#honestly i’m only good at assembling furniture
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"femmes generalizing butches to be good at assembling furniture/driving/maintenance/strength-based tasks is butchphobic!!!" is genuinely like wow you hate dykes huh
#and before you ask: i am terrible at many of those things#honestly i’m only good at assembling furniture#text#mine#lesbian#lesbiansafe#cw d slur reclaimed#butch/femme#butch/fem
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Not sure if I’m doing this right since I’m new to tumbler :D but hi love ur writing followed you in an instant!
I was wondering if you could write something for a very low self esteem, inexperienced reader who goes to uni so is like 21 or something and is Miguel’s neighbor. They live in this building and their other neighbor is a rude lady who complains at the slightest Noise basically. she doesn’t dare bother Miguel but is always bothering the reader since reader can’t tell her to f off. Reader is just such sweet chubby lil cinnamon roll :(
Idk if I should have been less descriptive or more TvT; ?
Anyway hope you’re doing great :D don’t forget to hydrate ♥️
1K Prompts
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Sexual Touching (With Clothes on), Slight Fluff
Summary: He helps you, you help him.
A/N: This is perfect, don’t worry, love!!!
Word Count: 2.4K (Not Edited)
This is most definitely going to leave you a crying wreck in your bathroom later.
Your nerves were already on high alert with finally becoming independent and moving out of the college dorms, that pesky exam and assignment you procrastinated on working on, and your job has been firing and hiring people left and right. The last thing you needed was your cranky old neighbor, (it is crazy to think that you once thought she was going to be a kind old woman who would give you cookies when she was lonely), to come banging on your door with a list of complaints and reasons why she could get you evicted. You do not know what to do, never being in this type of situation before. Honestly, you do not even know about half the things this woman is accusing you of.
You can only stand there, hand tightly holding the door open as you try not to cry from stress. In your head, you are counting in an effort to make sure your breaths are coming out evenly. The last thing you want is to have a panic attack and have your neighbor add the threat of a mental hospital to the list. You nod along weakly to what she says, letting out whispered apologies that only seem to make her angrier.
“You useless teenagers and your need to ruin good things, don’t think I forgot when you tr-”
“Is there a problem here?”
His voice is deep and smooth, causing the both of you to jolt. You visibly relax when you turn your head to find Miguel standing outside his apartment door. He has just gotten back from work and running errands, his lab coat draped over his arm as he holds paper bags in his arms. His hair is slightly tousled from the autumn breeze, and a few strands of his black hair are scattered with grey. His sweater hugs his arms and torso in a way that is mouthwatering, and you quickly look away when his eyes meet yours.
Miguel is the only neighbor you really know. He had helped you the first time you moved in, hearing the way you struggled to bring some things up to your apartment. He offered to help, carrying in boxes faster than you could into your apartment. When you had gotten furniture, he was happy to come over and assemble it for you. He is so kind to you, offering to help with a leaking pipe or to answer any of your questions about how to do something. You might have grown a slight crush on your neighbor, something that slightly freaked you out when you realized because of the obvious age gap the two of you have. You have not even finished college yet and he is in his mid-thirties working in a big corporate lab.
Miguel clears his throat and you look back at him. He stares at you expectantly, totally ignoring the stuttering woman who tries to answer his question. He is only ever interested in what you have to say. You flush under his intent gaze, quickly shaking your head. You do not want to cause more problems, and you definitely do not want to have your cranky neighbor form a bigger vendetta against you.
Miguel’s eyebrow raises, definitely catching the anxious expression on your face. He hums dismissively after a minute, eyes lazily trailing back to the older woman. His nose scrunches up slightly at the sight of her and he looks away again as the woman stops trying to defend herself. Miguel shrugs, the paper bags rustling with their contents. He turns to face you, once again ignoring the older woman.
“Then you wouldn’t mind helping me put away my groceries, right? Can’t get my keys with my hands full,” Miguel speaks in a lazy drawl.
You are quick to nod your head in agreement, stepping out of your doorway and closing the door. The woman steps back, a displeased look on her face as she watches you walk over to Miguel. Miguel keeps his eyes trained on you, watching everything you do. You are shy when you smile up at him. With your back turned towards the old woman, you mouth a ‘thank you’ to him. His eyes instantly snap to your lips, intently studying your exaggerated words. His eyes seem to darken for a second before he blinks and it is gone. His eyes trail back up to your eyes and he tilts his head slightly down.
“Keys are in my pants pocket.”
You quickly nod, whispering out an ‘okay’. Your face burns as you have to get closer to him to not knock into his arms. The angle is slightly awkward, your hands slip into his pants pocket and your face burns from having your hand so close to his…thing. As you try to find his keys, Miguel looks down at you with a heated look. He watches silently for a few minutes before looking back up and over your shoulder to the older woman. His face is masked in indifference, maintaining eye contact with her until she fidgets and turns away without saying a word.
At the same time she walks into her own apartment, you make a sound of victory as you finally retrieve his keys. You dangle them in his face with a proud smile, and he gives you an amused smirk. He steps away from his apartment door, giving you room to step in front of him and unlock his door. As you insert the key, you feel Miguel press up against your back. His warmth seeps into your spine and you are quick to bite your tongue so you do not let out a squeal.
His breath tickles your neck and ear, warm and slightly minty. “What did I tell you about standing up for yourself, hmm cariño?”
The question rumbles with his voice and you have to hold your breath in order to not make an embarrassing sound. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and instantly regret it. He has not moved his face yet, and you are a breath away from him. If you leaned forward the slightest bit, your noses would be touching. You gulp nervously, and Miguel’s eyes trail down to your lips once again. He lets out a deep hum as you lick them nervously.
“I- she’s not that mean to me.” You whisper out in the older woman’s defense. You cannot help the way your lashes flutter as you try to meet his eyes.
Miguel scoffs at your defense, finally backing away from you. He shifts his hold on the bags, freeing his hand to turn the doorknob. Your hand is still there, and your breath hitches when his large hand encompasses yours. His hand moves both yours and the doorknob, making a combined effort to open the door. You are still watching him from over your shoulder, mouth slightly opened in awe. Miguel looks down at you, something playful in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side.
“You’re blocking the doorway, cariño. The ice cream I got you is going to melt.”
Your blush returns from the pet name and you stutter out an apology as you rush inside his apartment. It’s warm, and you’re hit with the smell of him. You find the light switch and turn on the lights, flooding the whole place with a warm glow. Miguel follows you into the kitchen, placing the paper bags on the dining room table. He rummages through them, glaring at you when you try to grab one to start helping. His hands connect with something cold, and he pulls out a personal pint of ice cream. He hands it over to you and you turn it around to see the label. Your eyes instantly light up when you read the brand and flavor. Last week you had ranted to Miguel about how the grocery store did not have your favorite ice cream in stock as he was fixing a problem with your internet. The whole time he just hummed along, you did not actually think he was listening.
He smiles softly at you as you beam up at him. He turns back to the groceries, sighing when he sees your hand reaching for the bags again. He turns to you with a bored expression. He gently removes your hands from the bag, telling you to go eat your ice cream before it melts. You grumble playfully under your breath, complaining about how you were supposed to be helping. He chuckles as he follows after you, getting a spoon out for you.
“I thought the whole point was that I was supposed to help you put the groceries away, not eat them.”
Your complaining is cut off by a yelp when Miguel grabs your waist. He lifts you up, putting you on top of the counter. Your eyes are wide as you look at him and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You squirm slightly from his proximity.
“You can help me by sitting prettily and keeping me company. Tell me about your day.”
He pulls away then, returning to the dining room table and carrying a bag to the counter next to you. Your eyes are still bashful as you watch him, quietly opening your ice cream and beginning to eat it. Miguel starts to pull contents from the bag and looks over at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you begin to go through your day, easing into it the more you talk. You speak between bites of ice cream, half paying attention to Miguel as he walks around the kitchen to place things in their proper places. Occasionally, he looks over at you as you speak, his eyes trained on the way you place the spoon in your mouth and lick at the delicious treat.
You are almost done when he puts the last thing away. He walks over to you as you continue talking absentmindedly, just finished slipping the spoon out of your mouth again. You stop talking when Miguel’s eyes drop to your mouth, his thumb coming up the swipe at your lower lip. When he pulls it away, a bit of melted ice cream is stuck to his skin. His eyes meet yours again when he brings it to his mouth, licking it away. He hums in appreciation for the taste.
Your mouth drops open with a gasp as you watch, eyes trained on the pink muscle. You watch as his lips form a sly smile, and you blush as you look back into his eyes. But his eyes are still trained on your parted mouth, eyes dilated and hungry. He leans forward slightly, hand returning to rub at your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. He is not kissing you exactly, only sucking on your lip until it is swollen and red. He gives it a small nip before he pulls away, his hands falling to rub your thighs. It causes a small whimper to escape your mouth and Miguel basks in the noise.
His hand seeps closer and closer to the area between your thighs, grabbing the carton of ice cream and moving it to the side. His hands hastily return to the area between your thighs, fingers brushing against your center. Your breath hitches and you look down to where his hands are. Your attention is snapped away when his gravelly voice meets your ears.
“Continue with the story, querida. You don’t sound like you finished.”
You stutter over your words, the topic of conversation blanking from your mind. Miguel chuckles knowingly, his fingers continuing to brush up and down until they land on your clothed bud. He presses into it hard enough so you can feel it through the fabric of your pants and panties, gently reminding you where you left off. You nod nervously, hands snapping up to meet his shoulders as you feel wetness rushing into your panties. You stutter and choke on your words, eyes shutting as you rotate your hips sloppily into his hand. The movement is jerky, and you feel slightly embarrassed at how painfully obvious it is that no one has ever touched you like this before. But Miguel seems to like it, likes the idea that you’re untouched and he is the only person who has seen you like this.
It gets even better when you make those soft noises, cutting yourself off and having to be reminded about what you were saying. Miguel continues his hand movements, pressing into you and rubbing and stroking. Your wetness has seeped through your panties, dampening the material of your leggings. If you were not lost in how good it feels, you would have been grossed out and uncomfortable. A weak call of his name escapes you and Miguel looks up from your cunt to look at your face. He hums in acknowledgement, watching as you try to pull his face closer to yours in a kiss.
He swiftly avoids it, and you would have curled into yourself at the blunt rejection if you did not become distracted by his mouth suck and licking along your neck and jaw. Your mouth falls open with a moan, head leaning back to give him more room. He groans against your skin, fingers pressing tight circles to your clit. With a few hard circles, your back arches and your hold on him tightens. Gasping moans leave you and you feel the band in you snap, releasing more wetness into your panties as you finish. Miguel pulls his head away from your neck, keeping his fingers to your bud as you ride out the orgasm. Once you slump back down, he pulls his hands away. As you catch your breath, Miguel cleans up the mess on the counter. He reaches over, closing your melted ice cream and putting the spoon in the sink.
You are still in a daze when he pushes the warm container in your hands, his own hands gentle as he lifts you off the counter. Your eyes are glossy in after-lust as he gently guides you out of his apartment and into yours. His warm hand leaves the small of your back, massaging your sides before he whispers a thank you into your ear for your help. You are only pulled completely out of your daze when you hear your door lock and close as Miguel leaves. You turn to look at the door, cheeks blazing as you clutch tightly onto your ice cream.
You are totally getting a noise complaint for that old woman tomorrow.
Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4
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Tying You to Me: Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Word Count: 10.3K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M
A/N: I’m sorry it took so long, but Chapter Eight is finally here! Thank you so much for reading -- I’m honestly surprised people are still interested in reading about Harry and Quinn and it truly makes me day when I see this story in my notes. My inbox is always open, so don’t hesitate to share your thoughts when you’re finished reading!
***
November 2019
“Harry! You can’t do it like that. It’s going to burn.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not!”
Quinn watched in horror as Harry rotated a marshmallow over the lighter he’d pulled from the back of a kitchen drawer, trying to avoid burning his fingertips as he toasted the fluffy treat. But it only took one second before the marshmallow crossed the very fine line between perfectly toasted and burnt.
It had been Harry’s idea to spend Sunday having a cozy date night at Quinn’s loft. He’d wined and dined her with a candlelit dinner of his famous cacio e pepe served alongside a vintage red, and when he mentioned dessert, Quinn figured it would be equally fancy. So, when Harry pulled a bag of Jet-Puffed Marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a bar of Hershey’s chocolate from the cabinet, she was surprised.
“You were talking about your summers at camp last week, so I figured we could throw it back and try to make our own version,” Harry had said, unwrapping the ingredients.
Which is how they found themselves standing over the sink, Bic lighter in hand, trying to toast marshmallows with no fire pit in sight. After Harry’s third failed attempt, Quinn laid her hand on his arm, gently suggesting they try something else for dessert. Harry, stubborn as ever, destroyed two more marshmallows before accepting the pint of ice cream Quinn had offered as a consolation prize.
Quinn snuggled into Harry’s side, digging her spoon into the carton he was holding while he pulled up the new reality show they had started last week. Ice cream on the spoon, she held it against Harry’s lips, which he opened to accept the treat as he pressed play.
It had been a perfect evening.
Honestly, all of her evenings had been perfect since that night in Lisa’s bathroom.
After their official reconciliation, Harry and Quinn quickly adapted to being a couple. His remaining days in New York had been spent with Quinn, in his apartment, where they enjoyed cooking meals together and searching for apartments until Quinn found the loft of her dreams in Clinton. As much as Harry wanted Quinn to continue to stay in his empty apartment, he knew having a place of her own was important to her, so he was right by her side the day she signed the lease, carrying boxes and assembling furniture until the early hours of the morning.
When it was time for him to leave the city a few weeks later, he made a promise that the distance wouldn’t come between them this time, and that he would be the partner Quinn deserved. She was hesitant, but each day, Harry lived up to his promise, checking in with her throughout the day, making sure they talked before bed each night, and counting down the days until they could reunite in person. He was the perfect boyfriend, and Quinn was over the moon when Harry returned to the city in September as promised, ready to serve as Quinn’s date to Maria’s wedding.
The effort wasn’t one-sided. Quinn carved out time to visit Harry when he was in Los Angeles, spending time with his friends and watching him work through songs for his upcoming album. She made sure to communicate with him as much as she could, realizing that her tendency to hold things in contributed to their prior downfall.
Things weren’t perfect. They’d had a few spats over trivial things – like driving to the reception venue for Maria’s wedding and trying to figure out what time to arrive at the airport – but overall things had been good and healthy, and Quinn had started measuring her life in the number of days until she could see Harry again.
Quinn knew things wouldn’t always be easy, especially with the new season of SNL gearing up and Harry turning his attention to promo for his new album, but they’d discussed how they would get through this busy stretch. Quinn was certain things would be fine, knowing that she could survive without seeing Harry in person, but she was still pleasantly surprised when his name came up during a pitch meeting for the final stretch of episodes for 2019.
She’d arrived late to the meeting after sorting out a scheduling issue for the current week’s show, and when she slid into the seat at the end of the table, she thought she’d misheard what Lorne had said.
“Who?” she asked.
“Harry Styles. His new album is coming out soon, right?” Lorne asked before taking a sip of water.
“Yeah, December 13,” Quinn said without thinking.
Everyone’s eyes turned to her as she panicked. With the exception of Marcus, no one at SNL knew about her and Harry and everything they’d been through. At first, she’d kept the secret simply because of the tenuous nature of the relationship in its early days, but even now with the commitment and stability she wasn’t sure how much she should say. She knew Harry valued his privacy and she did everything in her power to respect that. And while friends and family and all of the important people in her life knew that they were together, she wasn’t sure if it was time to tell her work colleagues, especially since the revelation would likely create more questions.
“Big Harry Styles fan, Quinn?” Che asked, as Marcus tried to hide his giggles behind a well-placed file folder.
“Uh, my old roommate is,” Quinn fibbed, as heat filled her cheeks. “She said his new single is really good. Kind of different from his first record.”
“I think he’d be a good fit for a hosting slot,” Lindsay said, seconding Lorne. “He’s popular and he’ll definitely bring a younger audience. And I’d love to see what he can do with the full set of sketches. He was great in that one he did last time.”
“Celebrity Family Feud,” Quinn supplied. God damn it, why did she keep doing this?
Once again eyes were on her as the rest of the producers and head writers laughed at her.
“Quinn,” Colin said. “This is a safe space. You can admit you’re the one that’s the Harry fan. You don’t need to hide behind your ‘old roommate.’”
“Fuck you, Colin,” Quinn said as the Update anchor laughed.
“So we’re all set for November,” Lorne said, getting the meeting back on track. “Kristen Stewart, Harry Styles, and Will. Make the calls people, let’s get this locked in.”
Quinn caught Marcus’ eye as the room emptied out, and they made their way to the empty breakroom across the hall.
“That was totally normal,” he began when the door was closed.
“Yeah, I really melted down there.”
“It’s fine. Everyone just thinks you’re a stan now. And in a way, aren’t you the biggest one of them all?”
Quinn lightly socked Marcus in the shoulder, leaving him laughing in the room. As she spent the rest of the morning checking items off of her to-do list, she thought about texting Harry and letting him know about that morning’s conversation, but she wasn’t sure if that crossed some sort of professional or personal boundary, so she’d kept silent. But as she was finishing her desk salad and vending machine Diet Coke, her phone vibrated with a text from him.
Jeffrey just informed me that I’m wanted as host and musical guest for an upcoming SNL episode. Do you have anything to do with this?
Quinn poked out a reply with one hand. Believe it or not they were already discussing you when I came into the room. You’ve got a lot of fans here. Must have made a good impression or something.
Harry was quick to respond. You weren’t the only person I took to the coat room.
Quinn laughed. And here I thought I was special.
You’re the most special of them all. You’re my girl.
Quinn smiled at her phone as her stomach flipped. She didn’t know when she’d become one of those women who smiled at her phone and got all gooey when some guy texted her, but she was sure there was some correlation to Harry’s arrival in her life. Are you going to do it? she asked.
Harry’s contact photo filled her screen and she put down her fork to accept the call and lift the phone to her ear.
“Hi love,” Harry said.
“Hiiiii.”
“Finishing up lunch?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, chewing on a piece of lettuce. “What’s up?”
“Do you think I should do it?”
Quinn paused. She and Harry often talked about their professional endeavors, but they rarely sought advice from one another. She was flattered that he valued her opinion enough to ask about this and she spoke without hesitation. “I think you should.”
And that was how Harry found himself in New York City two weeks before Thanksgiving, roasting marshmallows in his girlfriend’s loft. Quinn still had to work, but Harry kept himself busy, working on his own projects and quietly playing tourist during the day, before excitedly embracing his role as Quinn’s supportive boyfriend at night, having dinner or a late night snack ready for her when she walked through the door, and helping her destress any way she needed.
Harry’s laugh brought Quinn back to the present, tucked under his arm, the evening before his week at SNL started. They hadn’t had the time to discuss it last week, and when Quinn had tried to bring it up throughout the day, he’d noticeably changed the subject of conversation. She hadn’t pushed, knowing there was likely a reason he didn’t want to discuss it and just tried her best to show that she was there for him if he needed the support.
When the show ended, Quinn tightened her grip around Harry’s waist and tilted her head up to kiss his jaw. “Ready for bed?” she asked.
“Yeah, we should probably turn in,” he said. “Got a big week ahead of us.”
He flicked the TV off and stood up, pulling Quinn with him. They went through their nighttime routine together, pulling on pajamas, brushing teeth, and applying different moisturizers and creams until they collapsed into bed together, assuming the familiar position – facing each other with legs intertwined, Harry's hand on top of Quinn’s hip.
Her t-shirt had shifted up, exposing part of her side, and Harry’s hand instantly found it, tracing shapes along her warm skin. Over the past couple of months, Quinn had learned that this was some sort of soothing routine, a way to ground him after a busy day or calm him when he was stressed. The more comfort he needed, the more intricate the shapes became. Tonight, it felt like he was drawing some sort of floral pattern, which put Quinn on high alert. At this point, she knew better than to pry so she lay in silence gazing at Harry’s downturned eyes, hoping her presence would help him open up.
His hand drifted up from her hip up her ribcage before he spoke.
“Do I need to prepare any jokes for tomorrow? Come in with my own monologue?”
So that’s what it was. Quinn rested her hand against his face, stroking his cheekbone.
“No,” she murmured. “But you do need to have three or four sketches prepared.”
Harry smiled as he pinched her side before turning solemn again. “How do you think this week is going to go?”
Quinn was puzzled by his question. She hadn’t been expecting that one. “Hopefully it will be business as usual,” she said. “We’ll have a pitch meeting, write some sketches, rehearse, put on a show. Same as every week.”
“But do you think I’ll be able to do it?”
Ah, the other issue.
Quinn tilted Harry’s face up so he was looking at her again. In the dim light of the bedroom, she saw something that wasn’t common with Harry: insecurity. He carried himself with such confidence in his career and life that she wasn’t used to needing to comfort him in this way.
“Harry, you’re going to be fine,” she said, softly stroking his hair. “I hate to break it to you, but you are massively popular, incredibly well-liked, and every single person at the show is excited that you’re hosting this week. They don’t get excited about shitty hosts.”
“But what if I let them down?”
“That’s not going to happen. You’re funny, you can act, and you’re charming as hell.”
“Did they only pick me because we’re dating?”
Quinn paused. “No. Because it’s kind of hard to know we’re dating if I haven’t told them.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “They don’t know about us? Haven’t we been through this before?”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “It’s not the same and you know it. I’ve just tried to respect your privacy by keeping things on a need-to-know basis, and I just feel that Colin Jost and Michael Che don’t need to know that we are in a relationship. But the point is, you were asked on your own merit, Harry. And you’re going to kill it this week.”
She leaned in to kiss him firmly, and Harry adjusted his position on the bed to pull Quinn against him in a tight hug. She could feel him start to relax and settle and she felt good knowing her words had calmed him. She stayed awake until she heard his breathing even out and when she woke the next morning, she heard Harry in the kitchen, brewing coffee and cooking pancakes and eggs, his anxiety from the night before gone.
Quinn had to get to 30 Rock a little earlier than Harry, so she multitasked, putting on makeup while she ate and answering Harry’s remaining questions. Even with the distraction of Harry, she was unlocking her office a little bit before eight, starting on emails and scheduling, when she heard someone clearing their throat in the doorway. She looked up and saw Marcus standing there, carrying a cup of iced coffee.
“For me?” Quinn asked, surprised. She and Marcus usually gave each other a heads up before grabbing coffee for the other.
“This week’s host and musical guest had a provision in his rider that his girlfriend needed a coffee to start her week on a good note.”
“He did not say that.”
“Well, not in the rider but he did text me this morning and ask if I’d be willing to play along with his joke.”
Quinn arched an eyebrow as she put the straw in the cup. “You all text?”
“Occasionally. Really only when we need to talk about you.”
“You text about me?”
“It’s actually a whole group text. It can be emotionally exhausting dealing with you sometimes and we all need a support group to deal with it,” he said, kidding. “Are you nervous about this week,” Marcus asked, changing the subject. “About working with Harry?”
“No,” Quinn said. She didn’t add that Harry was the one who was nervous, not wanting to betray his trust. “It will be interesting for sure. But it should be fun.”
Fun it was.
Quinn could sense the moment Harry stepped into the halls, just by the change of energy in the room. The always electric atmosphere had been amped up and as she walked from her office to one of the conference rooms she could hear whispers from excited interns and pages who still couldn’t believe the Harry Styles was going to be spending the week with them. Quinn had expected it to be somewhat like this, but nothing prepared her for the reaction when he actually stepped through the door.
Harry was wearing an ornate coat over top of a vintage tee and wide-legged jeans, the denim newsboy cap he’d grown so attached to in recent months perched on his head. The combination would look out of place on literally anyone, but looked annoyingly good on him.
Quinn fought back the urge to run to Harry and throw herself in his arms, and instead took the opportunity to observe. Harry’s quiet confidence had returned, and he greeted every person he passed, introducing himself and repeating the name of whoever he was speaking to. He took his time with each conversation, even though Quinn could see Marcus, his new intern, Bennett, and Tommy, one of Harry’s managers trying their best to hurry him along. They caught sight of Quinn and Marcus and Bennett waved while Tommy shook his head and rolled his eyes at Harry’s slow pace down the hall. When Harry finally made his way to the conference room, he stopped beside Quinn and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
“Did you enjoy your coffee?”
“Yeah, the bar’s pretty high for Ferrell next week. He’s going to have to get me coffee and a pastry.”
Harry barked a sharp laugh.
Quinn looked at him closely. “How are you feeling?”
“The nerves are definitely there, but they’re the good kind.”
Quinn nodded. “That’s what I like to hear.” She was about to say something else, when she heard Lindsay and Higgins call for everyone to be seated. She scooted past Harry and sat on the periphery of the room, ready to take notes and offer input when needed, just as she did every other week.
It was odd getting to observe her boyfriend in a professional environment, but Quinn was weirdly into it. Harry was authentically himself in whatever situation he found himself in, listening attentively to make whoever he was speaking to feel like the only person in the room. He was appropriately humble and bashful, and he appeared game for every sketch the writers and cast members suggested, though Quinn suspected some of the more provocative ones would politely be dismissed by Harry’s team.
When the pitch meeting wrapped a couple hours later, Quinn lingered, trying to get a moment with Harry, wanting to tell him that he’d done well. He seemed a little more assured as he chatted with the cast members, but she figured a little bit of encouragement couldn’t hurt. Getting a second alone with him proved to be more difficult than she imagined, and eventually she had to dash to her next meeting, catching Harry’s eye with a sorrowful shrug before leaving the room.
Quinn managed to iron out publicity schedules for the week and resolve several small issues with costumes and props not having the supplies they’d need for later on in the week, and was more than ready to sit down with her late lunch. She collected her salad from one of the restaurants on the concourse and was seated at her desk when there was a knock at the door.
“This is Quinn, our best and brightest producer,” she heard Marcus say. “But I guess you already know that.”
“Ah, yes, I believe Quinn and I have met before,” Harry said, poking his head through the door and grinning impishly.
“What are you two doing?” Quinn asked, standing to hug Harry.
“Just gossiping about you,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her.
“I told you,” Marcus said from the hall. “We talk. But seriously, I was just giving him the standard tour for hosts. Figured we could make a quick detour to see you though.”
“Well, I appreciate that,” Quinn said, leaning against Harry, who hadn’t removed his hands from her.
“We can finish the tour in 20?” Marcus asked Harry, who nodded in return.
Marcus closed the door behind him, granting Harry and Quinn a sliver of privacy, and Harry sank onto the couch opposite Quinn’s desk, pulling her on top of him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said against her hair.
“Harry, we’ve been in the same building the entire day.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t see you or talk to you or do this.” He gripped her face in his hands and pulled her close, sucking a lengthy kiss from her lips.
“Feel better now?” Quinn asked when they parted.
“A little.”
“You’re doing a great job, Harry,” Quinn said. “You really are.”
Harry let out a slow breath. “Not going to lie, I really needed to hear that.”
“Still feeling apprehensive?” Quinn brought her hand up to his face and started rubbing the spot behind his ear that she knew made him melt.
“Yeah, like I’m excited and it’s been so much fun but I also feel like I’m not going to be good. Especially after hearing some of the things they want to try. When they put a script in my hand it’s going to be like ‘Ugh, this guy.’”
“Harry, I’ve seen you act and do sketches and I guarantee that even if you bomb, you won’t be the worst host we’ve had.”
Harry hummed softly and rested his head against Quinn’s chest as she shifted and began to stroke his hair.
“Do you think that one sketch is too much?” he asked after a minute.
“Which one?”
“The one about the band?”
Quinn thought for a moment. “As someone who has no connection to the subject matter, I think it’s funny, but I can see why you might have concerns. And if you’re uncomfortable, you can and should speak up. They’ll find something else that works.”
Harry pursed his lips. “I don’t want to be difficult,” he said.
“You’re not,” Quinn reassured him. “As host you’re allowed to veto certain subjects and if you don’t want to say it yourself, you can have Jeffrey tell me and I can tell everyone else. There’s plenty of options.”
Harry nodded. Quinn could still see the wheels turning – his brain rarely shut off when it came to work, something that was both admirable and frustrating – but he seemed less concerned.
“Thank you, Agent Q.”
“Not a problem. I’ve never been able to serve as girlfriend and producer in the same conversation so it was kind of fun.”
Harry chuckled. “Are you busy? Do you have stuff to do?”
“I was getting ready to eat lunch, so nothing at the moment.”
“Shit!” Harry exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me? You need to eat.”
“Harry, it is a soggy salad from Sweetgreen that will still be soggy, regardless of whether I eat it now or later.”
Harry loosened his grip on Quinn and prodded her forward. “Go eat.”
Quinn rolled her eyes and moved back to her desk, opening the salad and bottle of water, taking a bit as Harry looked around the room.
“What’s that from?” he asked, pointing at a framed piece of posterboard on the wall.
“Cue card from my first show as producer,” Quinn replied. “They give out cue cards for monumental shows…first show, last show, things like that.”
“And are those just pictures from work,” Harry asked, standing to get a closer look at the rows of pictures that were tacked onto the wall around the frame.
Quinn nodded as she swallowed. “Yeah, Marcus and I decided to take a picture to commemorate our first show. Felicity Jones was the host. And after that we just decided to take pictures for each show and pick the one that best captured the events of the week and hang it up.”
Harry scanned the pictures. “Are they in order?”
“Yes…”
“Hmmm.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The week we met.”
She should have known. This was typical sentimental Harry.
“Up and to your right,” Quinn said. She watched Harry move until he locked in on the picture. He laughed softly and turned back to Quinn. “Seriously?”
The picture was one Marcus had taken on show night the week Harry and Quinn had met. It was a shot of Quinn’s back as she stood off to the side watching Harry perform. It was a simple moment, but given their past, present, and dreams for the future, it was full of emotion and meaning.
Quinn shrugged. “Marcus gave it to me the Monday after your show and said that even if nothing happened, I should remember the moment. It was a pretty good one.”
Harry just looked at Quinn, love and adoration in his eyes. “Yeah, it was.”
“Harry? Are you ready to continue the tour?” Marcus called from outside the door.
Harry cursed silently under his breath. “Yeah, one minute.” He turned his attention back to Quinn. “Are you coming to the dinner tonight?”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Harry said, kissing her on the cheek and walking out of her office.
Quinn kept herself busy for the rest of the afternoon and before she knew it, it was time for the cast dinner. Each Monday, the cast, writers, and producers would have dinner with that week’s host at a fancy Midtown restaurant. It was a way to connect and bond with the person that would be at the center of that week’s show, while also indulging in a moment of levity before the hard work of the week kicked off. The dinners were intimidating at first – how weird was it to eat next to Tina Fey or Steve Martin? – but Quinn eventually acclimated and started to appreciate the opportunity she had to meet the people who had inspired her to follow this career path.
When it came time to leave, Quinn thought about sharing a car with Harry, but knew that would prompt questions, so she headed out with Lindsey and Racquel, a recent addition to the writer’s room, just as she had the past couple of weeks. At the restaurant, Quinn saw Harry from across the room and he offered her a big wave and smile before turning back to his conversation with Pete and Chris. Quinn thought about heading over towards the men, but got distracted by her own conversation with Racquel and Cecily, who had just arrived.
As more cast members showed up, people headed for the tables and Quinn found herself far away from Harry. He looked a little disappointed that they weren’t closer, but quickly perked up once Colin asked him about his upcoming album. The mood of the evening was jovial, and with Harry at the head of the table next to Lorne, he looked like a prince holding court with his subjects. Everyone was enamored with him, hanging onto his every word and jostling to chat with him and get his opinion on different topics. It was like he was an old friend that everyone was catching up with, and Quinn felt a burst of pride that she was the one who would get to go home with him that night.
The food was delicious. Appetizers, salads, steaks, pasta, and plenty of desserts filled the table and drinks were replenished quickly. Quinn was starting to loosen up after her second glass of wine, and from across the room, she’d seen that Harry had also indulged, two empty glasses of tequila in front of him. Filled with food and alcohol, things started to wind down a couple of hours later when the realization that tomorrow was a long day with an early start hit, causing everyone to call Ubers, Lyfts, and taxis to take them home.
Over the course of the evening, Quinn and Racquel had migrated around the table and found themselves sitting with Heidi and Melissa discussing last week’s show, as the party wound down. She was listening to Melissa talk about an Update segment when she heard someone come up behind her. She paid no mind to it until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Heidi, Melissa, it was nice to meet you today,” Harry said, words steady even after a couple of drinks. “Really looking forward to this week.” He looked down at Quinn and bent to press a kiss to her head. “I’m going to head out now, but I’ll see you at home?”
Quinn was still. “Yeah, I’ll see you at home,” she said, squeezing his hand.
When Harry had walked away, Quinn turned back to Heidi, Melissa, and Racquel. The three women were staring at her open-mouthed in shock.
“Did he just kiss you?” Melissa asked.
“Did you both say see you at home?” Racquel asked.
“Quinn, I respect your right to privacy,” Heidi said. “But also I don’t. Tell me everything! What is happening?”
“So, Harry and I know each other,” Quinn began.
“That much is clear,” Melissa replied.
“We met when I was an intern, kind of saw each other for a little bit, lost touch, and then reconnected earlier this year and decided to start dating – properly.”
“Finally! A woman on this show uses it to find a date! The men have done that long enough. I’m proud of you, Quinn,” Heidi said, lifting her glass.
“But why didn’t you tell us?” Racquel asked. As much time as the cast and crew spent together, everyone knew each other’s business, so the fact that Quinn was able to keep her relationship with Harry a secret for as long as she did was kind of impressive.
Quinn sighed. “Well, at first it was just because I wasn’t sure where it was going and then when we made things official this year, it was more of a privacy thing. I know it’s sometimes hard for him to have things that are just his, and I wanted to respect that.”
“That’s really sweet, Quinn,” Melissa said, as Heidi and Racquel nodded. “I can see that you all would be good together. Even with the limited amount of time I’ve spent with him, he seems like a wonderful person – just what our Quinn needs.”
Quinn flushed with embarrassment. “Thank you. He is pretty great, isn’t he?”
The other women nodded their agreement and the conversation quickly shifted back to work and other topics, before they all agreed it was getting too late and they should head out. Quinn called an Uber and texted Harry from the backseat that she was on her way.
Hurry up, he replied. The bed is cold without you.
Quinn smiled and raced into the building when the car dropped her off, willing the elevator ride to her loft to go a little faster. She unlocked the door and walked into the unit, smiling to herself as she placed her keys on the hook in the entryway. It still hadn’t sunk in that she had her own space after so many years of rooming with others.
“Quinn?” she heard Harry call from the bedroom.
She climbed the stairs and poked her head in the room. Harry was lying in bed, shirtless, a book splayed across his chest. “You rang?” she asked.
“How was the rest of the dinner?” Harry asked, drowsily sliding up to rest against the headboard.
“It was nice,” Quinn said, taking off her rings and unfastening her necklace, placing them in a jewelry dish on her dresser. “But um…” she trailed off as she turned her attention to the stubborn earring back she was wrestling with. “People might know we’re dating now.”
She paused, gauging Harry’s reaction. “Are you OK with that?” she asked after a minute.
Harry laughed. “Yeah, I kind of told Chris and Pete and Lorne at the start of dinner. Are you OK with that?”
“Lorne?” Quinn said. “Lorne knows?”
“Are you mad?” Harry asked, suddenly concerned that he had made a severe mistake. “I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s fine, Harry,” Quinn said, cutting him off with a laugh. “It’s just I don’t think I’ve ever told Lorne anything about my personal life so this just feels like kind of a big step.” She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Harry, who reached out to rub her lower back. “I guess we’re just really embracing the whole workplace romance thing this week.”
“Does that mean we can have sex in your office?”
“Harry!”
“What? I figured I would ask.”
“That’s going to be a no,” Quinn said, stepping away to finish getting undressed. “Tonight in this bedroom though? I can be into that.”
***
News of Harry and Quinn’s relationship was the talk of the town when they arrived at 30 Rock on Tuesday morning.
Everyone from Colin and Che to Wally, who was responsible for cue cards each week, seemed to know and wanted to congratulate Quinn. Thankfully, the rhythm of the work week soon took precedence and everyone began the day-long writing session.
Since the host traditionally didn’t participate in writing the sketches, Harry had less to do, but filled the day working on the musical aspect of Saturday night, and as Quinn dashed around the halls and studio, she heard the faint echoes of his voice, which put a smile on her face. When he was done with rehearsal, Harry convinced her to take a break, a rare occurrence in recent months, as Quinn typically found herself working through lunch. At 12pm exactly, Harry knocked on the door of Quinn’s office. Quinn looked up from her desk and saw Harry standing there with two sandwiches and bottles of water.
“Time for lunch?” he asked.
“Yes! What did you get?” Quinn asked, moving a pile of papers to make space for Harry and the food.
“Tuna for me, turkey for you.” He placed the sandwiches on the table and started to unwrap them. “Busy morning?”
“Eh, it’s the calm before the storm. Once we have all the sketches selected things will amp up and I’ll have to make sure everything’s on track for production. I’m also helping to coordinate the pre-taped sketches this week so that’s another thing on the list.”
“So what you’re saying is I won’t see you until Sunday morning?”
“Pretty much.” Quinn took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “This is really good. Where did you find it?”
“Jeffrey picked it up a couple of blocks away.”
“He’s doing food runs for you now? When did I miss this?”
Harry ignored her playful jab. “It’s amazing all of the good food you can find if you actually leave the building.”
Quinn shook her head. “If I had the time I would. How’s today been? Are you feeling a little more comfortable?”
“Yeah. A little nervous about what sketches are going to be written but it should be fun to figure that out.”
“Remember you always have veto power.”
“Thank you for reminding me, Madam Producer.”
Quinn smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Harry?” James, one of the fall interns poked his head in through the cracked door. “Eric told me to come find you because they need you for a wardrobe fitting.” He looked over at Quinn. “Hi Quinn!” He seemed to reconsider. “Is it OK if Harry leaves? Or do you still need him.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn said, offering an encouraging smile. James was a sweet kid and she could tell he was often nervous about saying or doing the wrong thing. “We were just eating lunch.”
“I’ll check in later, OK?” Harry looked at Quinn. “Maybe we can do dinner?”
“I’d love to if I have the time.”
There was no time though, and over the next few days Harry and Quinn were like ships passing in the night, catching glimpses of each other in the hall or across the table, but not really connecting until they collapsed into bed next to each other, too tired to do anything but mumble a sleepy goodnight and share a kiss. Quinn knew things wouldn’t ease up until Sunday morning when they officially wrapped the week but Harry was surprised by the frenetic pace of things.
“I don’t know how you are able to do this week after week,” he said on Wednesday afternoon, filling a cup of coffee before the table read. “I think I’m sleepwalking.”
Even with the adjustment required, everything came naturally to Harry, something that didn’t surprise Quinn. During the table read he nailed nearly every sketch that was placed in front of him, which made finalizing the list for the live show much more difficult. Julio and Bowen’s sketch about Sara Lee’s Instagram comments was an immediate hit, as was one about airline pilots. Harry was open to anything, barring one sketch parodying a potential One Direction reunion that he politely declined.
When Friday rolled around, Quinn was on set, supervising the pre-recorded sketches – one in which Harry played a dog come to life and another where he played a high school student and rapped. Watching Harry made Quinn forget about the exhaustion and the stress of the week and she truly enjoyed seeing him in his element. He could probably make a full-time pivot to comedy if he wanted based on the response from the rest of the crew and the cast.
“Hey girl!”
Quinn looked up from her space in the auditorium to see Heidi and Melissa making their way over with Kim, one of the wardrobe supervisors.
“Hey!” Quinn called back. “Happy Friday. How’re things?”
“Good good,” Heidi said, stirring her iced coffee.
“They have you on pre-recorded sketches this week?” Kim asked, grimacing. “Does Lorne realize how much work you already do?”
Quinn shrugged. “What’s one more thing added to my already overflowing plate?”
“Quinn’s just happy because she gets to watch her man charm the pants off of literally everyone,” Melissa chimed in.
“I won’t lie, that is a perk,” Quinn said, laughing.
“Oh that’s right,” Kim said. “I forgot to tell you congratulations. So happy for you Quinn.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. “I won’t lie, it is kind of weird to have people congratulate me on this. It’s not like we’re married or anything.”
“Yet!” Melissa and Heidi said at the same time.
“Stop it,” Quinn said, fiddling with her notes.
“Do you see the way he looks at you, Quinn?” Melissa asked. “He is the epitome of a heart eye emoji.”
“Quinn, do you understand just how good of catch he is?” Heidi jumped in. “He refused to touch my shoulder during the birthing class sketch because I hadn’t given him consent yet. If I wasn’t married and you weren’t dating him, I would have made out with him on the spot.”
“He is pretty wonderful,” Quinn said.
“We just need to enjoy your time with you while we can,” Kim said, squeezing Quinn’s hand.
“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, confused.
“Well, if things are going to get more serious, you all are going to have to think about the future. Marriage, kids. Look at how many people here are able to have a family. Practically no one.”
Quinn felt hot all over. “Kenan has a wife and kids.”
“Let me rephrase that,” Kim said. “Look how many women are able to have a family and still do the show.”
Quinn searched her brain. None of the women who were currently working in the cast or among the writers and producers had kids. She understood that it would be difficult to have a kid with the intense schedule during show weeks but she’d always figured she’d make it work and that her partner would help out. But if her partner was touring the world…She felt sick when she came to the realization.
“Kim, you’ve terrified her,” Melissa chided. “You can do whatever you want sweetie. And everyone here will support you because we love you.” She leaned in to give Quinn an awkward sitting side hug.
“Yeah, and it’s not like we’ve even talked about any of that,” Quinn said softly, not able to hear herself over the roaring in her ears.
She thought she heard Rhys call cut and announce that they’d wrapped, and she jumped from her seat, struggling to regulate her breathing as she made her way back to her office, looking for a moment of solitude to fix whatever was happening to her right now.
Slamming the door she sat on the couch and tried to pull air into her lungs. She’d been fine five minutes ago. What the hell was happening? She closed her eyes and took slow, deep breaths. She’d been talking with Melissa, Heidi, and Kim. Kim! It was Kim reminding her that even as good as things were, she still had no idea what the future would hold for her and Harry. Taking things one week at a time was working now, but what about when they wanted more? You couldn’t take things one week at a time with a houseplant, or a dog, or a kid.
And that’s ultimately what she wanted – a life with Harry full of leafy greenery, furry dogs, and rambunctious kids who were the perfect combination of their parents. Kids whose parents who toured the world and produced late night comedy shows and never saw them. Quinn had no idea why this was suddenly such a massive problem, but it was killing her that while she could solve any issue the production faced she couldn’t find the solution to this problem that impacted her the most. She was so caught up in the spiral of thoughts that she didn’t hear Harry come in and take a seat next to her.
“What’s wrong, Quinn?” he asked.
She turned to look at him. He was still wearing the sweater and collar from the dog sketch they had finished filming, concern all over his face as he took in her disheveled state.
“You’re not supposed to be wearing that when you’re not filming,” she said softly.
“I’m not really worried about that now,” Harry said gently. “I saw you run out of the studio and thought something was wrong. You didn’t look…well,” he finished carefully.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Because crying and hyperventilating on the couch doesn’t seem fine.”
“What’s going to happen when we have kids, Harry?”
“H –”
“Not now Jeffrey!” Harry all but shouted at his manager outside the door. He looked at Quinn with surprise. “Is there something you need to tell me?” he asked, lowering his voice as Jeffrey’s footsteps faded outside the door. “We’ve been careful, right?”
“I’m not pregnant,” Quinn said firmly. “But what if I was? What would we do with a baby when you’re on tour and I’m here.”
Harry was silent, mulling his response. “I’m a little confused,” he finally said.
Quinn threw her head in her hands and started to cry while a surprised Harry rubbed circles on her back. He didn’t say anything, he just let her get it out.
“Quinn, can we talk –” An intern was outside the door.
“Quinn’s not available at the moment,” Harry said when it became clear Quinn was in no position to speak.
When she’d run out of tears, Harry spoke again.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he said. “From the beginning?”
“I was just talking with some of the girls and they were joking about us being a good match and one of them brought up us getting married and having kids and how that would make it hard for me to work here and I just had this moment of panic when I realized that we haven’t had any conversations about the future and you’re going on tour again and I’m busier than ever and how this is going to be our life and if that’s our life how do all of those other things fit in?”
“Um, wow, OK,” Harry said, trying to process everything Quinn just dropped on him. “Those are all really important conversations we need to have,” he said carefully. “But I don’t think your office when we’re both sleep deprived and have to put on a live show tomorrow night is time to discuss this.” He took her hand. “But I agree, this is something we need to talk about.”
Quinn looked at him. “You’re not freaked out?”
Harry shook his head. “No. A little caught off guard, yes, but not freaked. Definitely wasn’t planning on having a conversation about kids this soon, but if that’s something you want and need to discuss, I’m here.” He paused. “This is part of me trying to be a better partner for you. I want to make sure you feel heard and supported.” Quinn looked at him. “That was too cheesy, wasn’t it?” he said, cringing, cheeks pink.
“It was cheesy, but hearing that made me fall in love with you a little more.”
Harry reached up to wipe a tear from Quinn’s cheek. “We’ll talk about this later, but what can I do for you now?”
“Just hold me for a minute,” Quinn said.
Harry obliged, and he opened his arms for Quinn to slide in. They sat like that for a few minutes until the intern returned, calling Quinn back to the studio.
“It’ll be OK,” Harry said, giving her a final squeeze before heading to another fitting.
Quinn made it through the rest of the day without having another breakdown but she still felt on edge the entire time. When she and Harry made it home in the early hours of Saturday morning, they rushed through their respective routines before climbing into bed. Harry opened his arms for Quinn, and she wrapped hers around his solid torso, cuddling in beside him as tight as she could.
“What are you doing the rest of the month?” Harry asked.
“I’ve got another show next weekend and then I was just going to stay in the city for Thanksgiving since my parents are on their cruise.”
“Why don’t we go away somewhere?” Harry suggested. “Just the two of us, no work, no distractions. We can talk, get some quality time in before things get crazy.”
Quinn looked up at him. “I’d really love that, Harry.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “I thought you would. How would you feel about a long weekend in the Hamptons? I might have a lead on a beach house.”
“I’d be very OK with that,” Quinn said, kissing him back.
***
Saturday’s call time came much earlier than either of them would like, but Harry and Quinn arrived at 30 Rock ready for game time. Quinn put aside the panic of the day before and shifted into full producer mode, making sure everything was in line. Even though Harry was concerned about Quinn, he put his full attention on the show, gamely moving from last-minute fittings to sound check to prepping for dress rehearsal.
The first audience arrived around 7 ahead of the 8 o’clock dress rehearsal and Quinn went to check on Harry, waiting behind the curtain that would part to let him walk down the iconic steps and begin his monologue.
“This is just a dress rehearsal,” Quinn whispered, adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “It’s like fight club – nothing leaves this room.”
Harry chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Just as Quinn suspected, Harry had nothing to worry about. The audience was eating out of the palm of his hand from the moment he stepped onstage. The Sara Lee sketch was a crowd favorite and Lorne gave a nod to the rest of the producers, signaling this was one sketch that absolutely had to make it to the live show. Harry’s musical performances were equally well received, and Quinn was certain that even despite strict privacy rules, some of the audience members would be making it known that a new song would be performed that night.
“We’re about four minutes over,” Lindsey said when the rehearsal was over. “What are we cutting?”
“I think we go with one of the pre-recorded sketches,” Quinn said confidently. “Nothing wrong with them but that’s an easy way to get additional views throughout the week. Maybe keep Joan Song in but make Jason a Cut for Time?”
“I like it,” Lorne said. And with that, the show was locked.
With everything finalized, Quinn made her last minute rounds to everyone, checking to make sure that everyone had what they needed, ending her journey back where she’d left Harry a few hours before.
He was shifting on his feet, eyes closed. Quinn stood off to the side, not wanting to interrupt whatever meditation or pre-show ritual he was in the middle of. After a few minutes his eyes opened and an easy smile formed on his lips when he saw Quinn.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“A little nervous but better now,” he said, echoing the words they’d exchanged when they’d first done this dance more than two years ago.
Quinn hugged him. “You’re going to fucking kill it, Harry.” She looked him up and down. “And look sexy as fuck when you do it.”
“This is a million times better than the pep talk you gave me last time. Do you really like the outfit?”
“I do. It’s a shame that the pants aren’t tighter, though. I miss seeing your ass,” she said.
“Well darling that’s the thing,” he drawled lazily against her ear. “Only you get to see the goods. Have to cover them up for everyone else.”
Quinn placed one final kiss on Harry’s lips before she stepped away and he took the stage.
The other producers had graciously offered to pick up some of Quinn’s show night responsibilities so she could sit back and watch Harry uninterrupted, an act of kindness she’d be sure to repay. For 90 minutes that night, she was just a face in the crowd, laughing at her boyfriend’s jokes, not worrying about her next meeting or how they were going to make this relationship work in the long run. As she sat back and enjoyed the show, she was amazed by how the evening made her love Harry and her job even more than she already did. During the final sketch, she snuck out of the crowd and made her way backstage and when Harry ran offstage after bows, her arms were where he landed.
“Proud of you,” Quinn whispered against his chest. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
The after party was wild, though Harry and Quinn didn’t end up in the coat room this time. Cast members and guests each wanted a piece of the man of the hour and Harry happily obliged, posing for pictures, accepting drinks, and even doing a couple rounds of tequila shots
Harry and Quinn were both hungover on Sunday morning, so the day was spent in bed, watching TV, spooning, and eating takeout before Harry started packing for his early morning flight. The moment hit Quinn harder than she was expecting. She’d known this was the plan for weeks, and even though she’d be seeing him again in about 10 days, she still felt a sense of loss.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Harry said as they left the next morning, him heading to the airport while Quinn went back to 30 Rock.
She was running a bit later than usual and texted Marcus, asking if he wanted her to bring him some coffee. His response was immediate – duh – and Quinn was only a few minutes off from her usual arrival time when she strolled in with the drinks, Marcus dutifully waiting outside of her office.
“I’ve got a present for you,” he said, holding the cups while Quinn unlocked the door.
“Do you?”
Marcus handed her an envelope in response.
She opened it as he sipped his coffee, watching her expectantly. The envelope contained a single four by six photo. The moment captured was the embrace between Harry and Quinn right before he went on for the live show.
“Marcus,” Quinn said, voice breaking.
“I was looking for you and saw that and just knew that was the moment of the week,” he said.
“Thank you,” Quinn said, standing and fetching a thumb tack from her desk. She walked over to the wall and pinned the photo next to last week’s. The moment of the week indeed.
***
One Week Later
“Do you think that’s enough pasta?” Harry asked quietly as they walked through the aisles of the grocery store.
“It’s a three-pound box and there’s two of us. I think it’s fine,” Quinn said with a laugh.
“I guess we can always get more if we need it,” Harry said, continuing to read the back of two boxes, while Quinn just shook her head.
They were picking up the last of the ingredients they’d need for dinner before heading back to the beach house to enjoy the rest of the holiday weekend. Quinn had been on cloud nine since they’d started the drive out of the city and her mood had only improved the more time she spent around Harry. He was the one that could effortlessly pull a smile from her and make her belly laugh every day, and as Quinn continued to mull Kim’s comments in the studio, she needed Harry’s charms more than ever.
When they’d arrived at the secluded beach house on Sunday night, they’d collapsed into bed, Harry’s lips quickly finding Quinn’s as he pinned her against the mattress and made love to her until their moans bounced off the ceiling and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Monday, unseasonably warm, was spent on the sandy strip of ocean front property adjacent to their lodgings, Harry pulling Quinn into the waves with him, laughing maniacally when they were both knocked over by a particularly strong one. Tuesday and Wednesday, typical November days were spent in the heated pool, where Harry alternated between swimming laps, starting a splash fight, and attaching himself to Quinn. Quinn wasn’t expecting much for the holiday on Thursday – it had been a low key affair growing up and she’d kept that tradition in her adult life – but Harry, in his typical fashion, surprised Quinn with an early dinner consisting of all the fixings of a Thanksgiving feast.
“I thought about roasting a turkey,” he admitted. “But knowing you’d be the only one to eat it, I felt like I might be punishing you with it instead.”
Quinn thanked him twice, first kissing him all over as he stood in the kitchen, and then getting on her knees before him in the shower later that night.
They’d gone an entire week without mentioning Quinn’s breakdown in her office. Not addressing the problem at hand was what they did best, after all. Quinn was hesitant to broach the subject, knowing that the serious conversation would likely put a damper on the remainder of the week. But Harry had made attempts to break down the walls Quinn had put up around her, testing the waters with questions here and there, not pushing further when Quinn made it clear she wasn’t in the mood to discuss things.
Which brought them to Saturday afternoon in the grocery store. As they were quietly debating the merits of different packages of pasta, a woman and a couple of children walked down the opposite side of the aisle.
“Mommy! Can I have this?” the girl shouted, pointing at a box of brown rice.
“No.”
“Can I have this?” The child was still fixated on brown rice, just a different brand.
“No.”
Quinn knew the mother was probably exasperated, patience wearing thin, but to Quinn, the child’s antics were comical. As she silently laughed, she caught Harry’s eye. He was doing the same, covering his mouth to mask his smile.
“That could be us one day,” he whispered in Quinn’s ear after the family had moved to the next aisle.
Quinn looked up at him. “We’re not having this discussion now, Harry.” She pulled a box of pasta from the shelf without looking, threw it in the cart, and walked away.
“Seriously?” Harry jogged lightly to keep up with Quinn’s quickened pace, still holding onto the boxes he’d been reading. “Two weeks ago you were sitting in your office crying over how we’re going to raise our non-existent kids that we hadn’t even discussed but I can’t make a casual comment like that? Feels like a double standard.”
“It’s more than a casual comment, Harry, and you know that.”
Harry pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about it, Quinn. We both said we were going to be better, and that means communicating.”
“So, we’re just going to have this conversation in the middle of a Stop & Shop?”
“Well, when you’ve been avoiding me all week…yes!” Harry was speaking quietly but there was a new level of intensity in his eyes. “You’ve got to talk to me, baby,” he said, the softness of his voice not matching the frustration on his face. “I want to make it better but I can’t do that unless you talk to me.”
Quinn could feel a storm of emotions brewing inside of her, the combination that made her want to throw herself on the ground and scream and cry like a child. She was trying to find the words to tell Harry this and every other thought that had been bouncing around her head for weeks, but they wouldn’t come out.
“Harry,” she said, voice breaking.
He instantly dropped the boxes he’d been holding and pulled her into his arms, smoothing his hands up and down her back. Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and fought back tears. She’d had a lot of personal low points in her life and she was adamant crying in the pasta aisle would not be added to that list. When she felt like she had things under control, she pulled away and looked up at Harry. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “But why don’t we grab the last couple of things and head home?”
Quinn nodded, relinquishing control of both the grocery list and shopping cart to Harry, who quickly completed the trip. On the way back to the beach house, Harry stopped at a small coffeehouse they’d come to love during the week, buying Quinn a large, sugar-laden latte as a peace offering.
At home, Quinn was silent as they unpacked groceries and started dinner, the music from one of Harry’s playlists filling the room as they worked in perfect harmony to finish the meal. As they ate, Quinn started to open up as they sat down to eat, answering the softball questions Harry tossed at her – Who was hosting next week? How many shows were left in the season? What were her plans for Christmas?
When the dishes were washed, Harry led Quinn over to the couch. She sat down and tucked her legs under her, close enough that her knees were touching Harry’s. Harry rested one arm over the back of the couch and took Quinn’s hand in the other.
“I really don’t know where to start,” Quinn said.
“Start with whatever’s on your mind. Lay it all on me. I’m listening.”
With any other guy, Quinn would have rolled her eyes, but she knew Harry was for real. His large eyes were focused on her, clear and attentive. She took a breath.
“I don’t see this ending,” Quinn said slowly. “I’m not saying we need to get married tomorrow or anything but when I look to the future, I only see you.”
“I feel the same way,” Harry said, voice measured.
“Good. And in this future, are there kids?”
“Yes,” Harry said confidently. “A few of them.”
“And what are we doing when these kids are around?”
“Not sure how to answer that.”
Quinn picked at her cuticle. “Like are we in London? New York? Are you on tour? Are we together as a family?”
“I always thought my family would live in London,” Harry said, not quite answering the question.
“Hmm.”
“I want them to have stability so I wouldn’t want them moving between cities, you know.”
“I get that,” Quinn said, feeling jittery. She wasn’t sure she could imagine a life in another country away from her family, her friends, and her job, even if Harry was a part of it.
“But, New York has really grown on me,” he said. “I could see us living in the city. We’d be those city parents with toddlers that ride scooters around the city.”
Quinn smiled. “OK, so we’re in the city and I keep working but what happens to the kids when I have a show week and you’re off on tour? I don’t want a nanny raising my kids.”
Harry looked at Quinn, confused. “Well, I wouldn’t be on tour. I’d be home with the kids.”
“Harry, you’re joking,” Quinn said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I’m not kidding.”
“You’re always saying how much you love performing.”
“Yeah, but I love you and our life together more.”
“You can’t give up performing.”
“I can if I want to, Quinn,” Harry said, trying to modulate his tone and volume as his frustration mounted. “When we first got together, I didn’t make an effort, didn’t mold my life to fit you. I’m trying to do that now and you’re upset? I just don’t know what you want sometimes.”
“I don’t want you to eventually resent me because you gave up your career for mine.”
“I love you Quinn. And sometimes love means making a sacrifice for someone else.”
Quinn felt hot tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “I love you too, Harry, and that’s why I’d never be able to let you do that.”
Harry sighed heavily. “And I’d never be able to live with myself if I knew you gave up your SNL job for me. Seeing you the other week Quinn.” He shook his head. “That’s where you belong and I could never take you away from there.” Quinn stared off into the distance, not meeting Harry’s eyes. He moved his hand from her knee to her shoulder and started rubbing comforting circles. “But why are we even talking about this now? We don’t have to solve this problem today, do we?”
“That’s the thing, Harry,” Quinn said, voice hardly above a whisper. “If we love each other, that’s great, but if we can’t work out these fundamental issues, is it even worth it to stay together?”
“What are you saying, Quinn?”
“Maybe it, this, us – maybe it was never meant to be.”
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Don’t say that, Quinn.”
Quinn started crying freely and shook her head. “I thought things were supposed to be easy this time around.”
“And they were when we were taking things a moment at a time,” Harry said, sniffling.
“I know we couldn’t live like that forever,” Quinn said not meeting his eyes. “We need to have conversations like this, even if we’re saying things we don’t want to hear. I just never thought it would be this hard.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Harry squeezed her hand. “What are we going to do, Quinn?”
***
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#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles writing#harry styles blurb#harry styles fic#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles ff#harry styles series#harry styles x ofc#harry fic#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles fan fic
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Rewatching In the Beginning
Welcome to “‘1.21 Gigawatts!’ ‘You are my density!’”: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!
Up today, s4e3: In the Beginning.
Cas sends Dean back in time to meet his parents and his grandparents and to witness the moment when the Yellow-Eyed Demon sinks his claws into Mary. Dean decides to try to kill YED so that he and Sam can have a normal childhood, but, of course, that doesn’t work out. We also find out that Cas likes watching Dean when he’s sleeping. But they’re just friends. Uh-huh.
Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.
[and we begin:]
Lor:
ngggggg Cas
Mace:
YAS
Mace:
his LIPS
Mace:
I mean, honestly
Lor:
YAAS
Lor:
tsk, Sammy, sneaking out while Dean is sleeping
Mace:
oh Sammy, sneaking out
Mace:
HAHAHA
Lor:
LOL
Lor:
aw, Dean, get under the covers, baby
Lor:
"Hello, Dean"
Mace:
“hello, Dean”
Mace:
OMG
Lor:
LOLOLOL
Lor:
no Dean, he only likes to watch YOU sleep
Mace:
YAS
Mace:
Marty McFly vibes
Lor:
YES
Lor:
the little nods are SO GOOD
Mace:
YES
Lor:
oh look, young John takes care of strangers better than Dad!John will take care of his own kids
Mace:
YEP
Lor:
I love that it takes Dean a minute
Mace:
YES
Lor:
probably because based on the furniture in any house of anyone he's every liked, it still is the 70s
Mace:
omg yes, and all the motels
Lor:
YES
Lor:
I love the screaming angel wings title card
Mace:
me too!
Mace:
we’ve moved into the seizure-inducing era of the openings
Lor:
LOL yep
Mace:
Cas’s HAIR
Lor:
"well bend it back!"
Lor:
YAAAAAAS
Mace:
I would LOVE to have that van
Lor:
YES
Lor:
though I would take the Impala first
Mace:
of course
Lor:
Dean Van Halen haaaahahahaha
Mace:
DEAN VAN HALEN
Mace:
HAHAHA
Lor:
LOL
Lor:
"been any cattle mutilations in town lately?"
Lor:
I love him
Mace:
SNORK
smooth, Dean
Lor:
oh yes. super smooth, super subtle
Mace:
omg Dean in a mirthmobile I LOVE IT
Lor:
YAAAAAS
Lor:
I love Mary's shirt
Mace:
YES
Lor:
"I'm going to hell. again."
Mace:
“...again"
Mace:
HAHAHA
Mace:
that’s hilarious because I was just thinking in the last scene, “Is John…attracted to Dean here?"
Lor:
RIGHT?
Mace:
oh look, Dean’s now been abused by both parents
Lor:
HA!
Lor:
yep
Lor:
"are you a hunter?" poor Dean. just upending his WHOLE life
Mace:
YEP
Lor:
"we're practically family"
Lor:
"clearly not enough"
Mace:
HA
Lor:
"Samuel and... Deanna?"
Lor:
HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Mace:
omg, I don’t think I caught that the first time around
Lor:
I LOVE that Mary named her firstborn son after her MOTHER
Lor:
I LOVE IT
Mace:
YAS
Lor:
omg Dean's face
Mace:
HAHAHA YES
Lor:
"the web of information you have assembled"
Mace:
HAHAHA
Mace:
OMG FATHER!DEAN
Lor:
OMG I forgot they both showed up separately in priest outfits!
Mace:
AM DED
Lor:
"Father Chaney" haaaahahahaha
Mace:
YAS
Mace:
he looks SO GOOD in that suit
Lor:
RIGHT?!
Mace:
and I want Mary’s coat
Lor:
YEP
Lor:
dun dun DUN
Mace:
HAHAHAHA YEP
Lor:
that is SO MUCH fruit salad for four people
Mace:
HA
Mace:
“who, where, and when” “why?” HAHAHA
Lor:
LOL
Lor:
you do not, Dean
Mace:
YEP
Lor:
"what's he like?" oh, Dean
Mace:
right?
Lor:
oh DEAN
Lor:
his FACE
Mace:
yeah, Mary, outsiders can’t break in
Mace:
right?!
Lor:
RIGHT?
Lor:
him trying to make her not get killed in the future I CANNOT
Lor:
OH DEAN
Mace:
oh DEAN
Lor:
CAS APPEARING IN THE CAR
Mace:
YAS
Lor:
"Sam is not looking for you" OOOOF
Mace:
right?!
Lor:
"oh, I care"
Mace:
he’ll feel guilty about it always of course
Lor:
of course
Lor:
god Dean's green eyes
Mace:
right?! He looks SO GOOD in this episode
Lor:
YES
Lor:
man, I LOVE when he lays it all out for someone and then lowers his gun
Mace:
YEP
Mace:
oh FUCK YOU SAMUEL
Lor:
Samuel, you deserve everything you get, you putz
Lor:
is bobby the ONLY father figure who ever tells Dean he's proud of him or similar when he's NOT possessed by a demon?
Mace:
omg right?!
Mace:
Dean is SUS
Lor:
YES
Lor:
aaaaaand now he gets to be assaulted by his grandfather. this boy needs so much therapy
Mace:
oooh Angry Dean Thrown Against a Wall
Mace:
HAHAHA
Lor:
YES
Lor:
the way this is almost sexual
Mace:
yeah it’s...weird
Lor:
it is SO CREEPY
Mace:
SO. CREEPY.
Lor:
god Dean's ANGER
Mace:
YAS
Lor:
Jensen kills this
Mace:
he does
Mace:
oh Mary, you dummy
Lor:
right?
Lor:
also, why does she not remember?
Mace:
RIGHT?!?!
Lor:
the Dean stuff gets wiped, but she should remember the demon deal?
Lor:
you don't just forget that?
Mace:
correct
Lor:
O.M.G. the way Cas and Dean look at each other there
Mace:
the look on Dean’s face
Mace:
YES
Lor:
YES
Lor:
"destiny can't be changed, Dean"
Lor:
they way this becomes the theme of the whole SHOW
Lor:
I love it
Mace:
then why say “you have to stop it” Cas?!
Mace:
YES
Lor:
RIGHT?
Lor:
so he would try, I guess?
Mace:
oh wait it was a reference to Sam I guess
Lor:
I guess
Mace:
but it’s still bad writing
Lor:
I feel like sometimes Cas wakes Dean up in the night now to apologize for doing this to him
Mace:
AW
Lor:
i mean, it's so CRUEL. it definitely plagues Cas
Lor:
yeah, it feels like the writing there is supposed to make you go "oh! i see" and instead you just go "eh?"
Mace:
yep. I think we’re supposed to think it’s clever in hindsight, but instead it’s just slipshod and clumbsy
Mace:
wow, that b does not belong in there
Lor:
LOL
#watchingspnagain#watchingspnagain 4x03#spn#supernatural#spn meta#spn spoilers#spn 4x03#watchingspnagain acting#watchingspnagain boy king of hell#watchingspnagain dean and assault#watchingspnagain dean sleeping#watchingspnagain john#watchingspnagain mary#watchingspnagain outsiders#watchingspnagain setdec#watchingspnagain time travel#watchingspnagain whose story?
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the poets go to ikea for the first time !!!
sooo this morning i made a list of things i have to take back to college with me and i always pack my stuff in these big, blue ikea bags which got me thinking about what the poets would be like in ikea bc i genuinely cannot do anything anymore without thinking about how the poets would do it HAHA. so here we are lol– i hope you guys like this !!(:
neil: something tells me that neil would really enjoy ikea. there are so many tiny little relics and fun decorations to browse as well as models/displays that are so nicely put together. just the right kinds of things to appease neil’s hidden juvenile wants (since he never got to experience a real childhood with his parents treating him like an adult since he was like 8). for example: all of the neat little stuffed animals and children’s bedroom sets that have all sorts of fun colors, etc. neil would appreciate the whole aesthetic of the store as well, liking how well-organized and modern it is inside. would definitely hide behind pieces of furniture in the displays to scare todd. also he is in charge of pushing the cart (that charlie is proudly sitting in bc he doesn’t want to “walk around everywhere”).
todd: like neil, todd appreciates the feel of the place bc he’s always had a bit of an interest in interior design, but is a little bit overwhelmed with just how big it is both outside and inside. desperately wants a djungelskog bear (which neil buys for him, bc of all the things neil struggles with, saying “no” to todd is certainly the biggest one). genuinely freaks out every single time neil scares him, even if he should see it coming after the second or third time. trails behind the group, (as he seemingly always does), taking special note of certain things he’d like to have in his own house one day (’:
knox: upon being invited, he seemed hesitant bc it’s just a furniture store, big whoop (”will there be girls there at least?”), but once they got there he was incredibly thrilled that there was a cafeteria and insisted that they go there both before shopping and after shopping (”look at how big the store is, don’t you think we’ll be hungry again by the time we’re done?”). definitely would rather be doing something else, but is just happy to be spending time around his pals (:
charlie: as previously stated, king of the cart. refuses to get out and walk because it’s “a big store and he’s tired.” neil doesn't mind pushing him, though. fully embraces the semi-chaotic feel of ikea during the weekend (so many people, which is not good for todd, but charlie full-on thrives). he would also insist on actually buying a few pieces of new furniture for his and cameron’s room (completely oblivious to the fact that he will actually need to assemble the pieces himself until they get down to the warehouse), even though it would most definitely be confiscated by mr. hager (”they’ll only confiscate it if they find it,” charlie says, to which cameron replies, “i’m pretty sure a full size vanity and bureau would be pretty easy to scope out, dumbass.” then they both flip each other off). he is definitely the reason knox decided to come after charlie begged him for at least ten minutes (”c’mon, knoxious, it’ll be fun! even if there aren’t girls there, you’ll still have me to look at (;”). offers to buy neil a couple of the stuffed animals he’s been eyeing bc he just wants to see his best friend happy. has to go back up and around the store to take note of numbers of the furniture he actually wants bc he didn’t understand how it worked (”all that time in the cart, wasted” and ”they should really have like an instruction manual before entering the store??”). and enlists meek’s help trying to find the right boxes of parts because “he’s smart like that”. still stays squished in the cart even when he puts all the boxes in it
meeks: just along for the ride, honestly. he just likes spending time with his buddies, but isn’t hesitant about going out and doing things like knox (“i’ll try anything once!”). gets into a pillow fight with pitts in one of the displays, garnering the attention of an ikea employee who sternly asks them to “act their age” and to “fix all the things they made fall on the ground”. the most adventurous eater at the cafeteria; tries the swedish meatballs and really likes them (”we have to come back here just to eat these again, guys”). rates each display on a scale of 1-10 and gives reasons for why he likes things and why he doesn’t (mostly in a joking way).
pitts: bumps his head on some of the hanging arrow signs that direct you into the next section of the store, sighs after every time. buys matching stuffed animals with meeks (’: is the designated driver, and never asks for gas money from his friends bc like knox and meeks, he just likes hanging out (but they give him gas money anyway !!). asks neil for a turn pushing the cart, which neil agrees to. when in control of the cart, bumps it into things, much to charlie’s displeasure (”wouldn’t peg you as a horrible cart driver since you’re the only one with your license, but alas, i was wrong”). feels v bad for getting in trouble w meeks about the pillow fighting and makes sure to fix any messed up things in any of the displays following the incident. also unsure of how much space is in the car for charlie’s boxes, leading him to argue against the purchase of any items.
cameron: also didn’t get the allure of a furniture store, but tagged along because he wanted to get off campus (and really does care about making time and hanging out with his friends, though he’d never admit that). pickiest when it came to the food court/cafeteria (”i just don’t want to try it, why do i need a reason ??”). actually considered buying a new desk organizer, but refused when charlie said it would look great on their new vanity (”charlie, they’ll confiscate that, too. how many times do i have to explain it ??”). unlike meeks, seriously rates each display on a scale of 1-10 talking about how some of the colors just don’t go, and it hurts his eyes to look at it. lowkey got lost for a bit and freaked out bc he couldn’t find anyone, but caught up with todd finally when they were exiting the kitchenette section. this caused him to ask what todd was doing all the way back behind the group, leading to a small, but nice conversation they had (”just making some notes about things i like for later on” todd had said. “that’s really cool, todd,” cameron smiled back at him, unknowing that todd was most certainly picking out things that not only he would like, but neil, too). finally caved and helped charlie build the new furniture when they got back because as much as he couldn't stand charlie sometimes, it made for an incredibly interesting bonding session.
anyway, that’s all. i feel like the poets out in public and not on campus just harness a complete chaos anywhere they go HAHA. idk if this sucked or not, but it was super fun to write hehe. happy sunday i don’t want to go to work tomorrow, but such is the life of someone who has rent and bills to pay in the coming months, sigh
#dead poets society#neil perry#todd anderson#charlie dalton#steven meeks#gerard pitts#richard cameron#dps headcanons#ikea is actually sick#but you really can get lost HAHA#dps#dps boys#anderperry#neil and todd
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Listen. Draco goes on a run past Harry’s house everyday. It’s August. He needs hosing down.
The Ass is Greener Where You Water It
Harry gets the keys to the dingy little cottage on his birthday, so that he can have a housewarming party instead of a 30th birthday party. It's the best birthday he's ever had. By miles. Instead of Gryffindor kitsch and Quidditch tickets, his friends give him things he actually wants.
Hermione brings an owl perch that clips right into his bedroom window. Ron distracts Harry with a cast iron skillet from the Burrow while Dean and Seamus set off atmospheric charms over the house. Bit of a risk in a Muggle area, but the houses are so far apart, and the traffic so sparing that no one notices.
Luna arrives late, and he greets her on the dilapidated porch. His glasses fog in the humidity, and she casts a spell on the weed-choked front lawn that sounds like it should give the thistles the power of prophecy, but merely keeps his glasses clear.
Hermione takes one look at the kitchen and heads back out for pizza. Ron and Seamus do a double-take at the chartreuse living room carpet and roll up their sleeves. Luna performs an exorcism in the basement, just to be safe. Dean stocks the fridge with beer. Only beer.
Dinner is eaten out of hand, seated on the living room floor between rows of carpet staples. Ron sets a small team of allen wrenches into motion, and Harry watches furniture assemble itself.
Ron thumps a fist against his chest, holds his breath, and belches so loudly he has to swallow at the end. Hermione shakes her head and confiscates the rest of his beer.
Slowly, as the bottles accumulate in the recycling bin, and the leftover pizza makes its way to the fridge, they all filter out.
"Gotta pick the kids up from Mum's. Love you, Harry. And happy birthday!"
Luna yawns. "The dabberblimps will be waiting for their bedtime story."
Dean and Seamus each snag a cold piece of pizza on their way out. "We're headed to the bars. Coming, birthday boy?"
"Nah," Harry says, shaking his head.
Dean rolls his eyes. "Got a big day of fuck-all tomorrow?"
Harry snorts a laugh and shoves him out onto the patio. "Like you've got a big night of fuck-nobody tonight?"
Seamus licks his finger and marks an imaginary tally board. "G'night, Harry. And happy birthday."
Seamus pulls Dean along, out to the sidewalk, and exclaims, "Shit! Longbottom, what the fuck?!"
Harry squints out into the dark front lawn, and Neville stands up from the other side of the snaggletoothed picket fence.
"Oh, hi. Hey, Harry!" Neville waves. "I'm planting Moonroses along the fence!"
Harry leans against a pillar, but the bottom of it slides away. He startles, catches it, tugs it back into place, and eyes the porch roof warily.
"Uhm, thanks, Nev. You want some pizza?"
Dean shoots Harry fingerguns, then throws an arm around Neville's shoulders. "He wants to get shitfaced, not put that shit in his face!"
Dean looks to Seamus, who licks a finger, raises it, tilts his head in thought, then revokes the potential point with a solemn head shake. Dean flips him the bird.
Neville brushes his hands off on his jeans. "An appletini does sound good. Harry, be sure to water this rose bush every sunset for the next month. Only at sunset."
Harry shrugs and agrees. He really does have fuck-all to do.
--
The bush is dead. Or he's pretty sure it is. He watered it dutifully at sunset every day for the first week, but then a chipmunk bit a hole in his garden hose and he missed a night.
Flooding the ground around the scraggly bush might revive it. He tugs the hose out over the picket fence and stands on the sidewalk, intent on spraying the dirt as fast as it can absorb the water.
Spray. Watch the standing water trickle into the ground. Spray again. It lulls him into a rhythm.
A hard knock to his shoulder spins him around, and he grabs at the fence. He hits the ground next to the bush, arse in the mud, a busted-off picket in one hand and the hose sprayer in the other.
A man looms over him in the fading daylight. He pants for a moment and takes a long breath before speaking. "For fuck's sake, I hollered three times-" Platinum hair glows pink with the sunset where it isn't sweat-matted against his head. "Potter?"
Dry rose thorns scrape Harry's arm. "Uhm, yeah."
Draco holds a hand out to help Harry up, but Harry hands him the picket. Draco tosses it into the yard.
"I wondered who wasted their money on this hovel."
"Excuse me?"
Sweat drips down Draco's temple, and his t-shirt clings to his chest. It's a rather nice chest, Harry decides.
"This house is hideous. I've run past it every day this summer, and I honestly thought it would end up torn down."
Harry scowls up at him. "It's got good bones."
Draco rolls his eyes and rests a hand on a hip. It's a rather nice hip, Harry decides.
"Carcasses have good bones."
Harry points the sprayer at Draco's face and waits for him to notice, but Draco's busy cataloguing Harry's house's faults.
"That porch roof is going to fall off, and the porch itself is-"
A jet of water hits Draco right in his open mouth, and he coughs, swallows, and glares down at Harry.
"Your front door doesn't even-"
Water shoots up Draco's nose, and he sneezes it out.
"Goddammit, Potter, I-"
Harry looses the hose all over Draco's face for a good, long while. Draco freezes and lets the water drip from his nose and chin.
He blinks down at Harry, who bites his lips to keep from laughing. "You looked thirsty."
Draco clears his throat. "I was..."
"And hot."
Draco smirks. "I can't argue with-"
Harry points the hose at Draco's chest and soaks his shirt while Draco winces and turns his face away from the spray.
Draco peels his shirt off over his head and wrings it out onto the sidewalk. "Your house is still a piece of-"
Harry aims for Draco's crotch and hits him in the balls with a short shot. Draco yelps and wads his t-shirt and hands over his groin.
"Done?" Harry asks, hose steady on Draco's face.
Draco clears his throat again. "Quite."
"Good."
"This splendid manse of yours wouldn't have a towel, would it?"
Harry tosses the hose back over the fence and climbs to his feet.
"I have no idea, but you can help me look."
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AITA for no longer making toys and furniture for my former SIL after her new husband called them an “embarrassment” and me cheap for not paying for stuff?
My brother died before his firstborn child was born, because of this I've had an above average involvement in my nephews life. One thing I’ve always done is build him toys and furniture. It was a way of providing without the awkwardness of handing over cash. Also, between my late brothers cash and life insurance via work a trust was setup for my nephew for ~£500,000. He wasn’t actually married to my SIL.
Now via the lab at work I’ve made him a lot of wooden or 3d printed toys, but also some simple handmade electronic toys. My sister in law was always grateful for these and my nephew (by all accounts) loves his custom toys.
Fast forward 3 years and my former sister in law has gotten married. I was attending my nephews third birthday and I turned up the night before to assemble his present. It was a small climbing frame/Swing set I had watched better carpenters than me in the lab make.
The new husband was a little standoffish but come the day of the party he was telling anyone who listened that I didn’t pay or make the present I had lackies at work do it for free. This culminated in him calling all my “presents” an embarrassment and given my fancy job I could afford to splash some cash.
I confronted him and my former SIL and she basically confirmed that whilst the presents were appreciated she honestly expected more direct support from me after my brothers death. My mother stepped in and reminded her my brother paid for this house and they regularly take cash out of the trust (approx £10,000 a year).
We walked out without hearing any worthwhile response but I continued to see my nephew without incident. 6-7 months go by and I’m visiting only to be told my former SIL was pregnant with twins and she was wondering if I could make some duplicates of items I made for my nephew as they needed two sets.
I scoffed, said she had balls asking me to make stuff after she was so ungrateful and I owe her unborn children very little. She got upset and explained her prior statements about my handmade gifts and said she felt they were the kinda little things someone did as a favour. Not what a family provides. That’s why she’s asking me now as a friend to do her a “favour” and manufacture duplicates.
I said no, again, and her husband shouted through that it didn’t matter they would just use the trust to provide for kids like it’s supposed to. I retorted that it was for my nephew and good luck accessing it for that because the trust requires my signature to pay out.
I wasn’t even home before he was calling me to apologise, clearly unaware I held the reigns to my late brothers money. The apology was insincere and I asked to speak to my former SIL where I confirmed again I wouldn’t be manufacturing her anything. I’ll still be an uncle to my nephew and be impartial when it comes to her accessing my nephews trust but her husband has burned a lot my goodwill with this.
AITA for not doing her a favour after all that?
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Magnificent Scoundrels- Of Humans and Demons
It had been quite a while since I’ve came out with a story. In this, we have the explanation of what is happening in two of the galaxies concerning the shenanigans bringing them all together, as well as the more supernatural side of all of them. As usual, I do not own anything except Thomas Drake and his universe. Enjoy the story.
“Speak softly and carry a big stick.” -Theodore Roosevelt
Empyrean Iris Galaxy
Rundi Homeworld, Seat of the Galactic Assembly
“Nervous?”
“Actually, no. Not really.”
“Figures. First human to make contact with extraterrestrial life, now the first person to meet the newcomers from these new galaxies. Nothing fazes you,” Admiral Kelly sighed. Admiral Vir, dressed in an immaculately pressed grey uniform, grinned.
“They said space was the final frontier. As it turns out, we’ve got eight new galaxies out there. Life just got a lot more complicated. But, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. More fun! More exploring!” said Vir.
“It takes all kinds, I suppose. But you have to deal with briefing the Assembly,” replied Kelly. “And deal with their possible reactions to the fact that they might not be the top dogs anymore,” she added as an afterthought.
“True,” sighed Vir. “The worst part of the job, by far.” A younger human officer stepped into the small, well lit room outside the main council chambers and turned to the Admirals.
“Admiral Vir, sir. The Assembly is ready.” He clutched his hands together, nervous to be in the presence of a living legend.
“Thank you,” replied Vir politely. He strode forward, only to pause briefly and look back at Kelly with a grin. “Oh, by the way, Star Wars is real.”
“Wait...what?”
He walked into the council chambers, radiating an aura of careful calmness. He looked to the seats where the various delegates from all the different species in the galaxy sat, looking slightly wistfully at the human section, wishing he could be there instead of standing alone at the head of the council. But, like he had said earlier, it went with the job, and he was the only person to make contact with the denizens of the other galaxies. He reached the speaker’s podium, and, after the usual useless bureaucratic formalities were made, began.
“Esteemed members of the Galactic Assembly, I am sure you have noticed that we are no longer the only populated galaxy within this universe. Approximately a month ago, an extreme anomaly caused nine different galaxies, including our own, from nine separate universes to co-exist in one singular universe. I come before you today, having met with people from each of the galaxies to brief you on the various governments from these other galaxies, what they are like, and what you should expect.” He paused for a moment. Perhaps he had used the word ‘galaxy’ too much in that speech? No. He had to be extremely specific, even at the risk of sounding redundant. “It should be noted that, interestingly enough, humans exist in all of these realities.” That drew a round of nervous murmerings. Humans were one of the newest additions to the Assembly, and were by far one of the more powerful and dangerous member races. Come to think of it, I might be lucky if they don’t start a riot over this, he mused.
“It should also be noted that, coincidentally, several of these new realities share similarities with old human stories. Should you wish to know more, the appropriate media has been forwarded to you.”
“Now, on to the main briefing.” Several delegates leaned forward in their seats expectantly. Notepads, recording devices, or computers were taken from their holding places. Adam cleared his throat. “This is what we have deemed Galaxy One…”
And so the briefing went on. He told them of the people he’d met, gave them the anatomical reports on new species of aliens. And, most importantly, he told them of their counterparts. Told them of both the good and the worrying.
The Galactic Empire: a fracturing, militaristic pro-human superpower that used to rule Galaxy 1.
The New Republic: a pro-democratic group that opposed and overthrew the Empire from Galaxy 1.
The United Federation of Planets: a peaceful yet technologically powerful group where all species were equal in Galaxy 3.
The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation: a massive, privately funded mega-corporation that effectively ruled Earth and humanity in Galaxy 7.
The Covenant: a theocratic coalition of aliens dedicated to activating a series of devastating WMD’s in the belief that it would cause their ascension in Galaxy 4.
The Imperium of Man: a theocratic, xenophobic, militaristic pro-human superpower fighting an endless war against all comers in Galaxy 6.
The list went on, and on, and on. As each different government was mentioned, a map of their territories, capabilities, species, and symbol flashed on a centrally located holographic projector.
“Now, the next part is this. We have received word from the Citadel Council, the reigning government in what we have dubbed Galaxy 5, asking us to come to their capital for peaceful negotiations. They seem to be extremely similar to our own government, in the sense that they are a galaxy-spanning federation including multiple species. While I am no diplomat; that would be your area of expertise, the information we have gathered has led us to believe that this government in particular, and two others are the most similar to us and would be the best to ally with.” The room filled with hushed murmurings. The Drev delegate spoke up.
“And what is to stop all you humans from ending up like this? Or this?” He tapped a button, and the six-spoked circle of the Galactic Empire and the double-headed golden eagle of the Imperium of Man flashed to life on the console. “As there are humans in all of these galaxies, you could band together and wipe the rest of us out. What’s to stop you?” Vir paused for a moment.
“Because, being human is all about individuality. We have no collective. Our societies change all the time throughout history. It is often not a story of unity. In the end, a human is whatever it wants to be. The humans of this new reality are probably just as different to each other as all the other species are. And, because we are an individualistic species, the chances of us uniting under one banner to conquer not only one but nine different galaxies is not going to happen.” He looked out at all the different delegates, all the different aliens he had come to appreciate over so long. “One other thing. Most humans have a great sense of right and wrong. Something that many of you have come to appreciate over the time we’ve been in the Assembly, I’m sure. We know that to take your land, to kill your people, is wrong. And, as I said before, humans are different. There are evil and bad humans in this reality; there always have been good ones as well. The same still applies. While some of these humans will want to take from you everything, humans like me will always be there to fight by your side against tyranny.” The room broke into applause. Sometimes good speeches weren't about grandiose words. Sometimes they were simply there to get a point across. And Admiral Adam Vir was a master at that type of speaking.
He sighed to himself. No bad. There wouldn’t be any riots. Probably. Hopefully. He went on with his briefing, pausing slightly to wonder if similar things were happening in the other galaxies...
“I want one simple thing: money. I will tell you what I want; everyone knows what I want. But the people you call saviors, the ones who you think will deliver you and raise you up, they want something else. They want complete and utter control over every aspect of your life. And when you naive fools put them into power, in a short time you will miss my kind. But I will be dead, and you will be damned, because you never thought through the consequences of your actions.” -Martin Crossgrow
Aboard the Apocalypse
Thomas Drake sat in his quarters. The room was an odd combination of styles, with austere and sleek metal plating contrasting with the rustic stonework of a large electric fireplace and the handsome woodwork of the furniture. He sat before a large video screen, barely the width of a piece of paper. His black hair was immaculate, as always, and his deep blue eyes stared from underneath a brow furrowed with concentration. His fingers flew across a holographic keyboard, inputting the correct security procedures. A mesh of invisible, interlocking and ever-changing computer algorithms flashed across the screen. Good. Even if someone were to try and break into his ship’s computers, they would not find records of what he was doing. They could not. He pressed a few more keys, then waited.
Waited for one person. His...sponsor. For lack of a better word. The head of the most powerful corporation in his galaxy. The head of the Guild of Merchants, the corporate oligarchy that ruled the space in between the Galactic Federation and the Empire of Prosium. Ultra-capitalists to a somewhat disturbing extent, it was they who controlled most of the galaxy’s comperce, built most of the products, and of course, paid the most.
A series of chimes, repeating the same notes, sounded. They sounded faster, quicker, humming together, until one long, high, note sang out. The computer screen flashed from black with lines of green coding to reveal a face.
It was that of a man, skin pale from never seeing the warm kiss of a sun, pale from never leaving building complexes. It was old, with receding white hair and skin starting to sag, but the face and the eyes did not betray this age. They burned with energy, arrogance and contempt. Not the misplaced arrogance and perceived invincibility of youth, or the kind energy of an honest worker. No. These eyes shone with an arrogance of age and assurity, the arrogance of a man who knew with absolute certainty he was better and more powerful than anyone else. These eyes now turned to Thomas Drake, and took on a new expression. That of a superior looking on at a trusted subordinate.
“Captain Drake. How are you?” spoke the calm voice of Martin Crossgrow.
“I’m doing well, Mr. Crossgrow,” replied Drake.
“Wonderful. Now, what do you have for me?”
“Information. As per usual. Stocks, governments, companies...entities. In some cases.” Crossgrow gave an appreciative nod.
“Excellent. Your usual fee will be transferred to your account when the information reaches me.”
“Good. I wanted to warn you, though. In some of these new realities, there are...things. Things of...supernatural power. I’m getting you as much information as I can on them, so as to be better prepared if and when confronted.” At this, Crossgrow laughed, a low, dry, chuckle.
“I’m not afraid of the supernatural. If it does exist in these new galaxies, then there are people who will know how to fight it in those galaxies. And every man has a price. So if the time comes, I merely must pay that price. It’s simple.” Drake said nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be quite that simple. But he also knew that disagreeing with the head of the most powerful corporation in the galaxy, and his highest paying employer, was not a wise decision.
“If that’s how you play it, then that’s how you play it. But I think I need more information. Places, organizations with knowledge, information. That’s what I must find.” Crossgrow made a harrumph noise in his throat.
“Well, in the meantime, tell me about the financial side to these new places.”
“Of course. The biggest threat to the Guild is probably the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. Monopoly. Rules humanity in one of these other galaxies. Produces quite powerful and interesting war machines. I’ve got the schematics for one type.” This elicited a laugh.
“I’m reasonably sure that you stole that from one of your...what do you call them…” he paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers in realization. “Ah, Scoundrels! Didn’t you?” Drake shrugged.
“Of course. It’s being sent to you as we speak. I’ve also got…” he trailed off as he tapped several buttons on his wrist computer. “Schematics for…” He looked up and grinned. “Chainsaw swords, plasma swords, rechargeable laser weaponry, jetpack boots, laser weapons that run off of explosive gasses, contractible body armor, high-quality medical gel that heals wounds almost instantly, cybernetic super-soldier armor, three types of personal shields, teleporters, omnitools, so-called ‘phaser weaponry’, two types of power armor, and the blood readouts from biotics, pariahs, and SPARTANs.” He held up a hand to forestall Crossgrow’s confused look at the last three items on the list. “It’s all described in the report.”
“Ah, very good. Very good, indeed, Captain Drake.” A slightly amused look crossed Crossgrow’s face. “Although, won’t your compatriots be upset if they knew you were selling their secrets?” Drake smiled in response.
“If they ever found out.” HIs smile grew wider, and both he and Crossgrow repeated the mantra in perfect synchronization. “Besides, that’s just. Good. Business.”
“Forget everything you think you know.” -Karl Mordo, upon Dr. Strange’s arrival in Kamar-Taj
Marvel Galaxy
Earth
The New York Sanctum
Doctor Steven Strange was a wizard. Not “wizard” in the sense that he was extremely good at something, like “technological wizard” or “engineering wizard”, but a literal magic wizard. Once upon a time, he had been a prestigious surgeon, but that had all ended in the fires of a car crash. He had traveled the world, trying to heal his broken body, and stumbled on a place that taught actual, real, magic.
Through a strange series of events, he had mastered these “mystical arts” and become the head of Earth’s sorcerers. It was his job to defend the planet and all its inhabitants from any and all magic or extra-dimensional threats. This, of course, was now a particular problem, seeing as eight different realities from different dimensions now existed in the same material universe as his reality did. Now he had eight new galaxies to take care of, and possible threats from all of them to fight.
Wonderful.
He sighed to himself. Might as well get started. Get it done with. Hopefully he didn’t get eaten. He breathed in, breathed out, his mind calm, tranquil. His heavy red cloak billowed around him, lifting him in the air as he took a cross-legged position. One more deep breath. He drew upon his power, and allowed his mind to roam. Not freely, of course. Silently. His metal defenses were high. No entities, no beings, could tune onto the small signature he emitted. It took practice, hours upon hours of it, combined with an innate talent to disguise one’s mental signature so.
He floated, his mind calm. Thoughts, emotions, feelings… Interesting. They all flitted through his brain, caressing the edges of his mind. Nothing for now. He roamed higher. Opened his mind to beyond his Earth, beyond his reality...and was immediately assaulted, battered, his mind tossed around like a cork upon an ocean. Travesty, glory, tragedy, celebration, hatred, hope, love, rage… He wanted to scream. He did not. He merely steeled his mental defenses, clamping down on the sanity of his own brain.
He saw...darkness crashing against light. An eternal battle, observed by one. Something larger at play. Something he did not, could not comprehend. Time began, the beginning played out, a universe expanded. Light. Beginning. Emotion. Differences. It reminded him of the principle of yin-yang, but on a much larger scale. Strange watched the universe, as millions of stars were born and died. The light encompassed everything. Shadows, tendrils of darkness, battled it, fought it, sometimes snuffed it out. The light won when it came forward, burning away the darkness, but if the light failed, gave up, the darkness crept forward to take its place. The light was passive, in a way, upholding the rules with a code of honor. The dark was not. It surged, striking forward, defying the rules and logic itself. Interesting. Strange got the feeling that there was something more here at play, something he didn’t know yet. But it wasn’t a threat. Yet. It could wait. He moved to the next galaxy, the next reality that had been entwined with his.
Next. His mind reached out once more. Now this place...this one was interesting.
It has power. Not separated from the real world, not some ancient deities having eldritch chess games. No. This one had...something different. An energy field, created from the energy of all living things, surrounding them, binding them, letting some get a taste of its power. Most interesting indeed. He went further.
A field. A field of ghosts. Roughly divided in two. On one side, strength, power, hate, rage, passion. On the other, peace, knowledge, serenity, harmony. Two different sides, two different users and practitioners of this energy field. Different individuals. No gods. No demons. Only mortals. But powerful ones. Two in particular stood out. Both on the side of passion. A void, a hungry, hungry void encompassing an individual of massive power. Another, a crackling nimbus of darkness and selfishness. They did nothing. But should they break free from this field of ghosts...the consequences...hmmm. What was this place, even? A place of the dead? Reflections of the living?
Strange whirled around as he felt a presence behind him. Another shade. But not milling on the field with the others. This one stood alone. It was of both sides...but neither. Light and dark swirled within the figure in perfect harmony. It walked forward, towards him. Strange could sense it was, or once was, a human. It wore stylized armor and a mask under a black, heavy, hooded robe. It inclined its head in greeting to Strange.
“What...what are you, exactly?” asked Strange. The robed figure started out on the field of ghosts.
“I was once like you, sorcerer.” The voice was whispery, swirling, ghostly. Beneath Strange could hear the faint trace of the voice of a dead man. “A man with a destiny.”
“Why are you not with the others?” said Strange. The figure gave the phantom impression of a laugh, then a sigh.
“I do not walk in the light, for it robs me of the stars. I do not walk in the dark, for it robs me of my surroundings. I walk in the twilight, and while both are dulled, I can see the entire picture and walk in balance.” He turned towards Strange. “Some say it is between light and dark. It is not. You must have balance. You must have harmony between the two. There is a war coming, sorcerer. A war that you must win. Your power will be with you. Always. Remember that.” The ghost faded into oblivion, and the vision of the field ended. Odd. The vision was something to meditate on for another day. After he had the complete picture.
Next one. This one had a parallel universe. A shadowy reflection of the real world, ruled by...something. The ruler wasn’t human, wasn’t demon or god, it was...something else. A creature of the shadows. Formed by them. Made by them. This reality was odd, yes, but it had no place in the real world. It could not come to nor affect the realm he was sworn to protect. No threats here. Next.
No magic here. Science. More than anything else. Fine. Good, actually. Less work for him to do. He was about to turn and leave, when he felt a presence. Something different. An ancient being. Strange blinked, and suddenly found himself in a blank white room. What?
Staring at him, lounging in a comfortable white chair with a drink in hand, was a man (no, being, he corrected himself) wearing a ridiculous, outlandish, garb of an old school extremely wealthy Renaissance priest. Okay. That was a new one. Personally, he much preferred the man from the other galaxy with his armor and heavy robe. Whatever. He was getting sidetracked. The being grinned at him.
“Surprised?” it asked. Strange recovered quickly.
“No,” he replied. The being laughed uproariously.
“He he, yes you are!” It sipped its drink. “It is so rare to get guests!” He turned suddenly, looking around at things that were not there. “Hmm. My time is short. There is much work to be done in little time. The gods of humanity are outnumbered. A war is coming. Heh. I see someone already told you that. Yes. There are forces teaming up. The darkness is spreading.” The being leaned closer. “I usually am not so straight forward, but it is doubtful you’ll see me again, so I must tell you these things now. Anyway, be prepared. Have fun. Try not to die. That would be bad.” The being snapped its fingers, and the room disappeared, leaving Strange hovering over the universe once more. He shook his head. Usually massively powerful beings did not make odd jokes while inviting him for drinks. More things to remember, more things to meditate on. He had to move on.
In two other universes, nothing. No semblance of any sort of magic or higher beings. Good. Nothing to worry about there. Next.
No magic here. Nothing. But..something was off. The souls of the dead were...missing. Nothing here. Odd. No matter. No gods, no demons, no other eldritch beings. Fine. Mysteries could be solved on other days. He had more important things to do.
He turned his gaze to the last galaxy. Felt as his mind and spirit floated forward. Immediately, he recognized this galaxy as two dimensions in one. Strange. But today was a day for oddness. Warily, he crept forward, mentally entering the new galaxy.
Emotion. Hate. Rage. BLOOD. Apathy. Stagnation. ROT. Movement. Hope. CHANGE. Lust. Pain. EXCESS. So much. Too much. Conflicting ideas. Dead uncountable, screaming in torment from a sea of souls. A Great Game, a chess match between beings he didn’t even want to know existed. And endless war, for billions of years, between factions so powerful he felt as if he were a single grain of sand in an hourglass, a person of such small importance that he could do nothing to change the future that would doom everything.
He screamed as these emotions, as the chaos of this place engulfed him, clawed at him, threatened to drown him. He tried to break free, used all of his power to try and get as far away from this place as he could, away from the madness. He gritted his teeth and focused, focused harder than he ever had, focused harder than the time after the wreck where he could not get his hands from shaking. He felt as if he were trapped, unable to run as if in a terrible nightmare. He could feel as creatures, demonic inhabitants of this realm started to notice his presence, started to turn their hungry stares towards him as he struggled even harder, looking for any salvation.
A light. Faint, in the darkness. He rushed towards it, the souls of the damned clawing at his cloak, the demons closing in with the force of an unstoppable tide. He felt as if he were on a treadmill, unable to go anywhere, stuck in one spot, pursuers closing in. He felt their hot, foul breath on his back, felt their horrible talons and teeth…
Then, nothing. He spun. Nothing. No pursuers. No demons. He fell to his knees, breath coming in gasps. After he caught his breath, he came to his feet and looked at his surroundings. He was still in the sea of souls. Still in this odd, horrible dimension. But, this part was different. A blinding, golden light shot up as if from nowhere, keeping the darkness and terror at bay. What? How? He walked forward, surroundings bare, the great golden light making sure that no demons tread here. As he walked, he felt...something.
A single voice, screaming through the void. A soul slit, in utter agony, bruised, beaten, but unbowed. Strange felt the voice, using his powers to attune himself to it. It had been in pain for...millennia now. Pain was a constant companion. But it would not give into the pain. Never.
Strange looked forward. The beam was being produced by something...no. Wrong. Someone. He shuddered involuntarily. The sheer power required to produce such a thing, let alone to sustain it… No wonder the voice was in pain. Strange looked around again. He had seen enough. Knew enough. Time to go back. He leapt up, leaving this place, still keeping the light in sight...
When suddenly a being of unfathomable power and incalculable malevolence turned it’s gaze towards him. He shied away from it. Now was not the time to trifle with such a thing.
Time, space, and reality warped around him. Every color, yet no color swirled. The being came into focus in front of him. It was ever-changing, morphing from one form to the next with no pretext. He hid his eyes. To stare at it would be to go mad. It studied him. Looked at him with amusement, like a child studying insects under a microscope. Then, it spoke. Its voice was the worst thing Strange had ever heard. Constantly changing, echoing like a nightmare into the void around him.
“The Anathema's pathetic light cannot protect you for long, sorcerer.” Strange winched, and shielded his face even more.
“What are you?” he asked in response. The being laughed. Strange screamed. The laugh echoed around him, promising the bending of time and reality as he knew them.
“Do not ask which creature screams in the night. Do not question who waits for you in the shadow. It is my cry that wakes you in the night, and my body that crouches in the shadow. I am Tzeetch, and you are the puppet that dances to my tune…” Strange pulled back. This was out of his league. He made a motion, and activated his one, final, failsafe. The locket around his neck opened, and a stone within glowed green. The being, Tzeetch, grimaced, hissed, and launched at the same time.
“Oh, ho! Your pathetic trinket cannot keep you safe for long. Every time you use your power, every time anyone bends the laws of nature to their own whims, I will be waiting. Know that I will be watching you and guiding your fate, mortal.” Strange said nothing. He could do nothing against such a being. “Now, go pack to where you came from.” With a great, ringing, clap, Strange opened his eyes. He found himself back in New York. His cloak let him down with a thud on the hardwood floor. He winced, then stood. A meeting had to be called. He just hoped superheroes would be enough to stop whatever came next.
[Author’s note: For the curious, Tzeetch is pronounced zeen-ch]
I hope you liked it. While I didn’t want to give you the names of any of the people in Strange’s visions, preferring instead for you to guess for yourselves, the line “I am Tzeentch and you are the puppet that dances to my tune” was just too good to pass up. I also do hope that you could follow at least some of my ramblings there, but, if you couldn’t, feel free to ask me any questions you may have, along with any comments, criticisms, requests, or concerns. Wherever you are, I hope you have a great day.
#writing#my writing#fiction#crossover#crossover story#ulitmate crossover#fanfic#magnificent scoundrels
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what are a few of your favorite stucky headcanons?
Oooohhh I’m glad you added ‘a few’ because this is gonna be a long one. :)
1) Steve’s a morning person.
I mean are any of us surprised? Of course Steve’s the morning person in the relationship. But do you know what Bucky is? A CUDDLER.
Every morning starts out the same. It’s cold outside and it’s nice and warm in the warm confines of their bed with not two but three fleece blankets on top of their comforter. Steve wears nothing but maybe slash on occasion a pair of thin underwear to sleep because the serum turned him into a human furnace.
Sure, it’s freezing as hell outside (”Get your butt back in the house, Steve,” Bucky would say back in nineteen-thirty something.) but nothing stops Steve from going out on his morning run.
Except for Bucky.
Bucky, who snakes his oh so cold metal arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him close. Like a cat, Bucky presses his cold nose into the crook of Steve’s neck between a long drawn out yawn.
“Mmm, stay for a while,” Bucky says, both legs trapping Steve’s so he wouldn’t be able to escape even if he dared.
So Steve caves and does abandons the idea of going out early. Yeah, he’d be a little late by time he does get ready but a half hour past his normal time would suffice.
But then Bucky still persists when Steve tries to wiggle himself out of his arms, “Five more minutes,” Bucky whines as if he’d get his way.
“Buck,” Steve chuckles but sighs out, “okay, fine.”
Five minutes turned out to be an hour, and another half hour because by time Bucky got up, he dragged Steve into the shower with him to do other activities.
Steve ended up skipping his morning run that day.
2) Bucky takes up baking, and he really makes an effort by getting good at it too.
This is inspired by my Bakery!AU WIP of course but honestly, who can’t resist Baker!Bucky? I feel like Bucky would be a stress baker too. What would he make? Probably...
Sourdough, because maybe his ma made it back in the day and it reminds him of home.
Cupcakes. Full-fledged cakes might be intimating for Bucky so I imagine cupcakes would be easier for him. When he wakes up and pads out into the kitchen, he’d wonder where three of them went before his brain catches up with him: Stevie snuck in some before his morning run thinking I wouldn’t notice.
Cookies galore. Sugar, gingerbread, gingersnaps, shortbread, raisin oatmeal because Steve’s an old man, snickerdoodles, peanut butter, but most of all: Chocolate chip. But no ordinary chocolate chip. Sam’s mother’s recipe. How does Bucky get it? Well, he somehow manages to persuade Sam for it.
Again, my Bakery!AU is leaking onto this (lolol) but another thing he’d make: A Russian Honey Cake (Aka: Medovik) not for Steve, no, but for Natasha. Though Steve does compete with Natasha when it comes to requesting Bucky to make it more often. Because damn it if all the baking and assembling each layer takes hours of effort.
Let’s just say Steve doesn’t complain about the massive amounts of baked goods that magically turn up in their kitchen overnight.
3) Their apartment becomes overrun by plants, because every time they pass by the local nursery, Steve can’t resist pulling over when Bucky comments about what’s on display up front.
Bucky becomes a plant Dad™ when it comes to caring for his plants. No, they’re not Steve’s plants because as Bucky puts it: “Every plant you touch, dies.”
It’s a little harsh, but it’s true. That rose bouquet Bucky surprised Steve with on their date at their favorite restaurant? Wilted the very next day. So Steve doesn’t touch the plants, at all. Instead, he funds Bucky’s hobby by buying every goddamn plant and flower under the sun. All the tools required too. Fancy looking plant plots, anything on Bucky’s Pinterest/Instagram feed/etc.
Oh and you know what else?? Bucky takes their spare room and turns it into a cozy reading room.
Not only would it have plants (duh) between a small sofa and a couple of leather chairs, but also a real wooden bookshelf to keep all of their books they start to collect from a local bookstore down the road. Cool looking rugs, accent pieces, fuzzy blankets, and footstools too.
Steve also has his own spot by the window to draw to his heart’s content. Eventually, they’d buy an easel and somehow figure out where exactly to put it because the room’s overrun by furniture and plants.
The room smells heavenly when Steve opens the door, only to find Bucky laying sideways on the couch with his head propped up with his flesh arm.
“Care to join me?” Bucky asks as he lowers his book down.
“Wouldn’t trade it for the world, Buck,” Steve replies, slipping in behind Bucky with his own book he’d chosen prior.
Thank you for coming to my SteveBucky headcanon ted talk!! Next week: Bucky’s mad obsession with Steve’s holy grail of an ass. (that is true and you know it)
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Handyman Sokka
“Aang this is impossible!”
Zuko is hunched over a pile of dark wood and black metal beams, screws and flat rings strewn about the carpet. He’s gripping an instruction manual hard enough to tear the pages in one hand and a rusty screwdriver in the other.
“No, it isn’t. Just read the instructions.”
“I’ve read the instructions 4 times! They’re written in jibberish and I can’t figure out the pictures! I knew I should have just gone to an actual furniture shop and paid for an already assembled desk! Ikea furniture is always such a pain in the ass! But apparently I never learn from my mistakes and my punishment will be endlessly assembling desks and side tables and bed frames in my own personal hell that is move in week!” Zuko exclaims, once again cursing the fact that his depth perception is fucked and his patience is thin.
Aang is silent on the other end, likely waiting to see if Zuko is just catching his breath before starting round two of his anti-Ikea diatribe.
“Sorry Aang, I’m just so frustrated.” Zuko huffs, feeling all the pent-up pressure leave his body and setting the screwdriver down as he lowers his elbows onto his knees.
“No kidding. I’m glad you’re taking it out on me instead of a poor sales person, though.” Zuko chuckles at that. He knows he can be a bit of a hothead but he’s not that much of an asshole (not anymore, at least).
“Where are Jet and Haru,” Aang asks, “why can’t they help you out?”
“Ugh, they’re still so honeymoon-y,” Zuko pretends to gag. “I’m honestly scared to even walk by their room let alone interrupt whatever unspeakable thing they’re doing.”
“Pretty sure you know all about the unspeakable things your ex is doing with his current boyfriend, Zuko,” Aang retorts far too lightheartedly.
“Yeah but it’s not like I want to think about it! It’s so—“
“Oogie?” Aang offers.
“Exactly! Oogie!”
“Okay, well, my schedule is pretty packed this week with orientation activities and TA stuff, but if you can wait till the weekend I can come by and make sure everything ends up assembled instead of in a smoking pile of remains on your front lawn.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Zuko sighs over the phone. Apparently, if you light one dresser on fire suddenly you’re like a serial arsonist or something. Personally, Zuko thinks the whole thing got blown a bit out of proportion.
“Nope,” Aang pops the ‘p’ and Zuko can practically hear his smirk over the phone.
“Hey, it’s ok, I know you’re busy. Maybe I’ll just hire someone to do it.” Zuko sighs, slumping his head between his knees.
Ever since Zuko’s morally corrupt and abusive father died, leaving his estate to Zuko and his sister, he’s been trying to spend his father’s money in ways he hopes will make him roll over in his grave. Zuko doesn’t even know why he was mentioned in the will. His father hated him and they hadn’t talked for over 5 years before he died. Probably still worried about his reputation from beyond the grave, Zuko thinks.
Shortly after his death, Zuko told a family friend of his plan to throw money at things he knows his father would have despised him for. They countered with the classic, “one should not speak ill of the dead,” to which Zuko had responded, “then he shouldn’t have been such a piece of shit before he died.”
So yes, Zuko would be more than happy to pay someone to assemble furniture for him because it would have infuriated his father to no end that he couldn’t just figure it out for himself; that his “hard earned” (aka stolen) money is being wasted. Zuko’s not sure if he believes in an afterlife, but if there is one he hopes Ozai is watching in disgust.
“You sure? I really don’t mind—“ Aang starts before he’s interrupted by a much more chipper sounding Zuko.
“No, no, don’t worry about it, I’m just gonna hire a handyman to do it.”
“Okay, if that’s what you wanna do,” Aang says with only a hint of hesitation in his voice. Zuko has known Aang for years, having attended the same fancy international boarding school since junior high and now the same university. While Zuko hadn’t disclosed the truly horrific details of his and Ozai’s relationship, Aang picked up on enough to understand why he was more than happy to spend a small fortune on certain things. Returning to school one fall with a sizeable scar covering the left side of his face was probably a pretty good hint.
“Actually I know someone who might be able to help you out! Remember last semester when I accidentally signed up for that math class?”
Zuko laughs into his phone, “how could I forget? You had a Zuko versus Ikea style rant about how the registrar needs to change the format of the course signup page because sometimes course names are so unclear and—“
“Yeah yeah yeah don’t make me relive the worst mistake of my academic career.” Zuko can practically hear Aang wincing over the phone. “But I met a guy in that class who’s like, a math genius. I honestly think Piandao even had trouble understanding his final project cause, like,” Aang makes a noise that Zuko assumes is an explosion sound, “mind blown.”
“Buddy, I’m really very happy that you made a friend, but what does this have to do with my lack of places to sit, work, and sleep?” Zuko asks, trying not to let his words drip too heavily with annoyance.
“Well if you’d let me finish,” Aang continues with a dramatic exhale, “we hung out a couple times and he mentioned that he sometimes does general handiwork for extra cash. I bet if I asked he’d be down to help out with your stuff, and he’s probably cheaper than a professional.”
Obviously, cost isn’t really a consideration, but Zuko can still sully his father’s memory without being an outright spendthrift.
“Yeah, that sounds great actually, thanks Aang.”
“What are best friends for? Oh, also you owe me a sushi night.” Before Zuko has time to offer a faux annoyed comeback, Aang chimes, “later, hotman!”
Ugh, Zuko hates that nickname.
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We’re All Just Guys
Well it took the entire fucking season, but I FINALLY get the purpose for Henry Fondle: Sex Robot. And while the entire episode (and season, honestly) has been tremendous, that this ridiculous fucking punchline was the vehicle to deliver the overarching point with a solid knockout punch of meaning AND pathos? Absolutely floored. That BoJack Horseman can be (and often is) brilliant isn��t a surprise, but the ways is keeps proving it often are.
So “The Stopped Show”, a tale of accountability and responsibility and how we’re all just guys.
Each of our main characters closes out this season alone (sort of), in assorted stages of realizing the main themes, or completely failing to. I find Diane’s arc the hardest for me to make a decision on, which isn’t surprising, as I think in many ways, Diane’s the most complicated character in the show. She delivers, directly and succinctly, one of the major points of not just this season but the entire show, but how does it relate to her? I’M NOT COMPLETELY SURE. I think part of the problem with (and for) Diane is that she knows better. She’s the most insightful character, she has a fantastic head on her shoulders, but only for everyone else. She’s this fucked up little disaster prophet, her vision clear and her message concise, unable to ever apply her gifts to fix herself.
Diane is just as trapped as BoJack, but in a fun twist, is now lagging behind him in trying to do something about it. Nearly every single scene with Diane this season has been in this sad little room of her sad little apartment with all her sad little unpacked boxes, and no matter how much truth and wisdom she spits out, HERE SHE STILL IS, failing to correctly assemble IKEA furniture with names like Bȧcksleid. She already feels like shit for sleeping with Mr. Peanutbutter, so what does she do? THE SAME FUCKING THING. To which I groan and roll my eyes, while simultaneously being proud of her for directly and immediately setting him straight about not getting back together. Diane rides this constant line where she gets it but also doesn’t, which is so interesting to me in the level of additional frustration this makes me feel. BoJack is so self-absorbed you don’t really expect any better of him, which has the flip side of your expectations being so low that even the whiff of progress feels exceptional. Diane doesn’t come with any of that though, she knows better, you KNOW she knows better, and the consequence of this for the audience is that she winds up being more unlikeable than the guy who literally last episode nearly strangled his girlfriend and co-star in the middle of a paranoid drug-induced frenzy.
Which is fucked up! It’s intensely fucked up! And also, I think, the point! We expect more of Diane, and so feel more disappointed when she doesn’t deliver. Is that fair of us?
But there’s more here, as we pivot to the accountability portion of this episode/season. From the beginning of the show, it’s been incredibly upfront about how everything is unfair. We come back to this time and again. Privilege rules the day in the world of Hollywoo. Fame, money, charisma, gender, power. BoJack has been an asshole from pretty much the moment he set foot in the spotlight (possibly before?), and the only thing ever even attempting to hold him back has been the moments his guilt manages to scream loud enough to be heard over his internal narrative. Whatever he does, however he fucks up, he always stumbles back to his feet, and NEVER with any (broad scale) consequences. Meanwhile, here’s Diane, in her sad shitty apartment. Consequences haunt Diane, even if she’s the one doing the haunting. The crap things she’s done and the shitty choices she’s made cling to her.
There’s no fairness in that either, no justice. But Hollywoo (and the entire world around it) (and our world too oh yes) has that privilege carved into its bones, and Diane bears none of its marks. Her situation is very different from but parallel to Gina, who is just so fucked over, it keeps legitimately making me angry for her.
Gina, of course, brought none of this on herself. She made the mistake of caring about BoJack and trying to help him. OOPS YOU WERE A GENEROUS PERSON WITH AN OPEN HEART FUCK YOU LADY. For her trouble, Gina has been assaulted and traumatized, AND she is in very real danger of her career being over when it’s only just finally beginning. And she KNOWS THIS. That’s the part that I keep coming back to. All this should be an aberration, an anomaly, and while that may be true of the specifics, conceptually, it’s so commonplace that Gina already knows how it’s going to play. She’ll stop being Gina and become The Woman Nearly Strangled To Death By BoJack Horseman. Even if she’s able to keep working, this is what she’ll be asked about in every interview forever. Even if she convinced people to genuinely listen to her, BoJack would, at worst, get a slap on the wrist as he stumbles back to his feet. We know that, WE ALL KNOW THAT, because it happens all. the. fucking. time. Gina did nothing wrong, but this would still define her for the rest of her life, while for BoJack, it would maybe become a footnote on his Wikipedia page.
Nothing about that is FAIR. Nothing about it is JUST. Gina’s choices shouldn’t have to be “this becomes my entire life” or “swallow this down and pretend it never happened”. But it is, as it has been in perpetuity for the victims of the privileged.
So then what can we do about it? Well that’s really the question, isn’t it? This episode answers it in an assortment of ways (I think the entire SHOW is very much about this, really, but this episode is for sure coming with guns blazing), while also showing us why none of those answers can work. It’s funny and sad and awful and true, but also, ultimately, the most hopeful answer because it’s the only one you can actually affect: It’s you. It’s me. It’s each and every one of us, individually, making a choice to be better.
And believe it or not, we embody this with Henry Fondle: Sex Robot.
I thought the whole thing was so unbelievably stupid. Half the season, we’ve had this goddamn multi-dildo’d juvenile frat boy joke running around with its stupid ass Speak-and-Say voice, doing the same shtick over and over, and I’m like, “okay this is just the shit I have to put up with to get the clever stuff, I guess.” BUT THAT’S EXACTLY THE POINT I’M SITTING THERE LIVING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN POINT AND MISSING IT. Henry Fondle: Sex Robot is seventeen shades of overt horribleness, AND WE ALL JUST GIVE IT A PASS. It’s just the way it is, the way the world works, the price of doing business. When the whole time -- THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME -- all it took was one person to say no. One person who could see the game we all are playing and was willing to give up everything to stop it.
Hilariously, Henry Fondle IS a metaphor, sort of, but of the saddest kind. He is literally a robot, he can’t possibly change. What’s more, media fervor will never affect him, fallout will never touch him, and the powerful will always rally around themselves to retain their power. It takes Todd, the head of the company, the creator of Henry Fondle, and the one person who would benefit most from the unending efforts of the rest of the world bending over backwards to avoid the truth, to put a stop to it. In doing so, he immediately returns to his old, homeless, destitute self, but doesn’t once hesitate or look back.
It’s Todd, and only Todd, that stops that madness, because while individual people are a problem, the world at large is too. Stefani makes a great point that Diane holds herself and everyone else to impossible standards and a little forgiveness and grace wouldn’t go amiss, but when Diane suggests they apply that philosophy to their clickbait gossipy shit on their website, it’s just
Which again, is beautifully cynical and depressing, but not untrue. Fostering a more forgiving culture isn’t in stopping websites from posting clickbaity takedown articles, it’s each person deciding not to take the clickbait. We can absolutely have a conversation about the people creating their world or the world creating its people, but when you boil it down, only one of those things can you yourself absolutely and directly change, and it’s not the entire world.
A THING DIANE GETS BUT SIMULTANEOUSLY ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT.
I can’t take myself away from this Diane thing, I know, but only because she’s the fucking CORE of each and every one of us struggling with this idea. She’s the simplicity of it and the complication all in one. Not BoJack, which is NOT where I thought we’d be when we started this journey. BoJack is more an action on the people around him at this point in the story, he IS the world you cannot change. He’s pointed to rehab, and off he goes -- or doesn’t! I don’t think it’s coincidence that we stay with Diane and watch her watching him.
Oh, Diane, indeed. As she tells her story of her friend Abby, who threw her over for the cool kids, who turned every confidence into a scar. Who Diane still helped anyway, because Abby needed her. Did Abby learn from that, did she get better? We don’t know; we stay with Diane and watch her watching Abby. Diane, who can so completely understand about personal responsibility while failing to recognize her own enabling for the shitty things that keep happening to her.
You can control yourself. That’s it. That’s the only playground with a guarantee.
Will BoJack go off to learn that? Will Diane stay and figure it out?
THAT’S WHAT NEXT SEASON IS FOR
Something I was toying with including in this, but ultimately decided against for a variety of reasons, was the contrast between BoJack’s take on personal responsibility independent of external response, and The Good Place’s argument that people need external support for personal growth. An idea I may not have even considered contrasting save that Doc’s talked before about these two Jewish creators with what are clearly very different philosophies, and basically, if she were ever able to manage a discussion between them on this, I’d love to be in the room. I’ll be very quiet and not get in the way, I promise.
#jet wolf watches bojack#a novel by jet wolf#this has been so hard to write and consolidate into a series of thoughts that made some measure of cohesive sense#i'm still not sure i've managed it#but i'm pretty sure i've kicked it around about as much as i'm able at this point#IT WORKS OR IT DOESN'T I DON'T KNOW FLY MY PRETTY
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lightbulb
One Shot
remus lupin x reader
roommates prompt by @love-me-a-good-prompt
- person A helping person B change a light bulb that they can't reach
Summary: Remus and you have been dating for a while, he is helping you move in your new apartment, you insist on doing things on your own, he’s annoying.
Warnings: swearing lightly, fluff, jokingly teasing (non sexual) ... idk honestly there’s nothing
no mentions of gender or physical apperance besides being short I guess?? but nothing special because Remus is a giant anyways.
AN: english is not my first language, I’m sorry for any mistakes, this is my first one shot :)
You dropped the last box on the furniture-less living room, wich was filled with boxes, and sighed. Stretching your sore limbs you turned to see your boyfriend, Remus, going around the apartment to make sure you hadn't missed anything important. The walls were bare, but you would soon fill them with pictures and decorations.
You started unpacking the first boxes, picking random things to put on the walls, Remus helped in other rooms. You had managed to find your stereo in the first boxes, and had been blasting music to keep your motivation up. After an hour of work, you went to the bedroom, were Remus was fumbling into one of the bags you had brought up earlier.
Approaching him slowly, you put your hands on his shoulders, slowly going down his arms before sneaking around his waist, and you let yourself fall into his back.
'Hi you!' you could hear the grin in his voice, and one of his hands reached yours, slowly rubbing his thumb on it.
'Hi' you mumbled into his back, and he chuckled before turning around and embracing you, and you melted in his chest. It smelt good, as always, the smell of coffee, old books and mint, with a light sweaty scent after having spent the morning carrying heavy boxes.
'You done with the living room?' he asked stroking your hair. You sighed, throwing your head back to look at him. His hair was messy, and he was smiling lightly with his eyes, his lips curved in a small smirk.
'Don't look at me like that, I'm exhausted.' you pointed your finger at him, menacingly, 'And I came to ask you where did we put the light bulbs, I have to change a few.'
'And how exactly are you going to do that.' he said playfully as you hit his bicep.
'Shut up giant man.' you glared at him as he laughed. 'I am perfectly capable of changing my own light bulbs. Without even using magic.'
'About that, why don't you just summon them?' he lift an eyebrow, ‘You have a wand you know?’ you rolled your eyes at his comment.
'Because if they're in the same box as something fragile it could lead to disaster, captain obvious.' you stated as you bent to look into the remaining boxes that were scattered around the room.
'Right, well, if you need any help you know I'm right here, just a little bit above you.'
'Shut the fuck up Remus.' you looked at him deathly eyed, only making him laugh more. 'Ah, here they are. I'll see you in a minute, when I will have put all the new light bulbs by myself.'
You stormed out of the room, going back to the living room, only hearing Remus's chuckles. You could do it very well on your own, it wasn't because he was 6'4 that you would need him to do what you had to do. But the ceiling was very high, and as you looked up, you felt your confidence flinch a little before reminding yourself that you had to prove Remus wrong.
You went to grab a chair, the only one you had yet, but it was still too high for your reach. Getting back down with a frustrated sigh, you looked around. Spotting the remaining boxes filled with books, you lifted one and placed it on the chair. Carefully, you threw your knee up the unstable structure and lifted yourself up, before standing up. You felt your knees flinch a little but taking a deep breath, you extended your arm, pushing yourself on your tip toes.
You barely reached the lamp, but managed to slowly unscrew the light bulb, removing it carefully. You reached for the new one, and extending yourself again, screwed it on. You smiled in content; take that Remus. Slowly getting down your pedestal you proceeded to move your chair and book box around the apartment, climbing on it dangerously. You were at your third lamp when Remus came inside the room.
He couldn't help but burst into laughter when he saw you struggling on the pile of clutter you used to reach the lights. You had added three or four old manuals on the box, because of their size, making it easier to accomplish your task.
'Need a little help love?' he chuckled, approaching the chair.
'Thank you, but I know exactly what I'm doing wolf boy.' You replied harshly, determined to prove your point. His only reaction was to laugh more, and you couldn't help but drop your arm back to glare at him.
'You seem like you could use some help.' he continued to smile, amused.
'And I wish I could punch you in the throat, but even I have standards and animal abuse is below me.' you replied, screwing the new light bulb. You heard your boyfriend burst out in laughter again, and you couldn't help but smile at the ceiling. His laugh sounded like cristal cascading into soft water, it was magical.
'Here.' you bent your knees to start climbing down. ' I'm done, and I just proved you wrong. Once again' you grinned at Remus as you lied on your tummy, sliding down.
But before you could touch the floor, he lifted you up, before setting you down on firm floor.
‘Actually no, you missed the bathroom.’ he smiled and your face dropped.
‘I was about to do it.’ you replied, taking your chair and startinf to pull it with you to the bathroom.
‘Let me have this darling.’ and before you could say anything, he took the chair, dropped the box on it and went to the bathroom.
‘Hey! Come back here you dimwit! I can do it on my own!’ but it was to late, Remus was perched up the chair, easily removing the bulb and replacing it with a new one.
You crossed your arms on your chest and glared at him as he jumped down the chair. He chuckled as he saw you pout, and suddenly he lifted you and threw you on his shoulder, carrying you to the bed he had just finsihed assembling.
'Oh you finished the bed!' you said excitedly, before screeching as he threw you on the soft mattress, and he jumped on it too. 'Hmm it's comfy.' you snuggled into the cushions and the young man stretched his arms around you, crashing you against his torso.
'Yeah it is.' he whispered in your hair, as he stroked your back softly.
'Didn't hear you apologise for not believing in me though.' you said finally. He groaned, turning on his back.
'Fine. You did a good job.' he sighed.
'No no, that's not what I want to hear.' you said and he stared at you in a annoyed look.
'Are you fucking serious?' he huffed trying to engulf you in another hug to make you shut up.
'Why would I fuck your best friend, Remus?.' you smirked, amused by your own joke. Remus let out a growl and started tickling your sides, making you screech again. 'Stop! Okay okay SORRY!' you shouted in between heavy pants.
'Alright alright, I was wrong, you were capable of changing your light bulbs, through a very... pathetic and ridiculous way-' you hit him with your pillow. 'Oi! Sorry sorry, I was wrong.' he smiled as you huffed and rolled your eyes.
'You morron.' you said lovingly as you dived into his chest, snuggling close to him. He smiled and finally put his arms around you, and you rested from the tiring day you'd had.
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The ending was so fucked up sorry i didn’t know how to finish this.
#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#remus x reader#sirius black#james potter#marauders era#remus lupin one shot#marauders#hogwarts#harry potter
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could you talk a bit more about your internship thingy? it sounds so fun!! (only if you're comfortable, of course!!) i think i want to do something similar 🤔
Of course!!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to answer, nonnie 🙈 I don’t know if there’s something specific you’d like to know, so I’ll just give a little overview!! And if you have more questions, feel free to message me or send more asks!! 🥰🥰
So my internship is in television production. Which sounds SUPER exciting, but because of the pandemic and the nature of internship site (they work in advertising), I didn’t do as much as I would have liked. However!! I did learn a great deal about pre- and post- production. I also got to work with some huge national companies (which I’m not technically allowed to talk about, shhhh 🙈) and be a production assistant on set while filming!! Here’s a breakdown of a typical day in my different “roles”:
Pre-Production Assistant: On days when I was working pre-production, I would do anything from budget catering for shoots to create call sheets and budgets for the entire project. I would also help with scripts and blocking with the director and director of photography. However, sometimes this also meant sorting through thousands of pictures to choose eight for a 30 second b-roll montage. So, definite ups and downs.
Production Assistant: These days were my favorite!! They were hectic and boring and long and they flew by. And I know none of that makes sense, but trust me. It was a journey 😂🙈 So on these days, I was more of a typical “intern” (think like the ones you see in movies and tv shows). I was constantly on the phone with my director before I arrived, getting everyone’s coffee orders, grabbing breakfast and lunch, setting up tents and loading up water coolers for the crew. This sometimes also meant assembling furniture or scrubbing the labels off of wine bottles and lighter fluid (don’t ask 🙈). I was in charge of snacks and keeping the crew happy and caffeinated throughout the day, but I was also in charge of making sure the set stayed quiet while they were filming. There were days where I sat in operating rooms for hours and opened and closed the door quietly while the director and DP argued about the difference between the procedure of a colonoscopy and an endoscopy. There were days where I was cleaning ketchup off of our actor, picking hot dogs off the floor and washing them to reset props, and getting charcoal all over my shoes (and clothes and face) as I reset again and again and AGAIN. These days have a LOT of sitting around and waiting. I mean… a LOT. It’s probably going to be over half of your 8-16 hour day. But you’re also the runner for anyone and anything. So when I was needed, I was sitting in lavish chairs while the lighting team color balanced for the camera, I was running to the grip’s truck and opening EVERY drawer to find a hammer, and I was taking notes and marking time points for voice over work. It was so much fun 🙈
Post-Production Assistant: This was the part of production I was most familiar with before I started my internship, and it’s pretty self-explanatory. On these days, I worked with the editing team, the graphics team, and the creative director. The one division I never worked with was audio, and it still bugs me because I wanted to. Post-production is where most of the “magic happens”, so to speak. It’s where you really see your project start coming together and where the most changes happen (in my opinion). One minute you could be clipping together a 30 second commercial, and the next you could get an email saying that the client wants it to be two minutes and they need it in three hours. And you don’t have enough footage. And graphics hasn’t even touched it yet. But you’ve got to figure it out. It’s a weird kind of rush 🙈 Honestly, post-production is so broad and there’s SO much that happens in this stage, it’s hard to describe it briefly.
My advice to you (not that you asked for any, but here we are) is to be prepared for anything. And be open to anything. If there’s one thing about any stage of production, it’s that it’s CRAZY and constantly in flux. But that’s what makes it so fun!! If you’re not going to school for production, try to familiarize yourself with film and editing software!! Go shoot a few videos on your phone and try out the free trial of Adobe Premiere. Mess around in Logic (if you have a Mac) or Ableton Live if you’re into music. Watch tutorials on YouTube and research different kinds of demo reels. This will get you familiar with what is expected of you in this line of work and what you should be prepared for. And then, start applying!! I find that most people in production are patient and willing to help you learn. They want to share how cool their jobs are!! And don’t be discouraged if you can’t find an internship — if you take the time to study up on the different processes, you can make your own projects in Final Cut (Mac) or Premiere (PC) without a ton of fancy equipment!! I would say, before you start applying, to try to create a few things on your own. First of all, you’ll see if you enjoy working in production. And second, you’ll have finished projects, however short, to present to potential employers so they can get a good feel for your skill level.
And remember: you’re going to be an intern. You’re not expected to know everything. You’re not really expected to know anything. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to say “I don’t know”, as long as you’re willing to learn. You’ve got this 🥰👏🏼
#are we suprised that this ended up not being brief???#no- of course not#I hope this was helpful!!#again- feel free to message or send asks with any more questions!!!#internship#production internship#production assistant#it’s so weird to think I’ll be graduating in two weeks#AHHHHH where did the time go???#ask me anything#asks#anon asks#production anon
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You Are Pregnant
Chan
Okay so we are going to start by saying that this is a few years down the line. The boys are about to be in the prime of their lives and having a baby right now just wouldn't be the main agenda right now. Anyway, when Chan discovers that you are pregnant he would be so excited it's unreal. He knew from the moment he set eyes on you that you are the person he wants to spend eternity with, so the fact that you guys are now having a baby together is just the missing puzzle piece to perfection. But just know, if you thought Chan was protective before, this boy is gonna practically turn into your own personal bodyguard.
Minho
With Minho, even if you guys were trying for a baby I think it would still shock him when you tell him that you are actually pregnant. Having a baby is a huge responsibility, and Minho would worry about whether he is going to be a good father or not. No matter how many times you reassure him, Minho would be the quickest out of all the boys to panic. Unfortunately Minho’s constant state of panic would actually put a damper on the whole mood, and it would definitely make you question whether Minho actually wants a child with you. Please know that he is excited, he just wants to be the best dad but doesn't know how.
Changbin
Changbin is definitely the type to faint when his partner tells him they are pregnant, I’m sorry but I don't make the rules. Changbin is also the type to ask you how you are pregnant, and then you kinda give him that look of - well you were there two, it takes two to make a baby - . Changbin relies a lot on research, and this boy is getting every piece of information about how to raise a child that is out there. He's also read a million and one books on how to make sure you have a safe and comfortable pregnancy, and the best way to give birth. Changbin would become very fixated on it, not in a bad way though!
Hyunjin
Hyunjin has been pestering you for a baby for the longest time. Not a day goes by where he doesn't mention how amazing you would be as a mother, and how cute it would be to have a baby running around. And you know everytime you guys have sex he is practically begging to not use protection, just on the chance that you get pregnant. Therefore when you actually tell him you are pregnant, Hyunjin is bouncing off the walls. That day, Hyunjin is going to every baby store in town, buying loads of baby clothes and cute little baby shoes. He's also looking online for the best colours to paint a nursery etc.
Jisung
When you tell Jisung that you are pregnant, everything would suddenly become very real for him. And he'd actually beat himself up that you guys haven't done things in the ‘right’ way, you guys aren't even married yet. But there is no right or wrong way to do life! Only the way that works best for you! Jisung might try to rush you down the aisle before the baby is born, but know that you can say no if you don't want to. You'd reassure Jisung that you do want to be married to him, but only when the time is right. You don't want him to feel pressured into making a lifelong commitment.
Felix
Oh no, bloody hell this would be so interesting to watch because Felix would be so confused about what to do. Don't get me wrong, Felix knows that the best place to start would be the internet, but obviously the internet can be a really scary place full of horror stories and worst case scenarios. This would put the ultimate fear in Felix and then because he is panicking, you are panicking and honestly I hope that you guys have the support of your families because you're gonna need someone to tell you to calm the heck down! I think you'd both need reminding that having a baby is an exciting experience!
Seungmin
Aw this little cherub would be another Chan, and we are here for it! Seungmin is so excited that you guys are having a baby, and he wants to celebrate this amazing time with everyone. Seungmin is definitely the type who goes out of his way to get absolutely anything and everything that you are craving. Seriously no request is too obscure for him. Seungmin is just so grateful that you are carrying his baby that he needs to repay you in some way. He has also researched the best way to give you a massage so when your body is sore he is right there trying to ease the pain.
I.N
Jeongin would be a very hands on partner when you tell him you are pregnant. He understands that while this experience is beautiful, it can be downright painful sometimes. There will be days when you won’t be able to get out of bed because you will be sick, or your back hurts you so badly that you can't stand. Jeongin would take it upon himself to make sure everything is ready for the baby’s arrival. If you can't find Jeongin in the apartment, just note that he is in your baby’s future nursery, painting everything and assembling all the furniture. He doesn't want you to lift a finger, you need to relax.
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Chapter 7 - Lunch Date With My Victim
7.1. Eden's Errand Boy
It was awfully quiet. Haru and the boys looked each other straight in the eye but no one said a single word. The wind was gently blowing, mixing the fragrance of the thousand blossoms into the air, gently caressing the animals’ noses. Finally, Haru broke the silence…
‘I don’t usually have visitors in the Gardening Club, so this is really a pleasant surprise’ she said.
The other two were still speechless, sunken deep in thought. Haru was pacing them with her eyes, waiting for them to say anything.
‘My word, they are helpless’ she thought. ‘I wonder what they might be thinking.’
Both boys were uncomfortable with the situation. Legoshi could feel his stomach shake. He just wanted to leave this mess, never to come back.
‘It’s the girl from that night! I didn’t think she’d be so small… I must leave… now!’ he thought. ‘But what excuse do I make…? Stomachache or perhaps emergency bathroom break? How about »I just remembered, I’ve got some errands to take care of!«? Yeah… I think that might work.’
‘Oh, umm… I…’ Legoshi tried to say but Kibi was faster.
‘Oh, I just remembered some errands I have to take care of!”
Legoshi was devastated. Just when he came up with the perfect excuse, it was used against him to leave him in the stickiest of situations. He sent a shocked and angry look towards Kibi. If looks could kill, Kibi would’ve died right then and there. Legoshi crouched down to him.
‘Wait, why are you leaving?’ he whispered.
‘Sorry, I’ll buy you an ant shake, but please don’t try to stop me’ Kibi replied. ‘I’ll leave the rest to you – I owe you one.’ And with that, he said his goodbyes to Haru and left through the rusty green door.
As Haru watched them fight, she thought of two possible reasons, why the other two acted like this. One, they were seriously afraid of girls. Two, this was some sort of act on their sides – perhaps a prank of the Drama Club.
‘I thought you came here to get some flowers for the New Student Welcome Event’ she said, momentarily breaking the tension. ‘Am I wrong?’
‘No, of course not!’ Kibi replied to her. ‘We’re gonna need your flowers… It’s just that I really need to take care of some errands. This friendly wolf knows everything you need to know’ he said with a forced smile from the other side of the entrance. Legoshi sent some devastating glares towards him. He tried his best to make Kibi stay, but all was in vain.
‘Look, I’m really sorry about this’ Kibi said. ‘You need to do this for the Drama Club, okay?’
He could finally gather enough strength and slammed the door on Legoshi, almost jamming his fingers in the process.
There was at least a good half minute of awkward silence before anyone said anything.
‘We’re alone’ Legoshi thought.
‘Well, your friend’s gone’ Haru said, while dusting off her uniform. There was some mud on it from watering the flowerbeds at the back of the club previously. ‘It’s always the bad rumors that spread the fastest. I probably scared him off.’ Haru sighed.
Legoshi was still afraid to say a word.
‘Well, all boys are scared of girls in some respect, so it doesn’t really bother me’ Haru said while putting her hands on her waist. ‘Are you different?’ she asked Legoshi with a soft smile on her face.
‘No… not really’ Legoshi responded – his ears drooped.
‘This can’t be happening right now’ he thought. ‘I literally tried to eat you! Of course I’m scared of talking to you! I don’t have the right to talk to you!’
‘Every club gets busy every year, trying to do something big for the event. What club are you in?’ Haru asked, trying to finally break the ice.
‘The Drama Club…’ Legoshi answered. He really just wanted to get this over with. ‘I’m a stagehand and I really need flowers to decorate the assembly hall.’
He handed Dom’s plans to Haru about the decoration. She inspected them thoroughly.
‘I see. So you want to decorate with roses, huh? Well, you shouldn’t decorate the entire hall with pure red roses. They are very poisonous.’
‘Oh, I see…’
‘I’ve got many other roses of many different colors. I’ll show them to you.’
‘Thank you.’
Haru took the lead from then on and they walked to a huge flowerbed, covered densely in roses of all colors. The rabbit girl was not kidding; every color of the rainbow was there, proudly blooming in the golden rays of sunshine, emitting their incredible fragrance in the air for everyone to smell. It was a sight to behold and a scent to enjoy. But Legoshi still couldn’t escape his thoughts.
‘Her head is so far away from mine. I bet she sees the world in a much different way than I do. This may be the first time I’ve ever talked to a small animal.’
‘See, here they are’ Haru said. ‘You can take as many as you want… On one condition.’
‘What condition?’ Legoshi asked nervously. ‘Damn, I can’t look her in the eye!’ he thought.
‘Well, these plants are like my children and I won’t give them away for free. Could you take those plants over to that other flowerbed? I’ll be perfectly honest, I really care about these children, but a girl can only do so much by herself’ she said while pointing towards a dozen of potted plants.
Legoshi sent a kind of confused look towards Haru, but he still agreed to help.
‘It’s settled then’ Haru said, while grabbing Legoshi’s tail. She squeezed it under his suspenders. The situation was definitely shocking for the shy wolf.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I can’t just have you break my plants with this big monster tail of yours. Don’t worry, I won’t chop it off’ Haru giggled.
‘She... touched me…’ Legoshi thought.
Legoshi had never seen a small animal touch a large-breed carnivore before, but to experience it himself was something he would’ve never even imagined in his life. After all was settled, Legoshi picked up one of the pots Haru instructed him to and carried it to its new place: next to the club’s fence.
‘I’m a third year student by the way’ Haru said. ‘Which year are you in?’
‘I’m a second year.’
There were quite many of the pots Legoshi had to carry but it was not a task he couldn’t manage. He actually began to enjoy himself and started to become more open towards Haru.
‘Are there any other members in this club?’ he asked.
‘You don’t have to be so formal. There were two older students before but they graduated four years ago. No one joined ever since.’
Legoshi was surprised and amazed. ‘Wow! She’s been taking care of all these plants for four years all by herself? What’s this if not dedication?’
After putting the last pot at the designated area, he picked up a notepad he found nearby. On it, he found a calendar, on which besides the weather, there was a detailed list of the days’ achievements, and how the plants were progressing.
‘It must be rough to do all this work alone’ Legoshi said.
‘Well, it’s not easy for sure, but there are other events where clubs need my flowers so it all works out’ Haru said, while watering some of the flowers nearby. After finishing, she picked up a pot with a beautiful lotus inside it and proceeded to put it to a place with more sun.
‘These plants are like my children: they need me. And I need them. Perhaps a wolf like you wouldn’t understand, but weak creatures need to live by depending on each other. Acting brave doesn’t do me any favors. Sometimes it could be fatal’ she said with a soft smile on her face.
These words sent Legoshi’s mind running to the events of that night. How he hunted down the rabbit girl, how he caused her injury and how she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Zoe to break him away from his feral side. He looked at Haru’s arm and gulped. Seeing her wearing all those bandages was a painful sight for Legoshi, knowing it was because of him. ‘Don’t say a word’ he thought. But he couldn’t help himself.
‘What happened to your arm?’ he asked. ‘I know exactly. It was me! It was all me! I’m so cruel!’
‘Well... to be honest, I don’t know’ Haru said. Legoshi raised his eyebrows in surprise.
‘I wonder what it was though’ Haru continued. ‘I know it hurt a lot but I don’t have a clear memory of what happened.’
‘You don’t?’ Legoshi asked in disbelief.
‘Nope. Anyway, I’m sorry if I scared you or anything. I know it’s creepy for a small animal like me to be wearing a bandage now of all times, but I’m doing fine. I’m sure it was just a nightmare’ she said with a wide smile on her face.
Legoshi couldn’t believe what he just heard. Does he tell her, or keep it a secret forever? It would’ve ended horribly anyway – never seeing this rabbit again. He finally decided not to say anything else.
‘I bought some scarlet sage seeds by the way. Would you like to plant some with me?’ Haru asked.
‘Sure!’ Legoshi nodded. ‘Her words don’t fill me with salvation or guilt. I just can’t stop looking at her. I enjoy talking to her so much. I usually rarely enjoy getting to know others… I want to become her friend.’
The work was soon done with all the seeds planted and watered in just a couple of minutes. Gardening, of course however, is a dirty job so it’s no wonder both their hands were covered in mud and dirt.
‘We should probably go to the club room to wash our hands’ Haru said. Legoshi nodded in acceptance. The club room was only a few steps away. When they arrived there, they washed their hands with warm water.
The room was filled with furniture and books mostly. There was a bed in the corner with a desk next to it. A table full of pots and watering cans. Underneath the table were pesticides and on the walls, there were gardening tools neatly placed. Even though it felt quite crowded, Legoshi felt cozy in that environment.
‘Thank you so much for moving all those heavy plants for me! They haven’t been feeling well at all, but now they can recover and have flowers, too. Let me give you a reward. What kind of food do you like?’
Legoshi was surprised by the question. Did that rabbit really just ask him about his favorite foods? Does she actually want to spend more time with him?
‘Well, honestly, I’m not really hungry right now’ Legoshi said. ‘But I’m in the mood for some ant shakes. What do you think?’
Haru nodded in agreement and together, they headed for the cafeteria for their late afternoon snacks: shakes.
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Come Over (2/7)
Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.
Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Chapter Warnings: None
Notes: Thank you everybody for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! I don’t think I’ve ever had that much response from the get go on a new series. Anyways, this part’s a bit longer. Feedback/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ♥
P.S. - Not sure how many of you saw my recent post regarding tag lists but I figure I’d mention it here: I am not longer doing tag lists. Honestly the work to payoff ratio is so off there’s no point in my doing them anymore, coupled with the fact that Google docs is unreliable. More than half the people on these lists don’t interact with the stories they’re tagged for anyways, so I’m just not doing tag lists anymore. Please don’t ask me for tags.
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Your first day at Stark Industries goes perfectly. Tony is a little ...out there for lack of better terminology, but overall he is the perfect boss—not too needy except in his caffeine addiction. He doesn’t go easy on you, firing off press conferences and meetings and so many other events at you in some funny attempt to get you to slip up. You surprise him by repeating each event, date and time included, in perfect chronological order. Behind his sunglasses, his dark eyebrows raise.
Your lunch is taken at your desk as you fill in your new planner with all the events Tony had given you. Your entire month of September seems to be filled to the brim with meetings you’re required to sit on, presentations of new tech, and luncheons with other big conglomerates in the industry. It’s overwhelming, but you didn’t plunge yourself into massive student debt for easy.
You even get a chance to meet a few of your coworkers when you step out for coffee for both you and Tony. Unsurprisingly, he takes it black with two sugars. A brunette woman and a tall man with glasses stand in front of you in the coffee shop on the bottom floor of the building, and when she notices you, she smiles and turns around to fully face you.
“You must be Tony’s new assistant,” she says. Returning her smile, you nod and throw out a hand.
“Y/N.”
“Wanda. And this is Vis, he works in Finance for Stark Industries.” The tall man smiles too and instead of shaking your hand, he kisses the back of it. Wanda giggles at the surprised look on your face and lightly slaps Vis in the chest.
“Vis, don’t scare the poor girl on her first day.”
The two of them step up to the counter and order, and Wanda waits while you do the same. She pulls you into a light conversation, asking how your first day is going, what it’s like so far working for Tony, where you moved from, and you answer them all easily. Wanda seems to be an easygoing person, one you look forward to getting to know better. Vis is quiet, but he interjects here and there for clarification on some things or to ask you questions of his own.
Wanda works in Marketing for the company, a huge duty in your opinion, but she seems to like the responsibility. She’s funny and sweet, and the three of you get into the elevator together once you all have your coffees. After exchanging numbers and a promise for a night out together soon, you part ways. Tony’s on the phone when you step into his office after knocking lightly with your knuckles, and he waves you in while telling the person on the other line just where he can shove “such a bullshit offer”.
Your face must show your slight shock at Tony’s mannerism because he smirks and accepts the coffee you hold out to him, downing half of it in a single gulp. He jiggles the cup idly.
“Sometimes you gotta play a little hardball. I’m expecting his call back in about, oh, twenty minutes,” he boasts, spinning on his heel to saunter over to the workstation set up in his office. “So, new blood, why me?”
You’re momentarily surprised by the question; most of your day had been spent following Tony around and scribbling down notes, and now you find yourself put on the spot by his suddenly asking about you. Mentally you fumble for an answer, your confidence a little wobbly after the surprise wears off.
“Where else am I going to be part of the greatest technology to ever exist?” is the response you settle on, if only to stroke Tony’s wild ego a bit. He grins cheekily and sips at his coffee.
“I like you,” he mutters, as if to himself.
He asks you a few more personal questions about yourself, questions that weren’t answered in the interview he regrettably, so he says, could not be present for. It feels rather odd having this kind of rapport with your boss, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Your previous employers only cared about your being on time and getting your work done, but Tony seems to take an honest interest in your schooling, your experiences, and where you see yourself headed in the future.
“Yikes,” he yelps when he checks the Stark Watch on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’m sure you have some work to finish up before you go home.”
He says it with an apologetic smile behind his sunglasses, and the responding smirk you send him feels natural.
“Of course, Mr. Stark—”
“Ah, ah, Tony, please. Mr. Stark makes me sound old and cynical.”
You snort. “Very well, Tony. If I don’t see you before I leave I’ll see you in the morning for our seven AM meeting with AIMTech.”
Winking quickly, you spin around and head back to your office, humming lowly but happily. Your first day at Stark Industries has gotten much better than expected and it puts a small spring in your step as you head back to your office. Office. You can’t even believe that as a personal assistant you’re entitled to an actual office as opposed to just a desk out in the open. But, from what you could gather from talking to Wanda, working for Stark Industries won’t feel like work at all.
You finish keying in changes and adjustments to Tony’s schedule that you’ve received via email. Fortunately, your meeting the next morning remains unchanged, but you feel secure in staying on top of everything. There’s a comfort and a calmness that comes with strict, almost obsessive organization for you. Things feel complete, in their proper places, and so you spend the last fifteen minutes of your work day organizing and reorganizing your desk in a fashion that seems most efficient and less hectic. Your planner is within easy reach, and your computer calendar is pinned to your taskbar. You feel good, at home here, where you can keep someone else’s life perfectly organized.
You take the subway home, earbuds shoved in your ears and streaming the latest episode to the My Favorite Murder podcast. Your feet are a little sore from your shoes, only slight relief when you shift your weight and readjust your feet inside them. The couch, a blanket, and some tea are desperately calling your name as you step off the subway and walking stiffly back to your apartment building. Your first real day in the city had been spent familiarizing and memorizing the routes to and from work so as not to be late for your first day. Now you know it perfectly and you greet the doorman to your building with a tired smile.
Your day was invigorating, but man, are you exhausted. Now that the pressure to be professional and keep focus is off, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. The rickety elevator doors open with a squeak and you step inside and lean against the cool metal of the back wall.
Bucky is in the hallway when the doors open on your floor, looking like he’d just gotten home from work himself and on the phone. Your steps falter a little at the look on his face; it’s pinched, brows furrowed low over his eyes and jaw muscles jumping. You can’t hear him from the elevator where you wait, his voice is low and hurried and sharp. He’s arguing with someone, that much is obvious.
Carefully you step forward, acting as if you weren’t assessing him and his body language, and busy yourself with unlocking your door.
“Oh, hey.”
You look up and over at Bucky, who has ended his phone call apparently but still holds the device in his hand. His smile is faint, and you give him a small, tired one of your own.
“Hi Bucky. Long day?” He catches the quick glance you give his phone and huffs, shoves it roughly into his pocket as if he wants to forget to conversation that’s just taken place.
“Somethin’ like that. How about you? You look tired, doll.” You swallow at the pet name, the way it rolls off his tongue lighting something warm in your belly. It’s forgotten though when Bucky’s face brightens with realization. “Oh! Today was your first day with Stark wasn’t it? How’d it go?”
“It went very well actually. Tony Stark is...not who I imagined he’d be when I first applied to work for him. He’s better, but he’s definitely way more out there than I’d expected.”
The two of you shoot the shit back and forth for a few minutes longer, Bucky’s previous phone call nearly forgotten until it rings again and his face falls when he checks the caller ID. He wags his phone in the air as it continues to shriek.
“I should take this. Hey, um, maybe this weekend you can tell me all about your first week?” He looks shy when he asks, and it only serves to make your face flush crimson. “O-Only if you want to, that is. I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in.”
“I’d love to,” you interject before he can go off on a nervous tangent. “Maybe you can come over for coffee and help me assemble some furniture?”
“Sure,” he replies softly and with a grin. He seems to have forgotten about his phone until its ringing shatters the small silence again, and he frowns. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”
“Bye Bucky.” You just get the words out before his door closes and the lock flips.
Sighing, you enter your own apartment and kick the heels off your feet, wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into them. Through the walls of your apartment, you can hear Bucky’s raised voice, though it’s still muffled enough that you can’t make out the words.
Truth is, you’ve heard Bucky arguing a lot the past few days. Despite only been here a week, you’ve come to enjoy having Bucky as a neighbor. He’s a tattoo artist, you’ve learned, which explains sometimes why he’s home or away at weird hours, and you’re not surprised to learn he designed his own tattoos. And aside from the recent conflict that seeps through your conjoined walls, he’s quiet and doesn’t do anything untoward that would have you calling the landlord. He says hi to you when he sees you in the hallway or at the mailbox, asks about your day, and goes on his merry way.
And because of all that you may have developed just a teensy crush on the guy, for which you’ve scolded yourself because how could you possibly like a guy you’ve known, barely, a week?
With a small grunt, you head to the kitchen for a hefty glass of much deserved wine.
Chapter Three
#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky barnes neighbor au#neighbor au#neighbor!bucky
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