#men will see a mouse and eat it etc etc

[almondscroissant]

mothers will monologue to their daughters about their parenting regrets and then say they don't need therapy bc they have nothing to talk about

[manikas-whims]

LADS Men & the type of cats they are

in honor of the new quad banner ♡

RAFAYEL (Nyafayel)

🐾 picky eater, will not eat dry food and will make a yucky face at canned food, wants you to cook proper meals everyday, and wants you to diversify the meals

🐾 will knock over every article from your work desk, bedside table, kitchen counter, etc. while looking right into your eyes with his most defiant and naughty “try me” expression 😌

🐾 usually chill but will want all your attention in the presence of others; be it cats or humans..clingy af at night..will howl outside your room’s door until you let him in and let him sleep with you in bed..

🐾 also the type to wail when you leave him alone at home to go to work, and immediately smothers you with licks and rubs the moment you come back

🐾 hisses at water, will accidentally scratch you when you try to give him a bath..yet at the same time, enjoys being pampered..he's the type who sees you doing makeup & wants you to put it on him as well 🎀

XAVIER (Catvier)

🐾 a lazy cat (cats do sleep around 16~18 hours)..one of those who fall into a deep slumber and you're just left shaking and calling him, concerned..and then he just lazily yawns and looks at you with the most innocent, confused gaze 🥺

🐾 slow blinks at you at random moments to express how much he loves you..also rubs his head against your legs and purrs, wraps tail around your leg,..kinda territorial, hisses if you smell like someone else..

🐾 loves food, is kind of a glutton..you need to stop feeding him..just because he meows sadly at you every hour doesn't mean he's hungry

🐾 does those weird cat things like sleep in awful postures, might stand on two feet and stare at you n do other weird shit lol

🐾 hates being toyed with but will immediately jump at the laser pointer lol..really sharp at spotting house lizards and mouse..will immediately catch them (topple alot of stuff in the process) and bring them to you as gifts

ZAYNE (Zaynyan)

🐾 is a gentleman and doesn't disturb you..sits nearby while you work so he can easily climb into your lap and offer comfort if you start feeling stressed or tired

🐾 not very vocal but there are days when he really wants affection, and on those days, he silently approaches you, headbutts you and meows softly, patiently waiting for you to pet him 🥺

🐾 not a talkative kitty but responds to everything you say..you call his name and he'll meow with affection, you ask if he's hungry and replies with a soft yet prolonged meow, you ask if wants to play and he meows cheerfully

🐾 very well-behaved, loves self-grooming but also never bothers you when it comes to bathing and grooming..sits like a good boy even when you're trimming his nails

🐾 does the most perfect loaf, may climb onto your belly when you're lying down and loaf onto your belly lol..is a baker kitty and will start kneading when he's feeling extra affectionate

SYLUS (Meowlus)

🐾 an outdoor kitty, sometimes disappears for a day or two and just when you start feeling a little concerned, he’s tiptoeing back in through the flap in your door..may be covered in dirt or even small nicks and cuts from fights he picks with the strays

🐾 makes you chase him around the house the moment he realises you're going to give him a bath..but the moment he's put in the tub, he's actually enjoying it..might cozy up there for far longer than necessary

🐾 very confident..do not yell at him for anything because he will growl and snarl back..doesn't like it when you scold him..also the type to catch mice n other small animals but he likes toying with them for fun 😭

🐾 there are days when you come across him meowing along to some tune..he's a talented singer, also likes to sing his meows when you're preparing his meal

🐾 will not let you pet him much..like he'll let you stroke his fur for a while and then suddenly when he gets overwhelmed by it, he will bite your hand lol (my cat does this sometimes 😭) actually likes play-biting

thank you @irandial ♡ for suggesting Zayne’s kitty name

» MASTERLIST «

[elodieunderglass]

I am absolutely wild and feral over HDM (legit like, daemons fit SO well. I'm watching dunmeshi wondering where Laios' dog went) and super curious if you do plan a sequel or other fics following this AU??

(In reference to the His Dark Materials / Dungeon Meshi fusion fic)

thank you so much for this question I love this question god!!!! Thank you thank you thank you

God sorry about HDM being delayed, I’m going through hell over it at the moment. It’s meant to end a little after the dragon, then a timeskip epilogue, with special coding so that you can read it two different ways, depending on whether you want spoilers for the manga/season 2. (My idea is that you’ll click a button to reveal/hide it, and the spoiler-free epilogue will be like found poetry.)

Firstly, if you or anyone else would like to take the concepts/characters in His Delicious Materials forward for themselves, you must do this. You don’t need my permission (but I’d love a link! so I can read, scream, reblog, comment, link to it, etc. there is also the “inspired by” setting on ao3 so we can link works directly to HDM, forming a collection for anyone who reads one and wants more.) I don’t own any of it! We are all just having fun! YOU can be the sequel you want to see in the world! If your heart feels a way forward, then follow your heart!! A daemon AU is really about revealing character and I find them really inspiring, like adding a whole engine to a story idea.

If I were to write something to follow up, I do know what the sequel WOULD be! It would be a sort of Discworld novel about the slow social revolution occurring in the half-foots as a chain reaction to Bee settling as a weasel, all occurring behind Chilchuck’s oblivious and unhelpful back. Pushed into a sort of bottleneck of sparrow- and mouse-souls, and marginalised to the very edges of society, half-foots are precarious and endangered. Chilchuck is mostly eating a ham sandwich unhelpfully in the foreground, and at the end of the story looks back and sees to his bewilderment that his people have found a way forward (they don’t have a Shire or a Chosen One, but they do have a goddamn functional worker’s union and their own collective dignity.) kind of Discworld-commentary-comedy, kind of a loving argument with Tolkien, kind of Sharpe hostile-and-awkward-protagonist-POV-doesn’t-know-and-wouldn’t-believe-that-his-men-genuinely-love-him, kind of about the experience of parenting, and kind of gently warmly political BUT FUNNY so it would be ok. but feel it would be too much of a stretch of people’s patience and the original materials’s intentions to call it fanfic. Too many OCs needed to carry the weight, too little reference to the other Dungeon Meshi characters, almost too little “payoff” for what would be a full 70k word work. So maybe to let the story breathe, it would be better worked up as original fiction?

(Plus, that is actually an actual novel: if people write their own novels and manga about orc coffeeshops and dnd parties, I could just write my own too: wait but how do you know if you should?)

Anyway, that is an entirely separate kettle of weasels and my own cross to bear! If your heart cries out for a sequel the best way to manifest it in the world is to write it!

If you feel that A Weasel Heart In Defiance feels like it would scratch that itch, here is a bit that is mildly relevant to Dungeon Meshi, which is Chilchuck and Bee starting to work away from home while the girls were still small. You’ll probably see what I mean from it.

About seven of the village children, including his own three, had a snake in a wooden bucket. They didn't look up.

The reappearance of a random guy who functioned mostly as a postal service and occasionally shouted at them about bedtime - in a way that could be easily blanked out if something more interesting was happening - simply could not be expected to compete for attention with a snake in a bucket.

Chilchuck could recognise this on some level, but as his own children ignored him, he felt very hot and angry, in a way that he had never wanted to feel about children, especially his.

Bee, also rigidly pissed off, growled, "Easy, boss."

This was where Chilchuck did the only thing so far that he was proud of, in this day. He did not start shouting, even though his temper was going something like What the fuck, kids, but worse. He stopped, took a minute, and remembered he'd had this whole thing where he'd wanted his kids to love him. He rubbed his nose, said, "Remind me," and his daemon reminded him: "What do we want them to actually do?"

And he said, "The bare minimum fucking acknowledgement would be nice."

And Bee said, "Have we explained that to them? Do they know?"

So Chilchuck and Bee, hot and tired and cross and still on the job apparently, sat down on the ground with the kids and looked in the bucket. The snake, poor bastard, looked very limp and tired. Chilchuck could relate.

After a while, Chilchuck said, "Girls?"

Or more accurately, something like, "Girls! Girls. Meifleurpatti-I mean Puck-PUCK. Listen up. Mei! Fleur, I'm talking - thanks Fleur - Puck. (Ryeland, stop the baby.) PUCK. Mei, Fleur, Puck - PUCK, eyes on me - thanks, Ryeland - PUCK. EYES," which condensed in parent-speak to a single roar of "Girls!"

When he had them more or less listening, he remembered to set his voice to the more singsong cadence one used for children, instead off the deeper version of his natural voice that he used for shouting at the top of his abilities at tall people; making the choice to be patient and gentle, or at least pretend to be someone who was; and in this manner he said reasonably, "Now, your dad's been away for a very long time and missed you all very much. What do you say? What do you say when your dad comes home?"

Six children stared at him blankly, and the baby toppled gently into the bucket. He fished it out, stuck it sideways under his arm, allowed the snake to escape in the confusion, acknowledged someone's grievously injured finger, stopped Fleur from pinching, took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped Puck's nose in essentially one continuous motion.

To be completely fair, now that he'd let go of the initial anger, he could see that the kids had absolutely no idea what he'd wanted of them. Kids had practically no social instincts at the best of times. Chilchuck coming home was remarkable, sure, but beyond their influence; how were they supposed to react? What do you say to a comet? What do you say to a hailstorm? What do you say when daddy comes home?

He repeated the question, as the children had universally drawn blanks and devolved into staring vacantly.

"Good morning, Daddy!" A child chirped helpfully, setting off the rest in an automatic drone of "good morning, Daddy," in the strangely universal dreary tone of all children saying that.

"So close, Fernwise! Is it morning? What else do we think?"

Bee, fighting for order among the kit-daemons, was simultaneously washing Fleurtom's daemon, Pantoufle's, face; receiving a long rambling report of a grievance from three incoherent witnesses; and minding the baby's chick-daemon; up to her ears in parenting. She said, around a mouthful of Pan, "Speed it up, boss, you're losing them."

"Where are your spots, Daddy?" Pan asked him. He was in the form of a young ferret and scrabbled against his mother's grip on his scruff.

"My what?"

"Your freckles," Bee said grimly, and seeing he'd been temporarily disarmed - and being a valiant beast in her way - charged in to her human's defense, "Is that nice, Pan? We don't want to make people feel bad about their looks, do we?"

"Yes we do," said Fleur.

"Fleur! We've just - we haven't seen much of the sun, that's all," said Bee, taking charge, the best and most loyal soul a man could have. "They'll come back, and they're not spots."

"Mei has spots."

"Freckles."

"Grimbob has spots."

"Yes, and you shouldn't notice," Bee said. "Think of Grimbob's feelings."

"I do, I think he feels spotty."

"I'm thirsty," Puck said flatly.

"Stick to the point, kids," Chilchuck said, recovering from the fact that his usual face was apparently indistinguishable to children from Grimbob's, who had been taking puberty hard. This was surprisingly difficult to do.

Ryeland, a mildly bright spark who was older than the Chils girls, connected two dots and suddenly roared "WELCOME HOME DADDY," so six children all repeated that automatically, and Fleur added sunnily, "I missed you Daddy!"

And just as a very small piece of Chilchuck's heart was finally allowed to melt, she added, equally sunnily, "Mei didn't."

"I did a little," Meijack said vaguely.

"That's great kids, well done, we got there in the end," Chilchuck said. "Remember it for next time, okay? It makes Daddy feel better about his stupid life. Now, next time, let's remember that it's traditional to do a hug."

He realised his mistake instantly, as six children and their daemons all bore him - and the baby he'd forgotten he was holding - to the ground.

___________

[jarofstyles]

Benefits

Hi lovebugs! This can be read as a standalone, but this is a 3 parter. The first part will be put up here but the next two are Patreon exclusives if you’re interested. (Part two is up now) I hope you guys love it.

Check out our Patreon for part two and 220+ exclusive writings

WC- 6.6k

Warnings- Asshole-ish H, smut, slight degrading, oral, slight possessiverry, etc

She knew he was watching.

A subtle smirk played on her lips as she helped herself to a drink in the kitchen, nearly able to feel the man’s eyes on her as he traced her dress. One she wore just for him, but would never admit to. He wasn’t good about hiding how much he watched her, how much he had been curious about her, but he hadn’t talked much to her. Only stared.

She'd been warned that Harry was a man of few words. He didn't go out of his way to talk, he was the stereotype of tall, dark, handsome and dangerous-but it's exactly what she's been craving. Twisting the lid back onto the mixer, she finally raised the cup to her lips as she turned around to face him. He wasn't hiding the fact that he was watching her. His eyes didn't stray. He liked that she didn't waver in her staring back, too. Y/N could tell.

It had been a long time since a man had properly excited her. She wasn’t exactly the easiest to please, if she was being honest. Y/N got bored easily, she liked to play games, to test people to see if they could handle her- but something about Harry had her fully understanding that he could handle her, no problem. Maybe it was just the look in his eyes that told her he was intrigued by her but also wanted to eat her alive, but she quite liked it.

Her eyes flirted with his, as she slowly took a sip, her throat bobbing delicately. "I think you're enjoying the view." Her voice was sultry, a taunt. She was baiting him, daring him to respond, to engage. The game of cat and mouse had been fun, but she wanted to be caught. "You're not very good at hiding it."

“M’not trying to hide it.” His raspy voice made her internally peek up. She’d only heard it a handful of times but each one had nearly had her purring. The man had the voice of her wet dreams, and she sort of hated how he was checking off boxes she had purposely put too high.

A small smirk played on her lips as she set the cup down, her hands moving to rest on the counter. She leaned forward, her arms stretching out in front of her, very aware she was very generously handing over a view of her chest for him to glaze over. "Is that so?" She asked, matching his tone. "You're just going to stand there and stare at me then?" The challenge was laid out softly, despite the tension in the room.

���Mm. I was enjoying the view.” His body was leaned against the cabinets of the kitchen, no shame at all in admitting the fact. “Think y’like when I look.”

Her eyes traveled up his face and met his eyes, a slow blink the only reaction to his words. She liked it, damn it. She liked being the focus of his attention, even if he wasn't saying anything particularly sweet or romantic. There was something about his blunt honesty that drew her in. "And what if I told you I don't like it?" She asked, her voice a gentle purr. "What would you do then?"

“I’d tell you t’stop looking like that and maybe we could come to an agreement.” His eyes kept contact with no issue, challenging her back. “I know you’ve been looking back at me when y’think I’m not going to notice.”

God, he was hot. It was infuriating, really. Men weren’t supposed to effect her like this. She’d always had the upper hand, but this one had her wavering as she reached up to twist a strand of her hair around her finger. "And what kind of agreement would that be?" She asked with a soft tilt to her voice. She loved the way he spoke, the way his accent rolled off his tongue. It was so…different to the general population of men she was used to. Some could accuse her of being excited over having a new flavor at her fingertips, but Y/N would argue that anyone who got a few moments alone with him would feel that level of excitement prickle their nerves. "One where I stop looking at you and you start talking to me?" The girl suggested, the small smirk playing on her lips growing.

“Perhaps.” Crossing his arms, he stood up off the counter and slowly sauntered over to her. “Was tryin’ to figure you out. Don’t get new additions in the group often, and you’re different than the people we’re usually around.” His tall form had her lifting her head a bit to keep his eyes as he stopped in front of her.

 She’d been right. He was taller than she’d thought, and broader. The man had kept a physical distance before, but now she was feeling the effects of him dropping that barrier. He was just so…large. And it made her feel small, which was a feeling she rarely experienced. "And what have you figured out?" She asked softly, tilting her head to the side as her eyes fluttered to his lips briefly before meeting his eyes again.

“I’ve figured out a couple of things.” Taking another step forward he gave her the chance to move if she wanted- but she didn’t. Backing against the counter, she didn’t shy away from him. “Mostly that you’re a little bit bratty, but you aren’t fake. You’ve been mostly nice t’everyone.” It had been a relief. Harry wouldn’t have been shy about calling her out on ulterior motives, but he only knew of one- and it had come after she’d already met everyone. “And you want me t’fuck you.”

She swallowed hard, her heart in her throat as he took another step forward. Again, she could have moved, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed put, her back against the counter as she met his gaze. His words were blunt, and she liked that about him. Most people would sugarcoat things, but not him. "And what if I do?" She asked, her voice faltering slightly for the first time in a long time. It was so different, but...She liked it. He had managed to get her to feel something different. Naturally making her feel a little more submissive when she had been so used to taking in the opposite role. 

“I’d fuck you.” Harry rose a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to do it since I met you. Had to figure out if you were someone who was going to stick around.” The tension was thick between them. “I don’t usually fuck people just once. Don't like to think with my dick. But I think you’d want it more than once.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the heat pooling between her legs at his words. She’d known he wanted her by the way he had looked at her body, but hearing him say it out loud had her insides quivering. He was so…crude and it was so hot. "I’d want it more than once." She admitted breathlessly. She wasn’t one to shy away from the fact. "And how many times do you think it would be?"

“I’m not in the business of letting you nut off and fuck off. If m’fucking you, you’ll be in my bed for hours. I don’t go easy.” It was the truth she needed to hear. Harry wasn’t one to half ass sex, and considering he’d been letting the want fester for a bit now, he had plenty of things he wanted to do for her. “Is that something you can handle?”

Her throat was dry, her voice hoarse as she responded, "Hours? That sounds...nice." She wanted to tell him that she could handle anything he threw at her, but she knew he'd only call her bluff. She'd never had a man talk to her like this before when she had confidence he could actually back up the claims, and it was exciting. Y/N wanted to know what else he'd say, what else he'd do. "And if I can't? What happens then?"

“Then I’ll walk away and let you continue your night. M’not going to do any of that if it isn’t what you can take, or isn’t what you want.” He made no effort to move, though, because he already knew what her answer is going to be. “You’re not gonna make it weird for everyone else in the group after we fuck, yeah? You’ll be able to behave yourself whenever we go out for the stupid dinners and drinks?”

She swallowed hard, his words making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. The way he was talking to her, the intensity in his eyes, it was all so new and thrilling. "I can handle anything you give me." She said softly, her voice filled with a confidence she didn't quite feel but wanted to project. "And I can behave myself. I'm not some teenager who's going to go running to the group about this."

“Just got t’be sure, Cherry.” Lifting a finger up towards her bottom lip, he smeared the lipstick with his thumb before pulling it back. “You don’t seem to be the kiss and tell type, but you never know.”

Her eyes fluttered closed briefly as his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, again the action so simple yet so hot. A little invasive- in a good way. She couldn't help but part her lips slightly, inviting him to touch her more. "I'm not. And besides, who would I tell?" She asked softly.

“That’s the right answer.” He sighed, taking a second to look over his shoulder and back to her face. “C’mon then. M’not fucking you here. Don’t want you to have to keep quiet. If I’m fucking you, I want to hear you.” Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he brought her out the back door. “S’a short walk.”

—��-

He had a nice house. Smaller, with a porch and garage. Newly painted, lawn maintained and a little tree in the front. It wasn’t the bachelor pad she had expected, but she really didn’t know that much about him- did she? That was becoming more apparent the longer she spent near him. 

“C’mon. Inside.” He unlocked the door and ushered her in, relieving them from the chill of the night. “Shouldn’t go out without a jacket next time.” The grumble seemed to make her laugh as he tossed his keys into the bowl, kicking his shoes haphazardly on the mat. She hadn’t expected to go on a stroll, so she had left the jacket in her car- but he didn’t really care about that. “Do you want a drink? Or do you just want to get into it?”

Her eyes scanned the cozy interior of his home, taking her even further by surprise. No, it wasn’t the bachelor pad at all. It was tidy and clean, with a few personal touches that gave her a glimpse into what was probably his actual personality. She noticed a guitar in the corner, a few books on a shelf, and a framed photo on the mantle that she couldn’t quite make out. “Huh?” The place had warmth she hadn’t expected to see, and the distraction was evident as she vaguely heard him ask something.

“Do you want me t’get you a drink, or do you want me to get to fucking you?”

Her attention snapped back to him, his words making her blush. Honestly? She really did love how blunt he could be, no sugarcoating or beating around the bush. It was so common to have people be coy about what they wanted, but then again Harry wasn’t anything close to most people she had met.  "Oh, um, I think I'll go with the second option," Her words came out slightly shy, with a hesitant smile. She looked around the room again, taking in the details, before her gaze landed back on him. "But first, can I ask you something?"

“Yeah.” He grunted, taking a step into her space and putting his hands on her waist as he backed her further into the home. “Make it quick. Dick’s fucking aching.”

Her breath hitched as he moved closer, his hands on her waist making her feel small and delicate. She licked her lips, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she asked, "It’s just…Why me? You've barely said two words to me before tonight. And now...here we are." She trailed off, nibbling her lip. A nervous tell.

“Because I was trying t’see if you were someone that was going to stick around.” He said bluntly. “Lots of people pop in and back out. Didn’t know if you’d be one of the floaters. Got to watch you and see how you were before I talked to you. I wanted to see what you’d say.” While some could call it a little creepy, he’d more so put it as educating himself for the best result. “Wasn’t sure you’d be okay with me fucking you. Some people can’t handle me or how I talk. You’re a sweet little thing but I can tell you like some of the nasty shit. So we’d most likely get along.”

She blinked at him, processing his blunt words. A small, almost imperceptible shiver ran through her body at his assessment. He had been watching her, evaluating her...and apparently found her worthy of letting her see a whole different side of him. Y/N hadn’t pushed her luck in regard to asking about him but she figured there wasn’t much people would say anyways. It was obvious to her through her own observations that he had been quiet about a lot on purpose. Considering there were a few people in the group that did indeed find him incredibly attractive, it was more than exciting that he had chosen her- mirrored her own quiet interest. The thought sent a thrill down her spine. 

"I...I appreciate your thoroughness," she said, a slight tremor in her voice, though trying to still appear confident in the way she had tried to portray. It wasn’t an act- she really was like that- but Harry had that little edge to him that made her want to soften up. "And you're right, I can handle you. I like a man who knows what he wants."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “And what do you want, specifically?” Her voice was low, almost breathy as she looked up at him. “With me?” His words had given her a lot to think about. The way he had evaluated her, the way he had found her worthy all while barely knowing her, and the way he had so bluntly admitted that he wanted her around for more than just a one-night stand. But she wanted to hear it all.

“I want to have an arrangement between the two of us. Told you, m’not someone who fucks people once. Not sure if m’looking for a relationship, but I want to like the person I’m fucking.” It was convinent for a release, having an understanding. “We’ve obviously got physical chemistry, find each other attractive and have the same friends. I think…” He leaned his face closer to hers. “We should be friends that fuck. Often.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze locked onto his. "Friends with benefits," she clarified softly. "No strings attached, but...exclusivity?" She wanted to know that she was the only one he was sleeping with, even if they weren't in a traditional relationship. "And we can still hang out with our mutual friends, just...without them knowing the details?" She bit her lip, considering the proposition.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, I don’t have the time to find other people to fuck. Work a lot, and I’ve got particular taste. I don’t want to worry about you fucking around either. Too much shit goes around. Eventually I’d like to ditch the condoms.” He shrugged, firmly gripping her waist to pick her up and set her on the hallway table. “It’ll be nice. You can just… Call me when you need to be fucked. I’ll call you. Scratch the itch. The rest don’t have to know a thing.”

She let out a soft sigh as he set her on the table, her arms wrapping around his neck as he towered over her. "Alright," she agreed, her heart racing at the thought of being exclusive with him. "Just you and me, no strings, no other people involved." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "And...no labels either, right? We're just friends who fuck, nothing more."

“Right. As long as you know that cunt’s mine to fuck for now, I’m happy.” He chuckled under his breath, nudging her thighs apart. “You wore this dress for me, didn’t you?” Fingers dragged up her inner thigh as he questioned her. “Cause you wanted my attention.”

She let her legs fall open, her breath hitching as he nudged her thighs apart. Her heart fluttered at his words, her insides clenching at the possessiveness in his voice. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew she had. When the confirmation that he had been coming had been dropped in the group text, she had taken getting ready a bit more seriously. Though she hadn’t expected this to be the outcome. Not in the slightest. "Yes, it was for you," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper as he touched her thigh. "I hoped you’d like it.” She squirmed, her legs spreading further. "Did you?

“Decided to take you home, didn’t I?” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh as he watched her squirm. “Course I fuckin’ liked it. But you’ve been taunting me, and you weren’t subtle about it either. Figured I had to ask you now.” Ghosting his fingertips along the hem of her panties, he tangled his other hand in the ends of her hair to tug her head back. “Could tell you were starting to get a little desperate.”

She moaned softly as he pulled her head back, her eyes fluttering closed briefly before locking onto his again. "Well, you were staring at me like you wanted to eat me alive," she retorted, her voice breathy. "So...yeah, maybe I was getting a little desperate." She bit her lip, shifting her hips forward. "So, are you going to touch me now?"

His touch was gentle, almost torturously so, as he ran his fingertips over the damp fabric. His eyes were locked onto hers, watching her reactions intently. "You're so eager. Though m’not so sure I like the sass. I’ll do as I like, and you can tell me how good it feels." he murmured, his thumb pressing down on her through the thin material. "I bet you're dripping, aren't you?" His touch grew firmer, ever so slowly rubbing his thumb over her clit.

Her breath hitched, her hips bucking forward to meet his touch. She hadn’t been sure how he would be in this sort of scenario, but it was better than she imagined. It took a special sort of man to make her feel even the slightest bit submissive and she almost melting. "Y-yes," she stammered, her voice slightly shaky. It was embarrassing how wet she got for him before he’d even touched her. "I'm...I'm soaking for you." Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as her head fell back against the wall.

She could feel his touch like a brand through the thin fabric, her legs spreading wider to grant him better access. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving with each breath. "Please," she whimpered, her hips moving in rhythm with his touch. "It's not enough..."

“Greedy.” He laughed through his nose. “I was curious how you’d be once I got my hands on you. You talk a big game, like t’be a tease… but in reality, you’re a desperate little slut, hm?” It was the most he’s ever spoken to her, but she couldn’t complain when his words went straight to her cunt.

"I can’t help it! You started it.” She gasped as he found a rhythm, her body tensing as his fingers tugged the panties to the side, slipping under the fabric. "Oh god…” She moaned, her body tensing as his calloused fingertips grazed her bare flesh.  His words made her squirm, her body trembling as he slid a long, thick finger inside her.

“I didn’t start anything.” His voice was contained, even as he spoke with the smug little smirk on his face. “I told you, I needed t’figure you out. I hoped you’d be like this…” Looking down to where his hand was hidden between her legs, slowly pushing his finger in and out of her sopping wet cunt, he licked over his bottom lip. “Desperate. Melt at the slightest touch. You rejected everyone who came up to you at the bars when they wanted to take you home but you love t’flirt. You knew they wouldn’t be able to give you what you needed- so you waited for me to move in.”

"Mmmm…” She let out a moan as he slipped another finger inside her. "They can’t handle me. They want to try but I don’t want someone to try- I want them to do it.” she whimpered, rocking her hips into his hand. "You’re wrong, you did start it.” She gasped out, her back arching as he crooked his fingers to graze against that sweet spot inside her. "You walked in and you...you just stared at me like you owned me.”

“Because I did.” He leaned forward, letting their lips brush. “And now I do. This wet little cunt is mine to fuck for now. Got all slick before I had even laid my hands on you, fucking filthy.” He sneered. “Listen to that.” The sound of his fingers fucking into her were audible beneath her pants.

The squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her quivering hole echoed through the room, a lewd melody that grew louder with each thrust. Her own wetness made his digits glisten, the sound of her coating his skin becoming embarrassingly audible. Every push into her tight hole was met with a wet slap of his palm over her clit, punctuated by her short breaths and gasps.

"It is your fault!" She hissed, her voice strained as she tried to keep quiet. "You kept staring at me like…like you wanted to devour me. It's not fair!" Her hips jerked forward as he increased the pace, her hand flying to his shoulders to steady herself. "You're gonna make me come like this." She hissed, her nails digging into his shirt.

“Then cum.” He taunted. “If it’s all my fault that your desperate pussy got all sloppy and wet, cum on my fingers and show me that then. Barely even touched you and you’re clenching all around my fingers.”

Her breath hitched, her face flushing with heat. "Oh god, shut up..." She hissed, her hips bucking against his hand as he curled his fingers inside her, getting the spot she couldn’t get on her own. "H-Harry… Fuck." She let out a high-pitched cry as she finally shattered, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Her body trembled as the intense pressure building inside her finally broke. Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, squeezing them as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. The lewd sounds of his digits moving in and out of her drenched opening grew louder as she writhed against his hand, soaking his skin. Without thinking, she buried her face against his neck, muffling her whimpers as the peak of her climax washed over her.

"There y’go. Filthy girl, making a mess of my hand.” He coaxed, slowing his fingers down but rubbing right against the spongy spot in her cunt to make it last. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”

"Mmm, yes." She mumbled against his neck, her breath hitching as aftershocks wracked her body. "Please...please no more..." She whimpered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she clung to him, boneless and spent. "It's too much." Her voice was soft, vulnerable.

“I think you can take more.” He said with a laugh, but pulled his fingers out anyway. “But since m’nice, I’ll give you a second. I’ll go easy on you since it’s the first time we’re fucking, but next time m’not stopping. You’ll keep cumming.” Harry had plenty of plans for her, she had no clue how much he’d been planning on this. “C’mon.” Scooping her up easily, he had her wrap her legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders as he carried her through the house.

"You’re insufferable.” She muttered, her head nuzzling against his neck as her body trembled in the aftermath of her release. She let out a soft squeak as he easily picked her up, her face flushed as she hid it. "Where are we going?” She asked, her voice soft. "I can walk, you know...” Y/N trailed off, her face flushing. "I’m not light, either.”

“Shut the fuck up with that. M’holding you, and m’not struggling.” He grunted, giving her ass a swat as he kicked open the door to his bedroom. “Bringing you to my room. Since your cunt needs a second, figured it’s nicer on your knees if you’re kneeling on my carpet t’suck me off.” The bluntness showed its head again as he felt her pull her face from his neck. “Been thinking about you getting that lipstick you keep wearin’ all over my cock.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing darker. "Oh...” She trailed off, licking her lips unconsciously as her gaze lowered to his crotch. "You mean like this?” She asked, her voice soft and sultry as she slid down his body to land on her feet. She slowly sank to her knees, her hands resting on his thighs. "Maybe I will, maybe I won’t..."

“I think you will. You’ve been gagging for it.” His hands grabbed the buckle of his belt as she looked up at him on her knees, the picture absolutely perfect. “You look awfully good there. Think you were made to be on your knees for me.” Depositing the leather onto the floor, he reached for her face and let his thumb smear her cherry red lipstick. “Go on. Undo my trousers, take my cock out. Know it’s what y’want. Don’t have to play coy with me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he smeared her lipstick, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips. "Mmm, you think so?” She cooed, her hands moving to his fly. She deftly undid the button and zipper, her slender fingers pushing the fabric down his hips. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the bulge in his boxers, her voice low. "Maybe…” Her breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric. "Maybe I'll take your cock out and give it a little kiss first," she whispered, her hands gripping the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down to help his cock out.

She looked up at him through her lashes, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips once more. His cock was thick, the head flushed a ruddy red. Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the heat radiating from him. "So big and hard for me." she purred, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Brushing her tongue around the sensitive tip, she smeared the precum that had leaked out. Looking up at him, she felt the thrill in her stomach as his eyes darkened with lust as he watched her. She opened her mouth, slowly lathing her tongue lick up and down his shaft from base to tip.

“There y’go.” He breathed, gathering her hair in a loose excuse for a ponytail. The red had transferred some to his cock and he loved the vision. He’d thought about it more times than he could count. “One day, think I should film this. Let you see how pretty you look on your knees.” He murmured, watching as her tongue ran back over the slit. “Get it wet.”

Humming in approval at his words, her tongue continuing to lap at his length, eyes fluttered closed as she felt his hand tighten in her hair. “I would like that.” Continuing to lick him, her tongue traced the ridges and veins of his cock before she looked up at him, wrapping her lips around the tip.

“Good.” He grunted as he felt the plushness of her lips take the head of him into her mouth, the slow pull of the suction. “Take a little more. Know you’ve been thinking about sucking this cock. Show me.”

As he spoke, she listened, taking more of him into her mouth. Unfortunately, she was not as immune to him as she had tried to be. It seemed she had met her match, wanting to please him in ways she usually scoffed at with any other man. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she bobbed her head up and down, doing the work she needed to make him pleased. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking in time with her mouth as she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, her throat working around his thickness.

“Oh, fuck.” He laughed deeply, head tilting back as she showed him what he had asked for. “Thatta’ girl. Knew you had it in you. Shit.” He cursed under his breath as the heat of her mouth welcomed him, taking him much better than he had anticipated.

She could feel his hands in her hair, guiding her pace, making sure she was taking him just right. The salty taste of his precum mixed with the musky scent of his arousal was intoxicating, making her head spin. She looked up at him, her lips stretched around his girth, and saw the raw desire in his eyes. It only fueled her own hunger, making her suck him even harder, desperate to please him.

Y/N moaned around his cock as he bottomed out in her throat, the vibrations traveling up his shaft. Her nose pressed against his pelvis as she swallowed around him, her throat constricting to make him hiss. She held herself there, savoring the feeling of being so completely filled by him before slowly pulling back to catch her breath. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his spit-shined cock.

His face contorted with pleasure as she deep-throated him, a guttural groan escaping his lips. "God, you're so good at that." Harry praised, his hands fisting her hair tighter. His hips bucked forward, meeting her bobbing head, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room. His breathing grew heavier, chests heaving as he struggled to maintain control. "You’re gonna be a lot of fun to fuck, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.” With a messy pop, she pulled his cock out of her mouth, saliva dripping from his glistening tip. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust, before leaning forward and spitting directly onto his cock. The mess hit him dripping over the side, making him hiss in surprise. Rubbing her saliva into his cock, she coated him in it as she smirked up. Getting him to react was a reward. He had barely said anything to anyone, and she was the one getting him to groan and hiss. Sue her for feeling a little special. “Think it’s wet enough?” She purred, coy as she looked at him through his lashes.

Before she could say another word, Harry grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, his mouth crashing against hers in a searing kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips, making her moan in surprise. Was he good at everything? She could taste herself on him, the salty sweetness of her saliva mixing with the heat of his own mouth. Biting down on her lower lip, he pulled it gently between his teeth before letting go.

 "You talk too much."

Her breath hitched as he spoke against her mouth, his voice low and commanding. She could only manage a whimper in response, her knees growing weak. He took advantage of her parted lips and weakened stance, slipping his hands around to squeeze her ass, pulling her flush against him so she could feel him against her tummy. "But you're right," he murmured, voice roughened by desire. "You've made quite a mess. Think you’re ready to take my cock?"

She nodded eagerly, her eyes locked onto his intense gaze. "Then turn around and bend over the bed," he ordered, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. She quickly complied, feeling a rush of cool air against her bare backside as she leaned forward, gripping the bed sheets tightly. 

As she leaned her chest further into the bed, she felt the soft fabric of the comforter against her breasts, her hard nipples grazing against it. Every sensation felt a little overwhelming, but in a good way. It had been a long time coming considering how she had tried to navigate how to work up how to simply talk to Harry, and now he was her supposed friends with benefits. Patience was wearing thin.  Swaying her ass enticingly, wanting to give him a good show- make him break. The room was filled with the sound of her shallow breathing, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. Behind her, she could hear the crinkle of plastic as he sheathed himself in a condom.

She could imagine how Harry must look right now, his dark eyes fixed on her ass as he prepared himself. The thought sent her reeling. If only she had eyes on the back of her head. Feeling him step close, his body heat radiating off of himself and into her bare skin, she lifted her hips slightly, trying to guide his cock to press against her soaked entrance.

Harry's strong hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements and controlling the pace. control- he was exercising the control that she clearly did not have. She felt the tip of his prick slowly push against her, inch by agonizing inch. Gasping, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets as she stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was intense, bordering on overwhelming, but she welcomed it nonetheless, pushing back against him to encourage him to continue. "Oh, fucks sake.” She sulked into the mattress.

,"It’s not fair. You can’t.. You’re not supposed t’have such a big dick when you act like one.”  Her words came out in a string of stuttered moans as he seated himself fully inside her, his hips flush against her ass. He gave a low, satisfied chuckle, his body tensing as he held himself deep inside her.  She felt her insides clench around him, her body instinctively trying to adjust to his size. “Oh, no? You don’t like it?”

She shook her head vehemently, biting her lip as she felt him throb inside her. "N-no, I love it. I fucking love it." She admitted breathlessly, her voice thick with need. "It's just not...fair that you get to have such a perfect cock and you waited so long to give it to me." She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, relishing the drag of his thick length against her walls.

Her insides felt like a silken vice around him, pulsating rhythmically as if trying to milk him despite him not being inside her long enough to do so.  Her body was already betraying her as her walls quivered around him, her inner muscles fluttering as if trying to entice him to move, to draw him in deeper. Her body was warm, and she was tight, gripping him as if she hadn’t been with anyone in years.

A smug grin spread across his face as he let out a low, satisfied groan from deep within his chest. “Well, m’sorry, babe. Had t’make sure you’d be a good fit for my cock. I think I made the right call, though. Tight little thing, squeezing me the way I like.” He taunted, his voice laced with amusement. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he slowly began to move within her. "You like how I fill you up?" He punctuated his words with slow, measured thrusts, his voice growing hoarser as she clenched around him.

When she struggled to answer, he let out a laugh instead. He continued to speak for her, his voice a low, husky rumble as he slowly pumped into her. "Yeah, y’like being stuffed full of my cock. Like how it stretches you open and makes you feel so fucking small." He teased, his fingers digging into her hips as he picked up his pace slightly. "Barely able to talk back to me when I know you love to run that filthy mouth. Must be because you’re not used to being filled like this.”

She mewled, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. He was right. Embarrassingly so. The wet squelch of his cock plunging in and out of her filled the room, mixing with the erotic symphony of their moans and groans. He could feel her getting more slick, her arousal coating his shaft and dripping down onto his balls. "That's it, take it deep like that. You like to play tough, but you just want t’be a good girl for me. Isn’t that right?"

Her response was a strangled cry, her pussy fluttering around him as if to agree. He grunted in approval, his hips snapping forward to fill her again. "Good girl," he praised darkly. "You're doing so well. Such a good little thing, taking me so well. Now answer me.” The croon was soft, a direct opposite to his pace. “Gonna let me fuck you when I want, mm? Gonna call me when y’need it too?”

She keened, her voice echoing in the room. "Y-Yes please... I- I'll call you. I'll be good. I'll... I'll let you. I'll let you whenever you want!" Her words came out disjointed, broken up by his thrusts growing a bit harder, jostling her where she laid. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, her knuckles turning white as she tried to keep herself grounded.

"That’s a good fuckin’ girl. You're gonna be so well-behaved for me, aren't you?" He cooed, his voice a soothing contrast to the growing brutal pace of his hips. One hand slid up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her arched as he took his pleasure from her. "You're mine t’play with now, understand? This pretty little cunt belongs to me." As he continued to pound into her, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. This was exactly what she needed - someone to take control, to make her feel desired and owned. And Harry was perfect for the job. They were going to be lovely friends, with many benefits. As she teetered on the edge of her climax, she felt a sense of peace settle over her, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[junedenim]

2010

beneath the boardwalk, part 8 (series masterlist)

glass in the park

warnings: the usual...angst, fluff, smut, etc.

word count: 13k

In late January, I bought a fur coat. I don't know if it's real or faux because I still haven't determined the difference in feeling between the authentic and the fake but I thrifted it so there's no guilt if it is made out of a poor chinchilla or something. It carried a dramatic feeling with it. I would wear it all the time. Sometimes, I would go out on walks just to wear it. I'd walk from my apartment to Grand Central and take the subway back just to make sure people saw it.

Alex returned to touring around the same time. While I was in a dirty slush-filled New York, Alex was travelling through the coastal cities of France. I knew it was cold there too but I'm sure it was much more conventionally beautiful and I envied him at times when I came home and my socks were soaked through.

We tried to talk on the phone daily, but time zones were difficult. We promised one another to always call on Saturday mornings for me so if we missed previous days in the week, I would always be able to tell him about my work week on Saturday.

Alex seemed to have everything and nothing going on. He'd play shows, get drunk or high, play ping-pong, take pictures of the Belem Tower, and watch Mighty Mouse.

I was busy. I liked it. My work would sometimes be straightforward office work, sometimes I'd visit places to review, sometimes they sent me home early to test products out, and sometimes they had me stay late to review products. I had a group of friends that I went out drinking with on Fridays and it was social drinking, not drinking to get drunk. One night, I ordered a Shirley Temple and laughed about it on the subway ride home at the thought of my younger self seeing me: a sober girl taking the subway home alone from the bar. It was nice to finally like myself. Or at least who I was becoming.

In my empty time, I wrote autobiographical things. I sometimes sent things to Alex but I found my writing became more introspective and it wasn't details I wanted to share with him. I was fearful of why I felt the need to hide it, but I didn't even feel much like reading it.

My friend, Fennel (he hates his name too), said it came from an overprotective biological need that all women must hide things from men, even if they are loving and trusting. I didn't think so. I told him I trusted Alex more than I trusted myself. He told me that was the issue.

Fennel cultivated weed on the balcony of his apartment in Murray Hill. He had a boyfriend named Kaka, who was a former Chippendales stripper and currently worked for Goldman Sachs. Sometimes, when he got drunk enough he'd reenact a routine. They were both in their early 40s, shared a dog named Rooster, and, still to this day, had the most luxurious apartment I have ever seen.

The building had a disheveled front but inside they had an open floor plan, a kitchen that was larger than my apartment, and the glorious aforementioned balcony. Fennel was a creative director at Condé Nast and had taken a liking to me because of my crooked teeth and what he called my "gemütlich" British accent.

I went over to their place nearly every week. They often had parties and I'd arrive in the early afternoon claiming to help them set up but I'd eat their fancy Bonilla a la Vista potato chips and play with Rooster. Their dinner parties were grandiloquent and their house parties were glamourously gauche.

One Sunday, I went over early through Fennel's insistence on dressing me. It was Pygmalion in a way or maybe I was the Edie Sedgwick to his Andy Warhol (I said this to him once and he took great offence because Warhol slept with Edie and he had no intention of taking advantage of me) but I quite liked it. I felt like a living doll and through his higher-up position and wealth, he was able to obtain fabulous pieces that he let me keep.

I walked around barefoot in their apartment wearing a Yohji Yamamoto (Fennel insulted me for not knowing who that was) white dress that flowed with every step I took while discussing Alex, who they had yet to meet.

"I can't believe you've been with him since you were 18." Kaka marvelled at this fact every time we talked about Alex.

"We had some brief pauses in there but yeah. You guys have been together for over a decade."

Fennel chuckled. "We were both in our 30s. It's quite the difference."

I sat on their black leather couch and leaned my head on the back of it. They were both setting the table. I was relaxing. "Yeah but isn't it hard at any age?"

"Sure but if I was still with the same person I was with at 18...well, that was a woman so it wouldn't count," Fennel laughed.

"Are you going to marry him?" Kaka asked. He was a complete romantic who would often say how much he loved love.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if I ever want to get married."

"Independence?" Fennel questioned as he pulled out a wine bottle.

"Parents."

"Ah," he sighed.

"But I have a feeling they always hated each other. I've always loved Alex. Does that make me lovesick and annoying?" I turned my head to ask them.

"Yes, but it's admirable. You seemed to have picked the right one. Good looking, loyal, you talk about him so sweetly," Kaka praised.

"I sometimes wonder if he picked the right one." It wasn't a newfound concern. I always felt secure in my relationship with Alex, not so much in myself. Occasionally, the worry of whether he could do better than me peeked itself out, usually when he was away and I didn't have the physical reassurance.

"Hush!" Kaka told me. "Any woman is better than a man. Take it from me." He kissed me on my cheek and it was nice to feel so fabulous. Fennel let me keep the Yamamoto. I try it on whenever I feel insecure.

*

I got sick on Valentine's Day. I had been unscathed for too long and on the morning of Alex's return from Europe—Valencia, Spain to be specific—I woke up with the urge to vomit. So, I vomited. And when Alex arrived home, I was vomiting.

I heard his bag drop while I was keeling over the toilet. The clacking of his boots on our wood floors stopped at the tile of our bathroom as he said, "Jesus, are you okay?" He hesitated, surely disgusted, before kneeling on the floor beside me, rubbing my back.

I had emptied most of my stomach and was dry heaving mostly. I slumped against the wall, catching my breath. "Welcome home." I managed a faint smile and my sarcasm didn't cause any laughter from Alex.

His hand stroked my forearm. He still had his jacket on and I was in my pajamas. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I just woke up nauseated."

"Food poisoning?" He suggested as he stroked his thumb over my knee.

I shook my head. "No, no. I feel fine now."

I attempted to stand up but Alex held me down. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just need to lay down for a little." I slowly stood, reorienting myself.

Alex, still kneeling proposal-style, offered, "Alright. Do you want me to carry you?"

I laughed. "I can manage to walk five feet to the bedroom, Alex." I headed toward our unmade bed.

"I can manage to carry you five feet to the bedroom." He wanted to make sure I knew that.

I smiled and to placate his need to help I had him get me a glass of water. He returned, jacket- and shoeless, with my glass of water. I took a sip and placed it on the bedside table we found at the Grand Bazaar last December. Alex sat in front of me, taking my feet into his lap. "You think it's the flu?"

I shook my head and slumped back onto the pillows up against the headboard. "No, no. I feel fine and I don't have a fever."

"Hungover?" He smirked, poking fun.

"No," I mocked. "An upset stomach. I'm fine now. How have you been? How was the flight?"

"Fine," he quickly answered. "Did you eat anything this morning?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I insisted. "How are you?"

"Fine. Do you want me to get you something? Tea? Crackers?" He continued to pester.

"No. Can we talk about something else or else I might vomit on you?" I crossed my arms, frustrated with myself for ruining the morning, frustrated with him for continuing to ruin this reunion.

"I'm just concerned something might be wrong. Should we go to the doctor?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. I know my own body. It was just a little morning bug."

His eyes shot up and wide looking straight at me as if he had just gotten an electric shock. "Do you think you could be...?"

I took my feet off his lap, criss-crossing them. "Oh, god, I'm not pregnant. Calm down."

"You sure? When was your last...you know?" He moved his hand up and down in front of his stomach.

I raised my eyebrows and laughed. "Period? What are you? A 12-year-old boy, you can't say the word?"

He sat awkwardly, a nervous look on his face. "No, it's just, you know..."

"I don't know and I don't know where this sudden weird behavior of yours is coming from." I sipped on the water and rolled my eyes behind my closed lids.

He reached out to rub my knee again. It was becoming rather annoying like a fly pestering you. "I'm concerned. That's all. So? When was it?"

I shrugged. "Like a month ago. I don't know."

He was bug-eyed and staring into my soul. "Well, are you late?"

"I don't keep track of that stuff." It was probably laziness or maybe because I was on birth control. Granted, I wasn’t very regular with that anymore. I never liked taking it and Alex hadn’t been there for a month.

"You don't keep track!" He stood up, pacing like it was the 1950s and he was stuck in the hallway while I was giving birth.

"You don't even have a period." I crossed my arms and leaned further back into bed. I was tired. He must have been jet lagged too. Why weren’t we sleeping?

"Yeah, but I am having sex with you."

"We last had sex a month ago. I'm not pregnant."

"And have you had a period since?"

I sighed. "No."

He exhaled and his head fell to his chest. He looked like my father. His head slumped after my mother disappointed him. It terrified me. Like I had done something wrong by not shedding my uterine lining. I didn't feel pregnant. Alex's concern made me concerned but I was more scared by the way his head sank.

"Should I go buy a test?" I asked. I didn't feel like fighting that I wasn't. I got an eerie feeling like I was overhearing my parents fight but I had suddenly body swapped with my mother. It felt like some trust had snapped in between Alex and me. For him, he'll say it wasn't and that it was based solely on concern. I thought otherwise. Like his paranoia had overtaken him.

"I'll go," he offered.

I shook my head and went to my dresser for a change of clothes. "No, it's fine." It's wicked that in my mind I held more worry over someone catching Alex Turner with a pregnancy test than actually being pregnant.

I threw the fur coat on and made my way to the nearby CVS. I had never bought one before. I don't know if I thought I ever would but I suppose I imagined it over different circumstances—a happy one, maybe with someone beside me with equal excitement. I bought a tube of toothpaste and a bag of Cheetos. I still had vomit on my breath.

Alex was sitting on the couch when I returned. His fingers were tapping the armrest and he had the TV on The View but he held a locked stare with the front door, meeting my eyes as I walked in.

I tossed the plastic bag on the coffee table and collapsed on the couch beside him. "I don't have to pee."

"Okay."

I grabbed the remote sitting between us and began to flip channels. Not much of anything good was on that early. I felt Alex staring at me but he didn't speak so I didn't speak. I landed on Notting Hill. "I hate this movie," I said just to have something to say.

He didn't say anything. Not even a Hugh Grant joke.

A half-hour passed in silence beside the movie before I stood up, dug the box out, and went to the bathroom. Not a word from Alex. I slammed the bathroom door shut.

I fumbled with the test for a while, struggling to open the box's lid. I wondered if Alex didn't join me in the bathroom because he thought I needed privacy or because he was upset. I think he was mostly just a scared little boy.

He felt so little to me in that moment and not in the way I loved. He was small and made my blood boil, even if I couldn't fully blame him for his concern. But his silence bugged me. His impassive form on the couch, a refusal to move or communicate. He had a habit of getting in his own head and barring entry. He'd say it was his personality. I'd say it was immaturity.

I took the test and waited for the results to appear alone in the bathroom. Negative, as expected. Still, I was left with uncertainty about what to do. I was mad at him but I didn't want to yell. I was relieved but I didn't want to celebrate. I was left where he was: silence.

Alex was still where I had left him. I put the test on the coffee table and sat down beside him, the last 10 minutes of Notting Hill playing. But he didn't move to look at it. His head turned to me instead. He was reading my face rather than the test. I stayed neutral and stared onward, refusing his enticing gaze.

"I'm sorry if I made you..." He hadn't fully grasped what I was thinking. I tend to think men and women are mostly the same but I find our biological difference is showcased in those times of stress. "It's negative. Right?"

I nodded, staring at Julia Roberts, arms crossed. "Mhmm."

He scooted closer to me. "Jane." His hand landed on my sweatpants-covered thigh and my eyes decided to finally snap over to him, small, tiny, scared little boy Alex. "I would've..."

"What?"

He looked at me as if he didn't expect a reaction from me. His expression was stunned and his hand stilled. "I don't know." You brought his hand up to his forehead, pushing his long strands back over his head. He took a deep breath. "This whole morning has felt like whiplash."

I scoffed, "Yeah." My head turned away from him. I was battered with the feeling of numbness. In the past, I think I would've cried. Or yelled. Now, I felt indifferent. I didn't know how to feel about that either.

"Have I ruined Valentine's Day?" He asked in an attempt to make me laugh.

I shut off the TV and stood up. "Yeah." I walked away to the bedroom. Alex stayed out in the living room.

When I went out to the kitchen, Alex was asleep on the couch. I made as much noise in the kitchen as possible to wake him up. I knew he was jet lagged and tired but I was a scorned woman.

I started the tea kettle and turned around to see a yawning Alex. "Do you want tea?" I offered.

He shook his head and placed his hands on the back of a chair. "I'm sorry for being an asshole." I turned away, not particularly interested in looking at him, instead I searched for a mug. "I suppose I have a habit of that. But I figured we could go out tonight. Go to a pub. Get some drinks."

Alex smiled, proud of himself for upholding a minimal tradition in my eyes. "I have plans tonight."

I didn't expect him to roll over and die. "Oh. Okay." He sat down on one of the stools and said nothing else.

There was no fight in him, meaning I had to be the one to fight. "Fennel and Kaka are having a party. I told them we'd go."

"That'll be fun.” He sent me a complacent smile. “I'll finally get to meet them."

I smiled back just as limitingly. "They've heard a lot."

He looked down at his hands. "Bad, I'm sure."

I exhaled. "I don't hate you, Alex."

"Feels like it." He was moody and refused eye contact, almost like he was me. We had been around each other for so long that we had become each other. People would say this to me but I rarely saw it.

"Call it PMSing. It just wasn't the best greeting."

He nodded, the understanding slowly seeping into him. "I know. I'm sorry for that."

"I woke up early to be awake when you got back and there I go getting sick."

He looked guilty. Solemn and culpable. "I should be making you tea."

I turned back with a smile. "Yeah. You should."

He walked closer and hugged my side. He placed a kiss on my temple and squeezed me close to him. "Go sit down. I'll bring this over to you."

I kissed his cheek. "Alright."

*

Fennel and Kaka's apartment was stuffed with everything. People, liquor, drugs, music, hearts. Alex wore a white shirt with a suit jacket over top. I wore a pink floral Roberto Cavalli cocktail dress, Fennel provided. Maybe it was because of our fight earlier or maybe I had just changed since I had seen Alex last, but I held a superiority complex over him. The silk of my dress wrapped me in elegance and the rough quality of his suit jacket. Oh, shit, I was becoming posh.

Looking back, I wasn't dignified or aware enough that my mother held these opinions of my father as well. However, I was also in a bitter state, and even Alex said I looked better than him so I wasn't really kidding myself.

People held cocktails and canapés were being moved throughout the room. Alex and I stood in the corner silently, I sipped the edge of my gimlet to keep it from spilling. Alex drank a whiskey. I kept thinking about it, in an ashamed way, but then I found humour in it and thought it best to break the ice and tell Alex what I was thinking. "We really are my mother and father."

He turned, originally with a neutral look on his face before spotting the crack of my smile. He breathed laughter out and lifted his glass, taking a slow sip from it. I imagine he was looking for something to say. We hadn't spoken for so long that his vocal chords must’ve needed a refresher course. He dropped the glass to his side. "I hope all the good parts."

I chuckled. "You say that like there are some."

He tossed his head side-to-side. "They've always had elegance to them. They intimidate me. The way the act is, you know..." He moved his hand like he was fishing for the word, trying to find it in the ocean of his mind.

"Posh?" I suggested.

His jaw dropped. "Now, Janie, I would never say that."

"Oy! Jane Cavendish!" It was Fennel, approaching us with Kaka following behind him. They were both dressed in matching maroon suits, each with a cocktail. "Beautiful. Always beautiful. And this must be Alex. Oh, how we've waited for this moment."

"Don't say that. You'll make him nervous," I told them. Alex didn't like it when I told people this. He found it to be invasive for other people—those not close to him—to know his emotions. I found Fennel and Kaka to be trustworthy of this information.

Alex peered over at me like I was his mother embarrassing him in front of his friends. "It's nice to finally meet you both." He shook their hands and they were both very impressed by this. I could tell.

"You both look lovely," I told them.

"Ralph Lauren," Fennel replied. He moved his hand down the fabric of his suit. "Red velvet. Feel." He reached out for my hand and rubbed it up against the velvet, the smoothness running under my fingers. "Now, you, Alex." He grabbed Alex's hand doing the same. It was awkward and made me giggle but Fennel always had a way of putting people at ease. At the sound of my enjoyment, Alex chuckled, nodding his head in approval of the fabric choice.

Kaka told Alex, "Has Jane told you how jealous we are of you two?"

Alex looked over at me at the knowledge of this news. "No, no. Why?" He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"The romance," Kaka swooned. "I wish I could have met Fennel sooner but we were a mess at your age. To find your love so early and keep it going and in the way you two are. If I was doing that at 23, I'd be a mess. Young love is just so lovely. Sorry, I'm a little inebriated."

Alex chuckled. "That's fine."

"You're a very beautiful couple," Fennel said. "I know a lot of ugly ones. Inside and out."

"Well, we had a fight before this so, if that brings us down from paradise for a bit." Alex seemed shocked I had said this. I thought I sounded like my 17-year-old self again. It was honest to me but it was also childish.

Fennel waved his hands. "Fights are great. You should have makeup sex in the bathroom."

I asked, "But where will everyone do coke?" We all laughed. Alex too, if not out of humour than of peer pressure.

Hours passed. We talked with some of my co-workers and Fennel's and Kaka's cultured friends. While Alex was in the bathroom, I talked with David Remnick and nearly fainted out of nervousness because I couldn't remember how to say Ibuprofen.

Alex and I went to the balcony to smoke. The city rushed by below and we each lit a cigarette up alone. I sighed and leaned on the railing, my head in my hand. It was so hot in the apartment but I felt so chilly outside as the wind rushed by. I felt Alex place his hand on my back. He was like a hot water bottle. He knocked against my spine like he was checking to make sure all my vertebrae were still in place. "You look like Juliet."

I turned my head to look at him but his head was off to the left, the smoke escaping out of the side of his mouth. He looked like he was stargazing, even though he couldn't have seen any in that light-polluted sky. His touch on me was this firm thing. I had never felt him so strongly like he wanted me to know he was still standing there beside me.

"The moon is so bright," he said. I looked into his eyes, searching for it in there. I followed his line of sight before my own landed on the glowing sphere hanging up in the sky. It stood bold against the black void surrounding it.

I looked at Alex, bold as ever. I couldn't manage anything with my tongue. I just stared at him while he stared at the moon. I don't know if he felt my eyes on him or if he was so enraptured with the moon that he couldn't handle looking anywhere else.

I sighed, standing up straight. I don't know what I was thinking by standing up so quickly. I don't know why I didn't just stay there and watch him for hours. "I've never understood the whole man-in-the-moon thing."

Alex shrugged, still staring above. "You can see anything if you look long enough."

I scuffed my cigarette out on the railing but kept the dog end in my hand. "Do you think if I stare at it long enough I'll see you?"

He hummed his response. I wasn't sure if we were speaking in some kind of code or just dancing around one another's words. Everything felt off, even if we looked so on track. I was uneasy in finding a response. He acted like he wanted to be alone but his hand persisted its touch on my back. His lips wrapped around his smoke and his eyes stared off into the lights of the city.

My arms crossed and I stood at what felt like such a distance. I stepped sideways, figuring Alex to be done with me and on to his stargazing. I'd have greater engagement talking to the walls inside and at least then I'd have a cocktail too. I turned away and his hand grazed across my back as I moved.

"I feel like I've done something wrong," Alex finally spoke. I had my back to him and it felt like I may never look at him again. Either he or my feet wouldn't allow me to turn around to see him. "I overstepped earlier."

My hand went to my forehead and it was like my brain was going to swell up and push itself out of my skull. I spun around on my heels. He was leaning back against the rail nonchalantly but held such caution in his bones. His eyes had a hard time staying on mine as he committed to the nervous habit of playing with his nails and tapping the end of his cigarette. "It's fine. I don't want to fight about it. I'm tired."

"Okay." He deflected his silence onto me, acting as if I was the one causing tension between us. Earlier that was the case but I dropped it in the kitchen and moved on with life. The whole day Alex held a wall around him. It wasn't a new thing for him to have his guard up, but I usually wasn’t the one blocked from entering.

I swore to myself long ago, after our break-up in '07 that I wouldn't be accusatory to Alex. Trust had always been strong but we always had a weak link. His stare now penetrated me and I felt like the nervous one. My arms stayed crossed but my hands began to squeeze the sides of me and I looked away, inside at the party, which had grown louder as the pretense of class had dropped with the amount of alcohol and drugs. "Did something happen on tour?"

My eyes moved back at his quietness. I had a sick feeling in my stomach but I didn't feel like I had a right to. I'm the one who fucked up before so I'd forgive him if he did now. Instead of guilt, he stared at me like he didn't know what language I was speaking. "No. Why?"

I don't know if he wanted me to feel sorry for him because I was accusing him of something that he didn't do or if he was as lost as I was when it came to this stalemate. "You just seem off. That's all."

He shrugged. "It's been a weird day." I was hit with a wave and I'm still figuring out whether it was from nostalgia or because I actually did see it but I swore he looked 17 again at that moment. I'll always see glimpses of that. The locked-in memory of his first impression. Through his long hair and whatever frustration he seemed to have, I smiled because we were standing in a garden. One that was on a balcony and was mainly weed other than one pot of zinnias.

I dropped my arms and plucked at the fabric of my dress. I didn't tell him what I thought. I thought myself to be a little childish in my reminiscing but it was Valentine's Day and I don't know why we went to this party because I always just wanted Alex to myself. I was a desperate woman with a sole propensity to be alone with Alex, especially when it was the day of his homecoming. I blamed it on my period, which I got the following day (not pregnant).

"You didn't want to come here tonight?" I said it as a question but it was a statement. I was already sure of Alex's stance. His inability to relax around strangers and his reluctance to engage in small talk. I knew he also had an inclination to be alone with me.

He played nice though. Always gave in to me easily on these kinds of dilemmas because it's what I wanted. He couldn't give me much in other areas (I had just finally won the whole location problem) so he found it expected to do what I wanted to do when he was around. But, sometimes (I use sometimes very loosely because I do in fact like getting my way), I liked doing what he wanted to do. Most of all, my favourite thing was talking to him. So, why would I spend a whole night chit-chatting with other people? (Besides, David Remnick because that really was a dream come true).

"I'm having fun." He wasn't very convincing. A tone of neutrality and a shrug of his shoulders that just looked like disinterest.

I chuckled to myself. "I'd like to give myself some credit. I know you better than anyone else so I know that you're full of shit."

He laughed and finally dropped his cigarette and his rough shoulders. "I'm just tired."

"Sure," I dragged out, unconvinced. "I'm kind of wishing we just went to a pub or something."

Alex looked down and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. I'm wishing a lot of things right now."

My brows furrowed and I wanted to look closer at him but his hand and hair shielded his expression. "Like what?"

He put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the city. "I don't know. I think I'm just a little messed up right now."

I stepped forward, wanting to stand next to him, wanting to touch him. I moved close enough that he was forced to look at me. "What's going on?"

The browns of his eyes looked darker and shinier as if they had been glazed over. I wanted to touch his face and have him lean into my hand, but I wanted to hear what he had to say first. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket but I had him cornered. "Just in my head. The usual."

"About what? Me?" It might have been selfish to think so but he looked like he might cry while looking at me and I don't think I had felt that insecure in front of Alex in years.

He shook his head. "I don't even want to say it. It's so stupid."

"I don't want you to leave it in there."

His eyes darted in a million directions before landing on mine. "Just things are changing."

It took me a second to understand. It took me a gust of wind passing before I pointed to myself. "Me?"

He rattled his brain with the shake of his head. "I'm just in my head, Janie."

I grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to take notice of me. "Well, let me in. You know, I like when we talk." I smiled up at him and he released the hint of a smile, a sparkle behind his eyes. "I like knowing what's going on and what you have to say, what you're thinking. I don't get much of that while you're away and I think we both stew in our thoughts for so long that we're practically bored of it by the time we see the other and then we think we don't have to bother saying anything. But I've never heard about this and I want to know about this. I want to know about you if you let me."

A grin covered his face, so wide his teeth peeked through to wave to me. "What?" I asked. His smile just seemed to grow bigger and his eyes cast down on me. I thought he might kiss me but I'm glad he didn't, I didn't want to get distracted. "What?" I insisted, punching his leaning figure.

"Nothing," he said so cheerfully. I thought he might have taken something to cause this sudden change. He put his hand on my shoulder like he wanted to touch me but wanted to make sure we kept our distance. "I just love the way you talk. I don't know. Like the way you know how my brain works and you feel everything I'm feeling. I just...I love talking to you too. It's what I've always loved about you. I feel like I can't do this with anyone else. Just lay myself out and never have to worry. I think I forgot the feeling."

I wrapped my arm around his neck, closing the distance, and having us stand chest-to-chest. "We'll blame the jetlag."

"Sorry for being moody. I think it's an after-effect of prolonged homesickness."

"It's fine. I suffer from it too." It made me smile that we both considered each other home. It was cheesy and cliche but that didn’t make it untrue.

"Do you think there's a cure?" He moved closer and it took me that long to realize we hadn't kissed all day between the vomit and the fighting and the party. I should be put in jail for this.

I didn't kiss him right away. I hugged him first just to feel him, make sure he was there, all of him. "I might start with getting out of here."

Alex insisted, "Don't make me force you to leave."

"I wouldn't if I didn't want to. I'm craving shitty fries and chairs that squeak." And him. I really craved him.

"You love it when we play poor together."

"I love when we're together." We finally kissed at that point, waiting any longer felt like too much. He was right with me and I never wanted him to leave. If we kissed any longer we might have fallen off the side of the balcony. Together.

I dragged him through the apartment with me, trailing like my puppy but he was my loyal dog. His hand was clasped in mine and I kissed both Kaka's and Fennel's cheeks and promised to have dinner sometime soon for a more proper introduction to Alex. "Enjoy your Valentine's, love," Kaka said in his drunken impersonation of a British accent.

"You too," Alex said for both of us.

He put my fur coat on me and we left onto the sidewalk of the loved-up city. We decided to walk back in the direction of our apartment and land at a shitty bar along the way. We walked side-by-side like we were two anxious teenagers again. I suppose we had regressed in the absence of one another and the readjustment was more structurally unsound than usual.

"So, uh," I started, "you think I've changed too much?"

He threw his head back. "Don't listen to me."

I grabbed his arm, tugging on it. "No, I want you to be honest with me. None of this evasiveness."

Alex put his arm around my shoulder, pushing me into him. "I'm just catching up a little. You've been busy while I've been gone and I like that."

"But too much too quick?" Fennel and Kaka and the load of other people they had in their apartment could be too much. It overwhelmed me at times and I knew most of the people in the room.

We stopped at a corner, waiting for a light. He turned his head to look directly at me. "Just give me a bit of a grace period." He smiled so carefully. Not in a calculated way but to reaffirm his statement.

I smiled back. "I'd give you anything you want." It was probably too much to give a person, something I wasn't even willing to give to myself, but we were sharing a desperate kind of love. It wasn't the healthiest but he was the only person I knew would love me no matter what.

He seemed struck by this statement, unable to tear his eyes away to spot the green light in front of us. I pointed ahead at it but he didn't move his feet. He bent down and kissed my cheek firmly. I think he would have stayed there forever if I hadn't pushed him and insisted we cross the street before the light turned red again. He leaned down and whispered, "Ditto."

We stopped at The Scratcher in the East Village. It was Irish but akin to English by nature. It had exposed brick and when I asked the bartender for a Guinness (me) and lager shandy (Alex) he talked with me about England long after he had given me our drinks. The lighting was low and it was late but the bar was still full with mostly lonely hearts, save us and a few other couples.

Alex found us a table in the back corner by a group of rowdy men and for a bit it did feel like we were back home. "That's what I love about New York," I mused to him. "I find pieces of home here. I never found that in Los Angeles. Too deserty."

Alex leaned his cheek on his fist. His eyes looked tired but his smile stayed exercising. "You seem really happy here."

I shrugged. It was hard to admit these things. Like if I spoke it out loud it would cease to be true. "I guess, in a way, it feels like it’s something I did on my own. I know I'm not alone but...you know what I mean."

His eyes flashed down at the table and he sat up straight, leaning back against his chair. "Yeah. I know what you mean." He sipped his drink and I could tell he was going to say something once he washed his words down. "I really like it here too." The infliction in his voice was distracted as if he was thinking about 10 other things. I didn't know which one to ask about.

"Tour's almost over." I was ashamed that it flew by for me. Maybe because I was more occupied. I thought it should have felt like it dragged on forever. The way I used to feel about it. Granted it was shorter than the previous tours but I had never been this involved with Alex. We shared a home now, yet, his things—his clothes next to mine and the record collection collecting dust—didn't make me long for him, yearn for him. Perhaps, it was growing up. Perhaps, it was growing apart.

I circled my finger around my glass's edge. "I don't know if I'll be able to get off for the London shows."

"That's fine." He has always been so accepting. Like most things, it was a blessing and curse. Sometimes, I hated that he didn't put up a fight. He never told me what he desired, even with things like LA. It was a work obligation, not something he wished for. Maybe it's because I always wanted too much and Alex balanced it out by wanting too little.

"I got off work tomorrow. If you want to do anything."

He smirked. "I have one idea." Alex did desire some things.

*

I cut Alex's hair a week later. He complained of it being too long and I suggested he go to the barber and then he said I should do it. It was late but we were very happy.

We shared a glass of wine. I had Alex sit in the bathtub and I kneeled on the tile floor. We washed it first and then emptied the bathtub before I began to cut it. "What if you end up not liking it?" I questioned. I wasn't nervous. If anything I was power-hungry holding the kitchen scissors.

"I'll like it. It'll grow back either way. How bad could you fuck it up?” He chuckled before saying, “Last time you did this we broke up. Can't fuck up more than that."

His laughter induced me to join him. I sipped the wine before passing it to him. It felt very adult and I told him that. He said, "I could do this forever."

*

Alex experienced his first nor'easter blizzard at the end of February. I had experienced my first at the beginning of the month. He was quite excited for it. It was childish excitement like he was going to receive a snow day. I suppose his snow day was the fact that I didn’t have to go to work. I ended up getting Thursday and Friday off, which, well, did feel like a snow day.

However, it was cold. Like really cold. We ventured outside at the start of the storm to collect groceries and experience the snowfall. We got into a snowball outside our building’s front door before the snow turned to slush. Alex accidentally ended up hitting Russ Tillerson, who lived on the floor below us. He had a good spirit and laughed before shoving snow down Alex’s back, smushed in between his skin and his coat.

It took me a good few minutes to recover from laughter over Alex’s shivers. “It’s not fun,” he insisted, still patting snow out.

I hit his thick jacket with my gloved hand. “You’re not a good sport.”

He pouted and whined, “I don’t want to be a good sport. I want to be warm.”

I stroked his cheek, rubbing the icicle crystals stuck on my glove onto his skin making him wince. “Awwww. Poor baby. I’ll run you a bath when we get back.” He quite enjoyed that bath.

The days were fun but long. We watched TV and had sex for most of it. We ate sloppy like we were at a slumber party. We got high Friday night while watching Goodfellas. I ate a bag of salt & vinegar chips and half a pack of Chips Ahoy! Alex ate a whole pack of Oreos and drank enough Coke to shut down your organs.

“I’m sorry I’m so high,” I apologized.

He waved me off and sunk deeper into the couch pillows. “It’s fine. I wish we had more Coke.”

“We could do coke coke.”

“You have coke coke?”

“No. But we could get some?” It was candy in my new circle. Easy to obtain, sweet to do, horrible for you.

“Nah,” he rejected. “You’ve done it?”

“Yeah. I used to do it with…what’s his name…Robert.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I’m so quiet,” I apologized again.

“You’re good.”

“Ray Liotta is so hot.”

“You’re so hot.”

“Mhmm.” My eyes moved away from blue eyes to Alex’s brown. He had sat up from his slump and was leaning on the armrest, observationally. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” He smirked, all-knowing.

“You know…how horny I get…” His smirk grew. “Don’t look at me like that!”

He curled his fingers, beckoning me to him. “Come here. Let me do you.”

I laughed and closed my eyes, prepared to succumb to sleep. His foot knocked mine. “What?”

“C’mon.”

He came to me. And, well, in me.

*

Alex left halfway through March, narrowly missing another nor’easter, but this time less severe. Opal came a few days later for work. She stayed at the Bowery Hotel, a few blocks east of me. I had walked by it a million times and always longed to go in. It was my second most desired hotel after the Plaza. 

She was there for work but apparently now had a boyfriend there too but that was all supposed to be obvious. Opal talked about things like you already knew everything about it. She told outlandish stories where she'd say, "You know how Charlie is" when I had never heard of Charlie before. Nonetheless, she was exciting and good company.

Alex was in Baltimore by the time I called him while drunk. Opal and I had gone to House of Yes and said yes to every drink along the way. Opal left with some guy who wasn't her boyfriend but it's okay because they had an open relationship, I think. Therefore, I was left outside House of Yes going home alone. I don't blame Opal for ditching me; the guy was hot and I insisted she go by saying I wasn't drunk, just tipsy.

I called Alex and lit up a cigarette at the same time. He picked up after 2 rings while I was still muffled by the cigarette in between my teeth. "Hiya, honey," I mumbled.

I heard laughing, either from him or the drunkards around him. He had been drinking too but not heavily. "Hey, sweetie." He moved away from the sound. I imagined him tucking himself away in the back end of the tour bus.

"I'm needy and I miss you," I whined.

His soft chuckling rang through the phone. "What's that mean?"

"It means I'm walking to the subway in Brooklyn." I scraped my heels against the cement.

"Ah. You and Opal have fun?"

"Yeah, but I'm drunk and alone. She's probably having sex right now. Everyone is having sex right now." House of Yes was a very sexual place in 2010.

"I'm not."

"Yeah,” I giggled. “I figured that one out. Could you imagine? You're on the phone with me having sex."

"What? Like phone sex?" He teased me.

I scolded him, "I'm not having phone sex in public. I meant like you were fucking someone else and on the phone with me."

"Why would I fuck someone else?" His tone was puzzled and I think he was drunker than I thought he was at the time.

"I don't know. I'm drunk. There's no logic to my thinking."

"I don't think I'll ever have sex with someone else. It'd be weird."

"I'd have sex with other people."

"Really?" He didn’t sound worried. Just curious.

"Yeah. Like George Clooney or something."

"I'll let you have Clooney. I’d fuck Clooney."

"Nah. He wouldn't settle down with me anyway."

There was a pause of silence before he expressed, "Miss you."

"Yeah. Me too."

He buzzed as if the words were sinking in. "End of the month and then I'm all yours."

"I like that idea. I've been hanging out with Opal so much I think she's starting to hate me."

"No. She just needs hot ass like the rest of us." It had been a very lonely month in the sex department.

"I'm not hot ass?"

"You're the hottest ass."

"Subway's here."

"Okay. Let me know when you're home."

"Yeah. Love you."

He hummed in agreement.

*

Alex returned at the end of April. We relaxed back into domestic obliviousness. That weekend, we went over for dinner at Fennel and Kaka's. We drank wine, ate fancy chicken, and played with Rooster. 

We sat at one end of their dining room table. Alex's nervousness had faded but he remained stiff, the obvious odd man out. We were laughing about work and Sally Condalteen's explosible haircut, all out of Alex's frame of reference. 

Fennel, observing this, gasped and said, "I just realized I haven't even heard the story of how you two met."

I turned to Alex, who was looking at me. I was like a mother training a child to speak for themselves. "You tell it. I've never heard your side of things."

"Okay. Uh, well, Jane had a class with Matt, who is the drummer of, you know, the band, and he invited her to our first gig. We sort of knew each other—small college and that kind of thing—but never talked. So, at the venue, I went up to her and called her the wrong name. The whole night I figured I screwed things up and made a fool of myself. Then, I'm outside smoking and she comes out and I thought maybe I wouldn't say anything but then I realized I'd probably never get another chance, so..."

"You went for it?" Kaka, a big woosy romantic, grinned.

"Obviously," I answered.

"What about you? What did you think when he came up to you?" Fennel asked me.

I shrugged. "Nervous. I think. After, terrified."

"Why?" He was like a psychologist desperate to get to the bottom of things.

I shrugged. I didn't want to reveal my whole emotional state to them but their eyes stared at me. "He knew me better in one conversation than anyone in my life. It's stupid."

"No!" Fennel insisted. "It makes me believe in soulmates."

"Oh, god," I exhaled exasperatedly, rolling my eyes.

Kaka swatted at me. "Don't be so pessimistic."

"I have to be. I'm a realistic woman." Or a doubtful one. I was a recovering romantic at best.

Fennel turned his bark onto Alex. "You think you'll marry her, Alex?"

"Don't answer that,” I quickly insisted. “They're wanting to cause trouble. They did the same thing with me."

Alex looked tempted but listened to my instructions. He turned to the two men. "How'd you two meet?"

When we left there was a drizzle of rain. Not enough to wet your clothes, but enough to huddle close to one another as we walked to the subway. Alex squeezed my hip, playing with the sculpture of the bone. "Do you want to get married?"

"We've talked about this." The whole subject made me feel awkward. I felt too young for the subject.

But then Alex said, "No. I mean, do you want to get married tonight?"

"It's midnight!" Deflection.

"Then, in the morning."

I shook my head. "No."

Alex looked like the air had been taken out of him. He readjusted and continued walking. "Okay."

"Maybe in like two years." Or two decades. The whole thing gave me body sweats.

"What's the difference between now and 2 years?" He didn’t ask it accusatorially. He was inquisitive.

"We're 24!” Frontal lobe and all that. “I can't tell if you're being serious now or not?"

He lightly shook his hair around. "Maybe a little. If you wanted to, I would. I'd do whatever for you. If I can give it to you, I will."

"Are you sure?" He worried me too much when he talked about giving things to me. He had always stretched himself and I was sure one day he would break.

He squeezed my hand. "What's going on?"

"What's going on with you? This overcompensation or whatever. I don't want you to give me everything. Keep some for yourself."

He looked at me for a moment, thinking it over. Then, he said, "Fine. Half to you then."

"40%."

"45%."

*

We went to Coney Island because I really wanted to ride the Cyclone. It was the first really hot day of the year. Unknown to us, it was also Memorial Day Weekend, which meant the beaches were open, which meant everyone, their mother, and their grandmother were at Coney Island.

Alex could wait in lines. I could whine to Alex while we waited in lines. He bought us enough tickets to ride the Cyclone and then go home because I was miserable in the heat and in line. But the line to get on the Cyclone was long and we had been standing there for what felt like hours.

"It's been 5 minutes," he noted. "We can come back another day."

"No," I moaned. "I want to do it today. I had it all planned out. I had planned to ride a rollercoaster today."

He laughed. "How do you plan to ride a rollercoaster?"

"You eat light so you don't throw up."

Alex tossed his head back in laughter. Suddenly, he snapped his head down with a concerned look on his face. "Have you not eaten anything today?"

"Well, yeah, I didn't want to throw up."

"God,” he scoffed, “no wonder you're in a horrible mood."

"I'm not in a horrible mood."

He gave me a look. He grabbed my hand and yanked us out of line. "Where are we going?"

"To eat. The Cyclone will still be there next weekend."

When we went next weekend, I loved the Cyclone and wanted to ride every ride there. I then threw up after the tilt-a-whirl.

*

I wrote a piece for The Paris Review in June. Alex sent it to what felt like everyone we knew. He attached it with a note that The Paris Review was located in New York and not Paris. He was very fascinated by that.

He had flown to London for the theatrical release of Submarine when the piece was published. It felt like a mighty contrast. The songs Alex had written for Submarine were what I would describe as the last box that had yet to be unpacked in our apartment. They were vulnerable but covered in metaphors I'm not sure anyone understood other than me. 

He had played them for me, asked for my opinion, revised, and played again. It was the first time Alex workshopped music with me since "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts." I always thought it was because he didn't have the band to work with. He has denied this and said that the songs were meant for me first, the movie was inconsequential. I'm not sure how true that is and how much Alex just wants to take credit for being a romantic or something. 

Either way, he wrote me a note before he left. He tucked it in my journal to make sure I wouldn't find it until he left. It read, There’s a piece of you in this, and in me.

My piece was fictional. It was about a girl who drinks too much coffee. It's hard to explain without it sounding stupid. 

I didn't write about Alex much. Opal found this weird when I had shown her my work last year. She said he was such a big part of me that it seemed bizarre I didn't write about him. My explanation, mostly, was the protective quality I held over Alex. His songs were shielded in forty different metaphors before you got to me. In my work, as evidence here, I name names, especially in these years when my name was so attachable to Alex’s.

I had shifted back to writing fiction because that's what most literary magazines like The Paris Review accepted. Of course, I'm not a girl who drinks too much coffee at all.

I liked the stability of the Condé Nast job but I had been indulging myself in fantasies of writing a book again. When Alex returned to New York, I told him this over lunch. We went to Lexington Candy Shop, which is a diner, not a candy shop. Another thing Alex wouldn’t shut up about.

I drank a malt shake (coffee-flavoured) and Alex had a Coke (the old-fashioned way where the syrup and soda water is stirred together, not the really old-fashioned way with coke like Alex wouldn't stop joking about) while we waited for our food. "I think I want to go for it."

Alex was contagious. You could believe you could do anything with that smile. "You should. You have one guaranteed customer."

"Well, you'd read anything I'd write."

"'Cause it's good."

"Don't butter me up."

"Come on, you know you're a great writer, Janie. You don't get into The Paris Review as a shite writer."

"Shut up about The Paris Review," I laughed.

I reached across and squeezed my hand. It made me squirmish. "I'm never shutting up about The Paris Review and that's because I read this really good piece about coffee in it and—"

"Stop talking about coffee too. You're making me stressed."

"Ease up. You'll be a New York Times bestseller by this time next year."

I stood up, running away from his stress-inducing words. "I'm going to the bathroom."

He crossed his arms. "That won't change anything."

We returned home. Alex put on a record and I decided to act like I was reading a book until Alex sat beside me. Then, I decided to makeout with him. Hormones. I'm not sure what his excuse was since he wouldn't stop grabbing my ass. "Are we about to have sex to The Beatles?" I asked as "All My Loving" sounded out through our apartment.

"Yeah. It's what John Lennon would have wanted." He pushed me down into the couch cushions. I was the meat in a sandwich between the two.

"I love this song," I mused against his lips.

"Good,” he huffed. “Let's fuck to it."

"Stop," I shrieked, laughing too hard to focus on his penis. I pushed him up off of me and sat up, collecting the trash that had accumulated on the coffee table.

Like any typical guy, he said, "Come on, Janie, I had to take care of this myself all week."

I knocked, "You masturbated all week?"

"I did other things too," he joked.

I was slightly fishing for a compliment but I was genuinely curious too when I asked, "What do you do it too?"

He laughed at my question. He scruffed my hair up. "You, you fucking idiot. What else? What do you think about?"

I shrugged. "I don't masturbate."

"Liar."

"I don't," I insisted.

"You told me you used to have a vibrator."

"Not anymore." I hadn’t thought to bring it through customs. It was tossed around the London to LA move.

"You don't masturbate? Why?" Alex was still stuck in that heightened sexual teenage boy phase. It made it so sex seemed like the only answer. He eventually grew out of this but it was an enduring fixture of his personality for a while.

I shrugged. "I don't like it."

"How can you not like it?”

"I get all sad after. I don't really do it anymore." It made me depressed for the whole day after. I would think about growing up too quickly and dying alone. Maybe that’s just how I was in the aughts. I didn’t give it up completely. Things would change soon after this conversation. I also got on anti-depressants. 

"Why?"

"Is it shocking that someone isn't thinking about sex 24/7?"

"Well, yeah.” I did think about it often but not like Alex, still-not-fully-matured did. “I'm not good enough to masturbate to." Now, he was fishing for compliments.

I stood up from the couch and walked to the garbage bin. "No, it's more like...the other way."

He turned to me with an open jaw. "I'm that good in bed?"

"Don't get an inflated ego on me. I'll refuse to have sex with you if you start boasting."

"I won't boast. I'll just show off." He pulled me down, stuffing me between him and the couch. He made a great effort into "proving it." In a way, it kind of ruined it. I mean, he had this smug look on his face the whole time and he was so into the thought that he was good at it that he started to not be good at it.

"When you get off your pedestal, sir, can you actually fuck me?" I asked.

He seemed to snap out of it and realized he was inside me and not himself. "Fuck. Sorry."

Later, around "Devil in Her Heart," Alex laid his head on my stomach. He'd move around and kiss around my stomach, sometimes rising up to my breasts, but mainly hanging out around my belly button. 

I sighed from exhaustion, lust, and resignation. "I have to get glasses."

Alex laughed against my liver. "You can see fine. I think you've got a couple decades before you have to worry about glaucoma."

"No. The doctor told me I have to get glasses."

Alex seemed to find this really funny. "Are you serious? You're gonna look so geeky."

"Gee, thanks."

He kissed my diaphragm repeatedly. "I like nerds. Are you going to have to wear them all the time?"

"No, just at night. I've been struggling in the dark."

"You're gonna get night vision. Like Batman."

I got the glasses about a week later and I walked back into the apartment wearing them. Alex looked up from the couch, placed his hand over his heart, and said, "Everyone must hate you."

I tossed my keys in the little dish by the door that Alex had made it at a ceramics session that we did together about a month prior. "Enlighten me," I said with a laugh.

"You're just fucking gorgeous, Janie," Alex decided. He looked back down at his book like I burned his eyes.

I kicked my shoes off. "Careful. I'll get a complex."

"What? Like you'll finally believe me."

"I believe you," I promised. I had grown confident in myself or at least confident enough in Alex to believe he wasn't lying to me. "Or I'll try to."

I sat down beside him on the couch and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Here," he pointed his finger to the middle of the page, "read this sentence."

I rolled my eyes but obliged. "'So they went on for a good while, talking now of their cards and now about me, as though I were not in the room'—how long do I have to do this for?"

He smashed his lips against my cheek. "That's all." He returned to his book and I ordered us dinner.

A few days later, we were trapped inside due to the pouring rain. I was working on a review for work and Alex was reading. He had a cigarette in his mouth but it was unlit. I think he was going through the motions but couldn't go outside to smoke it and I refused to let him smoke indoors. 

My feet poked at the side of his body. Every five minutes or so, I'd poke my toes into him. He'd laugh, whether provoked or ticklish, it was an acknowledgment of our presence with one another. 

Thunder pounded through and Alex squeezed my foot to get my attention. I looked up at him through my lenses. He smirked, which I knew meant he was thinking something foul. "Can I fuck you with your glasses on?"

I don't mean for this year to seem particularly nasty but we did...you know...do it all the time. There wasn't much else to do. We were together all the time, we would talk over dinner, share this alone time together, and then I or Alex (usually Alex) would hit a point in the evening where we might as well just get on with it. Besides, this instant was pretty important. You know, with the thunderstorms. And my glasses. Alex really likes that part.

*

Alex and I went to an antique store in Dobbs Ferry because Fennel, who had been vacationing in Mykonos for the last month, needed me to pick up a statuaries from this rare antiques store. We decided to make a day trip out of it. Not there was much to do in Dobbs Ferry.

We shared headphones on the way up. Our moods were transactional through the iPod. Alex had this habit of scrolling his finger back and forth on the dial. It would make this scrolling noise, but I kind of liked that noise so I never stopped him. 

We walked the town's aqueduct for a bit. It had felt like the city was on fire but just a little north felt cooler. Maybe it was the fresh rain with that dewy smell. Alex's jeans ended up getting grass stains on the butt of them because he sat down in the wet field.

At lunch, we shared a stack of pancakes and Alex let me eat all the bacon. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper breakfast," I said as I chewed into the syrup-soaked fried batter.

Alex chuckled. "It's noon. I think it's more like lunch."

"Shush," I forced him out. I looked around and observed the tiny diner we were in. It's exactly what you'd imagine for a small town with men having coffee at the counter and mother and child having lunch. "I like it here."

Alex nodded with a smile. "You like a small town."

I shook my head. "Just for a bit. Not forever."

*

At the start of August, Matt visited us for a week. He slept on the couch and ate all our food but we all had a great time. Not since Barnsley had just the three of us hung out, especially for an extended period of time. Matt and I—just the two of us—hadn't hung out in close to eight years. Not that we ever were best of friends but it's weird how he had adapted more into Alex's friend than my friend. Nonetheless, he still felt like a brother to me. Or maybe brother-in-law.

Alex went out to the store one evening, leaving just Matt and I and whatever movie we were semi-watching. Matt sat up from his slumped back state, placing his beer on the coffee table. "I'm gonna have a smoke. You gonna join me?"

I giggled. "Oh, Matt, you know just the way to my heart."

We travelled up to the apartment building's rooftop. It was sparse besides a picnic table and a grill. The Fourth of July party had been held up there. Alex and I went for the free food but had to endure several Revolutionary War jokes. Matt sat on one side of the table and I sat on the other, an ashtray between us.

"I can't remember the last time we smoked together," I commented.

Matt lit his up before handing me the lighter. "At least not cigarettes," he laughed. "It's funny. This is all we used to do."

"Used to? Speak for yourself." I knew Matt didn't smoke that much anymore. Not like Alex and I who upheld equality with one another on who was going to get lung cancer first. We smoked enough to decide we'd both probably get it under the same time. Depressing romanticism.

"It's weird to think of a time before you and Alex got together," he said, flicking the ash.

I fanned the smoke away from my eyes. "Yeah. It's hard for me to imagine."

"And you guys are good and all that?" His tone was traced with suspicion or maybe I was just misplacing it there.

"Yeah." He nodded but stayed silent and I grew worried that I was being left out on something but I didn't want to touch it. "And you? Are you good?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I'm good, Jane."

I joined him in laughter. "Good."

The roof door opened and Alex walked through. "Thought you two ran off."

"We kind of did. We made it as far as the roof," I told him as he walked over to us.

He sat next to Alex and grabbed a cigarette from himself. "Am I joining one of those fabled smokes?" He asked.

"What?" Matt questioned.

I explained, "When we were younger, and used to sit out on the kerb with one another. I call them Fireside Chats like FDR."

Matt laughed. "I was drunk for most of those. Memory is a little fuzzy."

"You're not alone in that." I stubbed at the cigarette and rested my head on my palm. "I don't want to drink tonight though."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "Pregnant?"

"Shut up." I rolled my eyes and wondered if Alex had told Matt about the scare back in winter. "I have work tomorrow."

"Oh," Matt uttered, "little Janie's all professional now."

Alex nodded. "Yeah. What losers the rest of us are."

"Yeah. If Jane of all people can settle down—"

I interjected, ready to fight, "I was not that horrible." Alex and Matt only met me with a stare causing another eye roll from me. "I'm going to bed."

Alex and Matt stayed put and I assumed they were going to have one of their own Fireside Chats. "We'll try and be quiet," Alex told me before I pecked his lips.

I walked over and placed a kiss on Matt's cheek. He slapped his hand over the cheek, wiping it down. "Ew. You slobber like my mum."

"God. What a baby you are." With that, I went downstairs. I'm not sure what time they went to bed but when I left for work the next morning, they were both dead asleep. Not even the sound of me dropping my coffee arose them.

*

Alex was writing something. I woke up and the red light of the clock blared out, the time reading 4:34 AM. I rubbed my eye, scrubbing the dream out of me. His pen moved across the page and he was propped up against the headboard with his notebook tilted under the soft light coming from his small bedside lamp. 

He felt my movement and turned to me as I flipped onto my side to look up at him, his eyebrows knitted. "Did I wake you?"

I shook my head against the pillow. "I don't think so. Why are you still up?" I held the tip of his elbow to keep in touch with him.

"Woke up about an hour ago. Couldn't fall back to sleep." He was scratching his pen up and down across his page, just making lines. 

I flipped onto my back, roughing my hands through my hair. "Probably because it's so fucking hot in here." Our landlord had turned the AC off a week ago when it seemed like it was finally getting cold until the temperatures started shooting back up this week. "I might take a shower. I feel so sweaty." I sat up, throwing my legs off the bed. 

I could hear the smirk in his voice. A light chuckle as he said, "Let me know if you do."

My phone rang. "I bet it's Stacey," I told Alex. "She still doesn't understand the whole timezone thing."

"She's 18 and she still doesn't know about timezones?" Alex questioned.

I sighed as I tied my hair up. "Let me rephrase. She doesn't care about the whole timezone thing."

"Ah," Alex said as I picked up the phone.

I moved into the bathroom, preparing to start the shower as I talked to Stacey. I sat in the bathroom, on the toilet seat, for about 10 minutes before I moved back into the bedroom. "Shower time?" He asked him with a grin that could kill.

"No." I shook my head walking back over to my side of the bed. I threw my phone down on the bed and picked at my fingernails. "My dad had a heart attack."

I could hear Alex closing his notebook but didn't look up. I wasn't sure how to deliver news and make eye contact at the same time. "Is he okay? Are you okay?" He crawled across the bed and stood up beside me.

I dropped my hands and moved past him going to our dresser. "Yeah. No. He's fine for a guy who just had a heart attack. I mean, he'll live and all that." I hadn't realized that I started pacing back and forth across our bedroom. I would stop at our dresser but then I would keep moving.

"Good. Now. Jane. Sit," Alex instructed me.

I listened. He was my guide. I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out what I was doing. "I should go back home."

"Okay. I'll look for flights." He moved for my laptop, sat in my backpack on the floor. 

I stayed on the bed. "Should you?"

He looked up at me. I was looking at his eyes but I didn't even realize what was going on. I hadn't processed anything. I was busy facing the fact my parents could in fact die and that I also was not immortal. Alex wasn't sure what to do or what I wanted him to do. "Do you want me not to go?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure if I should go."

Alex moved toward me on his knees. He stopped in front of me and leaned over my knees. "I think you should. At least for Stacey."

"Right." I’m not sure if I went for Stacey. She would have Greg and Harper, even my mother, for comfort. I’m not sure if I felt an obligation to go too. It seemed cruel not to show up after a medical emergency but since the move to America, I hadn’t seen them other than during Christmas. They had never visited me. They rarely called me. It made me think that if I didn’t show up they wouldn’t be that shocked. But I knew I wasn’t held to the same standard as them and having a heart attack is much more serious than anything I had going on.

We got into a taxi at some point but I think I was still trying to figure out if I was still in a dream or if we were in fact going to JFK Airport. Alex must have packed the suitcase because I don’t remember doing anything. I became a functioning human being around when we sat at our gate for about 15 minutes. The flight wasn't boarding for another hour. Alex had gotten me a coffee and a glazed donut for Dunkin' Donuts. He got a Boston Kreme and coffee for himself.

He sat with his hand on my knee as I scarfed down my donut as a form of something to do. I wiped my fingers on the napkin and leaned back in my chair with the warm coffee in my hand. "I broke my wrist when I was 10," I told Alex. I could tell he wasn't expecting me to speak. "I sat waiting for my mum to pick me up for over an hour. They finally decided to call my dad and he showed up in 15 minutes. Five minutes less than his drive from work to my school."

"I honestly wasn't expecting the story to go that way," Alex confessed. There’s a million untold stories from my childhood that Alex had never heard. They were tricky for me to go about.

I breathed a laugh, relieving the tension from both of us. "Neither was I. It was right after Tommy and I guess a broken wrist was one step away from being dead." Alex squeezed my thigh and I thought about Tommy. I hadn't thought about him in a while.

We sat together for a moment before Alex bit into his Boston Kreme. The cream smeared over his nose. I laughed, which pleased him even if I was mocking him. “It’s all over your face. You look like you can’t properly feed yourself.”

We boarded the flight and arrived in London a little after 6 PM. I fell asleep after take-off and didn't wake up until the jolt from landing. Alex stayed awake the whole time.

We took the train out to Bath and Greg would pick us up at the train station. Halfway through the train ride, I said to Alex, "Thanks."

He pushed my hair back and stroked my cheek. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I've never been to Bath."

I laughed into the palm of his hand. "I'm glad this is working out for someone."

Visiting hours had ended about an hour before we arrived. The family report was that he was fine and Greg drove Alex and me back to the family home. We had dinner together where we mainly talked about my father. Alex and I went to bed after in a stripped-down guest room.

*

We had been in Bath for two days when Alex finally asked the question what I knew he had been thinking since we arrived. "Can we go on a drive?" My car had sat in my parents' garage since I drove it down when they moved. I'm sure they hated it being stuffed in their driveway but Alex was insistent on keeping it so I insisted to my parents to not get rid of it. For some reason, they didn't.

I didn't know much of Bath. Stacey told me she sometimes went to Henrietta Park with her friends so I decided we would drive there. Alex fiddled with things. The radio, the window, the glove compartment. He was trying to check if everything still worked. He missed this car more than I did. I rarely thought about it other than the remarks my mother would make over the rare phone calls that it was still sitting in the garage. 

Alex sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat. "I love you."

I chuckled at the affection but replied, "Love you too."

He looked over at me. I could feel the stare but my eyes remained on the road. "Just getting to do this with you. I love it. I love that we've been in each other's lives for so long."

"Me too."

"We've been together long enough that when I sit here now I'm reminded of how much I loved you then. And, you know, how much I still love you now. More now."

My eyes hurt. I don't think I had cried since we'd been there. I felt overwhelmed by it all. But always him. I couldn't look at him for safety and emotional purposes. I loved him for being there and for being there for such a long time. He had always been my best friend. Even when I had just met him. Like fate. Soulmates or something. "Alex. I have to drive."

He chuckled. "Don't wreck the car now." He kissed my cheek.

*

a/n: well, there we go. i'm very into writing this right now so hopefully have another part soon. i'll probably do a one-off piece before. we shall see...

[dizzymoods]

i watched Avatar 2 yesterday. Of course James Cameron is an anti-indigenous pos so all attendant qualifiers stand. The mouse needs to be eradicated posthaste too.

That being said. The backdrop of the film (seas of pandora) is a great and robust place to explore. Even the lil sea people being biologically different, culturally different etc; there was a lot to work with there. Everybody knows im an aquatic kinda guy so this is all fun I'd love to go snorkeling there.

This sequel tho feels like the force awakens. Just a lazy retread of the first movie. but in the ocean and not a forest. Bringing back the bad guy from the first movie was so boring like with force awakens. How many times do we need to see the death star defeated? Besides, you shouldve given edie falco some room to eat!! Honestly bringing back humans was dumb. i get it environmental destruction, colonization. But it's so dramatically uncompelling if you're gonna rehash the same beats.

ostensibly this franchise is supposed to get us to care about the environment. The last movie had such environmental damage and poisoning happen that its wasted potential for the film not to have dramatized what forest clean up looks like. The labor of that, the relocation, the building anew, what heals and recovers vs what remains scarred. These kinds of hollywood films cant dramatize these things bc they aren't "conflict-based"

Regardless of James Cameron's intentions, I think the series so far actually goes against a white savior narrative. Fairly consistently the white guy isn't saving people so much as fucking them over and blowing their shit up. And at every turn when he relies on "human" (read: American) ways shit goes left. Only the "indigenous" ways have lead to healing and solvency. Making Zoe Saldana a lowkey villain bc if she closed her legs to white men none of this shit would've happened and he'd've been forgotten by now.

This guy's reliance on traditional family values too is constantly fucking him and his over. Him being tough on his kids leads them to resent him and defy his authority as an act of self-determination. The lesson throughout really is that the family is insufficient in nature. Nature is part of the family. and the village is family as the family is village is nature.

[gloriouspower]

Myself :

───── ❝ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 ❞ ─────

Hi there 👋🏼 I'm vaishnavi, I'm from India.

I'm a libra ⚖️🔸INTP-A🔸18

She/ her, I'm a bisexual 🏳️‍🌈 (more like bimyself 😭)

I'm currently in medical College but very addicted to these Marvel Men and women so i had to make my contribution to this fandom 😩🫶🏼

English is not my first language y'all so bare with me, I'm somewhat fluent so i try my best 🫠

Likes :

General : I love the colour purple 🟣, as you can see, I like writing book reviews 📔I love horror movies 🎥

Characters : Loki Laufeyson, Azriel (acotar), Leonard Hofstadter, Monica Geller, Ginny Weasley, Genya saffin, Nina zenik, wylan van ek, Danika, Jake sully, Neteyam , Neytiri, tuk, Grace, Trudy etc.

Authors : Sarah J Maas, Marissa Meyer, Ana Huang, Tahereh Mafi, Sabaa Tahir.

Books : Acotar series, Crecent city, Ember in the ashes, shatter me , cat and mouse duet, Harry Potter, Empire of storms, sharp objects etc.

Movies : conjuring (all parts), Incantation, 8th night, evil dead rise, evil dead (everything), infinity war. Avatar 1&2, Thor , home alone, Insidious (all parts) etc.

Shows : Friends, Big Bang Theory, The Modern Family, Archive 81, shadow and bone, Locke and Key, cabinet of curiosities , manifest, 1899 , saas Bahu aur flamingo (Hindi), squid game etc.

Tropes : Enemies to lovers, one bed trope, Nightmare trope, "who did this to you?", Friends to enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies (i love it idk why), age gap, arrange marriage, slow burn, marriage of convenience etc.

Genres : high fantasy, mystery, thriller, drama, horror, mythologies, sci-fi.

Dislikes :

General : I don't like being called more than 3 times by the same person 🗣️, I hate strawberry Icecream and flavour🧃🫣

Characters : Umbridge, tamlin, Rachel, falcon , captain America (don't come at me 😭) Parker (avatar), amaratha, etc.

Authors : Colleen hover, Shakespeare, stephenie meyer, holly black, J. K. Rowling etc.

Books : It ends with us, Cruel prince, to kill a kingdom, tower of dawn and Twilight etc.

Movies : Goblet of fire, Twilight etc.

Shows : she hulk etc.

Tropes : friends to lovers (sometimes), second chance, miscommunication, etc.

Genres : rom-com, insta love, non-fiction, philosophy, western fiction.

Hobbies :

I love reading, writing (obvi 🫣) , forcing my friends to read as well, making fake scenarios, drawing, singing, edits (not so good) , roller skating 🫶🏼 and especially eating and sleeping 😭 because hell yeahhhh 😌

Social media :

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© god-of-mischiefs 2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[nunuisancenewt]

One of the basic rules of ethology is that there is a fundamental difference between Aggressive And Predatory behavior, the cat toying with the mouse or watching birds out the window is acting predatory, the cat that puffs up and snarls before lunging at another cat, a person, or a coyote with claws bared is acting aggressively. And a dog with a high prey drive isn’t necessarily more likely to maul you or another dog.

This Is A Hot take, but I don’t think that fundamental psychological distinction exists in Humans.

Infanticide is a significant form of infant mortality in many old world primates, as high as 34% of infant deaths in Gorillas, 50-75% of infant deaths in baboons ( not great apes, but they are an extreme case regularly hunt mammals and are highly social patriarchal African Savannah dwellers) , and killing 23% of chimpanzees born. This a highly gendered form of violence in which killing young makes There mothers sexually available again, Note that it hasn’t been observed in matriarchal bonobos or solitary Orangutans.

Now in Primates hunting mammals ( as opposed to insects or eggs) is a highly gendered activity, in baboons, only large males will hunt prey like gazelle calves. In Chimpanzees, hunting colobus monkeys is generally done by coordinated groups of adult males, though females hunt it is rarer and less likely to be a social activity, and though bonobos also hunt vertebrates it is less often than in chimpanzees.

Now it should be clear by now that great apes are mostly hunting other primates, the primary Prey of chimpanzees is Red Colobus monkeys and secondly Black and white Colobus monkeys, making up 43-93% of prey, though they also occasionally hunt other monkeys, bush-babies, rodents, duikers and other small mammals , and birds reptiles and amphibians . Orangutans have been observed hunting slow lorises, and Bonobos mainly hunt rodents and duikers or bushbuck calves, but have also been observed hunting monkeys.

Meat also fundamentally has a primarily social function in apes. Vertebrates are only 0.33%-6% of chimpanzees diet, but it is highly valued and males reinforce bonds by hunting and also share meat with females.

Im just not convinced that there is that much psychologically different between a Male Chimpanzee killing a infant chimpanzee, in cold blood, to get female attention, and it doing the same to a monkey. Or perhaps even between groups of male chimpanzees patrolling there territory working together to kill strange Chimpanzees or Colobus monkeys they see.

I’ll leave all the implications for Human society, the Great Warrior and Great Hunter stock characters, the relationship between meat and masculinity, cooperative coordinated violence as a bonding exercise between men ( including video games and sports ), canibalistic war crimes in the Congo Civil war, the idea of eating your enemies hearts in war or tiger penises or rhino horn for power, etc as an exercise for the reader

@random-thought-depository

[fakegirl101]

This older generation is 100% braindead.. sorry to be the hoe to break the news. But my father has mysteriously turned into a silent mouse today who doesn't eat any of the food that I offer him... Lol

How bizarre! I thought this man wouldn't notice if I mysteriously disappeared under nefarious circumstances. LOL. Unfortunately, reading my shit to find the bad in me does not equal loving me.

I can't & won't claim anything for sure because I have no clue tbh. But these are the decrepit olden day issues that my generation must deal with.. all because past generations refuse to HUMBLE THEMSELVES, see any therapists/ psychiatrists, etc., work through any of their baby issues or generational trauma. They too perfect. Ha!

These present days though - oh no - it's the Berkeley grad ass peepz who are LEAST capable of raising an additional child that are proudly doing just that. School seems to have taught them next to nothing & this includes double majors & those who studied our planet and how we humans interact with it...

Global warming? What's that? I really don't care who you are - if you really cared about children, hunny bunny, you wouldn't have any! It's called being responsible. & That's that.

$30,000 dollars in debt to become the homemaker bitch that my mother warned us girls to never become. Dependent on a shaky ass man.. & me watching patterns repeat ad nauseam all around. It's just one huge tragedy & there's no good reason for me to pretend otherwise.

I've had bitches come at me because I've said these things, too. But where's the lie? Biggest bitches in the whole equation are the men, by the way.

P.S. I love children more than anyone & that's why I aborted mine. I have been suicidal since birth; my parents had been married for 2 years before they had me: the demon child of the century. This is why I am the way I am. Sorry, not sorry!

The truth is that we're not all meant for or mature enough or financially equipped/ emotionally ready enough etc. to enjoy the luxury of raising kids. Sue me for speaking the truth.

Realize it's not smooth sailing for every living being y'all selfishly decide to fuck into existence. Lil babies like me... Realize some children suffer needlessly, grow up, & do not thrive. But Mommy didn't raise me to be a lil silent, sacrificial lamb ass bitch. Bye.

[katharkness]

Forgive me for a seemingly irrelevant tangent, I promise to try to loop it back properly.

Have you ever seen/read Catch-22? It’s a classic I’d always intended to read, and a few years back the BBC did a new dramatisation of it, and I watched a bit of it. But I had to stop pretty quickly. See, Catch-22 is full of Vietnam-era anti-war rhetoric. The characters were saying things that basically boiled down to, “we’re having such a terrible time with this war, we should stop fighting”. Now, I don’t know enough about the Vietnam War to know how morally upright that philosophy would have been in that context, but it was applied to the European theatre of World War Two. The *Americans* were saying that they were having such a bad time in the war that they should *stop fighting Hitler*. I found the idea rather stomach churning. Yes, war is terrible. Yes, the American airmen were within their rights to not want to be there. But also, their opponents were literally murdering children, and everything else that comes with genocide. So I hope you can understand why I couldn’t stand it.

I’m British. The Blitz is still within living memory, just about, more so when I was a child. We’re running a little low on WWII veterans, but we have lots of testimony from them recorded within my lifetime. We’re still connected to the time when our non-combatants were war casualties.

I’d like to look at two British sitcoms, favourites of my dad when he was young. They were both written, I dunno, between the sixties and eighties? Both set during WWII. Pretty sure they have at least one writer in common, and with the experiences of real ex-servicemen behind them.

First is Dad’s Army, which follows a platoon of the Home Guard. As you may or may not know, the Home Guard was formed from men who couldn’t join the regular services but who trained in readiness against invasion. Most of them were in vital industries, farmers etc, but also men too old for regular service, hence the nickname. I’d like to think about one particular episode. In this ep, Private Godfrey decides to quit the platoon. If he can’t even kill a mouse eating his paltry rations, how can he raise arms against his fellow man? The captain asks, did you not serve in the last war? Godfrey says he was a conscientious objector, that his conscience would not let him fight. This is a huge social sin, and much of the episode is concerned with various characters coming to terms with Godfrey’s “cowardice”. At the end, there’s a training accident with some smoke canisters, and Godfrey risks his life to pull out other guardsmen. The captain goes to visit Godfrey while he’s recuperating, to thank him and to apologise. While he’s there, he sees Godfrey’s medals. His sister explains that while Godfrey couldn’t fight in the previous war, he was instead a stretcher bearer who saved many lives and was decorated for gallantry while under fire. Godfrey is then trained to be the platoon’s medic, which allows him to help without having to actively fight.

The second, less well-known sitcom is It Ain’t Half Hot Mum. It’s set in India, then Burma/Myanmar, almost entirely during the months between victory in Europe and victory in Asia - that is, May to August 1945. It follows a concert party of servicemen assigned to entertainment duties rather than combat. My point with this example is not based on any particular incident or episode, but rather the overall vibe of the show. The individual servicemen (for the most part) do not wish to be there and do not want to serve. But their arguments are always “*I* shouldn’t be fighting, *I* am not suited to this”, and in fairness they are absolutely correct. But they don’t argue against the war, and there’s no ill-feeling towards their fellow servicemen. They recognise the war is necessary, just argue against their individual participation.

What am I trying to say from these three media examples? The British examples accept the occasional necessity of war, and examine individual response to the tribulations thereof. The American example sees the individual tribulations, and concludes that war should never be allowed.

My rather spotty understanding of American history is that the last open warfare on mainland USA was either the American Civil War, or the war between the Federal army and the native Americans. So Americans don’t really have any tie to a time when they *couldn’t* stay home and ignore whatever war (not counting the draft).

This is a bit of an extrapolation, but I feel that Americans have a sense that war is something you can opt out of, while in Britain, and probably the rest of Europe, there’s an understanding that sometimes refusing to fight means allowing atrocities.

Why am I bringing this up on a Star Wars post? Because I think that’s kind of what a lot of anti-Jedi commentators are failing to realise. If the Jedi refuse to fight, they are allowing atrocities to be done by Separatists to invaded worlds, and by Tarkin and co to clones. They are in Godfrey’s situation, in the concert party’s situation, whereas commentators seem to be painting it the same way Catch-22’s author painted WWII.

I'm in the mood for bad faith Anakin Skywalker takes today, so if you have any of those to share, please do!

[shownumetal]

3 different times in my life a man has told me he’s not homophobic bc he’s had his dick sucked by a man and i’m like all that proves is you were horny and someone with a mouth was near you

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found.

Yennefer has no clue how Geralt always ends up getting into odd situations when he's around Jaskier

The Witcher is usually so serious and disciplined, always on guard and watching so he's ready for any threat.

He is usually the responsible one, especially with Ciri.

But for some reason, when he's around Jaskier, Yennefer notices Geralt just kind of ...loses all his braincells.

Losing his braincells is normal for Jaskier, because sometimes Yen is convinced he never had any to begin with.

She wonders what is going on in their heads.

They are just living examples of Why Women Live Longer Than Men

Geralt and Jaskier haved jumped off the roof onto a trampoline. Geralt had been more concerned with the dent he'd put in the side of Roach than with his broken wrist.

They tried to see how many of various food items they could stuff in their mouths.

Run around the house wearing dinosaur masks, and if any mail or food delivery service knocks, they are greeted by two grown men in dinosaur masks, making hissing and roaring sounds.

Drank a big glass of water on an empty stomach so they could wiggle around to hear it slosh.

Tried to slide down the stairs in laundry baskets

Jaskier came home soaking wet because he took his motorcycle through the automated car wash while Geralt recorded it.

All the 'I bet you can't...' games that always ended with minor injuries.

Dared each other to eat random things they found while on hunts or outside, like slime, goo, viscous fluids, pasty goops, bugs, etc.

Made a swimming pool in the livingroom with the two couches and a tarp, filled it with orbeez, and stayed in there all afternoon watching tv and eating pizza rolls. Yennefer had made them find every last orbee after the 'pool' burst and flooded the livingroom thousands of little balls.

Giant Sticky Hand fights

Almost got arrested because Geralt and Lambert had seen Jaskier walking, pulled over, and shoved him into the van. People thought they were witnessing a kidnapping.

Naked Nerf Gun War. It hadn't ended well.

Hover board races in spite of the fact that neither of them had ever been on a hover board.

Have spent an entire day doing the Sprite Challenge. It ended only because Geralt made a sound like a dying humpback whale and they laughed so hard they both vomited.

Made horrifying concotions of various foods and liquids, then had a competition to see was brave enough to drink it.

Tried to epilate their leg hair because "how hard could it be?" The screams... The neighbors had called the police thinking someone was being murdered.

Invited Eskel, Lambert, and Coen over, then sat in a circle, took a mouthful of water and slapped each other in the face with a tortilla. The first one to spit their water out lost.

Made flamethrowers with cans of Yennefer's hairspray and lighters and chased eachother through the house. Yennefer had not been happy.

Spent almost and hour trying to see who could make the loudest, grossest sounding fart noise with their hands or insides of their elbows.

Tried to jump on the bed hard enough to make the other bounce off

Tried to see how many times Geralt could get kicked in the balls before he couldn't get back up.

Streaked down the street in broad daylight, and then couldn't get in the house because Lambert had locked them out.

Have to poke/throw firecrackers/try to burn every wasp, hornet, and ant nest they find. Jaskier's left hand had looked like a Mickey Mouse hand and he couldn't play his guitar for several days after he got stung by a "big a** motherf***ing hornet."

Then there was the time Jaskier somehow convinced Geralt to try on a pair of Yennefer's yoga pants.

How Geralt had even managed to get into them was a mystery. Yennefer had to admit that she was impressed with how well the yoga pants had held up. She couldn't even be mad.

And of course she had taken a picture.

Now every time Geralt calls her, that picture of him pops up on the screen.

And it's not even the full picture of Geralt. It's been cropped down to where it's just Geralt's a** in those gray yoga pants.

[jackoshadows]

It’s hard to understand why Sansa Stark being the perfect embodiment of patriarchal notions of femininity is a cause for celebration. And that this celebration is often by the same people who want Sansa to be queen or ruler, when her embodying those patriarchal ideals is actually an obstacle to her being a good ruler.

The Stark boys learn more about politics and military leadership than the girls because of the patriarchy. They are afforded an advantage over the women exactly because women are restricted into little boxes as to how they should be. Jon Snow is politically savvy and able to plan Stannis’ campaign with shrewd tactical and strategical advice because he, Robb, Bran etc. were given an education that allows them to do this. LC Jeor Mormont selects Jon Snow to be his steward because Jon got an education in Winterfell. Sansa’s education is limited because she learned from Septa Mordane. Jon Snow is therefore several times more qualified and experienced than Sansa to lead the North.

The only reason Arya has actually learned more than Sansa in this regard is because she defies her mother and the Septa and spends more time with her father and her brothers.

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.” - Arya, AGoT

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms.- Arya, AGoT

Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. - Arya, ACoK

Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father’s man. Arya, ASoS

I’m not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I’m a wolf. - Arya, ASoS

Notice how a lot of what Arya learns from Ned is her overhearing him teaching Robb and Jon? Arya learns from Ned Stark while Sansa learns from Septa Mordane. Who is therefore better suited to lead the North? Sansa’s adherence to being the perfect lady therefore disadvantages her when compared to her brothers and Arya in a patriarchal world. Arya’s naturally curious, inquisitive, perceptive nature means that she wanders beyond the boundaries allowed to her sex and gains an education that’s denied to her.

One can’t criticize the unfairness of the patriarchal world of Planetos and at the same celebrate that a female character is awesome for rigidly sticking to standards that disadvantage them in all respects.

And no, Sansa does not gain a political education equivalent to what Robb, Jon, Bran and Arya gained in the North, just by virtue of being a hostage/pawn of the Lannisters in KL. She is not privy to the internal workings and political discussions happening there because she is a hostage and as such only sees what she is allowed to see. This is why she gets played by the likes of the Tyrells and LF.

Arya having her own agency, meanwhile, can access information and make her decisions. Such as when she plans her escape from Harrenhal. Arya, as stealthy as a mouse, is actually present in the council chambers when Roose and the Freys discuss war and strategy. In this way, once again, Arya is more exposed to the world of politics than Sansa.

The night she was caught, the Lannister men had been nameless strangers with faces as alike as their nasal helms, but she’d come to know them all. You had to know who was lazy and who was cruel, who was smart and who was stupid. You had to learn that even though the one they called Shitmouth had the foulest tongue she’d ever heard, he’d give you an extra piece of bread if you asked, while jolly old Chiswyck and soft-spoken Raff would just give you the back of their hand. - Arya, ACoK

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver’s squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. Once she even overheard Maester Tothmure’s serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. “Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again,” the girl whispered. - Arya, ACoK

That’s why Arya, Dany, Jon, Bran are all more qualified than Sansa will ever be. They are all able to think outside of the box, they are critical thinkers, they are curious and inquisitive, they go beyond set boundaries, their experiences inform their decisions, they take risks. That’s why Dany is able to hatch dragons and Jon is able to end an 8000 year old feud. That’s why they are leaders while thus far Sansa has been a follower. And yes, Jon and Dany are also charming and witty despite not being ladylike. Being charming and witty and liking songs is not the sole domain of being ladylike.

Sansa being the perfect lady is not something to be praised. It has been a detriment to her character. It restricts her from learning new things and discovering truths. Her story arc is about slowly being able to step beyond those boundaries, realizing that her fairy tale stories and songs idealize the wrong people, that her non-conforming ‘ugly’ little sister is actually awesome, that Brienne is the best knight ever despite not being a handsome man, that her bastard brother is who chopped off Slynt’s head and not some knight from the songs, that appearances aren’t all that it’s made out to be. And to then use these truths to play the game and try and outwit LF by taking risks and breaking the rules. And that’s her narrative arc.

[honeyed-latte]

Hello~

Her name is Yvaine The Elated, or Yvaine Arason, named for her blonde-white hair.

Please take this Picrew of her

Yvaine's motives as a Female villain was super important to me. It was important that she wasn't driven by revenge, for me. Her motive isn't based around being wronged or mistreated by men, she wasn't heartbroken or assaulted or cheated on. She's also not motivated by a child: the acquisition or loss thereof.

Her drive is pure cruelty and greed. Shes self-serving and focused on her faith as a motive. Knowledge, science, Gods and her own experimentations are what put her on Hiccups path to being a Legendary Hero.

Yvaine hears talk of The "Dragon Master" and while she's already analyzed as many dragons as she could get her hands on, never has she had a Viking able to tame and train Dragons- especially to ride one.

So she lures Hiccup (who's around 19) away from Berk alone and soldiers under an unrecognized banner shoot them down.

The Dragon Pits of Margulis are unlike anything Hiccup has seen, an endless maze of dark and narrow tunnels with only small windows to the grey sky. Hiccup is subject to them for three tireless days, coming face to face with many different dragons and he's forced to tame them or die. He's bat about, whipped, clawed at, etc but he tames each and every one.

Never is he able to form a full bond, never able to appeal to their loyalty and fight for his freedom. It hardly matters because he's brought before The Vølve of Margulis for dinner.

Shes hardly an intimidating woman, smaller then Hiccup in nearly every regard. What IS intimidating is her colouring- or lack thereof. The woman lacks any colour to her excluding the dark smudge of kohl on her eyes and the vibrant contrast of her dress. Her hair, her skin, her eyes are all the palest white he's ever seen and the way she forces their gazes to connect and stay together is unnerving. Her nearly white gaze shakes and quivers unnaturally, but she forces it all the same.

He can't pinpoint her age, either. She could be his age, 19, or 40 for all he knows. She welcomes him warmly. She's gentle and polite, and meets all his suspicions and anger and caution with a nearly maternal attention. They have dinner and he asks the dreaded question of what was going on;

"I want to know you, Hiccup Haddock. Why do the dragons obey your will, what makes you special."

He has no answer, so he eats with her, bathes quickly later, and when he finally sees Toothless he runs off into the night.

He returns to half of Berk in cinders. A number of civilians were injured, dragons of all kinds were seized in the strike, and Hiccup had been having dinner with the woman that ordered it.

The same woman that ordered them shot down with fire resistant bolas, the same that had him tirelessly tame dragons no matter how many times they tore into him.

The same that knew after four days Berk's leaders and Rider's would be focused on finding Hiccup and wouldn't notice a faceless boat docking.

He's rageful when he flies after the ships, exhausted as he is, and he meets her again. Yvaine doesn't even seem to register his anger or Toothless's aggression. All of this meant nothing to her, it was all just to see him squirm.

It kickstarts a cat-and-mouse that allows her to set traps of all kinds just for the opportunity to analyze how he reacts and Hiccup fights an enemy that is purely sadistic. Wanting only to see Hiccup navigate horrors and twisted little games.

Eventually, Yvaine is put in a position to parley with the Hooligan and she demands full access to Hiccup for a fortnight, in return she'll never bother him again and she wont slaughter Berk with the aid of their Gods!

Theres more but I doubt anyone cares to dig THAT much into the meat of Yvaine as a powerful force of a woman, yet.

I have done what I promised and created a female Villain for httyd, Im proud of my work.

Maybe I'll actually WRITE for her too...who knows though

[royalsunshinehotel]

Sir Harwin x maid!f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of disordered eating, pregnancy/childbirth/ death as a result of childbirth. The reader is on good terms with her Mother. I haven't seen GoT since 2015 but I seen the gifs and I do this.

You knew of Ser Harwin when you took your position in the Keep. His reputation proceeded him. You were sure to be neither seen nor heard if you could help it. Quiet like a mouse!

He's scary, he lets people think he's scary. You're not any different.

This is until one night, you get shaky. Being a maid keeps you busy, and there's not a lot of time to take a lunch break, or have rights as a worker.

Harwin has eyes, and orders you to sit down. You do, and he tells you that you need to have some of the bread and soup on the tray. You try and debate him saying it's not your place, but as he is a higher rank, he orders you to share a meal with him.

Odd to be sure, but it's more of a test to see

Sharing dinner becomes a habit for you, and Harwin begins to look forward to it.

Someone who doesn't want anything from him, and isn't working an angle like most do at court.

Harwin decides to level with you one night, and tells you how beautiful he thinks you are, and how he looks forward to seeing you every day.

You get brave and kiss him about it, and an affair formally starts.

It's beautiful, all soft and gold and warm. It gets to the point where you're practically sleeping in his room.

You tell him it's because his mattress is soft, but it's really because he is.

Which is why it's not really a surprise you don't bleed for a month...or the month after.

The point where things go sour.

Your dear friend, and fellow maid, Victoria, finally gives birth to her son, passing away a few minutes after.

It's devastating, and you swore you could hear your own heart break.

The child was now not just unclaimed bastard, but an orphan as well.

It was too tragic. Harwin wasn't as cold as Prince Aemond, but you had to follow your instincts. Rich men, men with titles, don't marry maids or claim children born of maids.

This is a fact Harwin made you forget.

Prince Aemond's son may have the Targaryen hair but he'll never have the safety it would bring.

You run, as far as your limited funds will take you. You need your family- Mom specifically.

She's not too happy to see you, especially like this, but she takes the L and makes your Dad get on board too.

One grandchild is better than zero grandchildren.

You spend the next few months preparing. Harwin's losing his mind, having left his position to track you down.

Harwin remembers everything you ever told him. Unfortunately he doesn't make it to your remote fishing village until the day your daughter is born.

He hears you screaming from the edge of town and comes busting into your room like the kool-aid man

Your friend died being in the same position as you, and you're terrified. Bawling, yelling and swearing, etc.

Harwin low key wants to die while your in such a state, he'd take it all for you if he could.

In the end, your daughter is healthy, perfect, and worth it.

That being said, the labor was rough and you're going to be on bed rest longer than expected.

Harwin takes control of the situation.

He charms your Mother and attempts to make a friend of your father, but he truly can't take his eyes off of you.

He'd rather die than let you know just how crushed he'd been the past few months without you. Despair. Distraught.

You'd feel responsible and awful and he can't have that!

Whenever your daughter isn't nestled next to you in her crib, she's in Harwin's arms.

She's got curly hair, like her father.

He makes his case, telling you he loves you and wants to protect you and your child more than anything. And you say no.

It's too much, he couldn't marry so below his rank and claim a child born out of wedlock.

Harwin corrects you and calls her his "heir" and you give him a death stare. But, because you miss him, you start to feel some kind of way, because women don't get Jack Shit in this world.

You're still scared. You know you love Harwin, but being in recovery for so long, he could just take your daughter and leave you here to rot.

He'd never, but it's still a topic of your nightmares.

Harwin's silent for a while, melancholy, saying that no decisions need to be make until you're healed.

As the weeks go on, Harwin wins you over. He truly

Your Mom's thrilled because the father of your child is waiting on you hand and foot, and she's right to feel that way.

On his travels, he acquired a small collection of clothing for infants, and proceeds to count ten little fingers and toes as he helps your daughter dress each morning.

Harwin's off the wall because the sock seemed so small when he bought it, but it FITS her.

He holds the baby whenever your resting, chatting quietly about everything he could think of.

This includes, but isn't limited to, nighttime, stars, dancing, flowers, and a good soup on a cold day.

You also learn that Harwin calls her his "little lamb"

Nothing really needs to be said, it's all taken in a look.

"I'm sorry, and I'll jump with you" type of look

You and your family move to Harrenhal as soon as you're able.

[othersystems]

here was the timeline of  2000s music/clothes (*from suburban memory)  for younger genz who i see making some crucial timeline mistakes!-

2000-2002

nu metal- korn, limp bizkit, slipknot, insane clown posse

poppunk- blink 182,NOFX, MxPx, the ataris, etc, less than jake, reel big fish ska

eminem 

around 2002 was garage rock revival the stroke, the white stripes etc

spiked hair baggy pants for men 

middle lip ring, eyebrow ring. those star tattoos everyone got. spiderweb elbow tattoo

spencers

kind of indie/emo-lite on looks for “alt” culture- messangers bags covered in pins, flippy hair for women

2002-2004

popunk second wave- good charlotte, simple plan, avril lavigne, yellowcard

popunk men with the lng hair in front spikey in back haircut, clown tear makeup

second wave “emo”- taking back sunday, thursday, straylight run

secondwave nu metal- linkin park

metalcore- avenged sevenfold, atreyu, bullet for my valentine etc

outkast blows up

bands like converge or at the drive in or the locust for 15 year old boys midway on their journey from “corporate alt rock they play on fuse (see above)” to “underground music” or 80s hardcore

“rand0m sp0rk >.<” culture

Bam Margera, HIM, CKY

invader zim, emily the strange

flash games, bored.com, xanga

drawn on converse, lowrise flare jeans, lowrise skirts over jeans, skate shoes

hot topic, bondage pants

everyone making their own fansites, height of messageboards, quiz sites

hot topic goth, fauxhawks

von dutch hats, volatile platform sneakers 

beginning of hummer/eat the poor culture

G Unit clothes/upper middle class white teen boys appropriating rap culture

beginning of mainstream crunk music

“indie music” blowing up modest mouse, franz ferdinand,

beginning of the saddle creek reign- bright eyes, cursive, the good life, tilly and the wall

garden state, the shins

2004-2006

fuse, mtv2, vh1

height of paris hilton, juicy

big zip up black band sweatshirts, lots of rubber bracelets

third wave “emo”- my chemical romance, the used etc

second wave “screamo”- hawthorne heights, senses fail from first to last

“i cut myself” live journal vibe, postsecret

gorillaz have their second wave

beginning hints of scene- fall out boy, people wearing long necklaces, mirror peace sign selfies. teen girls wearing thrifted young boys pajama tops

duckface, starbucks, uggs, northface jackets

Ed hardy

grindcore- job for a cowboy piq squeal bree music 

teen boys wearing womens jeans

side lip piercings, strectched ears

folk punk scene, kimya dawson, paul baribeau, ghost mice, defiance ohio, 

flip up hats, fanny packs, rat tails, house shows, anarchism, food not bombs, zines, bicycle culture ppl building “tall bikes”

soulja boy

2006-2008

the life and death of scene which comes and goes with myspace

skinny jeans/bright color skinny jeans, *rawr*

raccoon hair, “brass knuckle” jewelry, lots of eyeliner

end of mall goth, directly replaced by scene

continuation of consumer culture, duckface, starbucks, uggs, northface jackets but also guido, spray tan

Tap out replaces Ed hardy for men

beginning of white people ukulele covering rap song culture

“acoustic guitar in the woods”- iron and wine etc

“weird diy aesthetic” - dan deacon, animal collective

MGMT, juno etc adding to mainstream awareness of “hipster” culture

second wave of twee

every “alt” teen finds and obsesses over neutral milk hotel for some reason

reign of judd apatow

lil wayne, everyone knows the word to a milli

2008-2010

rise of facebook

texts from last night

scene overwhelmingly perceived as trashy, morphs into brokencyde vibe

edm, dubstep

lady gaga, the beginning of poptimism

chillwave- neon indian,toro y moi, washed out

hipster runoff and “the end of alt”

american apparel, lcd soundsystem

in these years vnecks transition from “american apparel alt guy” to “tech bro” very sharply

the cobra snake/last nights parties party pic culture, santos party house, cory kennedy

“hipster” “williamsburg culture” blown up, wavves, best coast etc

the beginning of the reign of the micro genre “witch house” etc

burial, grouper etc

“irony” becoming mainstream, tim and eric 

“indie folk” becoming mainstream car commercial music- edward sharpe, foster the people, mumford and sons

rage comic reddit culture, beards, bacon

tyler the creator, earl sweatshirt, lil b, nicki minaj alt white ppl have new interest in hiphop, see it as experimental, start of the end of “rap is crap” racist thing

velour sweat suit culture starting to fade, more variance in clothing styles. black lace up boots, floral skirts becoming popular, beginning of 90s nostalgia. men wear cardigans

lookbook.nu , tavi gevinson, alexa chung

less prep vs scene/goth/punk more “everyone is kind of alt so there is no alt”  (500) days of summer is nail in the coffin