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rosemary
rosemary part one: harry has a lot of secrets and has perfected the art of being alone. y/n likes to wear bows in her hair and tries harder than anyone harry has ever known.
wordcount: 14.5k+
—————
The sound of the lock clicking in place as Harry twisted the deadbolt on his front door had his shoulders relaxing. The kind of comfort a locked door brought was something he'd never take for granted.
He kicked off his shoes beside the door, the dingy carpet making his beaten Vans look a lot cleaner than they really were. His keys clamoring atop the rickety side table he had set up next to the door had him wincing at the volume. He didn't like loud noises much anyway, but especially not after one of his longer shifts. Harry bypassed the single curtained window in his apartment, leaving the drapes heavily closed despite the morning light crawling over the horizon.
First order of business was changing out of his work uniform. He hated nothing more than relaxing in the same pants he had worked all night in, even if the dress code of the grocery store was on the lax side. He flung the maroon collared shirt into his hamper, followed by the set of stiff, dark pants he wouldn't wear ever in his daily life. He could have melted as soon as he threw on a heather grey t-shirt and tattered sweats.
The second he sunk into his bed, springs creaking under his weight, he felt the knots in his muscles begin to loosen. He'd never worked over nights before at any of his previous jobs, and he hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to adjust to falling asleep when the sun came up and the challenge his body would pose over working when he should be resting. At least, he was home.
His studio apartment wasn't heavily furnished—or even lightly furnished, if he was being honest. This was his seventh home in the last handful of years, and after a while the idea of lugging furniture around and anything other than the essentials made him just as exhausted as the actual process of moving. It was easier to pack up and leave when there wasn't much for him to miss. Instead, he often bought secondhand, or anything cheap whenever he settled in a place that seemed good enough for the time being.
This particular move left him with a plain bed frame, the legs uneven but fixed with the help of a couple of old books. His pillows were thin, matching the frayed sheets he had stretched across his mattress and the threadbare comforter topping the whole thing. Like with most of his past apartments, the carpets held stains from before he moved in, walls yellowed from cigarettes he didn't smoke, and the kitchen appliances worked at their convenience. The only things that were truly his, that he never parted with in any of his moves and made this place less of a crash pad, were the few well-loved books under his bed that weren't being used to prop up the frame, and the small photo of his mother and sister sitting on a shelf he was lucky enough to have found at a garage sale when he moved in.
Despite it all, Harry liked this place.
The town he'd landed in was on the quieter side, too small for much trouble to rise up. He hoped that would make it an easy place to stick around for a while.
His body felt heavy when he forced himself to stand from his bed and pad over to the tiny kitchen tucked in the corner of the space. As exhausted as his body was, his brain was still very much awake and urging him to eat something before he settled any.
His kitchen was made up of limited cabinet space, a trio of stubborn appliances, and a square of loosely-laid tiles marking the confines of the space. The flimsy cabinets were barely hanging onto their hinges, from before even Harry moved in. The shelves were sparsely dotted with canned food and boxed snacks. They were the easiest and cheapest things to grab, even if they weren't necessarily bites that he liked. Plus, they were easy to travel with if he needed to leave in a split.
The stubby refrigerator manning one of the walls held only the bare essentials, leaving the shelves and door more bare than not. The appliance mostly held the frozen meals he was able to get a discount on through his job. The microwave embedded in the wall stunk like burnt hair every time he ran it for longer than ten seconds. The stove was the most reasonable method of heating up food in this apartment, Harry had found, even if only two out of the four burners operated on more than a simmer. He had never used the oven in the three months since he made this his home, despite the fact it had been cleared by his landlord on move in day. The exposed wiring sticking out of the back looked like it would cause a house fire instead of just heating a lasagna.
Harry bypassed it all as he rifled through his near-empty cabinets. To be fair, this wasn't the worst place he'd ever lived, so he'd take it if things were on the rundown side and carried an odd smell if he paid close enough attention. It was a routine the way he pulled out a can from his cupboard, a Spaghettio's label wrapped around the tin, before reaching for the misshapen pot he kept in a lower cabinet. His movements felt robotic as he went along, forming his meal out of habit more than any conscious thought. His brain happily turned onto autopilot as he stirred the runny tomato sauce, noodles floating through, until boiling bubbles broke through the surface.
Taking it off the heat, Harry scooped it into a bowl. This was good enough for him.
With the pot in the sink to be washed and the can in the trash, he moved on tired feet back to his bed. He didn't have a dining table to eat at, and he didn't really care if he was honest. It wasn't as if he was hosting dinner parties or entertaining guests. He was happy enough with nestling into his blankets and eating on his bed.
Tucked underneath his pillow, Harry pulled out a well-worn book. A dog-eared page marked his place in the oil-softened pages. The spine no longer cracked when he folded open the pages, the stiff set in the glue having settled somewhere after his fiftieth read. The bent and frayed cover no longer phased him anymore, nor did the name inscribed in the inside cover that wasn't his. No matter the state, this book followed him through every move, every change, and every sleepless night.
He knew this love story like the back of his hand; the pages one of the only constants in his life of transiency.
Harry wasn't even that much of a reader the first time he had picked up the volume. He had only been looking for something to escape into when he first started going on jobs, the stress and guilt beginning to warp his mind. These pages still hadn't lost their shine in his eyes, this story having been one of the only bright points when he swore he was digging himself to rock bottom.
Absentmindedly spooning bites of his meal into his mouth, Harry slipped into the familiar story. The comfort was almost enough to have him lulled into something safe enough that he could have fallen asleep where he was sitting, memories of every sleepless night when he had turned to this book hitting his system. It was a feat little else had been able to achieve, and Harry was grateful for that. He couldn't keep staying up at all hours now that he had the challenge of flipping his days with this new job.
Sitting on his well-loved bed, a well-loved copy of his favorite book in hand, and something that could pass as breakfast if he squinted hard enough, Harry felt at peace for a moment.
He didn't mind being alone, not when it was like this anyway. He hoped he wouldn't have to move on from this place for a while.
—————
Cardboard scraped against Harry's forearm as he reached into his box, digging through the packages of cookies and crackers that filled this specific shipment. The fluorescent lights above him felt especially fried now that the sun had gone down, washing out his skin and paling the ink of his tattoos.
While the rest of the night crew were paired off and working together to stock the shelves, Harry was commissioned alone. He worked better by himself, he knew that, and it was nice to have his boss know that now too. It only took almost two months into his employment until everyone realized he wasn't the kind of person that enjoyed idle chatter or wanted to get close to any of these people around him. Now, he was able to enjoy his music in peace, the white wire connecting the buds hitting his chest as he moved.
Harry had a system with the way he worked. He wanted to finish as fast as possible, and not waste any more energy than he had to. He tried to organize his boxes as much as he could on the cart before he was stocking each line of product as quickly as he could, extras being cast aside until he could make a trip to the back room. It was all a system, something he planned out without even thinking. If not for the fading ache in his shoulders and knees he would feel at the end of his shift, he wouldn't even really remember his movements.
Given this focus, there wasn't much that could distract Harry as he worked. His goal was to finish as fast as possible and move onto something else to fill his mundane nights, not to linger on the guests of the grocery store or fill the silence with small talk he didn't care about. There was a reason he gravitated towards the operations side of this job and not the customer service aspects.
That's why he didn't give it much of a thought when he saw a pastel streak flash in the corner of his eye. He continued doing his job, organizing his box some, as he filtered through the packages of biscuits and sweet crackers, soft sleeves of cookies, and bags of other products. It wasn't until the pastel streak drew closer did he instinctively glance in its direction.
Her back was to him as she held her gaze upwards. She was scanning the shelves, this woman, complete with an overlarge cream sweater and a peach colored bow in her hair that shone in the light like the velvet fuzz of the color's namesake. One of the grocery store's signature maroon baskets was at her side, the handles tucked in her elbow. There was barely anything in her basket, but that isn't what had Harry's brows knitting in the middle by the time he stitched his attention back on his work.
It was way too late for anyone to be doing any menial shopping in his opinion, especially not a girl who looked as if she might deem throwing flower petals in the face of an attacker to be sufficient self-defense. But, that wasn't his business, he reminded himself. It didn't help soothe the tears in his mental health to imagine the worst possible scenarios starring those around him.
A centering breath was sucked in through his nose as he flicked the switch in his brain that had him thinking only of his body's movements. He curled around himself, stepping out of the way as much as possible so the pastel-peach girl could go about her business and disturb Harry as little as possible. The less approachable he looked, the less he'd be approached.
He didn't know if she wandered that aisle for the next couple of minutes or traced down the shelves on the other side before coming back, but that telltale shift in the air around him told him she was now behind him. The static told him she was right there, at his back.
Harry didn't acknowledge her presence, instead making it clear he was working and didn't want to be disturbed. He hoped she could see the wire of his headphones that much clearer against his dark shirt. He wasn't inviting her presence; if she needed help, Brett and Fawn were just a couple of aisles down and much more friendly.
As with some attempts at camouflage, it didn't work in Harry's favor. Some people didn't always see what was clearly in front of them, he knew that.
A small hand, complete with pearl polished nails and skin smelling of something sweet like honey and the savory bite of herbs, landed on the crook of his elbow. "Excuse me?" her voice leaked through his headphones.
With a tick appearing in his jaw and a pace of breathing he was sure looked just as forced as it was, Harry halted his work with a sleeve of graham crackers in his hand. His features felt stiff when he turned towards this girl.
He spoke as he twisted in his spot with a hand yanking his headphones out of his ears, her touch falling from his arm just as quickly. "What?"
When Harry's gaze brushed over her, cataloguing details to add to the pastel streak he had thought her to be before, the same attention that went into his work was now employed in keeping his features stoic and muscles hard. This woman... was very pretty.
Her cream sweater he had seen from behind was actually a cardigan, buttoned loosely over her torso with a pale peach top underneath. The buttons were pearls, matching the shifting light that characterized the varnish on her nails. Her jeans were high waisted, ripped in places that lead to a pair of pristine white tennis shoes, complete with a set of pink laces threaded over the tongue. The bow held back pieces of hair that would have normally fallen around her face, leaving small strands fluttered as if matching the tendrils of her bow that drifted down her back.
In the time he was trying to figure out who was standing right in front of him, she blinked at his harsh tone, almost recoiling as if she'd been struck. Her hands became a bundle at her middle as he squirmed under his gaze. Harry swallowed harshly.
"Sorry to bother you," she started, recovering some with a short smile on her lips, "I was just wondering... God, this sounds so much more dumb out loud than I thought it would." She cut herself off with a soft laugh, dropping her gaze from his to settle on the cardboard box on his cart. "Do you have any of those white chocolate raspberry cookies that come in the bag in your box? The soft ones?" she tired again, shuffling her toes against the linoleum, "I didn't see any on the shelf, so I was hoping you might have some in one of your boxes. They're my favorite so..."
Harry wanted to be annoyed, he really did. There were hundreds of less offensive situations he'd been in that bothered him more than he knew his mother would be proud of him for, but this just couldn't be added to the list. And that annoyed him. Though, there was something in him that felt a bit contented knowing that there was still a heart buried somewhere inside of him that wouldn't allow him to get upset at someone like her.
"Let me look." His voice was gruff as he brushed a knuckle under his nose.
He knew exactly what she was looking for, the packaging coming to mind. He liked this brand too, though he rarely ever felt as if he could spare the cash to indulge. He'd never tried the raspberry variation, though.
Working stiffly, he rifled through the box until he found the bottom layer of product. A white, rustic looking bag was tucked in a corner. The brand name stylized as if it were embedded on a wooden board was printed on the white bag, with the name of the cookies and the variation underneath.
White chocolate chunks with bites of real raspberry in a soft cookie.
That's the one.
Fishing it out, Harry unceremoniously presented it to her. He made a point to keep his eyes from lingering on her for too long. He needed to keep his clear head.
"This one?"
She lit up in a way Harry couldn't ignore. Her eyes had to have been holding glitter behind her irises the way the color brightened, matching her smile. Creases appeared around the corners of her eyes, soft lips stretched and complemented with laugh lines.
"Yes, yes, those ones!" she chattered off, reaching out to take the bag from him.
Harry shoved the crinkling bag into her grasp, watching as she stumbled back some before placing it in her basket among what he could now see was a bundle of rosemary and a package of noodles. Nonetheless, her smile didn't falter as she turned towards him again.
"Thank you..." she trailed off, her gaze dropping to his chest where a name tag was pinned to the breast, "Harry."
There was a lag in between the second he heard her voice wrap around his name and the beats of Harry's heart resuming at a rapid pace. His throat went dry for a moment, something he couldn't believe was happening to him over something like this. When was the last time someone learned his name just because they wanted to know him?
He swallowed that line of questioning down as soon as it popped up. "Um, yeah," he told her, turning back to his box as soon as he had the words out.
His headphones he had dangling in his grasp were replaced in his ears, his music still playing on, a different song now filtering than the one that had been when he ripped them out. Harry pushed his objective to the forefront of his mind, leaving little space to keep up with the way his stomach tightened hearing this girl's voice saying his name. He didn't want to focus on the fact he could still feel her presence for a moment after he had dismissed her. He wasn't going to let any of this fluster him—or whatever it was that could happen to a person who barely had any feelings left.
Calculating his movements was the only viable distraction until he could feel that static of her presence flitter away. It was only then that he dared to indulge himself in a short glance aimed in her direction. He caught the barest view of her wobbly bow and the edge of her loose cardigan before she disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone once more.
He was going to forget her, Harry decided. Whatever reaction he just had, wasn't going to happen again.
—————
Gazing down at his hands, Harry only saw red. It wasn't his blood that tainted his skin, but there was a pain in his body that made him want to argue that there was no way he wasn't injured. From somewhere far—but not far enough—away, a crashing sound rumbled through the warehouse. He felt his bones vibrate and his head go fuzzy. More blood dripped from his skin.
Another crash sounded, this time much closer to where Harry couldn't move his feet. It was as if he were bolted to the spot. More blood, more scars.
From the corner of his eye, he saw someone. They were walking with a purpose, heavy on their feet.
His hands still shook even when he took his eyes off of the thick crimson dripping from his fingers. The person coming towards him looked familiar. Too familiar.
The second they were close enough, Harry recognized that it was himself. There was a gun in the clone's hand, the barrel pointed right at his head.
Another loud crash.
Harry woke with a start, rocketing up in bed. His breathing was heavy, thick and humid, with his hands shaking where they were clutching the thin bedding askew over his form. There was a sheen of cold sweat covering his body, his hair clinging to the back of his neck.
Looking at his hands, untangling from the bedding, Harry felt his heart rate go down a notch when he no longer saw blood coating the appendages. His vision still blurred at the edges as he came down, his lips mouthing a mantra he wanted so badly to believe:
It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream. It's not real, it's just a dream.
He didn't live that life anymore, he reminded himself. That was a part of his past, but it's all over now. Those scars would never reopen and his hands would never be stained that way again. He would make sure of that.
As he talked himself down, the rest of his apartment came back into view. The edges of his vision sharpened, showing him the rest of his full bed, rumpled sheets, and the book he had dropped when he finally managed to fall asleep in the middle of a passage. He busied his hands as fixed his book, righting the bent cover and smoothing back the crease that folded into the page he left on. With that sweat on his bare chest and thin comforter falling to his lap, he realized just how cold his apartment was.
Taking a deep breath, his lungs shuddering as he fought to regulate the pacing he lost in his sleep, he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He worked slowly as he replaced his book back to his rightful slot underneath his bed. Lethargy weighed down his limbs as he searched for his phone somewhere on the floor as he sat with his legs crossed underneath his bottom, the scratch of the carpet dragging across his ankles from where his pants rode up grounding him.
The screen of his phone was far too bright when he powered it up, the time being of no surprise to him even if he was disappointed. He only got a few hours of sleep before that dream woke him up into the real world, plenty of time left before he should begin getting ready to go to work.
This was how it always was for the past handful of years. Harry was lucky to have slept at all really, as some days he wasn't that fortunate, but there was no way he was going to be able to drift off again. But, he'd gotten rather good at finding ways to fill his time.
Standing on wobbly legs, Harry took his time stripping his bed. There was time to get through some laundry, he figured, hauling both his bedding as well as his full hamper to the rickety washer and dryer stationed in the hall closet.
Every movement was a distraction: separating the colors of his clothing, the measuring of the detergent, and the three times he had to set the cycle before the machine finally came to life all did their part to keep him from obsessively staring at his hands as if they would do something bad if he wasn't watching. It was routine the way he didn't allow himself to dwell on the dreams he could no longer forget like he could when they first started sporadically.
Harry felt like a shadow as the hours passed, even after a cold shower shocked his nerves and a bland meal had warmed his stomach. But, at least he was awake.
—————
Watching his hands as he stocked and stocked the shelves in front of him, more and more of himself came back to Harry. This was the perk of the more manual of jobs he had. He could use his body and keep track of every movement he made, every stretch of his muscles coming from his own volition.
It felt like a ritual the way a pastel flash struck the corner of his vision.
It'd been almost a month since the first time he'd seen her, and she made more trips with a basket tucked into the crook of her elbow than he had seen most other patrons. Maybe he only noticed her now that he recognized her and the phantom ache that touched the muscles of his stomach every time he saw her wander close to him. Nonetheless, he saw her more often than not, barely anything in her basket but small items and snacks, never once with a full shopping cart or a list in hand.
In an odd way, he'd almost begun to expect her—look for her. It was a part of his shift to see her drifting through the aisles in something comfortable, a ribbon in her hair, and that ever-present smile on her face. He'd never admit that though, even to himself.
Instead, when he saw her drift into his aisle—the frozen meal section tonight—he kept to himself. Harry didn't even bother to look up at her for more than a glance, even when he paused his music as he listened to her footsteps padding over the floor. Just like she always did since the first night she went out of her way to read his name tag, she offered him a soft smile of recognition as she passed by. Even though Harry hadn't reciprocated a single one.
Just like that, she kept moving, Harry's ear trained to hear her pad off until he couldn't distinguish her footsteps against any of the other noises filtering through the grocery store. He played his music again then, allowing something else to fill his head before she could wiggle her way inside.
Though he would rather not acknowledge it, there was something about the fact that the haunted feeling that had clung to him since his nightmare earlier in the day, finally began to dissolve. That turning in his stomach every time he saw one of the thin scars of his hands turned into the residual flaps of a butterfly's wings, even if he didn't dare give the feeling a name or even think of the cause.
Despite the fact there was something loose in his muscles now as he worked, his head a little bit more clear with that dream tied up in a peachy bow in the back of his mind, Harry was going to ignore it all just as he had every time he saw that girl.
—————
"Thank you, Harry!"
The bow girl's chirping gratitude only had Harry looking at her stiffly with a grumbled Yeah falling from his lips. Just as she had done the last couple of months since she made herself a presence during his shifts, she simply gave him a smile before bouncing away with her basket only containing a carton of banana milk and her favorite cookies. She was no longer perturbed by the standoffish responses he gave her. Harry couldn't decide if he liked that or not.
It was like this at least a couple of times a week. She never did a big shop, only stopping by at later times to pick up individual ingredients for a dinner she had chatted to him about, or little snacks she couldn't seem to go a day without. During at least one of her trips, she found an excuse to talk to Harry; she asked him about his day if she was close enough to feel comfortable starting a question (Harry never gave her a good answer, honestly), she told him about her own day and what she was shopping for if there was anything specific she had in mind. She almost always had a bow pinned to her hair, fluttering behind her and matching whatever soft piece of clothing she had cinched around her form. Harry had even begun fishing out a pack of her favorite cookies from his boxes if he was stocking that aisle, just to make it easy if she came in and asked him for assistance. It made the interactions quicker and less bothersome—at least that's what he told himself.
He knew more about her and her routines than he had any of the hundreds of people he'd met in the last handful of years since he started moving around. Even if that did make him feel a bit guilty knowing that she didn't have a clue about who exactly she was sharing these parts of herself with; she didn't know the mess she was tiptoeing around every time she interacted with him.
Tonight was no different, her leaving a rattling in Harry's bones that he wanted nothing more than to ignore like every other part of his life. If he was superstitious, he would think she could have cast some kind of spell on him with the way she and her little bows lingered in his brain long after she had checked out and gone on her way home.
That rattling followed him as he made his way into the backroom, his empty box needing to be replaced. An exasperated sigh fought to leave his chest when he saw almost half of the overnight team huddled in the area, puttering about as they chattered and pretended to work. He didn't like being roped into their conversations, and that almost always happened when he ran into more than two of them at once.
Harry didn't say a word as he broke down the cardboard box on his cart, pushing it off to the pile of the other flattened boxes before he reached for another. The conversations had quieted some when he walked in, but he could still hear what sounded like Brett and Fawn flirting in the back corner with a cart of refrigerated items that needed to go on the opposite end of the store, and Theo talking to two of the other guys that Harry hadn't bothered to remember the names of.
"Busy night, huh, Harry?" Theo started, dropping whatever topic he had been rambling to his friends about just a moment before.
"Yeah," Harry answered, voice stiff. It wasn't any more busy than any other night as far as he was concerned. Besides, he had other things he needed to worry about than to be making conversation with a coworker he barely knew. There was still a peach colored ribbon tying his stomach in tiny knots that he needed to fix.
Soon enough, a silence fell through the backroom when the others made their way out. Only Harry and Theo were left, Harry doing his part to semi-organize his chosen box before heading out on the floor again.
Maybe it was the rattling in his bones, or the vision of a peach colored bow that he saw every time he blinked, but something in Harry felt a little reckless when he peeked over at Theo focusing on his own box.
"That girl," Harry rumbled, feeling odd in his skin as he spoke, "The one with the bows in her hair... She comes in a lot."
Theo looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide with furrowed brows as he looked in Harry's direction. He even glanced over his shoulder as if there were anyone else there for the conversation to be aimed at. Harry had to keep from scoffing, dropping his gaze back to his working hands.
Floundering over his words, Theo tried to catch up once he realized Harry was voluntarily talking. "Um, the—uh—the one with bows in her hair?"
Harry hummed in response. "She's in a couple of times a week."
"Ohhh," Theo sounded, familiarity touching his tone, "You mean (Y/N)?"
Harry swallowed at the sound of her name. He'd never asked for it himself. "If that's her name."
From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Theo nodding his head. "She comes in a lot, yeah. She's not good at keeping a list and always forgets stuff if she tries to do big shops, so she just comes in when she wants something or runs out."
Though he didn't want this information to mean something to him, Harry felt a part of himself slowly being fulfilled the more details he learned. She didn't tell him these kinds of things when she rambled about her dinner choice for the night.
Keeping his gaze tacked to his hands, Harry kept his words measured and calculated. "Oh," he started, "Is she from here?"
"She's lived here forever, yeah. Why?"
A beat passed as Harry opted to ignore the second part of Theo's response. He didn't need to have any details as to why Harry was asking after someone after working together for five months with only a handful of interactions. Even if he did want to share that, Harry didn't have any real answers to that why, anyway.
"Does she... What does she do?" Harry asked, the phrasing of his words feeling awkward falling out of his mouth. He was lucky he was so used to shielding his emotions and staying stoic, otherwise he would have cringed where he stood.
"Like for work?" Theo asked, his eyes warm on Harry's profile.
Lifting his shoulders, Harry only shrugged in response. It was probably a good idea to keep his mouth shut.
"She—uh—she works at the bakery over on Windsor. She and my sister work there together," Theo told him, acting as if Harry was supposed to know what bakery he was talking about and who his sister was. "(Y/N)'s pretty nice, though."
"Right," was all Harry offered by the time he finished organizing his box. He didn't bother to give anything more in response or wait for Theo to elaborate before he was walking out on the floor again. Even when he could feel Theo's eyes stuck to his back.
No doubt would this interaction make its way to the rest of the team before the end of the shift.
It was harmless curiosity, Harry argued. He just had to believe the harmless part.
—————
It's funny the kinds of things that happened in the day that then were transported and highlighted in a dream. Stranger's faces, odd conversations, a passing thought, things that normally wouldn't have been catalogued at all by a waking brain but were held tightly in the middle of sleep.
Despite the fact Harry made it home from work at three in the morning, he still ended up waking in the early morning after a lingering dream. He didn't remember much about the scene the longer he was awake, but he knew there were swaying bows in pretty hair. A soft voice could have been there too, along with a subtle smile, but he couldn't remember. All because he had seen those ribbons and heard that voice the night before.
For a split second, when he was surfacing from sleep, he wanted so badly to just roll over and continue whatever play was running in the back of his mind. But, sleep didn't come easy for him; he'd have to take whatever small amount of hours his body allowed him and be grateful.
That left Harry to lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling above him, peeks of sunshine beginning to filter through the heavy drapes on his single window. He pretended as if he wasn't waiting for flashes of the dream to come back to him, even as he reluctantly found his footing in the real world.
He was off work for the next two days. Forty-eight hours he would have to fill with the kinds of tasks he dreaded almost as much as actually reporting in for a shift.
Grocery shopping was at the top of the to-do list as well as the hated tasks list. He hated going into his work on his day off just so he could shop the canned food aisles and dodge small talk from the dayshift coworkers that pretended as if they had met him more than once during his training shifts. A trip to the library was due as well, his borrowed books packed away under his bed and read from cover to cover in the week since he'd last visited the building. There was also always cleaning and laundry to be done, more things to keep him busy before he would undoubtedly retire to his bed for the rest of the day and read as much as he could to keep his brain from going to mush.
Harry sighed at the day's agenda. This was the life he wanted, though, so he was going to appreciate every day of the boring tasks and the mundane dredge.
By the time he had a load of laundry running in his machine and his hands buried in the sink, doing dishes he put off until his weekend, Harry's mind was already wandering somewhere outside of his apartment.
Theo had been complaining last night towards the end of the shift about how his sister needed him to pick her up from work today. She was opening and had stayed the night at her boyfriend's before, but he wouldn't be able to drop her off and pick her up. That left Theo to take up the job in exchange for gas money and whatever treats his sister could sneak from the bakery. Theo kept droning on about how since it was Sunday, the bakery opened up early, leaving him to have to fight to stay awake after going home so he wouldn't miss picking up his sister.
Throughout all of the petty complaining and meaningless rambling, the only thing that stuck out to Harry was the hours of this bakery being narrowed down. He didn't mean to pay attention, not now after knowing who else worked there, but it was just another one of those things that stuck in his brain like a dreamy detail.
An early opening could mean that his bow girl—(Y/N)—might be there as well.
Harry's hands flexed under the soapy water. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to go to a bakery on a Sunday morning. No one would think anything of it—and neither should he. He liked pastries as much as the next person. Even if trying out one of the town's baked goods wasn't necessarily his goal for the outing didn't mean that it would be a bad idea. He had more self-control than most people—a bit of indulgence wouldn't break him.
Before he could get too far ahead of himself, Harry focused on washing the dishes in the sink. He laid each piece gently out on the tea towel flattened out beside the sink, taking extra care as if his slow pace could prove that he still had all that control he was boasting about. If he was really on the edge of breaking—about to make a bad decision—he wouldn't be so in control, he argued. He even waited for the load of laundry to make that erratic beeping noise that notified him that he could trade into the dryer.
Still clad in only a pair of sweats that acted as his pajamas, Harry lazily reached for his phone before looking at the time. Just before nine a.m. According the Theo, the bakery opened at eight in the morning today, right when he was picking up his sister after her early morning shift. Harry held onto that air of nonchalance as he looked up the open confectionaries around him, finding a link at the top of the page for The Flour Pot.
They were marked as open, hours laid out on the same popup. Only a handful of miles away from the grocery store and on the same block as his library. It wouldn't take him longer than fifteen minutes to get there. He could even stop by the library on his way back or do his grocery shopping.
There, he cemented. That just proved this whole thing wasn't just to see a fluttering bow or hear a soft voice. He had other things he needed to do, and after hearing so much about this bakery, he could try it out while he was in town.
With his laundry rumbling in the dryer and his dishes laid out to dry on the counter, Harry changed out of his sweats and threw on a hoodie to keep him warm against the chill in the morning air. He tucked his library books under his arm and started out the door, locking up behind him just like any other day.
Just as he figured, he was back in town in less than twenty-minutes, the directions on his phone taking him just a few buildings down from the library. With the early hour, he couldn't see the bakery being especially busy, but when he found a parking spot across the street from the building, his hands clenched around the steering wheel.
Through the lit windows, he saw a line inside. Morning sunshine kept the glass especially translucent, even through the decals pasted to the panes boasting the bakery's name and pots of leafy plants to play on the pun of the title. He could spot glimpses of patrons lounging in the few tables provided while others were waiting in line, the queue long enough to have others shuffling aside when the door behind them swung open.
Harry's heartbeat quickened at the sight. He never liked being where so many people were crowded. It was hard to keep track of so many and what they were doing and saying when they were packed in a tight space. He thought—hoped—that with the early time he'd be beating out the crowds.
Taking a deep breath, Harry reminded himself that there was no harm in having more than ten people in one space. This was something he needed to work on anyway—something he was working on. There was no point to becoming so nervous over something like this. The odds of someone recognizing him or something out of his control happening were slim to none.
The whole point in leaving those years ago was to have a normal life. This was part of that.
Before he could dwell on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Harry swung open his door. He planted his feet on the solid ground, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, and trekked on.
Keeping his eyes on his feet as he walked, Harry didn't look up until the entrance to the bakery was right in front of him. He had his phone gripped in one hand, prepared to pull it out and fiddle with it in an attempt to sate his nerves, while the other reached out for the golden handle embedded in the glass and wood door.
One peek through the crystal had his hand falling from the handle.
Behind the counter was (Y/N).
She had her back to the door, but he knew that bow. She'd worn it before. He knew that silken pearl color, the slightly lopsided loops, the fabric nestled in with the mess of hair on the top of her head. He knew that if she turned around, even spared a glance over her shoulder, what kind of smile would be painted over her features and the soft set of her features that was practically her trademark. He wanted her to turn around just so he could compare that smile to the ghost of the one in his dreams
It's the fluttering in his stomach and the pacing of his heart behind the cage of his ribs that had Harry turning around. He didn't care if anyone saw his reaction, if anyone noted just how weird the whole moment was. He wasn't able to make those extra steps to go inside.
He shouldn't be that happy to see her. That wasn't the kind of reaction someone in control would have. That only showed him the kind of weaknesses the walls around him had, the bits of crumbling stone that he was going to have to solidify before he could boast about all of his self-control.
This was the reason he never allowed himself to grow attached to anyone. The fact that she was the only person in five years to even bother attempting to penetrate those stone walls should have no bearing on how he conducted himself. He knew better than to let her soft smiles and fluttering bows and gentle conversations get to him. He was the one who knew better in this situation; (Y/N) didn't know what kind of person she was offering those niceties to, and it would be wrong of him to accept and even seek them out.
She didn't deserve what could happen if he let this loss of control continue.
Slamming his car door shut behind him with a reverberating rattle of the frame, Harry vowed that whatever had caused that flutter in his stomach and the clench of his heart would stop now. He can't feel that way about anyone or anything. He was taking back control now.
With his hands tight around the steering wheel and the thought of the bakery wiped from his mind, Harry hoped he never dreamt of bows again.
—————
Harry pretended as if he couldn't hear the conversation happening at the end of the aisle from him, a couple loudly wondering where they could find the artisanal bread. He didn't want to help them.
This was why he hated coming in any earlier than the call time for his overnight shifts. Even with the fact he was only covering a couple of extra hours—coming in at six instead of eight—the difference in clientele was too stark for his comfort. It was too early in the night even to justify sticking in his headphones and drowning out the noise of others.
Instead, he hoped that the slight frown on his features and the furrow in his brows would be enough to warn people away from him as he continued his stocking of the soup and other canned goods he was tasked with for the time being. The outfacing shelf gave him the advantage of leaving his back facing most of the customers that walked through, though he made a point to drift away whenever a patron stalked a little too close to his personal space.
Despite it all, a part of Harry was grateful for the distraction of work and the extra people around him. That was why he had been picking up hours here and there throughout the week. Anything to keep his brain busy since he had recoiled from the bakery a week ago.
He'd done a good job in his opinion, of keeping (Y/N) and all of the bows in her hair off of his mind. His resolve was being rebuilt brick by brick, reminders swirling in his brain of why he's never experienced those kinds of butterflies and the anticipation in his heart before. He wasn't the kind of person that needed that kind of feeling—deserved that overflowing of joy in his veins. He kept himself tucked away for a reason, and he needed to remember that.
His shifts no longer held a current of anticipation, waiting to see if this would be the night she would wander on by, sparing him a smile and a breath of her attention. Her place in his brain had been corralled to a back corner that he was adamant on keeping the barriers to steady and clean.
That was why when he saw a pair of white sneakers with pink shoelaces threaded through, he pretended as if his brain didn't go to one person immediately. It could be anyone in the world—should be anyone else. He shouldn't be able to recognize her from such a minute detail, but there was already that beat against the ladder of his ribs that told him everything he needed to know about how poorly he had maintained that corral in the back of his mind.
With a tick in his jaw, Harry reminded himself of his resolve. He kept his focus on his cart, taking more time to dig around while he waited for those shoes to disappear from the corner of his eye.
Of course, he couldn't be so lucky.
"Harry?" that soft voice asked him.
A slow breath was sucked in through his nose as he stood to the full of his height. He turned to find her looking at him with those eyes he could only remember glimpses of from the haze of his dream. Her face was clean from makeup, hair twisted back into a clip as she had forgone a bow for the day. Comfortable clothes adorned her body, slouching and stretching with pastel hues stitched through her top and flowers adorning her leggings. In her hands, nails sparkling with a pearly white polish, she had a solid block of cheese.
Harry didn't bother to offer a response. (Y/N) was used to it by this point, though.
"Do you know if this is any good?" she started, emphasizing the cheese with a flick of her wrist, "I googled a recipe for a grilled cheese today, and it wants this kind of cheese, but... I don't know. I just want to make sure I'll like it before I buy it, and all. Have you tried it before?"
If Harry could draw his eyes away from the dewy planes of her face and the glimmering sheen of her eyes, he might have been able to read the label on the block she had in her hand, but that didn't seem to be an option his body was willing to follow.
He knew he had been following the line of her nose and pillows of her cupid's bow for a beat too long when she tipped her head, a crease appearing in-between her brows. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze from her eyes to fall in the neckline of her top. He schooled his features, keeping himself in line as he brushed the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger.
Skimming his gaze over the white cheese in her hand, he shrugged some. "Um, probably," he mumbled, voice a rumble.
That glimmer in her eyes flashed to amusement. "You've probably tried it before?"
Under layers of the stoic front he put up, Harry could feel himself cringe. He knew he wasn't giving her a smart answer, but he didn't anticipate sounding that stupid.
Again, he shrugged. That was as much of an answer as he could formulate at the moment.
That same part of him that cringed at the lame answer he gave her, curled in on itself when he saw for the first time, (Y/N) grow crestfallen. She had always been very stubborn in her sunny disposition, only having been taken aback the first time they had met. Other than that, no matter how much of a downer he acted, there seemed to be a smile on her face she didn't mind offering to him, even if he didn't deserve it.
This time, he watched her brows pinch in the middle, her smile falling some to leave a barely there, lopsided curl that didn't reach her eyes. She dropped her gaze down to the block in her hand. Even her body seemed to shrink under his gaze, drawing her limbs close to her body in a recoil.
"Well, thanks anyway," she got out, the tone the same chirping pitch as usual, but there was no current. Nothing authentic sat beneath.
He watched as she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes attached to the label pasted to the cling wrap fitted around the cheese, before she began to head in the other direction. He'd never seen her so dejected before, even if she was only matching the energy he constantly gave her.
Guilt pooled in his stomach. It wasn't a nice feeling to see a light like her's becoming extinguished, especially from his own hand.
Before she could trail too far away, he peered over her hand and read over the label attached to her cheese. He recognized the French name from when he would help his mother in the kitchen. He knew this as one of the ingredients she would use for her macaroni and cheese; shredded and added to a pot to melt before being added to the spirals of noodles. He remembered how his main job when he was too young to properly help was to stir the cheese sauce, his eyes following the swirls and strings tracing through the cream.
Harry wasn't even aware he was taking a step to follow after her until he felt his toe push against the linoleum. "Actually—um," he started, watching as she turned to face him, features lightening, "That's a good cheese. Melts really nice. It'll probably be good for whatever recipe you found."
Instinctively, he wanted to curl back into his work, give himself a distraction and soothe some of that rattle in his bones. Instead, he forced himself to stay firm in his spot as she made those few short steps back to him.
(He couldn't help but to feel a bit silly, if he was being honest. All of this over a conversation about cheese. It verged into the territory of ridiculous if he wasn't actually experiencing it).
"Really? Thank you!" That genuine contentedness he had missed from her voice before was back, lilting and molding her words. "I read that it was good for melting, I just wasn't sure if I should slice it or shred it. The page didn't really tell me much on that."
Shrugging, Harry pretended to care about the box left on his cart he still needed to sort through and stock. "Shredding is good," he offered, "It melts easier that way, I think."
(He actually knew that, but he didn't really want to get into the story of the time he had tried to make his comfort meal shortly after he was separated from his mom. He had gone about it all wrong, having sliced it without thinking only to have to go through the too-long process of watching it melt in a puddle of milk. He would have attempted it again after that, but money was especially tight right after he left home and the ingredients for a single meal were too expensive. Besides, it would never taste as good as the one his mother made, and he didn't need to break his heart any more with the attempts).
Decidedly, (Y/N) dropped the block in her sparse basket. "I'll try that tonight and I'll let you know," she told him, the stray tangles of her hair swaying as she spoke, "Thank you, Harry."
Harry nodded his head, reaching into the cardboard box piled with different soups. "Yeah."
It was hard to breathe when she heard him say his name with that smile on her face.
But, (Y/N) didn't leave right away. She lingered for a moment, a step between leaving him behind and staying right there with him. He couldn't decide which outcome he was hoping for.
A beat later, she swung back to face him. "Have you ever been by the bakery a few blocks over on Windsor Ave?"
He swallowed. The vision of The Flour Pot immediately came to mind.
"No, I don't think so."
(Y/N) looked at him with a smile with shy edges, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Well, we have these cheesy breakfast soufflés that we only make on Friday mornings, that are really good. I bet you'd really like them if you like cheese and stuff." There was a slight wince and a huff of a laugh falling from her lips as (Y/N) finished.
She must also realize how silly they both sounded, too. Breakfast and cheese, the great unifiers, Harry supposed.
With the faint amusement bubbling in the back off his mind, Harry still felt something in him catch. Her recommendation felt something like an invitation. An invitation to go somewhere she would assumedly be.
Harry checked his expectations as he dropped his gaze to his hands, rolling a can of loaded potato soup so the barcode faced him. "I usually work all night Thursdays, so Friday mornings can be a little hard to make when 'm tired."
That nervous rocking continued even with the bright smile molding (Y/N)'s features. "I work there, so you can let me know when you have time to stop by and I can make sure we have an extra one for you," she told him, hands bundling together at her middle, "Or, just pop by whenever. Everything we have is really good, so."
Around him, Harry could still hear the annoying couple from before complaining about the layout of the grocery store. The overhead lights were mismatched on this section of the store, leaving some amber spots to combat against the stark fluorescents. There was a buzzing to the left where the refrigerators were keeping the cheese section where she had shopped from cool. But all of his attention was placed a few paces before him.
Harry spent years pushing people away. Not once had anyone ever been able to wiggle through even one layer of the protective walls he had around him. He made a point of that; it was the way it was supposed to be for everyone's safety. He didn't invite anyone into his life, and no one invited him into theirs.
Of course the first person to do so would be someone like (Y/N). She would be the one to dare to cross that line, offer a hand out to someone so adamant about not wanting anything of the sort. He knew those butterflies in his stomach were a warning; they were creatures to be heeded, not cradled.
Despite it all, Harry nodded. He looked at her, leaving his idling hands to play around without him. "I'll see what I can do."
It was the smile that bloomed across her lips that had Harry remembering that there were flowers that were meant to unfurl in the night.
"Cool," she said, something giddy replacing that authenticity, "Have a nice night, Harry."
"Have a nice night," he got out before he turned on his heel, pinning his attention straight on the box awaiting him. It was an abrupt ending to the conversation, but he couldn't look at her any longer if he wanted to keep some of his head. She was driving him mad again already.
When Harry looked up, he found her turning the corner of the aisle. Their eyes matched for a moment when she looked back at him too, a ghost of a smile stretching her cheeks before she was gone.
Taking in a deep breath, he centered himself.
Harry can not go to that bakery.
——————
As much as Harry loved his comfort reads, the volumes that became like classics to him, he couldn't read them all the time. Besides, he liked libraries.
While every building was different, the librarians with their own rules and nuances that ran the shelves, the spirit was always the same. Even the smallest of towns he travelled to had their own shelves to peruse. The crackle of the covered spines, some old enough to still be sporting checkout cards in the front cover, with pages loved by others, made him feel less alone. The library in this town was no different.
A quiet librarian manned the front desk or puttered through the shelves, offering Harry a quiet kindness he appreciated more than if she had given attempts to get to know him any more outside of the process of getting his library card. All she wanted to know was what kind of genres he liked so she could recommend books when he came in the more regular he became. He was left to ghost through the shelves, fostering books as he went before returning them home once their time was up. He was able to be comfortable there.
But, this town had to be mocking him at this point.
While he's been making a point to keep his head down and focusing on only himself and definitely not (Y/N), old habits die hard. A hefty portion of his life was spent with his eyes sharpened, taking in every detail and every person and every place around him. Even with years away from the circumstances that had him looking over his shoulder with every step he made, he couldn't shake every habit. But those habits made it way too hard to ignore what was going on just down the street from the library.
The Flour Pot was busy as usual when he stepped out of his car, library books held at his side with his fingers flexing around the plastic covering. A line was trailing out the door with as many people walking out with the brown paper bags or cake boxes as patrons were walking in with hunger in their eyes. Harry could almost hear the bell chiming above the door every time it opened, just like he swore if he listened close enough, he could hear a familiar laugh.
It took effort for him to keep his eyes ahead of himself, fingers tight around his books. He didn't allow himself to linger on the sidewalk or his gaze to stray, heading directly into the library.
Harry could feel his features twisted into frustration even as he stepped in the substantially quieter building. But even with his furrowed brow and the tight line of his mouth, Ms. Klarke didn't bat an eye. She had to be used to it at this point.
A lined smile had her lips stretched, showing off white teeth. "Done with this week's, Mr. Styles?"
He only nodded with a hum as he approached the desk, dropping the trio of volumes on the glossy wood. It was instinct the way he worked, pulling out his green library card.
Ms. Klarke worked with familiarity, scanning the code on his card before clicking through his profile. Her eyes didn't move from the computer screen as she spoke, "We got some new books in yesterday. I saved a few that I thought you'd like in the back."
Perking up at the prospect of the new arrivals, Harry felt his features smoothen out, a light falling into the usual rumble of his voice. "Really?"
She looked at him from the corner of her eye, a short smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she slid his card back. "Mhm. I'll be right back."
Taking his returns with her, she stepped into the backroom positioned just behind the front desk only to come back a moment later with another set of books. The volumes were freshly wrapped in the crinkling plastic, the covers still vibrant underneath without any smudging or scratching marring the art.
"I've heard good things about these," Ms. Klarke said, spreading out the trio on the wood for him to look at. "The descriptions sound like something you would like."
They were romances—the genre he had divulged to Ms. Klarke all that time ago. He recognized the covers and the authors, having read his own reviews and takes on the literature. Bright colors were splashed across, with the hallmarks of the genre coming in depictions of flowers or the minimalistic art that was becoming the norm. A twitch itched the corner of his lips seeing the pages she saved for him to have first.
"Thank you," he told her, looking at her through the lashes as he kept his hands at his sides, "I've seen a lot about these, too."
Ms. Klarke's lined features brightened at his words. "Gonna take them home with you this week?"
"Yes, please," he answered in a rush, "If that's alright."
Her brows pinched in the middle, already grabbing the books to scan them onto his profile for the week. "Of course it's alright. I saved them for you for a reason."
Harry was struck then. He stood, listening to the sounds of her hands clicking the keys on her computer and the beep of the scanner reading the barcodes, his hands shoved deep in his pockets with his fingers clenched in tight curls.
While Ms. Klarke didn't know really anything about him, she still had him in mind when she read these titles and made a point to save them off for him. She only knew him as far as the kind of literature he liked to spend his time with and the kind of care he treated each book with, but she knew him enough to trust him with these new reads.
She knew him enough.
He forgot what it felt like to be known. He missed the feeling of being known. Even if it was his fault that he was pushed into that forgotten corner in the first place. His impact wasn't supposed to be felt, even if he still felt the absence of the familiarity he had in a past life.
Two people now, in this town, had given Harry more than a passing thought.
The feeling was overwhelming.
"Thank you," he repeated when Ms. Klarke passed back his books for the week, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
With his books in hand, he exited out onto the sidewalk. Down the block he could still hear the faint commotion from the bakery, but his stomach didn't sour like it had only ten minutes prior. In that kitschy shop was the one other person who was trying to know him, even when he insisted on being alone.
The thought of walking in didn't sound so bad, even if he still kept on his path to his car.
—————
Harry had a plan.
Days after visiting the library, he had been tucked away in bed reading one of his new books when he couldn't get his mind off of (Y/N). The main female character was a baker with a softened heart, a bubbly demeanor shining through. Given the nature of the book, every peek into her heart was romanticized, especially in the first handful of chapters he was still working through. He couldn't help but to picture (Y/N) the more he read, disregarding whatever physical description the character was given.
She hadn't left his mind since.
Maybe it was the fact there was a scene written where the lead male character visited the pseudo-(Y/N) at the patisserie she worked at, but there was a niggling thought in the back of his mind that it might not be such a bad thing to take up her invitation from the week prior. While he was nothing like male lead—not in demeanor nor backstory—, he couldn't ignore the want he had for a moment like the one inked across the page.
It felt entirely reckless to give into that want, the kind of idea that would come to him after too many hours spent awake and too many romance cliches floating through his thoughts, but he'd done worse. Indulging in the pattering butterflies and bruising beats of his heart would land at the bottom of the list of the most dastardly things he'd ever done.
Besides, if this Sunday morning was anything like the last, it wasn't like there would even be enough time for his defenses to weaken enough for an impact to be made. If anything, he would see her in passing, the flutter of the bow in her hair as she bustled through the shop, and that would be it. Maybe a smile in his direction, but he couldn't imagine any more being spared for him.
He didn't need anything more than that, anyway.
Harry would be careful. Butterflies weren't strong enough to break stone.
—————
His hands were clenched into fists in the pockets of his coat, the sign to The Flour Pot gleaming on the glass window from the corner of his eye. Though he knew well that there were just enough patrons inside to create a hustle within the shop, Harry kept his resolve strong as he stepped over the pavement. He didn't skip sleep for the last handful of hours since his shift ended just to run home without even taking a single step inside.
Slipping inside, Harry forced his gaze to lift from his feet, a deep breath filling his lungs. Those small tables he had spotted from the windows were twisted wrought iron, the backs outlined with intricate shapes of flowers, hummingbirds, and shining suns. Cushions padded the seats of the chairs, a charming combination of mismatched patterns that all seemed to work together to make the space that much cozier. Customers Harry could recognize as some of the people he saw at the grocery store were littered about, though they looked decidedly much cheerier in this environment. Even with the chill in the air, hints of spring lingered within the confines of the shop.
Butter and sugar kissed the air, twining with notes of lingering herbs and spices, different ingredients that made up the confections filling the display case up front. Tiny lights were embedded in the trim, shining right on the flaky crusts of croissants, glimmering glazes on sticky buns, and the golden skin of homemade baguettes. More intricate cakes and laborious treats were held in glass cabinets behind the desk. Warm wood made up the front cash register area, the grains twisting and curving in the way only real wood could. Hanging from the ceiling behind the desk was the menu with every treat laid out and priced, twirling descriptions following just underneath with every add-on available. A note on the bottom recommended talking to the bakers about seasonal specials and their favorite combinations.
Everything looked new but second-hand at the same time. Harry didn't know what to compare the space to other than a home opened up for visitors. The treats in the case were just a bonus of being invited into such a home.
The flapping of the cafe doors leading to the back caught his attention, pulling his gaze from tracing over the space that felt as if it lived within candlelight. (Y/N) emerged from what he assumed to be the kitchen, a pan in hand full of something golden brown and filled with herbs. She dropped that pan onto the back counter before disappearing again, a pearly gold bow pulling her hair back. Her uniform consisted of a long sleeved brown top with The Flour Pot printed in yellow lettering as if the words were dripping in honey. He felt like a moth the way his eyes followed each of her moves, her being the flame he didn't want to lose track of.
That smile he pretended to not care about had her lips stretched with smile lines bracketing the curl. He watched on as she spoke to the dark-haired girl and the shorter boy working behind the counter, nodding her head with the tendrils of her bow going flying before she seemed to count out certain items in the case all before leaving to the back once more. In her hands, another pan reemerged with her.
As his eyes followed her, he was grateful for the first time for the amount of patrons occupying the building. The line in front of him gave him enough time to watch her—to get his fill to quell the battering ram made of butterflies in his stomach. Even if he wanted to keep his eyes to himself, drop them to his feet or find a blank spot to fix his eyes too, he didn't think he had it in himself.
With the line moving, Harry shuffled forward a pair of spots. At that same moment, the cafe doors swung open once more, (Y/N)'s arms empty as her eyes scanned across the guests in her shop. She found Harry in an instant, her eyes brightening and smile blooming. She brought her gloved hand up to wiggle her fingers in a quick wave for only him.
Before he could even lift his hand to wave back, she had sidestepped behind the desk and whispered something to the dark haired woman working the register. A quick conversation played out while Harry watched, (Y/N) whispering while the other woman gave small reactions. The conversation lasted only a couple of beats with the line still waiting before them, (Y/N) disappearing into the back after shooting Harry a look with bright eyes and a wide smile.
In (Y/N)'s wake, the cashier gave Harry her own look. It was something quiet and knowing, a short curl only on the corner of her lips before she slid her gaze back to the patron waiting in front of her.
(Y/N) and her bow didn't return again as the line slowly moved forward. Only the dark haired cashier and a shorter boy were working the counter, working as a team with the boy picking the pastries with gloved hands and the woman taking orders and collecting payments. The line dwindled as they worked, guests leaving with small paper bags and smiles wider than the giant muffins that took over the bottom shelf of the case.
While Harry felt like he could breathe better with every person that exited, it all moved too fast. By the time he reached the counter, Harry's brain was filled with nothing more than a buzz. In all his distractions of watching (Y/N) and being a little too aware of the others around him, not once did he really examine the menu. He didn't have a plan of what he wanted to order, every quick glance at the menu hanging above was more panicked than the last, nothing being absorbed.
The last patron in front of him worked quickly. The chatter of her voice was almost drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears, her order being rattled off in an instant out of practice before she was stepping off to the side to await her own brown bag of treats.
Stepping forward to the counter, Harry couldn't help but feel a little silly. The amount of high stress situations he's been in in his life, the kind that warranted the kind of panic and fight-or-flight reaction he could feel himself building to was more than any person should ever go through. But in all of those moments, he remembered moving through them like an expert, not thinking before doing.
This—ordering from a bakery—was going to be the one thing that broke his brain, it seemed. Figures.
The dark-haired girl behind the counter held that same guest service smile on her face when Harry approached, only the ends curled that much more when she saw it was him. "Good morning! What can I get you today?"
Harry's mouth dropped open, words intending to come out before nothing actually did. He barely recovered in the way he instead said, "Ummm."
From the corner of his eye, the cafe doors to the kitchen swung open. A pan full of stacked baguettes were in (Y/N)'s arms, eyes trained on the pyramid before she chanced a glance up. That same wide grin pulled at her lips the second recognition filled her eyes.
"Hi, Harry!" she chirped out over her shoulder as she deposited the pan onto the back counter, "How are you?"
His dry throat finally began to work again when he swallowed, his nervous hands beginning to pluck at his cuticles in the pocket of his hoodie. "'M good, thank you," he mumbled, "You?"
"I'm doing good, thanks!" She spun on her heel to take over the spot by the register. For a second, he saw the dark-haired girl bump (Y/N)'s hip with her own, before taking over the second station just to the left and tending to the line from there. It was a move that had to have come with a plan. "I wish I knew you were coming in today, I would have made you one of those soufflés I was telling you about."
"Oh, sorry," he told her, shuffling on his feet as the rest of the line behind him meandered around him to the available register.
The tail of hair she had pinned back with her bow bounced as she shook her head. "No worries at all! What did you come in for?"
For the first time since she stepped out, he pulled his eyes from hers to the sign above her head.
Maybe it was the noise around him, the chatter of other guests, the way he was hyperaware of every inch of space around him and how close others were getting to him before hiking left to the other register, or the fact he knew (Y/N) had her eyes on him, but the letters didn't make any sense when he tried to take them in. He knew the words, could associate them with different treats, but there was nothing that connected his thoughts.
Silence fell from his floundering mouth, the kind that felt too loud in a busy place like this.
In a second, (Y/N) sidestepped to the case at her right, her eyes bright and still on Harry as she nudged the sliding door to open for her. "My favorite at the moment are the raspberry and almond scones," she bubbled off, using her gloved hand to grab the pastry from the tray, "I just finished a batch, too. They also come with this lemon cream kind of glaze, if you wanted to try it that way."
Her energy didn't deplete as she spoke, showcasing the scone for him to see. She saved him from the way his throat was beginning to tighten the longer it took for him to come up with an answer.
Chunks of raspberries were visible in the pale base of the scone, sprinkled with almond slivers. It reminded him of the cookies she so favored at his own place of work.
"I'll try that," he told her, the even pacing of his breathing returning, "Thank you."
"Perfect!" she chirped, looking genuinely pleased at his response. Nothing inauthentic touched at her features as she gazed at him. "Do you want the glaze and everything?"
"Um, sure," he said, a nod of his head throwing a curl over his forehead.
He saw as (Y/N)'s gaze tripped upwards, trailing along the length of that stray hair brushing the bridge of his nose. A glittering sparkled in her irises.
The rest of the transaction went quickly, (Y/N) shedding her gloves and taking his cash as she asked about his work. Noncommittal answers were shared from Harry (he barely remembered the shift if he was being honest. His brain had been too fixed on this morning's plan).
"I'll have that ready for you in a second," she told him, toothy smile and all, "You can wait over there in the meantime."
A mumbled, kay... fell from his lips as he exhaled a deep breath. He nodded his head before he followed her direction and stepped off to the side. He half expected her to continue helping the line that had dwindled behind him, instead watching as she stepped off the side with his treats in hand.
Dropping his gaze from her, Harry pulled his hands out of his hoodie to inspect the sore cuticles he could feel beginning to sting with every touch. Spots of blood had spread to the plate of his nails, skin frayed and irritated at all the picking.
Harry expected to hear his name called when his bag was placed on the pick-up counter just as it had been for every other patron, only to have (Y/N) bounce around the entire case when she had finished puttering behind. The tendrils of her bow flowed behind her, skimming the length of her hair before she stopped in front of him.
For someone who didn't like mornings that much, she smiled a lot.
"Here you go," she beamed at him, offering him the small paper bag with the business's logo inked on the front. Beside the picture was his own name written in looping script, a smiling heart printed beside it. "You have to tell me what you think the next time I see you, okay? These really are my favorites, so if you don't like them I don't know if we'll be able to be friends anymore."
A breath of air caught in Harry's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow it down. Anymore, she had said.
"Got it," he forced out, taking the bag from her hand with their fingers barely brushing as he slipped his own under the handles, "Thank you, (Y/N)."
At the sound of his voice wrapped around her name, her smile only widened. "Of course. I'll see you around, Harry."
Before he could get too far ahead of himself, the indulgent butterflies in his stomach urging him to linger longer than he knew would be good for him, Harry spun on his heel and moved to the exit. He swore he could feel (Y/N)'s eyes on him up until he disappeared through the doors.
There wasn't a thought in his head other than getting back to the safety of his car as he rushed over the pavement, loose rocks in the old concrete kicking up in his wake. The slam of his car door behind him left the cab going still. The air was silent finally, leaving him sealed away with the ticking of his heart evening out.
Instinctively he locked his doors before reaching for his seatbelt. In that split second he seemed to forget the bag in his hand until he felt the warmth of the pastry in his lap.
He hesitated.
It would probably be best to eat it now while it was still warm, he decided.
In his parked car across from the rush of The Flour Pot, Harry carefully extracted his treat. His fingers brushed a slip of paper clinging to the side of the bag, the end trapped under the cup containing the lemon cream she boasted to him about. Laying the boxed treat on the center console, Harry plucked out the slip of paper.
It was a length of blank receipt paper, only to turn the page around and find that same looping writing that printed his name on the bag.
Come by next Sunday and I'll have a souffle for you :)
(Y/N)'s name was signed at the bottom, another smiling heart drawn beside the final letter. Another invitation.
Harry didn't need to take a bite of the scone to know that it was going to be his favorite too.
—————
Maybe he had been too giddy to see her again after those moments at the bakery, but Harry couldn't help but notice her the second (Y/N) walked through the glass doors.
It was as if he had it all planned the way he had been stationed in the herb and spices section of the store tonight, an aisle that was conveniently situated by the entrance. He had a bundle of basil in his grip when he saw her walk in, a clip dripping with crystal flowers holding her hair back with a The Flour Pot crewneck on. Fatigue coated her movements as she reached for one of the maroon baskets stacked by the door, the handles tucked into her elbow before she started towards whatever aisle she was shooting for.
There was a moment of her slowing on the front mat, eyes scanning through the shelves until she saw him, cart and all, and her expression changed. Her features softened and rounded, creases appearing by her eyes while her lips stretched into a smile. Her lips were soft and chapped, hair a bit messy, and sleeves dulled by a dusting of what had to be flour, but Harry still felt that knot in his stomach he did the first time he saw her all those months ago. Even more so, when his heart got carried away thinking that she may have been looking for him, too.
Harry dropped his gaze when he saw her begin her way over to him. He didn't want to look too eager to speak to her again, especially not when he couldn't even admit to himself that he was looking forward to see her.
"Hi, stranger," she greeted, voice lilting as the toes of her white shoes came into view of his downturned gaze.
Swallowing around his dry throat, he slowed his work and looked up at her again, features schooled into something stoic. "Hi."
Ever-pleasant and unperturbed by his attitude, she only looked to him with raised brows and expectant eyes. "So?"
A pinch drew Harry's brows together as he looked at her. So what?
When the beat of silence lasted too long for her liking, a teasing huff fell from (Y/N)'s lips. "What did you think of the scone?! You promised you'd tell me about it, remember?"
For the first time in a long time, Harry could feel one corner of his lips twitch, the beginning of a titled smile. He thought of the length of receipt paper he still had folded away in his wallet.
"It was really good," he started, shifting his weight on his feet, "The—uh—the lemon cream was really nice. Thank you."
The look on her face at his compliments could rival that of the waning sunshine outside the windows. She was bright and shining, warm like the sunset colored sky.
"I'm so happy you liked it!" she beamed, her shopping put to the back of her mind as she gave every bit of attention to him, "There's this recipe for a lavender version of the scone I've been wanting to try, but every time I tell the other girls they don't look as excited. They said it sounds like I'm trying to make soap."
Harry didn't even realize what he was saying before the words were falling from his lips: "I'd try it."
As much as he wouldn't—couldn't—say it out loud, he's sure he'd try anything she made. He wasn't lying about the raspberry scone.
Something sheepish touched at the corners of her smile as she dipped her gaze down to where he was now fumbling with a shaker of dried oregano on his cart. "Okay," she started, nodding her head, "I'll make some, and next time I see you, you can try them."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed around the dryness coating his tongue. "Thank you."
Under her attention, gaze peering through the fan of her lashes, those butterflies in his stomach and the beating of his heart traveled down to his palms, making them restless and the skin go clammy.
All of this over another invitation.
—————
rosemary represents remembrance; looking back on the past with the future right in front of you
ahhhhh!!! hes finally here!!! im so excited to be sharing this story w you guys and letting you meet one of my kings thats sooooo in my heart!! def a little different of a story for me so I really hope you enjoy it!!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas or requests or just thoughts about this story !
#writing#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry angst#harry x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles angst#harry styles x reader#harry au#harry styles au#love on tour#harrys house#pleasing#as it was#satellite
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Jeff the Killer Headcanons!!
literally nobody asked for this but these have been sitting in a doc for like a year so i wanted to share :)) (I WILL DRAW HIM ONE DAY!!!)
•19 yrs old and 5'9
•multitude of piercings: 14mm ear gauges, along with snake bites, nips, a navel, an eyebrow piercing on either side, second lobes, and an industrial on the right side
•is naturally brunette but dyes and cuts his hair himself. usually uses the cheapest black box dye he can find at the drugstore, and has a classic 2000s emo cut but messier and slightly below shoulder length (when hes lazy he just hacks away at his hair with a knife and calls it a day)
•picked up guitar playing cuz he thought it was cool and sexy but he totally kinda sucks at it (he cannot keep a hobby to save his life)
•raspy voice from smoking so goddamn much; in the morning hes practically whispering
•nails are always painted black but theyre always chipped cuz he picks his fingers when hes bored or anxious
•kind of a twink but has some muscle mass in his upper body (still skinny to the point where you can see his ribcage) (i guess hes more of an otter 💀)
•has a trampstamp he got while absolutely WASTED
•his car floor is completely covered in cans and bottles and garbage
•and it smells like cigarettes and is practically falling apart
•actually everything he owns absolutely reeks of weed and cigarettes and also blood
•bisexual and usually prefers he/him pronouns but he seriously couldnt care less
•TRANSGENDER.
•cant go a whole 5 seconds without making a sex joke or mentioning his huge dick
•has a really bad temper and would literally pull a knife on you for beating him in mario kart
•favorite band is BMTH and enjoys hardcore, deathcore, and most metal genres the most
•ADHD
•insane pyrophobia due to trauma related to fire
•absolutely no shame whatsoever. literally wanders around the slender mansion wearing nothing but boxers and dirty socks with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of jack daniels in his hand
•wears crop tops occasionally just to show off the belly button ring (AND HE LOOKS AMAZING)
•really bad at showing affection but tries his best. he doesnt usually like showing his softer side and hes very defensive but you can tell he cares deep down
•super impulsive when it comes to killing. if something small sets him off he will not hesitate to go on a rampage. if someone looks at him wrong he'll overthink it and wont rest until they're bleeding on the ground gasping for air
if this does well i'll do part 2 cuz theres a lot more where this came from :D OK BYE HOPE U LIKE
#creepypasta#jeff the killer#jeff woods#creepypasta fanfic#headcanon#headcanons#creepypasta headcanon#jeff the killer x reader#creepypasta x reader#jeffrey woods#jtk#creepypasta jtk#jtk x reader#jtk headcanons#slenderman#slender mansion#creepypasta hcs#jeffery woods
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as an aspiring comic artist looking to move from graphite and oil painting to more ink/inkwash/watercolor like you- could you explain your process a bit? any tips for beginners? i love your art and you're at the top of my inspiration list right now :,)
Thank you! I've been using ink and watercolour for a long time, and ink/inkwash is definitely my favourite medium. A key tip for getting started would be to know the different kinds of ink available because they all work differently. The three main ones are:
Dye-based ink - these have their uses, but they are not lightfast at all (fade quickly) and they act kinda weird. The colours are very vibrant, but they tend to dry very fast, not be waterproof (tricky for layering), and stain the paper. I use very few dye-based inks. Some ink brands look like they have a big colour range, but when you look at the boxes half of them say "dye based" - don't buy Higgins those.
Acrylic ink - think of this as very liquid acrylic paint. There are a lot of fancy options, many specialty kinds (metallics, pearls, neons), but they aren't going to give you the transparent inkwash look. It's good for drawing opaque lines over colour, and you can dilute it with water for a wash, but it gets chalky. Waterproof may vary (test it first), and it usually has a matte finish. White acrylic ink is well worth having as you can detail over solid black or tint it with coloured pigmented inks, and god knows I love using neons, but I treat acrylic ink like "effects" ink. It’s not my main drawing ink. Daler Rowney is good and widely available (pigment-based is not the same as pigmented ink, this is still acrylic ink), they have a few lines at different prices. Liquitex is decent.
Pigmented/India ink - this is my favourite kind of ink and probably what you want! Pigmented ink dilutes well (it’s a transparent medium like watercolour) and often has a glossier finish depending on shellac content, and it will say on the bottle if it’s waterproof (test that first). It’s good for brush or nib, good for layering, works nicely with watercolour and other types of ink, can be mixed to make new colours/tints...she’s got it all. If you’re in Australia, Art Spectrum is great, I stock up every time I’m back there. If you’re elsewhere, I recommend Speedball for black ink (Blick Black Cat in the US is good). Dr Martins Bombay India Ink has great colours and they’re usually affordable.
There are many brands and everyone has their preferences, and over time you will find your own. I have a mix of different types and brands, though probably fewer than you’d think. Get a small bottle in one or two colours and play around, see if you like it before investing in a set. Don’t buy fountain pen ink or Rapidograph ink for nib/brush, those are best suited to being used in specific types of pens.
The nibs I use are Hunt #512s. #102s (called crow quills) are popular and I like them too, but they are very sharp and will rip up your paper, and can be a little too flexible and hard to control. The #512 is a good all-rounder with a smooth line capable of variation, and I think they’re a solid choice for a beginner. These nibs and holders are cheap and widely available. I don’t buy expensive watercolour brushes because ink will wreck them a lot faster than watercolour will. What you want to look for is the fibers holding a point - the brush should not have bedhead.
My only real advice to someone looking to try watercolours is to not buy the cheapest shittiest kind. You know from oil painting that all paints are not created equal and bad paint is going to frustrate you, especially when you’re starting out. I started with one of these twelve years ago and I still use it in conjunction with other sets I’ve built myself, I just refill the pans from (better quality) tubes when they get low. They last a long time. So do bottles of ink.
I’d like to do a process post, but I’m not sure what would be interesting or helpful to you, and I use ink/watercolour/gouache in a lot of different ways. If there’s a specific piece you liked the look of, I’m happy to demonstrate that method, or I can just go through my favourite approach.
As for comics...the best advice I can give you is pretty general.
Anatomy is a rewarding life-long study, but what really counts for narrative art, over technical accuracy, is GESTURE, EXPRESSION, and BODY LANGUAGE. Look at people. Look at how they move, look at their faces, look at their hands, listen to how they talk. In comics, you are the director and the actors.
Environments are a bonus character in your story and can add a lot of depth and atmosphere! Understanding perspective will make using them a lot easier.
Do not start with your graphic novel idea, start with a short story (under eight pages) and finish it. Finish it. Fucking finish it. Then do some more, getting longer over time. The best idea you never do is worth less to your progress than the worst finished piece.
There aren’t a lot of books that dig into the nuts and bolts of sequential storytelling for artists in a way I like. Filmmaking books are handy, but they’re dealing in moving images and don’t have to worry about page design. There are some good “how to make comics” books (the two Will Esiner did are my favourites), but as a genre it can be very hit or miss. I always look at what the writer/artist has made to see if I want to listen to their instructions - if you hate their art and think the graphic novel they made sucks, don’t buy their how-to book.
Bob McLeod, one of my teachers, gave us all this list:
These rules aren’t inflexible, but they cover the big issues.
For actual storytelling advice, the best one I have read was Directing The Story by Francis Glebas. It’s aimed at storyboard artists, which I was, but it discusses visual storytelling and explains how to approach it and the reasoning behind choices in a way that is useful for anyone making sequential art.
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Round 5 *ding ding ding*
(Uh oh, this getting out of hand)
Keeli and "Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way– you come get me, and I'll set them straight. Understand?"
Please and thank you, my love 💚💚💚
@the-bad-batch-baroness
Protective
Summary: When you have to go to a gala while on a job, Keeli makes sure you know you'll be safe.
Pairing: Captain Keeli x Reader
Word Count: 934
Warnings: Thief!Reader, Fem!Reader
Tagging: @trixie2023
A/N: I blame you for this AU, I hope you realize this.
Divider by Saradika
“You look amazing,” Keeli says quietly, as he watches you put on the finishing touches to your look for tonight, “You clean up nice.” He adds with a teasing smile.
“I feel like a clown,” You reply, as you twist on your stool and make a face at him, “I’m…not used to being the face of any of our cons.”
Keeli makes a face of his own at the reminder that you’re only dressed up like you are due to the fact that you’re working, “I know, cyare. You can always back out?” He offers, knowing that you won’t.
“No, I can’t.” You reply, before you twist back to look in the mirror, “Ugh, I look ridiculous.”
“You look amazing.”
“You have to say that because you’re my boyfriend.” You grumble.
“Wrong. I say it because it’s true.” He moves so he’s standing behind you, and he rests his hands on your shoulders. Keeli starts rubbing soothing circles on the back of your neck, and you melt into his touch.
“I wish you could come with me as my date.” You say quietly.
“I wish I could come as your date too,” He leans in and kisses the top of your head, “But you know how some people are about clones.”
You sigh softly, “Not just a clone, Keeli.”
His arms slide around your shoulders as he leans in and hugs you tightly. “You’re a little biased, cyare.” Keeli teases, as he presses a light kiss just under your ear, “But thank you. How did I get so lucky to land you?”
You press your hand against his cheek, “I profiled you like a mark, and made you like me.”
His forehead falls to your shoulder as he laughs, “Well, I’m the luckiest damned mark in the galaxy.” Keeli’s gaze meets yours in the mirror, his smile is warm and fond and so very loving, “I love you, you know that?” He says quietly.
“I love you too,” You reply with a small smile, “But if you don’t stop being sweet, I’m never going to finish getting ready.”
He laughs again, and kisses your cheek, “You are ready. You just need a necklace to tie the whole ensemble together.” He reaches towards your jewelry box, and picks through the truly staggering amount of necklaces you own, until he finds the one he’s looking for.
It’s a relatively simple looking necklace, compared to some of the other ones you’ve acquired over the years. A simple silver chain, with a delicate looking swirl pendant hanging on it. Keeli bought this necklace for you with one of his first paychecks, and the pendant itself was made from a spare piece of his armor.
It’s probably the cheapest necklace you own. And yet you would throw all of those million credit necklaces into the ocean to keep this one safe.
Keeli lightly drapes the necklace around your neck and fastens it, before he presses a light kiss against the back of your neck, “There. Perfect.”
You smile up at him adoringly, “Staking your claim, love?”
“No need for that,” He replies with a smug smile crossing his lips, “You always come back to me, after all.” He takes a step back towards the bed, where his chest plate is laid out, he’s already wearing the majority of his armor for his job tonight.
“Won’t you get in trouble for running security at the gala that’s about to get robbed?” You ask, turning on your stool to watch him finish pulling his armor on.
“It’s not like anyone’s going to get hurt,” Keeli replies dryly.
“Well, not at the gala.” You reply with a small smile, “Gno promised to try not to hurt anyone too seriously.”
“So long as he’s not hurting any of my brothers, I don’t actually care, cyare.” Keeli says as he finishes latching his chest plate and then he pulls on his arm guards, and his gloves.
Finally dressed, he offers you his hand, which you gratefully take to allow him to help you to your feet. He tugs you towards him, and his free hand comes up to brush your cheek.
You smile at him and lean into his touch.
“I’m not going to be in the ballroom with you, cyare,” He murmurs, “but if anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way– you come get me, and I'll set them straight. Understand?”
“My sweet, protective captain.” You murmur, standing on your toes to kiss him, grateful that you splurged for the non-smearing lipstick when you pull away.
He smirks, “Yours, huh?”
“Thief. Greedy by nature.” You explain innocently.
Keeli chuckles and his hand slides from your cheek to rest lightly against your throat, and he leans in to kiss you again, “So am I,” He murmurs against your lips, “My beautiful cyare.” And then he pulls away, “Are you ready?”
You gaze at him adoringly, “As I’ll ever be.”
Keeli chuckles, “When we’re able to come back home, ner cyare,” He murmurs, “I’m going to take great pleasure in getting you out of that dress.”
A brilliant smile crosses your face, “Then I have something to look forward to.” You lean in and kiss him one more time, before gently pulling yourself from his grip, “You have to go. And Gno will be here soon to pick me up.”
Keeli kisses the tip of your nose, “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” You reply with a small little smile, “Love you.”
“Love you more.” Keeli replies, as he steps away and heads out of the bedroom.
#star wars#tcw#captain keeli x reader#keeli x reader#star wars fanfiction#x reader fanfiction#answered asks
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The Commission part 1
lel I've never posted any of my writing before so here I go embarrassing myself to death.
Gortash x f!Tav/OC
NSFW, mdni
Part 1 of 3
《Summary》
Solan (Tav) wants to paint the archduke like one of her french girls
This is a part of a much larger story but i don't expect anyone to give half a shit so just ignore the parts that sound like plot.
《Mood》
NSFW but relatively wholesome. Playful & bratty.
Gort is a big ol' simp who lets Sol do whatever she wants with him.
《Content Warnings》
Teasing, bondage, oral sex
《Word Count》
1.5k
🖤🖤🖤
"You promised to pose for a painting, remember?"
Solan sat cross legged in the middle of the dining table, stirring cream into her steaming coffee. She wore a modest pink dress that cost as much as a merchant might make in a year. It was one of the cheapest things Enver has ever seen her in.
"So be it. I will set you up in the office," he said, flipping through the newspaper. "You can paint while I work."
Solan pinched the edge of the newspaper and pulled it away from his face. Enver watched, not letting her take it but not resisting either.
"I was thinking of painting in the bedroom," Solan said.
"Great, now I'm worried," he said, looking entirely unworried.
"It will be fun," She said and bit her lip.
"Fun for whom, Solan?" He asked, letting the paper go. Solan swung it in a wide arc, sending sheets fluttering up into the air.
"I didn't take you for a coward," she said, sliding across the table toward him.
Enver had long ago decided that this creature’s existence was his master testing him. The purpose of the test, however, remained a mystery.
Solan perched on the edge of the table and kicked him playfully. The hem of her dress rode up, exposing her pale thighs. They could use a few bite marks. Enver looked away, banishing the thought.
Solan took a sip of her coffee and winced, then blew on it and put it down.
"I'll even let you keep your little magic robe on if you wish," she said, trying to catch the laces of his shirt between her toes.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stood up.
"The scribe will get you all you need," he said, swiping her coffee. He sipped it, winced and sipped it again.
"Careful, it's hot," she called after him as he left the room, the drink still in hand.
***
"May I inquire what the rope is for?" Enver asked, unlacing his shirt.
With her fingers, Solan formed a rectangular frame, looked through it, then shook her head. She repeated the process several times before stationing the canvas at the foot of the bed.
"Nothing nefarious," she said. Chewing her lip, she moved the canvas to the left side of the bed. “Probably won’t even need it,” she added.
Enver shrugged off his coat, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shirt. Solan watched him, much like a snake might watch a mouse. Desire danced in her pale eyes, of that much he was sure. Beyond it lay an unfathomable void. A hollow, haunted emptiness. He picked up his coat and held it for a moment. Solan knew not the effect she had, why ruin her fun? He folded the coat and put it away.
"Get comfortable," Solan said. "These things take a while."
"I've had portraits painted before, dear," he said, fluffing up the pillows. Time in Banehold taught him enough tricks to deal with a little unease.
Solan took brushes out of a box, examining each. She flicked the bristles of each with her thumb, then checked the tips before placing them down before her.
"Gods, take off your boots when you're in bed, Enver," she said before moving on to examining the paints, "were you raised by the wolves?"
"The devils, actually," he said, kicked off a boot and tossed it in her direction. The second landed inches away from her bare feet. Solan threw the tubes of paints down.
"This is what the rope is for, Enver," she said and pounced on top of him.
It would have taken him no effort to throw her off. Instead, he watched with interest as she wrestled his hands up and tied them together.
"This won't be great for circulation," he said, looking his bindings over.
Solan yanked the rope, forcing his arms above his head. She paused, considering his words, but shrugged dismissively and tied them to the top of the headboard.
"Don't worry," she said and resumed her preparation.
He raised an eyebrow expecting her to finish the sentence but she seemed to have forgotten about him. There was a metaphor for gods and humans in there somewhere.
The rope only felt uncomfortable until your hands fell asleep. After that you forgot all about it. Enver relaxed into the pillows and waited. Solan placed the last tube of paint before her. She squinted, examining the composition.
"Missing something," she said, biting her lip.
"Perhaps if I wasn't so limited in my movements, " he suggested, foolishly optimistic.
"Hmm, that's not it, " Solan moved the canvas closer to the bed.
He watched in silence as she fussed over her workspace. After so many years, the girl arranged all the tools just as he had shown her. He huffed, pushing away the feeling of pride that began swelling in his chest.
"Aha, got it!" Solan snapped her fingers, hopped onto the bed and began unlacing his trousers. He shifted to get out of her grasp.
"Come on, take this seriously, " he said, smirking, and squeezed his knees, toppling her over.
"No, no, I promise I know what I'm doing," she said, giggling, and began pulling at the laces with her teeth instead.
"It'll look far better than those portraits you have strewn about the city," she added, winking.
"I expect perfection," he said and lifted his hips to help her get the rest of his clothes off.
Once he was fully nude, Solan began sketching, pausing to adjust the pillows or his position. She had a habit of putting things in her mouth while thinking and soon a thick streak of graphite ran across her lips. She looked just like the first time they met, a hundred lifetimes ago.
"There, " she said looking from the sketch to her subject.
His hands had long ago fallen asleep.
"Don't take too long, " he said, "I've things to do.”
Solan ignored him, examining her work.
"This is all wrong, Enver," she frowned and bit the graphite stick in half, "it's missing something."
"I'm sure it's lovely, " he said, rolling out his stiff shoulders, "and I'm sure it will never see the light of day."
Solan’s eyes snapped to his, her frown deepening. Not breaking eye contact she climbed into the bed and knelt between his legs.
"Sol," he said, pulling away, "Solan, what are you doing?"
Solan ran her nails along his inner thigh.
"Let's focus on painting, shall we, dear?" he said, swallowing back an unwelcome pang of anxiety.
"The painting…" Sol said, in a low voice that broke no argument, "... is missing something, Enver."
She cupped his balls and gave them a gentle squeeze. He groaned, partly enjoying her touch, partly frustrated at himself for playing along. She brushed her lips against the tip of his cock, sending shivers down his spine.
"So eager, " she laughed and pulled her mouth away. His cock, now fully hard, slapped against his stomach.
Solan resumed her sketch. After several silent minutes, Enver relaxed, losing himself in thought. He ought to be flattered that she took such interest in him but did he enjoy the touch of danger that permeated their play time? The jury was still out.
Her voice, girlish yet commanding, snapped him back.
"No, Enver, you have to stay hard, " she said, grabbing his cock with far less ceremony than before.
"Deepest apologies, " he said and rolled his eyes. She dug her nails into his thigh and dragged, leaving red marks. Inexplicably, his body responded just as she wanted it to.
This time Solan didn't stop. She licked the palm of her hand and began stroking him, gently at first, then faster. Her hand didn't fit all the way around and, while generally pleasant, her efforts were ineffectual.
"Use your mouth," he suggested. She obliged and slid her tongue along the underside of his cock. He struggled against his restraints, yearning to lend some assistance.
"Are you trying to escape?" Solan looked up, flicking the tip of his penis with her tongue.
"Let me help," he said, "or we may be here a while."
Solan smiled, then took him in as far as her mouth allowed. He thrust his hips just right, hitting the back of her throat again and again. Her eyes welled up, she squeezed them shut but didn't resist.
"That's perfect, " he moaned, fighting against the ropes for a better position, "good.. good girl. You're going to make me.."
Just.. A few.. More..
Solan pulled away, letting his cock flop helplessly once again.
"I'm going to what, Enver?" She asked and wiped tears from her eyes.
He breathed heavily, eyes squeezed shut. His mind had not yet registered what his body already had. Enver felt the bed shift, then heard the sound of brush on canvas.
#gortash x oc#gortash x tav#bg3 fic#bg3 smut#bg3 fanfiction#gortash smut#bg3 gortash#enver gortash#lord gortash
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do you have any general 3d printing tips? just got one and i know how to work it and everything, but i was wondering if you knew something that you wish youd learnt earlier
If you got a Creality printer with a plastic extrusion gear housing I highly recommend upgrading to an aluminum one when you can. That's the cheapest part on the entire thing and they're notorious for getting very fine cracks in them almost immediately. Your prints will start getting wonky and it'll take ages to figure out why haha
Another tip I learned recently is that there's a super simple way to dry filament (if your bed is big enough, anyway—Ender 3 bed size works perfect, but the Ender 2's might be too small). Take the box your filament roll (1kg) came in, cut it in half, poke some small holes in the top of it and some small rectangular vents on the bottom of it. Put the filament spool on your printer bed, put the box over it, set the bed to 40c, and give it ~4 hours. Works better than an oven and most dry boxes. The idea is to trap heat in and let moisture out.
I've got a part on the bed right now so I can't show what it looks like sitting on it, but here's my "dry box" made from an Overture spool box:
It's not aesthetically pleasing, but it came free with the spool and it works lol
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Alternate AU: New Beginnings
Cesar Torres meets up with a familiar face, and when he visits the BPS headquarters, he’s greeted by one that’s...not as friendly.
Notes: This is around 3’500 words, and isn’t as well thought out as my last two alt au fics, but I wanted to write how I think Cesar’s first day in the BPS went. So once again, I hope you enjoy :)
The sun was beginning to set over Bythorne, casting darkness over the town as people began to head home for the night. Two bright beams emitting from the headlights of a black car hit the side of a small house, which rested near the edge of town. The vehicle’s engine rumbled as it parked in the small driveway before its lights shut off and the doors opened.
Emerging from the driver’s side was a man in his mid-twenties, staring at the home with curiosity. Cesar was wearing a red hoodie over a white button up shirt. His raven-black hair was long and wavy, with one grey streak running down his bangs. He had faint stubble over his chin and upper lip, mainly because he didn’t feel like shaving. His brown eyes stared at the home as he began to approach it.
“So…this is the place?” Cesar asked the figure leaving the car behind him.
“Yep. It’s…not a lot,” The figure sighed, her gaze fixed on the house as well as she followed Cesar. “It was the cheapest rent we could find around here.”
Sarah was a younger woman, wearing a black hoodie with the letters BPS written on her chest in bright yellow lettering. Her long, brown hair draped over her shoulders, running down her back. She approached Cesar, who was standing next to the front door, waiting for her to let them both in.
“It’s not all bad,” Sarah said as she took out a key from her pocket. “It does the job fine enough. Just…don’t expect anything fancy.” She opened the door, gesturing inside as Cesar walked into the building. Sarah followed close behind, shutting the door behind her.
Cesar took a look around the living room, seeing that it wasn’t…the cleanest place he had ever seen. Cardboard boxes were littered in the corner of the room, along with some miscellaneous junk that hadn’t been thrown away. Sarah seemed to notice the disarray as well, as she immediately let out an annoyed groan. “God damn it…I told him to clean his shit.” Sarah muttered under her breath. “I’m sorry, Cesar, I promise it’s normally cleaner than this.”
“Uh…are those…guns?” Cesar pointed towards a pair of firearms resting against the wall, one being a shotgun and the other being a huntsman’s rifle. Small boxes of bullets were resting on the coffee table sitting in front of the couch, as if someone was planning a hunting trip.
“Oh…yeah, you don’t need to worry about those.” Sarah said. “I mean, you’ve been around guns before, right?”
“I…guess.” Cesar stated. “I shot a pistol at a gun range once, though it was a long time ago.”
“Well, with…the alternate…thing, it’s just safer to have a gun handy, you know?” Sarah said. “Now…why don’t I show you around? There’s not a whole lot to see, but if you’re gonna stay here, you might as well know where the bathroom is.”
“Heh…yeah,” Cesar said with a slight smile. “Sure.”
“Who is this?”
Cesar was nearly startled out of his shoes when he heard the deep, extremely gravelly voice coming from the hallway. He glanced over to where the voice originated, seeing that he and Sarah weren’t the only ones there. A very tall, long-legged man was standing in the hall, glaring at Cesar through dark eyes. He was wearing a dark grey tank top, which itself was partially covered by a black back-brace around his mid-section. In fact, both his elbows and knees were covered in similar braces. His black hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his facial hair was scraggly. Just looking at him made Cesar nervous, and the man’s intense glare only made that feeling worse.
“Oh…hey, Seth.” Sarah sighed, sounding like she was preparing for a lecture.
“Who the hell is this?” Seth repeated, his cold glare still fixed on Cesar as he approached the two. Cesar couldn’t help but notice that Seth walked with a slight limp, using his right leg more than the left.
“This is Cesar, I knew him a few years ago.” Sarah explained.
Seth looked down at Cesar, who was attempting to conceal his discomfort. Seth looked as if he didn’t sleep in days, if the dark circles around his eyes were any indication. His gloved hands were curled into loose fists, hanging by his sides. Cesar noticed that he was wearing a belt around his hips, which had a pistol in a holster clipped onto it. Seth stared deep into Cesar’s eyes, as if he was looking for something.
“…Uh…hey…?” Cesar smiled nervously.
“…If you’re one of them, you’re pretty convincing.” Seth muttered. “Or you’re just a special case.”
“Seth, please…” Sarah said.
“Sarah, can I talk to you for a second?” Seth asked before walking towards one of the other rooms, finally letting Cesar let out his breath. Sarah shook her head slightly before glancing back at Cesar, shrugging slightly. When she joined Seth, and they were out of view of Cesar, Seth let out a sigh.
“I told you to let me know these things in advance.” Seth stated.
“Damn it, do we have to go through this every time?” Sarah asked. “I know him personally; can I not just let him join?”
“How well do you know him?” Seth asked.
“Well enough; my brother was good friends with him.” Sarah responded with a twinge of annoyance. “He’s a good man, I know it—”
“Was he acting…strange before he got here?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“How long has it been since you last saw him?”
“I don’t know…around…eight years?”
“Eight?” Seth repeated. “And you don’t think that anything could have happened in between then and now?”
“No, it…it doesn’t seem like it.”
“Are you sure that he’s—”
“Seth, can you please just…chill for a moment?” Sarah interrupted. “You go through this…thing every single time we get a new member.”
“I just wish you actually told me before you bring in someone you only know through association.” Seth sighed.
“Don’t you ever think this is the reason no one joins the BPS anymore?” Sarah asked. “You scare them away before you even know them.”
“I do not—”
“Yes you do.” Sarah responded. “Just…please. Give him a chance, at least. Can you do that?”
“I’m just being careful, Sarah,” Seth defended, his bushy eyebrows furrowing on his face. “You should be too.”
“Don’t you think you’re being too ‘careful’?”
“…Sarah…don’t you remember what happened the last time I wasn’t careful?” Seth’s voice lowered. “Bad things happen.”
“…I guess…but…come on, you know that wasn’t because of you.” Sarah said, equally lowering her voice. “I believe this time will be different. Can you please just give Cesar a chance? Just this once?”
Seth remained silent, looking at his feet before he let out a deep sigh. “…So you are certain…that you trust him?” Seth asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“…Alright.”
Cesar sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for Sarah and Seth to be done with their conversation. He heard their muffled voices behind the wall, feeling a sense of unease as he attempted to figure out what they were saying. He felt like he was about to be interrogated by the police, if the cop was instead a gruff, stupidly tall man that looked like he’d shoot Cesar dead if he just looked at him funny. He was almost relieved when Sarah and Seth finally walked back into the living room, breaking the increasingly unbearable tension. Cesar stood up quickly, keeping an eye on Seth specifically as he approached.
“Your name is Cesar, correct?” Seth asked, lightly brushing against Sarah as he walked in front of her.
“Yeah.” Cesar responded. “…Cesar Torres.”
“Well, Cesar, while you’re here, you’re going to adhere to the rules we have in place, you understand?” Seth stated.
“Yeah, I…I guess so.” Cesar agreed.
“Sarah will show you around,” Seth glanced at Sarah. “But if you have any questions, you come to me. You understand?”
“Uh…yeah; yeah of course.” Cesar coughed, having to force his gaze away from the pistol on the older man’s hip.
“If anything happens,” Seth turned to Sarah as he lowered his voice, “You come to me, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, I’ll take it from here.” Sarah said.
Seth took one last glance at Cesar before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. There was silence for a moment before Cesar looked towards Sarah, “What was…all that about?” He asked.
“I…I’m sorry, I forgot to mention him.” Sarah crossed her arms. “That’s Seth. He’s the head of the BPS. I wouldn’t worry about him; he’s harmless.”
“…I fucking doubt that, honestly.” Cesar muttered. “He looked like he’d kill me without second thought.”
“He’ll get over it…it might just…take a while.” Sarah said, not quite confident in her statement. “Well…do you still want to take a look around?”
“Uh…sure.” Cesar responded. “I guess…”
As Sarah led Cesar down the main hallway to the other rooms, Cesar remembered something Seth had said. “Uh…what was the whole…’come get me if something happens’ thing Seth said?”
“He…he’s still not convinced you aren’t an alternate.” Sarah sighed. “He basically told me he’d shoot you if you try anything.”
“…Oh.” Cesar stopped in place, staring at the ground before shaking his head slightly and following Sarah into one of the rooms. “Swell guy…and you said he’s harmless?”
“To people who don’t deserve it.” Sarah responded, stopping in the middle of the small bedroom. “…Well. Here’s the bedroom. This is where you can sleep and keep your stuff.”
Cesar looked into the bedroom, seeing that there were two twin-sized beds next to opposite sides of the room, both empty. There were a few boxes in the corner, resting in front of the closet to the right of the bedroom door. They were all unmarked, cardboard boxes, full of random possessions and clothes. It wasn’t a bad size for a bedroom; better than the apartment he had been living in anyway. At the very least, it was big enough for both him and his cat to stay in.
“Sorry about the mess…we haven’t cleaned out this room yet.” Sarah said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“Is this where you sleep too?” Cesar asked.
“No, I sleep in the other room.” Sarah stated. “No one stays in here right now…Seth sleeps on the couch.”
“Oh…so you just…use this as a storage room or something?” Cesar asked, hesitantly approaching the pile of boxes.
“Don’t touch those.”
Cesar froze, looking back at Sarah, noticing the strange…almost sad stare she was giving him.
“…Oh…sorry.” Cesar backed away, sliding his hands in his pockets. As much as he wanted to know whose possessions were in the boxes, he figured it would’ve been best to stay silent. It didn’t seem like Sarah wanted to answer anyway.
“…So…uh…” Cesar coughed forcefully, hoping to break the tension. “What...do you guys do, exactly? Is it just paranormal investigations and all that?”
“…Basically, yeah.” Sarah responded. “We take reports, we go to the locations and investigate, rinse and repeat.”
“So…like the Ghostbusters?”
“No.” Sarah stated. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of times people called us the fucking Mystery Gang, or the Ghostbusters, or some other shit.”
“…Oh.” Cesar muttered. “But you guys are like ghost hunters, right?”
“In a way,” Sarah shrugged. “Though we take other reports too. Like…well…Alternate reports.” Sarah’s voice seemed to lower slightly at the mention of alternates.
“…Alternates?” Cesar repeated, approaching Sarah with disbelief in his eyes. “You guys…go after fucking alternates?”
“Occasionally.”
“Holy shit…” Cesar exhaled.
“…Cesar…this may seem kinda…out of nowhere, but can I ask you something?” Sarah asked, sounding as if she was itching to ask whatever question she was thinking of for a long time.
“Shoot.”
“…Have you seen Mark?” Sarah’s voice had a hint of desperation, her eyes with a glint of sadness. Cesar was taken aback, looking at the ground before scratching the back of his head. “It’s…just been years since I’ve heard anything about him, and I just want to know if you…if you’ve seen him, or heard anything new. No one’s been telling me anything, and you were really close to him, so I was just hoping…you knew anything?” Sarah continued as Cesar thought intently.
“…No.” Cesar stated, unsure if he was actually telling the truth. “No, I haven’t.”
Sarah sighed in disappointment, her eyes not making contact with Cesar’s. “I just thought…you would’ve known more.” Sarah muttered. “I mean…you stayed in Mandela longer than I did…as soon as I could, I got the fuck out of that hellhole.”
Cesar knew that the statement was false. He knew very well that he left Mandela before Sarah was legally allowed to live on her own. He left Mandela when he was 18 and still in high school, long before he was prepared to start his own life. The night he left his loving home and drove away from everything he grew up with. The night he met—
“Are you alright?” Sarah asked softly.
Cesar wasn’t sure why she asked that until he noticed that a tear was running down his face. He wiped it off with his sleeve, coughing before finally answering her question. “I’m alright, just…tired, I guess.”
“Do you want to go back to your place?” Sarah asked. “I can get everything cleaned up before you start living here.”
“Ah…it’s…it’s fine.” Cesar said. “I want to kinda…get used to this place anyway…get used to…Seth being there.”
“I’m sure you’ll get used to everything soon enough.” Sarah assured. As she examined Cesar’s distracted expression, she felt a sense of sadness radiating off of her friend. “…Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah…” Cesar lied. “…I guess.”
Cesar was led by Sarah around the apartment, getting used to the layout of the place and the fact that there were guns in every single room. Sarah told him that most of them belonged to Seth, which wasn’t very surprising; he looked like the kind of guy to own a military’s worth of firearms. Overall, it wasn’t a bad apartment; for the shoestring budget that the BPS had, it wasn’t too crowded, even with three people living in it.
After the tour was over, Sarah and Cesar sat in the living room, both of them looking at the coffee table, which had multiple pieces of tech laid across it. Sarah explained the purposes of all of them, all while Cesar listened with interest.
“…And this is a spirit box,” Sarah stated as she picked up one of the gadgets. “Ghosts can use the radio frequencies to communicate to the living.”
“Huh…spooky.” Cesar said, lightly taking the spirit box out of her hand and examining it. “I’ve seen shows about ghost hunting…they almost always have one of these.”
“It’s one of the most common things to use in paranormal investigations.” Sarah said. “So…yeah, of course you’ve seen it on TV…well…before they were banned a year ago.”
“I never understood that.” Cesar said. “Like why get rid of the fuckin TVs? Last time I checked, alternates can’t come through TVs.”
“Well…you never know, those things are…unpredictable.” Sarah stated.
“Yeah…definitely.” Cesar muttered.
Sarah looked at the gadgets on the table, furrowing her brows before she sighed. “Fuck, I forgot the thermal camera…” Sarah stood up from the couch. “You should probably know how to use it…I’ll be back in a second, sit tight.” Sarah left the room, walking down the hallway until she was out of view. Cesar sighed, leaning back on the couch as he began waiting for Sarah to get back.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough time.”
Cesar jerked his body around, seeing that Seth was walking towards the couch, staring at him. “…How long…have you been there?” Cesar asked sheepishly.
“I only just came in here.” Seth stated. “Heard you and Sarah talking.”
“…Wait, what do you mean?” Cesar asked. “…The whole…me having a rough time thing. How would you even tell?”
“That streak in your hair.” Seth responded, his hand reaching into his pocket and taking out a box of cigarettes; it was nearly empty. No wonder he had such a gruff voice.
“…What about it?” Cesar asked, lightly touching his grey bang with his hand.
“You know…I read somewhere that people’s hair can turn grey after a traumatic experience.” Seth explained as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. “…some people’s hair turned completely white.”
“…I…I just thought it was just some…coincidence.” Cesar said.
“Not trying to pry, kid…” Seth said. “But what exactly happened to make you want to join the BPS?”
“…I…I don’t know, I just kinda…felt…a calling?” Cesar struggled to find the words, not wanting to tell the guy the exact reason. “I felt like I could…get some answers.”
Seth paused, sighing a bit before walking in front of Cesar and sitting on the other end of the couch, avoiding sitting right next to the young man. “…Yeah, that’s what a lot of people want. It’s not like anyone else is gonna answer anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mandela County especially has been trying to keep everything down low.” Seth explained. “Bythorne is the same; though you can be a bit more…open with talking about those things here than you can in Mandela.”
“I-I see.” Cesar said.
“You’re from there, right?” Seth questioned. “That’s what Sarah told me anyway.”
“…I used to live there, yeah.” Cesar answered.
“Ah.” Seth said, squinting his eyes slightly. “I’ve always hated that cesspool. Nothing but…death. Death, pain, and police who don’t care about the people they’re supposed to protect.”
“Heh…you…you got something against Mandela, huh?” Cesar smiled slightly.
“I…grew up there.” Seth said. “…Wouldn’t say it was much of a childhood, but I stayed there until I was old enough to leave.”
“I always felt…weird about Mandela.” Cesar said. “I…I don’t want to go back there in a million years.”
“…Well, sorry to say, kid, but you just might.”
“…What?” Cesar looked at Seth, who was staring at his feet.
“Mandela is where we get quite a few reports from.” Seth explained. “…So you might have to tag along.”
Cesar sighed, the clear worry in his face getting the attention of Seth. He sat up straight, staring at Cesar as he thought to himself.
“Cesar, I’m going to warn you,” Seth stated. “If you want to be in the BPS, you’re gonna need to be ready for anything. You may find yourself in…dangerous situations…situations that can be life or death. You need to know how to defend yourself from those…things out there, and most importantly, you need to be mentally strong. If you don’t think you can do any of those things, I’d recommend leaving now.”
Cesar remained silent, staring at Seth’s face, seeing that his eyes were cold, as if he was fully expecting Cesar to give up right there. Cesar sat still, contemplating as Seth stared at him, awaiting an answer. “I’m giving you an out, Torres.” Seth stated. “You can leave. No one will be mad at you.”
“…No.” Cesar muttered under his breath.
“…No?”
“No, I’m…I’m not just gonna leave before I even start.” Cesar continued. “I want—no—I need answers to some things that…I just can’t get out of my mind. I need to figure out…why.”
“…Why, what?”
“Why…I…saw…” Cesar trailed off, realizing he wasn’t ready to talk about his own…encounter, especially with a man that seemed to not give two shits about him. “I just need to figure things out.”
Seth remained silent for a moment, taking another hit from his cigarette, seeming surprised by Cesar’s response. “Fair enough…I suppose.” He coughed. “Just know that you can’t fool around, you hear?”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Fucking around might very well get you killed.” Seth said, standing up from the couch. Cesar heard a crack come from Seth’s knees, along with a slight grunt as he stood there for a moment, grimacing slightly.
“…You alright?” Cesar asked.
“Yeah…just…” Seth sighed deeply, walking away. “…Fucking bullshit…”
Cesar watched as Seth left the room, brushing past Sarah as she came back with the camera. She watched him leave before looking back At Cesar, quickly walking back to the couch. “Sorry about that, I had to look through one of the boxes for this.” Sarah said, placing the camera on the table.
“Oh…no problem.” Cesar said.
“Did…Seth say anything rude to you?” Sarah asked.
“Huh? Oh…no, not really.” Cesar responded. “…I don’t think.”
“Good…” Sarah said. “I’m just…tired of him threatening new members.”
Cesar looked towards the hallway Seth left through, sighing deeply as he thought to himself. He started wondering if he was really going to get answers for his plight in the BPS, or if he really was putting himself in danger like Seth mentioned. He had been haunted by questions for as long as he had lived in Bythorne, none of which getting any answers. Who knew; maybe Seth would end up warming up to him, as unlikely as it appeared. Until that day however, Cesar was going to be careful. The last thing he needed was to get shot.
#shmorp writes sometimes#tmc#mandela catalogue#tmc alternate au#Cesar Torres (alt au)#sarah heathcliff#Seth greer (tmc)#no warnings for this one.#haha another fic within a week of the last one. didn’t expect that one did ya#yeah. Seth and Cesar may be close later on but. it absolutely didn’t start that way#not as proud of this as the last two but I think that’s because it wasn’t really planned#i just started writing this out one time for shits and giggles#either way. here it is. the dudes. all the bps guys together
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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI
requested by @onedirectionlovers2014
request from @firstclassthot:
Otp prompt #59
Imagine person A and B going shopping together, whether it’s holiday shopping, plants, clothes, grocery shopping, whatever best suits them.
Do they bicker about what to buy? Make stupid jokes about things they see? Talk way to loud and gain stares from those around them?
tags: @illiana-mystery, @eclecticwildflowers
warnings: swearing
AN: Reader is short in this. And the two are newly married. Sorry it’s long.
I had my arm linked through Dan's as we walked through the mall. His other hand was on top of mine, subtly playing with the ring that sat on my finger. I had my hand on top of his, doing the same.
"So where are we headed again?" Dan asked as we stopped in front of a store to look in the window before moving on.
"Bed, bath and beyond." I responded. Dan nodded slowly. "We need sheets, towels, plates, and a few other things. We can get them all there. For a relatively cheaper price."
"You know money isn't really a problem right? I say I'm broke but that's just to get out of things." Dan said softly. I nodded.
"I know. It's just..." I sighed and looked up at him. "First off I don't want people knowing that. Second, it's what every newly wed couple does. Buy the cheap stuff and then later on gets the good stuff." Dan chuckled as we entered the store.
"Alright." He agreed. Taking in the store, he let out a puff of air. "So where to first?" I pulled away from him to grab a cart, missing the quiet whine that he let out. I pushed the cart over to him and smiled as he pushed me out of the way to take over.
"Plates?" I asked. Dan shrugged and looked over the store again. He pointed in the direction of the kitchenware.
"How about we start over there and work our way back around?" I nodded. "This way we can grab everything we need in each department."
"Sounds good." I wrapped my arm around Dan's again as he headed in the direction he had pointed. "We can get appliances later I think." Dan nodded.
"I think Harry or your parents bought us some anyway. So we don't need to get that stuff right now. We can see what we got and then come back if we need to." Dan agreed. We went up and down the aisles, grabbing things we were pretty sure we needed and weren't gifted. Dan and I looked at each other as we found the plates. "This is a lot of options." I nodded.
"Should we just get the plainest set here and then get fancy ones later?" I asked. Dan shrugged.
"Honestly?" He asked. I nodded, a worried look on my face. "I say we get the most basic, cheapest set here. It's just us. Not like Harry or Christine will make fun of us for it if they come over for dinner." Walking down the aisle, I found a set. I picked up the display plate and showed Dan.
"Most basic they have." I said as he joined me. "But..." I trailed off as I put the plate back.
"But what?" Dan asked. I pointed above my head at the box.
"I can't reach it." I laughed lightly. Dan laughed as he stepped up and pulled it off the shelf. Carefully putting it in the cart, Dan turned back to me and hugged me. "Thank you." I whispered. He pressed a kiss to my head before grabbing the cart again.
"Is that the only reason you married me? My height?" I laughed as I wrapped my arm around his again.
"Not the only reason." I teased. "But it sure is a bonus." Dan laughed before turning to kiss my temple. "Next is bedding I think." Dan pushed the cart down the next couple of aisles before we got to the sheets and blankets. I immediately went to the throw blankets before looking back at Dan. "Did you...uh...have a preference?" I asked. Dan shook his head.
"You've seen my room." He said as he looked over the comforters. "Grey sheets. Black comforter. Two pillows." He waved a hand at the wall of comforter sets. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. Go ham." He laughed at the smile I gave him. Picking up two throw blankets in different colors, I tossed them to him. Dan put them in the cart and turned back to the wall of comforters. I grabbed four pillows and put them in the cart.
"Get whatever color you want." I called over. "We have a queen sized bed so anything will do honestly." I turned to look at the options for sheets. I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked at the patterns they had.
“you alright?” Dan asked as he came over to hug me. I nodded absently and waved a hand at the wall. “Oh I see. Too many options.” I nodded.
“well I got a (Y/F/C) comforter and a black one. Figured we could switch them out occasionally.” Dan mumbled. “So…” he trailed off before reaching above my head to get a striped set. “This one? both colors in one?” I nodded and he passed them to me. “How many do we need?” He turned to look at me.
“well growing up I always had four or five.” I muttered. Dan nodded.
“I always had three.” He said. “So four?” I nodded. “How about I pick one more and you pick two? Whichever ones we want.”
“sounds good.” I agreed. I grabbed a set with stars on them and added them to the cart. Sighing, I put my hand on dans back. “Dan?” He hummed as he turned to put his grey set in the cart. “See that checkered set?” Dan nodded.
“I got it sweetheart.” He kissed my cheek before grabbing it. Dan tossed it in the cart before pushing to our next stop. “Towels?” He asked as we passed by. I nodded.
“We need four so get whatever color. We need two big ones, a hand towel and a bath mat in each color.” I listed off. Dan nodded and ducked into the aisle to grab the towels. He came back with a mini tower and at me from around it. I laughed at Dan as he made a face and dumped them in the cart. “I think that’s it.” I said as I consulted the list on my pocket.
“let’s double check we have everything.” Dan said as he pulled the cart over to the side. “Four sets of towels. Including big ones, hand towels and bath mats.” Dan moved them to the side before pulling out the sheets. “Four sets of sheets. Two comforters. Four pillows.” I picked up the throw blankets.
“two throws.” Dan furrowed his eyebrows. “what?”
“why do we need two?” He asked.
“one for you. One for me. For when we’re watching tv or something.” I said. Dan nodded slowly. “What?”
“we can’t share?” He asked softly. “We need separate blankets?” Dan looked from the throws to me. I blinked at him before smiling. “What?”
“you’re cute you know that?” I put my hands on his chest and tugged him down to kiss him. Dan hummed in confusion.
“I don’t get it.” He mumbled. I kissed him again before letting him up.
“we can share.” I whispered. “One is for the couch and one is for the bed. In case it gets cold.” Dan nodded slowly.
“oh.” He turned and put everything back in the cart. “Wait. You said that just to get me didn’t you.” Dan looked at me as I smiled and nodded. “Dammit. For fucks sake (y/n).” Dan chuckled. I moved to hug him and Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.” I nodded as I laid my head on his chest.
“I know. And I love you too.” I whispered. Dan shook his head before kissing my head. “Let’s go check out.” I pulled away and Dan kissed me before letting me pull away completely.
“let’s check out.” He agreed before pushing the cart to the check out counter.
#dan fielding#dan fielding imagine#dan fielding x reader#dan fielding fanfic#dan fielding fanfiction#john larroquette#john larroquette imagine#john larroquette fanfic#john larroquette fanfiction#john larroquette x reader
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Unpleasant Company: An Every Lot Challenge Challenge
inspired by James Turner
*This challenge incorporates mods and cheats and was designed with all the packs in mind, feel free to change the rules around to fit your game.
The Premise:
In a Stardew Valley moment, Angela and Lilith Pleasant have inherited a farm in Chestnut Ridge. However, it's in disrepair. In order to sell it, you need to live there for a while (perhaps a long while...) and fix it up! You will have a list of goals to perform, with every goal, you can remove a lot trait or challenge. Once you've completed all the goals and removed all the challenges and negative lot traits, the challenge is over (as long as you've repaired the relationship between the sisters...) In order to formally finish the challenge, Angela and Lilith must have a dynamic of close, a full relationship bar, and be BFFs. Sounds simple enough, right? Oh, by the way, you're only allowed to leave the lot once a week (see rules below).
The Setup:
The Sims:
Create two YA sims. They can be Angela and Lilith but they don't have to be. You could even try it with a married couple like the Pancakes by adjusting some rules. The world is your oyster. Their traits should conflict (make sure they have awful compatibility!), but you have some freedom with this. I used EA's traits for the twins (Neat/Outgoing/Ambitious for Angela, and Slob/Loner/Kleptomaniac for Lilith). I gave them both the Dastardly bonus trait because I like things difficult I guess. You'll be completing several aspirations for each Sim, but you're not allowed to change the bonus trait. Once you have the sims, move them into any lot, they won't be there long. To Angela (or whoever your "Paragon" is, add the following traits using mods and/or cheats: Top Notch Infant, Top Notch Toddler, Responsible, Emotional Control, Mediator, Good Manners, Compassionate, High Self Esteem. Your Paragon either graduated high school as valedictorian or they graduated early. I also gave Angela the People Person lifestyle. For Lilith (or your "Rebel"), add: Unhappy Infant, Low Self Esteem, Bad Manners, Irresponsible, Uncontrolled Emotions, Argumentative, Insensitive (called "Unfeeling" in the game's code which I find very confusing). Lilith either dropped out or was expelled from high school and is not going to go back. I took everything a step further and made everything about them opposite, so they have different favorite drinks, different favorite movie genres, different weather likes, and opposing political positions. Now make Lilith a werewolf. Cheat the girls' relationship down to -100 and make sure their dynamic is set on difficult. You could have them declare the other an enemy but I didn't do so.
The Farm:
Grandpa's farm was in Chestnut Ridge. I used the 50x50 in Galloping Gulch but you can use any medium to large lot. Be aware that the 64x64 lot in Rider's Glen is a little bugged (Wild Prairie Grass won't grow there for some reason and horses tend to wander off to the side and not come back unless you go get them). Build a house! It can be as big or as small as you want but try to make it seem rundown. Give the girls the cheapest beds (I used the debug ones from Eco Lifestyle). You need to have certain items: an animal shed, a chicken coop, some gardening plots and/or planters, a kitchen, a bathroom, a computer, a bookshelf, the wash tub and clothing line from Laundry Day, a thermostat, an air conditioner, the water heater and electrical fuse box from For Rent, and a pool (but make sure it's gross looking). It is also extremely handy to have a dumpster. Do not buy: a painting easel, massage table, a yoga mat, a meditation stool, a gemology table, a TV, any kind of water/power generating devices, nectar making equipment, a selling table, or a food stand. You can buy all these later but you have to earn the simoleons first. Apply the following lot traits: Cat Hangout, Dog Hangout, and (your choice) Vampire Nexus or Mean Vibe. Now apply every single lot challenge the game has.
Now:
Move the girls into your fixer upper ranch/farm/nightmare using freerealestate. Buy a cow, some chickens, and a few Starter seed packets. Now set the family's money to 500 simoleons. We begin!
The Goals:
To get rid of a lot challenge or negative trait, you have to accomplish a goal. After one of the following is accomplished, use a random number generator or dice or a wheel or whatever to determine which challenge or trait to remove. You may NOT remove Simple Living until after the Grilled Cheese aspiration is completed.
Lilith Reaches the Top of the Criminal career (either branch)
Angela completes any degree
Angela completes the Fabulously Wealthy aspiration
Angela completes the Friend of the World aspiration
Angela achieves a Pristine reputation
Lilith achieves an Atrocious reputation
Lilith has children as a single mother (the old fashioned way, no science babies, but no one moves in with her either). She may either have triplets, or, if you fail to conceive triplets, she can have twins but she'll need to do so twice. The two sets of twins do not have to have the same father but they can.
Lilith completes the Lone Wolf aspiration (you're allowed to leave Chestnut Ridge to go to Moonwood Mill to fight Greg only after achieving every other milestone in the aspiration and maxing out the Fitness skill; you are only allowed to fight Greg in Moonwood Mill. No lollygagging!)
Angela completes the Bestselling Author aspiration
Angela achieves Global Superstar fame level
Someone completes the Expert Nectar Maker aspiration
Someone completes the Grilled Cheese aspiration
Angela completes the Painter Extraordinaire aspiration (you may cheat to complete the milestone that involves going to a Gallery)
Someone grows a Cowplant
Angela maxes Wellness (she'll help out later by giving Lilith a fertility massage to increase the chance of triplets!)
Someone max upgrades a rocket
Someone maxes Handiness
Lilith completes the Body Builder aspiration (you may cheat to complete the milestone that involves going to a Gym)
Someone completes the Crystal collection
Someone completes the Crystal crafter aspiration
The Challenges:
Dust System
Laundry System
Cat Hangout
Dog Hangout
Vampire Nexus or Mean Vibe
Off the Grid
Quake Zone
Cursed
Grody
Gremlins
Filthy
Spooky
Creepy Crawlies
Volcanic Activity
Reduce and Recycle
Simple Living
Wild Foxes
Wild Prairie Grass
Mold
Maintenance Troubles
Rules and Restrictions:
The girls are only let out of their hellhole on Fridays during daytime. They must go to New Appaloosa. Sell nectar to Roberto Crinkletop, sell produce to the general store, make friends, start fights, have yard sales, but ONLY Fridays during daylight hours and only in New Appaloosa. I highly recommend removing or disabling any Home Regions-type mod you may have. There are only so many sims in Chestnut Ridge, and Lilith has to spar with werewolves for one of her aspirations (in addition, make sure 'Limit Werewolves to Moonwood Mill' is toggled off in game options). Note: if you have more pressing things to do on the ranch, one or both of the girls can skip their Friday trip, but keep in mind you're only allowed out once a week! The girls will regularly be going out to rabbitholes (Angela to school, Lilith to work) and this is fine.
Once your rocket is max upgraded, you may freely travel to Sixam. All upgrades must be installed first, however.
At least until Simple Living comes off, the girls must always have at least two chickens and a cow. If your livestock die or seek greener pastures due to insufficient care, just buy more. Animal Aging should be on.
No fire alarms or sprinkler systems.
Angela may never have a job.
Lilith's job cannot contribute to the family income. (I use SNB Banking for this. I set her up a debit account, set up direct deposit and I don't touch that money, but you can use cheats to reset their money too after each work day too.) All reward unlocks should stay in the family inventory, selling them counts as contributing to the family income.
No money trees.
You are not allowed to sell through the inventory. Nectar goes to Roberto Crinkletop (or the store), produce goes to the store, and there is no limit on what/where/when you can set up a yard sale or a food sale.
No getting rid of lifestyles through cheaty methods (Lifestyle Go Poof Reward Potion and Lifestyle Coaching). You can toggle lifestyles off if you want but I think they're a fun challenge.
The family dynamic must change naturally, over time. No using the Dynamic No More Reward Potion.
No using Fear-Be-Gone and all fears should be resolved by the end of the challenge.
All reward traits and all reward potions are allowed except the three just mentioned. Go crazy with the Moodlet Solvers if you want!
No clubs.
No sheltered plants.
The charging and wearing of crystal jewelry is allowed and encouraged!
Lilith can use whatever werewolf abilities she can unlock. You can randomize her temperaments or give them to her with cheats based on her personality. I started her off with the Anti-Capitalist Canine temperament.
I use Little Ms Sam's No Aging trait for Angela and Lilith but you could just turn aging off if you want and age Lilith's kids and any pets up manually. You could alternatively play with aging on and use Potions of Youth at leisure, but I personally don't do well under time pressure. Normal or long lifespan is probably best.
Lilith's kids may be moved out once they reach YA but they don't have to be.
No one else can move in but stay over guests are welcome. Your Sims may adopt any of the strays that come around at any point but make sure the house has enough room for Lilith's kids.
No locking doors or gates and no garlic braids or wreaths. If Vlad comes knocking, Vlad comes knocking.
You can replace lot traits with anything you want once they come off but just the once.
On activity likes and dislikes: you have two options here, either the girls can like and dislike whatever the game assigns them automatically or they can like and dislike nothing.
On Self Discovery: either turn it off, or accept whatever the game hands you every time.
The dust system should be on to begin with.
Mods are obviously allowed but try to steer clear of ones that make the game easier (i.e. easier infant care, less crazy werewolves, burn out tweaks). I would also use caution with mods that make the game much harder, especially more intense fires and more deathly electrocution, but you do you.
Tips:
How can I grow a Cowplant if I'm not allowed out to find a Cowplant Berry? Grafting! It can be a long process, but it's totally doable.
How can I get triplets? Once you've gotten at least one lot trait removed, add the On Ley Line lot trait. Save up Reward points and buy the Fertile Reward Trait for Lilith. Have Angela give Lilith a Fertility Massage (she's supposed to max Wellness anyway). Use Gemology (Shinolite is the crystal you're looking for).
#the sims 4#ts4#ts4 challenge#sims challenge#this is what i spent my day doing#i played for a week in game#and i did like soooooo bad you guys this is really hard don't do it
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Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends
Pairings: Rory Slippery (from Fortysomething) x Reader, Bill Hazeldine (from Suburban Shootout) x Reader
Summary: A first-year medical student at the University of Surrey, you move into a uni house and meet your new flatmates Bill Hazeldine and Rory Slippery
"Yes, mum. I've just pulled up in front of the building," you spoke, precariously holding the phone with one hand while you parked your second-hand car with the other. The car, a dark grey 1990 Honda Accord, a graduation present given to you by your parents, with the idea that you'd be able to be much more independent driving to uni rather than relying on public transport. Of course, it was also a convenient way to get rid of a car they'd been hoping to replace with a much newer, more fuel efficient model. That aside, you were sure that it would make you a bit cooler around campus, not that it truly mattered anyways. "I'll call you again when I'm settled. I love you, Mum."
After exiting the vehicle, and locking it, you opened the door to your uni house for the first time. "Eee!" A rat scurried past you, and a chill ran down your spine. You might need to call someone to deal with that…very soon. With a long look up the wooden stairs, to where the bedrooms were supposed to be, you took a deep breath and picked up one of the three keys laying on a countertop.
To say the house needed some work was a slight understatement. The kitchen sink was leaking like a salivating dog, the faded pastel wallpaper in the living room was peeling near the edges, the furniture was clouded with a coat of dust, and to top it off, the gilded '221' on the door was half-covered in dark rust . No wonder this house was one of the cheapest near campus.
Within one hour filled with heaving, panting, and thankfully no more mice, you were able to get all of your boxes into your room within the uni house. Compared to the rest of the house, the room that you chose had a pale blue paint on the walls, and it vaguely matched the color of the bedsheets you brought with you. The mattress, which was lodged against a large window with one large crack (heaven knows where that came from…some Romeo throwing pebbles?), was relatively stainless though yellow from age.
You unpacked the boombox among your things and filed through the box containing your CDs. Selecting a random one, you let the music play through the house while you dueled with fitted sheets and fought with a bedskirt (why do those even exist??).
"Finally!" You exclaimed with relief, falling back onto the bed after setting it up for the first time. Unpacking the rest of your things wouldn't be so hard, now that the bed was set up. Plus…now you could always take a nap if you were tired. Just then, from a distance, you heard the sound of two people - a middle-aged woman and a man - talking quickly. The door opened with a creak, and was followed by the sounds of their footsteps.
You stealthily left your room, trying to make as little noise as possible with each step. A tall, lanky, boy with dark blonde curls carried a box overflowing with books into the home while the middle-aged woman and man (presumably his parents) could be heard inspecting the house.
"Jeremy, I can't believe the condition of this living room," the woman - slender with a bowl-cut, a few wrinkles upon her face - commented with dismay. She stood near the seemingly rickety, dusty coffee table positioned in front of a small television with a flimsy-looking antenna. You swore she blushed just a tiny bit when she came across a worn-out copy of A Savage Adoration, published by Mills and Boon, hidden under a small ashtray found on the coffee table.
"It'll be a good experience, Joyce," the man peeked from behind a fridge. "I remember my uni house being in worse shape than this…" He didn't seem much taller than the woman, though definitely a bit more stout.
"Hello?" You cautiously asked, introducing yourself as one of the students living in this house for the academic term.
"Oh, you've moved in already?" Joyce's face lit up when she heard who you were. She tentatively came towards you, and looked around the house. "Bill, come say hello to your new flatmate."
You and Bill, the lanky boy with blonde curls you saw earlier, shook hands and exchanged names. His palms were sweaty and his eyes were a mixture of blue and grey, like the sky during a thunderstorm.
"Looks like you'll get your first taste of living among the ladies." Jeremy chuckled, watching his boy reluctantly extend his hand. "Good practice for when you're married."
"Bill, make sure you call every day," Joyce instructed Bill with a hand upon the boy's shoulder. "I want you to promise that you'll stay away from drugs, any kind of parties, or gangs."
"Joyce, our son's all grown up now. He'll be quite alright." Jack commented, and you couldn't help but smirk just a little. Bill, though he may be old enough for uni, just seemed too….baby-faced the more that you looked at him. Not that it was off-putting at all. It made Bill seem angelic and innocent, like the type who wouldn't cause trouble.
Joyce and Jack shook your hand, hugged Bill at least twice, and wished you both luck before finally driving off.
"Where's that coming from?" Bill pointed upstairs in the direction of the music that you'd briefly forgotten about. You could barely hear "Sugar We're Goin Down" playing from your bedroom.
"Oh, it's just my boombox - I put on a CD while I was setting up my bedsheets," you dismissed. "I think I've got a kettle packed somewhere, do you want a cup of tea or some coffee?"
"Tea sounds good." Bill rummaged through a cardboard box and handed you a box of Earl Grey tea packets, along with…a bag of sugar.
"You might need to find another way of storing this," you chuckled, placing the items onto the counter. The electric kettle, filled with tap water, hissed after you plugged it into the outlet. And while the water heated up, you removed the plastic covering off the box of tea bags. Just then, you and Bill heard a knock on the door.
"There's supposed to be a third person here, right?" Bill asked as the two of you shuffled towards the front.
"Yeah…Rory something."
You and Bill opened the door to find another young man with cropped brown hair and sharp cheekbones. He wore a blue and black sweater, a visible white undershirt, and worn out jeans. A pile of boxes, and a stereo were piled near his feet.
"This is…221 Dunmore Street?"
"That's the address, I believe." You pointed the number on the door.
"Where's your family?" Bill asked, lightly squinting.
"Didn't need their help." The young man shook Bill's hand "I'm Rory Slippery."
"Bil Hazeldine. Let me help you get your things." Bill rushed to carry one of Rory's boxes inside.
"Thanks." After Rory introduced himself to you, you extended your hand forward too. Instead of shaking your hand, Rory lowered his head and briefly kissed your knuckles with a little smirk.
You looked down briefly and smiled. "Wow, thanks."
"Always a pleasure."
You picked up another one of Rory's boxes and led him inside the house. "Your key's on that table over there. We've got a kettle going - do you want some tea?"
"Alright."
"The water should be done by now. Let's get all the boxes inside." You, Bill, and Rory continued to carry boxes inside the house. And just like how two of Bill's boxes were overfilled with books, two of Rory's boxes were filled with video games, sweaters, and…hair care products. You made a mental note to ask Rory about that sometime, but not yet.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of you were situated in the living room, sipping steaming mugs of Earl Grey made with the tea bags that Bill had brought. Holding his mug, Rory searched the room for the television remote. Meanwhile, you and Bill sat on a faded couch and the Mills and Boon book was being perfectly ignored on the coffee table.
"Where's everyone from?" Bill was the first to break the ice.
Rory procured the remote from a mystery corner table in the living room, and blew a cloud of dust off of it. "My parents live in Wimbledon."
"Cool! I've been to Wimbledon once. I absolutely loved it."
"That's not far from campus. Why'd you choose a uni house?" You asked, taking another sip.
"I needed my own place." Rory aimed the remote at a television and managed to turn it on. "I'm a grown man now, I need to…be mature for my age."
You raised an eyebrow.
Rory sighed. "I'm a third-year. Transferred from University of Raleigh in time for the new term."
When Bill asked why, Rory confessed that his ex-girlfriend cheated with his brother, and he couldn't put up with it. "I just don't want to come home and see his lying, sniveling coward face everyday."
After a moment of awkward silence, you asked what everyone's courses were. Rory stated that he was interested in Sociology and Bill declared that he wanted to pursue Theology.
"What about you?" Bill asked.
"BMBS," you gently said with a chuckle. "Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery."
"Cool!"
Rory piped up. "My dad's a doctor. I could introduce you to him."
"That'd be great, thank you." You nodded. "What's his speciality?"
"Not sure." Rory shrugged and took another sip.
"I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"I'm not. She was never the one."
"Maybe you'll find someone nice here." Bill cheerfully moved closer to you and Rory, and raised his mug. "A toast to a good year at uni. A new chapter in the books of our lives that will be filled to the brim with
memories."
You and Rory silently clinked your mugs against his.
#rory slippery#bill hazeldine#bill hazeldine imagine#bill hazeldine x reader#tom hiddleston x reader#uni au#tom hiddleston characters#benedict cumberbatch imagine#tom hiddleston imagine#rory slippery x reader#benedict cumberbatch x reader
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IPTV Streaming Box is Your Gateway to Endless Entertainment
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outfit: https://pin.it/7KZda5ZKk
hair: https://pin.it/Xzyjw1x6d
mommy issues!JK
to:
mr. jeon:
4 sounds great!
figure skates? a surprise? what are you up to, mr. jeon? 😏
you reply and once you hit send, you rush to your bedroom to pick an outfit for your date. should you do a skirt? a track suit? pants and top? should you slick your hair down? put clips in it? should you put makeup on? or just go bare-face?
its been so long since you’ve been on the date and you want to make sure you look appropriate for both jungkook and seol. you search high and low for cute outfits but none of them impress you.
*ding*
from:
mr. jeon:
you’ll see 😉
you pick up your phone and read the text jungkook sent back to you and roll your eyes but not in an annoyed way. you continue scouring through your closet and dressers for both an outfit and the box that holds your old ice skates. after 20 minutes, you finally decide on cute denim outfit you had sitting in the back of your closet with a white pair of sneakers but you still couldn’t locate your ice skates.
now that you think about it, you might’ve thrown your skates away with your competition outfits on that fateful day. you looked around every nook and cranny for those ice skates but you still couldn’t find them and ice skates aren’t the cheapest pairs of shoes.
after checking your bedroom closet, you had a hunch that they might be in your living room closet. the moment you opened the closet door, there were your skates still sitting in that old blue and pink box you remember. however, you’re hesitant to pick up and open the box. you can feel it all coming back to you, the amount of times you’ve cried, the first of many burns, you remember it all.
“‘s alright, y/n. it’s over now” you whisper and slowly, you open the box revealing your skates and all kinds of pictures. pictures of your doing tricks in your old costumes, with your friends, and many many more. you take hold of the left boot and attempt to slide it on your foot which surprisingly fit just fine.
“hopefully i still got it” you say as you grab the other boot and set them next to your outfit and get yourself ready for your date in the next few hours.
you bathe, brush and rinse your mouth, put very little make up on and styled your hair with cute clips for seol. by the time you finish it’s 3:48 PM ‘just a little longer’ you think to yourself, so to pass the time you eat a small snack on your couch until jungkook knocks on your door.
by 3:50, you hear two knocks at your door and an excited voice calling for you.
“mommy! mommy! open the door!!” says an excited seol and the moment you open the door, he rushes in to give you a big hug.
“aww, hi seol~ did you miss me?”
“mhm. daddy said we’re going to spend the whole day together!” he jumps.
“we are going to spend the day together” you agree and once you finish speaking to seol, you make sure to greet jungkook with a hug too.
“hi, jungkook. so..what exciting plans do you have for me and seol?”
~🫧
He’s a little shocked to see you guys matching, he loves denim, and Seol is also wearing a denim kind of hoodie suit, he’s so happy because this is a sign from God that you are meant to be as a family together.
And can he just say how pretty you look today? You’re always so pretty and he’s so in love. You should be a stylist because of the way you choose your clothing.
So pretty.
“we are matching!” Seol gushes as he wraps his arms around your legs, Jungkook scratches the back of his head as he tries to think of appropriate words, he can use to complement you without creeping you out. “wow you look…. Like a model.” he says awkwardly, but he’s being genuine right now.
“Uh… I think you’re going to like today’s plan.” He smirks, “even though it’s not really that eventful or special but I thought maybe you could teach me some figure skating, and we could figure skating and we could go to an arcade, then play some games and then finally we could have dinner together! I made reservations just in case!”
Since I told him last night about figure skating, he is so intrigued because it’s sounds a little difficult, and he searched up videos on YouTube- it’s honestly really attractive.
He would love to see some pictures from your past, but maybe you’ll show them to him one day and also you must be really flexible. “I would love it if you could teach me a little bit of figure skating.” He says, he does not know shit about it, but he’s an eager learner specially when you’re the teacher.
“you could say I’m your student today. And you’re my teacher instead.”
He winks, giggling. He can get the figure skaters out at the rink, because of course they must offer them. And they’re gonna be having y’all change these outfits or will they have them let you keep wearing them? He has no idea but he’s excited.
Just like that you are in the elevator waiting for the ground floor to come so you can go to the parking where his car is, “ahhh there is my car.”
Jungkook exclaims before using his key to turn the car on, and he opens the front door for you, like your chauffeur, “come on ma’am.” He jokes and you get in, after making sure that his son is settled on the backseat, Jungkook is off to the rink, driving away.
And don’t think that he didn’t ask you guys if you were hungry, but you both said that maybe you’ll eat later after you’re done with your adventure at the skating rink today.
As he is driving, you’re busy conversing with the four year at the back, “mommy is so pretty!” Seol coos, making jungkook smile as he watches you melt a little.
“I know! She’s gorgeous!” Jungkook says to the toddler munching on biscuits in the back.
You are definitely blushing, because he keeps on looking at you from the front mirror, stealing glances at your face, Small noises of music is playing, and the heater in the car is on because it’s cold.
“I know you’re going to do amazing yn!” He smiles brightly, and after a few minutes of driving, you are at the destination.
And the three of you get into the rink as he talks to the instructor there, you are with him, so he’s not scared you will take care of him, right?
Jungkook tells the staff there that he doesn’t have any skaters, so they gladly provide him with a pair. As you’re putting yours on, he’s so excited.
Seol will be watching from the boundary, a woman is watching him like he made sure to ask her, and he’s so excited too.
“Come on yn!” Jungkook says as he barely manages to come towards you, with his figure skaters on, and he almost falls flat on his face, but you catch his hands.
His heart flutters. “You got me? Yeah?” He asks you. Looking at your intertwined hands.
“Tell me do I get a reward if I do good?”
jungkook & Seol’s outfits :)
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# 4,107
Infinity Records, 2022.
Here’s some wonderful news from Infinity Records: they just received a a copy of Les Rallize Denudes’ Cable Hogue Soundtrack. Everyone knows the lore of this once-obscure mind-blowing Japanese psych / garage band. The majority of their discography is loaded with unofficial bootlegs and very few official releases which I can only count on one hand. How often is it that I come across their records? Never. I did, however, come across their post on social media about it seven days after the fact. A drive out to Massapequa was in the cards, and seeing that LP up for sale meant it would be a fun game of ‘winner-winner-sushi-dinner or too-bad-so-sad’. So did I win? You’ll see sooner than later.
Every one of the island’s record stores closed during the pandemic. Fortunately, they all survived and are still going. It was only Infinity that was in dire straits. They were in danger of losing their store as they were behind on rent. Their landlord wasn’t too forgiving (that’s never a character trait of theirs), so they set up a GoFundMe to keep it going. They only managed to raise $7,272.00 out of $12,000.00 they wanted. No one knows how they did when they came up short. All that matters is that they’re still here.
I walk in and that bell rings. I see at least 15 different people shopping in Infinity’s bins; the busiest I’ve ever seen it. It’s still their old rundown, disorganized, shabby self. It’s just as ‘lost’ like Brooklyn’s Academy but only larger and they could be related in ugliness and unkempt. You can find plenty of empty bins, piles of records, and unmarked stacks of boxes packed with loads of what-the-fuck-is-it. Deteriorating paper and the smell of old cardboard, dust, and decades-old wood permeate the store with a smell that I can’t pinpoint what year it originates from. It’s the scent that attracts older, loose-skinned men in stained clothing. But I do like coming here as they’re one of the least-expensive places selling music. 99¢ classical records, their $2.76 LP bins, $4.00 CDs, and reasonable prices on used vinyl; making it a great location that offers a lot of bang for the buck. Plus, everywhere you turn, there’s always vintage turntables, receivers, and stereo equipment stacked on top of each other to be found.
Cassettes are still plentiful in this day and age and are considered the cheapest and most cumbersome format to buy. They had two racks of tapes on each side of the store. About 500-600 shells on the wall with the usual pre-handled residue and smudges on its shells. So how many did I pick out? Zero. No hip-hop but what I saw was plenty of Seventies, Eighties, and Nineties pop, jazz, movie soundtracks, classical compilations, greatest hits, and and best-of’s I had no interest in taking.
Some of their best bins were the new used arrivals. Give them a few stars for carrying some rare jazz, folk, psych-, and private pressings I’ve never seen before. Want mid-Oughts indie and hipster LP’s like The Hives, MGMT, and and LCD Soundsystem for no more than $20.00 a pressing? They have plenty of that, too. Knowing me, I wouldn’t throw down that amount of money to own a title unless if it was absolutely necessary. It usually isn’t when there’s a physically unmeasurable sliver of hope that you’ll find it somewhere else for less - which has happened before.
I’d head on over to see the jazz / fusion stock. Of all genres I look for, it’s the most consistent, thrifty, and easiest to stock up on. Starting off, I picked Spyro Gyra’s Morning Dance thanks to John Tropea and a few appearances of Suzzane Ciani. Ask me how many times this year I picked up a Deodato album? Infinity had two of them: First Cuckoo and Very Together with Tropea (again) and Steve Gadd. David Sanborn’s Taking Off also have Steve Gadd but traded in John Tropea for Steve Khan. On a whole separate note, Hubert Laws’ Family featured an all-star line-up of his sister Debra, Bobby Lyle, Earl Klugh, and Chick Corea. I nailed my first Gary Bartz LP and got my hands on Richie Cole’s Keeper Of The Flame featuring Vic Juris and Terry Silverlight. I also copped (The Best Of) Jon Lucien, a familiar format released on Columbia where they give a greatest hits compilation to their best artists.
I know from previous visits that the bargain bin of poppy’s basement collection, Jello party, and The Best Of Dean Martin’s Greatest Hits had nothing for me. What I didn’t do last time was surge through their 12” singles section. Now’s the time to redeem myself. It was a joker’s wild of selections mixed with my Atari childhood, golden era hip-hop, old-school hip-hop, and even peak-hipster era. There was a Black Dice 12” featuring tracks from Load Blown never issued on vinyl (a sampler, maybe?), and both Lovebug Starski and a Sugarhill Gang 12” still keep the classic old-school hip-hop quotient going.
Towards the right side of the store were their used CD bins. Like a badly-played game of keno, it was all great stuff for the majority that wasn’t appealing to me. There had to be 30 to 40 columns of stock and I only found three to my liking. The Raveonettes’ In And Out Of Control and Metallica’s Garage Inc. that was part of the Selden-era (community college). I was surprised to find a Sacred Bones in the mix: Zola Jesus’ Versions. How many more -Bones releases must I have? The answer: never enough!
4PM approached and the customer count dropped dramatically. There wasn’t the crowd of three who hawkeyed the five-wide new vinyl arrivals section as before. It was all mine as I was concerned. Again, I didn’t care to spend full price on a new vinyl LP, but there were plenty of lower-priced ones I could be looking for. The diamond of the day was finding a copy of Buzzcocks’ Spiral Scratch, their first-ever release of theirs. Only two 12” pressings were made and I happened to get a bootleg copy, but the $15.00 asking price was reasonably fair. That LP alone would be the most expensive purchase of the entire day.
**********
Oh, yeah…about that Les Rallize Denudes record. I kept an eye out for it but never popped up in my sights. For the avoidance of all doubt, I showed their post to one of their own who worked there and asked if they saw it. So far, no luck. They did ask me if I looked at the vinyl records on the wall, which I said “no, not yet”. They took a quick glance but they didn’t recognize it and suggested that I comb through the new arrivals section again. I did a second look-through but I still didn’t see it. I assumed someone else got to it before I did, you vicious bastard whoever you are.
I never ever seen a Les Rallize Denudes release in the wild. Those are incredibly scarce outside of Japan. They’re one of those bands of lore which myth became a verified legend because of the internet. I bet that once people discovered them that they started grabbing whatever they could find of theirs. Demand has exceeded supply in their case; more than enough that there couldn’t possibly be anyone else besides myself on this ignoramus island I live on who knows them. Apparently there was. I could imagine that Les Rallize Denudes record didn’t even last a day in the store. Only right before closing was when I was informed by them that someone else did grab it, according to their other co-workers on the phone.
I had only a few minutes to thumb through the small 7” / 45’s bins and came across lots of blank-sleeved singles. No hardcore, no punk, nothing. By then it’s already 5PM. I didn’t have enough time to go through the other larger 7” bins and didn’t even think to thumb through their $2.76 records. I declare myself done and cash out. I didn’t know anyone working there on a first-name basis, nor the kinder older gentleman who tallied up all the things I purchased, but at least he was nice to me and not an arrogant pretentious spiteful scumbag which is considered garden variety on the island. This year’s visit cost me $105.00 and change, which was give or take $2.00 away from my last visit’s purchase. It could’ve been more if I captured that Les Rallize Denude LP. Imagine how proud I might’ve felt if I did. I hand him my card, ran everything through, and I was all good to go.
Then I remembered one more thing: Infinity always has a small candy dish filled with Hershey’s miniatures, Jolly Ranchers, M&M’s, Dum-Dums, and other colorful jollies. No store on the island has one. I look down at the dish to take a piece and there were no more chocolates but plenty of Dum-Dums for the taking. One of their regulars ate all the chocolates before I got to them but I at least got myself a free Infinity badge. Look who’s going to be a little hungry on the way home?
Black Dice: Load Blown 12” sampler
Buzzcocks: Spiral Scratch 12″ EP
Deodato: Very Together LP
Jon Lucien: The Best Of... LP
David Sanborn: Taking Off LP
Spyro Gyra: Morning Dance LP
Hubert Laws: Family LP
Gary Bartz: Love Affair LP
Richie Cole: Keeper Of The Flame LP
George Benson: Blue Benson LP
Deodato: First Cuckoo LP
Lovebug Starski: “House Rocker” 12″
Robert Palmer: “I Didn’t Mean To Turn You On” 12″
Lou Reed: “No Money Down” 12″
Sugarhill Gang: “Sugarhill Groove” b/w “8th Wonder” 12″
Father MC: “Everything’s Gonna’ Be Alright” 12″
Billy Ocean: “Carribean Queen” 12″
Raveonettes, The: In And Out Of Control CD
Metallica: Garage Inc. CD
Zola Jesus: Versions CD
#Long Island#personal#vinyl#records#music#omega#reviews#playlists#mixtapes#noise#punk#jazz#fusion#groove#hip-hop#rap#old-school#pop#rock#dance#golden era#noise rock#metal#electronic
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Falling for Hogan's Heroes - Day 12: Cabin fever
Newkirk was staring at the ceiling of his cell. He had made one simple mistake and now here he was, in a Gestapo cell somewhere in Hammelburg. This was awful. By now, he would prefer it if he was still being questioned. The officers were cold, barely even human and they kept repeating the same questions, but at least they talked to him. Now, they were trying a different tactic, it seemed: Cabin fever. Barely any food, only very limited space to walk around in, and worst of all, no human contact. The cheapest trick in the book, Newkirk thought. Frustratingly though, it was starting to work and there was nothing he could do. With an annoyed scoff, he jumped off his “bed” and started pacing. He had no idea what time it was or how long it had been. Time here was measured in meals but they could be giving them to him whenever they liked. On top of that, Sleep wasn’t a viable method anymore either. Newkirk was tired, almost constantly tired, but he could hardly ever fall asleep. If he did, it was not for long. This was madness. It was hell. It was-
Suddenly, the door opened and a guard came in. Finally, a human face.
“Follow me”, he ordered with a heavy accent.
Newkirk obeyed, pondering if he should waste energy on grimacing or not. His cell door fell shut behind him. Were they going to question him again? Hopefully. At least it meant human interaction. Well, one-sided interaction mostly because Newkirk would still say nothing. Wait. That was a different turn than last time. He remembered this hallway. This led…
The setting sun shone right in Newkirk’s eyes, blinding him for a moment. Then, he saw himself faced with another truck. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Where were they taking him now? No time to think. The guards shoved him forward and forced him into the back of the truck before climbing inside with him.
What followed now was agony. A drive that felt like hours, first on even roads, then down bumpy paths. Newkirk had no idea where they were going. Suddenly, he heard familiar voices outside. Could it be? No. It couldn’t be. But it had to be!
The doors of the van opened and Newkirk looked into the faces of two guards. But not just any guards. He knew those guards! These were guards from Stalag 13! He was back in Stalag 13! Well, it probably meant he would go to the cooler now, but at least he was away from the Gestapo! And the cooler had a tunnel in it! Compared to that ruddy cell he had just come out of, this was heaven! Newkirk had to suppress his joy as he watched Klink speak to one of the Gestapo men. Then, they said goodbye. Klink looked at Newkirk with what was probably supposed to be a piercing glare, but after the last few hours, days, whatever it had been, it looked pitiful at best. With a wave, Newkirk was brought to the cooler, which now looked like a fancy hotel suite.
It was only when he had settled in that he realized how horrible he felt. He was exhausted, cold and starving all at the same time. Suddenly, the cell door opened to reveal…
“Vicky!” Newkirk gasped as soon as the door was shut again.
Vicky ran into his arms, almost knocking him over. Before he could fully grasp what was going on, she had pressed her lips onto his.
“I was so worried”, she blurted out. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine, they just-”
“They were starving you, weren’t they? - Here.” Vicky pulled out a lunch box and a fork from a bag she had been carrying. “It’s nothing special but it’s what LeBeau could make in the time it takes to drive here from Hammelburg.”
The box was still warm when Newkirk took it into his hand. Inside were noodles with tomato sauce. Nothing special to her. To him, this might as well be a five-course meal.
“Do you like it?” Vicky asked.
“Do I like it?” Newkirk echoed. “Of course I like it! What are you so insecure about?”
Vicky let out a sigh of relief. “I was worried you’d maybe prefer something else.”
“You could’ve given me anything and I would’ve eaten it.”
“But I want you to enjoy what you’re eating. You’ve been through so much, you more than deserve it.”
Newkirk looked at her with a smile. “You got me free, didn’t you?”
“Well, it was more luck than skill, I-”
“You called them and told them to bring me back ‘ere.”
“I told them you were an escaped prisoner they had caught by chance. It took some heavy convincing, but the officer was seemingly having a good day.
“‘Ow long was I in that Gestapo cell for?” Newkirk asked, putting down his food.
“Almost exactly three days”, Vicky replied hoarsely.
“Three days? That’s 72 ‘ours, right?”
“72 hours, yes.”
“Alright”, Newkirk said with a grin.
He cupped Vicky’s face in his hands and started peppering it with kisses, causing Vicky to squeal quietly. It took a few seconds for her to start moving again and finally hold him in place.
“Stop, stop”, she gasped between giggles.
“But I ‘aven’t gotten to 72 kisses yet”, Newkirk protested, despite the fact that he really hadn’t been counting.
“You’ll make me faint if you go on like this. Please, at least give me a break.”
“If that means more kisses later…”
“Fine. More kisses later. But first you eat your food and then I’ll get my revenge.”
“Whatever you say, love.”
#hogan's heroes#peter newkirk#hogan's heroes oc#oc: vicky brandt#zoe allen#otp: thief of my heart#fanfiction#falling for hogan's heroes
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Cyberpunk Helsinki Session #6.5-7
Prep took a fair chunk of Sessions 6 and 7, so I figured I'd clump it together.
We made use of Cordoba's gang contacts and Citrine's parents' credit card and got everyone outfitted. We'd also managed to secure our payment in advance from Syóveri, since this mess was entirely above our pay grade. Everyone got a set of night optics. Maxx bought an AKs-74u, some smartgoggles, and the second-cheapest smartgun conversion eddies could buy for the SR-3M the group stole from Helheim.
After that, we examined how we were going to storm a garage with at least 7 or 8 assholes in it. The bikers and their guards were holed up in a two-story garage (map at the bottom). The lower entrance was a gated yard with a razorwired chainlink fence around it. Their bikes were visible, and a guard patrolled the roof overlooking it. A shitty, sparking generator and its fuel tank were feasible targets from outside. The upper entrance to the garage was down a narrow alley between two buildings, which would be a deathtrap for anyone approaching armed. They would likely have AKs at worst, but we didn’t expect them to have any AP rounds or night sights, since they were most likely intending to shoot unarmoured protesters during the day.
A haphazard plan began to form.
We would make use of Citrine's people skills and mine a stack of pizzaboxes. Citrine would convince the guard that she was a driver who'd been given the wrong address, and she'd offload the boxes onto him so she could get on with the rest of her deliveries. Loco and Cordoba would wait at the edges of the alley, and Maxx would wait a little ways off, with eyes on the roof guard and the fuel tank out back. Ideally the guard would take the boxes into the garage, after which we would set off the explosives inside. On Cordoba's signal, Maxx would fire on the fuel tank and on the roof guard. The tank's explosion wouldn't be immediate, but it would be eventual. Cordoba's drone would be waiting overhead to drop an incendiary IED on the bikes, in the hopes of both cutting off their means of a quick getaway, and of leaving through the yard exit. If we could could funnel them through the alley, we could gun them down with comparatively little hassle.
We put the most effort into the pizza delivery end of the scheme.
-We couldn't park within view of the alley entrance.
-Citrine would have to wear nondescript plain black clothes to pass for a uniform. Thankfully it was cold enough that she could wear a coat over top to mask the lack of corp logo.
-We would buy two pizzas beforehand so Cordoba could glue the bozes together and wire them with remote explosives (4 minigrenades and an EMP), and then 3 pizzas right before the hit so we could sandwich the rigged box between real, fresh pizzas (And so we could steal a thermal pizza bag from the delivery driver).
After that, it was anyone's guess how the shootout would go.
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