#los angeles eyebrow waxing
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Finding Perfect Eyebrow Waxing Near Me: The Brow Fixx Has You Covered!
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In beauty and self-care, few things can make as significant an impact as perfectly groomed eyebrows. Whether looking to shape, tame, or add definition to your brows, eyebrow waxing is a popular and effective method. If you're searching for "eyebrow waxing near me," look no further than The Brow Fixx. We're your local destination for eyebrow perfection; in this article, we'll explain why.
What Sets The Brow Fixx Apart?
Expertise and Experience
When it comes to something as precise as eyebrow waxing, experience matters. At The Brow Fixx, our skilled estheticians have years of experience and training in eyebrow shaping and waxing. We understand that each client's face is unique, and we take the time to assess your features to create a tailored brow shape that complements your face perfectly.
High-Quality Products
The key to a successful eyebrow waxing experience is using the right products. The Brow Fixx uses only the highest quality waxing products that are gentle on your skin but tough on unwanted hair. Our waxes are specially formulated to minimize discomfort while effectively removing hair, leaving your skin smooth and refreshed.
Hygiene and Cleanliness
Your safety and well-being are our top priorities. The Brow Fixx adheres to strict hygiene and cleanliness standards to ensure a safe and comfortable experience for all our clients. We use disposable applicators and maintain a clean and sanitized environment to minimize the risk of infection and allergies.
Personalized Consultation
At The Brow Fixx, we believe in open communication with our clients. Before we start the waxing process, we take the time to sit down with you and discuss your preferences and concerns. Whether you're looking for a bold, dramatic arch or a natural, soft look, we'll work with you to achieve your desired outcome.
The Benefits of Eyebrow Waxing
Eyebrow waxing offers several advantages over other hair removal methods, such as threading or plucking. Here are some reasons why you should consider eyebrow waxing at The Brow Fixx:
Precision
Waxing allows for precise shaping and definition of your eyebrows. Our skilled estheticians can create the perfect arch and shape that enhances your natural beauty.
Long-Lasting Results
Unlike other methods that require frequent maintenance, eyebrow waxing provides long-lasting results. You can enjoy beautifully groomed brows for several weeks before needing another session.
Reduced Pain
Our high-quality wax and expert technique minimize discomfort during the waxing process. You'll experience a quick, relatively painless procedure that leaves you with smooth, hair-free skin.
Faster Than Other Methods
Eyebrow waxing is a quick and efficient way to remove unwanted hair. You can achieve the brows you've always wanted in just a few minutes.
Convenience Matters: "Eyebrow Waxing Near Me"
When searching for "eyebrow waxing near me," convenience is vital. The Brow Fixx understands the importance of accessibility. We offer multiple locations in your area, making finding a nearby salon that fits your schedule easy. Our flexible hours accommodate busy lifestyles, ensuring you can get your brows done when it's most convenient.
Your Brow Journey Starts Here
At The Brow Fixx, we believe perfectly groomed eyebrows are the cornerstone of a confident and beautiful look. When you search for "eyebrow waxing near me," you're not just looking for a service; you're seeking an experience that leaves you feeling fabulous.
Our commitment to expertise, high-quality products, hygiene, and personalized service sets us apart as the premier destination for eyebrow waxing. We invite you to experience the difference at The Brow Fixx. Contact us today to schedule your eyebrow waxing appointment and discover the transformation that perfectly groomed brows can bring to your look.
In conclusion, The Brow Fixx is your go-to destination when searching for "eyebrow waxing near me." With our expert estheticians, high-quality products, and commitment to your satisfaction, you can always trust us to deliver exceptional results. Say goodbye to unruly brows and hello to eyebrow perfection – The Brow Fixx has got you covered!
#Eyebrow waxing near me#Best eyebrow waxing Los Angeles#Eyebrows near me#Eyebrows Los Angeles#Lash Lift Los Angeles#Brow Lamination Los Angeles#Lash Lift Los Angeles Near Me#Brow Lamination near me#Eyebrow Threading Near Me#Eyebrow Threading Los Angeles#Youtube
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i heard that the new in ‘style’ for actresses is to pay for long, expensive extensions and dye your hair reddish-blonde. and since i have been growing my hair out for over ten years, and only recently stopped dying it purple once every year during the weeks between my grandma's death (sept 13 2010) and her birthday (oct 13) to try to counteract that ‘ghost’ feeling of disconnection from one’s body that comes with grief, I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY: for those of us who do have that hair that changes goddamn colors with the light. is it puke blonde? is it red? is it so dark it might be black? (who the fuck knows \o/).
pretty sure you cant pay for this confusion, no matter how much money you have. copycats.
#Freebooter4ever#*beauty* is so expensive in los angeles#I still remember how proud i was in pittsburgh to be able to afford to get my hair professionally cut and dyed in a fancy salon once a year#I accidentally found a young woman who was as obsessed with funky hair styles but in like a classy way#And she not only specially mixed the purple dye every year for me but also used to cut my hair into some strange shapes#UNtil i started growing it out lol#But anyway its just so absurd that the only people who can afford to perform this socially acceptable form of beauty are the wealthy few#Waxing the entire body eyebrow trimming eyelash extensions hair extensions hair dye IT NEVER ENDS#AANYWAY my illness has decreased down to just a constant runny nose like a leaky faucet so im going back to work tomorrow yey -_-
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How To Clean-Up Your Allergies With 2 Easy Home Tips
The goal of most advertising through using attract clients. At present no single method qualifies in many of those areas. You may have to be referred to another engraver better equipped to perform task.
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Pretend that the Canadian customer has got a book of from your Canadian url. Your drop ship supplier can be obtained in the american and is registered for G.S.T. You fax your order for the American company, and they, in turn, ship in an effort to for you (complete with Customs Declaration and their G.S.T.
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Tip: Give preference to narrowly defined niche markets where goods or service solves a particular need for the customers. Focus your marketing on them instead of trying to reach a broadly defined general market. You'll generate more sales and have a better return for your advertising outlay.
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Are You Ready To Offer Your Business
It is inexpensive, quick, and conveniently done at residential home. It is also important can re-invest some of your profits into your business! Some advanced topics will not make sense without base knowledge.
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If you want to cause it to become BIG in Internet Marketing you would avoid some common mistakes. Here are some the top ten Pitfalls that catch out beginner Marketers (and many established ones too!).
Wear rubber gloves by simply hands is certainly immersed in water for any length of. Extensive periods in water can dry out the fingernails all of them brittle.
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I hope identifying these pitfalls aid you look at yourself distinctly. Contrary to popular belief internet marketing is not an instant road to riches, however it really is an achievable a particular one.
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One of my daily habits that is the foundation of my working life is spending 1-2 hours each and every morning feeding my body physically by exercising and feeding my mental spirit by reading or listening for you to some motivational subject matter. This habit warms me up for the entire day ahead.
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One of the biggest pitfalls when working from their own home is where life can enroach your activities - simply since ARE inside your own home. Try to separate 2 and have fixed times when you work, and a certain area to acquire. Work doesn't require over your life, but neither should you let life interfere along with work.
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Three Solutions To Put Fresh Spins On Old Marketing Concepts
Promises were made, payment plans arranged and few, if any, ever followed due to. As for photo albums, this could be the icing on his or her cake. Assess to spout politics, run for freakin office, you moron!
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Even to get remarkable company like you, from a person to time, may still loose motivation in continuing the expansion of a service or products. At time, you sounds to possess a hard time figuring out why this once fantastic business that got you so excited every morning is making you feel just like heavy weight now.
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Brow waxing near me in Brentwood, Los Angeles
Discover a new realm of eyebrow perfection at The Brow Fixx, nestled within the heart of Brentwood, Los Angeles. Reveal impeccably shaped eyebrows with our diverse selection of services, including expert eyebrow waxing, meticulous threading, the artistry of henna tinting, all-inclusive full face waxing and threading, pioneering eyebrow lamination, as well as our transformative lash lift and lash tint options. Elevate your inherent beauty by reserving your appointment today!
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Meaning And Marketing - The Hurricane
What other ones with these performers in addition politics? Does soft organizer pro crack are convinced that people who pay $100 or more to hear them sing want being them utter political thoughts and opinions? The audience pays hundreds of thousands of dollars figure out and hear a performer PERFORM. Need to to spout politics, run for freakin office, you moron! When performers use a paid venue to play politics are usually abusing the paying audience, the venue, the sponsors and everyone connected of their artistic usefulness. It's an inappropriate venue and inapproprite behavior to voice your political viewpoint, you jerk! And they wonder individuals boo.
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“your turn”
Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.
A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.
gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk
Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated
Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))
Harry Styles was a romantic.
He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.
He hated weddings.
Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.
Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.
Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.
By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.
He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.
When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.
When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.
When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.
“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.
Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.
“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.
Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.
“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.
Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”
He nods back to her, “They must.”
Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.
“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.
“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.
His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.
He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.
The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.
“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.
When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.
The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.
When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.
Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.
It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.
Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.
“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.
“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”
Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.
“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”
Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.
He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.
“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.
He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.
The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.
She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.
There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.
No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.
In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.
That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.
She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.
He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.
He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.
“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”
She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.
“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.
“Thanks.”
He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.
“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.
“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.
Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.
“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.
His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.
“It was a joke,” he shrugs.
“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.
His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”
“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.
“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.
“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”
He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.
“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.
“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.
“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.
“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.
“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”
“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.
“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”
“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.
“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”
“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”
“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”
“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”
“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.
She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.
“I’ll bite,” she relents.
The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”
“I wasn’t saying-”
“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”
She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.
“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.
He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.
“I’m twenty-five.” She states.
Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.
“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”
“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.
He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.
“I’m from California.”
“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”
She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.
“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”
Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.
“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.
She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”
“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.
“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”
He nods eagerly.
“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”
“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”
She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”
Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.
“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.
She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.
“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”
He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.
“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.
She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.
“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.
His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.
“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.
She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.
-
Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.
So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.
“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.
Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.
“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.
“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.
“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.
Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”
Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”
They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.
“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”
“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.
“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”
Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.
Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”
Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”
Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”
“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.
Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”
“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.
Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.
“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”
“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.
“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”
Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”
“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”
“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”
Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.
“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”
As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.
“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”
“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.
“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.
“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.
“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.
“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”
Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.
-
“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.
“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”
She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.
“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”
“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”
“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.
Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.
“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”
Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”
“So it was you!”
“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.
“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”
“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”
“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”
Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.
-
Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.
Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.
“Hello?”
“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.
“Who’s asking?”
“...Harry.”
“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.
Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.
“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”
“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”
“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”
“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.
“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.
She laughs.
“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”
His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.
“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.
-
At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.
His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.
She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.
She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.
He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.
“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”
“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.
Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”
She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.
Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”
“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.
“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”
He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.
She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”
“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”
“Oh?”
“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.
She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.
“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”
“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.
“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.
“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.
Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.
She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.
Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.
At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.
“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”
Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.
“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”
“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.
“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”
The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.
She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.
They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.
“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.
He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”
Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.
“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.
“Rori,” he responds.
“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.
His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.
“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.
Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.
“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.
Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.
She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.
“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.
She had been the answer to all his questions.
-
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Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Nine)
Summary: (Y/N) and Jack pay a visit to Officer Henry Zhang of the L.A.P.D. and after they’re nearly caught by Chief Sousa, tensions begin to rise.
Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings/Disclaimers: None
A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!
Chapter Nine
Los Angeles, California
(Previous Chapter)
“Ooo turn it up, this is one of my favorites! Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, how you can love! Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, Heaven’s above…!”
“Ah, geez, not again…”
“You make my sad heart jump with joy, and when you’re near I just can’t sit still a minute…!”
“You know you’re crazy, right?”
“I’m so, oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, please tell me dear, what makes me love you so?”
“Yep, definitely crazy.”
“You’re not handsome, it’s true but when I look at you I just, oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, oh…!” With a bright smile on her face, (Y/N) began humming along to the lively tune and tapping her fingers on her steering wheel; her smile only widened when she glanced over and caught the exasperated look on Jack’s face. “What? I love the Andrews Sisters!”
Jack rubbed his face tiredly, but (Y/N) could see that he was having a difficult time repressing his grin. “I know, you sing along to every single one of their songs whenever they come on the radio. Seriously, I’m gonna have to call up every radio network in the city and get ‘em to stop playing the Andrews Sisters just so I can get at least a little break from the gals!”
Rolling her eyes at his dramatics, (Y/N) returned her gaze to the road. “Well, you don’t have a car and since you refuse to borrow one of Howard’s, it looks like you’re stuck riding with me, my music and my singing. In other words, you’d better get used it, Flyboy.”
For the duration of the car ride, they continued to debate about their favorite and least favorite singers and groups; they reached the police precinct before anymore Andrews Sisters songs could play, much to (Y/N)’s disappointment and Jack’s elation. They had arranged to meet Officer Henry Zhang to discuss the result of the L.A.P.D.’s search of Fieldman Family Orangery; since they had no probable cause to search the orangery, Officer Zhang had suggested they phone-in an anonymous tip about a suspected breach in fire safety protocol. That way, the L.A.P.D. – but more importantly, Officer Zhang – would be free to search the premises for any sign of the strange devices meant for shipment. Fingers crossed that the whole thing wasn’t a bust, (Y/N) thought to herself as she parked and switched off the engine before getting out of the car.
“You know, Specs, you’re a pretty decent singer, even if you only ever sing the Andrews Sisters.” Jack remarked on their way up the steps that led to the precinct; (Y/N) snorted in amusement and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just that you’re the first person to actually compliment – well, half compliment – my singing; when I first began working with the Howling Commandos, Dum Dum Dugan used to say that my ‘goddamn caterwauling’ could deafen the entire German army if properly weaponized. As I recall, the other guys got a good laugh out of that one.”
Jack scoffed. “Dugan’s hearing must’ve been damaged from all those ‘Wa-Hoo’s’ he shouted in the war.” She laughed loudly at that; the large man’s deafening war cry was definitely an acquired taste, so much so that during her first couple of months with the Howlies, she used to stuff small pieces of wax into her ears whenever she went on missions with them. They reached the doors of the precinct and Jack was quick to hold the door open for her. “And for your information, that was a full complement I just gave you. You’ve got a really nice singing voice, Specs.”
His unexpectedly kind words combined with his trademark lopsided grin caused (Y/N)’s heart to jolt in her chest and try as she might, it was impossible to keep the growing smile off her face as they entered the building. Once they had checked in with the officer stationed at the front desk they made their way downstairs to Officer Zhang’s brand-new office, which turned out to be the building’s boiler room but with a small desk crammed into the corner.
“Sorry it’s such a tight squeeze in here, this was the only empty room the precinct had.” Henry winced as Jack bumped his elbow hard against the boiler and (Y/N) removed her hat to prevent it from being crushed against the pipes beside her head. The young officer’s frown quickly shifted into an excitement-filled smile. “But I’m the youngest officer to ever get their own office in this precinct, so that’s a plus! Did you guys want anythin’ to eat or drink? I think I’ve got-”
“We’re good, Zhang, but thanks for the offer.” Jack abruptly interrupted as he eyed the boiler beside him that had just made an ominous noise.
(Y/N) smiled patiently at Henry while surreptitiously elbowing Jack in the ribs for his rudeness. “How did everything go yesterday at the orangery? Did you find any evidence that the business is a front for weapons manufacturing?”
Henry shook his head, reaching over his desk and handing her a file; after pausing a moment to slip on her reading glasses, she opened it and began scanning its contents with Jack peering over her shoulder. “You were right, it looked like they packed up shop after your run-in with ‘em last week. I took a few photographs of the place for you guys to look over, though; since you saw it before, you might be able to spot somethin’ I didn’t.”
“The stunt we pulled must’ve really shaken ‘em if they went through all the trouble to pack up and relocate their entire operation.” Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “I hate it when criminals think fast. Any sign of Adam Fieldman?”
“Nope, his old man said he left town on business the other night but couldn’t say where; since you told me to be discrete I didn’t press him for details but he sounded like he was tellin’ the truth.” He gestured to the file (Y/N) was still examining. “I also included anything the L.A.P.D. has on Fieldman’s background, but it’s not much. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help you guys…”
Hearing the normally boisterous officer sound so downtrodden caused (Y/N)’s heart to lurch; despite how cramped the room was, she managed to reach a hand out to clasp one of his. “You’ve done a great job, Officer Zhang, we couldn’t have asked for anyone better to help us out.” She elbowed Jack again as she gave Henry an encouraging smile. “Isn’t that right, Chief Thompson?”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, you’ve really helped us out, kid.”
Henry’s face reddened at their praise, and (Y/N) had to stifle a giggle as he leisurely leaned back in his chair in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Well, if you two ever need anythin’ else you know where to find me.”
They bid the young officer goodbye and as they left the precinct, Jack tilted his fedora on his head and grumbled, “I think that elbow of yours might’ve punctured a kidney.”
“A miraculous feat, considering your kidneys are near your backbone and not your hip.” (Y/N) jokingly retorted, carefully pinning her hat back onto her hair and tucking her reading glasses into her purse as they walked back down the steps to the sidewalk. “Henry didn’t give us much but it’s a lot more than what we had before; that counts as a win in my books.”
Jack shrugged. “I guess so, but have you noticed that our secret investigation isn’t much of a secret anymore? I mean, Stark knows about it, the Jarvises know about it and now this kid’s in on it; who’s next, Samberly? I-son of a bitch!”
Without warning, Jack ripped the file from her hand and disappeared around the corner of the building; before she could move or speak, she heard a familiar voice calling her name and she turned to see Daniel Sousa limping towards her. Her heart hammering in her chest, (Y/N) raised a hand in greeting and silently prayed that he hadn’t seen Jack with her. “Hey there, Chief Sousa! Are you enjoying your lunch break?”
“Not exactly, I had to finish up some paperwork on a joint case and deliver it to this precinct’s Captain.” Daniel gestured to the building with the hand holding his briefcase. “I thought I recognized your car when I pulled up. What’re you doing in this part of town?”
She gave him a tight smile and tried her hardest to stop her hands from nervously fidgeting. “I just had lunch at the diner around the corner. If you’re looking for something to eat later, I’d definitely recommend the chicken noodle soup.”
“I’ll be sure to give it a try,” The chief’s grin faded a little as he examined the steps leading up to the precinct with obvious apprehension. “If I survive these steps, that is.”
“Well, um, would you like some help getting up?”
“So, Agent, you’re presuming that since I’m handicapped I automatically need help doing things?”
(Y/N) felt the color leave her face and all thoughts of concealing Jack’s presence flew out of her mind as she hastily replied, “O-of course not, Chief, I just-”
Her rambling was interrupted by Daniel’s chuckle. “Relax, (Y/L/N), I was only messing with you; I lost my leg during the war, not my sense of humor! And to answer your question, yes, a little help would be appreciated. I don’t have any trouble getting down steps with this thing, but going up? It’s a genuine pain in the ass.”
“Okay, then.” (Y/N) slipped her arm into the crook of Daniel’s before they began making their slow trek up the steps, the clicking of his metal crutch on the stone filling the silence. “Do you mind if I ask you-?”
“-How I lost it?” Daniel finished the question and she sheepishly nodded. “Well, I was a reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry and during the Siege of Bastogne, a few of us scouts were pinned down by enemy fire. I got hit in the leg by some shrapnel and by the time the others got me to a medic, there was no saving it.”
(Y/N) nodded again. “I’ve heard stories about that battle. You’re one of the lucky ones, you know.”
That made Daniel grin. “Oh, I know. Peggy never lets me forget it. Somedays it doesn’t feel like it – like when I have to navigate some tricky steps or when Thompson takes one too many jabs at my leg – but when I remember that everything that’s happened to me in the past has led me to her, well…it makes things a little bit easier.” They finally reached the top of the steps and (Y/N) released his arms once she was sure he was steady. “Thank you for the help, but do you think you can keep this under wraps for me? The last thing I want is Thompson to make some more cracks about us in the office…”
“Of course.” Although she had kept her gaze on Daniel the entire time, (Y/N) knew that Jack had seen and possibly heard everything that had transpired; good, she thought to herself, he deserves to hear exactly how his careless words can affect others. They’d forgiven one another for the things they’d said out of anger, true, but a small part of her was reluctant to forgive the hurtful jab that had only served to remind her of her traumatic past. “Well, I should start heading back to the office. I’ll see you later, Chief Sousa.”
She turned to head back down the steps but halted when Daniel called her name once again. When she turned back around, he had an awkward expression on his face. “I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you alone since you re-joined the SSR but since you’re here now…Peggy told me a little about what you went through during the war and what happened to…well, I just wanted to offer you my condolences.”
“T-thank you, Chief.” (Y/N) gave him what she hoped had been a smile of gratitude before turning on her heel and hurrying back down the steps, ignoring the twinge of pain her quick movements brought the almost-healed wound beneath her skirt. By the time she reached the car, Jack had already gotten in and based on the clouded expression on his face, he’d heard everything they’d said on the steps. I can’t deal with this right now, she sighed inwardly but got into the driver’s seat with an overly-cheerful grin. “Ready to go, Flyboy?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that evening, (Y/N) and Jack sat in the cozy living room of Stark’s mansion and worked on the case, Jack lounging on a sofa as he read through the files Henry had provided them and (Y/N) sitting cross-legged on the floor as she flicked through her translation journals. At the other end of the room were Edwin and Ana, entirely focused on their Benny Goodman radio program as they sat together on another sofa.
The familiar strains of music helped (Y/N) relax and after a while, she noticed that the tension between her and Jack seemed to have disappeared altogether. The silence during the ride back to the office and to Howard’s mansion had been incredibly awkward, and (Y/N) knew it had been because they both were thinking about her and Daniel’s exchange. I’m not going to discuss it unless he brings it up first, (Y/N) thought firmly as she pushed her reading glasses back up the bridge of her nose, we’ve only just moved past our differences and something that touchy might send us right back to square one.
“Another excellent program by Mr. Goodman!” Ana’s exclamation brought (Y/N) out of her silent rumination and she looked up from her work just as the couple stood and yawned. “Well, goodnight Miss (Y/L/N), Chief Thompson.”
“Yes, and try not to make too much noise; tomorrow is silver-polishing day.”
Jack mumbled distractedly, his eyes still trained on the files, so (Y/N) gave the tired couple a small wave. “Goodnight.” Once she heard the faint sound of their bedroom door being closed, she fell sideways with a small groan and rolled so that she was laying on her back. “I think I’m starting to hate codebreaking.”
She could hear Jack’s smirk in his voice as he replied, “I take it Michael’s got you stumped again?”
“…Maybe. I’m sure I’ll have better luck if I look at this tomorrow.” She rolled to her side and rested her head in her hand to look at him. “Have you had any luck with those files?”
“Not really, I think I’m in the same boat as you right now. I’ll give Agent Cabrera a ring tomorrow morning and see if he can’t dig up anything more on Fieldman in the New York files; it’s a long shot, but our office has a bigger collection of files than the West Coast SSR does so something might show up.” Snapping the file closed and tossing it onto the ground, he sat up on the couch and stretched out his arms. “You know, back in New York, Sousa and I would go out drinking if we ever got stuck on a case. We’d put the case out of our minds and relax so that when we took another crack at it, it would be with a fresh perspective.”
“As great as that sounds, Chief Sousa asked us to come in early tomorrow to help catalogue the records room; that means no drinking tonight, Flyboy.”
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “Sousa’s turned into a real stick in the mud since moving out here.” They began silently putting loose papers back into their files and just as (Y/N) finished packing up her briefcase, Jack cleared his throat to get her attention. “I remember Carter mentioning the other week that you solve easy codes to relax and unwind so I was thinking…well, if you ever need a break from Michael’s codes, you could always teach me a little. About codebreaking, I mean.”
Taken aback by his words, (Y/N) turned to face him. “You want to learn about codebreaking? You, Lieutenant Junior Grade Thompson, want me to teach you about codes?”
“You don’t have to sound so goddamn surprised about it.” Before he turned away from her, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of the look of annoyance and hurt on his face, and she quickly realized she’d inadvertently touched a nerve with her teasing. “Just forget I said anything, okay?”
“Thompson, wait-”
“I said forget it.”
“But I didn’t-”
He whirled around to face her again and the next few sentences seemed to explode out of him. “You know, everyone thinks that I’m just this big dumb war hero, that all I’ll ever be is some fat-head bully with a Navy Cross, and I’m getting sick of it!
“Jack, I didn’t mean to-”
“They all think that I’m this guy that I never was! They expect me to act a certain way, to be a soldier always and forever without thinking about what I want!” Breathing hard through his clenched teeth, Jack’s eyes searched her face and after a moment, his tense shoulders sagged and his blue eyes lowered. “And…it’s getting harder and harder to live with the shit man I’ve become because of it.”
The tension in the air was thick as they both stood absolutely still, Jack staring intently at the carpeted ground and (Y/N) studied her clasped hands. Being confronted by his past words and actions earlier that day had obviously caused Jack to feel guilt, something that was also gnawing at (Y/N); since the moment she’d met him, she had a very specific and narrow idea of who he was that had been based entirely on her past experiences with men in power and the opinions of others, but now it was clear to see that she’d unfairly and prematurely misjudged the man before her. Along with the rest of the world, it seems, she thought to herself with a twinge of sadness and shame.
(Y/N) glanced up and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached forward and rested a gentle hand on Jack’s forearm. His gaze quickly rose to meet hers and an understanding seemed to pass between them as Jack’s eyes softened; (Y/N) didn’t realize she was softly smiling until she spoke. “We’ll start with the Caesar Shift code and go from there.” He gave her a nod and she moved away to grab her hat and briefcase, murmuring a quick farewell before turning to leave.
“Hey, Specs.” She turned to see a hint of Jack’s familiar grin light up his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t go easy on me, okay?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Flyboy.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW
Chapter Ten
“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist
Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley
#jack thompson x reader#agent carter#jack thompson#daniel sousa#michael carter#marvel cinematic universe#strategic scientific reserve
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💤🛏️ It's time he is watched
👀🛏️ to be watched sleeping or 💤🛏️ to watch | open (continuing from this disaster)
Krakoa does unleash one’s mutant gifts. There’s the fact that children come out of the womb expressing mutanthood now, rather than almost exclusively adolescence. There’s unusual secondary and tertiary mutations people find themselves developing as they live on the island -- often in ways that make them no longer pass as human. Then there’s the general expansion of powers themselves, as if all has become magnified threefold.
The island affects feral mutants -- the class of mutants expressing animalistic traits, be they mammalian, avian or otherwise -- as well. Unfortunately, being the son of Logan, that includes Daken. For someone so reluctant to give in to the beast, to elevate himself through rigorous grooming and engagement with high society, it’s distressing.
Daken’s body grows out his hair faster than he can wax it, and he attains a few more centimeters of muscle and fat on his body. Yes, his senses are sharpened, but so are his instincts. He’s more territorial, prone to following scents, behaving in a way... uncivilized. Unacceptable. Just as how unacceptable it is for him to give into his animal desires, to sleep more comfortably on the hard surface of the Boneyard’s organically-generated floors than his dizzyingly soft bed. (Dog.)
He sleeps more or less peacefully, right now, a siesta within the guest room that he’s marked with aimless charcoal doodles. Curled naked on the floor -- very Krakoan -- clothes piled up beside him, he naps without so much of a stir other than the occasional twitch of his restless legs. It’s not long enough to dream much, but he dreams nostalgic about Los Angeles, Hollywood -- a different path. Not upsetting, just wistful. Steady breathing, body warmed by the sun filtering through the windows...
...and then warmed by the feeling of a sheet settling softly over his body. It’s enough to make him stir from his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he catches a strong scent. He blearily opens his eyes --
“What... what the fuck?”
Kurt Wagner, sex priest supreme, is looking down at him with a kind expression, crouched by his now-covered body. He shoots Daken a smile -- as Daken tries to scramble up to his hands and knees, at least -- before bamfing away, leaving Daken coughing in a cloud of purple sulfur.
Rachel, I just caught Nightcrawler watching me sleep.
Sure, buddy, goes her bemused voice in his head. Did he tuck you in?
Yes!
Uhuh. Come down here, there’s work for you to do.
Fine, he thinks as he pulls on his clothes and throws the blanket back on the bed. He’ll unravel this mystery later.
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Salon Studios For Rent - Finding the Perfect Spot
Hair salons for rent are hard to come by. According to a recent survey, there's a significant recent decrease (about 13.9%) in salon and commercial real estate availability. This means that locating the best salon studios for rent in your area is more challenging than it has ever been. This is good news, though, because if you're willing to do some research, you can easily find great places to hair salon in your city or town. Here are some things to know about when looking for one.
If you don't have any kind of business, it might be a good idea to check with the salon you are thinking about renting, to see if they have any specials or deals going on. Most companies will have some kind of preferred renter program. They might be willing to give you a discount, for instance. If you have a job and are thinking about getting out of the house, you may also want to consider this. Sometimes there are things you need to do from one day to the next, and you might only have a limited amount of free time. If this is the case, signing up for the preferred rental program can help you save money on both ends.
A professional salon studios for rent will usually have some kind of package or deal set up. Whether it is a salon rental for one day, a yearly membership, or a combination of both, make sure you read all the details. Find out what kinds of specials they have going on, and what kinds of incentives are offered to new customers. You'll find that some companies offer special sales on various services, including shampoo, haircut, eyebrow waxing, manicure, and pedicure, and also provide free styling for those who bring their own equipment. A salon offering a combination of these special services is most likely a legitimate company.
One of the main things to look for is how long the salon will allow you to rent the space for. If you are looking to start a salon right away, you'll want to find a place that is willing to work with you immediately. You don't want to get into a lease agreement before knowing if you're going to be able to make good payments. If you find a place that offers to give you a trial period, that's something to think about as well. You don't want to end up in a lease agreement that makes you pay more in the long run, and you also don't want to spend too much money right away when you're just getting started.
The next thing to keep in mind is whether or not a salon has an actual business office. Some people will set up shop in their garage, or even a friend's home, but that rarely turns into a successful business. Some salons will have an actual business office that allows them to expand into other cities and areas as well, while others will try to draw clients from their homes as well. If you want to open a family owned salon, it's important that you choose one with an actual office because this gives you the ability to expand into places like New York or Los Angeles.
Of course, some stylists may prefer not to worry about renting a salon, but rather being their own boss. In this case, you'll need to do your research and determine whether or not a franchise is right for you. Many times, you can get a free trial offer with a franchise, and then if you decide that you like it, you can purchase the franchise. While a franchise does come with pros and cons, it could prove to be a better option for your salon's clientele if it means a free pass to become your own boss and work from anywhere you choose!
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𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑
weeks have turned to months and your journey to olympus, your acceptance of your life as a demigod, has lead up to this moment. it’s been brutal, wrought with pain and close calls, thick with loss, but you’ve endured. as you begin to get ready to sleep, winding down for the night, something inside of you feels different. there’s a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it.
as soon as your head hits the pillow you fall fast asleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. who knows however long later, you “awaken”. you’re not where you fell asleep, nothing is as it was when you slept. you have to blink a few times but you realize that you’re in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?
eyes blink open and i already know where i am. it's the scent of paint, of fresh canvases that line the walls, piled in corners. there's a plush, grey rug beneath my bare feet and, a few feet from it is an area that's sectioned off from the small sitting room of my studio in los angeles. it's the one place that i always came to work, where i felt like i could release everything i've been holding in and no one would judge, no one would tell me i'm overreacting or not being true to myself.
this is home away from home; sanctuary.
there's a large canvas on an easel that's blank, four by four. it's what i was going to work on before having to leave. mixed in with the scent of fresh paint is the salty sea air that breezes in through the large windows that give plenty of natural light. the sun is high in the sky, which is strange since it's winter back in my new home, but this is comfortable, familiar. the furniture is still where i left it. two large, comfortable chairs, the end table with art magazines, the espresso machine on the small kitchenette behind it. a smile dances across my lips and the tension in my shoulders eases.
dust motes dance in the los angeles sunlight like flecks of gold and the air smells of a mix between brine and paint that has yet to cure. it’s a sharp yet oddly comforting scent to you, familiar, soothing. you recognize this place as a rough-and-ready altar that is – for once – not devoted to your mother or any other deity, only you.
you look around and something upon the once-blank canvas catches your eye. is it blank? it doesn’t look to be, for shapes seem to dance in its ivory depths now, alit with silvery traces that look to be forming a face or an arm or an eye, but it’s all too vague, having no true form until they come out from the canvas as if born from it.
what does this figure look like to you, and how does your heart respond? are they familiar or not?
this place was always magical to me and now i bring magic to it. my eyes focus on the paint that almost drips onto the floor. brush strokes in muted colors begin to leak from the stark canvas. i don’t recognize this as one of my own creation but as i look at it, it shifts.
slowly, as if the paint dries into a solid form, is a large leather bound tome, like the ones in the mageia library. dark brown leather, golden latches and corner pieces, with runes along the spine.
i’m about to reach for it when the canvas begins to drip once more and another figure emerges from it and leaps onto the floating book.
a lilac mittens ragdoll kitten sits atop the book, blue eyes starring at me. the same cat i was about to adopt before the acolytes scooped me up into this new world. my heart hurts, and guilt washes over my expression. i had wanted her so badly back then. a companion, something to come home to.
the leather-bound tome is spitted out of the canvas’ mouth but instead of falling, it only floats slowly towards you. time feels sluggish around everything in the room with the dust motes now suspended in the air, the curtains now undulating slowly. the exception to this phenomenon, though, is the lilac cat that nimbly hops on top of the book and balances itself upon its thick rim. it licks its soft paw, then rests its blue-eyed gaze upon you. for a few moments, the quiet appraisal is the only thing it does.
“i’ve been waiting for this moment, son of witchcraft,” finally, it speaks and the voice stands out, “i've been waiting for you.” is it familiar, or unfamiliar? is it a kitten’s purr, or something else entirely? how does it make you feel?
my hand moves away from the cat instinctively, almost like a flinch. if there's one thing that i've learned it's that touching things that pique my interest might get me killed.
and then it speaks.
at first, i'm baffled and then i remember everything else that's gone on in my life recently. the monsters, the magic, the might. talking animals—after seeing satyrs and nymphs—shouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.
the voice is female with a slight feline inflection. there's an underlying purr in the words, a comfortability that shouldn't be there between strangers. it soothes the aches in my joints and my chest, makes me feel like i'm truly back home once more.
"waiting for me?" i rebuttal, eyebrow arched. "why?"
waiting for me? why?
the moment you ask the question, the words seem to have a rippling effect on your surroundings, like a spoken incantation, making the entire room shudder with a silvery sheen. but, somewhere deep within you, there’s a certainty that this isn’t an illusion born out of sinister magic, but something else entirely—an echo turning to a real sound, a remnant becoming a whole once more.
the cat’s eyes gleam then and it walks along the book’s rim, relaxed. the tome is opening now and you watch as ink spills across its brown surface, drawing shapes again as the canvas did before. not shapes, no, you suddenly realize, but runes. they are sigils that you can read, language gravid with ancient power.
“what type of runes are these?” the kitten mews.
the book opens and my eyes stay transfixed on it. each slide of paint, almost like calligraphy, is mesmerizing to me. i can feel each phantom movement in my fingertip. the kitten's question makes my head lilt to the side and my eyes focus on the runes that are forming, ancient sigils that are made easier for me to understand.
"power." i say, confidently. "a means of amplification." i know this because it reminds me of the runes on the inside of the bracelet around my wrist, the same power that courses through me that needs a channel to unleash like a wild fire through dry brush. i reach out and stroke the edges of the book, feeling the power of the runes beneath the pad of my fingertip.
i want it engraved in my bones, tattooed on my body. i think to myself, i never want to feel powerless again.
power, you chant and the rooms shudders again. but this time, it doesn’t halt.
the incantation is spoken, the spell thoroughly read, for the runes from the tome emerge in one swift movement and begin dancing around you like the spirits you summon. the edges of the room, you can see, also start to dissolve into wisps of smoke, swirling in the air around you with a hypnotic rhythm.
amid this occurrence, the lilac ragdoll cats begins to float and swells in size. it is amplification as you’ve wished it, a spark becoming a fire, becoming an inferno. the cat’s limbs dissolve too, as if it has been made of smoke this entire time, and you see that both you and it are glowing the same hue. you are both two supernovas on the verge of explosion. you sense that it has your magic, it has your power, but a much, much stronger form of it.
what color is your magic, and how does it make you feel?
how does your magic behave?
the light begins to glow, begins to leak into the air like dripping liquid until it falls to pieces like the remnants of dried paint rubbed between fingertips. the lilac ragdoll grows and grows, amplifies, like the rune itself took hold, took shape, took motion.
i look down at my hands and my magic is back—not as weak as it had felt when facing nyx and eris' monster, not weak as it had been when i had been foolish and allowed my curiosity to get the best of me, allowing something to take parts of me to make it stronger; no, this was my strength at full capacity. crackling wisps of energy weave between my fingers, black and gold, almost amber, like ribbons that thread themselves seamlessly around my wrists.
this feels...foreign, almost. there's a power to it that i can almost taste, delicious, dangerous, seductive. it washes over me, fills me to the brim. this is what ecstasy feels like. this is what divinity must feel like. i feel alive, i feel powerful, i feel like a natural disaster being harnessed between flesh and bones.
it feels like it wants to burn the world down, summon storms, create chaos, but underneath it, like a mischievous feline, is a calmness that allows me to think, to pause. it waits for me to beckon for it before it waxes and wans, occasionally acting on its own accord. but it behaves like it might be mine, and not something borrowed, not something uncontrollable.
for the first time since arriving at camp, i feel like my magic wants to belong.
as one thought after another flits through your head, the cat’s fur mirrors every single one, turning to a fiery black pelt that trails golden smoke, becoming embedded with cracks of black-tinged lightning, taking on a writhing surface of gold and black. your magic runs wildly as ribbons and scatters everywhere in reckless abandon. it’s chaos, it’s power, and it’s rampant, untamed, feral, until you will it to be otherwise.
until you make it belong inside you.
now, the ragdoll cat’s fur is a mass of dark, wispy smoke, but its eyes are so unbelievably golden like they are coins enchanted to glow in the dark. its size is that of a bear now, looming over you. you are not in your studio apartment anymore, but you don’t seem to be in anywhere recognizable either, the world around you a curious blank.
“interesting,” the cat purrs, with what seems to be a bemused laugh lurking underneath each word. when it prowls ahead, it has the leisure of a ghost and, of course, the grace of a cat. “so instead of letting your power run wild, you wish to harness it and make it yours.” golden eyes land on you. “show me more, son of witchcraft – paint for me what you desire.”
as the words trail, the world around you spasms and dances. the calligraphy lines from before spiderwebs from beneath you and you are certain that they want you to paint – want you to draw a world that belongs only to you.
paint what i desire.
paint what i desire.
under any normal circumstance, this would be easy. this would be just another piece i hang in a gallery, allow someone else to buy, allow them to take a piece of my future home with them.
i look down at my hands and i clench my fingers into a fist, dig my nails against my palm, inhale and exhale. i close my eyes, allowing my magic to coil within me, allow it to purr like a cat and strike like a viper.
and then i begin to mold the world as i see fit.
paint what i desire.
there is a mountain that looks like divinity atop it, a radiant glow that can be see like the stars in the night sky, like the moon that hangs above. the painting moves, shifts, strokes of paint trail away to unravel and become something more. it is their camp, their home, but it is much different—fit for the gods, not their children. marble thrones, marble statues, carved into their likeness, altars and offering bowls at their feet. each statue looks draped in traditional greek god attire—white robes, golden belts, laurel wreathes atop their heads.
then there is me, in the middle, amongst them all.
paint what i desire.
divinity, godlihood—not half measures—a new era, a new god of witchcraft, a new king of olympus.
paint what i desire.
ambition made truth. deepest, darkest desires laid bare. unspoken words turned to canvas; a secret never uttered aloud.
the calligraphy lines unfurl and writs as you will them too and paint spills in colors of your choosing. after everything cures, the sight you’re greeted with is grandiose, your own marble face staring down at you from the pantheon of gods. it’s a dream, but you also feel that it can be real, that you can make it real.
languidly, the cat paddles through the air and floats above head of the statue that bears your likeness in stone. it has a cheshire grin on its face now. “good,” the words are a purr, an agreement. “so you wish to remake the world in your own image.”
slowly, the cat swells again until it’s as large as a temple, a colossal thing. its golden eyes glint when it stares down at you, but you don’t feel any sort of fear. it’s like looking into a mirror, a reflection of yourself.
“this will not come easy, little weaver,” it speaks and the words are a deep rumble in your chest. “magic always has a cost, and the path ahead you is full of dangers. are you ready to accept your power, and the challenges it will inevitably bring your way, remaker? are you ready to bear the heft of witchcraft?”
i look at the statue that stares down at me and my gaze moves to the cat.
"not in my own image, but better than it is now, better than it could be." i wave my hand through the air and the image stays as is, framed. "change needs to happen and i want to bring it."
i wonder, for a moment, if this is what eris thinks, too.
i nod my head, the black and amber-gold of my magic trails up my arms until it dissipates, returning to normal. "since i said yes to my birthright there's been danger. i've almost died. i've been captured, i've been face to face with the goddess of chaos." he smirks. "but i am chaos. magic is chaos. and she won't control me or anyone else."
i close my eyes. "heavy is the crown and all that bullshit. i am magic. i can bear it."
“and your mother is the goddess of magic, of cross-roads, and all arcane mysteries,” it laughs and the sound echoes in your bones. “when danger comes, we’ll simply have to show them who’s more dangerous, won’t we?” the cat’s smoky body begins to swirl then and you can see its arm outstretch, pointing one gigantic claw at you, wispy near the tip like the specters that you summon. “paint runs out, little weaver, but magic never truly does.”
the single claw is beckoning, asking you to touch it.
i outstretch my finger toward the claw and, right before i press tip to tip, say:
"not even in death."
the instant your finger touches the claw, you feel all of it pour into you, the cat, the world you’d created, and the magic, as wisps of gold slither down the fingertip and into your mouth and your eyes. it’s all-encompassing, it’s dangerous, and but it’s also so incredibly righteous. this is your birthright and every inch of you accepts it.
then, you fall, stumbling through the dream, only to wake up on your bed. the moonlight is cool against your skin, and nothing rustles in your room. was it only a dream? was it only a trick of your mind? as you begin to wonder, you notice amber lines shimmer faintly under your skin and draw what can only be a half-finished rune.
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