#fun fact i gathered all of these clips myself

[drglennpierce]

superliminal fandom has been very quiet here recently, so heres this edit i made :)

[urfavlarry]

HI loved the tyler/aiden headcannons btw!

Wanted to ask if you could write something about the reader being apart of the group (after they finally escaped the realm and are free..and traumatized, but happy)

AND LIKE A LITTLE ROMANCE HAPPENING BETWEEN AIDEN AND THE READER!! Like after everything had calmed down, (3 weeks after they escaped) the group goes to a skating rink to have fun. Like normal teens 😞

Would love a oneshot of it!! :D

Aiden Clark x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar

genre: fluff! :3

A/N: AHH I love this!! I skate myself so this is just 🛐

hope you like it <33

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You and the group have been planning a trip for quite a while. You were trying to celebrate the fact you finally escaped the damn realm and that lab they kept you guys in. Everyone was a bit shaken up, most of you couldn’t really sleep and you had sleepovers most of the time to try and sleep better. It usually worked, well at least for most of the group. You would wake up in the middle of the night, cold wind hitting your soaked figure. You often had nightmares and you couldn’t really go to therapy because you would be considered ‘crazy’, so you just had to pull through without any help. You know the group would be happy to help, but you don’t want to bother them when they had it worse. Back to the present time! You were currently in the graveyard, sitting in a circle near the campfire, you yourself sitting on your kind of beat up skateboard. Everyone suggested their ideas, Logan suggesting a museum, Ashlyn a restaurant, The twins suggested a waterpark and then Aiden and Ben said they didn’t really care where they would go.

An idea popped in your head and you smiled; “How about a skating rink? That could be fun? I know a pretty good one and theres also like a trampoline part connected to it so that’s pretty cool.” Everyone talks about the idea, Aiden agreeing instantly along with the twins. “Well is there a buffet there? Maybe we could later eat there and just celebrate?” Ashlyn suggests and everyone agrees looking at you for your response. You nod and everyone cheers, excited for the trip.

The day of the trip arrives, you all agreed to meet up at the train station at 8am and you were there early, already waiting there at 7. You watched the sunrise and you smile taking a picture and put your phone away and try out some tricks. You first tried an ollie, the key trick you need to know to learn most of the other ones. You record some of the tries and relax for a bit, watching the clips when suddenly your eyes get covered by a pair of soft hands. “Aiden..” You say and smile at the blonde boy, who had his usual relaxed demeanor. “Hey, you’re here early aren’t you?” He says and sits down next to you, resting his feet on his skateboard, rocking his legs from side to side. “Yeah I wanted to be here just in case anyone needed help with anything.” You say and yawn slightly, not really shaking off the sleepiness just yet. He nods and starts to yap like he usually does and you just listen, letting him yap your ear off. You didn’t mind, you weren’t much of a talker, so you usually just listened.

The others finally arrived just in time for when the train arrived. Everyone boarded and you found your seats, all of you sitting together. Ashlyn decided to catch up on sleep, along with Ben. The twins and Logan were playing some card game and You just listened to music, sharing headphones with Aiden. You lay your head on the window and drift off, feeling a hand on yours.

You get shaken awake, and you groan but gather your things and skateboard and get off the train, leading the way. You jump onto your skateboard and you guys skate/walk for about 15 minutes when you finally get there. “Here we are!” You say and pay for your entry, putting away your things and grab your phone along with your skateboard and run to the rink, doing a quick board slide. The others cheer you along as you drop in and do a rock to fakie.

Aiden watches you with a smile and Tyler and Taylor do their own thing as Ty teaches his sister the basics. Logan and Ben were off somewhere probably in the trampoline park and Ashlyn watched everyone, taking videos. “I’ll need to ask her to send me that later.” You think to yourself and manual.

You mind your own buiseness, riding up to a ramp when a kid suddenly jumps in your away, making you manual a bit too quickly so you fell on your elbow. “Fucking hell.. watch it kid!” You yell and hiss in pain as you look at the now bleeding elbow. Aiden noticed the fall and ran over to you and inspected the wound; “Hey are you okay? That was a nasty fall.” He says and you laugh; “Come on i’ve had it so much worse before, and plus people break bones doing this shit so i’m fine.” You say and stand up and walk over to the sitting area and take out some bandages you brought along in this type of situation. Aiden snatches them from you and looks at you with a kind smile; “Let me do it.” He doesn’t even give you time to reply and is already carefully wrapping the wound. Your face feels hot and you look anywhere but at Aiden, looking for the others yet they were nowhere to be found.

“There, that should be better, and by the way, when did you start skating? Your pretty good, almost better then me!” He teases and wraps and arm around your shoulder. You chuckle and smirk, teasing right back; “Oh yeah? How about a game of skate?” You challenge him and wait for his response, already knowing the answer. “Hell yeah! I’ll win for sure!” He runs to get his skate and you do the same, and that was the start of a very long game of skate. You guys got bored after a while, agreeing on a tie and sit down, breathing heavily as if you ran a marathon. The others came back and everyone agreed on going to the restaurant that was across the street from the skating rink. You walk with your skates and decide to hide them somewhere at the back of the building and head inside the restaurant, ordering food and refreshing drinks immediately.

You sit down in the booth and Aiden slides in next to you along with Ben and Logan, the others sitting on the opposite side. Everyone chatted and joked around and your elbow was killing you along with your legs as well. Your eyes droop a bit but you take a sip of your drink that shakes you awake slightly. Aiden taps you on the knee and you look up at him, raising a brow. He leans in and whispers into your ear with a low tone; “You okay? You look kinda off.” He says and you smile reassuringly and give him a thumbs up under the table. He hums and smiles as the waiter brings the food everyone has been craving for the past 5 hours. You eat your food in silence, some chatting here and there but mostly you guys Te in peace. After everyone was full you decided to go to the bathroom to clear your mind, of course not letting them know the reason. You walk into the bathroom and sigh, they were empty, unlike many other restaurants and you shrug, walking over to the mirror and fix your hair up a bit when you notice Aiden in the mirror. “Hey, I know I asked already but you really don’t seem fine. Is it the elbow?” He jokes and you shrug, giving him a slight smile; “I’m fine don’t worry okay? My body is killing me though.” You say and stretch your body, some satisfying cracks echoing throughout the bathroom. You go to leave when you get embraced in a warm hug, a hand running up and down your back. “Relax for a bit, they won’t notice we’re gone.” He whispers and you guys stay like that for a few minutes when you finally let go. He looks at you lovingly and your face feels hot as you avert your gaze away from him.

He lifts your face to look at him and leans in, your lips brushing against each other and your eyes meet, Aiden looking at you as if asking for consent. You inch closer and he takes that as a yes, soft lips meeting yours. Your lips move in sync with each other and his hands wander down to your waist. You pull away and you hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck. He chuckles lowly and hugs you close. “You know i’ve liked you ever since that day we went out to get the jeep.” He says and you look at him with a confused look; “But I thought you liked Ash—” You get cut off by a finger on your lips and he smile; “Remember I had my eyes on you the whole time, I may have been comforting Ash but I had my eyes on you. I didn’t know how to approach you, ya know?” He says and leaves kisses all over your face. “Now I’ve got you all to myself~” He says and holds your hand, dragging you out to the others who stared at you and whistled, Ben looking at Aiden with a proud smile.

Later that day when everyone finally got home, Aiden messaged you and soon after you heard a knock on your bedroom window. You playfully roll your eyes and mumble “Idiot.” quickly opening the window. Aiden hops in and tackles you in a hug, you falling back on the bed. “Hey! What are you doing?” You chuckle and play with his hair. You hear a mumbled “I missed you.” And you giggle, making him look up at you. “We haven’t seen each other for like 45 minutes?” “Too long.” He shrugs and peppers your face with kisses, moving down to your neck and collar bone. Your eyes droop and you start to fall asleep, finally in his embrace.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Uncanny Valley: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Therapy isn't something you're taking too well, but if you want to keep your job, you'll continue to go. you're forced to confront thoughts and memories of your own family when you come across the father of the unsub.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

As soon as the plane lands, Derek and Emily talk to both victim families. They were confused as to why they needed to bring pictures of their daughters but they followed the rules regardless. The loved ones of the victims didn't understand the importance of the pictures but it's because the unsub is looking for a specific body type.

Stacia went to the gym about three times a week because she took pride in every aspect of her appearance. She often went to high-end boutiques that were very expensive but because she was so tiny, she had to have everything tailored to fit her right. When presented with her death photo, Stacia's mother explicitly stated that Stacia would never wear something like that.

Rita worked out just not as much as Stacia. She liked to shop around but only in thrift stores. She and her husband didn't have a lot of money so she tried to save as much as she could where she could. Her husband didn't notice if she ever tailored her clothes to fit her better, but he took one look at her death photo and immediately told Derek that she'd never wear that dress.

Not only is the unsub dressing them how she wants them to be dressed, but she's also posing her victims in a place that represents childhood and innocence. Most serial killers don't particularly have a happy childhood. Your guess is she wants them to have the fun she never got to have.

Despite finding a potential motive, how is she getting these women from her car to where she dumps their bodies? It has to be in the middle of the night so she doesn't get caught, and she must need a vehicle that can give her the privacy she needs like a van or an SUV. Still, that's a lot of ground to cover once she parks. Even if those women are light, she risks getting caught carrying a corpse.

If she has a medical background, she might be using a wheelchair to transport the women from the car to the dump sites. If she has a wheelchair, that means her van or SUV has a lift. If it has a lift, then she has to have a handicap placard. That placard would give her the closest parking spot which means less ground to cover.

Spencer has been so patient with you but you feel like you're not doing enough for him. You're constantly nervous but being with him helps even if it's just a little bit. With gloved hands, you touch the hair of both victims to try and connect with the unsub's energy. What you do gather isn't good.

"She's seriously mentally ill, Spencer."

The ME scoops Rita like a bride from her morgue bed and lays her on the examination table.

"Once I have the knees bent, I can get leverage under her. Normally, an assistant helps me but I can do it by myself if I need to."

"I'm assuming the unsub would have this training, too. Let me ask you this, is there anything specific about it?"

"No, any caregiver out there can do this like doctors, nurses, and orderlies."

"Where do you think she's getting the drugs that she's using? Do you think she could be manipulating a doctor or a pharmacist, maybe?"

"He'd be criminally negligent if she was."

"It's possible, though, right? Doctors order things through residents, nurses forge signatures, and prescriptions fall through the cracks."

"That's a lot of drugs and a lot of cracks. She keeps these women paralyzed for two months."

"Your report said both of them had hair extensions clipped in, right?"

"Yes, to hide the fact that clumps of their real hair had fallen out."

"If they were fed through an IV, their hair flailing out wasn't from malnutrition. Why did it fall out?" you ask.

"You see this a lot in bedridden patients. Loss of motor function especially in a young woman like this."

"Of course," Spencer says and looks at you. You have your thumbnail in your mouth which you are nervously chewing. "Psychic shock. The mental effects take a physical toll." Spencer grabs your hand that's by your mouth so you're not ruining your nails. "One last question. In your professional opinion, do you think the hair extensions were clipped on before or after death?"

"Before. You know the old wives' tale about your hair and nails growing after death? What's really happening is that dehydration is shrinking your skin and pulling it back. Based on where she put these extensions, they were definitely still alive."

"Thank you. We should get going." You two leave the ME's office and back to the car. "How are you doing?"

"Better when I'm with you."

You lean up and kiss him, holding onto that feeling of hope. He is everything you need and you don't want that feeling to go away. He takes you back to the station and meets up with everyone. Once everyone explains what they found, you can discuss the next steps.

"Now, we know this unsub is stuck in a rich fantasy, right? An incredibly detailed delusion. We don't know what the delusion is, but we know that it involves remaking these women and it begins the moment she has them drugged."

"So, she has them paralyzed and she can do whatever she wants? Why is she killing them?"

"Maybe they don't fit her idea of beauty," you say. "It looks to me like these women are dolls that she wants to dress up. I don't think she means to kill them. The brain is a machine designed to respond to stimuli. If you keep the brain awake but the body immobile, it breaks down and loses its hair. After two months, it eventually strokes out. Death isn't the unsub's goal. It's just an unfortunate side effect."

Derek and Emily come back, eager to tell everyone what they found.

"What did you find?" Hotch asks.

"Both Rita and Stacia were clothes hounds, but because they were petite women, they had a lot of their stuff altered. It could be how our unsub is finding her victims. She gets her hands on their measurements, but we've exhausted tailors and alteration shops. There's no overlap."

"The tailors might send specialty items out to third parties. Dig deep into extended employment records and see who they might be subcontracting to."

JJ walks into the room with her phone to her ear.

"Garcia needs to talk to us."

"Go ahead," Hotch says once she is on speakerphone.

"Hello, my pretties. I have finished my missing persons sweep. I've got nothing on the medical vehicle, but two new matches on the clothes make the woman front. Cindy Edmundson was abducted outside a thrift store, and Maxine Wynan was last seen at the Hillridge Mall."

"Sounds like our girl. Any surveillance footage at the mall?"

"No, it was an outside parking lot."

"What's their physical type?"

"They look pretty tiny to me. I'm gonna send you pictures. Also, if it pleases the court, I would like to direct your attention to exhibit 'A', the calendar map. Both of these new victims were abducted one week ago, exactly one day before the bodies of Rita and Stacia turned up."

"She doesn't let a body go until she has a replacement," Hotch sighs.

You'd hope that the unsub got who she wanted but another report of a body turning up came through. This time, she was left on a public park bench for everyone to see. The detective on the case meets you at the park that has already been cleared out and sectioned off.

"Her name is Mary Newsome. She was abducted two months ago and found on this bench first thing this morning."

"It looks like her style," Emily says. "The fabric is Chiffon and it's sewn to fit. If she's disposed of this body, it means she's recently taken a new victim. I'll call Hotch and we'll comb through missing persons reports from the last forty-eight hours.

"I'll pull them," the detective offers.

Spencer puts a glove on and inspects Mary's head. He frowns when he sees sewing threads on the base of her hairline.

"These aren't hair extensions. This is a wig. Kanekalon, I think. It's synthetic hair. There's nothing special about it. It's used in wigs all over the world. She sewed this wig on."

Local police take over the crime scene so your team can head back to the station to discuss further.

"Hey, I think we found who was taken last night," Derek says. "Her name is Bethany Wallace. Her husband says she never came home from the dry cleaners where she stopped off to pick up some clothes."

"Did anyone at the cleaners see anything?"

"The employees were busy locking up, but they did mention that they do farm out work to tailors who work from home."

"Good. We can match records based on who worked on Bethany's clothes." Hotch's phone rings and he looks at the message Penelope sent everyone. "We just got the pictures of the two recent abductions from Garcia. "Line up the photos of the new victims next to the bodies they replaced. That might help us with the timeline."

"Do you see this?" Derek asks.

You turn to look at the photos and see similarities between the women she's taken versus the women she's dumping.

"She's matching up the victims physically one to one. She's a collector."

"I told you. She liked dolls," you shrug.

"We're ready to give the profile."

The detective collects all of his men and women so they can hear the profile. You're sitting off to the side and letting your team handle this one. Even talking is exerting too much energy for you. Hotch knows you're in pain and will do whatever he can to help you, and you appreciate him so much.

You hate how much you're hiding in the shadows lately.

"The unsub we're looking for is a woman. She's a collector. It's a psychopathology similar to hoarding. When we say collector, we're not talking about stamps or baseball cards. It's not what your kids, or even you, might pursue as a normal hobby. This is an attachment to objects that's become obsessive by someone who is antisocial and extremely introverted."

"These people attach a part of themselves to their collection. If you try to separate them from it, they will react violently, even psychotically. This unsub has suffered damage to her prefrontal cortex. That's the part of the brain that regulates basic Freudian fantasy/reality. She can still function, like drive a car, go to work, and even do her taxes. In fact, she excels at goal-oriented jobs like the precision of sewing or the details of an abduction."

"However, she's lost her ability to categorize the difference between living and dead. That has been irreparably destroyed," Rossi says.

"You're saying she's collecting women?" the detective asks.

"We think she's collecting dolls, or more accurately, replacing them," Spencer answers. "We believe that she lost the originals sometime within the last three months. This is what served as her stressor. She searched for a replacement and when she couldn't find them, she started abducting the closest possible surrogate, women of different ethnicities but of similar physicality."

"The drug-induced paralysis is part of the fantasy. She puts her victims in a position where they can't talk back so she can fetishize them like the objects she's lost."

"Look, I respect your analysis but this woman kidnapped six women and killed three of them. You're telling me this is about dolls?" the detective scoffs.

"This unsub stitched a wig onto the scalp of her latest victim. It's a technique used to attach hair to porcelain dolls. Keep in mind that collectors and serial killers do share certain traits. A lot of serial killers take trophies, attaching the same significance to them that this collector does to objects."

"This unsub's intent isn't violence," Rossi adds to Spencer's thought. "She needs this collection to be complete so she can feel in control of her life, probably to overcome some trauma she experienced."

"She really only feels that control when the collection is complete which is why she's repeating an abduction pattern with living victims. If she loses a doll or in this case, if she loses a woman who represents a doll, she has to replace it."

"This woman works alone. We know she has medical training. Look for nurse's aides or orderlies who we fired for a lack of social grace. She can't fake a bedside manner. We believe she's currently working as a tailor or a seamstress, and we're following those leads now. Do let us know if you notice any overlap in your suspect pools. Thank you."

JJ follows a lead straight to a tailor who has done some work for Stacia. JJ got her hands on the dress she was found in after it went through processing so she could go around to different stores and see who might have made this design. The tailor Stacia went to didn't even sell the design she was found in, but the seamstress did find something interesting with the stitching marks on the hem.

There is a handkerchief pattern that's usually found on silk-sewn handkerchiefs. It's all done by hand which is unique to the unsub. It's her signature. Not even a machine can do it because it's so delicate. There isn't a place that specializes in handcrafted sewing like that but the seamstress is impressed.

The unsub is an artist, that's for sure.

Emily got in touch with Beth's husband, Karl, and he came into the station right away to see if there was something being done to find his wife.

"Do you know where my wife is?" he asks.

"We're searching for her, sir."

"No, you have to find her in the next twenty-four hours. She's a diabetic. She needs her medicine or she will die." He sighs and looks at everyone. "Agent Prentiss said this woman has medical training. Does that mean Bethany has a chance?" Silent befalls the group. "What is it?"

"She keeps her victims in a drug-induced state. They can't communicate."

"Oh, God," Karl choke-sobs. "Will these drugs...?"

"We don't know, but we're doing everything we can," Hotch answers his unspoken question.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[isabellehemlock]

TAG GAME WEDNESDAY: FANDOM EDITION

Thank you so much for tagging me @energievie this is epic! I'll go ahead and tag (but of course no pressure implied) @nalyra-dreaming @thelioncourts @the-heart-of-leo @selling-my-soul-for-tony-stark @dracosollicitus @almostcanon @maddielle @magslensherr @therowdybee @beepbeepsan @boutiquetraveltravelboutique

Your Name: Katharina ~ the German version of Katherine, from the Greek καθαρός (katharos). Feel free to message me if you want fun Bible facts around the term appearing in the Beatitudes 😊

Your Age: 37

Your First Fandom(s): Rose of Versailles & Sailor Moon

Your Current Fandoms: like 90% IWTV, but also OFMD, ST, TOG, and a smidge of Good Omens, The Witcher, and Shadow & Bone

How did you first get into fandom? As a kiddo watching anime dubs on TV and then buying Mangas, too ✨️

How long have you been engaging with fandom spaces? I came out of a decade long lurkdom in August of 2020 and haven't looked back since 😎

How often do you read fanfics? Not as often as I'd like 🫠

Top three characters from your current fandom(s)? Oh! Um - Louis, Lestat, Armand, Eddie, Stede, Aziraphale

Have you ever written a fic for a fandom? If so, shout it out! Check out my pinned post for a breakdown by fandom category list/links 😎 On average I write anywhere from 20k-40k a month 😳

Have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom? See above reply 😘 At this rate I draw on average one piece a week, and am loving it ❤️

Share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about: this is 1000% projecting but I myself am a queer (aspec) religious (Catholic) person and seeing rep for it in media feels lovely 🥹👉🏻👈🏻 If there's only crumbs of that potential, I will gather it up and try to make a feast out of it. Some of my fave works have been ones dedicated to interfaith dialogue because I used to (before chronic health issues worsened) be involved in that sort of thing and quite enjoyed it ~ I love seeing how others navigate those two core parts of an identity together, and adore exploring it further through the creative process ✨️

You’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. What episode, clip, or scene are you showing them?

For IWTV, oh gosh there's so many! But maybe the "Of course OF COURSE of courseeee" moment lol. But also just some of the humorous moments of Claudia baying like a sheep, and the coffin being thrown out behind Lestat, and Lestat’s train performance muwhahaha.

For OFMD, Oluwande's "Coming Nana" lol, and THE KISS, and bathtub scene!!

For Stranger Things, all of Will's and Eddie's scenes

For Good Omens, all the Aziraphale being adorable moments 💖

For TOG, Nicky and Joe and Andy being a bad ass!!

For The Witcher, all the Ciri, and Calanthe moments

For Shadow & Bone, Nina and Matthias (but Jesper and Wylan are super cute, too!)

And finally, what does fandom mean to you? Oh gosh, here come the rambles - alright, so, being chronically ill, homebound a chunk of the year (and so many appointments it would make your head spin), and being NDcoded, having pocket friends I can find throughout fandom spaces has significantly changed and improved my extroverted depleted tanks from the last like decade. For me, fandom is creativity, exploring my own personhood through that process, and connecting with people I might not have ever found any other way - and if I'm lucky enough, I find some fellow weirdo besties to just be weird with in between errands and apps. I'm grateful for my pocket friends, and that fandom helped me find them 🫂❤️

[inkofamethyst]

December 23, 2023

November/December is kind of screwing me up a little because money anxiety (which I feel like I'm definitely exhibiting signs of) makes me want to maintain consistently high saving levels each month, including my "bonus savings" at the end of every month. By most/all accounts, I'm literally doing fine when you consider my age and the fact that I'm in graduate school. I need to write this out to remind myself that not having "bonus savings" at the end of this month does not mean I did not save anything for this month. This should be obvious, but alas. I do all of my monthly saving (for all goals) at the beginning of the month and have consistently (even this month !!!) allocated a relatively big chunk toward my brand new Roth to get it off the ground. So it's okay that gifting has limited the amount leftover for "bonus savings" because I'm still very much on track to reach my goals before the mostly arbitrary deadlines I set for myself.

God, sometimes the overachiever energy is just too much. It feels like.. like a cavity. Like how too much sugar without proper cleaning will lead to a cavity and potential infection, maintaining overachiverness without regular reminders of how I'm doing in reality will lead to that awful "never good enough" feeling because I keep raising an arbitrary bar to keep it ever out of reach to maintain the sense of a "challenge".

So, to reiterate, it is fine and okay to not have much in the manner of bonus savings, as long as I 1. saved at the beginning of the month and 2. did not actually spend more than I earned that month (emergencies and planned purchases excluded).

[edit: I'm also ever thankful for familial help financially actually because it's only due to their assistance that I've been able to save so aggressively these past few months without ever worrying whether I was going to be able to buy food or something (campus events with free food are also helpful). I mean I still clip coupons and watch for sales but if I want to be a little frivolous and buy frozen dumplings or something I still can, you know? I mean yes, sure, I could probably still get by without their help on my stipend, but the fact that I have help means that it may not be a totally financially ruinous decision (in a year or so, I'm sure, I will have settled into a comfortable routine and will not be as nervously obsessive over all of this, but what am I if not a bundle of obsessive nerves).]

Today I'm thankful that the discord chat gathering I hosted yesterday went really well!!! I haven't hosted anything big at my house in eight years and of those who came (all seven of us in the same place for the first time since 2019--four years!!) only my dnd-friend had actually been in my house before lol. I was lowkey anxious about hosting but my parents helped me set up a lot so I'm thankful for that too. We had a potluck which was lovely and we chatted and played games and it was just nice to see everyone again without having to work around a time zone spread of eight hours (though that's going to last for at least a couple more years). (Also thankful that the two dishes I tried for the first time went really well! Love adding new foods to the arsenal.)

Working on mini twists, should all be done tonight or tomorrow. It'll be nice to have them back in but the shrinkage is still crazyyyyy. Like my hair is def mid back length (though in need of a trim) but if I let it be after washing then it looks like it's three inches, and even with twists in it barely reaches my neck. I want a silk press so baddd. May have to add another savings goal for a $200 silk press at a salon somewhere near my school :/ UGH but I haven't been to a salon in like ten years and I'm so dreadfully tenderheaded. But I need to find someone to trim my ends.

Last thing: started reading Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson and it's very.. quaint, so far, I'd say. The narration is very storybook-y which can be fun to read though wasn't quite what I was expecting (but some lines are just so silly and out of the box that they put a smile on my face, and I love somatic reactions to media so much). I'm about a third of the way through after three days, so going steadily. Getting faster lol.

Actual last thing: Superman TAS is fun and interesting, but the music doesn't feel quite as special as BTAS. Like it's fine, it's heroic in the ways that it should be. I do like the animation a lot though, and maybe that's just the nostalgia haha it can be a lil visibly jerky sometimes :P

[finnsfilmblog]

Critical reflection - Film Form

758 words

Too Close for Comfort - a film directed by Gonçalo Gois, produced by Mara Prentice, Written by Gonçalo Gois, sound designed by Soairse Gillespie, cinematography by Keri Harvey, set and costume design by Esther Elbornova and finally, edited by myself.

As a group, we worked very well. I was going into a group where most people have worked together but felt as if I fit in really well, not just in the creative process but just in general. From brainstorming, to production to even post, we all kept in touch, got on well and had fun, but were productive. We had many meetings during pre productions, doing location scouts together, making sure everyone was on the same page, we even had a meeting right before the shoot which happened to land on Esther’s birthday - Gonçalo made sure to bring in party hats for that. This led to a very organised pre production era.

Within my role as editor, I was in charge of camera reports, clapper board (on one day, the other I took maras place as boom operator) and gathering the sod cards and transferring our footage onto my usb drive at the end of each shoot.

Outwith the shoot, I organised through sound and footage, transcoded, synced and cut together the clips in direct comparison the script and storyboard. This was very stressful and time consuming as we had to change shoot days which further lessened my editing time as well as the time to sound design. I was always aware of this and wanted to give Soairse as much time as possible so tried my best to get it done in good time. To help with this time issue, whenever I sent a cut to the group I was always given feedback from the director and cinematographer instantly so I could move onto our next cut. Also, and very I’m extremely grateful for this, Gonçalo our director offered to colour grade so sound I could also give time to my other project for film adaptation before submission. The sound synced up perfectly and all I had to add was credits before we submitted it. It was a very smooth edit apart from time.

I’m very happy with the feedback we received. Whenever critical feedback was given, a suggestion on how they would have fixed it was given which was super helpful in our learning process.

There was not a lot said about edit except that the close ups on the text could be longer, which I fully agree with, it was just down to the time limit on the submission itself. I think as we were cutting we were watching it from only a few seconds prior so the overall time on the text seems long enough - I recognised this was the problem as soon as Leo said this in the crit and will definitely keep it in mind for next time.

Set design was another factor that kept coming up during feedback during the crit. We expected this due to our time and location.

We had been searching for location for ages, had changed the story from a corridor to a waiting room to just a room…but still we had nothing. A couple days before the shoot, we were offered a room 1/53 on Craiglockhart campus. A few of us had this room for Ecology last trimester and knew it wasn’t the best so we continued our search but used it as a back up. We went for a viewing at the army base near Craiglockhart through Keri’s dad and see potential but unfortunately our timetables didn’t match up. 1/53 was big and included wooden panels. Esther definitely did what she could with the wall and if we had more time we would have done more things like the feedback suggested, for example, fully covering the panel walls with pictures of them.

The shakiness of the hand held camera was also brought up. It was first questioned why we did handheld, but it was then added it was just shaky. This was one of the pieces of feedback we got from Catriona during our first tutorial on our cuts and so I added stabiliser effects to the clips that were worse. However during the first watch at the crit, the shakiness was the first thing I noticed…in fact on the big screen it seemed worse than before I stabilised. I can only put this down to the size of screen I was working on versus the screen we were shown it on.

[wevelocityteampresents-blog]

King of the Alleyway!

Nintendo decided to add new games to the Game Boy section of Nintendo Switch Online. At first, I was fine just playing Super Mario Land or Mega Man: Dr. Wily's Revenge. But after a lengthy 2 months, I can safely say that Alleyway has become one of my new favorite games. (In fact, it's one of the best games the collection has to offer.)

This has to be the most dinky looking Goomba I've ever seen...

Sometimes, I play this game whenever I can't think straight. It's actually a surprising and efficient way to clear your mind. The same could be said for Tetris. But with the simplistic gameplay and minimal use of music throughout the game, I'd say Alleyway is a more relaxing game. (At least for me, anyway...)

Not only do I play Alleyway a lot, but I'm also pretty good at it, too!

This clip alone is proof of my mastery. The only thing in this game I've yet to master are the bonus stages. Just when I think I could actually hit all the blocks, time is already over. That's not to say I didn't manage to beat a handful of them.

After a month and a half, I finally managed to reach the end.

I still find it odd that they decided to use the classic arcade look for Mario instead of the design he's had since Super Mario Bros.

After all those months, I combed through all 24 stages and gathered a total score of 9,929 points. I did so well that even Mario seems to agree with me! Now, I know there are some readers out there who will say that 9,929 points is nothing to write home about. But those people are obviously the ones who decide to continue the game.

Alleyway doesn't stop after stage 24. It goes all the way back to stage 1 and essentially repeats itself. That's why I made up a personal rule whenever I play this game. If you beat stage 24, the score you have at the ending screen will be your final personal score.

If you continue past stage 24 and move on to stage 25, then your score doesn't count. Some people might think that my score doesn't count either due to the restore points feature. But I don't think restore points could be considered a bad thing. If you quit the title or shut down the system, you start at the title screen and risk losing all the progress you previously had. This oversight makes restore points a much-needed tool when you're trying to rack up points in Alleyway throughout small play sessions.

I love games like Alleyway! They're incredibly fun and leave you coming back for more. That's the reason I find myself playing a lot of arcade games. They're more affordable than the titles you can find on video game systems, and the desire to place first in a game's leaderboard is enough to keep me from getting bored.

I should play Alleyway again sometime if I feel like I can't work properly.

[dw-flagler]

Class ended in five minutes and all I could think was, an hour is too long for lunch.

Since the start of the semester, I had been looking forward to the part of Mr. Gladly’s World Issues class where we’d start discussing capes. Now that it had finally arrived, I couldn’t focus. I fidgeted, my pen moving from hand to hand, tapping, or absently drawing some figure in the corner of the page to join the other doodles. My eyes were restless too, darting from the clock above the door to Mr. Gladly and back to the clock. I wasn’t picking up enough of his lesson to follow along. Twenty minutes to twelve; five minutes left before class ended.

He was animated, clearly excited about what he was talking about, and for once, the class was listening. He was the sort of teacher who tried to be friends with his students, the sort who went by “Mr. G” instead of Mr. Gladly. He liked to end class a little earlier than usual and chat with the popular kids, gave lots of group work so others could hang out with their friends in class, and had ‘fun’ assignments like mock trials.

He struck me as one of the ‘popular’ kids who had become a teacher. He probably thought he was everyone’s favorite. I wondered how he’d react if he heard my opinion on the subject. Would it shatter his self image or would he shrug it off as an anomaly from the gloomy girl that never spoke up in class?

I glanced over my shoulder. Madison Clements sat two rows to my left and two seats back. She saw me looking and smirked, her eyes narrowing, and I lowered my eyes to my notebook. I tried to ignore the ugly, sour feeling that stewed in my stomach. I glanced up at the clock. Eleven-forty-three.

“Let me wrap up here,” Mr. Gladly said, “Sorry, guys, but there is homework for the weekend. Think about capes and how they’ve impacted the world around you. Make a list if you want, but it’s not mandatory. On Monday we’ll break up into groups of four and see what group has the best list. I’ll buy the winning group treats from the vending machine.”

There were a series of cheers, followed by the classroom devolving into noisy chaos. The room was filled with sounds of binders snapping shut, textbooks and notebooks being slammed closed, chairs screeching on cheap tile and the dull roar of emerging conversation. A bunch of the more social members of the class gathered around Mr. Gladly to chat.

Me? I just put my books away and kept quiet. I’d written down almost nothing in the way of notes; there were collections of doodles spreading across the page and numbers in the margins where I’d counted down the minutes to lunch as if I was keeping track of the timer on a bomb.

Madison was talking with her friends. She was popular, but not gorgeous in the way the stereotypical popular girls on TV were. She was ‘adorable’, instead. Petite. She played up the image with sky blue pins in her shoulder length brown hair and a cutesy attitude. Madison wore a strapless top and denim skirt, which seemed absolutely moronic to me given the fact that it was still early enough in the spring that we could see our breath in the mornings.

I wasn’t exactly in a position to criticize her. Boys liked her and she had friends, while the same was hardly true for me. The only feminine feature I had going for me was my dark curly hair, which I’d grown long. The clothes I wore didn’t show skin, and I didn’t deck myself out in bright colors like a bird showing off its plumage.

Guys liked her, I think, because she was appealing without being intimidating.

If they only knew.

The bell rang with a lilting ding-dong, and I was the first one out the door. I didn’t run, but I moved at a decent clip as I headed up the stairwell to the third floor and made my way to the girl’s washroom.

There were a half dozen girls there already, which meant I had to wait for a stall to open up. I nervously watched the door of the bathroom, feeling my heart drop every time someone entered the room.

As soon as there was a free stall, I let myself in and locked the door. I leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly. It wasn’t quite a sigh of relief. Relief implied you felt better. I wouldn’t feel better until I got home. No, I just felt less uneasy.

It took maybe five minutes before the noise of others in the washroom stopped. A peek below the partitions showed that there was nobody else in the other stalls. I sat on the lid of the toilet and got my brown bag lunch to begin eating.

Lunch on the toilet was routine now. Every school day, I would finish off my brown bag lunch, then I’d do homework or read a book until lunch hour was over. The only book in my bag that I hadn’t already read was called ‘Triumvirate’, a biography of the leading three members of the Protectorate. I was thinking I would spend as long as I could on Mr. Gladly’s assignment before reading, because I wasn’t enjoying the book. Biographies weren’t my thing, and they were especially not my thing when I was suspicious it was all made up.

Whatever my plan, I didn’t even have a chance to finish my pita wrap. The door of the bathroom banged open. I froze. I didn’t want to rustle the bag and clue anyone into what I was doing, so I kept still and listened.

I couldn’t make out the voices. The noise of the conversation was obscured by giggling and the sound of water from the sinks. There was a knock on the door, making me jump. I ignored it, but the person on the other side just repeated the knock.

“Occupied,” I called out, hesitantly.

“Oh my god, it’s Taylor!” one of the girls on the outside exclaimed with glee, then in response to something another girl whispered, I barely heard her add, “Yeah, do it!”

I stood up abruptly, letting the brown bag with the last mouthful of my lunch fall to the tiled floor. Rushing for the door, I popped the lock open and pushed. The door didn’t budge.

There were noises from the stalls on either side of me, then a sound above me. I looked up to see what it was, only to get splashed in the face. My eyes started burning, and I was momentarily blinded by the stinging fluid in my eyes and my blurring of my glasses. I could taste it as it ran down to my nose and mouth. Cranberry juice.

They didn’t stop there. I managed to pull my glasses off just in time to see Madison and Sophia leaning over the top of the stall, each of them with plastic bottles at the ready. I bent over with my hands shielding my head just before they emptied the contents over me.

It ran down the back of my neck, soaked my clothes, fizzed as it ran through my hair. I pushed against the door again, but the girl on the other side was braced against it with her body.

If the girls pouring juice and soda on me were Madison and Sophia, that meant the girl on the other side of the door was Emma, leader of the trio. Empty plastic bottles with labels for grape and cranberry juice fell to the ground around me. A bottle of orange soda bounced off my shoulder to splash into the puddle before rolling under the partition and into the next stall. The smell of the fruity drinks and sodas was sickly sweet. “Take that, you worm,” someone said on the other end of the door.

It swung open, and I glared up at the three girls. Madison, Sophia and Emma. Where Madison was cute, a late bloomer, Sophia and Emma were the types of girls that fit the ‘prom queen’ image. Sophia was dark skinned, with a slender, athletic build she’d developed as a runner on the school track team. Red-headed Emma, by contrast, had all the curves the guys wanted. She was good looking enough to get occasional jobs as a amateur model for the catalogs that the local department stores and malls put out. The three of them were laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world, but the sounds of their amusement barely registered with me. My attention was on the faint roar of blood pumping in my ears and an urgent, ominous crackling ‘sound’ that wouldn’t get any quieter or less persistent if I covered my ears with my hands. I could feel dribbles running down my arms and back, still chilled from the refrigerated vending machines.

I didn’t trust myself to say something that wouldn’t give them fodder to taunt me with, so I kept silent.

Carefully, I climbed to my feet and turned my back on them to get my backpack off the top of the toilet. Seeing it gave me pause. It had been a khaki green, before, but now dark purple blotches covered it, most of the contents of a bottle of grape juice. Pulling the straps around my shoulders, I turned around. The girls weren’t there. I heard the bathroom door bang shut, cutting off the sounds of their glee, leaving me alone in the bathroom, drenched.

I approached the sink and stared at myself in the scratched, stained mirror that was bolted above it. I had inherited a thin lipped, wide, expressive mouth from my mother, but my large eyes and my gawky figure made me look a lot more like my dad. My dark hair was soaked enough that it clung to my scalp, neck and shoulders. I was wearing a brown hooded sweatshirt over a green t-shirt, but colored blotches of purple, red and orange streaked both. My glasses were beaded with the multicolored droplets of juice and soda. A drip ran down my nose and fell from the tip to land in the sink.

Using a paper towel from the dispenser, I wiped my glasses off and put them on again. The residual streaks made it just as hard to see, if not worse than it had been.

Deep breaths, Taylor, I told myself.

I pulled the glasses off to clean them again with a wet towel, and found the streaks were still there.

An inarticulate scream of fury and frustration escaped my lips, and I kicked the plastic bucket that sat just beneath the sink, sending it and the toilet brush inside flying into the wall. When that wasn’t enough, I pulled off my backpack and used a two-handed grip to hurl it. I wasn’t using my locker anymore: certain individuals had vandalized or broken into it on four different occasions. My bag was heavy, loaded down with everything I’d anticipated needing for the day’s classes. It crunched audibly on impact with the wall.

“What the fuck!?” I screamed to nobody in particular, my voice echoing in the bathroom. There were tears in the corners of my eyes.

“The hell am I supposed to do!?” I wanted to hit something, break something. To retaliate against the unfairness of the world. I almost struck the mirror, but I held back. It was such a small thing that it felt like it would make me feel more insignificant instead of venting my frustration.

I’d been enduring this from the very first day of high school, a year and a half ago. The bathroom had been the closest thing I could find to refuge. It had been lonely and undignified, but it had been a place I could retreat to, a place where I was off their radar. Now I didn’t even have that.

I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do for my afternoon classes. Our midterm project for art was due, and I couldn’t go to class like this. Sophia would be there, and I could just imagine her smug smile of satisfaction as I showed up looking like I’d botched an attempt to tie-dye everything I owned.

Besides, I’d just thrown my bag against the wall and I doubted my project was still in one piece.

The buzzing at the edge of my consciousness was getting worse. My hands shook as I bent over and gripped the edge of the sink, let out a long, slow breath, and let my defenses drop. For three months, I’d held back. Right now? I didn’t care anymore.

I shut my eyes and felt the buzzing crystallize into concrete information. As numerous as stars in the night sky, tiny knots of intricate data filled the area around me. I could focus on each one in turn, pick out details. The clusters of data had been reflexively drifting towards me since I was first splashed in the face. They responded to my subconscious thoughts and emotions, as much of a reflection of my frustration, my anger, my hatred for those three girls as my pounding heart and trembling hands were. I could make them stop or direct them to move almost without thinking about it, the same way I could raise an arm or twitch a finger.

I opened my eyes. I could feel adrenaline thrumming through my body, blood coursing in my veins. I shivered in response to the chilled soft drinks and juices the trio had poured over me, with anticipation and with just a little fear. On every surface of the bathroom were bugs; Flies, ants, spiders, centipedes, millipedes, earwigs, beetles, wasps and bees. With every passing second, more streamed in through the open window and the various openings in the bathroom, moving with surprising speed. Some crawled in through a gap where the sink drain entered the wall while others emerged from the triangular hole in the ceiling where a section of foam tile had broken off, or from the opened window with peeling paint and cigarette butts squished out in the recesses. They gathered around me and spread out over every available surface; primitive bundles of signals and responses, waiting for further instruction.

My practice sessions, conducted away from prying eyes, told me I could direct a single insect to move an antennae, or command the gathered horde to move in formation. With one thought, I could single out a particular group, maturity or species from this jumble and direct them as I wished. An army of soldiers under my complete control.

It would be so easy, so easy to just go Carrie on the school. To give the trio their just desserts and make them regret what they had put me through: the vicious e-mails, the trash they’d upended over my desk, the flute –my mother’s flute– they’d stolen from my locker. It wasn’t just them either. Other girls and a small handful of boys had joined in, ‘accidentally’ skipping over me when passing out assignment handouts, adding their own voices to the taunts and the flood of nasty emails, to get the favor and attention of three of the prettier and more popular girls in our grade.

I was all too aware that I’d get caught and arrested if I attacked my fellow students. There were three teams of superheroes and any number of solo heroes in the city. I didn’t really care. The thought of my father seeing the aftermath on the news, his disappointment in me, his shame? That was more daunting, but it still didn’t outweigh the anger and frustration.

Except I was better than that.

With a sigh, I sent an instruction to the gathered swarm. Disperse. The word wasn’t as important as the idea behind it. They began to exit the room, disappearing into the cracks in the tile and through the open window. I walked over to the door and stood with my back to it so nobody could stumble onto the scene before the bugs were all gone.

However much I wanted to, I couldn’t really follow through. Even as I trembled with humiliation, I managed to convince myself to pick up my backpack and head down the hall. I made my way out of the school, ignoring the stares and giggles from everyone I walked past, and caught the first bus that headed in the general direction of home. The chill of early spring compounded the discomfort of my soaked hair and clothes, making me shiver.

I was going to be a superhero. That was the goal I used to calm myself down at moments like these. It was what I used to make myself get out of bed on a school day. It was a crazy dream that made things tolerable. It was something to look forward to, something to work towards. It made it possible to keep from dwelling on the fact that Emma Barnes, leader of the trio, had once been my best friend.

imagine a website where anytime you wanted to post a thought longer than a paragraph you had to end the first paragraph with the 🧵 emoji so people knew to keep reading

[charturnus]

from wht i hv gathered, you are in fact, relatable (for me atleast) and interesting 😤🧐

and omg i agree this is fun

uuhhh how about 3, 22, 24, 62, 65, 66 (u dont hv to answer all of these im sorry 💀)

- 🍊

3. what is your favorite part about your body?

Well... I'm still in ED recovery, so body stuff is very weird right now 🧍🏼‍♀️ But I think my hands look nice sometimes, especially when my nails are done!

22. reason you joined tumblr?

There's a bit of a story to this.

I was never interested in marvel until I saw clips of wandavision on my twitter feed and became infatuated with Kathryn Hahn. And because I have no chill, I then proceeded to watch (and rate/review) most of the mainline films until I finally got to wandavision. Along the journey my love for Wanda, Nat, and loads of other characters grew and I knew I had to join the fandom online.

I've been on tumblr since 2012 so I used my now dormant blog to browse around some fandom stuff and found the fics of course. Accounts like caroldantops and maximotts made me want to set up a separate account for my fic writing stuff, because it just looked like so much fun.

24. what’s something most people love that you hate?

Hate is a strong word, but children and motherhood 💀 I just can't bring myself to like kids, and I have nightmares about being forced into giving birth. Kids just aggravate me, and it's not their fault bc they don't know better, so I prefer to stay away. My sister has children, and I watched my baby nephew not too long ago. I was dead tired after only 3 hours 😩

65. favorite term of endearment?

Darling!!!! Dear!!! And if we're talking old school, beloved and dearest!!

God I am such a hopeless romantic, I'm telling you I am a SUCKER for little things like that. Give me a flower that you picked out on a walk bc it made you think of me and call me darling and suddenly I'm planning a wedding.

66. who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?

Helena bonham Carter, specially as Bellatrix LeStrange, at the ripe age of 12.

That just goes to show that I've always been the way I am.

I left 62 to the end bc this is kinda dark, so maybe look away if you're not down for that 😭

62. worst thing you’ve ever done?

This is simultaneously the worst and the best thing I've ever done.

Saw my mother for the first time in 10 years in 2020. She abused and neglected me as a child, was telling everyone she was dying (she wasn't), so I went to see her. I told her how much I'd suffered at her hands and she laughed. So, I told her exactly how happy I am that she isn't a part of my life anymore, how she would die alone because she has turned everyone who loved her against her and how my sister is more a mother to me than she ever was. She cried and I didn't.

[pinkhairedlily]

Blue Fire Tree

Prompt: Everlasting (last day omgggg) | Gift for @tinaillustrations ! Hope you like this fluffy piece! I enjoyed writing this one. 🤗| Happy HitsuHina Week! @hitsuhina-week 💛💙

“Fire trees should be blue not red,” Ichika mumbles while filling in the traced pattern of the tree on the canvass as Hinamori gathers her unruly red mane into a semblance of a bun. Her charge was a Shinigami apprentice and had the hodgepodge attitude of both of her parents. She was sarcastic, blunt, inquisitive, passionate, and kind.

Renji thought she was the best person to teach his daughter common spells to start off her training. Not that Hinamori disliked being the resident kido expert. She particularly loved the monicker, but there were times she felt she didn’t deserve the title. Like today when, for some other reason, Ichika and her was blindsided by arts and crafts.

“Wouldn’t you like the flowers to resemble your hair?” Hinamori clips the last of the strands and looks over the child’s shoulder. The colors spill out of the lines and the scenery seems to change from summer to winter.

“But blue is the hottest color. Imagine trees blooming with the brightest flames, the most intense warmth, and the most lasting flowers.” Ichika finishes the piece with a last dash of blue paint. The apprentice turns to her and asks, “Does it look so desolate?”

“No, not really. To me, winter has always been warm.“

Someone coughs behind them to get their attention. Hitsugaya Toushiro, captain of the 10th Division, stands awkwardly at the entrance of the dojo with a tray of tea and pot of biscuits. It doesn’t escape her notice that he used the tea set she gave last Christmas, and this observation makes her feel giddy inside.

Maybe I’m just appreciative of people who use my gifts, Hinamori justifies to herself.

“Hello, Captain Hitsugaya. Is that for us or for Vice-Captain Momo?” Ichika greets him as she takes the tray off his hands.

The blush creeps on the captain’s face just as quickly as his brows furrow in annoyance. He quickly glares at the mischievous remark of Ichika and redirects his gaze to his equally flustered childhood best friend. “This was not of my own good will. I was threatened by Byakuya to take good care of his precious niece, and it just so happens that this space is under my jurisdiction.”

Hinamori tilts her head in a slight apology. “I hope we don’t bother you too much. Would you like to join us for some art session? Ichika loves to paint today.”

He almost says something, but he stops himself. His stance goes from alert to rigid, and tension fills the air. “Maybe some other time.” Ichika glances from her current teacher to the captain and back to her teacher again.

“Oh, sorry for taking up your time.” Hinamori slightly bows, unsure of what transpired just now, and Hitsugaya nods in return. Before he is completely out of her sight, she calls out to him again.

“Shiro-chan?” He glances back at the sound of his nickname. “Thanks for the tea.”

He smiles in mild annoyance before he flash-steps out of their sight. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you.”

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

“Something’s bothering you,” Rangiku says to Hinamori as she slides beside her in the ramen booth. “Your treat in exchange for my wisdom.” She proceeds to order her usual ramen and sake combo.

“How was your trip to the Land of the Living?” Hinamori asks, obviously skirting the issue she wishes to raise.

“Kazui is subdued and gentle like his mother, but somehow, he manages to get into fights with bullies on the street. It’s his Ichigo genes.” The combo meal arrives along with two shot glasses. “How are you doing with the chaotic devil spawn Ichika?”

“She’s progressing really fast with the kido, but she gets so distracted easily. It’s cute though that Renji and Rukia are not pressuring her. Great parents. How nice it must be.”

Rangiku side-eyes her while slurping the thick noodles. “How nice what now – “

Hinamori plays with her empty bowl and fidgets with her chopsticks. “To not be alone.”

She chokes on her noodles and quickly downs half of the sake bottle. “Oh, this is great news! I have someone on my mind who would like to be in your company forever.”

Hinamori gives no response and instead continues fiddling with her bowl. “How nice it is to be also like Shiro-chan, content and busy enough to be single. How do I become like your captain, Rangiku?”

The smile fades from the woman’s face and is replaced by a bustling vein near her temple. “I’m sorry what did that short man do or say to you?”

“I asked him if he would like to do some art with us, you know, help me with babysitting for a few minutes, but he literally stiffened like a stick. Seems like he doesn’t want to waste time with kids or do any family-related activities. Or maybe he’s just too busy, captain duties and all.”

And yet he took the time to bring you tea, a voice screams inside her mind.

“That’s….rude,” an exasperated Rangiku remarks. She pours a glass for Hinamori and decides on a plan. “Unless you’re seeing him as….?”

“Huh? Oh no no no.” Hinamori downs the liquid in one gulp, suddenly embarrassed by her friend’s insinuation. “We’re just friends, childhood friends. I…don’t see Shiro-chan that way.”

“Sure, whatever you say Momo. Do you want me to introduce you to some people?”

Hinamori looks up at her, doe-eyed.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

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

Hinamori actually forgot about her request to Rangiku as she and her student started to settle in a rather serious kido training. The plan apparently was set to happen after a week when she came across a bulletin announcing her quest for a perfect match through a one-day interview application. This was the first time Hinamori wanted to be swallowed by the void and never return to Seiretei.

She finds herself visiting Division 10 HQ every afternoon but to no avail since coincidentally, Rangiku has some errands to do in Karakura, and won’t be back until the date of the interview. Or maybe it has also something to do with Hinamori avoiding Hitsugaya and having to do all the explaining. And so she had no choice but to wait for the inevitable day.

“Uhhh Vice-Captain Matsumoto, you said introduce, not organize a whole dating screening process!” Hinamori’s voice goes a pitch higher for each word, but Rangiku is too busy arranging the people lining up to notice her.

Her current captain, Shinji Hirako, chuckles beside the blondie, amused by the growing line of eligible Shinigami singles in their HQ. “You are quite the eye candy in our division, huh. Didn’t expect you’d have this many suitors.” He squeezes his vice-captain’s shoulder as form of reassurance. “You should have told me, Hinamori. I could have set you up in an arranged marriage.”

“Captain, that’s atrocious!” Hinamori protests. She walks over to Rangiku to disperse the line, but Yumichika and Ikkaku move to her side and grabs her midway through her litany of objections. They lead her to a makeshift container with two chairs facing each other and a table in between.

“This is ridiculous,” Hinamori mumbles her breath, her energy already defeated by the two dumbasses in front of her.

“Well to be fair, Hinamori, this is a long time coming,” Yumichika says.

“And the result necessitates this kind of method so stop mumbling and screen your admirers, babe,” Ikkaku supplies. Irritated, Hinamori chases them off with two fireballs.

The first ten Shinigami ‘applicants’ were too insufferable as they were clearly aiming for the prestige of her position.

“If dating a vice-captain would give me a higher seat in Gotei 13 then why am I still single?” she bats the question to the 11th person who sat across her. When they didn’t give her an answer, she sighs, “Next please.”

“Would you know what’s my favorite brand of tea?”

“Uhh, Robusta.”

“I believe that’s coffee. Next please.”

“Hello, vice-captain Hinamori, I brought you peaches. They’re my favorite.”

“I’m allergic to them. I’m sorry. Next please?”

“What are your strengths?”

“Well, I can do shunpo.”

“That’s basic Shinigami skills.”

“…………..”

“…………..”

“I’ll see myself out. Thank you for your time, vice-captain.”

“I know you’re traumatized by Aizen-“

The container collapses as Hinamori summons Tobiume.

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

“I think I will be forever alone.” Hinamori looks on as her fellow vice-captains clean up the mess she incurred over the unfinished statement earlier.

“I’m really sorry if I did the whole thing over the top,” Rangiku tells her sincerely. She hugs the raven-haired girl and waits in silent for the commotion to die down. “Though the last one was really foul, and you were valid to be angry.”

“I was afraid I’d burn down Captain Shinji’s quarters.”

“You can, just to piss him off. The whole process is so draining, huh?” Hinamori nods at the observation. Rangiku continues, seemingly voicing her own thoughts, “It’s hard to put yourself out there especially when they don’t know batshit about you. Would be easier if you have common interests or when they’re already your friend.”

The last phrase is said so pointedly that Hinamori’s mind automatically pictures Hitsugaya. She runs along with her imagination. How easy it would be indeed to spend the rest of her life with him. And as if her mind conjured him, the 10th Division Captain comes into view alongside Ichika. It looks like her student dragged him to the unfortunate event.

There’s an angry glint in his eyes that Hinamori noticed. It was the torn expression he wore when she wounded her knees back when they were kids, the same frown when she told him she would kill for the traitor, the same worried eyes when she almost died. But his eyes refuse to meet hers.

“You missed all the fun, Captain.” Rangiku stretches out her arms as she stands up. She gestures for the rest of their friends to come nearer so they could re-group and go home. “It was a bad plan, and I owe Hinamori one. So we’re kinda ready for your scolding.”

Hitsugaya stays silent throughout the shuffling of his fellow Shinigami, in fact he remains frozen for too long that Ichika elbows him to get a response out of him. “Come on, you ruminated one week for this, and I had to physically stop you from harassing the interested applicants.”

“Shut up, Ichika,” the silver-haired captain mutters.

“I’ll tell on you to Uncle Byakuya!” the redhead sticks out her tongue and runs over to the side of Rangiku.

More annoyed than ever, Hitsugaya grunts and storms off towards Hinamori. “I’m not here to scold anyone. I’m here for the….dating application,” he gulps amid the collective gasps that ran through the group and the muffled laughter of Rangiku who clearly foresaw this.

“Well, what can I say, but fucking finally!” The blonde swigs a new bottle of wine from inside her robes and goes to do a little crowd control.

Hinamori’s eyes get a little bit bigger, and she stares at him with mouth agape, but she lets him grab her hand, in a gentle manner that he usually does, and brings her to the farthest fire tree in the area.

“Shiro-chan, what did you mean……” She continues to stare at his hand who somehow refuses to let go of her yet.

Ironically, he is also staring at the same hand, unsure whether to let go right now before he can actually say something. “I don’t know why you had to go through all of that.”

“I’m..I’m still confused, to be honest. It was just a passing feeling of loneliness, and I rambled to Rangiku which she took seriously….” Hinamori knows she is starting to word vomit out of nervousness, but she halts when he finally lets her go. Maybe she has misunderstood his presence again.

Hitsugaya raises his palm to her. “Would you let me…uhhh…word vomit this time?”

She slowly nods, rather shocked at his insistence, and even more so when he chooses to ramble.

“Momo, I have a cold reiatsu. My touch is never warm. But I know you like green tea, steeped in warm water for exactly 10 minutes, and that you don’t put sugar. You are afraid of storms, and you need a blanket around you to calm down. You like watermelon, but I think it’s because I subjected you to multiple summers of conditioning. You’re my childhood best friend. You’re hardworking. You are a kido expert. You earned your right to be a vice-captain, and you’ll do greater things.

And I know it’s not enough to say that I know you, I’ve always known you, but will it be enough for you to allow me to stay beside you?”

Hinamori leans against the trunk of the fire tree, breathless from his train of words. “Oh my god, this is too overwhelming. I thought you hated being not single.”

“What?” Hitsugaya looks at her with a puzzled expression.

“You don’t like Ichika. Or doing art…with kids.”

“Well, Ichika is a brat to me, but she’s a good student and will be a good Shinigami like her parents.” He nurses his temples for the growing headache. “Momo, listen to me.” He steps closer to her and makes sure she’s only looking at him. “I panicked because I visualized you and me….and you know. It wasn’t right when I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

“Oh.” The moment of realization dawns on her. “Oh, that’s great.”

“So we can finally go back to how we were.” Hitsugaya lets out a shaky breath as he sits on the grass and watches as the red petals of the fire tree shower them lightly.

A blushing Hinamori crouches down to his level. “Well, not quite. You should know, Shiro-chan, your reiatsu has always been warm and comforting to me.” She reaches out to take his hand and intertwines their fingers.

Hitsugaya smiles as he silently thanks himself that he outgrew her by two inches so he could easily slip a kiss on her forehead. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya.”

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

Ichika tries to see beyond the wall of spectators but Rangiku is not letting anyone through. She huffs indignantly, wanting to know whether her incessant prodding and pestering of the oblivious Hitsugaya bore some fruit. She has no choice but to juice out all the details later on from her uncle.

On second thought, maybe she won’t have to. Blue petals swayed with the light breeze of the wind, and on the far edge of the Fifth Division’s HQ is a lone blue fire tree.

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

A Trip to the Market

WELP I JUST WENT AND WROTE A FIC FOR @cptnbvcks​ NOW SHE’S GOTTA FORGIVE ME FOR TALKING ABT FUCKING JAR JAR BINKS

This fic is really indulgent. Cus what this fandom totally needs is another fic abt groping in a cantina and then fuckin in alley. Anyway I hope you enjoy this horny mess i’ve made. This one’s for all my homies with thicc thighs! directily inspired by this post and then encougraged this idiot

Din DjarinX female!Reader (no y/n)//The Mandalorian

wordcount: 5.4k

warnings: SMUT, dom!Mando, bondage/ropes (not restraints tho), teasing, slight exhibitionism/sex in public, fingering, penetration, cockwarming, oral (f receving), some cum eating, aftercare, shibari **PLEASE NOTE: I DONT KNOW SHIT ABT SHIBARI, THIS FIC IS FANTASY, DO NOT USE IT AS A GUIDE. go learn abt it from someone who knows what they’re talking abt cus that’s not me lol

You hadn’t been sitting long when Mando arrived—crossing the threshold of the cantina exactly when he said he would, as punctual as ever. You watched as he surveyed the room, taking in every patron before moving from the entrance. He made his way across the dusty floor, his steps strong and sure as he approached your table.

Silently he slid in the booth, settling to sit directly next to you with his back to the wall. You had been mindful to choose a table in the back of the room, knowing his preference for positioning himself.  

“Have a good morning?” He asked, the visor of his helmet tilting towards you ever so slightly.

“We did,” you smiled, thinking about the little green toddler before taking a sip of your drink as you shifted your weight, adjusting to be more comfortably seated—your surprise for Mando proving to make sitting for an extended period quite awkward. “We went for a walk along the river and caught some toads. Little guy was worn out by the time we got back so he’s down for a nap right now instead of coming along. Any luck finding the lead on that bounty?” You fiddled with the cup in your hand, rocking the bottom of it against the stained wooden table as he hummed in response, the sound coming across crackled through his helmet.

“No.” Mando’s answer was clipped and you could tell he was distracted. Unable to see his eyes, it was impossible to know exactly what he was looking at, but you’d bet all your credits he had finally noticed the creep at the bar.

From the moment you had walked in he’d been staring, watching intently as you ordered your drink and sat down to wait for the Mandalorian. The stranger wore a wide brim hat pulled low over his brow, shading his face in the already dimly lit cantina. You had been stared at plenty of times before, but usually they stopped once they caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian. This guy though, he had continued to keep his head turned squarely in your direction.

“I’ve just been ignoring him,” you stated as you nudged Mando’s elbow with your own, pulling his attention back to you.

“I know,” he replied, still looking out, watching the room. “As long as he doesn’t try anything.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Mando’s hand started to move, pulling away from where it rested on the tabletop. Situations like this with the creep were nothing new, and both you and Mando realized that sometimes, certain displays were effective in getting a message across to strangers that wouldn’t leave you alone. When you were making plans earlier with Mando over the com-link, he suggested meeting up at the cantina, and you wondered if something like this would happen—but as his hand landed on the bare skin just below the hem of your skirt, you suddenly didn’t care.

The worn leather of Mando’s glove cupped your knee, giving a small squeeze before continuing to drift along your thigh. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile—there was a bubble of excitement in your chest that was not only your normal jitters from feeling Mando’s hands on you, but an eagerness for him to discover…

His pinky bumped into it first. You could tell he had noticed by the way his touch hesitated before continuing. Once the rest of his fingers slid further up, stroking over each ridge of the eight woven cords binding around your thighs, his helmet spun around—his neck snapping to face you. You tried to flash him a face of innocence as if you had no idea why you suddenly had the ever-vigilant Mandalorian’s undivided attention.

Looping a finger through one one of the bands wrapped around your legs he tugged, feeling the soft give of your flesh against the coarse material. “Are these ropes?” he asked, his voice sounding low through the vocoder as the visor stayed even, trained on you. You could almost feel his gaze boring into you like blaster fire, watching for even the slightest hint of a tell.

“Uh-huh,” you confirmed with a quick nod. “Tied it myself.”

“I want to see—”

“No!” You spoke quickly, hands jumping to grab his forearm as you interrupted him before remembering to keep your voice low. “Mando, there’s people watching.” You raised your eyebrows, trying to make your point clear but you felt his touch tracing along the crisscrossing cords, following how they snaked around your curves.

You had taken your time before leaving the Razor Crest, starting at your waist and then moving to twist the rope to wrap around each leg four times. The loops were spaced evenly along outside of your thigh, crisscrossing into an alluring woven pattern that drew in towards your center. It had been a spur of the moment idea, a fun way to surprise the Mandalorian—and you were happy with the results so far. You felt secure with the cords winding around your hips and you knew he also enjoyed when you were bound like this—even if it was unusual for you to tie them yourself.

But Mando didn’t like your answer. Seeing his face wasn’t necessary to know he was annoyed, you could feel the warning in the way his hand tensed.

With a gulp you finished off your drink and left the empty cup on the table before moving away from him, scooting out of the booth. He didn’t try to hold you in your seat, letting your legs slide from under his hands. Gathering your things, you draped the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder so the leather crossed your chest, resting comfortable between your breasts.

“I have a few errands I want to run, see if I can find one of those valves and maybe get some food.” You tried to keep your expression nonchalant, attempting to sound candid and not react to the way Mando was watching you. It was hard to tell just where he was looking but you were sure he was imagining you without your flowy orange sundress.

“Fine,” he sighed, his voice sounding like a huff through the distortion of the hemlet. Mando rose from his seat, standing over you before he gestured for you to lead the way.

You couldn’t remember the last time Mando had walked beside you. Usually he trailed two paces behind, keeping you directly in his range of vision as he scanned the surroundings—always on alert incase of a surprise—but now he stayed close, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours until he raised his hand to rest on the small of your back.

His fingers stroked along your hips—something small that seemed like an affectionate caress at first, but he was searching. Once he found the bump from the rope that looped around your middle under the fabric of your dress, he thumbed at it, idly strumming—and training your thoughts on his touch.

You tried to ignore him, searching the stalls as you moved through the open air market. Stepping away from his grasp, you approached a vendor, interested in the fruits they were selling. His hand had fallen from your back but Mando stayed within arm’s reach.

The Mandalorian appeared stoic as ever as you attempted to barter with the middle aged man who stood across the table of produce. The vendor had no way of seeing how Mando’s hand danced around the hem of your skirt behind you—the occasional brush of his fingertips against the back of your leg, or the way he would pinch and tug at your dress distracting you from the conversation at hand. His efforts paired with the language barrier lead you to struggle communicating and eventually give up, waving your hands and walking away.

Mando followed, ever the sentinel at your heels, until you halted to face him.

“Cut it out,” you hissed, feeling a familiar heat creeping into your cheeks from behind your ears. You wondered for a moment if he could tell—he mentioned once his visor had a sensor for changes in body temperature.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His helmet dipped, looking at you as he continued with a professional tone, “I’m just making sure you’re safe. We’re on a new planet, in a strange town surrounded by people. I think it’s prudent I stay close, don't you?”

With a huff you spun on your heel—if he was going to play it like that you’d have your own fun. As you turned you tried to add as much of a twist as you could, knowing well the way the dress’ light fabric flounced with abrupt movements. A subtle fling of your hand guided it to billow and lift, catching the air to reveal just enough. He most likely only saw the briefest glimpse of what you were hiding but you knew that was ample fodder.

You weren’t able to move quickly, the reality of wearing ropes wound around the apex of your thighs while walking in a humid climate was starting to make itself known—and just the feeling of Mando’s hands on you had been exciting enough to make you wet, a fact that was more apparent due to your lack of underwear.

It wasn’t long until Mando was on you again, his touch was more brazen; resting his palm over your ass rather than repeating the glancing touches from before. Reaching back you grabbed at his wrist and pulled his arm forward, hooking your elbow around his to hold him close and keep his wandering touch in place.

Spotting a vender with barrels of grain you steered Mando in her direction, knowing your pantry could always use more rice. This seller was an older woman and knew enough Universal Basic that you were able to discuss prices without much difficulty. As you went back and forth with the vendor, going through the ritual of haggling down to an agreement, you felt Mando’s arm slip away but paid it no mind.

It wasn’t until you turned to Mando to ask if he wanted beans too or not that you noticed he wasn’t there. Frantically you checked over your other shoulder then spun around, searching for the crowd for a glint of his beskar reflecting in the bright sun, but there was nothing, not a single piece of reflective metal in sight. Why would he just walk off without telling you?

Returning to look at the venor, you frantically tried to think how to simply ask for her help. “Please, did you see my—,” Fuck, what do you call Mando? Your boss? Your friend? “The Mandalorian, did you see where he went?” The woman didn’t seem at all concerned by your worried expression as she gestured to the alley around the side of the building she was set up in front of. “Thank you!” You called over your shoulder, already leaving to follow him.

“Mand—,” you started as you rounded the mudbrick corner, halting midstep as you spotted him. Mando was standing face to face with the creep from the bar. You had no clue what they were discussing but it was obvious to you that The Mandalorian was not about to fight him. His posture was relaxed, shoulders rolled back with his thumbs hooked around his belt buckle to rest his arms. If there was the possibility of something happening Mando’s hand would be much closer to his blaster.

Just as you had begun to will your feet to move, Mando and the stranger clasped each other’s forearms and let go, then the stranger then handed something off before turning away. Passing you as he made his exit, the man you had originally thought of as some creep gave you a friendly nod and smile.

“What was that about?” You asked as you stopped next to Mando, still watching the retreating figure over your shoulder.

“The lead I’ve been looking for.” Turning around you noticed what he had been given: a tracking fob with the light still blinking. “Apparently he’s been following me all day, watching. Heard me talking to you, that’s how he knew to be at the cantina.”

“Did you know someone was following you?”

“Of course,” Mando stated, tucking the device away safely into one of his many pouches. Suddenly his on edge behavior all day made a little more sense.

“Well, now that’s all settled,” You began, making to leave the shadowy alley and return to the market. “The lady at the stall was offering an extra half pound of beans for a reduced price if I—”

Mando stopped you mid sentence and stride by a single finger hooked around the rope—keeping you from moving forward in a lazy hold. “We’re not done here,” he admonished, jerking your hips back with a quick tug for added emphasis.

Your body’s reaction to his voice was instant; you could feel a hard pulse of want in your pelvis as he grabbed at your skirt. Bringing your hands to the strap of your bag, you nervously fiddled with it at the center of your chest, fighting the urge to stop his wandering touch even though you were aware of the constant threat of someone walking around the corner.

Mando continued to hold your skirt up with one hand—the fabric balled in a fist he kept resting in the small of your back—as the other dropped. His fingers traced along the ropes, following one from your hips down your thigh before returning back up to grab you ass and moving on to the other thigh. He seemed to be mapping every inch with his touch before he wrapped his fist around the cord at the side of your hip and pulled you to turn around.

Letting out a soft ‘oh’ in surprise you stumbled, falling back slightly until your shoulder blades bumped into the stone wall. “Hold your skirt up,” he ordered, his visor dipping to watch your hands as you grabbed the hem and lifted it like a curtain, unveiling your gift for him. Your cheeks were burning, embarrassed to be doing something so brazen in public, but all you wanted was for him to touch you. You made to press your thighs—the urge to rub them together not even conscious of you—but your skin stung, red and raw from the damp friction, it had begun to chafe. Though you reacted to the pain, separating your legs a little bit more, it sent an exciting tingle through your limbs, adding to the fire burning low in your belly.

With both of his hands available now, Mando started at your waist, trailing over the crisscrossing bindings while his thumbs gently rubbed at the woven design. He came to the loops secured around your outer thighs and his fingers hovered for a moment before hooking underneath.

Gripping the cords, he easily lifted you up off your feet.

Gasping you wavered, off balance and hanging a few inches over the ground. One of your hands dropped your skirt, flying up to brace yourself against his currias as your feet swung, looking for purchase. He held you in the air for a solid moment—the ropes pulling but not biting at your skin due to the harness evenly supporting your weight.

Dropping you to the ground he let out a hum, his hands cupping your hips. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? I think I did pretty well!” You countered, smacking your palm flat against his beskar in protest.

“Your knots need work.” Mando reached to your waist, easily undoing the fastening at the front. “And it’s loose.” Holding the tails in his left fist, he grabbed at the leading lines, giving each a tug hard enough to move your hips as he tightened what he could before finishing with his own knot, pulling three times to secure it. Reaching back to your sides he tested the ropes again, pulling to check they were just right. “If you keep them tight, it won't rub your skin raw as you walk.”

You simpered, biting your lip as you looked away, you had really been hoping he hadn’t noticed, but of course he did—Mando is nothing if not observant.

This time when he gave a hard jerk to spin you around against the wall, you weren’t caught off guard and managed to brace yourself with your hands on the bricks as he pressed up against you. Mando’s hips were flush against your ass, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing along you through the canvas of his trousers.

“Your ass looks so good tied up like this.” Mando’s voice was low, close behind your ear. “All pinched and round, just for me.” His hands traveled around your hips as he leaned back, keeping his erection against you as he squeezed and played with your bottom. You yelped as he gave your left cheek a hard smack, realizing that he had taken his gloves off. He pulled his hips away as his hand slid down between your legs. Letting out something like a whimper at the loss of contact, it quickly morphed into a moan as his thick fingers easily pushed between your lips. You shuddered at the contact, the shock of him finally touching you running up your spine to tingle at the base of your skull as your fingers gripped at the stones before you.

“You like walking around like this don’t you? All bound and teasing me.” Mando’s voice was deep, coming from somewhere in his chest as he rambled. He knew what his dirty talk did to you and you were sure he could feel the effects now—his fingers pressed against your hole as it fluttered. “It’s obvious how much you love this; you’re dripping,” his tone was chiding but light as his touch swirled around your pussy, showing just how wet you had gotten.

You tried to stay still, pressing yourself against the wall as the rough texture of the bricks dragged against your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. The sound of Mando playing with your drenched heat was audible over the background hum of the market twenty feet away.

Mando knew what he was doing, teasing you by gliding his fingers everywhere but your clit—you were so worked up that you might cum if he did and he realized this. “So wet, and it got all over the ropes. I bet you’re sore.” His hand pulled away, making a notable squelch as his fingers left your pussy to stroke along your bound inner thighs, spreading your slickness even further and making a mess. “And now you have to walk all the way back to the Razor Crest.”

Once he had finished wiping his hand on your legs, you watched, your cheek still pressed against the wall with eyes half dazed glancing over your shoulder, as he pulled his gloves back on.

“No-o,” you whined pathetically in protest once you fully realized what he was saying. “I was so close, you can’t stop.”

Mando gave your ass—which was still pointed out, your back curled so he had easy access to you—another hard slap before pulling your skirt down over your bottom, hiding the rope harness again. “We need to start moving if we want to get back and have time to fuck before the little one wakes up.”

Through you grumbled out an agreement, you apparently still weren’t moving fast enough for Mando, who grabbed your waist and pulled you up straight, pivoting you to face forward as you kept trying to adjust your dress.

He kept his palm flat against you, resting between your shoulder blades, while exiting the alley way. The sudden light of the sun after being in the shade hurt your eyes. Holding up a hand you tried to shield your face and let Mando guide you until you could see again. Squinting, it took a second to realize why he had stopped.

Standing in front of the same stall from before, Mando spoke up saying something you didn’t understand but the woman pulled up a second sack and began filling it with the beans she had been offering you.

Confused you looking up at Mando and found his helmet turned towards you. “You have the credits,” he said evenly, giving away nothing—his voice sounding as unemotional as ever though his hand on your back was stroking small soothing circles into your skin.

“Oh right,” you mumbled, quickly twisting to search in your shoulder bag for the little purse of metal currency. As you handed the money to the woman—who seemed to take in your flushed cheeks and how close The Mandalorian was standing, before giving you a knowing smirk—Mando hoisted the sack of rice and beans that had been tied together over his shoulder. With a nod he said one more thing which the woman repeated back before he was leading you into the crowd of the market.

Each step you took was careful—cautious to avoid irritating your skin further—focused more on your gait than where you were going as Mando led you through the throng of people who parted easily for the armored man.

“You speak the language here?” You finally asked, looking up at his beskar helmet as you furrowed your brow.

“Only a little bit.”

“And you let me make a fool of myself in front of that fruit seller, while you were pinching my ass?” You were peeved with him but you still wondered what his expression was under there—was he wearing some cheeky grin, thoroughly entertained by your frustrations?

Instead his head turned towards you as he simply replied, “It was cute.”

A hint of a laugh came through the vocoder though, you were sure of it.

+++... .... .. -... .- .-. ..+++

Returning to the Razor Crest the first thing you did was flop into a chair by the makeshift dining table that had been cobbled together as the number of residents on the ship grew. Mando was gone without a word, disappearing into the cockpit with a swish of his cape.

You watched as he climbed the ladder until he was out of view before checking your thighs. With gentle taps you tested the patches of red skin, hissing slightly as you brushed against the largest welt. Luckily the damage was not as bad as you feared and would heal quickly. Carefully you ran your finger along the ropes, feeling just how damp and sticky they had gotten from your excitement.

“How’re you feeling?” Mando’s voice spooked you, making you suddenly aware of his presence as your head shot up and your knees snapped closed. He stood nearby, holding a small jar you recognized as the bacta-ointment he uses on burns and rashes.

“Not nearly as bad as I thought, I should be fine.” You gave him a warm smile as he crossed the grated floor, setting the first aid down as he came to stand in front of you.

“Are you good to keep going? I checked on the little womp rat, he’s still snoring.” Mando’s fingers brushed lightly along the edge of your hand, sending tingles up your arm from the briefest touch.

You bit your lip and nodded, looking up at him through your lashes as you replied, “I am,” but before you could even finish the short confirmation he was already grabbing at you—hoisting you onto the wobbly table by your upper arms.

The jar of bacta clattered onto the floor, mindlessly shoved out of the way. You gasped while Mando practically ripped your dress up over your head, his eagerness to see you nude overriding any caution. Trying to find your balance, you braced yourself with both arms behind you, holding you up right as he grabbed your left leg, bringing it up so your ankle rested on his shoulder.

Sitting on the table like that with your legs spread, you were fully on display for Mando. He let out an approving growl, something that vibrated out from behind his ribs as he made quick work of shedding his belt. You felt a low throb, your pussy begging for him to fill you as you watched him undress.

The head of his cock was almost purple when he pulled it out, precum leaking from the tip. With a swipe between your lips that was too quick to be any kind of satisfying, he gathered your juices on his fingers, and spread your slick along his shaft.

“Mando,” you pleaded, dragging out the last syllable of his nickname into a whine. “I need you inside of me, please.”

He didn’t hesitate, done with teasing you. Mando lined himself up with your center and pushed. His cock filled you quickly, stretching your walls to take his girth but finding no resistance in the abundant lubrication.

“By the Maker,” he hissed, his voice husky even with the distortion and static as he paused, holding in place to enjoy the way your pussy hugged him. “How are you so tight and so wet?” You felt another throb at his words, tensing around him as he spoke.

“It’s because your cock is so fu-fucking bi-ig.” You tried to banter, counter his comments but the way his cock pressed inside you—prodding at your very end—got in the way of you forming coherent thoughts.

With a deep groan, Mando started to move, pulling out as you whimpered. He held your waist, fingers gripping at your bindings when he thrusted back into you. Wasting no time, he settled into a brutal pace, fucking you hard with such a convenient handle. You moaned and shuddered, your own hips matching his movements, chasing the tension you could feel building in your core as his cock dragged inside you. You tried to hold yourself up against the table but you were tired and your arms quickly got sore.

“Mando—,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest to catch his attention. He halted abruptly, his visor snapping up from where he’d been watching your pussy take him to your eyes. “Flip me over,” you requested, your voice airy but loud enough for him to hear.

His breathing was heavy, little puffs coming from his helmet as he nodded. Pulling again on the ropes he rolled you onto your front, drawing your hips back from the edge before sinking into you with ease. You let out a low moan, the head of his cock bumping into that wonderful spot deep inside of you with every thrust from this angle. He continued, ruthlessly pounding into you without mercy as he held onto the cords around your waist for leverage—there wasn’t much more you could do besides take him, letting him fuck you as he pleased.

Your orgasm was building, you could feel your scalp tighten and your toes curl, your muscles tensing, preparing as you approached the crest. You weren’t aware you were talking but you could hear your voice begging him to keep going, don’t stop. At the encouragement he doubled his efforts, leaning forward so his hand rested next to your head. He was hitting deeper than ever with this position and you felt yourself let go with a wail.

“Fu-uck,” Mando moaned in your ear, the curve of his helmet over his brow dropping to rest against your temple. He went stiff above you and you could feel the way his cock pulsed inside you, spilling his cum as your walls rhythmically clenched tight, convulsing around him.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, silently basking in the afterglow of your shared orgasms while your breathing leveled. Mando’s broad form covered you as he kept you pinned against the table top. He held himself up slightly, balancing on one elbow close enough you could feel his armor brush against your shoulder blades with each inhale.

You kept your eyes closed, enjoying the security of lying beneath his protective body—nothing could hurt your right now with him both above and inside you.

His free hand began to roam, gliding along your ribs before approaching the ropes at your waist. His fingers followed the cords around to your front, coming to rest at the fastened knot just below your belly button.

Without needing to see, Mando was able to nimbly undo the knot, prising the right tails to loosen it’s hold. He continued to tug and pull, unraveling the harness as much as he could before rising from on top of you.

You were disappointed as the cool recycled air of the hull moved in to wrap around you, filling in where he had been. Shivering slightly, you cracked an eye open. Mando knelt behind you—both hands bare—as he carefully unwound the ropes, taking every caution to not irritate your skin more than it already was.

Once your hips were free he tossed the bundle to the side before gathering the bacta-ointment from where it had rolled off to. He stopped for a moment, staring at your thighs and you wondered if he liked the textured imprints the harness had left behind. Scooping up the cream with three fingers, he gently smoothed it across your affected skin. The contact of the cold ointment was shocking at first contact—you gasped and wiggled, but Mando’s wide hand gripped your thigh to keep you still.

He took his time spreading it across your skin—rubbing it in more than you were sure was necessary, covering every inch where the rope had been, not just your inner thighs—before his touch found your pussy again. You couldn’t help but flinch as his fingertips bumped against your clit, still sensitive after the orgasm.

“You’re so wet still,” he intoned, quietly speaking more to himself than you before he picked up his voice. “Close your eyes and don’t open them.”

You knew what this meant and obliged without hesitation, squeezing your eyelids shut before bringing a hand to cover your face as added protection.

You heard an audible hiss and click that you recognized as the release mechanism of his helmet. There was a tingle that ran up your limbs at the sound, an excitement that raced from the tips of your fingers and toes to your core because you knew that noise heralded his lips on you.

His hands grabbed at your ass, parting your cheeks to give him the perfect view of his cum dripping from your hole. Though you were expecting it, you were not prepared. His warm mouth connected with your pussy, immediately lapping at your juices. Flattening his tongue he drew it along your slit, catching every drop he could while brushing at your clit.

You moaned loudly at the stimulation, every touch feeling more vivid with your lack of sight. There was no way for you to watch him, but you could still listen—hearing the obscene slurps as he reveled in your cunt, as if he was doing this more for his pleasure than yours.

Mando’s tongue toyed with your nub, making your knees tremble as that feeling deep in your belly began to quickly bubble up. You called his name as your free hand flew back to grab at him. Sealing his lips around your clit, he sucked while sinking two thick fingers into your blushed hole.

Your fist clenched around his hair, tugging hard, but that only seemed to encourage him. One of his hands pumped into you, his finger curling just right to press down on that spot inside you, as the other gripped your hips—hard enough you were sure it would bruise—holding you against his face while he smothered himself between your lips.

You moaned and writhed against the table before crumpling under his ministrations. Yelling into your palm you came hard and all over his face. He continued to finger you, feeling the way your walls clenched around him as if drawing his digits further into your channel before the contact became all too much. Every brush was over stimulating, your hips involuntarily jerking away from him and into the table’s edge until he pulled back.

Limp against the surface, you couldn’t move—only able to take deep breaths as your heart pounded—your hand still clamped tight over your eyes until you hear Mando give the ok.

You can hear him shifting around, standing up and gathering his helmet before his unmodulated voice commented, “Once you’re all healed, you need to show me how you tied that. I want to see how long you can hang in it.”

///

THANKS FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS DAY DREAM

(￣y▽,￣)╭

TAGOS: @pascalisthepunkest​ @whenimaunicorn​ @cptnbvcks​ @no-droids​ @rzrcrst​ @readsalot73​ @spacegayofficial​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ @libellule2001​ @nolivingthingdroid​ @chelsfic​ @lizzabex​ @hopelikethesun​  @themandjalorian​ @stevieharrrr​ @magichandthing​

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

a poem for small things

by Admin 1 & 2

The time has come, the first proper post for this segment we’ve settled on calling a poem for small things, a nod toward BWL and its Korean title. Like we said in our call for submission post, this is supposed to be something like a place full of positivity for vminnies (and perhaps the occasional namjinist) where you (and us) can share whatever we’d like in connection to vmin, both as vmin and as Jimin and Tae the individuals, and have something to raise our mood and also strengthen our vminnie confidence. We’ve gotten several wonderful submissions and quickly realized that for this first post the theme is mostly how I became a vminnie, even if three submissions talk more about vmin moments they enjoy instead.

I think it’s a really interesting theme, especially since everyone’s story is different, and everyone seems to find something else about vmin that captured their attention and hearts so sharing these memories and experiences is a great way to start off this segment. We’ve said it many times before, though I don’t think you can say it enough times, but this bond that Jimin and Tae share is truly special and so one of a kind, it’s wonderful to see how we all relate to and resonate with it in our own way and find something in it that makes us fall in love with their loves, regardless if we see it as platonic or romantic love. Love is love after all. 95z is love.

For the order of these submissions, we’ll simply go in the order in which we’ve received them. Most of them came from anons, which is more than okay. We’ve also opened the possibility of submitting posts for those who would like to submit wordier posts/asks, should we do another edition of this. It all depends on how much you’ll enjoy it and if you’ll come through with more submissions that could be gathered for future posts.

Anyway, enough talking from our side, let’s dive into these submissions below the cut, shall we? Like we said in the original post (and demonstrated in the preview post), we’ll add some of our commentary and observations along the way, too.

From anon: This is going to be long winded story but Vmin is like a Serendipity to me. I've heard of BTS mainly from my hubby when he complains that times sq is packed because of BTS (when they’re in town and doing their rounds of morning shows). I knew they were very popular but it was a great surprise that i discovered them after watching ILand during lockdown. Their songs were great and i started playing their classics like Fire, DNA Fake Love etc. Then they did an appearance in the show...

I love how you heard about BTS because of your husband and Time Square being packed, this is honestly the most original and unique version of how I’ve come across BTS I’ve read over the years. Amazing!

I was drawn to Taehyung's beauty during their appearance in Iland. And my first Vmin ? moment was when Tae commented about being handsome and attractive are 2 things and being attractive weighs more - along those lines... then JM made a comment that its unfair that he's both and Tae was like Im talking about you... I went like ok he thinks JM is attractive- theyre good friends.... then Jimin did the FakeLove choreo and the camera focused on Tae and he had this wide smile...The Iland Tae/Jimin clips made me do a double take but I dismissed it since it was just only a few seconds worth of screen time but still...

I-Land vmin was really something else in both episodes. 

Fun fact: I-Land was the first Korean survival show I’ve ever watched, mostly because it had something to do with BH and since it was streamed online with subs in real time. Unfortunately, my faves—Daniel and Taki—didn’t make it into ENHYPEN, though I’m happy that Taki will be in a future Japanese BH group.

But, going back to vmin, that moment with Jimin dancing FAKE LOVE and Tae looking at him with that boxy smile as though Jimin hung the stars in the sky? I melted, even if it was just one of those brief moments, yet still it’s so cute! And it was all over sns being shared by vminnies and non-vminnies alike. What a great time that was.

Then VMAs Dynamite perf happened- both Vmin looking good. I saw a lot of their promos especially the Jimmy Fallon interviews... and I noticed in hindsight how JF was so careful when referring to Jimin ... Since Tae was my first bias, I searched YT for Tae related content eventually saw in my YT feed Vmin moments. Theres a lot of Vmin content in YT or maybe the T*ek*ok ones didnt really register as extraordinary to me. But defo the Vmin moments were extraordinary to me,,,the BV4 sleeping together, kitchen role play & BV3 JM excited to see Tae and them holding hands and then Tae crying and then Tae's busking with Jimin cheering him on were all amazing to see. Up to this day this specific YT vid stood out to me first 

I actually went to check what video this is, and also looked at the comments where my favorite was this one: The staff member went straight to Jimin to tell him V was crying. That's all you need to know. They’re not wrong with that one, are they? That is pretty telling. BV3 vmin were a work of wonder, truly. Jimin watching Tae sing that Sam Smith song during the dinner in the sky looking all soft and endlessly fond?

Jimin encouraging Tae to busk and gently petting his hair was just such a pure moment and showed how much Jimin appreciates Tae and the talent he has, how in moments when Tae might brush aside wanting to do something, is a little hesitant and unsure, Jimin will stand up for him and give him strength/encouragement, which reminds me of Tae’s vlive in April 2020 and the fact that Jimin had told him that he wants to be his source of strength. Beautiful. And it shows that it wasn’t just pretty yet empty words, but something he truly meant. They both do.

Then i came across vid trans of Friends & cried first time hearing it especially when it got to the part "One day when the cheer dies down, stay hey.." It felt raw and honest to me. Then there's MOT:E concert and that part in Dynamite where they bumped their heads seemed bizaare to me - i was like were they fighting? because JM looked really fierce(or maybe emotional) then i saw the close up. i couldnt remember the exact moment I became a Vminie but it made quarantine easier...

This, I’ve noticed, seems to be a recurring theme among quarantine ARMY and vminnies, the fact that becoming ARMY and vminnies made it easier, and it fits with what we’ve been saying about BTS for years: they will find you when you’ll need them most. And in these trying and uncertain times, it’s certainly proven true once again.

Thank you of much for your submission and sharing your story with us, and I’m glad they could make quarantine a little easier for you.

From anon: I've been following BTS on and off since BST, but only really consider myself a true fan late 2019. I can't recall having a bias at first, but I was captivated by Jimin's everything when I binge-watched all their content. I must admit, my first OTP is T*e/k*ok, where I fell down the route of considering Jimin 'an interfering 3rd party' in their relationship, and it shamed me. Since then I've been cycling through Jimin ships, namely yo*n/m*n, j*n/m*n, m*ni/m*ni, and I even thought that j*/k*ok was real at some point. Strangely, Vmin never struck me as something extraordinary. I don't want to blame anyone, but Vmin caught my eye after I watched official BTS content without filter (presumed bias/judgement) all in their glory. I realized that while other ships may go up-and-down as in one day there's a frenzy and another day quiet af, Vmin has been and is still going constant. That's what makes me love Vmin, and for the first time in my fandom life, I have no qualms about whether they are real or not. Their bond, whatever it is, is already precious and something to be cherished forever. Thank you for providing us vminies a special corner to speak up about our experience 💜

You’re very welcome! I hope you’ll like how this turned out as well. Thank you for sharing your story with us and personally I find it fascinating how, despite Jimin being the one who captivated you most at first, you still fell into the “he’s an interference for my ship” trap that’s quite popular with that particular ship. I’m glad though that that never ruined your love for Jimin. It’s also really interesting for me how you went through different Jimin ships yet it took you the longest time to notice vmin. I feel like, because vmin and vminnies are more “low key” than the other bigger and louder ships, as well as Tae and Jimin simply being quieter in their interactions (not always but you get the point) as compared to, for example, Jimin’s interactions with Hobi, Jungkook, or even Namjoon, it takes people a while to really notice them.

This is my favorite part of what you wrote, and I think it’s a great way to describe vmin in general and what makes them different from other ships in the grand scheme of things: I realized that while other ships may go up-and-down as in one day there's a frenzy and another day quiet af, Vmin has been and is still going constant.

From vminot7: So i fell into BTS hole after watching blood sweat and tears mv casually on youtube. Jimin immediately stole my attention with his unique voice, graceful moves and handsome features even though i didn’t know their names at that time. I watched more MVs and jimin continued to hold my attention but i was also extremely drawn to taehyung's voice and facial expressions. So i started looking for more content such as RUN BTS and other compilations and realized my love for all 7 of them. I also noticed how jimin always had a soft spot for taehyung and was curious about their dynamics. I started looking at more of vmin content and i was really surprised to see how in the early days they were nowhere near as soft with each other as they are now. I think they have a unique bond and i have never come across anything quite similar. Now vmin are both my biases and my bias wrecker is hoseok.

I admire jimin for being a hardworking, passionate perfectionist but also a caring soul who is always ready to offer love and comfort to people in need. I love taehyung for how he looks at the world in his unique ways and how he has a childlike awe for things and how he is so passionate over the things he loves. The thing i love about vmin together is how they are so different yet work so hard on their relationship when it would be easier to just not try that hard.

Ah, another mention of the queen that is Blood, Sweat and Tears. The MV truly is such a masterpiece so I’m not surprised that it caught your attention, and especially Jimin since he was…something else in that MV, or like Tae said, his eyes were temptation (this boy, I swear). Since you mentioned how in the first years they were nowhere near as soft with each other as they are now, I think watching their dynamic and relationship change and evolve over time showcases the one thing I think a lot of people (as well as movies and TV shows) forget or gloss over, despite it being so incredibly important: in order to make a relationship of any kind work, especially in order for it to grow as deep and strong as the one between all members and especially vmin, you need to put in the emotional work to make that happen. You have to make an effort, have to learn to understand the other person and teach them to understand you as well, learn to appreciate and love their little quirks and how to accept others. And it’s so clear that that’s what vmin did, continue to do, and it more than paid off in the long run. I’m glad you highlighted that in general but also as something you love about them.

While the overall bond between the members is a class of its own, I think especially what vmin have achieved is a whole masterclass in relationships and fostering strong ones, in and of itself. There is a lot I think we can learn from them and I’m so happy that people recognize how special they are.

Thank you so much for your submission!

From anon: There’s this small moments in Dear Class of 2020 that i just adore! I’ve watched it at least 20 times this past month

It starts with “Spring Day”- tae and jimin laugh and look at each other and it’s just so sweet!

Also, maybe it’s my delusional mind but after tae’s and jin’s small and adorable moment- it seemed that jimin did the same with junkook right after maybe out of i duuno if jealousy but like “pay attention to me too” kinda way- dont know really and maybe it’s me being extra🤷🏻‍♀️

I agree partially, in that Jimin watched Tae’s and Seokjin’s adorable moment, obviously must’ve thought of it as cute just like we did, and thought he could do the same with JK. I don’t think it had anything to do with jealousy, especially if we work off of the idea that vmin are a thing, but also because it’s a performance and these things primarily serve the purpose of being cute and entertaining use, in other words, it’s fanservice (which isn’t the evil word some portray it as). Also, within that same performance, Tae and Jimin actually sang some of the lyrics toward each other, therefore they, too, had a cute moment they shared with big smiles and everything, just like you mentioned.

But we’ve gotten to see much more of Tae’s friendship with Seokjin in 2020, and especially the second half, so it was really sweet to see them interact during that song. Their friendship and dynamic is really a beautiful one, just like JKs bond with Seokjin, which I feel we’ve also gotten to see more of in recent months. Part of me (and that part can very well be wrong) feels that perhaps once the members caught on to Seokjin feeling the way he said he did/does, they decided to give him an extra dose of love and affection, off camera but also on where we can see it. That isn’t to say that they didn’t show him any of that before, but maybe they increased the intensity a little, a reminder that Seokjin truly is loved, that he deserves all of this, that it’s just his imposter syndrome (or at least what sounds like it) lying to him.

I’m still so touched and moved by the fact that he trusted us enough to share his feelings with us, to gift us Abyss and how it came to be, and that Bang PD was on his side and coaxed him into pouring his feelings into music, even if it would be “bad”, that the fear of it potentially being “bad” shouldn’t hold him back (and Namjoon helping in even if just a tiny bit with the lyrics). It was one of those times where I feel like we were all reminded that regardless of our opinions of BH and their doings, the members are surrounded by kind people who have their best interest in mind. After all what’s good for Bangtan is also good for the company, a win-win for everyone.

…wow, okay, I kind of went off on a tangent, I’m sorry…

Either way , then we have “Mikrokosmos” where we have a sweet moment at their part and towards the end where they switch mic and hear each other

I love this performance overall and especially “spring day”- jin’s and j-hope’s lovely voices and of course tae’s!! This song fits them so well and all the members of course

Well this is my rent , i love your blog and always wait for another post! Also i love the new idea and look forward to it!

Thank you so much for your submission and for bringing up their Dear Class 2020 performance. It was a truly magical one, and after reading this the first time, I did go and watch it again. To this day I’d still very much like to know how and when and why the mic switch between vmin happened, and I kind of hope that we might get a Bangtan B*mb or EPISODE about this eventually and it might shine some light on that question. Overall it was one of my favorite performances on 2020.

From Sky: While I enjoy cute, physical moments with VMIN, I really do value how emotionally attached they are to each other. For example (I don’t know if it fits as vmin moment but), I love how Jimin asked V to take the Promise cover photo, and how he ended up putting V’s name for credits on the cover. (Special Thanks to V, Best Photographer) This really shows a lot. Coz he can easily choose any Bighit photographer to take it. He could have chosen JK because we know how he takes good pics and vids too (and also apparently alot of people say that vmin had a falling out and that Jimin and JK were much more closer, lol). Or he could’ve asked Suga too bec he’s into cameras too. But he didn’t. He chose V, and chose to shout it out to the world how thankful he is for V’s help. RM co-wrote Promise, and maybe had offered more help in this project, but he didn’t put it in the cover. I’m not saying Jimin is ungrateful for not crediting RM in the cover. The difference is that he and RM had a vlive regarding the making of this song, a lot of people already know RM’s participation, he was officially credited as co-writer and Jimin really showed how thankful he is to RM. But no one knows of V’s participation (except for a snippet in that Run ep), so Jimin felt the need to tell it to everyone. I’m sure it’s not only the photos, I think he wanted to acknowledge how V helped him through the process, whether directly or indirectly. Also, remember this is Jimin’s first non-album solo single. By putting V’s name in it, he is sharing this very special song with his soulmate. How endearing it is! V also included Jimin in his first full English song. He used the two bears given by Jimin as Winter Bear’s cover photo and he included the photo Jimin took (sleeping V in the plane) in the MV. Like, seriously, they are trying to consciously imprint each other in their life’s milestones, openly or subtly. I’m crying. 😭

This was lovely, and yes, Jimin could’ve asked whoever to take those pictures, could’ve chosen any other ones, and yet he wanted Tae to be the one to take them, wanted those specific ones as covers. It’s very sweet and creates this subtle connection between Jimin, the song, and Tae. Sure, it isn’t the first time a picture Tae took is the cover for a SoundCloud song (the picture of JK on the 2U cover was also taken by Tae if I remember correctly), but it’s the fact that Promise is Jimin’s first non-BTS song, his first solo release, that makes it that much more special. Even more so when you think about how meaningful that song is to Jimin, and by having Tae as cover picture photographer, he’s in a way forever attached memory wise to that song as well, right?

The same also goes with Winter Bear and the two ceramic bears. Remember how excited Tae looked when I kinda spoiled that gift being a thing happening in an upcoming RUN episode during Jimin’s vlive during the summer 2019? Adorable. It’s also curious how though the title is singular—winter bear not winter bears—there’s two ceramic bears. One for Tae, one for Jimin? Maybe, or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Either way, it’s really cute, and it was a very thoughtful gift, even more when we think about just how much Jimin loves that song.

From anon: Love this idea it's super cute!! 1st thing that came to my mind is a rather simple moment, jimin bopping taehyung's nose and making a lil game out of it

Taehyung asking for more and that dazed smile 🥺 he had the same expression in that concert when jimin placed his face just above him, tae's smile afterward... it was so pure u could almost read "love" in his eyes lol

What a lovely note to end this post at, thank you for that. I don’t know what got into them during that photoshoot for Season’s Greetings 2020 but this was so disarmingly adorable. I remember when that moment appeared all over every sns and everyone just melted, myself included. Their smiles, the cute clothes, Tae’s head on Jimin’s chest, the softness and innocence of it, just all of it. It truly was so pure and like this sweet visualization of ‘love’.

And with that, we’ve reached the end. Did you like this? I had a great time reading your submissions and adding my little comments to them. If you’d like for us to continue this, same rules as last time, send in a submission marked with “VMC” and once we’ll have enough of them gathered, we’ll do this again, if you’re interested in more, that is. Send in whatever positive vmin you have, a thought, a moment, a memory, whatever you’d like.

Thank you once again to everyone who participated! :)

[lilacharry]

Tongue Tied

Inspired by true events

“Y/N,” James seemed to bark, snapping Y/N back into reality. She had been sat recording some material for a popular late night talk show and the group had veered into unknown territory for her. Something about the discomfort of one of the other guests having to shoot a very intimate scene in front of their partner’s spouse. Y/N had never been put in such a situation and felt it would have been better to remain quiet on her end of the couch.

“Yes!” She laughed, startled at the sudden call of her name.

“I’ve heard that you throw massive, major parties,” James smiled, his cards covering his mouth as he leaned back into his seat.

“Kind of,” Y/N answered with suspicion, eyeing the audience, “I mean, they’re not that big-”

“No, they’re massive! We had Derek on a few months ago and he said that you have a venue with three different rooms just for different genres of music,” James spoke feverishly, his hands outstretched.

“I mean,” Y/N trailed as she shuffled in her seat, “yeah... but he’s making it seem a lot bigger than it is-”

“I have never been so offended in my life to not have received an invitation,” James threw his hands up.

“You would come?” Y/N laughed, clasping her hands in front of her crossed legs.

“You say that like it’s absurd? Have you got something against fuller bodied men dancing the night away? Do you think I’ll embarrass you?” James jokingly scoffed.

“I didn’t get an invitation, either,” Harry piped from the other end of the couch, raising his index finger.

That was one voice Y/N had been trying to ignore the entire night. She had been a fan ever since she was younger and had done a good job of avoiding meeting the celebrity at other gatherings. She had not been sure how she would act if she ever had the opportunity to properly meet him and decided on playing it safe by actively avoiding events and locations she knew he frequented. That was until one of the producers on the Late Late show had lied to her about Harry’s presence on the show that particular night.

Everyone seemed to know of Y/N’s plans to avoid Harry Styles and took great joy in trying to get the two in a room. Judging by how flustered Y/N would even get when the young man’s name was brought up, everybody thought it would be a delight to surprise her with his presence. She had done a wonderful job of wising up to everybody’s intentions, so far. She had started to decline last minute invitations for random parties from her close friends ever since that one incident. She had had a little wine in her system and been grinding on one of her gyrating friends one night—as a joke—when someone had started recording on their phone. It was when she went to look up from her friend pretending to spank her, to see Harry enter the party. The video was quite amusing, seeing her eyes widen in fear as she’s filmed booking it out of frame. Since then, whenever she would decline sudden invitations to gatherings, she would wake up to see that he had attended said event the next morning while scrolling through her social media feed. She knew why her friend, Florence, would try to arrange last minute brunches with her as Y/N knew Florence’s boyfriend was great friends with Harry and had shared in Florence’s attempts to get her to meet him. She had gone about two years of avoiding the male, but, alas, here she was two cushions over from him. She blamed her sudden bout of placidity on the fact that she didn’t want to say or do anything embarrassing in front of him, but James had kept poking fun at her and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“Then is it just against the British, Y/N?” James scowled.

“Well, most people that come out are either very Hispanic or love latin music and are, like, professional dancers,” Y/N’s face burned as she explained.

“What? Do we not look like professionals?” James egged her on.

“No, I’m sure you’re great dancers. But, it’s also back in San Francisco,” Y/N reasoned with a little shrug of her shoulders, “you would make the trip out?”

“Invite us, and you’ll find out,” James commented with a little giggle, “no, seriously, though, do you really need three different rooms?”

“Well, if people prefer one specific genre it’s kinda nice,” Y/N explained.

“Like what?” Harry asked, trying to make eye contact with the woman that had been avoiding his gaze since the beginning of the show.

“Eh, last time we had one for salsa, bachata, and tropical, and the main room had food and, like... I don’t mean to sound crass, but like... white people music,” Y/N grimaced at the term, “I’m sorry! I don’t know how else to describe it. They also play other music, but more like music that you can kind of... I don’t know...”

“That’s very offensive, Y/N,” James gawked before laughing out.

“Like top 40!” Harry came to Y/N’s rescue.

“Yes, like top 40!” Y/N laughed, and Harry smiled at her nose scrunching in the process.

“So there were four rooms, in total?” James suddenly realized.

“Yes, but it sounds bigger than it really is,” Y/N shook her head, .

“Oh, stop minimizing the party you didn’t invite us to,” James narrowed his eyes at Y/N.

“I’ll make sure to invite you to the next one; we have great food, too,” Y/N leaned back in her seat, uncomfortable with being called out for something she didn’t know she had done wrong.

“I hate that that’s where your mind automatically went,” James feigned offense. In all reality, James knew how timid Y/N was being and the reasoning behind it. He knew her character and knew she would never say anything to offend him, but he was enjoying taking advantage of the situation.

“No! That’s not what I meant,” Y/N’s eyes seemed to bug out of her skull.

“And for your information, I’m quite the athlete when it comes to dancing,” James turned his nose up at Y/N.

“Athlete? What all do you know how to dance?” Harry rolled his eyes as he reached for his drink that had been set on the coffee table in front of them.

“I can absolutely murder the dance floor whenever white people music comes on,” James earned a laugh from the audience, “Y/N what are you best at? Or do you know all of the ones you mentioned?”

“Sort of,” Y/N smiled and shrugged, “I’m better at others, but nothing too fancy. I know, like, the basics of a lot of them just because my mom knew so much and taught me, growing up.”

“Here at Late, Late, we do not tolerate liars,” James began before turning to the monitor behind him, “and Derek sent us this and I’d like to see what you have to say.”

A clip came on where Y/N had been shown being led by one of her companions around a dance floor, making Y/N laugh out.

“Explain that, Y/N!” James pointed at the monitor, “’nothing too fancy’—that’s professional. What’s that, then? Bit of salsa?”

“Yes... but I’m actually not that good at it,” Y/N explained.

“I hate you,” James teased, “could you teach us something?”

“Sure... Now?” Y/N questioned, raising her brows.

“Yeah, you know just something quick and very complex,” James laughed as Y/N looked over to a producer that had been waving at the group to start wrapping up, “eh... our producers are waving at us. Can we do a little something when we come back?”

“I’ll teach you when you come to the next one,” Y/N offered after they got a negative response from one of the producers.

“I’m already looking forward to it,” James responded before turning to outstretch his hand to Harry, “will you be my date?”

“If I’m invited, yes!” Harry grabbed a hold of James’ hand before the two turned to look at Y/N.

“Of course! Did you want one, as well?” Y/N quickly diverted attention to the long forgotten third guest who had been seated between her and Harry.

The rest of the show went along smoothly enough; with Y/N staying somewhat reserved and not making even more of a complete fool of herself. The show had soon wrapped and she was soon caught in a storm of questions and demands from her team as they swept her away from set. She tried to politely excuse herself with one last general farewell, but was enamored with how Harry had reached out to shake her hand and tell her it had been nice to meet her. She felt light headed as she was urged to continue away to the room that had been assigned to her, backstage.

+ + +

“Was that really so bad, now?” Martin, the producer that had invited her onto the show, came walking into her dressing room as Y/N and her team had started to pack up.

“I made a complete and utter fool of myself,” Y/N cried out, covering her face with her palms, “I actually said white people music!”

“He knew you didn’t mean it like that,” Martin brushed off her embarrassment as he leaned in the doorframe.

“I can’t believe you did that to me; I’m just thankful I didn’t pass out,” Y/N remarked as her hands dropped to her side before she reached out to grab a hold of one of her bags.

“He thought you were lovely,” Martin rolled his eyes, “and he’s really looking forward to that invitation, Y/N.”

“What makes you say that?” Y/N furrowed her brows as more people seemed to shuffle out of the room.

“I heard him ask James to let him know if you ended up sending the invitation, since you didn’t take his number,” Martin grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest, “even after James told him he wouldn’t want to make the trip out there. Said he’s genuinely curious as to how such a gathering would go, but I think he’s just taken a liking to you.”

“How? I barely spoke the entire time we were in the same room,” Y/N huffed out.

“Dunno; maybe he knows you’re a fan and wants to make your wildest dreams come true,” Martin wiggled his brows at her, earning a scoff from Y/N.

“Can we talk about this nonsense later?” Y/N widened her eyes before going to wrap her arm around Martin.

“Fine; was nice seeing you,” Martin hugged her back, “let me know when the next shin-dig is so I can tell your boyfriend.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N laughed as she made her way to the hallway.

+ + +

A few weeks later, Y/N’s phone had startled her when it rang out in the middle of a dinner she had planned with some friends. Upon glancing at the device, she found Martin’s name at the top of the message, but thought nothing of it and forgot of its existence—she didn’t like having her phone out at dinner, in the first place. It wasn’t until the next morning when she had unlocked her phone to find the message:

H is asking if there’s any word on that party ... What shall I tell him?

Under the first message was:

I’ll give him your number ???

Y/N chewed on her lower lip as she wondered if Martin had already gone through with giving Harry her number and if there were any negatives to his suggestion. She didn't see why not...

Morning! Sorry; just saw your message! Yeah; go ahead! ☺️

She sent the message and hoped she wouldn’t make even more of a complete fool of herself. It wasn’t too long before Martin sent her a screenshot of what appeared to be his messages with Harry:

Ask her!! 628-555-0890

Hey! Thanks mate! Do you think it okay, though? Not creepy, or anything?

jfc these things used to be so simple; she won’t bite

Y/N laughed out at the screenshot before she got a notification from an unknown number:

Hello! How are you? Martin gave me your number, I hope that’s okay.

And then immediately seconds after:

Sorry, this is Harry.

Y/N could not help but gush at the message and had a sudden realization that Harry Styles had just messaged her—HARRY STYLES HAD JUST MESSAGED HER. It wasn’t long before she started getting into her own head. She thought she wasn’t interesting enough to respond with something smart or enticing and wished he really hadn’t messaged her, in the first place. She had no idea how to respond to that... He didn’t give her much to go off... She started panicking.

Hi ☺️ I’m doing well! How’ve you been? Of course, I told him to ☺️ I haven’t gotten around to planning the next gathering, yet, but I’ll definitely let you know when we start looking into it ☺️

Three smiley faces were too much, wasn’t it? She didn’t know... She decided to keep the one at the end in and blindly pressed the blue send button. God, she hoped that wasn’t too short or long. She really wished Martin hadn’t put her in such a situation... She found herself laughing at the memory of Kim Kardashian crying about Kourtney knowing she felt uncomfortable in certain situations and putting her in them, anyways. This guy knew Kendall Jenner intimately... God, Y/N really wished Martin hadn’t done this to her.

Okay—sorry, hope I'm not coming off as a creep. Just knew I would forget if I didn’t get your number from Martin. I’m actually really curious to see what it looks like.

Y/N sighed out, not knowing if she should respond. There was nothing more to say... right? They weren’t best friends so that she could send something else about her day to him. At least he had left it open, so she could potentially try to strike up a conversation... but she was so bad at these things. She would surely end up coming off as the creepy one.

Well, I’m glad you reminded him, then! We'll have good music and the food’s always amazing; definitely bring comfortable and/or stretchy pants 😂

She was annoyed at how fast she just sent the message. Wasn’t there a rule to these things to ensure you didn’t look desperate? There came a lull in the time that Harry took to respond to her. She loathed how many times she checked that her ringer was on and pressed her lock button to ensure she hadn’t missed any notifications. It wasn’t until later that afternoon when another notification from Harry came through her device.

Haha will do, looking forward to it

She scrunched her nose at the message. She had been too weird; she was sure of it. This is why you shouldn’t meet your heroes—sure there’s a chance they’ll be absolute rubbish people but it’s worse when you end up being the rubbish person, isn’t it? She didn’t save his number and left the chain of messages at that. Maybe she would put an end to such gatherings so she never had to speak to him again.

+ + +

“Okay, so we have about 250 people on the list right now,” Jamie, one of Y/N’s assistants spoke between sips of her iced coffee, “are there any other people I should add?”

“Everything else was approved? The venue’s available that day?” Y/N asked as she picked at the manicure she had gotten earlier that week.

“Yep, Magno said he clears any events on days the boss throws one of her big shin digs,” Jamie laughed at the memory of Y/N’s uncle.

“And the caterers agreed to the price?” Y/N choked out as she looked up from her hands.

“Yes... What’s up with you? You’re never this careful with this stuff,” Jamie noted with a furrow of her brows, “what’s going on?”

“No, I’m just making sure that there’ll be an actual party in a few days,” Y/N cleared her throat as she straightened in her chair.

“Who’re you waiting last minute to invite?” Jamie questioned, her tone accusing. There had, on occasion, been one or two people that had gotten absolutely smashed at one of Y/N’s parties and her method to ensure they didn’t ruin an upcoming event with drunken slurs or fights with other guests was inviting them day of said event.

“Nobody,” Y/N laughed as she looked back to her twiddling fingers.

“Wait a second,” Jaime narrowed her eyes as her fingers went to frantically type at the keys of her computer, “I just control effed this mother for Harry and nothing came up... You’re procrastinating inviting the love of your life to this thing? What the hell?”

“Don’t call him that,” Y/N laughed. She really wished she hadn’t made such a promise on national television. It was all that had flooded her social media feed for the first few days after the incident, and every now and then she would be questioned about when the next party was and if she had invited Harry and James.

“This thing is in three days; even if you invited him now, it’ll be a miracle he doesn’t have anything going on... Is he even in La La Land?” Jamie shook her head at Y/N.

“I don’t know,” Y/N sighed as she stretched her legs out, in front of her seated body, “I just don’t want to embarrass myself in front of him.”

“Look, you already embarrassed yourself back on the show and he still wants the invitation? Doesn’t he deserve more than three days notice?” Jamie pressed.

“Fine; you invite him,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to wish you didn’t allow me access to your iCloud sign on,” Jamie smirked before her fingers went to type at her keys once more.

“Jaime... What... What does that mean, what are you doing?” Y/N fearfully questioned as she rose from her seat and ran over to where her assistant sat typing on her computer.

“God, bring stretchy pants? Not okay, Y/N,” Jaime acknowledged as Y/N peered over her shoulder to see her assistant had already logged into Y/N’s iMessage account and had pulled up her conversation with Harry, “I’m going to put ‘Hey, Harry; hope you've been well! Just wanted to let you know the next get together is going to be on Friday. Hope you can make it. Blushing, smiley face emoji...’ Sweet and simple. Yes?”

“I mean,” Y/N droned before earning a glare from Jaime, “okay, fine.”

About fifteen minutes later, Jaime squealed with delight at the notification that had popped up in the right corner of her computer.

Nice! I’ll be in town this weekend! What’s the physical address?

“Ooh! This is so cute,” Jamie gushed as she went to respond to his message.

“I’m going to embarrass myself,” Y/N kept repeating.

“You already have and he’s still coming back for more. I don’t want to hear it,” Jaime rolled her eyes as she sat back and watched the little gray bubble pop up, insinuating Harry’s typing.

Thank you! I’ll be seeing you! Take care x

“He signed off with an x, Y/N,” Jamie squealed as her hands went to squeeze Y/N’s sides.

“I know,” Y/N whined.

“What are you going to wear?” Jaime turned to look at an already very distraught Y/N.

+ + +

Harry was nervous, which had become something of a rarity, anymore. He had consulted one of his friends—one that had been well known in the fashion industry—about what he would wear for the evening. He wanted to look nice... but not like he tried to look a certain way. He was embarrassed for such a thought process and thought it ridiculous that he cared so much about the clothing he had on his body for the night. He knew there were more important things to worry about in the world but, in his defense, he had never felt this way before.

It all had to do with this one girl. About a year previously, he had begun to see her all over his Instagram feed. A few of his friends had recently befriended her and she seemed to suddenly appear in a variety of their posts. At first, he found it a little odd that there was someone so involved with his friends that he didn’t know or hadn’t heard of. He hadn’t thought much about it the first few weeks she had popped up in said photos. He had seen her hair or profile floating in the background of some of his bandmates’ posts, her laugh recorded as she filmed some of his companions videos, and this majestic and oddly captivating smile popping up in a dozen other photos. That was what had first drawn him in, if he was being completely honest. He thought her lips were a peculiar shape; but in a good way. They were a nice contrast to the sculpted ones that seemed to crowd his social media feeds. Harry was not one to judge others for their decision to change their features. He figured if something bothered somebody so much, they were entitled to change what they needed to feel better about themselves. Hers, in particular, though... Well, nobody could achieve the naturally round shape by means of filler, he thought.

He was absolutely enticed by a video in particular where Alexa, one of his close friends, had filmed while approaching her as she stood, arranging flowers in a vase. It seemed to be in somebody’s grand foyer, but Harry wasn’t as interested in all the grandeur that had surrounded her. He was ashamed to say he had studied the video for a lot longer than he would have liked to. Her hair looked like it had been held together by one of those silk scarves he had seen tied on various overpriced bags. She bore an oversized tee shirt as she worked in her space of plant clippings and, what seemed to be, forgotten stems. She spoke of line, or dimension, or something but all he could focus on was the way her lips curved when her joke about sunflowers being flowers for sons failed.

“That was so bad, oh my God,” came her laugh as she shook her head and went back to whatever she had originally intended to explain. He noticed she liked to use her hands while she articulated her thought process.

Another one of the many videos in existence had played a recording of her singing "I Just Called To Say I Love You” to one of their friends as a voicemail. Harry couldn’t believe the emotion it stirred inside of him. It was the most endearing little voice that hardly broke, and the little giggle at the end pulled at his heartstrings and he wasn’t sure why. There was this thought nagging at the back of his mind that he could get really invested in this girl if he allowed himself.

One day, he had to go against his better judgement and had tapped on her handle in one of the many tagged photos he had seen. Her profile popped up so easily and he knew he was doomed. One shot was of her sprawled across a bed, her bare legs kicked up against the headboard, feet covered in red fuzzy slippers as she seemingly read John Boyne’s The Heart's Invisible Furies. He had done little research on the book before he got a confirmation e-mail on his purchase.

Another image depicted her sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of various sized and shaped seashells. He couldn't help but smile at at the image of her in jeans, topless while holding up two shells over either side of her chest. She had captioned it “What the shell?”. It wasn’t funny; but he found himself eventually laughing at the caption.

It was a real slippery slope that he had fallen down. He knew better than to poke around in somebody’s social media accounts, yet there he was—laughing and gushing at the dozens of photos she had posted. There weren’t many likes on the photos and her follower count was nothing to boast about. He wondered what she did for work... There was nothing written in the little biography section and he wouldn’t allow himself to look her up on any other forms of media. He wondered how she had met so many of the people he knew.

“She was working with one of those self-help magazine column things,” Alexa had informed him over brunch one sunny afternoon.

“S'very LA,” Harry chuckled to himself, and he wasn’t sure why, but he felt badly after the words came out of his mouth.

“No, she’s not like that. She refuses to move out here; lives in San Francisco—says it gives her less anxiety,” Alexa explained as she took a bite of her veggie burger, “anyways, I guess she was working on writing or producing some documentary series with some director—Larraín, I think—and I guess he liked her so much he offered her a big gig in one of his films a couple years back.”

“Ah,” came Harry’s understanding nod. He had never heard of the man, but was surprised to hear such a drastic change of careers.

“Guess she’s a bit of a fan,” Alexa shrugged as she looked around the restaurant they had been seated at, “Florence keeps trying to get you two in the same room. You saw that video Maggie posted of Florence’s shin dig a few months ago?”

“Yeah! Got all spooked or summat,” Harry furrowed his brows as he shoveled some of the rice he had ordered earlier into his mouth.

“Well, I guess,” Alexa stopped as her eyes widened and her lips curved into a grin, “someone’s been cyber stalking.”

“Ah, s’nothing,” Harry’s cheeks burned as he reached for his water.

“Anyways, no, I guess she was mortified because you walked in,” Alexa burst into laughter.

“Me?” Harry gasped, pointing at himself in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Alexa continued to chortle before coughing into her fist, “m’telling you; she’s quite a fan.”

“Huh,” came Harry’s response as he took a drink from his water, “s’interesting.”

It hadn’t been long before he had joined in on everybody’s attempts to get into the same room as the female. Eventually, he had found out through James Corden that a producer on his show was great friends with Y/N, and the rest had been history.

He felt ridiculous as he stood in front of his mirror staring at the clothing that had been sent to him earlier that day. He groaned as he forcefully shedded the blazer from his shoulders and went in search for something more casual.

+ + +

It had already been a pretty long morning for Y/N. She had been waken at six in the morning by Jamie claiming one of the vendors fell through and was demanding a larger sum of money if Y/N really wanted them to serve food at her gathering. A groggy eyed Y/N had wandered into her study to find the contract she had drawn up with the business and had gotten them on the phone within thirty minutes bringing up the terms of contingencies the two had agreed upon. It had taken a bit of haggling on both ends, but Y/N finally got the company to agree to their original terms. It was ten by the time Y/N had just started to fall asleep when Benny, one of the decorators, had messaged Y/N about a missing table. From then on, it seemed one miniature disaster occurred one after the other. Never in the time Y/N had held such events had so many things gone wrong last minute. Thankfully, she was able to resolve most of the pop up problems, but by the time Y/N was supposed to be getting ready for the night, she felt as though she could drop at any given moment with how exhausted she felt. She had jumped back into bed and set an alarm for a thirty minute snooze, but even that had been interrupted by Jamie calling her to open her front door. The designer of the outfit Y/N agreed to wear for the night had mixed up her measurements and the fit was all out of proportions. So, Y/N and Jamie had frantically started going through her closet to see what possible contenders there were for the night. Naturally, Jamie had wanted Y/N to wear her most revealing dress, but Y/N wouldn’t allow it. She insisted that such an outfit wouldn't allow her to dance as comfortably as something a little more sensible. The two compromised as Y/N finally settled for a calf length, flowy dress that was low cut and had cut outs around her midsection.

Thankfully, Y/N had made it to the venue on time to help set up, iced soy latte in hand—Jamie had insisted on the way over when she saw Y/N nodding off in the passenger seat. Magno had chewed Y/N out for having come in so early, again. He always told her they had things handled so she could literally “roll up with everybody else.” Y/N usually always replied how she liked to see everything set up before people arrived, anyways, so it was usually, really no bother. This particular day, though, she really wished she had taken her uncle up on such an offer.

The sun had started to set when people started flooding in. Y/N didn’t know how to act. Usually, she would already be pulling people into rooms and forcing them to dance with her, whether they liked it or not. She would circle around greeting friends and their plus ones, telling them what her favorite foods to order were and what drinks to try at the bar. With Harry coming, though, Y/N had to fight the urge to plant herself at the entrance just to catch a glimpse of him. Honestly speaking, despite her best efforts to speak with everyone who participated in her festivities, there were nights when a friend would message her the next day saying that they were sorry they weren't able to talk to her and to plan something in the future. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Harry, but the more people that started showing up, the more she had begun to be pulled every which way by her guests. Jamie had assured her that she would be on the look out for the male, but Y/N had thought that a little unfair and told Jamie not to worry about it and to enjoy herself, instead.

“Y/N! Odie wants you to head back to the kitchen for something special,” Jamie had come up behind Y/N while she stood chatting with some companions.

“Hm? Oh, okay,” Y/N seemed flustered as Jamie grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her away from her friends, “what? Did he walk in?”

“Hm? Oh,” Jamie nervously chuckled to herself as the two continued walking towards the back of the venue, “eh... no... Odie really does have something for you, but I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

“He’s not coming,” Y/N sighed before shaking her head, “it’s really better that he doesn’t. I’d make a fool of myself.”

“Oh my God, stop being so dramatic,” Jamie began before the two were interrupted by one of Y/N’s acquaintances.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” came Daphne’s frantic chants as Y/N and Jamie turned to face the young woman, “you have to come with me right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Y/N furrowed her brow, thinking something else had gone wrong.

“Mikka just spotted him at the back entrance; come on,” Daphne grabbed a hold of Y/N’s forearm before pulling her towards the direction she had come from.

“Wait,” Jamie pulled Y/N the other way.

“Jamie!” Y/N yelped from being caught in the middle of such a tug of war.

“Sorry,” Jamie laughed before gaining her composure, “I feel like going over there now makes her look desperate.”

“What? No way!” Daphne rolled her eyes.

“It makes it seem like she had people watching for him,” Jamie reasoned.

“I mean, I kinda did,” Y/N shrugged.

“It does not! It’s polite to greet your guests,” Daphne argued.

“Yeah, but not the moment they step foot into the party! Shouldn’t he seek her out?” Jamie tried to dispute.

“He already has by coming in the first place,” Daphne narrowed her eyes and shook her head. The two friends had started going back and forth on what would be considered appropriate while Y/N’s head started to throb with all the decision making she had already had to do throughout the day, and the blasting music in the background. It was when Y/N looked up from rubbing her sinuses when she felt her heart skip a beat. Just a few feet away was Harry, stood speaking with some woman she didn’t recognize. In perfect Harry fashion, he looked jaw droopingly gorgeous. Y/N was sure if any other man on the planet had attempted to sport his outfit, they would have looked ridiculous. However, as always, Harry could pull anything off. She suddenly remembered the subject matter her friends were currently debating and hoped to God the music was too loud for him to overhear them.

“You guys,” Y/N interjected before the two females neared Y/N to better hear the words she spoke, “don’t look; he’s right there.”

“Oh, my God,” Daphne gasped as she immediately looked over to where Y/N had nodded.

“She literally said not to look,” Jamie scolded before rolling her eyes.

“I can’t help it; he’s the literal love of my life,” Daphne seemed to sob, “Y/N, you'd better go over there before he gets mobbed... by me.”

“Daphne’s right, go say hi,” Jamie nodded.

“But,” Y/N tried to buy some time before her friends pushed her away from them, closer to where Harry stood. Y/N tried to recover her balance on her heels from the push as she looked over her shoulder to see them giving her encouraging smiles and a thumbs up. God, she hoped he didn’t see that. As she approached the couple ahead, she couldn’t help but feel the lightest tinge of jealousy creeping over her at the woman that stood so closely to him. Then she started to feel as though she would be interrupting an intimate chat if she were to just walk up to the pair to say hello. She decided against greeting him as she tried to find the nearest person to glob onto before actually catching his eye. The way he smiled at her made her face burn and she knew she would have to think of something intelligent or interesting to say—quick. She watched as he said something to the woman he was with before she nodded and left him. This was sure to mean that she could approach him... right?

“Hi!” Was all Y/N could muster as she smiled at Harry. She wasn’t sure if she should go for the hug or handshake, and so there was this awkward carrying on where Harry had gone in for the embrace while Y/N stuck out her arm. Then came the same predicament only with the two swapping actions. Harry finally grabbed Y/N’s hand in his own hands to greet her.

“Sorry; didn’t want to interrupt over there,” Harry nodded over to where Daphne and Jamie were not even attempting to hide the fact that they were trying to eavesdrop on the two.

“Oh, no! That’s fine; they were just telling me whether or not I should head over here and whether it would make me look desperate,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Desperate?” Harry cocked his head, his lips grinning.

“They like to overanalyze everything; they think just because you’re here tonight, you want to get in my pants or something,” Y/N laughed before realizing what she had just said and really wishing she hadn’t come in so early. She must have been delirious; she could get real open and chatty when she was exhausted. All Harry could do was laugh.

“Sorry, must be a little delirious or something. I haven’t even had a lick to drink tonight,” Y/N nervously laughed.

“S’fine! Sorry, I was late! I forgot what traffic can be like over here on the weekend,” Harry rolled his eyes, “but thank you for inviting me!”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Y/N anxiously laughed, “James didn’t want to come?”

“No, s’too much of a scrooge,” Harry laughed, “you look great!”

“Please! Look at you,” Y/N beamed as she gave him a once over.

“Eh,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes, “they’re not stretchy pants, was afraid I’d overdressed.”

“Oh, my god! I can’t believe I said that. No, Latinos live for this kind of stuff; it’s like their Paris Fashion Week, so you might be a little underdressed, if anything,” Y/N joked as her wrist went to nudge at Harry’s arm.

“Is that what it is?” Harry laughed as he looked around at all the people that had started looking their way.

“Yeah,” Y/N noticed the eyes that had gravitated their way, “have you gotten anything to eat or drink, yet?”

“No! Didn’t know what to get; there’s so much,” Harry shook his head as his brows raised on his forehead.

“S’not much of a time without a drink! C’mon, let’s get you something yummy,” Y/N smiled as she took hold of Harry’s hand before looking behind her to see her friends still staring at them. She mouthed that the two were headed to the kitchen. The two nodded and shoed them away. It was when Harry had caught up to Y/N’s pace that she had realized she was still holding onto Harry’s hand.

“S’really big!” Harry shouted over the music as Y/N let go of his hand, making Harry look down at the loss of contact. He had debated reaching out for it once more, but thought it ridiculous.

“A lot of people couldn’t make it,” Y/N laughed as they neared the kitchen.

“What?” Harry gaped as he followed. There were fewer people the further they had gotten from where they had met and he felt like Y/N could hear him without having to yell.

“I mean,” Y/N shrugged as her name was suddenly called out and she looked around to wave back at whoever had called her name, “I kinda copied the idea from an event we had back home, and they had twice as many rooms.”

“Twice?” Harry marveled at the girl walking beside him.

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, smiling at the memory, “it was nice, though! All the vendors in town would pitch in and serve, and even though there were twice as many people, everybody knew each other. Newcomers always came back the next year, and it was just a nice little event everybody looked forward to every year, you know?”

“I’d have liked to see that,” Harry shook his head as the two finally entered the kitchen. Y/N was about to respond but was interrupted.

“Y/N!” Came a shout from somewhere in the back, making Y/N pick up her pace towards the man that had caught sight of her.

“Odie!” Y/N gasped as she spread her arms open to the man before he took her in his arms and leaned back to pick her up from the ground.

“You’ve come to say hello to your amiguinho?” Odie widened his eyes at Y/N.

“Claro!” Y/N’s smile radiated her familiarity with the man before going to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Ah, meu bem, have you brought me someone to cook for?” Odie asked, the sound of Y/N’s heels landing back on firm ground as he looked around her body at Harry.

“Oh, Odie, this is my friend Harry,” Y/N looked back and signaled for Harry to come closer, “Harry this is Odie.”

“Nice to meet you, Sir Styles,” Odie’s eyes squinted as he smiled at the young man as he stuck out his hand for Harry to take.

“Nice to meet you, Odie,” Harry reciprocated his smile.

“O que ele disse?” Odie furrowed his brows at Y/N.

“Ah, you’ll have to speak up, Harry. Ele é surdo,” Y/N spoke up to Odie, laughing when he elbowed her side, “he can’t hear very well out of his left ear on account of always yelling at people.”

“Feh,” Odie swiped a palm through the air, “makes a good chef.”

“Excuses,” Y/N narrowed her eyes and shook her head, “Jamie said you had something for me.”

“Sim! Vem, vem, vem,” Odie ushered the two over to another section of his kitchen, cursing a few people that had not moved out of his way. Y/N had apologized to those he cursed as she trailed behind Odie. She spoke so softly, if he hadn't been trying, Harry wouldn’t have known she was apologizing.

“I know you couldn’t have them last time, but I finally worked out how to make it sem laticínios,” Odie paused as he turned to the couple behind him, “no dairy.”

“Pasteis de nata?” Y/N gasped as her eyes fell to where a pan of pastries on the counter.

“Sim! Yes,” Odie’s eyes shrank as he gave her his biggest smile, “tente! Try! Please.”

“Odie, obrigado! It smelled absolutely celestial last time, my mouth was watering. I almost threw away cinco anos de veganismo to taste it,” Y/N explained as she reached to grab two of the pastries from the pan before handing the other to Harry.

“What is it? Paste de,” Harry paused as he looked between Y/N and Odie for the answer.

“Pasteis de nata,” Odie answered, as Y/N had already popped the pastry into her mouth, laughing because she couldn’t speak with her mouth so full.

“Pasteis de nata,” Harry repeated before Odie nodded with glee.

“Try!” Odie insisted before Harry went to taste the food.

“Oh, Odie,” Y/N moaned, her eyes rolling, “you’ve outdone yourself! Está perfeito! Que gostoso! E a receita?”

“É um segredo,” Odie shook his head, “you ever want; avise-se me! Call me!”

“S’delicious,” Harry gaped as he went in for another bite.

“I know,” Odie grinned, crossing his arms over her chest, “your new boyfriend?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Y/N quickly interjected, shaking her head, “actually, can we take one for his date?”

At this point, somebody had called for Odie somewhere within the kitchen and he had cursed under his breath before turning back to Y/N.

“Meu bem, sempre um prazer. Pleasure, pleasure,” Odie gave Y/N another smile as he went to sandwich her hand in his own, “you’ll come and visit, soon?”

“Of course,” Y/N nodded as she laid her free hand on top of his, “muito obrigado por ter vindo.”

“Ah, your Portuguese está melhorando,” Odie shook his head at Y/N, “much better, meu bem. Harry! Foi um prazer conhece-lo; lovely to meet you. Conte-me, what’s your favorite food?”

“Eh,” Harry chuckled, trying to think of something, “eh, I’ll eat pretty much anything, so long as it’s not meat.”

“Okay,” Odie nodded, pensively before being yelled at once more for assistance, “Aff! Okay, I’ll make something and send out! Até logo!”

“Até logo! Thank you,” Y/N smiled as he sent a wave their way before rushing away. Y/N grabbed another small pastry and halved it to share with Harry.

“Date?” Harry scrunched his nose as he turned to look at Y/N, who had already taken a bite from her half.

“Yeah,” Y/N innocently nodded, her hand going to cover her mouth full, looking up to see Harry’s confused features, “the woman... you were speaking to? Before?”

“Oh,” Harry finally spoke after a few moments of trying to remember who he had been speaking to beforehand, “oh, no, that was just someone that just came up to me... you don’t know who it was?”

“No,” Y/N laughed at his expression, clutching her stomach as she did so, “sometimes people bring their friends that I’m not that acquainted with.”

“Ah,” Harry frowned as he put his hand on his hip, “s’that not scare you?”

“Not really,” Y/N shook her head, “it hasn’t been a problem, so far.”

“Well, wish I would’ve known that,” Harry commented with a little shrug of his shoulders.

“Why? Nobody ever asks, they just bring them,” Y/N took another bite from the dish Odie had made for her.

“Hate showing up to places alone,” Harry explained as he looked down at the half of the pastry Y/N had given him, “didn’t want anyone to think they had to entertain me.”

“Ugh, I know,” Y/N squinted and smiled as she bumped his hand with the back of her palm, “sorry, hope you don’t mind my company?”

“No, of course not,” Harry quickly shook his head before a silence came over the two.

“What? You don’t like it?” Y/N nodded toward the pastry he had been holding while blankly looking at her.

“No, s’great,” Harry smiled as he went to take a bite, “think it may be one of the best sweets I’ve ever had... What was it? That he was speaking?”

“Português,” Harry finding it endearing how easily the accent rolled off her tongue, “it’s a beautiful language, no?”

“Yeah... And you speak it?” Harry questioned as he watched her finish her half of the pastry. “No... at least not fluently. Well, it’s pretty close to Spanish, but m’learning little by little,” Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her hands together to rid them of crumbs, “hate him having to speak another language on my account, he tries so hard. Figured I could put some effort in, as well.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, knowingly, “s’cool.”

“You want some actual food, now? I’m already getting a tummy ache with all the junk food I’ve consumed today,” Y/N smiled up at him as he took another bite of the dessert. He laughed as he raised a fist to cover his mouth.

“Sure,” came his muffled response before Y/N nodded for him to follow her. They had made their way to another room where there were a few people jotting down orders and giving people estimates of how long it would take for them to get their food.

“What do you recommend?” Harry asked as the two looked at the various options on various panels of food.

“Everything,” Y/N sighed as her eyes seemed to look for something in particular, “do you like hispanic food?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged before Y/N turned to look at him.

“How much spice can you handle?” Y/N questioned, raising her brows at the male.

“Oh,” Harry laughed, “eh... a good amount, I guess?”

“Okay,” Y/N turned back to the menu, “the jackfruit tacos are al pastor and can be quite spicy, so is the pozole... eh, they do a great tamale with mole sauce on top. The pasteles are pretty good... Mmm, there’s a few curry dishes and Odie’s been trying his hand at a few Asian inspired dishes.”

“‘ve got just about everything, don’t you?” Harry wondered, shaking his head. “I don’t know, now. Everything sounds good.”

“How hungry are you?” Y/N asked, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

+ + +

“This is fucking delicious,” Harry groaned out. He had just tasted the tamale Y/N had ordered earlier. It was not the first time he had uttered those words throughout the night. Y/N had ordered them “a little bit of everything” and he was surprised at how much of it the two were able to put away. Within twenty minutes, a platter had been served to them with small servings of various foods. Y/N had told him she had wanted to show him something and had taken all she could in her arms before he had taken the rest in his own. She had led him up a dark flight of stairs before kicking open a door that revealed the venue’s rooftop. The two had taken a seat on the edge of a skylight, the twinkling lights of San Francisco providing enough light for them to see what they were eating—the Golden Gate Bridge was somewhere off in the distance of the fog.

“Feel like you’ve said that about all of it,” Y/N laughed as she reached for the drink she had set in front of her criss crossed legs earlier. Harry had tried what she had called Ponche—a drink infused with cinnamon, apple, and various other fruits. It had proven to be too sweet for him, so Y/N had happily agreed to finish it.

“It just keeps getting better, though,” Harry attempted to explain, “and just when I think that I’ve tried the best, I’ll go back for something else and that’s great, too... How’d you get so many vendors, anyway? I saw one actually came in from LA.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled before Harry squints at her.

“You must be something to have people come out so far,” Harry commented with a shake of his head, “even restaurants have a limit to how much money gets shoved at them before they refuse such a long distance to travel.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Y/N shook her head and shrugged as he watched her arm poke from his blazer to grab more food. He had noticed the goosebumps poke through her skin when they first started setting up and had debated offering her his jacket. He liked Y/N. He thought she was sweet and nice to talk to but he didn’t want to be too, as he found Y/N liked to say, cheesy. He had offered, anyways, and the item had been graciously refused by Y/N.

“Then you’ll be cold, and what’s the good in that,” Y/N scrunched her nose, “I’m used to it, anyways.”

Harry would not have it and had made a great show of taking his blazer off before wrapping her in the remnant warmth of his own body. She had laughed (he realized he really liked the sound) and thanked him. It was then that Jamie had interrupted the two, apologetically delivering a sushi roll Odie had sent up before hurrying away—Y/N had rolled her eyes as she called out to her that she was welcome to stay. Jamie had refused and wished them a great rest of their night. As for the sushi roll, Harry had fallen in love. It had tempura carrots and sweet potato with cucumber and Harry was over the moon with the little sweet sauce that had been drizzled over it.

“I hope I don’t sound presumptuous, but you were a fan?” Harry asked as he reached for the Jamaica Y/N had urged him to try. It was a red hibiscus juice that was too bitter for his tongue at the first sip, but it had started to grow on him.

“Oh my gosh, yes,” Y/N furrowed her brows, “I’m surprised I didn’t pass out on the show.”

“Really?” Harry’s brows raised as he sat the cup back down in front of him.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Y/N asked, cocking her head at him. She had grown suspicious that people had told him of her attempts to avoid him. She was sure Florence had outed her. “Dunno why, but I can’t peg you as the type,” Harry shook his head.

“Well, what's the type?” Y/N inquired as she popped another bit of tamale into her mouth. He had long been in awe of how she had substituted her fork for chop sticks.

“You know what I mean,” Harry sighed as he leaned back on his hands, his legs outstretched, “you were so calm on the show. Could’ve fooled me... Who was your favorite?”

“Oh my God, I’m not telling you that,” Y/N refused as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“Must have been me then,” Harry narrowed his eyes at Y/N and nodded as he pursed his lips at her.

“Wow,” Y/N gaped as she turned to look at his snickering features, “a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I mean, is there any other reason why you wouldn’t answer the question, Y/N?” Harry shrugged as he turned to look at Y/N. He liked how he looked with his blazer over her shoulders. It almost looked as if it was intentionally a part of her outfit.

“What if it’s one of the other boys and I just don’t want to risk you running off to tell them?” Y/N shook her head as she watched him pop a plantain into his mouth.

“Then Florence must have been lying when she told me you used to have posters of me up on your walls,” Harry shrugged, nonchalantly.

“Oh my God,” Y/N cried out, her hands going to cover her face before they dropped to reveal her annoyed features, “first of all, it was one and I only put it up as a joke.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Harry laughed as the two reached for the last samosa. Harry tsked and Y/N squinted over at him.

“Don’t think just because you were a little fan, I’m just going to let you have it,” Harry shook his head.

“I will physically fight you,” Y/N shook her head.

“Jesus, give a boy a chance, won’t you?” Harry widened his eyes as he went to cough into his elbow.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Y/N offered with a shake of her head.

“Okay,” Harry shrugged as he turned his body to face her, which she reciprocated. The two chanted the necessary words before Y/N’s hand landed as rock and Harry’s as paper.

“Ah,” Harry cheered as his larger palm went to cover Y/N’s fist, “best two out of three?” “Okay,” Y/N responded, closing her eyes before the two commenced with their antics. Y/N had won the second round, and for the third, Harry had used “fire,” which had started a bit of an argument.

“No, no. It’s called ‘rock, paper, scissors,’ Harry,” Y/N shook her head as she watched him rub his hands on his thighs.

“It’s fire! It beats everything,” Harry chuckled as he went to grab the samosa.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N playfully argued, “if that’s the case then I want another round where we’re using made up rules, that way I can use the water balloon thing.”

“Okay, Phoebe Buffay,” Harry muttered before giving the samosa to Y/N.

“Here,” Y/N chortled as she tore the turnover in half and handed one of the two to Harry, to which they tapped the two together in cheers.

“What’ve you been listening to lately? I feel like I’ve been listening to the same three songs for the past few months, and it’s getting pretty bleak,” Y/N stated as she looked on toward the city lights.

“Ooh, well I’ve kind of rediscovered my love for the lyricism of some of Joni Mitchell’s-” Harry began before Y/N tensed.

“Joni Mitchell?” Y/N’s brows had furrowed.

“Yeah,” Harry replied as he turned his head to look at her. There was an awkward pause where Y/N seemed to be mulling something over.

“Didn’t she... didn’t she do blackface on one of her album covers?” Y/N asked after swallowing her food, brushing some crumbs from her lap.

“Eh,” Harry didn’t know how to answer the question, “she said that she really identified with-”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, “I... I don’t know... I just feel like that’s not a good enough reason. She hasn’t experienced what they’ve experienced. I think... I think that’s kind of unfair of her to say.”

“Uh,” Harry trailed as he tried to think of what to respond before shaking his head, “no, that... that makes sense.”

There was a moment of silence where Harry wondered if he had just messed everything up.

“I’m sorry, I,” Y/N began before Harry went to fervently shake his head.

“No,” Harry voiced, “you’re completely right. I just... I guess I never thought about it like that, but thank you for bringing it to my attention. I never want to support someone... someone that isn’t... well, considerate, I suppose.”

“No,” Y/N also shook her head, “I haven’t read much more about it. Maybe she apologized... or something. Sometimes I overreact-”

“You didn’t,” Harry assured, his hand going to cover Y/N’s and Y/N couldn’t help but sigh a breath of relief. Her last boyfriend had always gotten so angry when she spoke about such things. It was a breath of fresh air to be heard by someone she admired so much.

“I liked putting a donation box at the front,” Harry quickly changed the subject, “s’a good idea.”

“Right?” Y/N raised her brows and nodded. “Wish I could take credit for it; but Jamie was the one that had suggested it.”

“Jamie seems real nice,” Harry commented as he went in for another bite of samosa.

“Yeah, she’s sweet,” Y/N smiled. The two sat in a comfortable silence where they listened as the song playing beneath them had changed.

“See,” Harry nudged her arm, “what’s this? I can never differentiate between different genres... is that not tasteful to say?”

“No, not at all,” Y/N shook her head, “I had trouble with it when I was younger. This sounds like it’s cumbia.”

“And how’s it danced? How is it different than, like, salsa?” Harry asked, going for the Jamaica, again.

“Mm,” Y/N hummed as she finished chewing and swallowing, “salsa tends to be more front and back, while cumbia is more to the sides, but there’s a few different ways to dance it.”

“Will you teach me?” Harry asked as he set down the cup of red liquid to his side.

“Yeah, sure!” Y/N smiled as she set down what was left of her samosa and slipping Harry’s blazer from her shoulders. “D’ya mind terribly if I lay it on the glass, here? S’okay if you do! Can put it back on. Don’t wanna get it dirty.”

“No, it’s fine!” Harry nodded before the two pushed up from their seat.

“Okay so you can do a simple two steps to either side like this,” Y/N began.

“Okay, but y’can’t poke fun at me, because I know I’ll look ridiculous,” Harry seemed to pout, his hands at his hips.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Y/N almost seemed to scorn before grabbing his hands and urging him to follow her steps, “there you go!”

“Yeah?” Harry asked as he stepped back to look at her feet. “You said there were a few ways; which do you prefer?”

“That I prefer? Mm, you almost want to think like your skipping,” Y/N explained as she crossed one foot over the other, “and then you kick this one out.”

“So you cross this one,” Harry followed as he looked at his own feet before looking to Y/N for further instruction.

“Yeah, and then kick that one out,” Y/N pointed to one of his legs before he followed her direction, “yep, just like that. Then you do the same on the other side. Mm-hm.”

“Just like that?” Harry asked as he carried out a slightly faster pace.

“Yeah! You’ve got it,” Y/N beamed before her hands went to bump his arms up, “and you’ve gotta move those arms. It’s like fifty percent of looking like you know what you’re doing.”

Harry laughed before inquiring on turns, which Y/N roughly helped him get an idea of how to lead a turn. It took a while but Harry was a fast learner. Before too long he was comfortably leading her in a turn, but was confused when Y/N started laughing.

“What? What’d I do?” Harry asked as he searched her features for an answer.

“No, nothing,” Y/N calmed from her previous fit of laughter, “this song’s just funny. He’s talking about marrying a fish, or mermaid, I guess.”

“A mermaid?” Harry cracked a smile at the explanation.

“Yeah, and they have a baby with the face of an angel but the tail of a fish,” Y/N snickers, “but soldiers came one day and accused him of eating her for breakfast. Sorry, it’s not even funny, I don’t know why I’m laughing so much.”

“Of eating her?” Harry gaped before laughing along with Y/N, as his hold on her slips. “What have you got me dancing to, Y/N?”

“Some sick, true crime episode, apparently,” Y/N laughs before Harry grabbed Y/N’s hand.

“I can do a bit of salsa,” Harry smiled with excitement, “and by a bit, I mean a teeny tiny bit.”

“Okay, let’s see it,” Y/N responded as Harry had tried to get her into a ballroom hold, “oh, damn.”

“What?” Harry laughed down at Y/N.

“This is, like, a hold,” Y/N widened her eyes, a soft smile forming amidst her features.

“What’d you mean?” Harry inquired, confused by her phrasing.

“No, it’s just, I’ve never been in, like, a ballroom hold for salsa,” Y/N shrugged, “that’s professional ish.”

“Stop,” Harry rolled his eyes, “how’d you dance it, then?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that, I’ve just never seen it danced like that, but you learn something new everyday,” Y/N reasoned before bouncing in place.

“Now, I’m embarrassed,” Harry huffed out a laugh, “all I know is you go back and forth.”

“No! M’sorry! Didn’t mean anything by it,” Y/N pleaded, pouting out her bottom lip.

“Oy vey,” Harry rolled his eyes, “you asked for it.”

“What do you mean? S’not bad! It’s a basic salsa step, that’s all you need,” Y/N shrugged as he led her in the little step he knew.

“Yeah, but you were doing way more in that video James showed,” Harry responded.

“Yeah, but that’s a bunch of fluff, mostly for show,” Y/N pursed her lips and shook her head before Harry attempted a turn. It was the wrong way, but Y/N wouldn't call him out on it.

“Sorry m’not a better dancer,” Harry feigned a whimper.

“Me, too,” Y/N joked as Harry gaped at her.

“Hey,” Harry droned out, his features showing a bit of offense as he furrowed his brows at her.

“M’only kidding,” Y/N giggled.

“I’m really trying,” Harry whimpered out, once again, feigning offense.

“Alright, then. I already said you’re a fine dancer, no?” Y/N teased, making Harry's eyes widen in surprise.

“Okay, little Miss Show Off, what else can you show me?” Harry asked.

“You’ve got a real mean streak, you know that?” Y/N replied.

“I’m a dream,” Harry said in a matter of factly tone. Neither had noticed that they had started simply swaying back and forth. The music had changed to something quite slow, and Y/N assumed they had wandered over another room. Y/N had gotten distracted by the view of the city before she turned to see Harry staring at her, a little smile taking over his features. Y/N had a moment where she believed she had to have been stuck in some sort of fever dream.

“What else did you wanna learn?” Y/N stammered, breaking eye contact with Harry.

“Eh, this is quite nice,” Harry shrugged as he pulled Y/N a little closer, “like dancing white people music with you.”

“Please,” Y/N cringed, shaking her head as she fought the urge to laugh, “I can’t believe I said that.”

“I thought it was funny,” Harry shrugged as he went to carefully dip Y/N

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would say I’m living an actual sappy, cheesy, fan fiction moment,” Y/N teased as Harry held her body up with a palm to her back.

“I cannot believe you’ve read that smut,” Harry shook his head, mockingly disapproval.

“Why would you jump to that conclusion? I could have been into that cottagecore stuff,” Y/N defended.

“What the fuck is cottagecore? What? Is it people that like to have sex in miniature cottages,” Harry furrowed his brows before yanking Y/N’s body back up to him, where the two were forced to bump noses. This had caused the two to burst into a fit of giggles, Harry reaching out to grab a hold of Y/N’s shoulders and ducking his head to make sure Y/N was alright.

+ + +

“S’this it?” Harry seemed to whisper as he had pulled up to Y/N’s home, her looking out the passenger window to see the familiar sight of her home.

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed as her fingers went to press on the little button that would release the buckle of her seatbelt. Harry and Y/N had stayed on the rooftop for a while longer than either had anticipated. So, when Jamie’s sleepy features had appeared, inquiring as to how the two were, Y/N had jumped up, slipping Harry’s blazer off her shoulders as she tried saying she was ready to leave.

“Sorry, guys, ’ve just had a long day,” Jamie hung her head, apologetically, before going to look at Harry, “you can always talk to her tomorrow.”

“Jamie,” Y/N nervously chuckled as she began folding Harry’s blazer to return to him.

“S’fine,” Harry waved away her attempts to return the piece of clothing, “you can give it to me the next time I see you.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N smiled as she hesitantly unfolded the blazer to slip back into, chuckling as she did so, “still warm.”

“Or you could drive her home,” Jamie droned, making Y/N’s eyes widen as her head whipped around to glare at Jamie, “you know... so you guys can keep talking. I didn’t want to interrupt your invigorating conversation about... what was it? Volcanoes on the moon?”

“They were a real thing,” Harry insisted, making Y/N smile and narrow her eyes at him, “but, yeah, if you want to head home now, I can drive her a little later.”

“See?” Jamie raised her eyebrows at Y/N before sticking her tongue out at her.

“Okay, well,” Y/N paused as she looked back at Harry, “only if you're sure.”

“Of course,” Harry seemed to sing along.

So, Jamie had made her way back to her vehicle as Harry and Y/N remained on the rooftop, continuing their random subjects of discussions. It hadn’t been long before Y/N had let out a yawn, and Harry insisted that he take her home before she fell asleep on the roof. It was a comfortable ride where Y/N would pipe up with random facts about her hometown as the passed different locations. Harry found it impossible when Y/N had told him the fortune cookie had been invented in San Francisco, but the way she spoke could definitely make him believe anything. He liked seeing her so animated about such random topics.

“Are you staying in town tonight? I really hope you’re not making the trip back tonight—even a flight’s like two hours, no?” Y/N cocked her head at Harry as he knuckled at his eye, one of his rings catching the moonlight and shining in Y/N’s eye.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “staying at a friend’s house and driving back tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Y/N nodded her head. She was a little disappointed. In all honesty, if he had said any different, she most likely would have tripped over her hormones to offer for him to spend the night at hers.

“S’fine, really. S’cold out,” Harry spoke lowly and held his palm out in protest as he saw her begin to peel off his blazer, once more.

“It’s not that far of a walk, really,” the apples of Y/N’s cheeks were prominent with the smile she gave him, “thanks... well, it was nice seeing you tonight.”

“It was nice seeing you, thank you for inviting me. I’ve not forgotten our dim sum date at that one place,” Harry pointed a finger at Y/N, accusingly, narrowing his eyes at her.

“No, of course not,” Y/N laughed off his casual use of the term “date,” as she felt her face heat up, “let me know when you’re in town, again.”

“No, you let me know when you’re available,” Harry shook his head as he looked out his windshield.

“Oh, so the ball’s in my court, now?” Y/N teased with a nod of her head.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “don’t get me wrong, s’a lovely town... but I don’t come here very often. Don’t know many people, here.”

“Oh, well, if L.A.’s easier,” Y/N began, before Harry chuckled.

“S’not what I meant. I know L.A. makes you nervous,” Harry shook his head at her, knowingly.

“I don’t know why,” Y/N scoffed, “I have to work there so often, but I just hate it. It doesn’t really feel like home, you know? Like I know a lot of people, but it’s not like they’re... I don’t know.”

“No, I get it,” Harry’s lips barely curved into a knowing smile, “d’ya mind terribly if I did something?”

“What?” Y/N questioned before Harry reached over to grab the side of her face in one of his warm palms before he carefully leaned in to connect their lips. She let out an odd noise, it was somewhere between a squeak of surprise and the beginning of sentence. Though it had taken her by surprise, she couldn’t help but smile at the taste of the sweet Jamaica he had slowly started warming up to. He had been the one to pull away, his eyes still closed when she opened hers.

“Sorry,” Harry dimpled, shaking his head, and at this proximity, Y/N could see the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, “was that okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N beamed as he finally opened his green eyes to stare into hers, both trying to read emotion on the other’s expression, “was lovely.”

“Yeah,” Harry slowly blinked at Y/N.

+ + +

The next day, ordinarily, would not have been anything special for Y/N. She had worked for a few hours and then had gotten to spend some time with some friends before returning to her home to tidy up. What had been different, though, and what had made all she encountered ask her why she seemed so happy that particular day had everything to do with Harry.

She had waken up to someone at her front door. It had scared her, at first. She hadn’t been expecting anybody so early. She had grabbed a sweater and slid her arms through the sleeves as she bounced down the stairs, brows furrowed as she ran her fingers through her hair, her fingers catching on the knots that had formed overnight. She had unlocked her phone to see who was standing at her doorstep, but had been confused as she saw an empty frame. She debated whether it was worth opening the door to check if whoever had rang the doorbell had rushed away. Something compelled her to do so, anyways. The door had swung open and something on her stoop’s little table captured her attention. There, on the little table, were white lilies wrapped in some brown paper, a little cup of hot liquid, and a small, familiar pastry bag. She knew who it was from judging by the little cup of hot chocolate she had told Harry about the night before. She looked up in time to see a car that resembled the one she rode in the night previously turn around her block.

Later that day, while she had been sorting through her Excel bill sheet on her laptop, her phone had rang out, making her look at the top corner of her screen for the message that had come through.

How was your morning?

Y/N smiled as she set her laptop aside and grabbed her phone. She hadn’t set Harry’s contact information up in her laptop, so it had read his phone number instead of the name she had assigned him in her phone’s contacts. A feeling stirred inside of her as she had the sudden urge to see his face. She wondered if it would be too much to FaceTime him... She had a habit of moving things along too quickly and falling too hard, too fast in the past. They had only just met, but he had been the one to bring her breakfast that morning, afterall...

😂 Was that you? Didn’t want to assume...

She bit her lip in anticipation as she watched the little gray bubble appear and disappear a few times. She was thankful she had disabled her read receipts in the past when the next message swooped in.

Good Gravy Miss Daisy. Hard one to woo, aren’t you, mate?

... don’t like that I used that phrase... please ignore :/

Y/N laughed out at the message that had come directly after the first. She could not believe he had actually took the time to type out the emoticon instead of just using the built in keyboard on his phone for emojis.

I wasn’t about to make an entire fool of myself! If I had thanked you earlier and it wasn’t you, I would have been mortified, you noodle!

A few moments went by, and nothing. Not even the little bubble she had seen the previous time. She had decided to lock her phone and get back to the task she had been doing, picking up her computer and setting it on her lap. She had gone through a few more bills before she looked down at her silent phone to her right. She frowned as her hands went to tie her hair up in a ponytail. She had just pulled the elastic off of her wrist to complete her ponytail when both her phone and her computer rang out. She instantly recognized the sound before she even saw the application pop up on her computer. She yelped out as she quickly tore out the elastic from her hair, and grimaced. She had probably damaged a few strands of hair for being so aggressive, but there was no way the ponytail had been as neat as she would want if she were to FaceTime with Harry. She knew she looked disheveled. She had been out and about with makeup all day. She knew the liner she had put on earlier that morning had probably smudged and transferred onto her lower lash line. She knew the lipstick she had rubbed onto her lips had probably left remnants in the cracks of her lips. She would have wanted a little more notice to be able to look presentable, at the very least. But if she had fixed all the things she had wanted, she would have missed her opportunity to accept Harry’s call. So, she figured letting her hair down would be good enough. It wasn’t long before she had clicked on the “Accept” button and had waited for the call to connect. The little sound that signaled a connection rang out and Harry’s features popped up on her little computer screen. Y/N wanted to squeal at how adorable the young man looked. He was in a gray hoodie, but his little curls poked out of the pulled hood. His lips seemed to glow compared to his puffy and soft, pale features—as if he might have just woken from a deep slumber.

“Sorry!” Harry seemed to be laughing, “is it too late? Figured you were responding to my messages...”

“No! No, I was just doing some... work,” Y/N shook her head as she made herself more comfortable on her couch.

“Oh, okay, good,” Harry nodded as he rubbed at his face, “and why’d you call me a noodle? What does that mean?”

“What? You’ve never been called a noodle?” Harry smiled at the laugh he had become so familiar with the previous day.

“Can’t say that I have,” Harry furrowed his brows.

“Ugh, that was like eighty percent of my childhood entertainment,” Y/N sighed as she tried not to look up at the little frame that showed what she looked like. She hoped she didn’t look too messy. “But thank you for breakfast! It was delicious.”

“What breakfast?” Harry furrowed his brows at her. Y/N widened her eyes at her screen. He had asked if she had gotten anything special earlier that morning. How could he not have left those flowers and food at her stoop? Who else would it have-

“M’joking,” Harry rolled his eyes, “sheesh.”

“I’m sorry! It’s been a long day... But thanks, just the same. And for the lilies! They were lovely. They definitely brightened up my office this morning. How’d you know they’re my absolute favorite?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at her computer screen that had displayed his features.

“Lucky guess,” Harry shrugged his shoulders through the lie. He had wanted to say that he knew, but knew that would most likely make Y/N feel compelled to ask how he had known if the subject hadn't been breached the previous day. He didn’t feel like explaining how he had basically been cyber stalking her a few months previous.

“Meanwhile, that bakery... you may’ve turned me onto something,” Harry widened his eyes.

“Did you actually go in?” Y/N questioned, her brows raising out of shock.

“Yeah,” Harry slowly responded, narrowing his eyes, “wait, why?”

“I mean,” Y/N laughed, “I just can’t imagine you... walking into a panaderia on Mission.”

“Why?” Harry seemed to pout.

“No reason,” Y/N shrugged, clearly finding the idea amusing, for some reason, “did you get what I was saying about the smell being other worldly, though?”

“Yeah,” Harry responded, defeated, “you’re right... it smells a lot warmer... or maybe sweeter? It just might be better than any other bakery I’ve stepped into.”

“It’s all the extra cholesterol they put into their bread,” Y/N joked, “did you get anything for yourself?”

“Yeah,” Harry responded, lifting his chin as he spoke, “eh, I got one of those pink concha things and the hot chocolate? The ch... champ... champ-”

“Champurrado?” Y/N smiled, thinking it absolutely endearing at how hard he was trying to pronounce the term.

“That’s it!” Harry smiled.

“So, what’d you think?” Y/N pressed.

“Eh, was too sweet for me,” Harry grimaced, his dimple making an appearance as he pursed his lips, “but I feel like if I hadn’t gotten it with coconut milk, I would get the appeal.”

“Coconut milk? No, way! You’ve gotta try the almond milk!” Y/N widened her eyes.

“I know, you told me last night, but I usually prefer coconut milk,” Harry commented, “suppose that’s what I get for not listening to you.”

“I may not know a lot, but I know my plant alternative milks,” Y/N perked up, “how bad was the aftermath of the concha?”

“God awful,” Harry scoffed, “I made the mistake of trying to eat it on the way home and it was everywhere. There’s still sugar all over my floor mats and the passenger seat.”

“Oh, no,” Y/N burst into laughter, “m’sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Harry calmed from his own laughter, “was worth it, all the same.”

“You’ll have to get something different, next time. There’s one with pumpkin filling that’s,” Y/N kissed her fingers, making Harry laugh out.

“I have to slow down,” Harry shook his head, “m’getting pudgy.”

“Nonsense, bread goes straight to the heart,” Y/N made a face as though what Harry said could never be imaginable, “besides, pumpkin’s healthy. There’ve actually been studies that it can help boost your immune system!”

“Okay, then, it’s settled,” Harry shrugged, “I’m only eating bread for the rest of my life, so long as it’s stuffed with pumpkin.”

“Sounds like an absolute dream; sign me up,” Y/N sighed out.

“How was your day? What did you do? Anything interesting?” Harry questioned.

“It was fine,” Y/N shrugged, “work and then dinner with friends. Nothing too crazy.”

“Anyone I know?” Harry wanted to take it back as soon as he the words escaped his mouth. He felt it a bit too intrusive, given the little that they knew of one another. He wondered if he had made things awkward, but Y/N seemed unfazed.

“Mm,” she she seemed to think of the answer, “I don’t think so. Not unless you know Michelle Kelvin?”

“Is she related to Maisie?” Harry wrinkled his nose at his screen.

“Yes! They’re second cousins... twice removed... or something weird,” Y/N laughed with a shake of her head, “but yeah! She was supposed to come with us, but couldn’t last minute.”

“She’s cool,” Harry smiled.

“She really is. She always remembers my birthday and sends me a little care package every year around Thanksgiving,” Y/N made that expression he noticed she did a lot. It was whenever she was endeared by something, she would pout out her lower lip, but looked as though she were smiling. He had looked over at his image to see he looked absolutely smitten with whatever it was he was speaking to and wanted to wipe the look off his stupid face.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded his head as he suddenly felt his cheeks start to burn, and he hoped it didn’t translate through to her screen, “she’s nice.”

“I wish I could be more thoughtful,” Y/N shook her head and Harry bit his tongue. He had wanted to comment on how she really was, based off of the stories he had heard from mutual friends. Rob had told him of his wife falling in love with this rare album that she couldn’t find anywhere, and after mentioning it once to Y/N, had found it in the mail a week later with a thank you note from Y/N for dinner. Another one of many anecdotes was how she had volunteered to pick up one his friend’s daughters from school when they couldn’t find anyone else and had brought chocolates and violets for the little girl because her name was Violet. It was after this encounter that Violet would fervently continue to ask for Y/N as a babysitter.

“How was the drive back?” Y/N had interrupted his silence.

“Was fine; got home earlier than expected,” Harry features brightened as his brows momentarily rose, “was able to watch that documentary with the pig thing.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Y/N laughed, remembering how flabbergasted Harry been when she had told him of a documentary that had explained how researchers were working on facial recognition with pigs the night before.

“Freaky,” Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, “and those birds!”

“I know,” Y/N’s eyes widened as she gaped, "it’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah! Like, who came up with that? Who was like, let me make some animals that know the weather better than these dense humans,” Harry continued to marvel, and all Y/N could really focus on was how grateful she was to be able to see this side of Harry. She had always dreamed up this imaginary persona that she felt matched up with what interviews and social media had portrayed of the male. But she had made up her mind that she liked this version much better.

+ + +

Y/N had gotten to Magda’s house pretty early—about 6 AM, to be exact. It had been tradition for about two years, now. Y/N had met Magda at a local bookstore when Magda had approached Y/N, asking about what the kids these days were reading. They had instantly bonded over their love and appreciation for classic novels—Jane Austen’s Emma, in particular. Ever since, the two had kept in close contact and Magda had become a sort of adoptive grandmother to Y/N. It had been when Y/N had voiced her yearning for some traditionally homemade tamales that Magda had voiced her proficiency in cooking the dish and had offered to make Y/N a batch as long as she brought over spirits and a good movie. It had become a monthly event, and this time, a newcomer was to be involved.

“So,” Magda beamed as she ferociously scrubbed at a big pot she kept hidden away until moments such as these, “what’s he like?”

“Harry?” Y/N raised her brows as she pulled apart some jackfruit.

“Yes,” Magda encouraged.

“He’s nice,” Y/N nodded and looked up to see Magda knowingly grinning, “s’pretty wonderful, actually.”

“Oh,” Magda gently nodded.

“He’s... I don’t know... thoughtful? Is it foolish to think that’s such a unique feature in a man?” Y/N shook her head.

“It’s a bit disappointing that more men aren’t described in such a way,” Magda shrugged and looked up as she twisted the handle of her faucet.

“That’s true,” Y/N nodded, vacantly looking ahead, “it’s just that... he makes me feel... heard?”

“Unheard of,” Magda teased.

“I know, right,” Y/N laughed, “but he looks into your eyes when you’re talking and... I don’t know... he makes you feel like you’re the only person he’d want to be talking to and as if... what you say actually matters to him. And it’s not just me! He does it with everyone I’ve seen him around... He’s very validating and surprisingly open minded.”

“You’re pretty open minded,” Magda noted.

“No,” Y/N shook her head, “not as much as he is, I don’t think. He’s so accepting so long as there’s a good means to an end... if that makes sense. I don’t know, perhaps it’s just the fact that I’ve admired him for so long.”

Magda was about to respond when a knock came at the front door.

“Come in,” the two sang out in chorus before the sound of the doorknob being turned and the sound of the door being pushed open alarmed the two to Harry’s arrival.

“S’this a no shoes household?” Harry asked as he waited at the entrance for a response.

“It’s a whatever you prefer house,” Magda laughed as she looked over at Y/N, “s’very considerate.”

“I told you,” Y/N mumbled as she straightened in her chair.

“Thank you for asking, lovey,” Magda beamed as Harry quietly made his way into the kitchen.

“Oh, s’no problem,” Harry piped up as Y/N turned to smile at him from her stool set at the kitchen island. “Hi,” came Y/N’s greeting before Harry went to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Morning,” Harry almost seemed to mumble as he grinned down at her before remembering the two weren’t alone, “you must be-”

“Magda,” the older woman rubbed her palms on the little apron Y/N had gifted her about a year previously, “so nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” Harry approached where the woman stood before extending his hand.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Magda shook her head, “we love having new friends over and cooking for them. It’s such a nice way to show your appreciation for someone, you know?”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn as she knew Magda most likely meant nothing by the statement, but it somehow felt too intimate for Harry to know she appreciated him.

“Completely agree,” Harry nodded his head, still holding onto Magda’s hands.

“Oh, honey, you were right,” Magda called over her shoulder to a clueless Y/N.

“About what?” Y/N scrunched her nose.

“He does make you feel heard,” Magda actually giggled, making Y/N softly chuckle behind the two.

“She’s talking about me? What else has she said?” Harry raised his brows before smirking over at Y/N.

“Magda, did you see where I put the peppers?” Y/N pretended not to hear him as she feigned searching for what she had requested.

“Don’t want you thinking I’m only here to freeload your food. What can I do to help?” Harry turned back to meet Magda’s already adoring gaze.

“Y/N,” Magda gasped before turning to see Y/N’s confused features, “marry this man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Y/N stated after her initial shock and embarrassment, “you two would be a much lovelier little couple.”

“Oh, hush,” Magda rolled her eyes as she pushed past Harry to grab a hold of the peppers Y/N had supposedly misplaced, “here are your precious missing peppers.”

In no time at all, Magda and Harry had finished making the maza. Magda made a big deal out of how big Harry’s hands were, saying that he was born to knead the dough-like substance that would carry the faux meat they made their tamales with. This, of course, had elicited a small anecdote of how Harry had once worked in a bakery when he was younger, back home. The two had then proceeded to bond over missing their respective homelands and it wasn’t long before Harry was inviting Magda over whenever she felt like a visit and vice versa.

“So, I’ve seen some with like... a different wrapper? Like paper, almost?” Harry furrowed his brows.

“Those are made with corn husks,” Y/N nodded her head as the three worked on loading the ingredients of a tamale into a banana leaf.

“Ah,” Harry seemed to nod in realization, “so how different will these taste? Will they taste like banana?”

“No,” Magda responded with a shake of her head, “it just makes it more... more...”

“Succulent?” Y/N voiced.

“Yes,” Magda nodded, “tender. I tend to think the corn husk tamales can get a little dry, so I like using the banana leaf to give it a little kick.”

“Huh,” Harry nodded, “how many are we shooting for?”

“A lot,” Magda laughed, “we’ll be here all day, lovey. We don’t expect you to hang around all day with us.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry shrugged with a little smile on his face.

“Well, be warned, this one likes making hundreds to give to the friendly... and not so friendly,” Magda grinned as she elbowed Y/N.

“Oh my gosh, don’t bring that up or he’ll never come back here, again,” Y/N tried to refrain her laughter.

“What? Why?” Harry furrowed his brows as he looked between the two laughing friends.

“Y/N likes to go around town to give some to people in need of a good meal,” Magda beamed over at her long time friend, “but this one time-”

“You can’t let this change the way you see San Francisco, though,” Y/N pleaded as she stopped her handwork to look over at an already amused Harry.

“No, of course, not! Harry’s a good boy; he wouldn’t think of it,” Magda shook her head before proceeding, “anyways, nothing bad has really come from it... except for this one time. This one man that was sleeping on the sidewalk and this one goes up to hand him a few tamales when he wakes up, screaming! He had a syringe in one of his hands and charged at her. So this one starts running, and he ended up chasing her to the car!”

“What?” Harry’s eyes bulged out of his skull upon hearing this tale, searching both the female’s features for some sort of validation.

“He couldn’t really run... so I wouldn’t say he chased me, exactly,” Y/N frowned.

“No, honey; he chased you,” Magda shook her head, “but, anyways, she’s not allowed to approach strangers alone, now. We have another good boy that accompanies us when we want to distribute these bad boys around town.”

“You still go?” Harry gaped, ignoring the tinge of jealousy that had bubbled up within him as he wondered who would accompany the two and if he thought the world of Y/N like he did.

“Oh, yeah,” Magda assuredly nodded.

“That’s wild,” Harry shook his head. It was another one of those moments. Another moment where he could feel his heart swell with an emotion he couldn't quite pinpoint for Y/N. He wanted to say it was admiration, because what else could it be after such a story. Somewhere deep inside, he knew better.

Harry had kept his promise, he had stayed pretty much all day. He had helped the two make enough tamales to last a lifetime, or in this case, enough to feed the entire city. When it came time to try them, Y/N had nervously told him it was okay if he didn’t like them while Magda assured him that he would love them and was right. He could not believe the texture and taste that he had earlier been wary about. Magda was insistent on replacing each tamale that he consumed, which had proven detrimental to his physical comfort. After about four, he started to feel pretty weighed down. Luckily, to wash it all down, Magda had made a pitcherful of Jamaica because she knew how much Y/N liked it. Harry’s features had brightened so much that it sent Magda into a fit of laughter at the mention of the beverage. It had been a nice little end to their day—to enjoy the labors of their hard work.

Magda had loaded a few dozen tamales into some cute little Tupperware with ducks on them and had instructed him on the ease of freezing the dish if he wanted to save them for a later date. He knew this wouldn’t be necessary, as he knew he would be attempting to act in Magda’s and Y/N’s image and distribute them. It was after Magda had hugged and kissed him on the cheek that he was led out to the front of the house by Y/N.

“Thank you for coming today,” he was met with Y/N’s sleepy smile as he turned from stepping through the front door and down a step, “hope we didn’t work you too hard.”

“Not at all,” Harry shook his head as he went to hug Y/N’s abdomen, “liked it. I think Magda may be the love of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Y/N’s smile deepened.

“You sure you don't want a ride home?” Harry inquired, pouting out his bottom lip the way she had a few nights previously.

“Nah,” Y/N shook her head with a shrug of her shoulders, “thank you. You know the offer still stands if you’re too tired to drive. Believe me, Magda will be more than happy to have you stay here tonight.”

“I think I’m okay,” Harry stated with a little nod of his head, “have to feed Matt’s cat.”

“Right,” Y/N shook her head, “forgot.”

“Get some sleep,” Harry pulled Y/N in to kiss the wrinkle between her brows away, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

All Y/N could do was nod in her tired state.

“Yeah?” Harry seemed to bump his body into her own to get a response.

“Yeah,” Y/N laughed.

“Good,” Harry dimpled with satisfaction before going to press his lips to Y/N’s.

+ + +

“What are you doing?” Came the voice on Y/N’s speaker. She had been thrown across her couch, making endless loops with some yarn and two knitting needles.

“Knitting, watching Princess Diaries, and mourning the death of my youth,” Y/N rambled, as she ended one row of stitches to look over at her television screen.

“Oy. The first or second one?” Harry questioned as Y/N went back to her stitches.

“The one with Chris Pine,” Y/N wiggled her brows to herself.

“Ooh, what a dreamboat,” Harry sang out, making Y/N laugh out.

“He is quite nice to look at,” Y/N commented with a sigh.

“I suppose—if you’re into that tall dark and handsome type,” Harry quickly snapped, Y/N’s brows furrowing. Was there a tinge of jealousy in his tone?

“I mean,” Y/N reasoned, “I guess I kinda am.”

“Well,” Harry cleared his throat, “just feel like you wouldn’t have much in common with him.”

“Why? I think we’d make a good match,” Y/N frowned as she paused her actions once more.

“He’s an old man! Already has salt n’pepper hair,” Harry rebuked.

“S’kinda hot, though,” Y/N shrugged to herself.

“You little weirdo. What are you doing this Saturday? Thought we could go get some dim sum,” Harry suggested.

“Eh,” Y/N sucked in her lips as she seriously considered canceling her plans to hang out with Harry, “I have a wedding thing this weekend. Starts on Thursday; s’one of those three day weddings with the bachelorette party, rehearsal dinner, yada yada yada.”

“Oh,” came a pause from Harry’s end, “that sounds fun. S’it in town?”

“No; it’s in L.A.,” Y/N explained, “are you free on Sunday?”

“Oh... yeah,” Harry’s tone sounded odd but she didn’t want to question it; she felt it too soon in their relationship (if you could even call it that) to inquire, “yeah, d’you wanna try something here?”

“Yeah, what would you recommend?” Y/N asked as she finished another row of stitches.

“There’s this great sushi place in Malibu, if you’re up for that,” Harry suggested, “or there’s a good Indian place around the corner.”

“Ooh, you said sushi and my mouth already started watering,” Y/N laughed.

“Sushi it is, then,” Harry chimed.

+ + +

Y/N had been pretty tuckered out as she sat at a little round table, alone, watching everybody around her seeming to be having the time of their lives. Her feet had started aching from the heels she had slipped into at the beginning of the day, her hair had long sagged in the deliberately messy bun she had styled her hair in, and her chest had expanded and collapsed pretty jaggedly as she caught her breath from her friend, Angie, twirling her around the dance floor. It was when she was laughing at the drunken groom trying to lead his bride in a simple turn that she noticed her phone light up her open clutch. Normally, she wouldn’t have checked the notification, but something told her it may be the boy she had been talking to as of late.

She had posted a photo much earlier of the bride placing her veil over Y/N as she was digging into her pasta entree, snapped by the same Angie that had been twirling her earlier. Y/N found Harry had reacted to the photo and sent a message.

That looks fucking amazing. How do you feel about pasta instead, tomorrow??

p.s. you look really pretty 

Y/N couldn’t help the huge smile that came across her features as she peered down at the message. She had been typing out a little response when somebody had plopped down next to her.

“What happened to no phones?” Alex, one of Y/N’s oldest companions narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m just checking in on something,” Y/N laughed as she hastened typing out her message.

“Absolutely not,” Alex grabbed a hold of Y/N’s phone and tucked it in his pocket.

“Alex!” Y/N gasped as she plunged for the device.

“You're missing Michael trying to seduce Paul,” Alex nodded towards some of their friends laughing at a slightly tipsy male.

“What else is new?” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Last year he tried that with you and was horrified when you actually locked lips.”

“Somehow that boy forgets that I’m a raging homosexual every year, and I’m sick of it,” Alex shook his head, “I will give this back to you if you come shake what the good Lord gave you for an entire song.”

“Alex,” Y/N started before he gave her a glare.

“We haven’t danced one song together and you’ll be heading home soon, I know it,” Alex pouted.

“Okay,” Y/N gave in, knowing she could finish her message to Harry afterwards.

“C’mon, girl,” Alex reached out his hands for Y/N to take. She could only laugh as he led her over to the dance floor before he had dropped into a squat to one of the last notes of a Saweetie song before a salsa blasted over the speakers.

“Aw,” Alex groaned before he stood to his full height.

“You said,” Y/N began, more teasing, if anything.

“I know what I said,” Alex rolled his eyes as he proceeded to take Y/N’s hands, once more, before leading her into a turn. It wasn’t long before Michael, another companion, had whipped out his phone and had gone around tormenting people with his flash video recording. A few dancing couples had shoved their hands in front of the camera lens before he had approached Alex and Y/N. Alex had seen the camera pointed at them and had pulled Y/N to him before he had dipped Y/N and pulled her back up, before going to peck at Y/N’s lips. Y/N had thought nothing of the video as she laughed and went to hug Alex as he shouted something at Michael’s giggling features. The two had known each other for years and a peck here and there was the norm between the two companions. Y/N had not thought of any repercussion. She did not think there might have been a certain male laying in his bed, the glow of his phone’s screen illuminating his smiling features as he opened one of his friend’s Instagram stories to see the girl he had been talking to being pulled to some man’s chest before locking lips with him. She had not thought of how his little smile would fade as he kept tapping on the left side of his screen to replay the video—to replay the way she smiled and hugged onto the strange male’s body. No, Y/N hadn’t thought very much of how that might look.

+ + +

The next morning, Y/N was surprised to not hear from Harry. She had started getting ready, however, knowing Harry would eventually message her with an address, because he had promised to do so earlier that week. She had finished slipping on her shoes when she went to check her empty lock screen. The place they had settled on was about forty minutes away, and if she was to make the time they had initially agreed upon, she would have to leave any minute. She decided to send Harry the following:

Morning, sunshine! ☀️ We still meeting up for lunch?

She figured she could start on her journey. Even if Harry cancelled, which she didn’t foresee, she could just enjoy the drive, maybe get some coffee... She had been about fifteen minutes into her drive when her phone rang out. The message read out went something along the lines of:

Hey, something came up last minute. Can’t meet today, rain check?

Y/N couldn’t help but instantly feel a little blue as she responded.

Of course; hope everything is okay. Take care!

Harry did not respond to this message and Y/N thought it a little odd, but figured whatever had come up must have been important. Y/N had driven past Malibu and caught sight of a cafe on her way back. She figured she deserved a treat and had decided to pull in for some coffee and maybe dessert if they had anything good. She had been quickly seated and had been browsing the small menu when the sound of another party was alerted with the ding of the bell attached to the front door. Y/N had looked up out of habit and had thought nothing of the couple that had entered before she glanced back at the menu before realizing why one of them had looked so familiar. Trailing behind a pretty looking woman was the person she had originally had plans with that morning—one Mr. Harry Styles. Y/N hastily went to raise her menu to cover her face, praying that he hadn’t seen her. She couldn’t help but peek over the top of the menu as she watched the two follow a waiter to the outdoor seating just in front of her. Of all the coincidental instances she had encountered in her life, she couldn’t think of one more embarrassing than the one she sat in. Her shock and horror had slowly started to morph into discontent as she watched the two speak. It was clear that the female had more than platonic interests in Harry by the way she leaned forward, hanging onto every word that came from his lips... the same ones that had been pressed to hers not that long ago. She could not believe her eyes, and she suddenly felt as if she was going to be ill.

“Good morning! How are you?” Y/N’s view of Harry and his companion was suddenly interrupted by a tall woman that had stepped in front of Y/N’s seat.

“Oh, eh,” Y/N glanced at the menu, wondering how rude it would be to excuse herself. She had considered staying and watching the two, but she felt that would be an enormous invasion of Harry’s privacy... that and she couldn’t stand the idea of him seeing her—alone, at that. “I’m so sorry, I... I have to go.”

“Oh,” the waitress stepped back as she watched Y/N collect her things, “is anything wrong?”

“You have no idea,” Y/N sent a glance out to the terrace where Harry sat intently watching his companion speak, “s’nothing, sorry, thank you so much for your time and help.”

+ + +

Y/N hadn’t been back to the house she had been staying at for very long. She had arrived and had marched straight to the living room where she allowed herself to plop down to lay on the carpeted floor. As she stared up at the ceiling, she wondered why such a string of events had bothered her so much. She told herself again and again how she wasn’t jealous but peeved at the principle of canceling on her to see someone else... but she knew the green eyed monster was involved. She had absolutely no right to be jealous. She and Harry had just met, and he was allowed to see other people if he wanted to. It wasn’t as if she had committed to only seeing him, either. Nobody had asked her, but she was free to see other people. Oh, but she couldn’t get over how much she hurt over seeing him with someone else. It was something different to know he was seeing other people, but to actually see it? She felt positively icky. She had grabbed her phone in attempt to distract herself when she noticed a message that had been delivered a little while ago, most likely a few minutes after leaving the cafe.

Was that you?

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she stared at the message from the person that had been tying her stomach in knots. She locked her phone and laid the phone on her abdomen, not knowing if she wanted to reply. She almost never wanted to speak to him, again... but she knew she had no valid reason for it.

Where?

She had decided to play ignorant, as she wished he would leave her alone; at least for the time being. Didn’t he have that woman to entertain himself with?

Are you still in town? Fancy a visit?

Y/N couldn’t muster the energy for a visit. She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly refrain from asking who he had been with. So, she did something she wouldn’t normally do.

Did whoever came up get resolved? I’m actually heading back home today and I need to pack 😕 rain check?

Y/N wasn’t one to be petty or passive aggressive, but something about the situation had just rubbed her the wrong way. She had almost hoped that perhaps her message had deterred Harry’s friendship, and that she would never see him again. She wasn’t surprised when she did not receive a reply from the male and had went about her day, just a little bit more melancholy than she usually would have been leaving town.

+ + +

A few months had come and gone, and Harry would have liked to say that Y/N had become a distant memory, but that was nowhere near the case. He thought more about her than he would like to admit. He knew he had struck a nerve when he had gotten her last message, and had become slightly infuriated by it. How could she have been so snappy when he had been the one to reach out after she had been out locking lips with some random bloke? Sure, she had seen him out with one of the women that his friends had been trying to set him up with, but he had asked to see her, damn it. Wasn’t that enough of a gesture? He had been out with a few different people since, in attempts to forget the female, but it was all to no avail. How could anybody compare to the strange little person he had eaten so much food with on a rooftop all that time ago?

Nevertheless, he had continued seeing her in his friends’ posts. She looked good, as usual. Something so simply classic about the clothes she wore and her disposition in each snapshot. He had noticed in the past that she would never pose smiling, but as of late, she had smiled in almost all the photos he saw of her. He wasn’t sure why such a small detail had resonated with him. She had cut her hair and lightened it since the last time he had seen her. He wanted to believe she had done so because of him. He had read something about women changing their hair after meaningful relationships, but he didn’t want to flatter himself. It had been when he had been visiting an old friend and sipping on a glass of sauvignon blanc—it hadn’t been that good if he was being honest—that his friend had really thrown him for a loop.

“Have you seen this?” Andrew nodded at the title of the film he had landed on. Harry usually never had his phone out when visiting good friends, but he had been waiting on a message from his sister. He had looked up from his messages to find, to his surprise, Y/N’s face staring back at him.

“S’this new?” Harry mumbled, still staring at Y/N’s features. She had been looking straight into the camera when the photo had been taken, and from the look of her surroundings, it looked like some sort of 60s mystery film.

“Says it was released this year,” Andrew shrugged, “don’t you know her or something?”

“Not really,” Harry cleared his throat, “looks stupid.”

“Stupid?” Andrew furrowed his brows at Harry.

“What?” Harry glared over at him.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word,” Andrew grinned.

“Well, it does, doesn’t it?” Harry nervously laughed, feeling a tinge of guilt creep over him.

“S’got that guy from X-Men in it... Think she looks nice,” Andrew shrugged as he took a drink from his glass, “wouldn’t mind if I made a pass?”

“A pass,” Harry scrunched his nose, “won’t get very far with that kind of thinking.”

“Alright, mate,” Andrew rolled his eyes as he continued scrolling through the streaming service, “I get it.”

“Well, there’s nothing to get,” Harry shook his head, “didn’t mean anything by it; go for it.”

+ + +

“Magda?” Y/N had called from the older woman’s kitchen. She had let herself in with the key that Magda had made for her and had worried when she could’t find the lady on the lower level of her home. “M’up here, lovey,” Magda hollered from the second floor of her home.

“Sorry, m’late,” Y/N vocalized as she treaded up the stairs before finding Magda sat on the floor, kneeled atop a gargantuan white canvas with paint splatters here and there. There was the outline of a young woman’s face ever so slightly traced out from what Y/N could see.

“No, no, honey! You're fine,” Magda shook her head as she looked up from the piece, making Y/N smile at some stray smeared paint across the older woman’s forehead, “eh... the books are over there on that chair over there, if you want to take ‘em today.”

“Oh, thanks,” Y/N glanced over her shoulder before going to look back at the painting, “this is huge.”

“Uh, yeah,” Magda seemed to nervously chuckle as she wiped her hands on her overalls. Y/N noticed the elder was avoiding making eye contact with her as she kept looking down at the painting or at her hands.

“Who’s it for? You never do projects this big unless someone’s hanging it in the Guggenheim or donating a pretty penny,” Y/N commented as she walked around the canvas edges to get to the chair Magda had pointed out earlier. All Magda could do was offer another nervous chuckle as she went to push some straggle hairs from her face. Y/N could sense the awkward air between her and the woman she came to trust like she trusted her own mother.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” Y/N shook her head, feeling her cheeks burn out of an embarrassment she couldn’t pinpoint.

“No,” Magda went to shake her own head as she let out a heavy sigh, “no. You’re not prying, honey. I’m the one that’s making the situation awkward... Um... It’s... it’s for Harry.”

Y/N could not find words at the mention of his name. She didn’t know why she felt so bothered... so betrayed. There was no reason that Magda could not speak to Harry. She really didn’t even know the circumstances surrounding Y/N’s broken communication with him. All Magda knew was that they weren’t speaking, and Y/N knew it was silly to feel so deeply about her contact with the person that had wounded her pride a while back... but Magda was family. Shouldn’t that count for something? Y/N sure wouldn’t be friendly with somebody Magda had shunned, which would be impossible because Magda didn’t believe in holding grudges.

“Oh,” Y/N finally choked out, nodding her head as she broke eye contact with Magda to pick up the books that had been set on the chair she had been earlier directed towards.

“If this bothers you, honey,” Magda began.

“No,” Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling as she sighed out, “it doesn’t. I’m being silly.”

“It’s just... he came by last week to make tamales,” Magda began, making Y/N’s head jerk up to meet her gaze, “he said he knew you were taking that trip and wanted to ensure that we didn’t break tradition. And he got a glance of some of the work I did when I was younger and he begged for me to make him something and that he’d pay whatever I asked, and I said I would do it if he donated to this stem cell research fund I’ve been working with, and he said he’d be thrilled, and I just couldn’t say no to such a generous donation and-”

“You don’t have to... justify it,” Y/N shook her head, “I’m sorry. I... I’m just being... childish, and... I guess I’m still sore at him for being so... I don’t know. I’m just happy you got such a big donation.”

“Look, he didn’t tell me what happened,” Magda shrugged her shoulders after a pause came between them, “but whatever it was... he’s moved past it.”

“That’s good,” Y/N tightly smiled as she opened the book that was on the top of the stack.

“If you don’t want me to do it,” Magda offered before Y/N shook her head once more.

“Do it,” Y/N nodded, “please. Don’t pay any attention to me; I’m just being... it doesn’t matter. I think you should do it.”

“Are you sure?” Magda pressed, her eyes searching for her answer in Y/N’s eyes.

“Of course,” Y/N nodded.

+ + +

Y/N had had a few. She wasn’t stumbling or slurring her words, but she was feeling quite toasty. She had been invited to some party, some celebration for someone she didn’t know and had been delighted for some excuse to get all gussied up and have drinks with some friends... Friends that had disappeared about thirty minutes after their first drink, but that was no worry. Y/N had soon found some drunken girl that had globbed onto her after claiming she looked better than Naomi Campbell did on the 1995 Chanel spring runway. It hadn’t taken too long for the two to find a permanent dancing partner in each other as the two had clasped hands as they sang along to almost all the songs that had blasted over the speakers. They had just finished shouting lyrics to one another before the girl yelled something about having to go back to her friends.

“You should come with me, I have this really cute friend who’s single and ready to fuck whoever crosses his path,” Glenda, Y/N’s new drunken friend, droned.

“Okay, but food first! I’m starved! You want anything?” Y/N yelled over the music before Glenda asked for a shot before pointing to where a group of her friends were sat. Y/N didn’t think much as she loaded her plate with the cucumber salad she had been eyeing all night. There hadn’t been too much food for her, most all dishes had featured some animal product, but she wasn’t one to complain too much about it. She debated whether she should make her way back to the table she had originally been sat at to see if any of her friends were there, but she liked meeting new people and had a strange goal for taking the opportunity to make new friends. So, she had forced herself over to where the girl had plopped down, Glenda’s eyes lighting up at the sight of the shot glass in Y/N’s other hand.

“Thanks, girl!” Glenda beamed as Y/N handed her the glass.

“How’s the cucumber salad?” Came a familiar tone from the other side of the table. Y/N wished she had just gone to sit alone at the table she had originally been sat at, even if that meant she would be alone.

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N smiled as she shoveled a fork full of cucumber into her mouth.

“This is my friend I was telling you about,” Glenda grabbed at Y/N’s arm with excitement, wiggling her eyebrows, suggestively.

“Ah,” Y/N laughed, remembering Glenda’s words about her cute, promiscuous friend.

“What were you telling her?” Harry’s words were drowned out by the man next to him rising to make his way over to where Y/N had been.

“M’Andrew,” the man stuck his hand out for Y/N to take.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N smiled as she juggled to hold her cucumber salad bowl in one hand and shake the male’s with her other, “Y/N.”

“We were just talking about you the other day,” Andrew leaned closer to Y/N’s ear.

“Really? Why?” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“Your movie came up while we were browsing on Netflix,” Andrew smiled, “and Harry, here, had nothing but good things to say about you.”

“That’s nice,” Y/N smiled at Harry before turning back to speak to the male that had approached her.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes. He had legitimately thought Andrew was kidding that day; he didn’t think he would have to sit and watch his friend talk up the girl that he had been so invested in a few months previously. He did tell him to “go for it,” but it still felt wrong. He hated the way she smiled at him and seemed to tune out everyone else to pay attention to what he had to say. Harry knew Andrew, he didn’t have much interesting to say. He hated how sour his mood had suddenly become as he watched them over the rim of the glass he had raised to his lips. He knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t help but to start comparing himself to Andrew. He was a little taller than he was, but wasn’t that nice... He had to refrain his jaw from dropping as Andrew extended his open palm for Y/N to take before Andrew led her to the dance floor. He had lost visual on them and he couldn’t help what happened next.

“Glenda,” Harry seemed to bark.

“Yeah?” She innocently responded, furrowing her brows at Harry’s fixated features. He had nodded towards the crowd of people dancing, causing Glenda to squeal with delight. None of their friends had danced with her all night, or had danced, period. Harry didn’t get why they would go to a party just to sit and try to talk over loud music, as he usually enjoyed dancing around a few bodies after a few drinks and had even taken Glenda out a for a few songs, but he had lost interest pretty quickly on the dance floor as a pretty girl had been sat back with his friends. In any event, it was with great force that Glenda had pulled his arm as she led him to the dance floor where a bunch of bodies had been dancing to a Drake song. It was coincidental that Glenda had led him to where Y/N and Andrew had been dancing. Y/N had noticed him, but Harry acted the ignorant. He couldn’t help but become distracted by Glenda when she had started spanking him before he turned to dance along to the music with her. It was a bit hard for Harry to watch what was happening with Y/N and Andrew as they had been dancing behind him. He had tried turning Glenda so that he could get a better view, but it had not worked as she would shimmy back to their original positions. He would occasionally make a big show of making a turn, but it was more purposeful than anybody could really know. A song Harry didn’t recognize came on and Glenda screamed and pointed behind Harry, at who he had assumed was Y/N. Harry hoped to God he wouldn’t turn around to see anything too jarring between her and Andrew; he didn’t think he could handle that. Thankfully, though, Glenda had pushed past him as she went to grind on Y/N’s tummy, making him laugh as Y/N had raised her bowl and kept eating her cucumber salad and allowing Glenda to keep grinding on her. If Y/N hadn't been involved, Harry might have gone back to the table and people watched. However, Y/N was involved, and she was giggly and cute, and he had missed her. So, he stayed and danced alongside Andrew before Glenda stopped grinding her rear on Y/N and turned to look at Harry, a grin playing at her features. He knew she would try to do the same to him, and he couldn’t have that in front of Y/N. So, he took the initiative to turn and rub his back on Glenda, earning a few cat calls from her as she grabbed a hold of his hips and tried to shake them. All Harry could do was laugh as he turned back around to grab her hands so he could turn her.

“Wait, I’m gonna puke!” Glenda sobbed as she grabbed on Harry’s forearm.

“Oh, no,” Harry frowned as his arm slipped around her back, trying to support her as her fist went to her mouth.

“I’ll take care of it,” Andrew rolled his eyes as he grabbed a hold of Harry’s shoulder as he spoke into his ear, “this one hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

“Maybe I should take her,” Y/N yelled, as she went to grab at Glenda.

“No, s’okay! You stay and dance with Harry,” Andrew shouted as he took a hold of a woozy Glenda.

“It’s fine, I can take her,” Y/N shook her head.

“I’m gonna take her outside for some fresh air,” Andrew explained. Y/N looked over at Harry, and he somehow knew she was worried about Glenda’s safety with the male she had just met. Harry knew even with his reassurance, Y/N would still have been worried.

“I’ll take her, s’fine,” Harry yelled as he grabbed a hold of Glenda’s arm and started for the door.

“M’sorry,” Glenda continually apologized as the two made their way out of the building.

“S’okay,” Harry rubbed at the female’s back as the two stepped out into the breezy night air. It wasn’t long before Glenda had retched into a nearby shrub, Harry holding her hair for her as he tried not to look at the sick coming out of her mouth.

“Oh, good!” Came a voice from behind him, making him look over to see Y/N hurrying toward them with Abby, one of the friends he had been sat with.

“I’ll take her home,” Abby sighed once the two met Harry, “I’m tired, anyways.”

“Glenda, I have your jumper,” Y/N commented as she held out the sweater in front of her, “ooh, s’cute.”

“Thanks,” Glenda laughed as she stood to her full height, fisting the corner of her mouth before Y/N helped her into the piece of clothing.

“C’mon, Glen,” Abby rolled her eyes as Harry passed Glenda to Abby.

“Can you get her to the car?” Y/N doubtfully asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Abbie nodded, “this happens every weekend. I would have a gold medal if it was a sport in the Olympics.” “Oh, okay, then,” Y/N smiled as she rubbed Glenda’s arm, “s’nice meeting you.”

“You too, girl,” Glenda lazily smiled, “did I get any puke on you this time, Abby?”

“No,” Abby sighed as she looked down at her heels, “not yet.”

“You okay to drive?” Harry inquired.

“I’ve been dry for a year, now,” Abby furrowed her brows at Harry.

“S’right, sorry,” Harry shook his head, wearily.

“S’alright. Well, was nice meeting you, Y/N. We’ll do this again, yeah? Well, hopefully not the whole puking thing,” Abby laughed.

“Of course,” Y/N smiled as her fingers went to tuck her hair behind her ear, Abby and Glenda turning to make their way to their car.

“You two have a good night,” Abby sang before continuing to lead Glenda to her car. 

There came a moment where Harry and Y/N stood still, Y/N watching Glenda and Abby as Harry watched Y/N. After watching her sigh, Harry had been caught staring as she turned to look up at him.

“What?” She innocently questioned.

“You hungry?” He asked, his mouth only slightly smiling at her.

+ + +

“Here ya go,” a tall brunette waiter had set two waters and laminated menus on the table Harry and Y/N had been seated at before turning on his heel to leave the two.

“How’d you know about this place?” Harry asked as he picked up one of the menus and glanced over the options.

“Oh, uh, my dad and I used to come here every year for one of his work meetings,” Y/N answered.

“For his work meetings?” Harry’s brows pressed towards his hairline.

“Yeah; he was in this like... society of engineers... Basically a bunch of geeks getting together every few months to talk about quantum physics or something along those lines... We’d always get in so late on the first day and we’d be starving, but there were never a lot of places open. This place always was, though,” Y/N smiled as she looked around the room, “we would never run out of conversation here, even though we had spent the entire day in silence on the way up here. S’weird. Haven’t been here in a while.”

“Why not? Does your father live far away? You don’t bring him here anymore?” Harry innocently asked.

“It’d be kind of hard for him since he’s passed away,” Y/N smiled. If it had been anyone else, Harry would have thought the comment a bit snippy. For some reason, he felt she was trying to make a joke of it. For his sake; he didn’t know.

“Oh, m’sorry,” Harry offered his condolences before being met by a short pause.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that,” Y/N’s smile softened before she shook her head and went to look at the menu to change the subject, “they have excellent spring rolls here.”

“Sorry to say it, but I can’t stand them,” Harry narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

“Oh, me, either,” Y/N laughed as she put her menu down, “I ate too many once and threw them up. I can’t eat them, but I appreciate them.”

“Ah, that’s valid. I just hate basil,” Harry shrugged as he stole another glance at her. He felt nervous, all of a sudden. He hadn’t felt nervous on the drive over, or when Y/N had to scoot closer to him while waiting to be seated because the entrance was small and a couple needed more space to exit the establishment. He hadn't been nervous when he got the chance to catch a whiff of her hair to find though she changed her hair, she still used the shampoo that left it smelling so nice. “You’ve changed your hair.”

“Hm? Oh,” Y/N pursed her lips as her palms went to flatten her hair, “yeah... it looks weird.”

“I like it,” Harry commented, without looking up from his menu.

“These bangs are a bit much,” Y/N sighed out as she allowed her elbows onto the edge of the table, her chin going to rest in the palm of her hand.

“I think it looks great,” Harry furrowed his brows.

“M’not... fishing for compliments or anything,” Y/N shook her head.

“Know that,” Harry nodded, “just think you look really good.”

“Oh,” Y/N’s lips barely smiled, “thanks.”

“What else do you recommend, because everything looks good to a person that hasn’t eaten since breakfast,” Harry sighed.

“Their burger’s scrummy,” Y/N suggested, “you can get either fries or these really great avocado fries... they also have this amazing pad thai.”

“Pad thai and burgers? Am I wrong to be a little nervous?” Harry looked up at Y/N, doubtfully.

“I mean, yeah,” Y/N laughed before shrugging her shoulders, “but I think great things come from things that make you nervous.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry sucked in his lips, “but if it’s not, you owe me another dinner date.”

“Oh, this isn’t a dinner date,” Y/N shook her head.

“It isn’t?” Harry questioned from behind his menu.

“No, at least, not like that,” Y/N shook her head as she went to sip from the water that had been set before them earlier.

“Like what?” Harry cocked his head at Y/N.

“You know,” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“No, I don’t know. Clue me in,” Harry stated before grabbing his own glass and sipping water from it. For some reason, Y/N could not take the way he peered at her over the rim of his glass and had to break eye contact—such an innocent thing felt much too intimate.

“Never mind,” Y/N shook her head.

“No, now I want to know,” Harry smirked, “now that I think about it, Andrew did say something about you not being able to take your eyes off of me tonight.”

“Oh, did he?” Y/N’s brows rose, her lips curling into a smile.

“I mean, my arse does look really good in these pants,” Harry spoke before shaking his head and bursting into laughter, “please forget that I said that.”

“No,” Y/N laughed, “that will live rent free in my mind forever.”

“Fine with me,” Harry calmed from his fit of laughter, “so long as you tell me what you meant before.”

The two were interrupted when the handsome waiter from before came by to take their order. Harry fought the jealousy that started creeping in when the waiter started blatantly flirting with Y/N in front of him. He had no right to be jealous about someone that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t long before he had finally left them with one last "my dear” being thrown at Y/N.

“So?” Harry pressed. “What?” Y/N asked out of confusion as to what Harry was referring to.

“What’d you mean? Why isn’t this a date?” Harry questioned.

“Oh, sorry to disappoint, but that topic is closed, my friend,” Y/N emphasized, hoping he would get the hint.

“Friend?” Harry’s teasing mood turned somber.

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, trying to hide her own disappointment.

“Alright, then,” Harry sighed in defeat as he twiddled his fingers, “how’d you know Glenda?”

“I don’t,” Y/N shook her head as she looked up from her clasped hands before her.

“Then how,” Harry trailed off, his brows pinched together.

“We only just met tonight,” Y/N explained.

“Huh,” Harry voiced with a slow nod of his head, “so, what’d she tell you about me?”

“Why’d you wanna know?” Y/N knowingly grinned and Harry knew he was done for.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged as his gaze dropped back down to his glass, “was just curious.”

“Alright, then,” Y/N sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if doing so would help her recall what Glenda had said any better, “said you were really cute.”

“That’s not so bad,” Harry breathed out a sigh.

“You sound relieved,” Y/N commented, narrowing her eyes at the male.

“Do I?” Harry innocently questioned.

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded.

“Hm,” Harry’s brows rose and fell as he went to take another drink from his water.

“’Course she also told me you were ready to fuck whoever crossed your path,” Y/N nonchalantly spoke, resulting in Harry choking on his sip of water. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh out as she reached for a napkin to hand him.

“She did no such thing,” Harry’s response was muffled as he wiped his mouth.

“I know what I heard,” Y/N spoke with a nod of her head, “and she specifically said-”

“I got it the first time, thanks,” Harry interrupted, his skin turning crimson red.

“Oh, there’s no shame in it,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “must be fun.”

“M’not like that, usually... you know that,” Harry furrowed his brows.

“Yeah,” Y/N’s laughter softened, “also said you were single.”

“What happened to friends, huh?” Harry grinned.

“I,” Y/N’s jaw dropped before laughing out, “I was just saying. I was trying to distract from your embarrassing ass comment.”

“Uh huh, okay. Sure,” Harry narrowed his eyes at Y/N, “what about Andrew?”

“What about him?” Y/N’s laughter converted into a small smile as she looked at her finger running across the table.

“What’d you think of him?” Harry was met by a shrug from Y/N. “Don’t seem too impressed.”

“He’s nice, but I didn’t really get to talk to him that much,” Y/N explained.

“Ah,” Harry nodded, “well, don’t think you’d like him very much for too long.”

“Why?” Y/N questioned, furrowing her brows.

“He’s no good at it,” Harry shrugged, nonchalantly.

“At what?” Y/N inquired, still clueless.

“At crocheting scarves for his nan, what else?” Harry rolled his eyes, Y/N still not understanding. “At it, Y/N.”

“Oh,” Y/N finally seemed to understand as her furrowed brows softened before her features scrunched up once more, “oh. Well, that’s crap. He’s kinda cute.”

“Well,” Harry shook his head, “all I’ve heard are complaints.”

“Unless you’ve bedded him, I don’t think you have the right to say,” Y/N cocked her head at Harry.

“Who says I haven’t?” Harry questioned.

“Mm, I don’t see him being your type,” Y/N scrunched her nose.

“My type? Who’d you think my type is?” Harry asked, hoping she would say something along the lines of herself.

“Hm,” Y/N closed one eye as the other looked up, “either a real man’s man, like a logger or something... or an old, handsome sugar daddy type.”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that had come from his belly at her words.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Y/N smiled, knowingly.

+ + +

It hadn’t been too late by the time Y/N had trudged through her front door, Harry trailing behind. She was happy to be home. Even with the short amount of time she was away, she missed her little home and the scent of potpourri mixed with the remnant aroma of that one Apple Toddy candle that never seemed to burn out. She had dropped her bag on the little bench she had by the door before bending over to undo the straps of her shoes.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Y/N spoke as she peered up at Harry to find him taking in his surroundings.

“Thanks,” Harry smiled as he looked down to see her pull off her heels and throw them beneath the little bench she had stopped by. After finishing his meal and having to voice how much he liked it to a knowing Y/N, Y/N had asked where Harry was staying. He had said he was staying at a friend’s house over an hour away, and Y/N couldn’t let him drive such a long distance so late in the night. It didn’t have to take much convincing for Harry to accept the offer, as he had wondered what the inside of her home looked like ever since dropping her off so many nights previously. 

“Lucky for you,” Y/N sighed out as she walked up the stairs that led to the main level of the home, “I bought a pajama set that was grossly mislabeled online; I think it’d fit you just fine!”

“Okay,” Harry laughed as he wondered where to put his shoes. She had tossed hers underneath that little bench, but there was a door to the side, which he assumed was a closet.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked from above.

“Eh,” Harry cleared his throat, “s’it matter where I put m’shoes?”

“Oh, no,” Y/N shook her head, “wherever’s fine.”

“Okay,” Harry said under his breath as Y/N disappeared out of sight. As Harry treaded up the steep stairs to the upper level, he was overwhelmed with the scent of cinnamon... maybe vanilla. He had smelled something wonderful upon entering her home, but it became much more warmer and sweeter when he stepped foot on the last step. He instantly thought he liked the layout of the small little home. Off to his right, there was a little living room that led out through siding doors onto a spectacular little balcony with a view of the city’s night lights twinkling in the distance. Straight ahead seemed to be a dark kitchen. To his left, a hallway was illuminated by a few plug in night lights. He thought better than to invite himself into her bedroom and had furthered into the living room. He had been peering down at a rug that he wished he could rub his bare toes against when nearing footsteps had made him turn to see Y/N approaching him.

“They’ve been tucked away for a while, but,” Y/N voiced as she looked up from the pajamas she held. Harry wondered why she had stopped in her tracks while Y/N thought how surreal it was to see Harry stood in the middle of her living room, toeing at the rug she had just purchased. “They should be pretty comfortable... at least it felt soft when I last tried it on.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled as he approached her, his hands going to take the pajamas from her hands. It was when he noticed her looking intently at his face that he worried something was wrong. Had she suddenly felt uncomfortable with him in her house? God, he hoped he didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. “S’everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Y/N spoke softly as she seemed to snap out of whatever trance she had been in, “sorry.”

“What for?” Harry’s eyes seemed to search her own for the answer.

“I don’t know,” she smiled and shook her head. Her senses were suddenly overcrowded by what she assumed was his cologne—something between vanilla and ginger.

“Where can I change?” Harry asked as he looked behind her, towards the hallway she had come from.

“Uh,” Y/N shook her head once more, trying to regain her focus, “first door on the left.”

“Alright, thanks,” Harry smiled as his finger tips went to brush at her hand. The simple touch seemed to stay constant even when he passed her to retreat into the room she had instructed him to. She wondered if maybe he would just stay in her spare bedroom after changing into the pajamas she had provided. She padded into her kitchen to pour a glass of water as she looked out into the sea of yellow dots through her kitchen window. She had been slowly sipping on the liquid when she heard Harry approach her.

“Sleepy?” Harry asked as he lingered in the threshold separating the kitchen from the other rooms.

“Not really,” she lied.

+ + +

“Who’s Fabio?” Harry asked, pulling out another one of Y/N’s vinyls from the stand that also held her record player. Y/N had been laid out on the couch, her legs thrown up, over the side as she threw her head back to see what Harry had been talking about.

“That’s Antonio Solis, you boob,” Y/N gasped as she flipped over to her belly.

“Who’s he?” Harry scrunched his nose as he turned the record cover back around to take a better look.

“He’s, like, a totally famous artist,” Y/N explained, “well, he was in a really famous band—that’s them. The Bukis.”

“What does that mean in Spanish?” Harry asked, looking up from his place seated on top of a throw blanket Y/N had tossed to him so that he wouldn’t have to sit directly on her cold, hard wood floor.

“I don’t really know,” Y/N furrowed her brows, “I don’t know if it means anything, actually.”

“Are they any good?” Harry inquired, raising the record.

“They’re famous for a reason, Harry,” Y/N teased, “you can put it on, if you want.”

“What’s your favorite side?” Harry asked as he rose to his knees. They had first  listened to a man named Joao Gilberto who Y/N had marveled at him for not knowing. He was able to recognize one song as “that song they always play in the elevator,” which had caused Y/N to gasp out in horror before laughing out one of those laughs he had missed so much. The kind that wasn’t inhibited by self-consciousness or restraint. It was goofy, but so endearing, somehow. Then, Harry had recognized a Van Morrison album and had replaced the record. They had listened to a few more as Harry read out some of the record’s liner notes.

“B,” Y/N responded, resting her chin on her crossed arms before her. It still hadn’t set in as she watched Harry struggled to remove the previous record and replace it with the new one. The way his fingers moved did something for her. She wasn’t sure if it was the sight of his bigger hands doing something her smaller ones usually did or if it was the nice contrast of his sun kissed skin to his various colored rings on each of his knuckles. Y/N hated the other odd string of thoughts that ran through her mind. All she could think of was if she had been murdered a few months previously, investigators would not have found Harry Styles’ prints in her home... What in God’s name compelled her to think such morbid thoughts? She continued to watch as Harry released the needle and sat back on his heels, listening to the first few notes of a song she remembered from her childhood.

“Groovy,” Harry commented after a few lyrics passed before he started dancing, pretty goofily if Y/N had any say in it. He had struggled to push up to his full height as he started dancing towards Y/N reaching out his hands for her to grab. She hesitated, knowing full well how dancing with this little foolish boy would affect her once again. She couldn’t help herself, though, as behind her speculative gaze there was nothing but admiration. She had reached her hand out and had been pulled from her couch to dance around her living room quiet sloppily.

“What are they saying?” Harry asked as he went to turn her.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as the two continued to listen to the song.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Eh... he’s saying how he fell in love with someone while they were dancing,” Y/N shook her head, “as much as it may seem, I’m not trying to say anything, here.”

“Shame,” Harry raised his brows before he suddenly stopped dancing with Y/N. She was left standing in the middle of her living room as she watched Harry walk over to kneel before her record player. His hands had stopped the record and taken it from the record player.

“What?” Y/N asked, furrowing her brows as she set her fists on her hips.

“S’nothing,” Harry shook his head.

“Yeah?” Y/N pressed.

“S’really nothing,” Harry sighed.

A few awkward moments passed between the two before Harry turned to peer over at Y/N, 

“Why’d you chat me up all those months ago just to go plant one on somebody else on an Instagram story?” Harry asked, the hurt showing on his somber expression.

“What?” Y/N huffed in disbelief. He must have been out of his wits drunk.

“So you’re denying it?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Y/N.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N offered, “when did this happen?”

“At that one wedding,” Harry explained. It took Y/N a moment before she remembered what Harry had perceived to be a risky moment between her and a young man.

“Are you talking about Alex?” Y/N couldn’t help the laughter that came with such a question.

“I... I don’t know. He was tall and you were dancing, and he,” Harry started before Y/N shook her head at him.

“He’s a very good friend,” Y/N stated, “nothing more.”

“Hm,” Harry still did not look convinced.

“He’s also finds men very attractive,” Y/N added.

“Ah,” Harry’s features showed his embarrassment as his tone turned slightly red, “I feel very foolish, all of a sudden.”

“Jumping to conclusions’ll do that to you,” Y/N shrugged before a pillow was thrown her way.

“You hurt my damn feelings,” Harry laughed as his hands went to cover his face.

“Why?” Y/N huffed to which Harry raised his head to look at her in bewilderment.

“I knew it,” Harry gaped.

“What?” Y/N’s brows pinched together.

“You’re an alien from Mars,” Harry nodded.

“What?” Y/N scrunched her nose at him.

“You act as if nobody has ever taken an interest in you,” Harry shook his head in bewilderment at Y/N.

“Oh, God. Well, I’m not very good at these things; if you haven’t noticed. I tend to read things wrong and make too much of things, and overcomplicate them, and then things inevitably get awkward,” Y/N suddenly stopped speaking, “I’m rambling... sorry... I’m sorry I made you feel so badly.”

“Me, too,” Harry voiced and it wasn't long before Y/N got up to pad over to where Harry had been sat to kneel in front of him. Her hands showed hesitation before they went to grab a hold of either side of his face and he couldn’t help but melt into her touch.

“Hi,” she almost seemed to whisper, her teeth going to bite at her bottom lip as she smiled at him.

“Hi,” he lowly responded, sleepily smiling back at her. Being at this proximity, Harry thought her eyes seemed to go on forever. There was a little glint to them, and he swore some film director out there somewhere was looking for someone with eyes half as breathtaking as hers.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N repeated but Harry could only shrug his shoulders in response as the scent of her perfume wafting through his nostrils. God, she smelled so nice.

“Would you mind terribly if I did something?” She continued to speak softly.

“Hey,” Harry pouted, “s’my line.”

Y/N’s smile deepened before Harry pushed forward to kiss her lips. Harry couldn’t help it as his arms went to encircle her torso, her elbows going to rest on his shoulders. Harry thought his heart would come up into her mouth, it was beating so hard and so fast. If it weren’t so creepy, he wanted so badly to open his eyes to see her in that exact moment—to see if she was just as in love with kissing his lips as he was with hers. He wanted her closer but didn’t know how to ask for more contact. With others, it had all come so naturally. With Y/N... well, she was different. All of a sudden, he didn’t want to rush things and he didn’t know how much he could take of her soft lips caressing his own.

“D’ya want this?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. All Y/N did was hum a response and Harry moved his head so that Y/N could nip down the side of his neck, sending chills down his entire being.

“Baby,” Harry mumbled into Y/N’s hair as he forced his eyes open, kissing the side of her head, “answer me?”

“What?” Y/N hesitantly pulled away.

“I mean,” Harry puffed out a sigh, “is this... are we going too fast?”

“Too fast?” Y/N’s brows raised out of confusion.

“Yeah,” Harry trailed as he tried to read her emotion.

“Uh,” Y/N laughed, “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you... or anything.”

“No,” Harry fervently shook his head as he went to rub at her bare arm, “just don’t wanna rush things.”

“I don’t,” Y/N seemed to cut off her own train of thought, “I’m sorry; if you don’t want me, that’s... fine.”

“No, I,” Harry quickly shook his head as Y/N sat on her heels, “of course I want you. I just... I don’t want... I... I tend to... rush things or... I start things too intimate at first and then a relationship follows... but you’re... I don’t know. I don’t want to start like that... at least not with you... I just... I really like you. And... I don’t wanna mess it up... You know?”

Y/N seemed to be trying to figure out whether or not she believed Harry.

“This is usually the part where,” Harry grinned after audibly gulping, “you tell me if you like me... too?”

Traces of a smile grew upon her features before she rolled her eyes, ”I mean, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I will let it go to my head,” Harry smiled as he leaned forward on his hands to extend his neck for her to kiss him, “I can feel my head expanding with it, now.”

“Harry,” Y/N pouted as her hands went to caress each side of his head.

“Y/N,” Harry reciprocated her tone.

“I kinda want to rush things,” Y/N scrunched up her nose.

“Yeah?” Harry seemed to tease, flashing another one of those grins where Y/N couldn’t discern sleep or want.

All Y/N could do was nod before pressing her lips on Harry’s, his tongue going to prod between her lips. His mouth was pleasantly warm for her. It wasn’t long before Y/N ended up on her back, Harry’s presence overwhelming her on the rug in the middle of her living room floor.

“Taste so sweet,” Harry mumbled in between Y/N’s kisses. Y/N only hummed as her fingers went to comb through the hair at the back of his neck.

“A date,” he suddenly pulled away as he looked down at Y/N’s eyelids as she recovered from the loss of contact.

“What?” She furrowed her brows.

“I want a real first date before we go any further,” Harry stated.

“Are you serious?” Y/N furrowed her brows up at him.

“Those are my terms,” Harry nodded, kissing Y/N’s nose in the process, “take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

+ + +

“How’d I look?” Y/N asked as her hands went to run over her legs once more, smoothing out the fabric of the dress Harry had sneakily watched her wiggle into earlier that afternoon from her bedroom.

“Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular,” Harry and Y/N both shared a fit of laughter, Y/N’s hand going to cover Harry’s larger one before he went to grasp at her fidgeting hands, “no, you look great, you look great. More importantly, how’d I look? I’m the one meeting your friends and family as a first date.”

“You’ve never looked bad a day in your life,” Y/N rolled her eyes as she shifted her weight onto the foot further away from Harry. The two hadn’t had much time to schedule a first date since that night the two shared in Y/N’s home. Their schedules just hadn’t matched up and Y/N decided to suggest the night of her next big soiree as a first date. Harry was reluctant; stating how much he had been wanting to “wine and dine” Y/N. The two both understood how needy the other was for intimate contact, however, and had agreed on the event as a sort of first date.

“Really know how to stroke a boy’s ego,” Harry smiled as he couldn’t help but drape his arms around Y/N’s waist. Harry liked the amount of skin that had been on display. It was a little more than he was used to and he hoped Y/N had done it with intent—with him in mind.

“Are you sure this looks okay? It’s not too tight around my butt?” Y/N craned her neck in attempt to peep a glance at her backside.

“Oh, it looks just fine,” Harry teased as his hands had slipped a little to rest hazardously above the asset they were discussing. 

“Oof, m’shaking in me knickers,” Y/N laughed as she went to peck at Harry’s lips, Harry catching another just as she leaned away at the call of her name.

“Y/N, if you’re done trying to taste your boyfriend’s stomach, Odie’s here,” Jamie called out, a grin pulling at the corners of her lips that had been painted a deep shade of purple as she looked ahead at the sight of Harry’s back and Y/N stood in front of him.

“Oh, uh,” Y/N was going to correct Jamie but was suddenly stopped at the surprising sensation of Harry’s hands squeezing her bum before patting it and rising from his seat.

“Yes, how is the old chap?” Harry wondered aloud, grabbing a hold of Y/N’s hand to lead her out of their nook, as if nothing had happened. The pair had snuck into the kitchen to greet the cook. It hadn’t been long that the two had been chatting with the elder that Harry had to excuse himself to take care of the spilled soup stain on his button up he had caused while trying to slurp Odie’s dish when he barked at someone to find them a spoon. Y/N had stayed behind, scorning Odie for his temper when the two were interrupted.

“Baby,” Greta called, and Y/N immediately recognized the voice.

“Mami!” Y/N beamed as she left Odie’s side to go envelop her mother in an embrace. “You made it!”

“Of course; I told you I would, mamas,” came Y/N’s mother’s response.

“I know,” Y/N pulled away to get a better look at her mother, “but I feel like something always comes up.”

“Well, not this time around,” Greta shook her head as her hands went to push her daughter’s hair off her shoulder, “so... where’s the new boyfriend?”

“Oh my gosh,” Y/N’s eyes seemed to pop out of her head, they bulged so much, “you cannot call him that.”

“Why not?” Y/N’s mother scrunched her nose the same way her daughter would when she was confused.

“Because we haven’t had that talk, yet,” Y/N explained.

“Odie,” Y/N’s mother furrowed her brows over to the cook her daughter had created an odd friendship with.

“I’m already planning the wedding cake, Mami,” Odie grinned.

“I can’t with you two,” Y/N laughed, shaking her head as her hand slipped to intertwine her fingers with her mother’s, “come meet him?”

“Honey, that’s a big part of why I’m here,” Greta responded, “if he thinks I’m gonna take it easy on him just because he’s a big Hollywood star, he’s got another thing coming. You are my most precious thing in this world and-”

“Mom,” Y/N laughed as she squeezed her mother’s hand, “it doesn’t have to be this serious. I don’t even know if this is going to be a long term thing. I just... we haven’t gotten to spend a lot of time together lately and he was willing to come tonight, despite having to meet my family... Can you just... be nice to him? I really like him.”

“You deserve more than you understand, mija,” Greta went to cup her daughter’s cheek, “but, fine, yes. I’ll be nice... but not too nice.”

“Oh my goodness. Odie, nos veremos?” Y/N turned to Odie, signaling their departure.

“Sim, meus amores. Go, enjoy,” Odie nodded before turning back to his kitchen, “onde está aquela colher maldita?”

They had looked in the all the different rooms of the gathering, but it took an unusually long time to find the male. When they did, Y/N and Greta could not help the laughter that ensued. In the middle of the dance floor, Harry seemed to be having the time of his life dancing with one of the elders in Y/N’s family. She was a distant aunt—twice removed or something along those lines. She was a short, little thing standing at about four feet and eleven inches. It was quite comical, the foot height difference between the two as the elder seemed to lead Harry in a few turns here and there.

“Mira tu novio, hija,” Elena called out to Y/N once she noticed her laughing off to the side, “sabe bailar.”

Harry furrowed his brows as he looked back to Y/N to see what the older woman had said.

“She says you know how to dance,” Y/N translated over the music, the end of her laughter ending in a few huffs before Harry’s gaze shifted to the woman that stood next to her. Y/N watched as he neared his lips to the elder’s ear before Elena smiled and nodded, patting his back before she urged him towards Y/N and her mother.

“Sorry,” Harry laughed as he approached the two, Elena on his arm.

“Tan amable, Y/N,” Elena gushed up at Harry, “me miro bailando sola y me invito a bailar.”

Harry’s features contorted as he glanced at Y/N for translation. All Y/N could do is pout her bottom lip at the thought of Harry asking her lone aunt to dance.

“What a gentleman,” Greta raised her brows as Elena parted from the group, giving Harry a little squeeze before excusing herself, “s’nice to meet you, Harry.”

“I would say it was nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Y/L/N, but that couldn’t be true, right? Look too young to be this one’s mum,” Harry nodded as he went to cup Y/N’s mothers palm between his own.

“Oh, my God,” Greta let out a giggle that Y/N couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows. Y/N couldn’t believe how her mother had already started falling under Harry’s spell.

“Honestly, are you her sister?” Harry continued.

“No,” she chortled, shaking her head, “I’m the mom.”

The mom? Her mother had graduated top of her class both in high school and after completing her master’s degree... What kind of response was that? Y/N crossed her arms as she watched her mother giggle like a school girl.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” Harry shrugged before he went on to flatter the older woman. It wasn’t long before Harry had noticed Greta’s toe tapping to the beat of the music playing behind them and had offered his hand to take her out to dance.

“You’ll have to teach me how to dance this,” Harry explained as he glanced at Y/N, “your daughter tried showing me, but I’ve got two left feet.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Greta shook her head as she rolled her eyes at her daughter, “besides, she’s not as nice a teacher as I am.”

“What was that, mom?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, grinning at the two before her mother turned to laugh at her.

“Nothing!” Y/N’s mother snickered as Harry went to twirl the woman.

Harry had spent the better half of the evening endearing Y/N’s friends and family—her mother especially. Greta had fallen in love with the young male. She went around doting on him like she would a son. After failing to get her daughter to fix Harry a plate, she took it upon herself to retrieve food from the kitchen for him. Since then, Y/N had felt pretty unessential. It was a different feeling, to sit back and watch someone she had started developing such serious emotions for go around and enchanting the people she was so close to. She couldn’t quite pin the feeling, at first. Pretty soon, though, she felt pathetic for feeling such a way. It was odd to feel jealous of the time her loved ones had monopolized with Harry. She had blamed it on the fact that she had entered the party thinking it would be a traditional one on one date with Harry—the one he had requested to begin with. Perhaps this was why he had been hesitant to count such a gathering as a first date.

In any event, Y/N had decided it wouldn’t be such a good look for Harry to look over from the little crowd of her relations he had attracted to see her pouting at a nearby table. She had removed herself from pouting in the corner and had treaded up the stairs to step into the night San Franciscan air. She normally wasn’t like this at one of her parties. A prior longtime boyfriend had frequented these events and they never had this problem. He would sit, drink, and smoke with his group of invited friends while Y/N would habitat the dance floor with a constant group of individuals. He would usually go home earlier than she would, but they would always end up sleeping next to one another at the end of the night. She never felt jealousy towards his friends for occupying his time... She wondered why it was so different with Harry. Sure, it was a different relationship (if you could call it that) with a different person; but she didn’t think that should change the way she felt about him spending time with her people.

“Hey,” a voice from behind Y/N’s seated body had frightened her as she quickly turned to see Harry’s head poking out from the door that led to the stairwell, “what’re you doin’ up here? It’s freezing.”

“Oh, uh,” Y/N smiled as she turned back to the scene she had been staring at, “watching lights.”

“The main character, are we?” Harry teased, frowning when Y/N didn’t laugh. It had been something she liked to use as a punchline so many times before and once he had started using the phrase, she always seemed to get a big kick out of the phrase. He wasn’t sure why it had tickled her fancy so much—something about hearing him specifically saying it, she had once said.

“You feeling okay?” Harry gently inquired as his hands went to rub at Y/N’s tense neck before being shrugged off by Y/N.

“Yeah,” she replied, still not looking up from staring out in front of her.

“Okay,” Harry sighed as his fingers went to bunch up the fabric of his pants before he sat down, “that’s a lie... C’mon, what’s wrong? Tired?”

“No,” she shook her head before tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Okay,” Harry went to look at the city lights, “have I done something to offend you? Something I said?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Stop that,” Harry nudged her lip. It had been a conversation they had just had—Y/N pleading with him to help her stop her bad habit of picking at her lips with her teeth, “look, I’m no mind reader but I know there’s something bothering you... We were having such a lovely time...”

“You spent all night charming everybody’s pants off,” Y/N softly stated.

“And?” Harry shook his head, starting to become a little frustrated. He had never tried so hard to read her mind before... or anyone else’s, for that matter. There was a long pause between them before Harry’s elbow nudged Y/N’s side.

“Do you not want me? I mean, shouldn’t you be trying to charm my pants off?” Y/N huffed. Harry huffed out a breath before he shook his head, staring straight ahead. 

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Baby,” Harry huffed as he turned to face Y/N, his hands reaching out to snake under Y/N’s chin so they could gently grasp the sides of her neck, his thumbs going to push her hair from her face.

“What?” Y/N shook her head as he looked at her under those lashes she had come to be so fond of.

“I couldn’t want you any more than you could possibly know tonight,” Harry replied before his lips were on her and it seemed like a ton of bricks were lifted from Y/N’s shoulders. Harry got chills as he still hadn’t gotten used to how soft her lips were against his own. She tasted like the bubble gum she had been chewing earlier, and he wondered if there would ever be a time when he would tire of the smell of her perfume. Y/N’s hands warmed Harry’s cheeks as he helped hoist her from her seated position next to him so that she could straddle his thighs a little more comfortably. Previous times her lips had met Harry’s were tender and their almost languid. This time was a little different—it was needier and the way Harry rubbed up and down Y/N’s arms had given her goosebumps. His larger hands had slipped down to rub at the bare thighs that had poked out from her bunched up dress. She couldn't help but shiver as the harsh callouses of his fingertips ghosted up and down her skin.

“Looked so good all night, baby,” Harry mumbled between kisses, “d’you wear the tightest dress you could find on purpose? Hm? ... And how’d you know my favorite color on you was blue?”

All he got in response was a little murmur he couldn't quite make out, but he didn’t mind. He liked how she licked at his mouth too much to get huffy puffy over a response that never came. Things had escalated pretty quickly from there—he could soon feel the heat of her where he wanted her the most and he didn’t know how much he could take of their clothing being in the way. There had been one or two purposeful movements of Y/N’s hips before Harry felt Y/N’s hands start to trail between them.

“What’re you doing?” Harry feigned ignorance as Y/N could feel the smile on his lips growing. All Y/N could do was whine at his statement before Harry’s hands had to stop her own.

“As pretty as you look on me out here, can’t do this out here,” Harry shook his head as his thumb went to brush some of Y/N’s hair from between her lips before he couldn’t help but run his thumb over her lips, “least not the first time.”

“Buzzkill,” Y/N frowned before her lips opened to allow Harry’s thumb to lay on her tongue before she briskly sucked on his thumb.

“What would you say to leavin’ the party a little early,” Harry voiced as he felt Y/N’s tongue on his thumb.

“Yes, please,” came Y/N’s muffled response before Harry pulled his thumb from Y/N’s mouth.

“Let’s go say our goodbyes, then,” Harry cooed at Y/N before pressing a kiss to her nose and helping her dismount his lap.

+ + +

[A/N: For all my Latinx Harries out there. I have been working on this since about the very ending of last year and so many things in this blurb have manifested (e.g. Harry + Florence Pugh + Chris Pine working together; people knitting A LOT in lock down). I’m convinced I’m psychic. I hope you are all doing well/safe. Please, remember to wear your masks, socially distance, and treat people w/ kindness. :)}

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 42

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

"Dude, you live like this?" 

Loki moved past where you stood frozen to the spot. 

"Technically, not anymore.” He shrugged and walked into the sleeping chambers to the left. 

The rooms Loki used to live in were bathed in the rays of the setting sun, coming through large windows and the balcony overlooking the golden city. Everything was grand and coated in riches, whether it be the plush cushions laid on the floor, or the masterfully woven rugs, so soft they felt like walking on clouds.

Stumbling further inside, you walked past a large sofa. You brushed the fabric with your hand, reveling in the silkiness. There were a few carved chairs and a small coffee table on the balcony. You wanted to sit out there and watch the view. Loki's rooms were located high up over the city, and allowed you to marvel over everything laid down below. You'd spend hours there, unable to tear your eyes away if only it was you who'd been born to all this wealth and grandeur. 

Standing there, careful not to be noticed from far below, you wondered how different your life would have been then. How different would it have been to have all those rooms in a completely separate section of the palace all for yourself, and getting tired just from walking from one end to another. To have shelves so packed with books that they almost sagged, and so many places obviously created for reading them in mind. To have staff clean the impossibly high windows and the plush carpet, so delicate it felt like murder to dirty it up. Or to have a dressing room overflowing with jewels and clothing so fine it made you realise how many official meetings must've required their use. 

Closing your eyes, you smelled the soft fragrance hanging in the air. 

It would be a life of wearing too-stiff, formally pressed jackets and boots always shining as if new. A life in rooms too big and too empty, no matter how many things you packed them with. A life that would make you discover all the secret passages through the palace and outside of it. A life that would make you learn tricks and magic just to entertain yourself even in solitude. One that would make you enjoy visiting other worlds, and learning their history just for the fake sense of belonging somewhere. 

You walked over to where Loki disappeared some time ago. 

The bedroom was large and dressed in easy, pastel colors with a few darker patches of green. The enchanted bag you brought with you was laying next to the perfectly made bed. Only two familiar legs were sticking from where Loki dived underneath it. 

You jumped onto the mattress and felt it bounce with wonderful softness. Rolling over the covers, you delighted in their flowery scent. 

"I'm no longer mad about why no room in the Tower suited you," you said. 

"I'm delighted to hear that." 

Cuddling a pillow, you wormed your way to the other end of the bed, curious about Loki's whereabouts. For all the noises and curses coming from underneath the bed, it seemed as if he were struggling.

"You okay there?" 

"Reaching into my spatial storage used to be easier when I was the size of an underfed pigeon. Can you get me out?" 

Standing behind him, you caught Loki by the feet and dragged him out. The box he was clutching to his chest didn't look remarkable, but neither did his bottomless bag, so you refrained from judging it just yet. 

You plopped onto the floor next to him, watching the magic open the locks. "It’s still there after all this time?" 

"I hid it in a pocket dimension," Loki said proudly. "A similar one to what my bag uses. Now, behold…" 

The box unclasped the last of the clips. There was a golden sheer to the surface of the box, shining through the curved, strange symbols along its edges. 

Loki raised the lid, and took out… a stone. 

"I'm not gonna lie, I expected something more dramatic," you said, weighing the stone in your hand. You could easily hide it in your palm. It had a nice texture, something between polished and rough, and was not as cold as a stone ought to be on its own. 

"Not everything about me has to be dramatic." 

You looked around, to the grand chandeliers hanging overhead. And to the minute details carved upon the furniture. And to the tiles laid in intricate, deliberate patterns that must've taken weeks to plan and execute. 

"...yeah, right."

You gladly gave it back to him. There was something about the stone that just made you uneasy. 

The box it was hidden in landed in the bag, just in case it was needed. Watching it disappear in the void gave you an idea that made a wicked smile blossom on your face. 

"Hey, Loki…" 

Holding his gaze, you slipped your jacket off your shoulders. 

Loki froze. 

"How much time do you think we have before anyone finds us here…?" 

He watched your jacket drop to the floor. 

"...a while, I'd wager," the words came out breathlessly. 

Blood was thrumming in his veins as you crossed the short distance between you. 

A shiver he couldn't quite control run down Loki's back as you leaned in. 

"Make me a pocket dimension - in my pocket, actually." 

Loki blinked. There were quite a lot of thoughts rushing through his head that made it difficult to focus on the jacket you held out to him with a hopeful expression. 

You saw his confusion. "It honestly never occurred to me how useful it would be, but being here, in this place, seems like a perfect opportunity. You said your magic gets weird on the Edge, but here it's free of its influence."

"That's true," Loki admitted carefully, taking the piece of clothing, still warm with life. "May I inquire what you plan on keeping in here?" 

"A sword." 

"What." 

"I want a sword. We've been sneaking around all these guards here, and they always have those really cool swords, and until today I wasn't even aware that I wanted a sword but I do. Really do. Please." 

Loki chuckled. He'd agree even if you weren't making such huge, pleading eyes to him, but it was not something he'd ever admit. 

"How do you feel about paying a little visit to the royal treasure of Asgard, then? I've heard a rumor about a few ancient swords laying there, gathering dust." 

The sheer joy that sparkled in your eyes might've been enough to stop his heart completely, were it not for the bone-crushing hug you closed him in. 

This was something he could definitely get used to, Loki thought, having his cheek kissed. Something definitely worth coming all the way back here, to this place of times long gone, despite the risk. Loki had no doubt that his life would become much more complicated were he to be discovered on palace grounds despite his exile. He could save you, probably, if he convinced everyone he had you under a spell, and had enough time to think of a good reason for that. A few guards wouldn't pose a problem, though - he only worried if they managed to set off the alarm before he knocked them out and-

A pointed cough interrupted his plans just as Loki was finishing the spell off. 

Loki looked at you. You looked at him. 

There was someone standing at the entrance to the room, poised in the final rays of sun breaking through the thin curtains. Someone with a love for dramatics. 

"I see you brought a friend, dear." 

The shiver ran down Loki's back, but for vastly different reasons this time. There were plans against the guards he could use to outsmart them. There were secret passages he might use to sneak through the palace grounds. There were excuses, lies, and half-truths that served him well enough in various instances. 

But none to be used in this one. 

"Hello, mother." 

Loki was not entirely certain why his voice came out so quiet. He was not in a very favorable position, still kneeling on the floor with you and weaving a spell over your pocket. There was little denying to be done about the fact he was supposed to be worlds away, on the very edge of the known universe and not in his old bedroom. Even if he tried, he doubted it would work. 

"It's been a while," he added firmly, with a tight-lipped smile only present for a moment. 

Queen Frigga wore a smile of her own, tugged into the corners of her rose-colored lips. It spoke of things she knew and things she could see, regardless of how hidden they were meant to be. It was not malicious, though - far from it, if one knew how to interpret it. 

She remained poised by the door, in a dress of soft pastel pink. There was little surprise on her face, despite how unusual it must've been to find her own exiled son back without any warning. She radiated calm, commandeered without a hint of doubt. Loki missed her warmth. 

"Mother, there is someone I'd like to introduce to you," Loki helped you up. "This is my-" 

"Oh, finally. If you waited any longer, I'd pay you a visit myself," Frigga cut him off lightly, embracing you gently. She smelled of roses and pine. 

Loki caught your petrified gaze, but wasn't sure what to do either. Being hugged was a better alternative to having the guards called, though. You could take it. 

"As delighted as I am to see you," Loki interrupted the moment carefully, "how did you know where to find us?" 

"Palace has eyes everywhere," the queen shrugged, looking you up and down. "Thankfully, your father only has one."

Loki connected the dots. 

"Heimdall it is then, after all. I knew that bastard would have a sudden change of heart just like that." 

Frigga sighed. Her hands were gentle and soft on your face. "Welcome to the family, love." 

"...um, thank you?" 

Loki masked his laugh with a cough. It was truly a refreshing sight, to have you rendered speechless within moments. He'd cherish that sight for a long time. 

"What about some tea?" the queen asked as if things were already settled. There was very little you would deny her, but Loki did anyway. 

"Time is not on our side, mother. We were only able to sneak out for a few hours, but every moment we risk having our little trip discovered by the Edge. The tension there is… growing." 

"Dear, that place was always full of trouble. Do you have a plan?" 

She switched her focus in an instant, with a frown set between her brows. 

"We do." 

There was pride she was not afraid to show when she stroked Loki's cheek. "I can't wait to hear about your success, then."

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, there's a tiny problem we have to solve before we go back there. There's something we need from the royal treasure…"

Your eyes lit up. 

Frigga smirked knowingly. 

"I suppose with your current status, it might be difficult to get you anywhere close to it," she admitted, already thinking about a way in. 

You nudged Loki in the ribs. "What about your bag?" 

"What?" 

"Get in the bag, and I'll get you through," you explained, sweating profusely under the queen's keen eyes. "No one knows me here." 

"That's a stupid idea." 

"I love it, though," Frigga clasped her hands. "Get in." 

"But we don't even know if-" 

"Loki."

"...yes, mother."

As much as you were proud of your idea, there was one thing that didn't occur to you. Once Loki was gone, the rooms became much more quiet. 

Holding the queen's stare didn't seem like a good idea. Avoiding it didn't either, though. 

The tension made your skin itch, prodding you to move, to do anything, and most likely something stupid. Thankfully, the woman was first to break it. 

"Shall we go?" she asked, stepping towards the door with a gentle smile. 

You didn't want to. You had no idea you'd feel this awkward, even when she was giving you no reason to. Taking the bag, you followed her near-silent steps. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to put you in some less flashy clothes," Frigga mentioned off-hand, walking through a luminous hallway. "Your face might not be recognized, but you might still stand out like this." 

Watching her flowing gown, you were inclined to agree. The palace was no place for jeans. 

Your body was no place for the strange fashion of Asgard either, or at least according to your body itself. Walking in clothes cut to a different fashion was only saved by how soft their fabric felt against your skin. Still, you followed the queen to the treasury, faithfully staying a step behind as any proper servant would, or so she claimed. 

There was no hesitation in her steps as she led you through hallways with high ceilings supported by thin, ornate columns. The stained glass of the widows refracted the sun into an artfully intricate mess of colors. The guards and members of palace staff passed you on your way, but they only bowed deeply to the queen, sharing very little of their attention with you. 

"How do you like it?" Frigga asked casually when you were out of anyone's earshot. 

"I mean, this whole place is… wow. Amazing. I wish I had more time to check everything out," you answered honestly, unsure of what the right thing was to say. 

"Would you like to stay?" 

It was an innocent question, or at least it would be under different circumstances. Here, in the middle of a palace, stranded on your own without Loki by your side, it was a question asked precisely because of those circumstances. 

"I'm afraid my schedule is quite busy right now. I've got a war to stop and a murderer to find - you know, just a casual Tuesday evening." 

"And what happens afterwards?" 

She didn't seem angry, and yet there must've been a reason for her curiosity. You looked down to the bag you were still holding. "That doesn't depend solely on me." 

Frigga didn't smile, but you couldn't feel any hostility from her. If anything, she seemed quite at peace. 

The double set of high, elaborately carved doors at the end of the corridor were undoubtedly a work of art and also heavy pieces of metal, magic and gold. It took the guards a few moments of strained breathing and groans to open them for you, but any thoughts about their job vanished as you followed the queen inside. 

Rows upon rows of shining crystals of all shapes and colors crowded one of the walls. Opposite it stood the mannequins in proud poses and heavy sets of armor. High as you could see, weapons of all sorts hanged from the hooks, capable of supporting a small army. Daggers and curved swords you could recognize, as well as the lances and halberds that made you wonder what kind of monsters had they been used against in the past. 

The huge battle axes caught your eye, but there was no way for you to even lift the ones almost your own height. Beyond them, on the long tables, laid gauntlets and helmets both winged and horned or with steel fangs like a beast's, and further in - even capes made of what looked like scales or monster hide. This was a place of legends you'd never heard. 

"See anything you like?" 

Lost in your thoughts, the queen's pleasant voice startled you and brought you back to reality. 

"Everything and I'm not even exaggerating. I could live in here."

Frigga walked by the neat rows of weaponry. "It's mostly family heirlooms and loot from all the great and shameful wars of the past. There are countless stories behind every one of them, but I don't think we came here for stories. What are you looking for?" 

"A sword. Loki said we could get one from here." 

"What kind of sword?" 

"...a sharp one?" 

"I take it you don't have much experience with them, then?" she chuckled. 

"My world favors guns." 

Frigga passed the first row and walked further into the treasury. The grandeur of large pieces changed into the showcase of precision and stealth as you looked at the countless thin blades, hooks and things you couldn't really name, let alone use. You considered letting Loki out of the bag, both to have him steer his mother back to the weapons you recognized, and to check on him. Making a spatial storage was a tricky thing, he had claimed after wondering if the air would still work normally inside of it. 

Before you got the chance to do that, the queen stopped in front of a plain gray case and opened it. 

"It's a shame so many of those have to spend centuries out of use," she blew the dust off a middle length sword with a slightly curved edge. "I hope this one will serve you well." 

The blade was tinted with gray, as if melted with ash. It didn't shine, which could come in handy during sneaking around. The handle laid in your hand as if it was always meant for you. 

"Once upon a time, it was called Windcleaver," Frigga looked at you with melancholy. "It'll never dull and never break." 

"Thank you," you breathed out. Tearing your eyes off the blade felt impossible. "It's marvelous. I only hope I won't cut my fingers off before I learn how to properly use it. Are you sure I can take it?" 

"What use does it have here?" the queen shrugged, gesturing to the immeasurable numbers in the treasury. "Besides, I've heard my son promised you one." 

You carefully put the sword into your magically imbued pocket. 

"Thank you, seriously," you said again. "For everything. We knew about the risk of coming here, so… thank you for not ratting us out? And, you know, giving me this cool sword. You're awesome. I'd vote for you." 

Although voting for anyone was not a practice often used on Asgard, queen Frigga appreciated the implied meaning anyway. 

"That's lovely to hear," she said as you left the treasury and headed wherever she wanted you to go. "Especially since, as far as I could see, you plan on staying with my son, correct?" 

"I mean, I literally crossed the universe with him, twice, so I guess I do? Look, sorry if I'm not precisely who you'd prefer for your son, but I like him, and I'm not going to pretend I don't." 

You left the palace grounds through what looked like one of the main gates. The road was a wide path with olive trees growing by the sides. There was an embarrassing amount of relief you felt noticing the Bifrost getting closer instead of the dungeons. 

"Asgard is a beautiful place in many ways," Frigga broke the silence after a while. "People are happy and live in prosperity, especially on the palace grounds. But life, even here, is far from perfect. Things happen, and we can do little to control the damage they wreak upon us," she looked at you. In the dimming sun and the lanterns slowly coming back to life as you followed the road, the queen looked every bit the royal she was. "I'm glad that my son won't have to go through whatever happens alone anymore." 

Speechless, you followed her over the bridge and to the round observatory at its very end. Frigga approached Heimdall, speaking in hushed voices, meanwhile you watched Loki crawl out of the bag. With a groan, he slumped to the floor, mostly unharmed, if only a little yellow on the face. 

You patted his cheek, waiting for a reaction. "You good? How was it?" 

"...I'm never doing that again." 

"What if I pay you? I've got like—" you fished in your pocket. "Three dollars, a stick of gum, and a sword." 

"You got a sword?" that seemed to raise his attention as he pushed himself on the elbows. 

"Your mom found me one. She's really cool." 

Loki looked over to the queen conversing quietly with Heimdall. She looked the same as the day he'd been exiled. "She is." 

As Heimdall moved to ready the Bifrost, Frigga approached the two of you, embracing Loki tightly. You were aware of what happened in the past in general, but seeing the consequences of it from up so close put a weight on your chest. Switching worlds for the sake of a mission was a very different thing from being completely banned from your own home planet and leaving it for the final time knowing that you won't be able to see your family of any of your friends and places you grew up in ever again, and even you were slowly growing homesick already. Watching Loki say his final goodbye reminded you of how strong that feeling must be in him. 

"Thank you for helping us." He stepped away. "We were lucky to be found by you."

"Actually…," you hated to step in the moment, "we kind of need to push on that luck a bit more. I really don't want to come off as ungrateful, but we really need a tiny, little visit to Earth too."

"Just for a minute. Maybe two," Loki solemnly swore, remembering your completely-not-sketchy plan. 

"We just need to grab some-… thing," you added to the rising suspicion of Heimdall. "Stopping a war is not an easy thing, you know." 

With a heavy sigh of the queen, a nauseating trip across the universe and back, a tiny case of abduction, Loki and you finally found yourselves back in the familiar mud of the Edge, its stars shining just as bright as when you left it. So much has happened since you were last in the obscure forest of gnarled trees, that it felt like weeks instead of hours. You could say that thankfully, nothing seemed to have changed during your absence, but that would be a lie.

The two of you stared at the Rift. It was still a seething wound in the fabric of the universe, and just as awfully wrong as you remembered, but also - significantly smaller.

"Do you think it's because of the Bifrost?" you voiced Loki's thoughts.

"The amount of energy released by the bridge shouldn't be enough to make such a change, but… I can't see how it can be anything else?"

"So we just ignore it and pretend we haven't been even close to it?"

"Yup."

"I like that plan."

"How about we walk a little away from this floating rip of void while we're at it? I think it would be the wisest if the boy didn't see it just yet. We don't have the time to explain everything to him," Loki gestured to the bag. 

You followed him deeper into the woods, grateful to finally reach the part where life was growing back. It was a relief to leave the muddy, dusty circle of death and despair the Rift created around itself as it sucked all the energy from whatever dared to live nearby. Further away, the Edge showed off its true colors, with wild flowers blooming in tangled masses hanging overhead from the winding branches of trees that had no names. Butterflies with three sets of feathery wings crossed your path in a shimmering cloud.

"This should be far enough," Loki judged, finally putting the bag on the moss. "I still can't believe that Heimdall agreed to this."

"I can't believe your mother agreed to this."

"If you lived in the palace, you'd know first-hand what ideas she's capable of on her own…"

Loki knelt next to the bag and reached down into its depths to bring out a boy. 

The boy was no ordinary thing, both by his clothing and his abilities you were greatly interested in. The bright blue-and-red costume hid very little of how deeply in shock he was over his sudden change of settings, world, and, apparently, plans for the evening. 

He rubbed the yellow and green moss and stared at the feathery butterflies circling overhead. 

"Have I- Have I just been abducted?" Peter voiced his confusion in a dangerously high voice. 

"I'd say so, and since he's technically an alien," you pointed at Loki, "you've got the full pack."

"This is awesome!" 

Peter springed to his feet and proceeded to jump around and touch every single thing around him, startling even more butterflies into hurried flight. 

"I told you he'd love it here." 

"I never doubted it. My only concern remains over his discretion, though," Loki smiled gently, looking at the boy freaking out over the flowers, moss, ground, trees and everything alive and currently running away from him. 

"He'll do well. Hey, Peter," you said louder, "we kinda need your assistance." 

He was at your side in a flash, with hands shaking and eyes wild. "Of course! I knew you'd come back for me, guys, thank you so much, I'll do whatever I have to!" 

Explaining your half-made plan to the boy constantly jumping between hugging both of you and getting distracted by literally everything around him took you a moment. You only hoped he'd remember your words. 

In the end, Loki took the runestone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. 

"Ten minutes ago I was eating a kebab on a rooftop and now I'm doing magic," the boy cheered. "This is great." 

"Now, focus," Loki snapped his fingers, grabbing a churned, black stone he found in the corpse of the monstrous spider that attacked you. 

Loki gently pressed the stones together and watched them start to glow. 

"You'll have to follow the light and not be noticed," he said, pocketing the spider's remains again. "It should take you straight to the person who wanted us dead enough to cast the curse. Once you find them, you get back straight to us, do you understand? There's a castle behind you and our rooms are right there, over those roses blooming-" 

"There's even a castle? I'm not leaving this place," Peter jumped on a nearby tree to see the palace better. 

Loki sighed, appreciating the hand you rubbed his arm with. 

"I'm having second thoughts if this actually is a good plan," he admitted, too quietly for the boy to hear. 

"We don't really have a choice. You said it yourself, that we'll be closely guarded. After that fight yesterday, they won't let us just roam the palace freely. And we need to know who's working against us." 

Loki nodded, painfully aware of all that. Still, it didn't sit well with him to have the boy involved in  such danger. The Edge had always been a violent place, and with the recent events, that tendency only deepened. 

"Be careful, boy," he said, once Peter was calm enough to listen. "I know we haven't explained this plan with you, but… We really need you." 

Anyone who didn’t know Peter well would think that there were tears of joy running down his face as he put on his mask and disappeared among the trees heading to the palace. Anyone who knew him well would know it was true. 

"Stop worrying," you nudged Loki. "Even if someone catches him, they won't hurt him. Besides, look at him go. He's got it. This is the perfect ground for someone with his abilities." 

"I'm not worried," Loki scoffed and crossed his arms in a very unconvincing gesture. "I just can't wait to find out who's our enemy. And if the court will side with us."

"Heimdall would see it, right? He'd help us if things go very south very fast?"

"I'd like to think so, but the only thing he can do is to inform the guards and leave the decision to my fa-... the king. I'm not sure what he'll do. This whole mission was supposed to let Asgard avoid getting any further involvement with the Edge."

So encouraging.

"I see. So how about we sneak back into our rooms before Faroq and his guards notice we're gone? Or even better - find Peter in our place, already having found that nasty spellcaster."

Loki let his imagination run wild. "...let us go indeed."

It was a good not-exactly-a-plan. Sure, it was a hasty job, written almost entirely on the go and with little thought of alternatives, had the things not worked out. But since it had taken you both to the ends of the universe and back (even with a quick stop midway for a tiny little child abduction), you wouldn't be so ungrateful as to say your not-a-plan sucked. 

A few minutes later, you were sadly forced to change your mind, as you were met with drawn out swords and even sharper stares aimed at you. The guards were posted right on the edge of the forest, where it turned into a little more tamed part of the gardens, and shedding any cover it might've granted you.

A woman in a blood red uniform stepped towards you with a scowl. "You're both under arrest. Do not move."

"That sounds a little harsh for breaking a house arrest," Loki calmly observed, moving to stand slightly between you and her. 

Your hand slipped towards your pocket and a certain gift it held.

The guard spit on the ground. "Not enough for the murderers, though."

Loki and you froze. That was new.

"Could we get some more details about what that guy just said or...?"

The woman looked at you suspiciously. She did not lower her sword, nor did she order the other guards to stand down. 

"Don't act like you haven't murdered them," she only barked out.

"As much as you don't believe us, we have no idea what you-"

"Bodies have been found a few hours ago," she cut Loki off. "A few families, living on the other side of the river. Their lives have already fed the nearby Rifts. Are you happy now?"

Far from it, you wanted to tell her and all the guards nervously waiting for the orders. If need be, they'd cut you down without a hint of regret - you could see it on their faces, in the stern looks and tense shoulders. It wasn't a question of what was the truth behind the murders. The only thing that mattered now was how well you had just been framed.

[i-am-not-a-who-i-am-a-what]

there was a moment from yesterday’s episode that set off so many alarm bells in my head and i haven’t seen anyone talking about it yet so i’m going to get my thoughts out there. i’m putting the majority of this post under a readmore bc it got very long thanks to all the transcript quotes i pulled but i really want to know what everyone else thinks about the Implications™

BASIRA

Okay. So… what do we know about Hill Top Road?

ARCHIVIST

Not much.

BASIRA

Another blind spot?

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s – I could look at it, but it… it was… it was like a… a hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a, a great height, like you’re being pulled into the abyss?

BASIRA

Kind of?

ARCHIVIST

[Getting lost in thought] Well it was… was like that. Normally I can see it, see the… webs, and feel the power of The Spider emanating from it, but… as I would look… it’s like my mind…. follows the paths of The Web,

[STATIC RISES]

the strands going down and… out… [Catching self] It’s quite disorientating.

[STATIC FADES]

my first thought after hearing this exchange was “huh, that sounds eerily similar to the description of the table the not-them was trapped in.” here it is from mag 3 - across the street:

I’d become enraptured by the table on which he’d placed my tea. It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole.

my first instinct was that this was some foreshadowing for jon meeting some kind of horrible fate, because well... remember what happened the last time someone got mesmerized by the table?

SASHA

Oh, hey. I’ve found… I’ve found that table you were talking about. Don’t really see what all the fuss is about. Just a… basic… optical illusion. Nothing special… just… just a… wait…

[Hushed and panicked] Jon! Jon, I think there’s someone here. Hello? I see you. Show yourself!

but then i started thinking more about why the table specifically would be referenced, and i remembered the earliest we see it used as artifact of the web, and where: with raymond fielding in hill top road in mag 59 - recluse:

On Sunday evenings, however, we’d all gather for the evening meal, and before we sat down to eat, he would remove the bright white tablecloth that covered it, and we’d gather around the dark wood. I remember it was carved in all sorts of strange swirling designs and patterns. It felt like if you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the center, to some deep truth, if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it.

it was while i was checking the transcripts to find the above quote that i also remembered the hole in center of the table that the web pattern leads towards wasn’t always empty - it used to contain a box, and that box contained an apple.

again from again from mag 59:

The center of the table looked, at first, like it was simply part of the wooden top, but if you looked closely, as I did so often, you could see an outline marking the very middle as a small, square box, carved with patterns just like the ones that laced their way over the rest of the table. I don’t remember how long we sat around the table those evenings, nor do I have any memory of what we might have eaten.

...

I reached over and pulled the wooden square from the center of the table. On its own, it appeared to be a small wooden box, and the lid opened smoothly, as my hands moved in a practiced motion. Inside was an apple, green and fresh and still wet with morning dew.

I knew I was going to eat it. I could feel tears desperately trying to push themselves out of my eyes, but I instead decided not to cry. I placed the box down on the table, reached over, and picked up the apple.

the box from the center of the table makes its first appearance in the very first hill top road statement, mag 8 - burned out, where we learn that apparently the apple was full of spiders. 

considering the web’s predilection for filling it’s victim’s bodies with spiders (carlos vittery, annabell cane, the spider husks trevor encountered, the victim of the chelicerae website, the old woman in annabell’s statement, francis, etc.) i think this goes a ways to explain what happened to raymond’s other victims, and what would have happened to mag 59′s statement giver if he’d bitten into the apple:

They lay still now, wrapped in their sticky cocoons. Their bodies seemed warped and bloated in a way I didn’t recognize. But that’s only because at that point in my life, I had never before seen a spider egg sac.

more importantly though, we also learn that the box was buried under the burnt up tree in hill top road’s garden, the one whose uprooting was implied to be linked to agnes’s death: 

STATEMENT

At that moment I made my decision. It was easy, like destroying this tree was the only thing to do, the only path to follow ... When the tree lay on its side, uprooted and powerless, I gazed into the hole where it had sat and noticed something lying there in the dirt.

Climbing down, I retrieved what turned out to be a small wooden box, about six inches square, with an intricate pattern carved along the outside. Engraved lines covered it, warping and weaving together, making it hard to look away.

...

ARCHIVIST

Except… We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

and keep in mind that the only reason the statement giver in mag 59 didn’t eat the apple, didn’t succumb to the web... was agnes’s kiss:

As the man in the suit told me to follow him in a clipped BBC accent, Agnes walked over, and gestured for me to lean down and listen to her. I did so, but instead of a conspiratorial whisper, she just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off down the hall.

...

All at once, my cheek erupted in pain. It was like someone had pressed a hot branding iron into my face, and I could swear that I heard the flesh sizzle as I let out a scream and fell to my knees. I raised my hands to my face and realized in that moment two very important things. The first is that my face seemed to be untouched; I could feel no injury or burn. The second was that raising my hand had been a truly voluntary act. I had willed it myself, and whatever power had been gripping me, tugging me into its web, I was free of it.

at this point you’re probably wondering why i think all this is relevant in terms of what might happen with hill top road, and i have two potential ideas: 

my first idea has to do with the theory that agnes is lingering on as a ghost. this theory isn’t mine, i first encountered it shortly after mag 167 - curiosity aired through this post’s attempt to fix what bits of the timeline were thrown out of wack by the new info. if anyone has any other posts or general thoughts about this theory feel free to share them, i’d love to read them!

this theory is relevant to my speculation that agnes might finally make an appearance because she might have been the ghost seen by one of the statement givers in mag 100 - i guess you had to be there:

MARTIN

Right. Right.

[THROAT CLEARING]

Statement of Lynne Hammond, er, recorded 2nd of May 2017, regarding…

Uh, what, what’s this one about?

LYNNE

I saw a ghost.

MARTIN

O-kay.. Regarding a… a ghost. Statement begins.

who appeared as one of the cultists in mag 190 - scavengers: 

MARTIN

[Puzzled] Celia?

CELIA

Probably. The, um… place I was trapped in, they took my name. I never got it back. But I like Celia, so… yeah! Celia it is.

MARTIN

Uh… H-Hello… Celia.

and was recognized and directly confirmed to be the same person by martin in mag 191 - what we lose:

MARTIN

…

Hey, I meant to ask. Do you recognise that woman, Celia?

ARCHIVIST

Um… no, I, I don’t think so. Why?

MARTIN

I’d swear she gave a statement once.

having her only pop up in mag 190 would have just been a fun easter egg, but having martin directly call out her presence the next episode sounds to me like jonny telling the audience to pay attention, to remember that her statement had to do with the ghost of a young woman on fire who might have been agnes. 

my second idea involves web lighter.

over various statements throughout the previous four seasons we’ve been shown that the web and the desolation have been at war, and hill top road has been their battlefield. the best examples of this come from mag 139 - chosen and mag 149 - infectious doubts respectively. 

on the one hand we have agnes being planted in hill top road by the cult of the lightless flame in an effort to both control her powers and derail the web’s plans, which seems to begin the conflict:

The compromise we came to was Hill Top Road. We knew it was a stronghold of the Web, full of other children Agnes’ age. We would supervise from a distance, but were confident she would be in no danger. The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.

and on the other we have the web binding gertrude to agnes, thus thwarting the desolation’s ritual, which also involved hill top road:

ARTHUR

Alright. Agnes. How’d you do it? Never did understand it, not really.

GERTRUDE

Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations

... 

So, I began researching what I thought was a counter-ritual of sorts. Like I said, I was young, naive. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I thought was a piece of blind good luck when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hill Top Road, containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair.

wouldn’t it seem symbolic, fitting with the dream logic we’ve been working with all season (and that the fears have always tended to work with), if what ended the metaphysical war was an artifact touched by both the web and the desolation? 

say perhaps... a device that creates fire while being marked by a symbol of the spider? one that just so happened to be delivered to the institute at the same time as a certain table?

TIM

Er, what is it?

ARCHIVIST

A lighter. An old Zippo.

TIM

You smoke?

ARCHIVIST

No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive!

TIM

Okay. Is there anything unusual about it?

ARCHIVIST

Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You?

TIM

Ah no. No.

ARCHIVIST

Well… show it to the others, see what they think. You said there was something else as well?

TIM

Oh, ah yes, yeah, it was sent straight to the Artefact Storage, a table of some sort. Ah, looks old. Quite pretty, though. Fascinating design on it.

all signs point to the best hope of escaping whatever plans the web has for jon lying with the desolation, or at least with fire, and who should be waiting in hill top road than someone who’s been known to burn statements in the past... and someone who, as of mag 162 - a cozy cabin, was the last person to mention the lighter: 

MARTIN

So, should we destroy it? Before we go?

[THE CABIN CREAKS VERY LOUDLY.]

ARCHIVIST

I honestly don’t know if we can.

[HE SIGHS.]

MARTIN

Mm.

ARCHIVIST

Besides, there’s – far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think.

MARTIN

We’re not even gonna try? Look, we’ve got your lighter; maybe if we just –

i haven’t even begun to touch on the multiple instances of spiral marked individuals interacting with hill top road, or the potential role of the rift leading from the world without the institute to the reality with the institute from mag 114 - cracked foundations, or the foreshadowing we’ve gotten throughout this season that the archive might be destroyed by fire and how it’s looking more and more like that means jon might die, or the significance of the tapes and what power might be behind them...

but it’s nearing five in the morning where i am and i’ve been working on this frankly gargantuan post since about midnight, so i’m going to let more meta-inclined minds take it from here. tell me what you think! where do you agree with me, where do you think i’ve gone astray? hell, tell me if you think i’m just spinning my wheels, this is the first real theory post i’ve ever made so i might be completely off base, at least i tried lol.

tl;dr: 

the call back to the imagery surrounding the web table and its long history with hill top road and the desolation is leading me to believe that whatever plans the web has in hill top road for jon, fire is going to have a significant role in whether or not the web gets what it wants; either agnes herself might finally make an appearance or the web lighter might finally come into play.

[auxiliarydetective]

Sticky Wicket Newkirk - Another scene rewrite

This time of the second scene in this clip.

The tunnel entrance swung open and Vicky climbed down the ladder, skipping the last few rungs and landing safely on the ground below. Newkirk snapped to attention, even though his body was fully worn out by now.

“Stand easy, Newkirk”, Vicky said.

Her voice still swung with anger even if it was much calmer now. Newkirk obeyed happily. Instead of returning to a position that would be normal for him, relaxed yet somewhat energetic, he looked like melted wax. Vicky furrowed her brows at him and sighed.

“Have you had any food since your capture?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Blasted minger, couldn’t even give you food”, Vicky grumbled and walked off to where LeBeau was keeping his less perishable ingredients. “Relax”, she ordered as she came back with a quick assortment of a meal she had been able to gather in a short time and a bottle of water. She motioned Newkirk to follow her to a table and put the food and drink down for him.

“Is this my last meal?”, Newkirk asked as he sat down shakily.

“Not before death. I’m not handing you over to the Gestapo. Not now, not any day.”

Newkirk sighed in relief, grabbed the water bottle and drank out of it greedily. Vicky watched, her heart churning more with every second. By now, he felt absolutely horribly for what had happened, but her anger was surprisingly persistent.

“But you’re not out of trouble just yet.”

“I can talk myself out of anything with ol’ Klink”, Newkirk said and for the first time, a smile found its way back onto his face.

“With Klink, yes, but do you think you could do the same in a court martial?”

“A court martial? You’ll really ‘ave me court-martialled in England?”

“Not in England, mate. We’re having a court martial in the barracks at five o’clock. Not a real one, of course. None of us are impartial. There will be no prosecutor and so no defense attorney since Colonel Hogan and I are the only ones even remotely knowledgeable when it comes to law. The Colonel will be the one making the decision with Carter, Kinch and LeBeau as his jury members and I’ll be the scribe.”

Newkirk rubbed his temples and leaned back exhaustedly.

“So I’ll ‘ave to figure out ‘ow to trick Klink and justify me actions in front of me mates.”

“Exactly.”

“Great.”

“A bit of fake confidence won’t hurt”, Vicky said, a slight smile curving her lips. “Play to your strengths. You’ll be fine.”

She got up and straightened her jacket.

“Wait, I ‘aven’t apologized yet”, Newkirk said and jumped up from his seat with new energy.

He grabbed her hands and held them close, so close to his chest that Vicky felt like she could feel his heartbeat through his uniform. But his energy faded quickly as he looked for the right words to use.

“Listen”, he finally said. “I know what I did was wrong. I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I didn’t think at all. But I’m really, really sorry. I just ‘ope that this doesn’t change everything we ‘ad. Even if I ‘ave to go back to England after this, I don’t want to lose you. You probably feel cheated on and - we were never in a relationship in the first place, so I technically didn’t cheat - but it definitely feels like I did and I regret it.”

Vicky nodded, her eyes sunken to the floor. Quickly, she gave Newkirk a kiss on the cheek.

“You have twenty minutes until the court martial. Make the best of it.”

[timeskip]

“Ah!”, Newkirk called and jumped up from his chair. He cleared his throat and smacked his hand with his pencil, now motioning with it as he talked.

Vicky sat atop his bunk and watched the scenery from above, noting every argument down. She smirked lightly as she did. Newkirk was really getting into his element. It was also fun to see how he had picked up her habit of using her pencil as a pointer during speech.

“Sir, I put it to you this way”, Newkirk said. He was addressing Colonel Hogan specifically, but made eye contact with the other listeners as he spoke. “‘Ere I am, one of the most knowledgeable concerning the female sex and yet I completely misread the character of the first female I came in contact with. What’s the answer?”

A rhetorical question. Vicky was internally beaming with pride. So he had listened to her when she had tried to teach him how to be upper-class.

“Lack of practice! Cooped up in this box, day after day, with no contact whatsoever - a man goes to see! What’s my plea? Don’t indict me, indict the system.”

Vicky’s eyes were glowing as she scribbled his speech down word by word. Apparently, she was not the only one impressed.

“Newkirk, you made a point”, Hogan said.

Newkirk’s eyes went wide. “I did, sir?”

“Yes, you exposed a basic weakness.”

That moment, the door opened and Schultz came in.

“What is going on here?”, he asked, “It’s past lights out.”

“We’re having a court martial, Schultz”, Vicky said innocently.

“A court martial?”, Schultz repeated. “Are you the judge?”

“No, I’m the scribe, since I’m a trained secretary and the only one who knows how to properly record a court martial.”

“Then you need a judge.”

“No, I am the judge”, Colonel Hogan said.

“And who’s getting court-martialed?”

“Newkirk, of course.”

“Of course, Newkirk… Newkirk?”

Schultz stared at the Englishman at the other side of the room, frozen in place.

“How did he get here? I have to report this! - Let me through-”

As Schultz still tried to get through, Hogan grabbed Newkirk’s pencil and flicked it against the bed frame next to him a few times like a hammer.

“Order in the court! Scribe Vicky, please note down a disruption of the court.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Oh, no, please, I didn’t mean to, your honor”, Schultz said quickly.

“Now, where were we?”

“Your honor, if I may make a suggestion”, Vicky interrupted, “the defendant can be recaptured after the trial is closed.”

“Good suggestion. How does that sound, Schultzie?”

“Wait by the gate, Schultz, I have a feeling this won’t take much longer. I’ll bring Newkirk to you and you can get all the glory for his recapture.”

Schultz was very pleased and left the barracks with a smile on his face. Vicky noted the incident down in her protocol.

“Right”, Hogan said, “Where were we?”

“Newkirk made a point, sir.”

“Right, your point, Newkirk. You exposed a basic weakness. Just one thing: What about Vicky?”

Good question”, Newkirk said, getting right back into his role. “Vicky, could you come down ‘ere, please?”

Vicky put her protocol aside and climbed down. Newkirk moved her by the shoulders to stand behind his chair so that she was now in the focus of the spectators’ view.

“As you can see, Vicky is a woman and a beautiful one at that. We all know about ‘er character and would be quick to trust ‘er if we met ‘er on the street, wouldn’t we? But we also know that Vicky is a trained spy. She could make us believe anything about ‘er personality as she ‘as clearly been able to convince the Krauts for - how long is it?”

“Almost three years.”

“Almost three years. Now, Gretel was also a trained spy. The only person in this entire camp ‘o could could ‘ave been able to tell she was lying is a woman ‘erself. A woman we aren’t allowed to get as close to as we might to girls we meet in ‘Ammelburg due to your order, Colonel. So, my point still stands and your objection is invalid. - Thank you, Vicky, you can go back now.”

Vicky smiled at Newkirk and climbed back onto the bunk where she quickly caught up with the events. Colonel Hogan waited for her to look at him, then continued.

“Alright, I’ve made some decisions. From now on: Rotating weekend passes in Hammelburg. You first, LeBeau, then Kinch, then Carter.”

“Thank you, sir!”, LeBeau said happily.

“Great”, Kinch remarked.

“I can go to the zoo!”, Carter remarked.

“Additionally, I am withdrawing my order regarding close relationships with Vicky - if she consents.”

“Fully, sir.”

“Lastly, it’s high time we learn how to be actual spies, so Vicky will be teaching us the basics she learned at the SOE over the next few weeks. Any objections? … Good.”

A smile on her lips, Vicky made the protocol into a neat stack, stapled it together and jumped off the bunk on the other side, away from the prisoners who were celebrating the outcome of this “trial”. She knew by now where Hogan kept his files and sorted the protocol neatly into its designated drawer. Then, she went back into the main room and made her way through the crowd by diving underneath the men’s arms. In situations like these, her small stature really paid off. Gently, she took Newkirk by the arm.

“Time to go. You’ll be back soon enough.”

“After I get out of the cooler”, Newkirk sighed, but he followed her into the tunnel without resisting.

“Yes, yes. But after that marvellous speech, I’m sure you’ll minimize your time there.”