheduled my flight for the spring semester to the 25th i’ve been able to order shit off taobao to deliver to singapore. there are two parts to this, one of which is actually relevant now that you think about it. relevant: hanfu looks fucking cool dude. like yeah qipao are swag but hanfu Based (gamer walk of shame back to my room). anyway i think life is too short to limit your clothing choices due to the fear of standing out in a sea of people who are also limiting their clothing choices due to the fear of standing out, also winter is cold as ass where my college’s at so hanfu works perfectly, actually. yes i will be turning up for my lgbtq russian literature class looking like that. irrelevant: things on taobao are so affordable it makes my wallet hurt in reverse. listen up fucking hair ties cost you like four dollars a pop at target. the fuck? i don’t know where i got the impression that america isn't expensive but anyway i was wrong so i am going to announce it here: no stupid purchases this spring semester of objects i can obtain in singapore because if i can get it in singapore i can get it for at least 1/10th the price and also white people stuff is just Ugly. the fashion? not based. the culture? also not based. the liberal arts college? ok the liberal arts colleges are fine they can stay (i guess)

so as you can see here i’ve gotten very carried away in being frustrated with the ideological west recently; it’s just what happens when you spend your whole life reading about how stupid america is as a concept and then you go there and you realize all the books and tweets and articles were right. which, you know, we will have to adjust as is appropriate and i will have to learn to reconcile with my very nice friends who also sometimes (often) happen to be american and also myself, with one leg in america (see: cultural eldritch horror) but for now i will say it: america is a stupid little country. and now back to my cql videos with no comment section viewing

[computermaus]

Some HC's :) Older teenage

Stan

Decided to leave the footballteam in 6th grade

Has become vegetarian in 8th grade

He has book of whales and dolphins

Enjoys watching sea documentaries

He is against Sea World or any whale shows who hold whales and dolphins in captivity. Has lead many protests against it.

He has a very good aim

He goes to a shooting range when stressed. Nobody knows this until 11th grade.

Favourite class his biology. It's the only class he is in AP at.

He bought a Star Wars Millennium Falcon on his 16th Birthday. And Kyle thought it was absolutely stupid paying 800 Dollars for that. (Stan is the type of person to do that. Can't convince me otherwise)

He likes to ride a bike occasionally for a few hours

He learned snowboarding by himself and enjoys it much more than skiing

He has learned to play the electric guitar in 6th grade.

He likes to sing when he is on his own or makes up songs on his own and sings them.

He has habit how losing things.

He is very scared to become like his father. He likes to keep himself busy so he won't fall into his addiction tendencies.

Is still fair skinned. Eventhough he had been living on a farm slnce he was 10. He doesn't get a tan.

He goes to the Spa on special occasions to relax

He was born with small breathing tubes. He has to carry an asthma inhaler in case he is short of breath

He gets nauseating from using the swings. But has no problems being on a boat

He can't dive for longer than 5 seconds without any equipment.

He passed his driving test after two lessons and at the first try without any mistake.

Kyle

He got in the basketballteam in junior year of Highschool

He got in a fight with with Cartman on the first day of Highschool.

He's the leader of the Math Quest

Has installed an app or software so teachers won't have to deal with computer viruses. ( Look I have no idea if this is accurate or not. Just roll with it)

He's in AP math, computer science, history, physics, geography, and english.

He's good at saving money

His anger has gotten worse at the beginning of his teenage years. Forcing him to take Anger Management classes.

When he's drunk he spends money on stupid things he later regrets when sober.

Kyle uses hand sanitizer before entering any building

He doesn't like it when someone or himself lies on his bed with their streetclothes and only lies on his bed in his pyjamas.

He sometimes helps out his father in his law firm. His father wants him to become a lawyer but Kyle is unsure

He can't deal with situations he didn't plan beforehand and doesn't like spontaneity.

He looked up spoilers when watching Game of Thrones with Stan but never told him.

He hates to cry in front of people that aren't his friends or family and rather gets angry.

In Music class they had to sing a song. Because Kyle didn't want to hear his own voice he had worn headphones. (They were allowed to do so). Some students started to laugh.

Kyle hates music class. He has complained many times how useless it is to force students to sing in front of their classmates only to embarrass them. When they have no interests or talent in singing (my personal opinion and I'm still traumatised. look i was a shy 14 year old girl. You can't expect me to sing in front of two classes.)

He likes when a student preferably in math class doesn't understand something, so he can explain it to them. ( THis is NOT what I did. 👀)

He started to smoke in junior year and quit after 5 months

He was in double as much detention as Stan and this because of the many fights Kyle got into. When Kenny showed him that fact Kyle didn't want to believe it was true.

Kenny

He collects snails in his backyard. He then organises a snail race and lets people pay entry. And also makes bets

Inspired by the movie the Kissing Booth he also wanted to make on in Highschool to raise money for some trip. This idea was declined

He likes Poetry

He goes to singing classes to master his oper singing skills since 8th grade

He has watched every episode of the Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girls

He is never much prepared when holding presentations and never has a poster or any visual presentation than himself. When the teacher pointed this out at one point, he said: Watching him should be enough.

He wouldn't go on a rollercoaster

He doesn't listen in class and asks Kyle what they have for homework.

He still does okay in tests

He made a pseudonym called: " MC the Lovedoctor. And gives advice for love sick students, he read from Cosmopolitan

Yes Kenny unironically reads the Cosmopolitan

He bites his nails

He has trouble opening up emotionally in relationships and that's because of the neglect he got from his parents

Kenny saves the money he earns for music college

He uses alot of self deprecating jokes.

He got his first phone in 7th grade

He is still a fan of NASCAR

He teaches Stan self defense. He teaches him stuff he learned by himself from living " In the Hood" he so nicely calls it. When Stans old house is like 20 steps away.

He found a possum in a trash and called it Louvre. And has adopted it. Kyle is absolutely disgusted by that thing. And one time when Stan, Kyle and Kenny were hanging in Kyle's room Kenny has brought that possum with him. It broke free from Kennys grasp and jumped on Kyles holy tempel. His bed.

The possum hates Kyle and attacked him several times

The possum loves Stan

He needs braces but can't afford them

He told Stan to invite him to a Spa trip with him.

He once jumped out of the window in the 8th floor when he didn't want to be in Detention anymore. The next day everyone forgot Kenny killed himself and that he was in detention. He regrets doing it and won't do it again. During is death Satan has scolded him out and how reckless he was acting.

Cartman

He loves the Possum for attacking Kyle

He likes to wear shirts that don't fit him

He got diabetes type 2 at 16.

He eats in class when he feels stressed. Its almost all the time

He likes to provocate Kyle so he will fight him and get detention for it.

He runs a club in Highschool called: "the Abstinences" They had sworn out any sexual activities and it doesn't belong to his Christian beliefs. He hides the fact he is scared of it and insecure. He shames people who are more promiscuous.

He believes because of this club he will go to Heaven

When partying he is unable to stop with the alcohol. Because of his fat it takes him longer to get drunk

He doesn't know how to shave and goes to school with razer cuts on his face.

He gets results from tests and sells them to other students

He still does terribly in school because he sucks at memorising.

He has a dream of owing his own slaughterhouse.

He gets defensive when someone asks him about his father

He has poor coordination skills.

He is to lazy to do the driving test and uses the excuse that his friends should drive him around

He won a eating contest. He ate 50 Burgers in 15 minutes.

He does good presentations in school and enjoys doing them

He has complained many times that students weren't allowed to use the elevator in school and had to use the stairs. The teacher told him to lose weight. In which Cartman told the principal the teacher was fat shaming him.

He cuddles with his cat before going to sleep

[latevictorian]

the Goldfinch is a hot mess

As someone who adored The Secret History I am astounded at just how much is wrong with The Goldfinch. I was taken in by the first 250 pages or so, right up until things went off the rails in Las Vegas and the novel loses its footing only to spend 600+ pages never finding it again. (spoilers under the cut)

Theo as a kid is easy to sympathize with. Even though he’s a bad kid whose been dealt a crappy hand, you get the sense that he can still have an okay life. He’s smart, he likes reading, he appreciates art, he loves his mom. Unfortunately he grows up to be a thoroughly unlikeable and irredeemable sleaze-bag who makes nothing but bad decisions and betrays the one person in the world who actually cares about him. So why does he face no consequences for these bad decisions? I was utterly baffled when Theo confesses his terrible deeds to Hobie -- an anxiety-inducing moment built up for 400+ pages -- just for Hobie to essentially go “Okay whatever lol” and start bloviating about Rembrandt. Theo’s “relationship” with Kitsey and her family is unchanged and they all still tolerate him and have him round at dinner. Boris (who, let’s be real, would never have survived to adulthood) remains Theo’s best bud, gives him a pile of money, and administers a lecture on Dostoyevsky. Aside from his boring and repetitive psychological torment, Theo never faces any actual consequences for the art theft or the murder (also, do security cameras not exist? He and Boris should have been apprehended in 0.004 seconds). He doesn’t even care that he’s spiraled into someone way worse than his father -- his dad was also a drug addict who got mixed up in the criminal world, but he never shot and killed anyone. Oh, but he cares (a lot) that he’s starting to resemble his father in the face. The horror. Additionally, Theo barely faces consequences for being a drug addict, he’s able to meticulously keep his habit in check and hide it from the people he lives with, and he doesn’t even suffer a headache when he ODs -- he simply splashes some water on his face and he’s off to sell antiques! Wow, lucky him! Does Manic Pixie Pippa in her cocoon of 95 scarves ever berate Theo or give him an unkind word for his creepy behavior or inappropriate gift? Nope, not a chance. Theo finishes college and -- despite being a willful underachiever who can barely do the work -- starts up a book club with Pippa, muses about Henry David Thoreau with Boris (when they’re not hungover and huffing glue) and quotes Nietzsche. Does Theo at least suffer from being deeply closeted and trapped in a passionless marriage to someone he doesn’t even like? Of course not. Also, why would anyone -- let alone an old money daughter of NYC socialites -- want to marry such an uncharismatic loser, who doesn’t even commit to getting his own apartment (despite making hundreds of thousands of dollars with his antiques racket) because dear sweet Hobie lets him squat upstairs for pennies? Seriously, this was nauseating. 

The scenes in NYC were so bad and nonsensical. I promise New York isn’t as tawdry as the novel might have one believe. Theo and his mom are poor --digging in the sofa for loose change poor -- but they eat out all the time and take taxis?? Why don’t they live in a rat-infested flatshare in Washington Heights or the Bronx if they’re so poor they can barely afford to take the subway? And how are they budgeting for a housekeeper (!!!) and a two-bedroom (!!) Seventh Avenue apartment building?  Also, even in the nicest NYC high rises you’re lucky if there’s a doorman at all, let alone a soccer team full of them who tend to you like personal butlers. Why are ‘club kids’ hanging out in a diner at 5am, is this 1983? Why do all the Puerto Ricans have to speak Spanglish? Why is Theo’s engagement party regarded as some high society debutante ball when he’s a nobody from nowhere with nothing to offer his bride-to-be? Wouldn’t there be tons of people dissuading Kitsey from marrying this guy, trying to set her up with some aging billionaire? Why couldn’t she at least have been average-looking or slightly ugly (you know, like Andy?) which might have explained why she felt the need to settle for Theo? Why does Mrs. Barbour like Theo so much? It was pretty apparent that she regarded him as little more than a pet and a charitable tax writeoff back when she considered "keeping” him. Why does Mrs. Barbour age 120 years by the end, shrinking into a bedridden shriveled half-starved husk, but Hobie doesn’t age at all? And are we really supposed to believe that criminals and junkies nodding off in a heroin den would be erudite eloquent art history scholars waxing poetic for dozens of pages about the minutiae of oil and gesso? 

Those last 10 pages were so bad it hurt. It gave me palpable second-hand embarrassment to consider that someone with actual, demonstrable Pulitzer-winning talent wrote this and not only thought it was publishable, but said to themselves, “Yes, this is what I want to spend 1,000 pages getting at: a tepid fortune-cookie platitude about Being Yourself and Love Setting You Free.” In the most tone-deaf, presumptuous bloated mass of writing I have ever endured, the text actually begins explaining to us what we should take away and how we should feel about it, before smugly praising its own self-established brilliance and grabbing us by the collar to demand that we discuss its fabulous characters and their fabulous character arcs in our fabulous reading groups: “Should we be more like dear sweet manic pixie Pippa, or rather more like Boris, the anarchist revolutionary polyglot who pours vodka in his cornflakes, recites Chekhov in his sleep, and is allergic to soap? Is Kitsey (who barely even qualifies as a character) right about...whatever she is right about?” And, of course, there just had to be some not-so-meta whinging about how “nobody will ever read this book”... what? Seriously, can someone explain what was going on in those last few pages? Why did the writing -- usually good, albeit winded -- suddenly and inexplicably devolve into a half-baked college entrance essay? The book should have been 400 pages and ended with Theo taking his own life at the hotel or turning himself in. That’s the person he was shaping up to be (sadly), a carbon copy of his father, not a corny, cringey pseudo-intellectual boring a-hole flitting about Antwerp and Nice ~finding himself~ and pontificating to us plebeians about how Lady Gaga and Disney are the ultimate beacons of the human endeavor. Seriously, oof.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Prologue)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar? 

Find out in This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series Starting December 14th.

--

It’s the cliche storyline of many movies and romance novels. The whole being secretly in love with your best friend never telling them thing… yeah that one. Except this time around it was a very real thing involving you and your best friend Harry Styles.

You and Harry grew up together living only a few houses down from each other. You two went to the same school together. Your Mum’s were always arranging playdates, so the two of them could hang out. There was never a time when either of you weren’t together. You were the best friends and promised to always be there for each other.

And you were for every heartbreak and every happy moment in time.

But then things changed. It wasn’t just your typical growing up and growing apart thing that happens sometimes with teenagers. It was something much bigger than that. Your best friend went to audition for a little show called X Factor and then technically never really came back.

At least the Harry you once knew never did. Yes, Harry was still Harry, but he was always Harry Styles of One Direction. He was traveling the world, performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, and making millions of dollars. His life had literally changed overnight, which naturally meant you being in his life changed as well.

Of course you two still stayed in touch as best you could, but eventually those moments came less and less frequent. And then a few years later, you moved out of your childhood home, attending University, and Anne moved out of Harry’s. After that your contact with him was almost non existent.

However, in the few times you two crossed paths, either during a trip back home or at one of his shows, it was like no time had passed at all. You two were still just Y/N and Harry. Whenever those moments happened, you were your most happiest and that was when you realized just how in love you were with your best friend.

It took you a really long time to finally admit that to yourself. The problem was that you have always loved Harry, but trying to separate a platonic love and a romantic love was harder than one might think. Upon your realization, you contemplated on sharing your newly discovered information, but you quickly talked yourself out of it.

Now, it’s not that you thought Harry was shallow, but it was hard willing you to put yourself out there when many of his known past relationships were who they were. Plus, the odds of him feeling the same way were practically zero. So, you decided to hide away your feelings in the back of your mind and move on.

Years have passed since then and for some reason, they kept popping back up. So much so that all of your romantic comedy novels you’ve written, the male internet seems to resemble Harry either in looks or personality. Or there’s a recurring theme of friends to lovers in there somewhere. There have been a few theories going amongst fans of your books and Harry’s fans, but none have ever really been proven. It wasn’t like you had planned it out that way, it just happened… and kept happening. Regardless though, you sold a lot of books and had a Netflix film in the works, so it was working for you.

Currently, you are staring at the screen of your computer. More specifically a blank page that should have your current work in progress written on it. You had a deadline to finish your next manuscript by the end of the January and you hadn’t even started on it yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t have an idea for it, it’s just that you didn’t know the plot, the characters, or the setting.

The only thing you did know was that it was going to be a Christmas contemporary novel. Which should be right up your alley especially since it was approaching the Christmas season. You decided you needed to take a quick break and make yourself some hot chocolate. While you waited for it to heat up, you grabbed your favorite Christmas mug down from the cabinet and took out the whipped cream from the fridge.

Just as you poured the hot chocolate into the mug, your phone rang. You quickly retrieved it by your computer, answering it.  

“Hello?” You answered.

“Y/N! Hi, lovely. It’s not too late is it?” The woman on the other end asked.

The woman was none other than Anne.

“Oh, hi Anne,” you smiled. “No, it’s perfect timing. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” she said. “I just got off the phone with your Mum and she mentioned you weren’t coming home for Christmas this year.”

You sighed holding the bridge of your nose. Leave it up to your mother to not hear everything you told her.

“I did kinda say that,” you said. “But I didn’t mean I wasn’t coming home at all. I’ll be there for Christmas Even through Boxing Day, but I can’t stay my normal time because I really have to finish this book.”

“Well, what if I told you I had the perfect solution to your problem?” She said.

“What? You’re going to write my book for me?” You laughed.

“Oh honey, I’m a terrible writer,” she joked. “But no, I was thinking that maybe you need a change of scenery. I know Gem talks about how when she’s in a bit of a block she needs to get away for a bit.”

“I mean, yeah I’ve done that before,” you said. “I would really love to come home earlier, but let’s be honest my mother and her Christmas mode will not leave me be.”

“Which is why I’m offering you our little guest house in the backyard,” she said.

“You mean the tiny house that is only one room?” You asked.

“That exact one,” she said. “Of course you’d need to use our loo and the kitchen, but it’s heated, as a bed, and a desk perfect for writing.”

She was making a good argument, but you really couldn’t afford any distractions over the next few weeks.

“I don’t know, Anne,” you sighed. “I’m really behind and I can’t risk not finishing it.”

“Y/N, you can’t lock yourself away and write 24/7 either, now can you?” She asked. “Maybe that’s why you’re struggling. You need to get out of your flat in the city and enjoy some fresh air.”

“Why does this sound exactly like the plot of a Hallmark movie?” You groaned, shaking your head.

“Because they get those ideas from somewhere,” she said. “Y/N, you’re a talented writer and I know you’re going to get what you need done either way, but I just thought I’d offer in case you were interested.”

“Okay, let me think over it and I’ll let you know, yeah?” You asked.

“Sounds great. The offer will always be here,” she smiled. “You know you’re like another daughter to me, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you smiled. “I love you, too.”

“I’ll let you get back to writing now and I’ll be looking forward to your call,” she smiled.

By the time the call ended, your hot chocolate had turned into warm chocolate. You placed it in the microwave to warm it up a bit and contemplated Anne’s offer. It was a really good offer, and it wasn’t like she was making any progress on the book here. You took your hotish chocolate into your living room looking out your window as you took a few sips.

Most of your neighbors had already put up their Christmas decorations, while your flat was looking straight up Grinch Mode. Maybe this was your problem. You were so focused on writing a book about Christmas, you weren’t living it. You needed inspiration, time, and space, but most importantly you needed to go home.

Pulling your phone back out, you sent a text to Anne telling her you would be on your way first thing in the morning.

“Okay, Hallmark,” you whispered. “Let’s do this.”

-- 

12 Days of Christmas will officially start on December 14th. 

Make sure you look for Part 1 in ONE WEEK. 

[maryellencarter]

Okay kids, buckle up. I need money again (for the last time, pray god), but at least this time I have a fucking story to go with it.

Short version: My landlord is illegally trying to evict me and I just had to drop $60 on court costs to fight it. That's $60 that was going to pay for either my meds or the electric bill, take your pick. So I really need donations to get by for the next two weeks, after which I should be settling in at a much more mentally healthy job and in good shape. My Paypal is ethanrabbits@gmail.com and my Ko-fi is here. Thank you so much for anything you can contribute!

Long version:

So the last three months I've been off work due to a mental health breakdown. July and August, I haven't been able to pay my rent. I applied for rent assistance right away in late June, and emailed my landlord's office all the paperwork for both the rent assistance and the CDC Declaration of eligibility for the Eviction Moratorium -- the thing where if you're poor enough you can't get evicted during the pandemic because you would have to go to a shelter or a crowded living situation and be at risk for the Covid.

Middle of July, I received a *backdated* notice that if I didn't provide proof of rent assistance application, I was going to be filed against for eviction. Okay, there's a new property manager, maybe the filing got mixed up, so I go down and re-email all the paperwork and make sure the property manager sees it arrive in the email.

Beginning of August, I get a notice from the rent assistance people that the CDC has extended the moratorium for places in a high surge status, which I am in one, so I fill out and forward the newest eviction protection form which should cover me till October 3, and go down to speak to the property manager about it, when again I am assured that everything is on file.

Middle of August, two months after filing my request for rent assistance, I finally hear from a caseworker who says "send me your paperwork". I jubilantly send all the paperwork, go down to give my property manager the good news, and also -- see, I don't have a lease for September yet. I was offered one back in July, but I didn't want to sign anything until I knew what my situation was going to be with regard to rent assistance and paydays. So I brought down the paper that said "yes I am signing here to officially agree to the new lease you offered, please print the new lease so I can sign it officially", and handed it to the property manager as well.

Now, I have about $700 of late fees for July and August. This is legal under the eviction moratorium and I have understood from the beginning that I would have to pay them. My first paycheck back to work comes in this Friday, and when I went to request the new lease I had planned to discuss a payment arrangement as well, figuring I could pay about $600 on Friday and the rest in two weeks, based on my projected paycheck.

("Taught myself payroll tax law in order to predict my paychecks" should definitely be on my resume somewhere. I just haven't figured out where.)

But, dear readers, when I went down to drop off the form, there was some other client or resident in the office, so I didn't get to discuss a payment arrangement. No big deal, I figured. I'd discuss it when I heard that my lease was ready to sign.

Instead, last Tuesday, I was woken up at nine sharp by a process server with an eviction summons for me. Thank fuck, I've spent the last two weeks having a technical issue at work that's kept me getting paid but off the phones, because I was in no state to talk to people that day. Eventually I pulled myself together, broke out the legalese close-reading skills, and discovered that the summons includes one particular line item which (I hope and pray) indicates They Done Fucked Up.

This summons, ladies and gentlethem, includes the line item "The Plaintiff has not received an executed copy of the Declaration form as of the date of this filing pursuant to the CDC Order dated September 1, 2020."

Well, gentle readers, I was and am *pissed off*. I keep providing documentation to these fuckers and they keep misplacing it, and now they're getting me involved with The Legal System. I *hate* being anywhere near the legal system. I have massive PTSD triggers from being raised by an evil ADA. But by god, I speak legalese as my first language, and I am not going down without a fight.

So, not being able to get in touch with anyone to provide legal aid or assistance, I spent last Thursday trundling around downtown in decaying shoes and 105° heat, getting court paperwork printed and duplicated and filed and mailed. I dropped about $60 I hadn't planned to spend on court filing fees and certified mail costs and the actual baseline printing costs of all the documentation I needed to provide.

I did get two pieces of good luck that day. One, I finally heard back from my case manager saying that the rent assistance money for my landlord only has to go through one more person who will double-check the numbers. It's supposed to get final approval sometime early this week.

Two, I got a job promotion I've been working toward for years. Well, side-motion, it doesn't come with a raise, but I already make $16+ an hour, over twice our federal minimum wage. What it does come with is, except in rare cases I never talk to callers, I just answer them in written messages. This should hopefully be a perfect job for me, and allow me to work a solid 40 hours a week and earn plenty of money.

The catch is... it's work-at-home only. If I get evicted and can't make it to training on Monday week, I'm fucked.

So. My eviction hearing is tomorrow. If and when the judge is like "okay if we let you sign a new 12-month lease and stay in your apartment, what is your repayment plan on your late fees", I plan to be like "Your Honor, I have a payday on Friday and I am prepared to provide the court a money order for the full $700 of late fees on that date which will bring me fully up to date".

I'll do it, too. The catch is, that'll leave me with something like $200 in the bank for the next two weeks, and I calculate I need about $100 for groceries, $80 for meds, $50 for electric, and $80 for the cell phone bill over that time period. These numbers don't add up. :P

Soooo, yeah. I'm having to spend about $160 I can't afford because my damn property manager is an idiot and can't fucking print and file my fucking legal declaration. I really hope the court throws the book at the corporation and nails them with those "up to $200,000 fines" for breaking the CDC moratorium, although I am dubious because courts like corporations much more than they like stout genderqueer individuals without legal representation, however white and erudite.

But mostly, I really hope I can stay in my apartment and also afford my meds for the next two weeks. My Paypal is ethanrabbits@gmail.com and my Ko-fi is here. If you can spare *anything*, even a dollar or three, it would help so much.

God, I'm so sick of having to beg for help every few weeks. I just really hope nothing else blows up in my face... :-(

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 5: Buttercup

This is going to part of a Vigilante AU I’m creating. I will elaborate on world building and other plot points at a later date. Kinda like that pirate things from a few days ago.

BTW: Sally and Wilbur aren’t a thing and were never a thing in the canon of this world. But Sally is still Fundy’s mom.

--------------------------

The City was separated into 100 districts; the lower the district number, the poorer and the less likely heroes were to be casually patrolling the streets. And the more likely vigilantes would be about helping the people.

- - -

Tommy was born to loving parents in City District 93. Tommy’s parents worked in the mill, making books for schools that they couldn’t afford to send their son to – you know, the fancy ones; Tommy did still go to tax payer schooling.

When Tommy was eight his parents died in an explosion at the mill while he was at school. When Tommy was eight his parents landlord gave him a month to figure out lodging. When Tommy was eight the landlord let Tommy say in an unheated, unairconditioned apartment with no water and no running electricity until they found a new tenant. When Tommy was eight he moved out onto the street. When Tommy was eight he started stealing to survive. When Tommy was eight Ranboo and his parents quietly told the school board that Tommy had moved into their house even though the kid had declined the offer, because he wouldn’t be allowed to attend without guardians or a permanent address.

Tommy didn’t limit himself to District 93, but he did stay in the lower 20. His parents’ landlord had let him stay two months without rent, and Tommy had spent that time under a roof scouting out places he could rest the night, and places he could use to help him survive. He spend that time saving up and learning to pick pocket properly – because what kid in District 93 didn’t have some basic knowledge on that skill.

It wasn’t until he was already on the street that he found a nice little bakery in District 87. The bakery was really nice, like really nice, like it was from District 41 or something. But here it was, right in the middle of District 87. Tommy would look longingly inside. He had never had fresh pastries – slates from the day before were always cheaper.

Tommy noticed his brown haired kid noticing him. He tried the shrug the boy’s presence off, but it was hard. The kid would always walk in and buy a cupcake. Tommy thinks at least – there was an advertisement for a cupcake that looked like the thing the boy left the bakery with everyday – he’s pretty sure.

On day nine, the boy brought out two cupcake-things. He held one out to Tommy. “Hi! I’m Tubbo! Wanna be my friend?”

Tommy stared at him in bewilderment. He looked between the clean clothes ‘Tubbo’ had on and his rags. He cautiously look the cupcake. “This good?”

“The best.” Tubbo took a bite and smiled once he finished chrewing.

Tommy shrugged. Food was food. He took a bite. If he could get this every day: Tubbo was for sure his new best friend.

So Tommy’s days went as follows: wake up; go to school with Ranboo;  eat the half lunch Ranboo’s parents made for him; continue being bored in school; steal; have a cupcake with Tubbo; steal; eat something; go back to bed. There was other stuff in between, and times fluctuated, but that was Tommy’s life. It was sometimes hard managing the need to steal to survive and wanting the spend another fifteen minutes being a kid with Tubbo, but he pushed thought it. That was his life for a few months.

One day after post-Tubbo-evening-stealing, he walked by the bakery and saw that it was closing. Tommy knocked on the door.

“Oh I’m so sorry, but we’re closing right now,” the lady behind the counter said once she opened the door.

“I have money.” Tommy held out some cash. “Do you have any leftovers that didn’t get sold?”

She looked him up and down. Tommy bristled, knowing how he looked. “How’d you get the money?”

“Some dude gave me a couple bucks.” Not a lie – ish.

He looked at his obviously hungry form. “I’ll give it to you half price. Is there anything specific you’d like?”

“Bread.”

“Just bread?”

Tommy thought about it. “If I can afford it I’d like two cupcakes please, any flavour will do.”

The lady nodded and took his offered six dollars. She came back with a bag, it in was an unsold baguette and a Tupperware with four cupcakes. “You could really only afford the bread and one cupcake at half price. Keep the rest for free.”

“Thank you Ma’am!”

Tommy scurried off. He really only wanted two cupcakes so he could share with Ranboo at lunch, but now he could also repay his parents for the continuous food.

- - -

Tommy skipped into school the next morning; a pep in his step.

“What are you happy about today?”

“I have a surprise for you Ranboo.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a good one.”

When they got to lunch, and Ranboo gave Tommy his half a meal, Tommy pulled out the Tupperware.

“Did you bring your own food?”

“Nope.” Tommy popped the P as he brought the apple slices and carrots closer to him. “I wanted to thank you can your parents are giving me lunch.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What did you do to Tommy?”

Tommy laughed at Ranboo’s obvious distress. “Here.” He lifted the lid. “It’s a cupcake from the Sweet Shoppe and Bakery from District 87. I got ‘em at half price at the end of the day. The lady even took pity on me and gave me some for free.”

“Tommy? Accepting pity? Like actual pity? And not just your friend’s family doing something nice for you?”

Tommy lightly punched Ranboo for the jab. “Pity is fine when it’s for you.” Tommy grabbed the most smushed cupcake. “Try one. If you like ‘em enough than he don’t save them for your parents.”

Ranboo laughed. He reached for a cupcake. “You wouldn’t poison me would you?”

“Never.”

“Never.”

That was the day both Tommy and Ranboo were called into the office to be told that Ranboo’s parents had passed in an explosion at the steel manufacturers. That was the day Ranboo dragged Tommy to his apartment, and Tommy went with no complaint for the first time since his parents had died. That was the day Ranboo packed a single bag and took the potted buttercups. That was the day Ranboo moved in with Tommy at the crappy little alleyway-canopy-shelter he had created for himself. That was the day they both got on a bus and walked into a posh apartment complex in District 5 and demanded to see Sally – Ranboo’s aunt.

Tommy and Ranboo ate the other two cupcakes on the bus ride.

They were nice about it, but they told her that in order to keep going to school they needed a house and a guardian – at least on paper. They also make sure she knew that ‘they’ meant ‘Ranboo.’ One look from her nephew and Sally knew that Tommy needed it as well. Ranboo and Tommy were adamant about staying in District 93, it was all they knew.

Within a week Sally came down and bought them a nicer apartment, she figured that Tommy definitely would not want the best the District had to offer, and she signed their paper work. She made them promise that if things ever got super dire they would call.

Ranboo promised.

Tommy did not.

When Tommy and Ranboo were nine, they started living on their own in a nice apartment that they wouldn’t ever need to pay for. That fact didn’t stop Tommy from continuing the steal. Just because lodgment was paid for didn’t mean that they had food money.

Ranboo went the more sane approach and got an afternoon job.

Tommy had started buying two half priced cupcakes on his way home every night. He learned that the Sweet Shoppe and Bakery Lady was named Niki. That was cool.

One night, on the walk from District 87 to 93 when Tommy was ten he was kidnapped. Stolen off the steal without even a scream.

Ranboo didn’t wait up. Sometimes Tommy stayed over at his friend Tubbo’s. The kid Ranboo never had time to meet, but that Tommy promised – when he was being soft and nice and genuine – he would get on really well. But then Tommy wasn’t at school the next day

Or the next week.

Or the next month.

And at that point it was too late to call aunt Sally and not get a lecture about asking for help sooner. Ranboo knew that her son Fundy was in Hero Training and the fieldwork would probably be good for him. But 93 had its vigilantes, they wouldn’t want a hero-in-training patrolling. They barely tolerated normal heroes. No. Fundy didn’t need the confidence debuff that would give.

Not that Hero HQ would send in a trainee to District 93. For a single missing ten year old. Then again, aunt Sally was high profile. But he couldn’t call.

He’d just take care of his buttercups until Tommy banged through that door safe and sound.

He didn’t account for how long that would take.

[justlookfrightened]

Home Sweet Home

Prompt: house hunting

“Bits, did you have anything special planned for today?”

Jack sat at the island, the remains of his peanut butter toast and protein shake pushed to the side while he tapped at his laptop keyboard.

“Special? No,” Bitty said, staring at the coffee maker like he was willing it to brew faster. “I wanted to go to the market, and there’s a couple of new recipes I want to try out for my vlog. But nothing important. Why?”

Bitty arched an eyebrow at Jack.

“Now that you’re all sweaty from your run, did you want to go back to bed?”

“Tempting,” Jack said, “but --”

“But if you want to do that, you’re in charge of changing the sheets later,” Bitty said.

“Fine,” Jack said. “But that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“Okay?”

“You know my birthday’s next week,” Jack said.

“Of course,” Bitty said. “We’re having a party, remember? You’re going to grill, I’m doing desserts and sides, your parents are coming down … ”

“I know,” Jack said. “Remember when you were asking what I wanted for a gift?”

“DId you come up with something?” Bitty said. “Because I have been thinking on it, and I’m drawing a blank. When you want something, you usually buy it, and that makes gift-giving a little difficult.”

“I want a house.”

“What?”

“I want a house. We’ve had this condo for four years, and it’s nice, but I have four more years on my contract,” Jack said. “We’ll be here a while. And I think this is going to be home for us. Providence, I mean. So, yeah, I want a house.”

“Jack,” Bitty said, finally turning completely away from the coffee maker, “I can’t buy you a house. I mean, things are going pretty well for me, and the new book is out in a couple of months, but …”

“Of course you can,” Jack said. “We can afford a house.”

“You can afford a house,” Bitty said.

“We can,” Jack said. “Community property, remember? We share a bank account.”

“But that’s just the checking account,” Bitty said. “For like, groceries and utility bills. And sure, maybe I spend a little too much on clothes and baking supplies. And I know you can afford a house, but how is that a present from me to you?”

“Because I want you to do it with me?” Jack said. ”I want to pick a place out together, and to decorate it -- well, mostly for you to decorate it -- and I want it to be our home. I want there to be space for us to have guests, and for us maybe to have kids one day. I’m going to be thirty years old, Bits. I want to live like a grownup.”

Bitty looked pointedly around the condo, from the kitchen with its matching dish towels and oven mitts to the painting over the sofa and the plants in the corner.

“This … is not living like a grown-up?” Bitty said. “Going to bed at eleven and up by seven for a run, even on Sunday?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jack said. “I just thought that, maybe it’s time for some more space? We can get you a bigger kitchen.”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “But because it’s something you want. You are not buying me a house for your birthday. What did you want to do about it today? Because don’t we need to, like, find an agent and everything?”

“I guess,” Jack said. “Maybe once we know what we want? I found a few open houses we can check out. Look.”

Bitty pulled a stool closer and turned the laptop towards him. Jack watched his eyes as he read, looked at pictures, scrolled down and read and looked again.

“Jack, those houses are all over a million dollars,” Bitty finally said, looking a little pale.

“I know,” Jack said. “But they’re nice. And did you see the kitchen in the one on the water in Cranston?”

“The one that’s over $2 million?” Bitty said. “We could build a big house that’s half kitchen for half that much.”

Jack shrugged.

“Probably not in that location. It’s a quick commute to the arena and the training facility. But if you want to buy property to build something, we might have to go further out,” Jack said. “Would you rather do that?”

“Build a house?” Bitty said. “Jack, I don’t know the first thing about building a house, and neither do you.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking we’d build it ourselves,” Jack said. “We’d hire someone. Unless you want to bake a house.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, we are not living in a gingerbread house.”

“But do you want to go to these open houses?” Jack said. “Get an idea of what we want and what’s available? For my birthday?”

Jack tried to do that thing Bitty did to him, where he looked up with huge, pleading eyes, but he was pretty sure he just looked like a demented seal instead of a cute puppy.

Bitty probably thought so too, but he laughed and said, “Fine. The farmer’s market opens in fifteen minutes. Let me go before all the good stuff is gone and then we can go look at houses.”

There must have been a lot of good stuff, because it was nearly noon by the time Bitty was back and had the shopping stowed. Then he had to shower and change. (“I need to look like a potential homebuyer, Jack, not a grocery shopper!” “What’s the difference?” Apparently, in Bitty’s mind, homebuyers dressed like they were going to casual office jobs. Except with khaki shorts instead of trousers because it was nearly 34 degrees outside.)

“Come on, Bits, I don’t want to be late!” Jack said.

“What, you’re afraid all the good houses will be gone?” Bitty asked. “I mean, is there seriously one house you have your heart set on? Because otherwise, I don’t think we have to worry. We’re just going to get an idea of what’s out there today, right?”

“Right,” Jack said.

As soon as they were in the car, he headed for Cranston. There were several places in that area that had open houses, including the place on the river. Two and a quarter million -- more than that even -- was a lot, more than Jack had ever spent on anything in his life, but he had the money. They had the money.

All it would take would be a call to his people. Well, to his lawyer, the one he counted on for everything except contract negotiations. Shelby would call his financial people and take care of everything.

The house was … a lot. Bitty did like the kitchen, especially the double oven and what looked like acres of counter space. There was an island with a breakfast bar where they could eat and where Jack could sit to watch Bitty bake, and look out the windows and over the deck to the water.

“My husband does video segments about baking and writes cookbooks,” Jack told Aila, the listing agent. “So the kitchen is really important.”

The master bedroom wasn’t huge, but neither he nor Bitty were the type to loll in bed all day. And there was a guest house where the parents could stay when they visited.

“The property can be sold without the guesthouse,” Aila said as she not-so-helpfully followed them from room to room. There were no other lookers at the moment, so it made sense, but Jack would have preferred a bit more privacy. That would have helped him sell Bitty on the place himself.

“No, if we bought it we’d want the guesthouse,” Jack assured her.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too … I dunno, grand? For us,” Bitty said, looking down from the second floor landing.

“My parents’ place is bigger,” Jack said. “You seem comfortable enough there.”

“Now we’re competing with a movie star and a hockey legend?” Bitty said. “We’ve never owned a house before.”

“Can we walk around outside?” Jack said, steering Bitty toward the French doors that led off the dining room.

“Of course,” Aila said. “You’ll notice the sophisticated multi-level outdoor living space!”

“What does that even mean?” Bitty muttered, before trudging across the deck and into the grass to look back at the house.

He came back to Jack and said, “Let’s go. This isn’t the place for us.”

“What?”

“Unless you were sure you wanted this house specifically?”

“No. But --”

“Then let’s keep looking,” Bitty said.

“It’s like you saw a ghost,” Jack said. “Is it haunted?”

“Might as well be,” Bitty said.

“What?”

“We can’t move here,” Bitty said. “It’s not big enough.”

“A four-bedroom five-bathroom house with an in-ground pool and separate coach house isn’t big enough?”

Jack knew he sounded incredulous. He was incredulous. The house Bitty’s parents lived in -- the house Bitty had lived in as a high school student -- had four bedrooms, sure, but it was about half the size of this place. Without the coach house. And it only had two bathrooms.

Besides, Bitty usually opted for practicality over ostentation. The only really expensive things he seemed to covet were kitchen appliances.

“All that building?” Bitty said. “On a lot that’s just over a half-acre? Where would we put the rink?”

“What rink?”

“The outdoor rink that you want to build in the backyard for little Johnny or Sally to learn to skate on,” Bitty said. “So they can skate and come in for lunch and go right back outside.”

“We don’t have to have a rink,” Jack said.

“No, we don’t have to,” Bitty said. “But when you talk about when you were little, you talk about skating with your dad all the time. And you get this little smile, like just thinking about it makes you happy.”

“Maybe our kids won’t even like skating,” Jack said.

“But you still will,” Bitty said. “So if you don’t absolutely love this place already, let’s move on.”

“But the kitchen is so great,” Jack said. “Did you see the breakfast bar?”

“We can remodel the kitchen in another house if we want to,” Bitty said. “But we can’t magically make more property here. Do you have other places to visit?”

“There’s a list,” Jack said.

From Cranston they headed south to Barrington, where Jack had seen a few open houses advertised. One house was too small (despite four bedrooms and three bathrooms) and one Bitty ruled out immediately (“I know it’s on the water and it’s beautiful, but $1.35 million for a place with no air conditioning?”). Bitty made the same complaint about an 1894 six-bedroom house on the market for just under a million, but turned down a house a hundred years newer (with central air) because it was part of a suburban development and didn’t have a big enough yard oir mature trees.

When they got home, Bitty started pulling out ingredients for a strawberry rhubarb pie.

“I thought you had some new recipes to try,” Jack said.

“I do,” Bitty said. “But right now seems like a good time for comfort food.”

“Can we make a list of what we want in a house?” Jack said. “What’s important and what’s negotiable?”

“We need space,” Bitty said. “A big yard for a rink. Even a smallish rink will take a lot of space.”

Jack wrote that down.

“It might be better to look further out, then,” he said.

“I’d also like to be close to the city,” Bitty said. “But maybe that’s not as important. I don’t want to build new, though. Not for a first house. My Aunt Judy and Uncle Bob built themselves a brand new home on a lake in Georgia, put in a home theater sound system to watch movies in the great room, and it turned out you could hear it better in the bedrooms upstairs than sitting in front of the TV. I don’t want to make mistakes like that.”

They could probably find and hire a better architect -- and a sound engineer, if it came to designing a home theater -- than Bitty’s Aunt Judy, but Jack kept that thought to himself. If Bitty didn’t want to supervise the construction of a house, Jack wasn’t about to make him, and there was no way Jack could do it during the season.

“It needs to have a good kitchen,” Jack said instead. “I mean, we can get new appliances and do some remodeling, but there has to be enough space for you to work and for us to eat.”

“For you to distract me, you mean,” Bitty said, but he looked fond, and didn’t object, so Jack added it to the list.

“Good schools,” Jack said. “A patio or deck, or at least room for one, and space for a decent gym. And mature trees.”

Bitty nodded at all of that, then said, “I think maybe we should set a budget, then you can talk to Shelby about how we pay for it? And who to work with as a buyer’s agent?”

“You thought two and a half million was too much,” Jack said.

“Unless the house cleans itself and shovels its own snow in the winter,” Bitty said.

“A million and a half?” Jack said. “As a target?”

Bitty shook his head like he was exasperated, but then he grinned.

“It’s your money,” he said.

“No, it’s our money,” Jack said.

The next day, while Bitty was on calls about the next cookbook, Jack called Shelby.

“Bitty and I want to buy a house,” he said. “But we need help.”

“Okay,” Shelby said. “Help how?”

“Help with finding an agent, knowing what questions to ask, how to do the money part of it,” Jack said. “I mean, I think we can afford most places, but I don’t know the mechanics of it.”

“We can help with that,” Shelby said. “Let me make some calls and set you up with a buyer’s agent. They can help with the search, and getting a home inspection and all that. And I’ll get the financial team together to run some numbers. It might make more sense, tax-wise, to get a mortgage, or you might find a seller who will give you a discount for cash. Do you have an idea about the budget you’re looking at?”

“Well, Bits and I went out to a few open houses yesterday,” Jack said.

“You did?” Shelby said. “Oh, my gosh. The agents must have been falling all over themselves. If they recognized you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack shrugged. Maybe that was why the agents followed them around so much.

“The most expensive place was listed at $2.35 mil,” Jack said. “I thought it was pretty nice, but Bitty thought it was too much.”

“Too much money? Too much house?” Shelby asked. “Do you remember the address?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, and read the address off his phone. “Too much money, yes, and he said it was a bit too grand. But he also thought the property was too small. He seems to think we need room to put in an outdoor rink in the winter.”

“He wants a rink?”

“He thinks I want a rink.”

“Do you?” Shelby asked.

“It would be nice,” Jack said. “I guess. Especially if we ever have kids. But it’s not a deal-breaker for me.”

“What is it that you want?”

“I want Bits to have a great kitchen,” Jack said. “But Bitty pointed out that we can remodel the kitchen, as long as there’s room.”

“Sounds like you two spent some time talking about this,” Shelby said.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Okay, let me look for a buyer’s agent,” she said. “I can have some names to you tomorrow. And Jack, congratulations. I know this is a big step.”

Things moved quickly after that. Shelby provided a list of possible agents, along with her recommendation, whom Bitty and Jack agreed to hire. By the Thursday of that week, they had a meeting with the agent, Melissa Field.

“It was so nice of you to come to us,” Bitty said, seating Melissa in the dining room. “Can I get you coffee? Tea? Pie?”

“Shelby said your pie is not to be missed,” Melissa said. “So yes, please. Coffee, too, if it’s not any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Bitty said. “I have a traditional cherry pie and a ginger peach.”

“Ooh, ginger peach,” Melissa said.

“Good choice.”

Jack took a seat as Bitty disappeared into the kitchen.

“Did I pick right?” Melissa asked.

“They’re both great,” Jack said. “Though I think I prefer the cherry, so yeah, perfect choice. More cherry for me.”

“Can you tell me about why you decided now was the time to buy a house?” Melissa asked.

“It’s not just my decision,” Jack said. “It’s Bitty’s too. But I am turning 30 next week, and my contract will keep us here for at least the next few years, and it seemed like time to put down some roots.”

Melissa nodded.

“Do you want to wait for Eric to talk about what you’re looking for?” she asked.

“That would be best,” Jack said.

Bitty bustled in and out, first bringing coffee with cream and sugar, then tea for Jack, then three slices of pie: two ginger peach and a sliver of cherry for Jack.

Melissa took them through a very long checklist of what they wanted, what they didn’t want and what they just didn’t care about. Baseboard heat? Built in shelves? Gas fireplaces?

“But air conditioning is important,” Bitty said.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s a buyer’s market, especially just now with school about to start, and there are several properties for sale that might fit the bill. Let me send you information tomorrow and we can make maybe two or three appointments for the weekend. If we have to, we can do the same thing next week, and the week after, until you’re comfortable making a choice.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

On Saturday, Melissa had three appointments set up. The first was an 1890 Victorian in Warwick, with five bedrooms and three and half bathrooms and more than two acres of property.

It had been updated inside, Melissa said as she led the way inside, with central air and new plumbing and electrical systems.

Bitty let out a bark of laughter as soon as they entered the living room.

“Dog people, I guess?” he said, nodding at the oil portrait of the German shepherd over the fireplace.

But he wasn’t laughing at the open kitchen, or the laundry room/mud room/butler’s pantry, which had an extra fridge and stove. It was also well within the budget at $1.2 million.

Next was a house in North Smithfield with four bedrooms and six bathrooms, which seemed disproportionate to Jack. But the kitchen was spacious, as was the yard, and it already had a play set, which made Jack imagine what it would be like with kids. Listed at just over a million dollars, the price was no obstacle,but it didn’t have as much character as the first one.

“I’ve saved the best for last,” Melissa said, driving them toward Lincoln. “This is the biggest of the three, with two separate in-law units, an adjoining workshop or studio that you can use for a gym, an in-ground pool, six-car garage and more than four acres.”

The main house, whose oldest parts dated to 1812, was gorgeous, with a stone exterior and clean lines. But the adjoining garage and workshop didn’t seem to match the aesthetic. Then again, what did Jack know about aesthetics?

Bitty was taken with the open land, Jack could see.

The inside of the house was also good, until Jack saw the kitchen. How could a six-bedroom house have a galley-style kitchen?

Jack knew Bitty was disappointed in the kitchen as well, but he didn’t say so in front of Melissa.

“Any thoughts?” Melissa asked.

“Let us talk for a while,” Jack said. “Can I call you this evening? Or tomorrow. I know it’s Sunday.”

“Either is fine,” Melissa said, dropping them at the condo building.

“Come on, bud,” Jack said, heading for Bitty’s favorite diner instead of going upstairs. “Let’s talk about it over food.”

They settled into the booth, ordered and waited for their meals before getting down to business.

“It has to be the last one,” Bitty said, after inhaling half of his grilled cheese. “It’s the biggest, and has the most property, and it has plenty of room for people to stay, and for a gym, too. And it wasn’t any more expensive. Less than the one in Warwick.”

“But the kitchen is small,” Jack said, pulling the toothpick out of his turkey club.

“Maybe we could add on?” Bitty said. “Or not. The appliances are good. I liked the double oven.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s in the old part of the house, so I’m not sure an addition would work. What about the one in Smithfield?”

“It ticked all the boxes” Bitty acknowledged. “But didn’t love it. I can’t really say why. Too boxy, maybe?

Jack nodded in acknowledgement, chewed and swallowed. “That leaves the one in Warwick.”

“With Rin Tin Tin?” Bitty said.

“We don’t have to keep the portrait,” Jack said.

“It only had a one-car, detached garage,” Bitty said.

“That would probably be easier to expand than the kitchen,” Jack said.

“Or not,” Bitty said. “You don’t know that.”

“I didn’t really like that whole six-car garage thing in Lincoln,” Jack said. “It’s basically attached to the house, but it’s like a big shed. We could do so much better expanding the garage on the one in Warwick. And it has a view of the water.”

“From the third floor,” Bitty said. “How’re those knees holding up, Mr. NHL Player?”

“Fine,” Jack said, a little stiffly. “What do you have against the house in Warwick? You liked it when we saw it, especially the butler’s pantry and laundry room.”

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “Well, besides the dog picture. Could you imagine that room with Lardo’s painting? But we would need a bigger garage, at the very least.”

“I really don’t think that would be a problem,” Jack said. “It’s old, but it’s not landmarked or anything and there’s plenty of room. And it’s not far from Marty and his family. Why are you so set on the one in Lincoln?”

“It seems like a better deal,” Bitty said. “More space -- bigger lot, bigger house, more bedrooms -- for less money. You shouldn’t turn that down just so I have a bigger kitchen to mess up.”

Jack dragged the last of Bitty’s fries through a dollop of mayonnaise.

“I still don’t understand how you like that,” Bitty said.

“It reminds me of home,” Jack said. “And that’s what it is about the kitchen. For me, home is the place where I sit and watch you bake, and eat what you cook, and listen to you go on about butter and shortening and a thousand other things. If I can’t do that, the house won’t be home, no matter how many cars will fit in the garage.

“I want that, and if we do end up with kids, I want there to be room for them to sit in the kitchen and have a snack after school, and do their homework, and talk to us. Remember the way everyone gravitated to the kitchen in the Haus? It wasn’t like that before you got there, but I want it to be like that.”

“So you like the million-dollar house in Warwick because it has the potential to be more like the falling-down frat house we lived in in college?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Then let’s buy that one,” Bitty said.

“You’re sure you don’t want to see more?” Jack said.

“Do you?” Bitty said. “I do like that house, and I loved the view from the kitchen. As long as it passes the inspection and all that.”

“Then let’s do it,” Jack said. “I’ll call Melissa when we get home.”

On Monday, Jack woke up to a bouncy Bitty who was already tying his running shoes.

“Coming with, bud?”

“Yep,” Bitty said. “It’s your birthday. And I intend to follow you into the shower when we get back. Fair warning.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Bitty laughed, then said, “You have to pick up your parents after lunch, so we have to take advantage of our opportunities.”

The run was fine, the shower was better, and the post-shower romp in the bed was best of all.

“Is it weird that I’m thinking about how this is the last birthday we’ll celebrate here?” Bitty said, snuggling up to Jack afterwards. “We’ve had some good ones.”

“This is already a good one,” Jack said. “At least from my point of view.”

“Hush. I have to get up to start getting things ready. Your parents land in two hours, so you don’t have that much time either, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack had groaned and stood up, ready for another shower, when his phone rang.

“Jack? This is Melissa. I have good news,” she said. “The owners accepted your offer, at least verbally. Well, of course they did. You offered what they were asking. But I’m going to work with Shelby to draw up a contract and we should be looking at closing before your season starts.”

“Wow,” Jack said. “That’s great.”

He looked around the bedroom with a sudden rush of nostalgia. The new bedroom in the new house would be good too, he told himself.

“What is it?” Bitty said, rubbing at his hair with a towel as he came out of the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

“They accepted our offer,” Jack said. “They’ll draw up the contract and we can close in a few weeks.”

“That is great,” Bitty said. “Even if the change is … a little disconcerting?”

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said. “We’ll do it together.”

That evening, after steaks and portobello mushrooms were grilled, and the guests stuffed themselves with salads and homemade bread and three kinds of pie, Jack stood and tapped his wine glass.

“Everyone, I have an announcement,” he said.

“But he already married Bitty,” Tater whispered to Shitty. “You think they have a baby coming?”

Shitty shrugged. “I dunno,” he said.

Jack could hear every word because Tater’s whisper … wasn’t.

“Not a baby,” he said. “But we are putting down roots. Bits and I are buying a house. Our offer was accepted today.”

His parents hugged him, and Bitty pulled out his phone to show off pictures.

“Look at that portrait of the dog, Lardo,” Bitty said. “Can we commission something else to go there?”

@jackzimmermannturns30

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixty Two

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 5th, 1992

“So...what exactly is a trust fund?” Emile asked, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s a bank account where your money can stay safe and sound until you can spend it as an adult,” his grandfather said. “When you’re twenty one, you’ll be able to use it for whatever you want.”

“That’s ten years from now!” Emile groaned. “That’s gonna take forever!”

“It will creep up on you faster than you think,” his grandfather said. “But your grandmother wanted to make sure you’d be responsible with the money, so that’s why you have to wait.”

Emile sighed. He understood, but he didn’t like it. “Does this mean Mom and Dad aren’t gonna give me an allowance any more?”

“I don’t think so!” his grandfather laughed. “After all, the money is of no use if you can’t exactly use it yet! They should still give you money you can use for whatever you want as an allowance.”

“Oh! That’s okay then,” and Emile ran off to finish the book he had been reading before his grandfather called him in to talk about Grandma’s will.

  May 3rd, 2002

Emile could hardly believe it. Today was his twenty first birthday, and he had driven out to the nearest branch of the bank his grandmother used to set up his trust fund all those years ago. He had never been told the exact amount of money that was put in the fund, just given an estimate of somewhere around one hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Grandma definitely knew how to invest, and because his great-grandfather had been a self-starter and had gotten a modest alcohol business off the ground, his grandmother had inherited half of that money, the other half going to his great uncle, her brother. And Emile was the only grandchild she had when she died, so all the money she didn’t leave with his grandfather, she decided to save away for him.

Still, though, Emile’s breath was blown away when he talked to the bank manager and saw the number for himself. Two hundred fifteen thousand dollars. If he wasn’t already sitting down, his legs would have given out from underneath him. He had wondered how his grandparents could afford the house they had, but this number cleared up any questions he might have had.

“God,” Emile breathed, still staring at the number on the screen.

The bank manager looked him over. “You look like you’re about to pass out, do you need some water?”

“I’ll...” Emile choked on his words. “I’ll be okay,” he breathed.

“Your grandmother was a very lucky woman,” the bank manager said.

“Luck was her being born into the family she was. Smarts are what made her be able to get everything she needed and have this much money left over,” Emile said.

The bank manager looked pleased. “You’re rather insightful yourself,” he said. “I know this seems like a lot of money to you, but I hope I don’t have to explain to you how fast that money can go away if you’re not careful.”

“No, believe me, I know,” Emile said, sucking in a breath. “Oh, God. I was planning on investing most, if not all, of the money I inherited, but this is a much larger number than I anticipated.”

The bank manager sniffed a laugh. “Son, this is hardly the largest trust fund this bank has seen.”

“This alone could pay off my college debts,” Emile said, deathly serious. “It’s a lot of money to a broke college kid who’s been working retail to make ends meet with his partner working two jobs just to stay afloat.”

“I see your point,” the manager conceded. “But don’t spend it all in one place, you understand? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Emile said, swallowing. “I could buy a house, or pay off my debts, or any number of things. But I’ll probably be investing it for the time being, watching it grow a little before I decide exactly what I’m going to do with it.”

“You’re smarter than most of the college-aged kids who get these sorts of funds,” the manager said, leading Emile out. “We’ll have the money ready for withdrawal in a couple days. Until then, think wisely on what you’re going to invest in, all right?”

Emile mutely nodded as the manager left him to walk into the front of the bank, and Remy stood up from where he was waiting on a bench. “Hey, there, stranger!” he teased. “What did they say?”

“Oh, God, let’s get to the car first, okay?” Emile said. “You’re going to freak.”

“That much?” Remy laughed. They left and got into the car, Remy looking over at Emile. “So what was it? One hundred fifty thousand, like your parents said?”

“Apparently...my parents low-balled the estimate,” Emile said, sounding slightly hysterical. “I have over two hundred fifteen thousand dollars in that account.”

“What?!” Remy asked, incredulous. “Emile, you’re rich!”

Emile laughed. “Apparently the bank has had much higher trust funds than even that, but yeah, I’m...I don’t understand how I got to be that lucky.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Remy asked.

“Honestly? I think I’m going to be boring and invest most of it,” Emile said.

“Get more money? Hey, no complaints from me,” Remy said. “You could quit your job and we’d be fine.”

“I’m going to keep working,” Emile said. “That money isn’t going to last forever, and if I use it towards what I want to use it for...well, that’s going to take a huge chunk of change.”

Remy looked over. “What are you thinking of using it for?”

“Possibly a house?” Emile said, driving away, slightly sheepish. “Like. Property and stuff. Health insurance. Boring things that I can suddenly afford. But I want to invest most of it first.”

“Makes sense,” Remy said with a nod.

“Would you want to quit one of your jobs?” Emile asked. “Because I can afford to pay a little more rent now, you only need one job...”

“I mean...” Remy sighed. “It would be nice to only have one job, but I don’t want you to spend any more money on me than you have to.”

“Remy, you’re my boyfriend, of course I’m going to spend money on you now that I have money to spend!” Emile insisted. “You’d better get used to it, because now that we can afford to not go to thrift shops when we wear something through, you’d better believe I’m going to offer to go to retail stores!”

Remy laughed. “Oh, we’re really rolling in it!” he crowed. “We can afford new shirts!”

“You’d better believe it!” Emile exclaimed with a laugh. When his laughter died down, he glanced at Remy. “So, did you apply for the manager position opening up?”

“Yeah, I did,” Remy sighed. “But the manager told me, point-blank, that he didn’t expect me to get it. Nothing against my work ethic, but they wanted someone who had credentials. Like, degree-in-business credentials.” Remy pulled a disgusted face. “As if I didn’t know anything that goes into managing a coffee shop.”

Emile wrinkled his nose. “That sucks.” He considered, and figured now was as good a time to poke the bear as any. “Would you want to start your own shop? In all honesty?”

“I mean, honestly? At this point? Yes,” Remy said. “Neither store is going to promote me, and I don’t want to work two jobs for the rest of my life. I don’t have the funds to buy a property, but if I saved up enough to rent, then maybe I could do my own thing.”

“Rem, you realize that I have enough money to help you on the property front?” Emile asked.

“Emile, no, I would never ask that of you,” Remy said. “I can save money on my own, I’ve been doing that for two months now. And it’s not a lot, but it can add up. If your investments are working out, maybe I can invest in the same things. I could get enough money to start up on my own. Might take a couple years, but I would get the money for the property, as well as the food and the staff and everything needed inside. I could get enough for the first few months of the shop just by saving until December, if I played my cards right.”

“Really?” Emile asked. He had been considering December for checking his funds, checking the market, and getting property for Remy to start the coffee shop. But if this lined up that perfectly, there was no way he could turn it down.

“Really,” Remy confirmed. “You don’t need impossibly huge amounts of money to start up a business if you know what you’re doing, and some of our friends are social butterflies, which means free advertising, and if I come up with my own unique recipes for the shop, and come up with coffee blends that by and large our friends like but the shops I currently work for wouldn’t be caught dead selling, well! I’d be officially in business!”

Emile laughed. “So, that’s something you want to try? You want to try to start your own shop?”

Remy deflated a little. “I want it...but can I actually do it? I mean, I could definitely run a shop, but there’s so many factors I don’t know about. I want to try, to see if I can do it, but if it fails...that’s so much money gone to waste. The biggest hurdle would be the space, and if I can afford the space to give it a try, but I can’t keep the shop afloat, that’s easily thousands of dollars down the drain.”

“Remy, if you think you can do it, I say you save up to give it a try,” Emile said. “You have the confidence and the culinary skill to keep a shop afloat. All it would take is the right advertising and the right people to find you, and you’d have business in no time at all. Go for it. We both invest our money, get the rewards and use them to fund whatever dreams both of us have.”

Remy still seemed uncertain. “I want to, Emile...I really want to. But I can’t stop thinking about the possibility of it going under.”

“If it goes under, it goes under. You get a different job so no one says ‘I told you so’ and we continue on. If you get a good enough property, we might be able to use it as an apartment of sorts,” Remy laughed at that, and Emile smiled as he continued, “It’s not the end of the world if something you try doesn’t succeed, Rem. But I think that this has a really good chance at succeeding.”

Remy nodded. “All right. I’ll save up the money and give it a try for you,” he said. “Do you know what you’re going to do with your money outside investing it?”

“I have a couple ideas, but nothing solid,” Emile said. He didn’t mention that Dice had agreed to take Emile’s job offer and was going to look for Toby. He didn’t want Remy to get his hopes up, and he definitely didn’t want Remy to demand he save the money because he thought it was a fruitless venture.

“Well, when you get some solid plans, let me know, okay?” Remy asked. “Because I want to know if we can get strawberries and blueberries for pancakes for breakfast.”

Emile laughed. “Of course, we can get more fruit. And better ingredients that aren’t just on discount. If you want, we can go shopping right now as a little celebration?”

“Sure! When do you get the money?” Remy asked.

“Couple of days,” Emile laughed. “They couldn’t afford to give me that much money all at once, because it’s a small branch and I’d be taking all of their hundred-dollar bills.”

Remy shook his head. “You’re Mister Rich Kid, now, you realize,” he said. “And you’re never living that title down, not once I let our friends know.”

“Oh, God, I hadn’t even thought about that!” Emile laughed. “Our friends could hardly believe I had a trust fund at all, let alone one that potentially had over a hundred thousand dollars! They’re all going to freak!”

“Even more than I will when this whole day finally sinks in,” Remy said sagely. “It’s going to take some getting used to, having wiggle room in case we screw up.”

Emile turned the car on the road they took to the supermarket. “It’s going to be nice, though,” Emile said. “We buy some food we don’t like, we’re not, y’know, obligated to eat all of it because that’s the only food we have for that night.”

“We can buy stupid things like movies that we don’t know if we like because we didn’t get the chance to see it in theatres,” Remy pointed out.

“We can go to see those movies in the theatre in the first place,” Emile pointed out.

“True!” Remy exclaimed. “Emile. This is. The best!”

Emile laughed.

[rae-is-typing]

Scars

Original request from @sorrybutimtrying: Can you do one where Chris Evans or Paul Rudd meets a fan, sees her scars and tries to help her. Or something like that

Description: You win one of those contests where you and some other people get to meet and fraternize with a celebrity. This time, it’s Paul Rudd. He notices something you wished he hadn’t.

Characters: reader, original female and male characters (Sophia the Marvel person, Olivia the other teen girl, and a lot of unnamed men and women), Paul Rudd

Warnings: swearing, implied self-harm, self-harm scars, being sexually harassed at work, mentioned cat calling

Word count: 3.8k

See Ant-Man three weeks early, hang out with the one and only Paul Rudd, play laser tag, and pizza together on an all expenses paid trip to LA! Enter now! 12 lucky fans will be chosen. Entries close in three hours. 

You take a moment to stop scrolling. Your heart speeds up; it always does when opportunities arise. You always apply, but you never win. Glancing at the clock, you see you still have ten minutes on break. 

What the heck, might as well enter. There's nothing to lose. 

Entering takes the rest of your break. You were asked questions, and had to enter your phone number and email address a few times. You submit your entry as soon as your break ended. Sighing, you push yourself to your feet. Back to serving customers and getting yelled at by your manager. 

------------------------

Life gets hard and you completely forget that you ever entered in the first place. 

You aren't proud of what you do to cope. Hell, you've managed to stop doing it completely for a few months. But sometimes it's so hard. Too hard to do anything else. 

You don't show off your scars. By sticking to long sleeve shirts, concealer, and strategically placed bracelets, you can easily make it seems like there are a few birthmarks on your wrists instead anything self-inflicted. 

Unfortunately, you can't afford to see a professional. Both you and your mother are working multiple jobs so you can eat and have a place to live. Deep down, you know you should tell her. Deep down, you want to tell her. But you can't bring yourself to. It'll only stress her out. Between two jobs and going back to school to finish her degree, you don’t want to bring her more stress. But your always hopeful for the day where she'd be able to help you through your hard days. 

Speaking of hard days, you hate being a waitress. You work in a particularly sleazy part of town where the guys like to call out anything resembling a female body. Walking down the street brings you one cat call after another, and waitressing isn't any better. You get called every pet name under the sun. Sweetie, babe, baby girl, jujubee. Someone even called you, a 16-year-old wearing some of the baggiest clothes imaginable, sugartits. Your manager had fun with him. 

After getting home, you flop on your bed and fight the urge to cry. You made a whopping fifteen dollars in tips that night for working 4 hours, a customer yelled at you for giving them iced tea with ice in it, and a guy started following you home until he got bored. It was not a good night. 

Then your phone starts to ring. Maroon 5 reverberates in your room, simultaneously annoying you and making you feel a tiny bit better. Without looking at the caller ID, you pick up the phone. 

"Hello?" You ask, voice muffled by the pillow your head is still buried in. 

"Hi there! I'm looking for a Y/N Y/L/N." A feminine voice chirps through the phone.

"Yeah, that's me." You roll onto your back so you can speak clearer. 

"Great. My name is Sophia Ramsey, I'm the one organizing the event with Paul Rudd. I'm so excited to let you know that you won! You will be one of twelve to be flown out to LA to meet with him and spend the day with him."

A huge smile tugs at your lips, so much so your face starts to hurt. "What?" You laugh. "Are you serious?"

"I sure am! Some blank documents have been sent to the email you provided in your entry. I need you to fill them out and either fax them to the number listed on them, mail them to the address listed, or scan them and email them to that same email address."

"I-I can totally do that!"

"Now this event is an all expenses paid, so everything will be provided for you. You'll be flown out the day of and flown back home after it ends. It will be held June seventh."

"Thank you so much!"

She laughs at your enthusiasm. "Of course. Once we get those documents we will be organizing your flights. We will be in touch."

"Awesome, wonderful. Thanks so much!"

"You're so welcome. Bye bye now."

You pull the phone away from your ear, sporting a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat himself. You won! You won you won you won! You're going to meet one of your favorite actors!

You pull up your email on your phone immediately. Spotting the email, you skim through the PDFs quickly. Since you're a minor, there are a lot of things your mom has to sign. 

I need to print these. You think, biting your lip. You don't want to wait for the next at school, you want to fill these out now. Grabbing your wallet and apartment keys, you run (yes, run) down to the library that's a few blocks away. A lot of students gather there for studying and the free wifi.

You wave at a few of your classmates, and they nod back. You print the documents off quickly, paying a small fee for the paper, and you run (yes, run) back home. 

You bounce into your apartment, still giddy (and sweaty). 

"Mom! Mom, you'll never guess what happened!" You exclaim upon seeing your mother sitting on the couch in the living room. 

She looks up from the book she was reading with a tired smile. "What happened, sweetie?"

"Remember that thing I entered? That event Marvel was hosting?" You ask, vibrating with excitement. 

"I do."

"I won! I won Mom! I get to meet Paul Rudd!" 

A grin broke out on your mom's face. "Oh, Y/N, that's awesome."

"I know! I have to fill out these documents. Do we have somewhere we can fax things? Do you know how to fax? I don't know how to fax."

She laughs. "I'll teach you how to fax things, don't you worry." 

------

You get everything taken care of the day after. After another call with Sophia, you manage scheduling flights and times for the drivers (you get a driver! how awesome!)

In the weeks leading up to the event, all your extra effort is put into a gift for Paul. You have a knack for art that you don't have much time for anymore. Between school and work, it's also hard to find energy to put into it. 

However, you said 'screw school' and began an art project: a hand-drawn collage of all Paul Rudd's characters, including Ant-Man. It takes all the time leading up to the event, but you manage to make it look amazing. Along with the collage, you write him a letter. You don't believe it to be anything very special, but you hope he will appreciate it. You detail your own struggles and how much looking up to him has helped you. 

Then the day comes.

You barely sleep at all the night before. Adrenaline and an unhealthy amount of caffeine replace any semblance of rest you may have gotten. 

The driver arrives at your apartment at 4:30 AM to take you to the nearest airport. After triple checking your stuff and a quick goodbye with your mom, you're off.

The car is so nice. You have no idea what make or model it is, but you're sure it very expensive. The drive doesn't take a long time; the roads are practically empty and there is little traffic, which is great. 

However, you're left on your own in the airport, which is not great. A lot of zombie-esque people are there, a few crying children, and some drug dogs even joined the party. You bite your lip, scratching at your concealed wrists. It's something you always do when you're nervous. 

You don't have any bags other than a backpack, so you don't need to check anything. Looking around, you try to spot someone that looks like they know what they're doing. You eventually do, and follow them to security.

The line is long, and after moderate hassle with the agents, you're through and on the way to your gate. Once you get there, you closely examine your ticket. First class. Your eyebrows shoot up. The first time you're flying and you get first class. Damn. Okay, you'll take it.

The flight was good: no babies cried, the flight people were all super nice, and you even got the entire row to yourself.

After the flight, you're off to the venue. You meet your new driver at the exit and get to another very expensive looking car. 

LA traffic is everything you've heard and more. The streets are packed, and it takes quite a while for you to get where you're supposed to be. But when you do, it is incredible. 

The building is huge. It's wall to wall one way glass. The sun bounces off the silver accents, almost blinding you. Out of pure impulse, you take a picture. You almost don't believe that you're here. 

After thanking the driver, you hop out of the car and walk into the glass building. The interior is even prettier. 

It's clean, with dark oak floors and chairs and tables lining the wall. A small group of excited people are gathered by a longer table full of stuff. Your anxiety spikes. This is actually happening. You're going to meet one of your heroes and give him some of your art. This cannot be happening. You nails find your wrist again.

After making your way to the small group, they immediately welcome you into the circle. They each introduce themselves for probably the millionth time, and one of them informs you that everyone is here. 

After a few minutes of pure small talk, a woman walks into the lobby area. 

"Hi everyone!" You all turn to her. She's dressed in a red sleeveless blouse, black slacks and high heels. Her face is done up nicely, as is her hair. She stands proudly with a charismatic smile gracing her face."I'm Sophia, the manager of this event. I'm so excited to get started! First things first, we'll start with the meet and greet. Each one of you will get 15 minutes with Paul. After that, there'll be a few games of laser tag, and finally, the screening of the new Ant-Man movie! We at Marvel ask that you keep all the movie details to yourself so everyone can enjoy the movie when it comes out."

Murmurs of agreement spread through the room. 

“If you all follow me, we can get started," Sophia leads the group to a different room. Paul is sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him. 

Excitement spreads through you. He looks so much more real in person, as weird as that sounds. You bite your lip, keeping your mouth shut. Excited calls from the other fans make him smile widely. 

You keep your place near the back, slowly building up courage and thinking out what you're going to say. You certainly don't want to look like an idiot when you meet one of your heroes. 

"Nice bracelets." The voice of a girl pulls you from your thoughts. 

"Oh, thank you." You say, turning to see her. She has short black hair, blue eyes and pale skin. 

"Yeah. I love Panic! At the Disco. Their music is amazing."

"For real, they're so good!"

The two of you share small talk until it's her turn. For twelve people each getting fifteen minutes, time went by very fast. She talks to him excitedly, something that he reciprocates. Another wave of anxiety comes over you. Your heart speeds up, your hands get a little sweaty. Holy shit! You're actually meeting him.You fight the urge to scratch at your wrist.

Finally, it's your turn. 

You go up to the table with an anxious smile on your face. He smiles back. 

"Hi there!" He says. "I'm so glad you won."

"Thank you!" You say, sitting down in the chair. "I actually brought something."

"Oh thank you! That's awesome."

You pull out the small framed collage, placing it on the table with the enveloped letter on top. There's a small stack of stuff on the other side of him. He carefully sets the envelope to the side, now examining the poster. 

"Wow! This is so good!" He exclaims. "Did you draw this?"

You can only nod shyly. 

"This is great, really. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."

The two of you talk for the rest of the time. He signs a couple of things for you, and you take a few pictures. At the end, you want to take a funny selfie for your instagram. While taking the picture, your bracelets slide up your arm. Your heart stops for a split second when you see a fresher scar. You pull back the bracelets immediately, and play it off as soon as possible. 

But it was too late, Paul saw some of the scars. His face falls into something more solemn, concerned almost. He opens his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted. 

"Alright everyone! It is time to move on to the next event."

Paul put a smile on his face, but he gave you a worried glance at you while he stood up. He walks by Sophia as you're led through the building. The interior continued to take your breath away. Postmodern design flooded your sight as everyone crams into an elevator. 

You're taken up a few floors and the elevator opens to a small room with vests and guns attached to said vests. A blank scoreboard hangs proudly above everything. You glance around. Everyone is sporting grins. 

"Let's do girls against boys!" Olivia, the girl you were talking to before, exclaims. 

"You sure?" One of the guys pipes up. "I think there are more guys than girls," 

"There's like one more guy. We should do at least one battle of the sexes." She grins. 

"I'm cool with it," A woman in her mid twenties smirks. 

"Me too," You shrug. More murmurs of agreement spread through the group.

“Alright, suit up everyone. Girls will be red and boys will be green." Sophia says. 

"I will leave you to Ralph, he is our resident lazer tag expert." 

"Alright everyone, your goal is to destroy the other team’s base. You do that by destroying the power supply in the deepest part of the opposing team’s base. It looks like a dinosaur egg off of Jurassic Park, and it lights up. I have a few ground rules. No fighting, no sprinting, no food or drink near the equipment. But most importantly, have fun! There are large towers on each side where you have to charge your gun. Your vest will beep at you when you need to recharge. Good luck. Boys, enter to the left, girls on your right." With Ralph ending his spiel, everyone hustles into the room. 

You follow behind one of your teammates to the back of the base. The room is absolutely massive. There's a large structure running through the middle of the floor with at least four sets of stairs. The supporting poles are lit up by green and red lights. You clutch your gun to your chest. It's not the very first time you're playing laser tag, but it is the first time in a long while. 

You go off on your own, jogging up the stairs on the large structure. You speed walk quietly, ducking behind large foam covers that were spread sporadically throughout the entire floor when you suspect one of the boys had spotted you.You climb to the top. You hold your gun by your thigh, keeping your finger on the trigger. Slowly walking in circles, you try to spot the egg like power supply that Ralph had described on the ground below. 

Suddenly, someone bumped into you. You jump, barely holding back a yelp. 

"Oh, my god. I’m so sorry." Olivia quickly apologized. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you just scared the shit out of me though," You laugh. 

"I'm sorry... Y/N, right?" 

"Yeah yeah yeah, and you're Olivia, right?"

"Mhm, what are you looking for?"

"I'm trying to find the power supply." 

"Same girl. I think I saw it over there." She says, gesturing to your left. "But I'm not sure."

"Let's go check it out."

The two of you venture to the left, moving as quickly and quietly as before. Soon enough, you're able to spot the power supply through the guard rails. Only one guy is standing guard. You share a small low-five and split up to attack it. 

Olivia jogs down the stairs to ground level and you go to the second floor for better range. 

You crouch close to the floor, poking your gun through the guard rails and wait until you see Olivia come up behind the guard and start shooting. You join her immediately, and together you almost destroy it. However, your gun runs out of charge. 

Cursing under your breath, you jog as fast as you can (almost running) down to a charging base, where you run into Olivia again. 

"Dude, that was fucking crazy." She laughs. "We almost had them."

Laughing breathlessly, you agree. "For real though. We got them this time. Same plan?"

"Hell yeah,"

"What plan?" A new voice cuts in. The woman in her mid twenties pops up out of nowhere. 

"We found their supply. I went low and she went to the second floor. If we have one more person, I think we got this. We'll have to hurry though."

A grin spreads on the woman's face. "Let's do it. I'll head to the first floor on the other side."

The three of you jog together back to the same place as before. You show the woman where to go, then you leave to go up one floor. 

Once again, you start to shoot when Olivia does. The woman joins in soon after. 

You hear the guards frustrated cries as he tries to fend off all three of you at once. A few of the other guys come running back, but it was too late. Girls won! 

You laugh, throwing your hands up. "Hell yeah!" 

Olivia cheers, and the woman whoops. The lights come on, making you wince.

"Game over. Red team has claimed their victory! Congratulations, ladies!" Ralph's voice comes over intercoms you didn't know were there. 

You make your way down to ground level, meeting up with the other women. You congratulate each other. 

"Let's do it again! Same team?”

The lot of you end up playing three more games: girls vs. boys, old people vs. young people, and Paul vs. Everyone else. Boys won, young people won, and the last one was a tie. (You and Olivia ended up teaming up with Paul anyways, but no one else needs to know that.)

After that, everyone was crammed into an elevator yet again. This time smelling a lot less pleasant after running and sneaking around.

All of you are lead to another floor. This one resembled a movie theater more than anything else. A huge table of food is set up in front of the door to the screening room. 

Everyone begins to get their dinner, most of them being hungry from the hour and a half spent running around in the dark shooting at each other. 

Before you could grab a plate, however, someone places a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Paul standing behind you.

You smile up at him. "Hi."

"Hey. I wanna talk to you, could we step out?" That look of concern from before is etched onto his face. 

"Sure," You say, the slightest bit of hesitation seeping into your voice. You step into a smaller, unoccupied corner of the hall. Before you can ask any questions, he starts speaking. 

"Look, I don't know your situation, I don't know you, and I don't know what you've been through, but I saw your wrist. I know what it's like to be low, and I just wanted to tell you that it gets better. Everything is going to work the way it's meant to. Everything is going to be okay. And if you need help, don't be afraid to ask. Mental pain is just as serious and debilitating as physical pain is. I hate to see anyone go through this, especially my fans."

Tears prick at you eyes at his words. No one has ever taken you aside and spoken to you like this before. All the anxiety and trepidation leaves your body, and your left with this warmth and reassurance. 

You can only bite your lip and nod. He smiles again and opens his arms. You hug briefly before leaving the corner and getting your food. 

Everything after that is all smiles and laughter. The food is some of the best you've ever had; they certainly spared no expense. 

The movie is incredible. You have no doubt in your mind that you'll save your tips and take your mom to see it one night after it comes out.

Truth be told, you're sad this is over. You want to do more with everyone, but you're so undeniably grateful that you got this opportunity. More pictures are taken, social media is exchanged, and soon you're all on your separate ways home.

When you get home, you pass out on your face, shoes barely kicked off your feet. You never expected to wake up to what you did though. 

A DM from Paul Rudd. 

Hey Y/N! It was so nice meeting you! I'm so glad you had the opportunity to attend the event. It's always so wonderful to spend time with fans. I wanted to tell you that your collage is amazing! You have a real knack for art. You should definitely keep it up if you can. Thank you for sharing your story in the letter. It really moved me. I also wanted to let you know one last time that things do get better, things do improve. Stay strong for yourself and your future. You got this.