#How Old Was Richard Harris When He Passed Away?

[poems-of-a-lover]

I NEED PETER AND HARRY TO KISS!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<3

THANK U THANK U YESLKJAGHLKSJDHGKJSHGKJSLDG THEYRE SOOOOOOO

okay. my peterharry rant for anyone interested. sorry to this poor anon but im gonna use this as an excuse to talk abt them.

peter and harry grew up together up until peter was 10 and harry was 11 ish. they were so close. when richard and mary passed, harry was right there to help peter figure it out bc peter was only, what, 8 years old? these children had to deal with such an incredible loss at such a young age. now in the tasm timeline they never say explicitly what happened to harrys mother, but in other canon she got sick and passed when harry was really young, so thats my canon. i think that mrs osborn was an incredible mother for harry, but it wasnt enough. and then she got sick and distant, and she passed, and harry pretended not to care. it was easier for him that way. then harry was sent away to boarding school when he was 11, and then he bounced around from country to country until he was 20. the only reason he came back to new york was because mr osborn was dying of retroviral hyperplasia, "the osborn curse", which harry has started to show symptoms of. also norman didnt tell harry this was genetic until he was already showing signs of having it, just gonna throw that out there. so harry comes back, his dads dead, he takes over this incredibly expensive company all on his own, and then in walks his childhood best friend that he hasnt seen in nearly ten years. and harrys scared at first, he doesnt know how to respond. peter comes and apologizes about harrys father, says he understands what its like and hes always gonna be there for whatever harry needs. he goes to leave, but harry stops him with a joke. harry jokes first, and the ice breaks. theyre right back to where they were years ago, like nothing changed. they spend the day walking around town, joking and catching up and just being together for the first time in years. then the next day, harry finally tells peter he's sick over the phone. peter goes to oscorp to check in on him, and this is when harry says that he thinks spidermans blood will cure him, bc of the self heal aspect of it. of course, peters incredibly wary, and he says that he'll try to get ahold of spiderman to help him. harry basically made him promise, because he doesnt want to end up sick and alone and dying. like his father. harrys continuously getting worse and worse but peter has other things going on, with electro out and trying to figure things out with gwen. harrys discovering secrets about oscorp but they dont like that, so hes fired. now, harry goes to team up to electro, and he basically considers peter an enemy at this point, because in his eyes peter turned him down and refused to save his life when all he had to do was get spiderman. so harry and electro team up now, so harry can get spidermans blood, then electro can do what he wants with him afterward. harry eventually figures out that they kept the venom of the spiders that turned peter into spiderman, so he has one of the staff bring him down there and inject him with it. thats whats starts the green goblin transition. theres a split second after the injection where harrys shaking stops. the pain is gone. his head is quiet. hes finally healthy. but somethings wrong. his body starts to change, he's dying at an incredibly faster pace now. his last hope is to desperately crawl to one of the suits in the room, which enables bodily regulation so hes able to function and be stable. peter finishes off his boss battle with electro while this is happening, he kills him, and hes talking to gwen about going to leave before he hears laughter and the glider engines circling above him. harry finally reveals himself, and he looks sickly. he looks incredibly ill and frail, but hes grinning wildly. peter asks him "harry...what did you do?" and harry just grins wider and replies "what you made me do. you were my friend and you betrayed me." peter claims that he was just trying to help and be the good guy, but harrys not buying it. harry says that peter pretends to give people hope, but he just takes it away, so now hes gonna take away peters. before peter can respond, harry has gwen and hes in the air, hovering for a bit before dropping into the clocktower.

peter goes after them and tries to catch her but has no luck, just hanging her with a web for now while he fights with harry. they fight before harrys knocked unconscious, and all of the cogs and dials of the clocktower fall apart. gwen falls, and peter immediately goes after her but shes too late. gwen hits the ground before peter can get to her, and she dies. now we dont see harry again until after her funeral, but hes been detained in ravencroft. he talks about building a team, which is alluded to be the sinister six team that wouldve been in the third movie if it hadnt been canceled. and im so mad that i was canceled.

[companionsofthedoctorwho]

Companions Original Post List

Color Sorted by what Hogwarts House I Think They're In.

First Doctor (Many of his episodes are missing so companions often appear and disappear)

Susan Foreman/Arkytior (High Gallifreyan for "Rose) (Played by Carole Ann Ford) - Fifteen-Year-Old Gallifreyan Granddaughter of the Doctor left behind when she fell in love but she left to fight in the Time War and it is presumed that she died.

Ian Chesterton (Played by Ian Russell, aged 99 as of 2023)

Barbara Wright (Played by Jacqueline Hill, Tragically died in 1993 of breast cancer but her character lives on)

Vicki Pallister (Played by Maureen O'Brien, aged 80 as of 2023; Most of her episodes are missing)

Steven Taylor (Played by Peter Purves)

Katarina (Played by Adrienne Hill, tragically passed away from cancer at age sixty in 1997) - The shortest companion of the first Doctor (I think; she had five episodes and four of them were in the same serial so really two episode adventure-wise) and the first companion of the entire Doctor Who series to die while traveling with the Doctor.

Dodo Chaplet (Played by Jackie Lane)

Second Doctor (Also many of his episodes are missing so companions just appear and disappear)

Ben Jackson (Played by Michael Craze) - Companion of the First and Second Doctor

Polly Wright (Played by Anneke Wills) - Companion of the First and Second Doctor

Jamie McCrimmon (Played by Frazer Hines) -- First Scottish Companion; The Time Lords wiped his mind of any adventures in the Tardis after his first adventure with the Doctor and returned him back to Scotland

Victoria Waterfield (Played by Deborah Watling) -- One of the youngest companions to travel with the Doctor at around fourteen or fifteen however she was a "screaming woman" character and grew tired of the constant dangers and departed.

Zoe Heriot (Played by Wendy Padbury) -- A genius who's intellect impressed the Doctor whoever her memories of traveling with the Doctor and Jamie were erased by the Time Lords.

Alistair Gordon Lethbridge (Played by Nicholas Courtney) -- Perhaps the longest recurring companion of the Doctor, from the Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Seventh, he was only mentioned in the revived series until he was cofirmed to have passed in season six.

John Benton (Played by John Levene) -- More of a companion of the Doctor when he was banished the Earth and the Time Lords wouldn't let him use his Tardis (also he didn't know how fly her). John only traveled in the Tardis once in the ten-year anniversary serial: The Three Doctors.

Third Doctor

Liz Shaw (Played by Caroline John)

Mike Yates (Played by Richard Franklin)

Jo Grant (Played by Katy Manning)

Sarah Jane Smith (Played by Elisabeth Sladen)

Fourth Doctor (Played by Tom Baker, the longest Doctor)

Harry Sullivan (Played by Ian Marter)

Leela (Played by Louise Jameson)

K-9 (played Voiced by John Leeson)

Romana I (Played by Mary Tamm)

Romana II (Played by Lalla Ward)

Adric (Played by Matthew Waterhouse)

Nyssa (Played by Sarah Sutton)

Tegan Jovanka (Played by Janet Fielding)

Fifth Doctor (Played by Peter Davison; the start of the family legacy)

Vislor Turlough (Played by Mark Strickson)

Kamelion (Voiced by Gerald Flood)

Peri Brown (Played by Nicola Bryant) -- Interestingly, the actress is British while the character is American and she was forced to speak in an American accent even behind the scenes, only years later when she went to a dinner party did Colin Baker realize she was British, not American; Implications of her backstory added with the violent regeneration the Sixth Doctor had and his attitude towards her make me feel bad for her

Sixth Doctor (Played by Colin Baker; the shortest Doctor in the Classic Series, not counting Paul McGann)

Melanie Bush (Played by Bonnie Langford)

Dorothy "Ace" (Played by Sophie Aldred) -- The last companion on the Classic series.

Eighth Doctor

Grace Holloway (Played by Daphne Ashbrook)

War Doctor (Played by John Hurt)

Ninth Doctor (Played by Christopher Eccleston) -- The shortest main Doctor of the modern series

Rose Tyler (Played by Billie Piper) -- My favorite companion. The companion I started on and the love of the Doctor's life. (Sorry River, Sorry Clara). Companion of the Ninth, Tenth, and Meta-Crisis Doctor.

Mickey Smith (Played by Noel Clarke) -- Not an official traveling companion of the Ninth but got there with the Tenth... for three episodes.

Adam Mitchell (Played by Bruno Langley) -- He was so brilliant to be considered by Van Statten and when he sees the future, he gets surgery to put a door in his head and tries to steal others' ideas when he could come up with his own.

Captain Jack Harkness (Played by John Barrowman)

Tenth Doctor (Played by David Tennant) My favorite Doctor. MY Doctor.

Donna Noble (played by Catherine Tate) -- Companion of the Tenth Doctor, Meta-Crisis Doctor/TenToo, and Fourteenth Doctor

Martha Jones (Played By Freema Agyeman)

Wilfred Mott (Played by Bernard Cribbins) Gone but NEVER forgotten. An honorary Noble.

Meta-Crisis Doctor (Played By David Tennant)

Eleventh Doctor (played by Matt Smith) I wasn't sure at first as I was sad to see David Tennant go but Matt Smith definitely lived up to the challenge.

Amelia "Amy" Pond (Played by Caitlain Blackwood and Pre-Nebula Karen Gillan) I love that they got cousins to play young and adult Amy.

Rory Williams (Played by Arthur Darvill)

River Song (Played by Alex Kingston)

Craig Owens (Played by James Corden)

Kate Steward -- Daughter of Alistair Gordon Lethbridge

Oswin Oswald (Played by Jenna Coleman)

Clara Oswin Oswald (Played by Jenna Coleman)

Clara Oswald (Played by Jenna Coleman)

Twelfth Doctor (Played By Peter Capaldi)

--I am currently still on season eight nine--

Nardole

Bill Potts

Thirteenth Doctor (Played by Jodie Whittaker)

Graham O'Brien

Ryan Sinclair

Yasmin "Yaz" Khan

Dan Lewis

Fourteenth Doctor (Played by David Tennant)

Rose Noble

Fifteenth Doctor

Ruby Sunday (Played by Millie Gibson)

[get-back-homeward]

Let’s go back to the start...

The first frame of Get Back suggests the editorial decisions within maintain historical accuracy.

So have we talked about the choices for the next three frames?

This sequence implies John and Paul first meet in 1956, when John is 16 and Paul is 14. However, the publicly provided story of their first meeting is the July 6, 1957 Woolton fete, where John is still 16 (his Oct 9 birthday is 3 months away) but Paul is 15 (having just had a birthday June 18). The picture of the Quarrymen is taken at the 1957 fete.

Bob Harris on BBC Radio 2 reconstructs this day on its 50th anniversary: The Day John Met Paul. It’s an hour-long show of recollections of family and friends who were there at the time. A really great listen.

The story goes that Ivan, their mutual friend, invites Paul to listen to the Quarrymen at the fete and meet John. They meet in the church hall after the band’s first set, Paul helping to tune John’s guitar and then playing a few numbers that impress everyone. John asks about some chords and Paul writes them out for him.

Afterward, John asks Pete Shotten about inviting Paul and enlists him to pass on the invite. This is Pete’s personal recollection, btw. In 1980, John recalls asking Paul directly, right after he finished playing (RKO, Dec 8 interview). One of many conflicts that result in the day being recalled several decades later by different people who were present. Do you believe the recollections of friends and observers? Or John and Paul themselves?

You could may be argue that the 1956 frame is meant to be linked with the second John-as-16 frame to describe when John started the Quarrymen (about November 1956). But then the third frame is still a problem.

By describing Paul as a “14 year old” when John invites him to join the band, Get Back suggests that they not only met before the fete but had already spoken and shared enough about music for John to invite Paul directly, unbeknownst to his bandmates. How can that be right?

But the flip side, with all living participants as producers, how could it possible be wrong? Surely such a blatant error in the first few seconds would be caught by one of them. Right? Someone should know how old Paul was when he met John, especially Paul himself. Right? Not to mention the hundreds of people credited to have been involved in the making of this from Apple archivists to film QCers.

In Tune In, Lewisohn includes Paul’s publicly shared recollection of seeing John around town before the fete:

Paul also realized he’d seen John Lennon before. “I saw him a few times before I met him—‘Oh he’s that feller, the Ted who gets on the bus.’ You notice who’s hip … I wouldn’t look at him too hard [on the bus] in case he hit me.”

The implication being that John was too intimidating for Paul to have ever attempted to talk with before Ivan introduced them. For all the rough and tumble talk about Liverpool at this point, this note hits a bit strange to me. Especially considering how brash Paul is by most accounts in showing off in the church hall at the fete: he launches into Cochran’s Twenty Flight Rock upside down on someone else’s guitar, then moves onto piano for some other numbers, something by Elvis and Be-Bop-A-Lula, before finishing with his full-out Little Richard impression (Long Tall Sally). Sure, he had one friend in the room. But even still, it’s brash.

The anniversary radio show includes a clip from Mike talking about how firm the age lines were for kids in Liverpool at the time. I guess that could have played a factor, though Paul already broke that by befriending George.

It’s worth noting that there’s a history of John and Paul retroactively pushing the idea that John had this intimidating Ted identity at this time instead of one adopted later. John later recalls that the fete was the day he fought with Aunt Mimi over wearing his Ted clothes for the first time, which the fete pictures seem to dispute outright. Just an example of the problem with applying stories decades after fame without assuming a filter.

I also wonder about how Paul first sees John on the bus. Paul meets George on the bus too and the two strike up a conversation about music and guitars. John has no case for his guitar when he first starts playing, just slinging it around his neck on the bus. Meaning Paul easily may have seen him on the bus with a guitar in his hand and known they shared a common interest. John’s friends also mention his prank antics on the bus at this time that disrupted all riders, so he might have just been hard to miss because he’s loud and annoying. 🤷‍♀️Regardless, once Paul moves to Forthlin Road, they don’t live all that far apart (~1 mile). So despite the story creating this myth of ~fate, it’s rather inevitable that they meet at some point.

Buried in the Tune In footnotes is this addition:

In certain private company, Paul sometimes reveals that he hadn’t only seen John on buses before the Woolton fete, but they’d also exchanged a few words. Paul says he was working as a paper-boy (on his bike, delivering the Echo to local houses in the evenings) when he once talked to John outside the newsagent’s shop. John never mentioned it, and Paul has chosen, consistently for decades, never to say it publicly. He was a paperboy after the McCartneys relocated to Forthlin Road in summer 1956, when he turned 14.

Paul is shy about giving away the shop’s identity to anyone who’d print it, but one local family who knew him think it was “Abbas.” At 166 Aigburth Road, close to the Cast Iron Shore, W. W. Abba would have been an oddly distant place of employment for a lad living and delivering three miles away in Allerton, and—as it was a mile farther still from John’s house—it’s far from being a cast-iron certainty. For now, there’s merely the possibility to digest that McCartney first met Lennon outside a shop called Abba.

It’s not unsurprising that there would be a public and a private story. The fete meeting is a contained story involving their brand: the music. It’s one of those stories that can be easy to cobble together after the fact, a compelling story to sell to biographers. Like a scientist’s Eureka story, condensing more mundane details down to one day, one event.

Even so, Lewisohn leaves a heck of a lot of implication between the lines here. Is there a need for a private story and a public story if the difference is that they only exchanged a few words before? Why would Paul be shy about giving away a shop identity? (I know, the wording is all on Lewisohn.) Why was John at the shop at all?

So, going back to Get Back, we’re left with this frame:

Is it a major editorial oversight in sorry need of basic factchecking? Or is it sly confirmation that there’s more to these private stories?

Regardless, by all math I know, this is most definitely wrong:

The exact date George officially joins is unclear, but all accounts from Quarrymen bandmates agree it is early 1958. George’s birth date is February 25, 1943. At earliest (if he joined before his birthday), he’s 14. To be 13, he’d have to join the Quarrymen a whole year earlier, months before anyone knew John and Paul had met.

So I’m leaning on the side of Jackson needing a factchecker. What a shame.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Dead Or Alive - Harry Styles

a/n: oof okay hello! this is a little different, i guess? but im very excited to share this with you! don’t ask me how i got the idea for this, no clue but it was stuck in my head for days before i finally gave in and started writing it. please share your thoughts and comments on it, i would love to read them!! hope you’ll enjoy it!

pairing: Wanted!Harry x BountyHunter!Reader

warning: violence, talks of drugs, murder, guns, i really lost track of it lol

word count: 15.2k

masterlist

The man in the handcuffs growls in pain again, but you just yank him forward, not in the mood to deal with a whining girl trapped in a six feet tall disgusting looking, oily-faced bald man in his forties.

“Y/N! What do we got today?” Jeremy greets you at the front desk, thumbs hooked into his belt as he watches you tug the guy into the hall of the station, pushing him down to the nearest seat as you step to Jeremy who is already handing you the paperwork.

“Dennis Delgado. Took me a few days to find him, but he couldn’t hide forever,” you grin proudly as you grab a pen and start filling the papers out.

Jeremy walks over to Dennis who just looks up at the officer in disgust. It’s not enough that he is a child molester disgusting prick, he is racist on top of everything and now Jeremy is enjoying having the higher ground, Dennis trapped in his handcuffs while Jeremy will be the one to get him behind bars for a long time.

“Nice one. We’ll have a lot of fun with this one,” Jeremy chuckles. “Want me to ring up your brother?”

“Is he in? Would love to have a word with him,” you nod smiling. When you’re done with the papers you hand them over to Stella, the receptionist who gets to work with them right away so you can get your money.

“Sure, I’ll get him for you on my way,” Jeremy nods, grabbing Dennis by his arm, pulling him along on his way to the elevators. “Come on you scumbag, you have a cell waiting with your name on it.”

The two of them disappear and you get into a little chit-chat with Stella while she is finishing up the paperwork. Leaning against the counter you look around, officers come and go in the hall, all of them dressed in their uniform and for a moment you picture yourself wearing the same outfit. At one point in your life it seemed to be part of your future, but now it would be the most ridiculous sight. Y/N, the best bounty hunter in the region in a police uniform? That’s not happening.

The elevator dings and your brother, Robert walks out. He on the other hand, made this vision happen. He has been an officer for about ten years now and though at first he was outraged that you chose the not so gracious lifestyle of a bounty hunter, but you soon became his unofficial partner, handing him over a wanted person every few days, making his work easier. Everyone at the station knows that Robert is the one who plays by the rules, doing everything according to the handbook, the perfect officer, always working to keep up the peace in town while you are… Well, you are a rebel. You could never play by the rules, always sneaking ways to do things according to your desires. You never liked if someone wanted to tell you what to do and how to do it, you are not a team player or either one that can easily managed by higher forces. It didn’t take long for you to realize your nature will never let you be an officer so you chose the other path that’s somewhere near joining the police, but still playing by your own rules.

Being a female bounty hunter wasn’t the easiest when you started off at the young age of seventeen. In desperate need of the extra money after the tragic passing of both your parents, the two of you had to get along on Robert’s slim, beginner paycheck. He was only twenty-three, started working at the station just a year prior, you knew you had to help him out. He kept bringing up cases, worked on them through the nights and when he passed you on the couch from exhaustion, you sneaked your way into the dining room and looked for easy targets. Speeding tickets, light drug trafficking, whatever you could deal with as a high schooler.

Robert hated the idea of you dealing with wanted people, you had endless fights about it, but you were too stubborn to stop and besides, you liked the adrenaline rush you got whenever you caught another one and brought them back to the station. Loved the stunned and shocked looks on the older officers when you managed to catch a bigger fish. It took Robert a few years to come to peace with your choice of lifestyle and now he doesn’t even try to talk you down. Instead, he keeps bringing you cases that pay well and he knows you’d like them.

“Who did you catch this time?” he grins at you, walking up to you and he envelopes you in a short hug.

“Just got Dennis Delgado, Jeremy took him.”

“Poor Dennis, he’ll have a rough evening,” Robert chuckles. “Did you get your money?”

“Stella is already working on it,” you nod towards the lady behind you.

“Oh, I’ve got you, Sweetheart,” Stella pushes herself back from her desk and walks over to you with an envelope filled with your reward.

“Amazing, thank you, Stella,” you grin at her happily. Dennis was worth a little more than the usual, you are well covered for the rest of the month thanks to him.

“Do you have something coming next?” Robert asks, hands on his hips as he watches you put the money away into your backpack.

“Not yet. Got something exciting for me?”

“An old friend,” he nods with a small smile. He reaches behind the counter and grabs a flyer, handing it over to you, a familiar face staring back at you from the photo this time.

Harry Styles is a name you’ve heard plenty of times and you know him well by now. You actually went to high school with him, you were just never in the same group. He was labeled as troubled all through his teenage years, his parents were brutally killed when he was just a kid, he was tossed around from one foster family to the other, moving around town every few months. It was no surprised when he got into some darker circles, he almost got kicked out of school right before graduation but somehow managed to stick around to get his diploma at the end.

You have actually handed him in a few times before. Never for anything bigger than drug trafficking or robbing smaller shops downtown, Harry is actually not as bad as people tend to portray him to be, he was just not blessed with the best background as most people. He is a smart guy and would never hurt anyone for real, this is why you are now staring down at his flyer shocked.

He is wanted for the murder of a local man who was found dead a few days ago in his home, Harry’s hair was found near the body with no other evidence.

“Are you sure about this?” you ask Robert with a concerned look. This doesn’t feel right. Not that you know Harry that well, but it’s very unlike him.

“Very much. His hair was the only thing we found near the body of Dave RIchards so evidently, he is our number one suspect.”

“I don’t know, this doesn’t sound right,” you think to yourself, staring down at the mug shot of him that was taken the last time you brought him in for selling weed to underage kids. You remember it exactly, because bringing Harry in is always… fun, if you could say that.

That last time, he was already expecting you, waiting around in his usual motel room that is somewhat considered as his home.

“My Y/N! You arrived earlier than I expected!” he greeted you when you kicked his door in. He was sitting in the middle of the double bed, rolling a joint as always, not a care in the world about your arrival.

“You knew I was coming?” you cocked your head to the side walking in and stopping at the end of the bed, watching him finish the joint and simply light it before taking a big puff.

“Of course. I was informed I’m on your list again, just thought you’d give me a few more hours, but it’s alright.” He waved around carelessly before holding out the joint in your way, offering you to try it.

“No thanks, I don’t trust your sketchy stuff.”

“That hurt!” he gasped dramatically, placing a hand to his tattooed chest that was partially on display since his shirts are never buttoned all the way up.

You brought him in that day, stopping for McDonald’s on your way to the station before handing him over to Robert. He was actually a great guy, nice sense of humor and good looks, you never thought otherwise, he was just moving around in different circles than you so you were left with the few jokes he always cracked when you took him in every few months.

“Well, it’s not your job to question his innocence. Want to take the job or not?” Robert asks you.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll find him,” you nod and fold the flyer, sliding it into your back pocket.

Normally, you take the rest of the day for yourself after turning someone in, but this situation with Harry just bugs you way more than to just go home and pretend like it’s not all you can think about. Harry is not a murderer, he would never randomly kill a man, he is not a psycho, just a guy with a rough background and some poor life decisions.

You know the route to the motel like the back of your hand. Arriving to the dodgy parking lot you park your car in the far end before taking one last look at the flyer. Then you push it into your backpack and get out, heading to Harry’s room with firm steps. You see no lights on, the door is closed and you almost don’t even get closer, thinking he is not here when you see someone move around inside.

You are almost at the door when a hand covers your mouth and an arm wraps around your body, pulling you back forcefully. It takes you a moment to recover from the shock as you are yanked backwards, but as you are being dragged towards the alleyway next to the motel you elbow your attacker in the stomach before kicking them in the knees. The hands fall from around you and turning around you pull out your pocket knife, ready to cut throats right away, but you are shocked to see Harry hunched over, groaning in pain as he holds his arm to his stomach.

“The fuck, Y/N?!” he growls, his chocolate curls falling forward, they’ve definitely gotten longer since the last time you saw him, he could easily put them up into a bun now. “What was that for?” he whispers in disbelief, his green eyes meeting yours in a scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean? You attacked me!”

“I didn’t attack you, I was trying to fucking save you!”

“From what?!”

“From the fucking asshole in my room who is four times bigger than you and would have probably shot you the moment you kicked my door in like you always fucking do!”

It’s just now processing in you that if Harry is here, the person you saw in the room can’t be him and he surely looked bulky. Harry runs his hand through his hair, straightening up from his hunched position before he sighs tiredly. He looks… worn-out, even more than he usually does. The dark circles under his eyes and beat-up knuckles are new, he usually looks fine despite everything that goes on in his life, but this is a version of him you haven’t seen. He has definitely been through some shit lately.

“What are you doin—“

“No time for questions now, we have to get out of here,” he cuts you off, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the alleyway to another parking lot on the other side of the motel. You spot his old jeep right away, but you yank your hand out of his hold, stopping in your tracks.

“Wait, my car is there!”

“We’ll come back for that later, but they can’t find you here with me or they’ll be after you as well,” he explains, grabbing your hand again as he pulls you towards the car and this time you follow him blindly.

You get into his jeep without even questioning it, not even caring that he is a man who is currently wanted for murder. Your instinct is telling you that you’re completely fine with him and you believe it. The two of you head out of town, taking the route to the next town nearby, but he takes a turn to the left, the jeep rolling onto a dirty road leading along fields filled with wildflowers. You have a guess where you’re going, there are some abandoned cabins near the woods that used to function as vacation homes, but they were slowly left to stand empty for eternity when a luxury resort was built on the other side of the woods.

“Care to tell me what the fuck just happened?” you ask him calmly, turning to look at him. He has one hand on the wheel, while his other elbow is resting on the armrest, fingers tapping on his chapped, pink lips.

“I’m in… deep shit, Y/N,” he admits with a sigh, eyes glued to the road ahead of him.

“No shit, you killed someone?”

“I didn’t,” he states, his eyes meeting yours for a moment to emphasize his truth. “It was a fucking set up and now they are after me every way possible.”

“Who is? And what did you do to get into so much trouble?”

“I’ll tell you about it when we arrive, okay?”

You sit in silence for the rest of the ride until you finally arrive to the cabins. You follow Harry inside one of them and it seems like he has set his base up here a few days ago. There’s a double bed with blankets thrown over it and a few mismatched pillows, a sports bag with his clothes and a few grocery bags on the dusty kitchen counter, candles everywhere since there’s probably no power in the cabin. You wonder how long he has been camping out here.

“About a week ago I got a visit from Hugo McKain, you’ve heard about him?” he asks as he grabs a bottled water from one of the grocery bags and fills up two plastic cups, handing you one of them.

“Sure. I’ve heard that… he is a big fish,” you nod.

“Yeah. He wanted me to work for him, but I sincerely rejected the offer, however it didn’t sit well with him. He threatened me that if I’m not selling his stuff, then I won’t sell anyone else’s stuff,” he explains, walking over to the bed and he sits at the edge, staring at the cup in his hands. “He gave me another day to change my mind, but I said that I don’t want to get involved with any of the heavy shit he deals with. I was hoping he would just willing to forget about it, but apparently, he is not the kind to just let shit go,” he chuckles bitterly. “A few days ago he sent two of his men after me, but I was able to run away. I was ready to pack my shit up and just leave the state forever, but then the fucking asshole framed me for the murder of that guy. A friend called me to let me know that I’m the only suspect in the case and that my face has been sent out already everywhere in the state. Hugo made it impossible for me to leave, I would be caught the moment I stop to pump fucking gas in my car,” he growls in annoyance. “So it’s a whole shit show, the police and Hugo are after me and I’m fucking stuck here.”

You stand there at a complete loss of words, because though you have no evidence if he is telling you the truth, you just know he is and the situation is fucking miserable. Harry drinks his water and throws the cup into a plastic bag that serves as a trashcan, his fingers running through his hair nervously.

“Do you know who killed the guy?” you speak up after some silence.

“Yeah, one of his men called Axel, he is a proper idiot, I’m actually surprised he didn’t leave his DNA back, just mine,” Harry scoffs.

“If you know they are after you, what were you doing at the motel?” you ask, leaning against the wall, curiously eyeing him as he glances up at you.

“Knew you’d come after me, didn’t want them to pull you into this mess too.”

Your eyebrows rise at his words. He went back because of you? Harry notices your surprise, a smug smirk tugging on his lips.

“What? Couldn’t let them lay a finger on my Y/N, right?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. He has always been so flirty with you since day one, always trying to pull your leg, chatting your ears off in hopes that he can finally drag you to bed one day. But you never give in, it all stays just some empty flirting and a playful banter.

“So what are you going to do now?” you ask clearing your throat. There’s just always been something in the way he calls you his Y/N that makes you a tad bit nervous.

“That’s an excellent question to which… I have no answer,” he truthfully admits.

“You can’t hide here forever.”

“You tryna’ lure me into going to the station with you?” he asks with a grin. “To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t cuffed me yet. You love that stuff, don’t you?” Harry stands from the bed and strides over to you, the height difference between the two of you forcing you to tilt your head up a little as he smirks down at you, enjoying that he has successfully made you blush. “Question is, have you been the one in the cuffs?”

You part your lips with the intention of answering, but nothing comes out. Harry smirks down at you, so full of himself before stepping away.

“Anyway, I think I’m just gonna lay low here for a while and then hopefully I’ll be able to sneak out of town at one point.”

“You wanna stay here?” you ask looking around. The place is fine for just a few nomad days, but staying here for more seems impossible. There’s no electricity, probably no water, some of the windows are broken in, the temperature must drop drastically in the nights so close to the woods.

“Not that I have any other choices,” he huffs, opening a bag of chips from the groceries.

“Don’t you have any friends who can share their couch with you for a while?”

“You think anyone would want to hide a dude who is wanted for murder and who is also in trouble with Hugo McKain? Baby, even if any of my friends were willing to help, I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t want to pull them into my shit. Besides, Hugo is probably already keeping tabs of all my friends, he has the connections to know everything about me.”

“And what about me?” you suddenly ask. Harry freezes, eyes flickering at you in confusion.

“What about you?”

“Would he look for you at mine?”

Now it’s his turn to rock a stunned expression, eyebrows shooting up as he stares back at you. He wasn’t expecting it, but truth is neither did you. However it doesn’t take him long to turn it into something entirely sexual.

“You know, if you wanted to see me in your bed, you should have just asked.”

Luckily, you don’t fall under his spell this time. Rolling your eyes you put the cup to the nearest surface and head to the door.

“Alright, changed my mind. Have fun camping out here on your own,” you mumble, reaching for the doorknob, but he is quick to get between you and the door, stopping you from leaving.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just not expecting you to make that offer, alright?” You take a step back, folding your arms on your chest. “Were you serious about that?”

“It seemed like an option. I doubt you’d be expected to be at my place.”

“And you’d actually let me stay there?”

“I guess a few days wouldn’t hurt. Until you figure out what to do.”

Harry stares at you in awe, like you just did the best thing ever for him and the thought that he never had anyone to do such favor for him is kind of heartbreaking. He might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but there’s just something in him.

You help him pack his stuff back into the jeep, leaving the weathered cabin empty again before you head back to town. Harry drops you off a few blocks from the motel so you can walk back to your car, you glance at his door just once, it’s still closed but they could easily still be there.

Harry is already at your place when you arrive to your building, waiting around in his jeep, he has put a beanie and sunglasses on, keeping his head low. As he follows you up to your little apartment, you actually realize that Harry is about to move in with you for the upcoming days, he is going to live in your place, you’ll share your home with him. How crazy does that sound?

Unlocking the door you walk into your small apartment. It’s just the perfect size for one person, a decent kitchen with a small dining table, a living room that also functions as your study, your desk filled with folders and flyers from previous works. Then you have a little bedroom and a bathroom opening from the living room. It’s cozy and homey, but definitely not the setting you would have ever imagined Harry in.

“So, the couch is a pull out, I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow, make yourself… home I guess,” you tell him walking into your bedroom to get him everything he needs. However, he is following you into the room, already snooping around in your private little space.

As you grab him a blanket and pillow, you find him inspecting your clutters on top of your dresser, your jewelry, perfumes and makeup stuff is just thrown out there, and he seemingly takes an interest in your rings.

“Never seen you wear any jewelry,” he huffs as you walk up to him.

“Don’t like them on me that much,” you admit. “Here,” you give them the bedding and usher him out of the bedroom before he gets way too adventurous and starts digging into your lingerie drawers.

When the pullout is all set up and Harry has settled in a little, you are faced with the fact once again, that Harry is in your home and about to spend the upcoming days here with you, since he can’t really roam around the streets.

You make sandwiches for the two of you and sit at the small dining table, eating in silence until you speak up.

“I can ask my brother to help find the guy who did it. There has to be a way to get you out of this.”

Harry glances at you, chewing on his food before putting the sandwich down, swallowing the bite.

“Not really if they don’t find evidence.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“We?” he smirks at you playfully, earning a blush from you again. You hate the effect he has on you, he is clearly a good-looking guy, you always thought that, even in high school. Thanks to his troubled name, girls easily fall for his bad guy behavior, they just never really saw that being a so called bad guy wasn’t just about the looks, with a slightly similar background you could imagine how hard it really was for him. Though he never really let it show. He is always this whitty, cocky bastard who is ready to flirt his way into your pants whenever the opportunity is given.

“If you keep up with the teasing you’ll find yourself on the street one morning,” you warn him and he just holds his hands up with a smug grin.

“You are the boss lady here,” she chuckles softly before returning to his sandwich.

For the rest of the evening you bury yourself into some other work stuff, you always have a few smaller gigs going on that are easy money, Harry in the meanwhile makes himself comfortable on the couch, watching your tiny TV in silence, letting you do your thing. It’s nearing midnight when you wrap it up and head to have a quick shower. Standing under the hot water you take a few minutes to collect your thoughts and just simply try to get used to the thought that you are in fact hiding a man who is wanted for murder. It’s going to be some pretty interesting days you have ahead of you, that is for sure.

Putting on your oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts you leave a clean towel on the counter for Harry in case he doesn’t have one before heading out.

“Towel is on the counter. Sorry, I don’t have shower gel for men, but the soap is unscented so feel free to use,” you tell him walking out, only to find him already waiting around the door, leaning against the wall. His eyes fall down the length of your uncovered leg, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“If you’re the kind who sleeps naked, feel free to get rid of the textile.”

“Are you a naked sleeper?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“I can be, if you want me to be,” he grins smugly and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Good night, Harry,” you sigh walking into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you, only allowing yourself to let out a shaky sigh when you are out of his sight. Leaning against the door you hear him shuffling around until the bathroom door closes and the water starts running. You try your best to ignore the thought of Harry currently in your shower naked as you climb to bed and pull the covers over your head. You need the coverage, hopefully it’ll help you with your wandering thoughts.

“Thought you’d deliver Styles by now,” Robert teases you when he meets you at the station the next day. You left Harry at your place, sincerely asking not to trash your home while you’re away and headed to the police station in hopes that your brother might be able to help him out.

“Uh, no. But actually, he is the reason why I’m here,” you tell him with a nervous chuckle.

“What? Did he hurt you or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Can we please talk in your office?” you ask and he nods, leading you up to his office.

Once the two of you are settled and secluded from the rest of the officers, you just decide to start right in the middle and not waste your time beating around the bush.

“Harry didn’t do it. He was framed.”

Robert gives you a surprised look as he leans back in his seat on the other side of his desk. He thinks about your words furrowing his eyebrows before scratching his neck.

“How… do you know that?”

“I just know. He is being framed by Hugo McKain, it was one of his men who killed the guy, not Harry.”

“I have a feeling that your source about this was none other than Harry himself.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does, because of course he would try to defend himself!”

“Harry is not a murderer, Robert,” you snap. “He always owns up to his mistakes and he would never do anything to hurt others. Yes, he is troubled and did a lot of illegal shit in his life, but never anything that could hurt others. He became a target because he didn’t want to join Hugo.”

Robert stares at you for a while, probably trying to figure out whether he should believe you or not. You knew he’d be skeptical, but you can only hope he trusts you enough to help you out in this one case.

“And what do you expect me to do?” he asks after a while.

“He knows the name of the guy. Axel something, can you get someone on his case? Look into the evidence more? Something might come up that could help Harry out of this mess.”

Robert’s jaw clenches as he stares back at you, contemplating his choices but something is telling you he is already in. You won him over.

“I’ll have Jake look into it, I think I know who this Axel guy is.”

“Thank you, Robert!” you cheer in excitement. Jumping from your seat you go around his desk and hug him from behind, kissing his cheek as he tries to escape your embrace. He hates it when you get all affectionate at his work, but you just had to. You head to the door to get out of his hair before he changes his mind, but he stops you before you could leave.

“Y/N, just please be careful with Styles, okay?”

“He is not as bad as people make him sound.”

“I just don’t want him to get you into trouble. There’s only so much I can do to save your ass.” “Don’t worry,” you smile at him softly. “I’ll be alright.”

The rest of the day goes by with catching some stupid guy who was wanted for trying to rob a gas station while drunk, it’s a mystery how he was able to run away, you saw the security footage, the guy was barely standing on his feet, but lucky for you, he is in the exact same state when you surprise him at a bar and bring him in.

It’s past seven when you finally get home. Keying yourself into the apartment you are met with a quite pleasant sight. Harry has pushed the pullout in to make some space in the cramped living room and as you step inside, you are met with the sight of him doing pushups in the middle of the room, no shirt on, just a pair of loose shorts, all his tattoos are on display, a thin layer of sweat covering his body, his curls are held back with a headband. When he hears you arrive, his head shoots up and smirks in your way before doing a few more and then he stops, standing up just as you shut the front door.

“Welcome home, Honey,” he winks in your way and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Turning my living room into your personal gym, huh?”

“I can’t just sit around all day, waiting for you to get home, can I?”

“You can always just fix up my apartment while I’m gone,” you joke chuckling. Setting your bag down on your bed you join him in the kitchen where he is sipping on some water. “Anyway, I have good news for you. My brother said he’ll have one of his guys look into the case. I’m sure he’ll check after this Axel dude you mentioned.”

“That’s great! I’ve also been asking around today, some of my friends said they will try to dig up some dirt that might help me out, but I don’t want any of them to get too deep and then have Hugo go after them too.”

“It’ll be fine,” you nod, convinced that things will turn out well. “Alright, I’ll throw something together for dinner, what—“

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already ordered, should be here soon.”

“You ordered food?” you ask in surprise.

“Of course. I won’t just eat your fridge out, dinners are on me while I’m here,” he smiles genuinely and you’re stunned by the gesture.

Half an hour later the two of you are sitting on the living room floor, Chinese takeout boxes littering the place around you, having a full on feast because Harry didn’t go light on the order.

“So, tell me, what have you been doing since high school?” he prompts the question. “I feel like I know you but I also don’t. Don’t get me wrong, being handcuffed by you every other month is fucking hot, but I don’t know much about you.”

“There’s not much to know,” you shrug. “I’ve been doing this since I was seventeen, no grandiose career.”

“But did you have any other plans before?”

“Thought about joining the police, but I was never tame enough to follow their rules.”

“Ooh, a little rebel?” he teases you and you throw a handful of napkins in his way, making him laugh.

“You can joke about it, but I’ve had my fair share of trouble as well, you are not the only one who’s been through some rough years.”

“I know that,” he nods, eyes getting serious for a moment. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“You know about them?” you ask in surprise. You didn’t really share it with anyone, talking about the loss of them just made it harder to deal with it and you also didn’t want everyone’s petty.

“You just know about this kind of stuff when you grow up in foster care. Though you were lucky your brother was already of age.”

“I know. I’m convinced I wouldn’t be here if I had to go into foster care.” Putting down the box from your hands you look at Harry. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.”

“Not that it was any of your fault,” he smiles softly, but you can see the pain in his green eyes. Despite not knowing him well growing up, you always felt this weird urge to tell him how sorry you were for everything he had to deal with. He deserved a better childhood and teenage years and most importantly, respect from people. Everyone just labeled him as a lost case because of his background, but no one really tried to help him. Part of you feels guilty, because you could have helped through those years, but you were a little frightened from him as well, believing the rumors and talks about him, though now you know they were probably just stupid gossips.

Harry reaches into your box, stealing a dumpling and you snap on his hand, but he just pops it into his mouth grinning slyly.

“Hey! You have your own!” you tell him off.

“I know, but yours just tastes better.”

“You are such a pest,” you roll your eyes at him as you grab your box and start eating again.

“So, what does your boyfriend think about me being here?” he asks out of nowhere, but you see through his act. It’s his sneaky way of trying to get you to say if you’re single or not, probably already knowing the answer to that, but you choose to pull his leg a little.

“He is fine. Though you might have to plug your ears in a little when he comes over,” you tell him with a straight face and see his fall, a stunned expression on his handsome face.

“Wait, really? You have a boyfriend and told him about me being here?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”

It’s hard not to start laughing, especially when the words process and he realizes that you are in fact taken. The flirty, teasing act is long gone, he presses his lips together nodding to himself as he continues to eat in silence.

“I’m just fucking with you, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you tell him at last, finally letting out a laugh. His eyes snap up at you and a smirk slowly tugs at his lips as he points a finger at you.

“You had me for a hot minute. Nice one.”

“Why were you so surprised when I said I have a boyfriend?” you ask tilting your head to the side.

“Guess the thought was just a little weird, I’ve never seen you with a guy before.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ve never been with any,” you point out, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Oh, I know. I never thought you are pretending to be a nun,” he snorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you gasp, feeling like it was a subtle way to call you some sort of slut. Harry looks up at your upset expression and he immediately knows how his words were taken.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he defends himself.

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I meant that I always thought a girl as pretty as you must have plenty of guys after her.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at how bluntly he just called you pretty. It had a refreshing sound after all the shameless flirting he has been doing when it came to you, and your poor little heart immediately skipped a beat upon hearing his words.

“Well, I didn’t have,” you admit with a sad smile. You briefly dated a guy from another school in tenth grade, but after that, your life was just way too complicated to get involved in a relationship and you haven’t really been able to change that even years later. When you’re very keen on some intimacy you go to a nearby bar and just let whatever man to pick you up and have for the night, but that doesn’t happen too often either, because it seems useless most of the time, you can do the job yourself just fine too, you don’t need some random man to call you his babygirl when he doesn’t even know your name. Some never even bother to finish you, they pass out once they got what they wanted so you prefer being on your own.

“Fucking losers!” Harry huffs dramatically. “They have no idea what’s good.”

“You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better,” you roll your eyes at him, but you can feel yourself blushing.

“I’m not, I was always crushing on you a little in high school, if I’m being honest,” he admits truthfully, managing to surprise you once again.

“For real?”

“Sure,” he nods, turning his focus back to his food as he continues to talk. “Even thought about asking you out to prom one time. But I figured you might not even know who I am.”

“Come on, everyone knew who you were!”

“Are you telling me off for being humble?” he asks grinning. “Okay, let me rephrase it. I didn’t know if you wanted anything to do with me after hearing stuff about me, so I just dodged the idea.”

You chew on his words a little before looking up at him, eyes meeting his green irises, though you are usually not one to get in on the flirting, now you just feel like being a little blunt.

“Well, I always thought you were good-looking.”

“Were? Am I not good-looking anymore?” he teases with a dramatic gasp that makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, the smugness takes a bit away from it, if I’m being honest,” you tell him off making him laugh.

Once you both are well fed you clean the boxes up together, you wash the few extra plates you used while Harry dries them off and puts them away. Opening one of the cabinets he moves the door a bit, examining how it hangs a little low.

“I always forget to fix it up,” you sigh. There’s quite a few things that could use some work, but you just never get to start on them so they are always put aside.

You take your turns in the bathroom as usual and you sit at your desk a little, working on a few stuff before calling it a night. Harry is already lying in his temporary bed on the pullout, scrolling through his phone. The covers hide only half of his body, his naked, tattooed chest is on display, one of his arms is tucked under his head, the muscles on his arm flexing just right. He surely is a sight, you can’t deny that.

“Seeing something you like?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been caught staring. Clearing your throat you stack up the papers on your desk and head into your bedroom.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heating up.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he calls after you before you click the door closed.

The next day you go with your usual routine, Robert checks in with you letting you know he already has someone on Harry’s case, so there’s not much you can do for now, only hope that something will surface that can help him out of this mess. Throughout the day you often catch yourself thinking about what Harry could be doing at home all day and you pray to all higher powers he is not currently snooping through your lingerie.

It’s a frustrating day, you couldn’t find the guy you’ve been after but you were really hoping to finally get the money for him. He is big money, but he makes you work for it certainly. When you arrive home Harry is nowhere to be seen, but then you hear the shower running so you figure he must have just been working out and is now taking a shower. Two pizza boxes are set on the dining table and you sigh in relief that you don’t have to think about cooking with him around. Going to the kitchen you are about to grab two plates when you notice that the cupboard door that’s been hanging low a little is now fixed. It’s as new as it never was since you’ve been living here and it gets you wondering if anything else has been taken care of. Going through the kitchen you start to realize that all the little things that’s been waiting to be fixed are now working perfectly: the handle on one of the drawers, the loose tap, the shelf that’s been crooked for a while, it’s all perfect now.

The bathroom door opens and Harry walks out wearing a pair of black sweatpants, his hair is wet and he has a towel hanging from around his neck.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you arrive,” he breathes out throwing the towel to the back of one of the chairs around the dining table.

“Just arrived a few minutes ago. Hey, did you fix my kitchen?” you ask furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“Uh, yeah. Took a look at the stuff that seemed off. Also fixed the shoe rack near the door and the hangers in the bathroom.”

“Oh wow. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Didn’t you tell me to fix the place up while being here?” he teases you with a smirk as he leans against the table.

“That was just a joke.”

“I know,” he chuckles softly. “But I really didn’t have much to do today so I thought I might make myself useful.”

“That’s… actually very nice of you. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

“So how was your day?” Harry asks as the two of you are chewing on the pizza, sitting at the dining table.

“Why are you making small talk like we’re a married couple?” you scrunch your nose, taking another bite from your slice.

“What, I can’t be nice?”

“You can, it’s just you are usually not,” you point out.

“Or you are just never around when I decide to be nice,” he grins. “You usually just burst into my place, handcuff me and then bring me in. That doesn’t give much time to be nice.”

“I wouldn’t cuff you if you didn’t try to run away the first time I wanted to bring you in,” you retort shrugging.

“Okay, first of all, I was not expecting you to just kick my door in and have a fucking knife pointed at my throat, of course I tried to escape! And second, I quite enjoy being handcuffed by you, so I guess it’s not that bad.”

That smug smirk is back on his lips again and you wish you could just wipe it off sometimes. He is so full of himself!

“You are always coming with this cuffing thing. Get a hold of your kinks, Styles.”

“You can’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on. I bet you’d like that, if you haven’t already been cuffed in the bedroom,” he snorts, taking a big bite, the sauce dripping a bit from the corner of his mouth that he wipes with the back of his hand.

“My kinks are none of your concerns,” you sternly reply, but it just makes his grin wider.

“Oh, so you do have kinks! Tell me more about them!”

“Well what are yours?” you retort, hoping it would shut him up, but it has the opposite effect on him. Leaning back he swallows the food in his mouth before starting the list.

“Well I do love getting handcuffed, I’m into spanking, both ways. I have a weird thing for—“

“Alright! I’ve heard enough!” you cut him off. “Stop, just… stop,” you breathe out.

“What?” Harry chuckles, clearly enjoying the situation more than you’d want him to. “Don’t tell me you’re too prude to talk about sex.”

“I’m not,” you answer right away.

“Okay, then tell me about your kinks!” he teases you some more. Snapping your eyes at him you can tell how much he is enjoying making you so uncomfortable, but you also know that he thinks he’ll just make you blush and you won’t tell him a thing. So you decide to give him his own medicine.

“I do in fact like to be handcuffed, I love a good spanking, when my ass cheeks turn red from the slaps, that makes me cum very hard. I love a good old choking and I particularly enjoy giving blowjobs because I don’t have a gagging reflex, makes men go fucking nuts when I have them down my throat to the last inch, I get off their reaction easily.”

Harry’s lips part as he stares at you with a stunned expression, he definitely did not expect that answer, or any answer at all. That face alone makes up for the slight anxiety that took over you talking about what you really enjoy in the bedroom. Your eyes wander down and a triumphant smirk tugs on your lips.

“Don’t be such a horny teenager, I can see your dick getting hard,” you tell him before flipping the pizza box closed and walking into the kitchen you put the remaining of it into the fridge.

“You are such a tease, Y/N,” he shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “But it might backfire, because now I’m gonna get off thinking about spanking you,” he grins at you, but you just shrug, heading to the bathroom.

“Do whatever you want, fantasizing is free,” you tell him before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You’d be lying if you said you don’t think about him in the shower. As your hands move down your body, your fingers wander between your legs, gently playing with your clit while thinking about Harry spanking you. Knowing that he is kind of into the same things as you makes your fantasies even more vivid, but you don’t let yourself get off. You wouldn’t want him to hear you moan under the shower, he would tease you about it forever.

When you’re all done you step out of the bathroom only to get startled by Harry who is standing right at the door, wearing only his boxer briefs.

“Shit!” you gasp, snapping your hand to your chest.

“You took awfully long in there, Y/N,” he smirks at you, but you just roll your eyes at him. “If you ever need help washing you back, don’t be shy to ask me to join.”

“Keep dreaming,” you mumble under your breath as you walk past him and make your way into your bedroom.

“I already do that!” he calls after you before you shut the door closed.

Throwing yourself to your bed you take a deep breath closing your eyes. If he keeps up this act, you have no idea how you’re gonna survive having him around any longer.

Two days go by in the same manner. You spend most of the day out doing your usual stuff, you actually manage to catch another guy who was a small reward, but it’s more than nothing. Harry usually has dinner ready and waiting for you by the time you get back home. During these two days he has fixed up basically everything that wasn’t working in your apartment, freeing you from doing it yourself for probably twice as long as he did.

You sit and eat together, Harry usually tries to get under your skin with some more flirting that you return with a cold shoulder, but then, when you’re lying in the comfort of your bed or standing under the hot water in the shower, you always find your thoughts wandering off to the man on the other side of the door.

Ashamed to admit, but you’ve gotten yourself off once thinking about him. You woke up in the middle of the night from a quite hot dream that, of course, featured a shirtless Harry and you just couldn’t stop yourself from bringing you some relief. For a little while your hands weren’t yours, you imagined that Harry’s big, calloused and ring clad fingers were moving against your body and you needed every drop of self-control not to moan his name out as you came. You blame it on him being so comfortable shirtless around your place, he has been really making himself feel home. Not that you’re complaining, he is a sight for the eyes certainly, but it’s also giving you a hard time.

Robert soon asks you to swing by the station to discuss some details about Harry’s case. You can tell he couldn’t dig up anything helpful, he would have already mentioned it through the phone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything that can be useful in further investigation.

“So, I’ve caught wind of Axel Morris being involved in the death of the victim, but we haven’t been able to recover any evidence that would point towards him, unfortunately,” Robert explains as the two of you sit in his office. “Didn’t want to bring him in for questioning either because then Hugo would find out we are after him.”

“So what can be done now?”

“I’m… really not sure, Y/N. If Axel doesn’t magically confesses the murder on tape, I’m not sure I can do anything to help Styles.”

Chewing on your bottom lip you’re trying hard to think of what to do. This can’t end like this, there has to be a way out for Harry…

“Look. I know you’re trying to cook up something to help Styles, but I’m not sure I can give you much time.”

“What do you mean?” you ask with a puzzled look.

“I mean that…” He glances at the door and then leans closer, speaking more quietly. “If I had a guess where he could be found, I would say he is at your place as we are speaking. I can’t let a guy walk free who is wanted for murder, Y/N. I eventually have to bring him back.”

“Alright, alright. Just give me a few more days. I’ll figure it out,” you plead, running your hand through your hair. Robert sighs, shaking his head.

“You have three days. That marks ten days since the warrant has been out. If you don’t bring me evidence by then, I’m sending the guys to your place to get him.”

“Three days, alright. I’ll… figure it out. Thanks, Robert,” you nod, leaving his office in a rush.

You have three days to find evidence against Axel and free Harry, but how do you even start? You’re good at what you do, but this is kind of out of your field and you’re not sure you can deal with it.

Walking around town you try to come up with an idea, but end up doing what you always do when you’re stuck on a case. Thanks to your work you’ve built up quite a web of connections, you always know someone who knows someone who is exactly the person you need. So sitting at a diner, munching on a late lunch you start calling your connections to see if you can dig up anything that could help.

A few hours later the situation becomes brighter and you finally have a somewhat useful plan so you head home to let Harry in on what you’ve come up with.

He is seemingly surprised when you arrive home earlier than the usual, he is sitting at the dining table, a bowl of instant noodles in front of him as he is watching some video on his phone. Like usually, he is only wearing a pair of sweatpants, his tattooed abdomen on full display.

“Oh, hi! Something happened?” he asks, concern showing in his eyes as he watches you kick your shoes off and storm into your bedroom, going straight to your wardrobe to dig up one particular outfit. “Y/N?” you hear him call out for you, his voice coming from your door.

“Yes! I knew I still had it!” you cheer in triumph as you hold up the latex set that clearly leaves very little to the imagination. When Harry sees it, his eyes go wide and his imagination probably gets wild for a moment, because he clears his throat as he looks at you puzzled.

“What do you need that for?”

“It’s part of my plan that will get us evidence against Axel Morris.”

“I’m not really following, so please elaborate?”

“I talked to Robert, he said we need to get him to confess. Now, I made a few phone calls and found out that our friend, Axel is a regular at this strip club called Siren. I’ll pretend to be a dancer and wrap him around my fingers and get him to confess while recording. You said it yourself, he is a real dumbass, I’m sure I can make it work.”

Harry stares at you frozen for a long moment before he lets out a heartfelt chuckle and now you’re the one confused about what’s really going on.

“S’cute you think I’m letting you close to that man. Funny, that was a good joke. Alright, what do you want for dinner?” he asks, walking back to the dinner table, but you chase after him.

“It’s not a joke, Harry. Pretty much our only chance to get you out of this mess!”

“You are not going anywhere near that guy and that’s not up for debate.”

“Not that you can tell me what to do!” you scoff at him.

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shakes his head sitting back to the table, stirring his pasta around with the spoon.

“I certainly know, and this is pretty much your only chance to save your ass, Harry.”

“Not if it means you go near Axel, nah,” he shakes his head calmly, as if it wasn’t even an argument and he had the right to grant you permission.

“Well, I’m doing it and you can’t do anything about that. I’m going in tomorrow. I know one of the dancers, she is helping me set it all up,” you shrug, your attitude meeting his careless one, but he doesn’t like your answer, not even a bit.

“Y/N, you are not going there!” he snaps, standing up, the chair falling back from the sudden movement. “That psycho killed a man or did you forget about that?!”

“Okay, so what’s your plan to save your ass? Because there’s literally no other choice,” you retort giving him a frown as you march back to your room and Harry follows you.

“But it won’t be you dressing up as a stripper, seducing a fucking murderer to get him to confess!”

“So then what is it going to be?!” you snap at him facing him again. “Because Robert gave me three days to sort things out before he comes here and takes you in himself!”

“Then I’ll go to jail! No big deal!” he throws his hands into the air like it was just a minor inconvenience and not a case of murder that could put him behind bars forever.

“Are you fucking insane?” you laugh in disbelief. “You’re willing to lose the rest of your life for what? Nothing at all?!”

“It’s not nothing, Y/N. You are not getting yourself into this mess and it’s not up for debate.”

“You hold no control over me, Harry!” you scream at him at this point, fed up with his bullshit.

You find yourself pinned against the wall in a blink of the eye, Harry is pressed up against you, hands grabbing onto your forearms as he keeps you in place firmly, one of his thighs coming between your legs as his face is dangerously close to yours now. He knocks the air out of you for a moment and you stare back at him with parted lips for just a split second before your instincts kick in.

You easily knee him in the crotch, giving you just enough opportunity to grab one of his wrists and twist it behind his back, forcing him to get on the ground, growling in pain.

“Fuck! Y/N!” he groans, snapping his other hand against the hardwood floor. You give him another squeeze as a warning before letting him go and he falls to the ground for a moment before he pushes himself up to sit on his heels.

“You still think I can’t protect myself against a man?” you sneer at him walking over to the bed to grab the outfit that was tossed to the side in the hustle.

“Shit, I think you broke my dick!” he breathes out hunching over and you just smile to yourself as you hand the outfit up to the side of your wardrobe.

“Don’t be such a crybaby, you’re fine.”

“Don’t think so, might need a get-well kiss on it though,” he smirks through his painful expression and you roll your eyes at him. How is he still at it when you just kneeled him in his crotch? “Okay, your message came through very clear though, but I’m still not a fan of your plan,” he sighs finally standing up from the floor.

“It’s gonna be easy, I’ll get him a little drunk, offer him a private dance, make a move and get him to talk. If he really is that dumb like you said, I can easily get him to open up, just gotta make sure he is focusing on something else,” you explain gesturing towards the outfit on the hanger.

“You can’t wear that, Y/N.”

“This is what strippers wear, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“My problem is that it’s like… nonexistent. There’s no textile at all!” he rages, still eyeing the red latex set.

“Are you… jealous?” you ask, starting to get a feel of what’s really going on. Harry’s head snaps in your way and the look in his eyes answers your question even when he tries to hide his real reasons.

“Jealous of you becoming a stripper? I bet I can make more than you if I became one,” he scoffs smugly.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking jealous!” you laugh, enjoying this one in a million moment. “What’s next, you have feelings for me? Are you gonna confess your undying love?” you tease him.

“Okay, you had your laughs, that was enough. Excuse me if I’m looking out for you and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“Don’t get all smitten with me now. I’ve been doing just fine without you so far.”

“Yeah, how many people did you bring in for murder?” Harry questions and that leaves you without an answer. Not that you don’t know it, but because the number is exactly zero. You’ve been doing your job for quite a while and there’s been all kind of cases under your hands, but not murders. Though you are completely capable of defending yourself, you’re not sure you want to deal with monsters who took a human’s life. The only reason you took Harry’s case was because you had an inkling feeling from the very start that he did not do it.

“Just as I thought,” Harry scoffs. “Listen, if you really want to do this then I’m going with you. No way I’m gonna just sit around here and wait to see if you make it back home.”

“How do you plan on leaving the house? Someone might recognize you and then it’s game over.”

“I’ll just… disguise myself,” he shrugs. “Can’t be that hard.”

You never thought the day would come when you see Harry Styles wearing a fake mustache and a ridiculous wig, secured with a beanie to his head. The moment the two of you finish his disguise, you can’t hold your laughter back. He looks so damn ridiculous, you can barely breathe through your laughter as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I look like a fucking pedophile,” he shakes his head chuckling as he pushes some fake hair out of his forehead. “Where the fuck did you find this wig?” he snaps at you in disbelief.

“Does it matter? You look so fucking bad!” you laugh hysterically and Harry just stands there, waiting for you to finally stop, but it seems like he is not bothered by your reaction. He probably finds it equally funny too.

It’s currently seven pm, you have to head to Siren soon to start your fake shift as a stripper and you haven’t been able to talk Harry down from following you, so there you are, getting ready to fool everyone around you. Harry with his awful disguise and you with your stripper outfit.

When you finally catch your breath you leave Harry in the living room to get ready as well. Following a heavy makeup with dark, smokey eyes, you also put on a wig, a short, red bob that’s part of the outfit. Then you squeeze yourself into the latex, the tiny top barely covering you, the skirt is not even a skirt, rather than just a belt. As an extra to the fit, you’ve put on a red corset, though it’s more so you can hide the voice recorder since the original outfit doesn’t give too many places to do that. You pair it all with fishnet tights and a pair of black, thigh-high boots. As you check yourself out in the mirror you don’t even recognize yourself. Y/N is officially gone, the girl in the boots is… Crystabel.

Opening the door you step out of your bedroom, Harry is standing in the middle of the living room, busy with his phone so at first he doesn’t even see you walk out.

“Ready to leave?” he asks, eyes still on the screen of his phone.

“I… guess?” you breathe out, feeling extremely self-conscious in this revealing set.

When Harry finally looks up his mouth drops open. He is not even trying to hide his hunger as his eyes rake down the length of your body. He takes his time to take in every inch of your exposed skin before his gaze settles on your eyes behind your long fake lashes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out and it gives you quite the confidence boost.

“You like it?” you ask, striking a pose as you push your hips to the side and place your hands on your waist.

“I-I’m… I’m fucking speechless,” he chuckles as you walk closer and grabbing the strings of his hoodie, you tug on the playfully while he is still shamelessly checking you out. “I don’t know how I could live this long without seeing you like this.”

“You are such a flirt,” you roll your eyes, but just as you are about to step away from him he grabs you by your waist and pulls you against him firmly. Your hands move to his broad shoulders right away, trying to keep your balance in his hold.

“I might be a flirt, but you are the hottest woman I’ve seen and I admit I will be fucking jealous of every man that’s gonna lay their eyes on you tonight.” His voice is low, full of lust and if it wasn’t for his funny disguise, you would have melted right into his arms in a heartbeat.

“I can’t take you seriously with this mustache on,” you chuckle softly, running your fingers over the fake facial hair, the pad of your fingers slightly touching his soft lips underneath.

“Just wait until we get back home and I get rid of it,” he smirks and winks at you, making you chuckle, but you can also feel yourself blushing at his words.

You put on a trench coat to cover the racy outfit as the two of you make your way to the club. Harry is driving, but you took your car in case someone might recognize him near the club. Arriving Harry parks at a darker corner in the parking lot and he pulls out a little box from his backpack.

“Alright, let’s wire you up, Love,” he smirks as you undo the coat and let him help you get the devices situated on you.

The voice recorder gets pushed into your stomach, hiding behind your corset. It’s thick enough that it doesn’t give away that anything is hidden under it, it’s just a little uncomfortable for you, but you are sucking it up.

“Here, put this into your ears,” Harry hands you an earpiece that you place into your right ear, hiding it with your wig. “It’s not the best quality, but you’ll be able to hear me and I’ll hear everything around you. We need a safe word if anything happens so I know I have to go inside.”

“This is starting to look like a spy movie or something,” you mumble under your breath as you start buttoning your coat again.

“Don’t turn it into a joke, Y/N. Axel might be a stupid jerk, but don’t forget he killed that man. He doesn’t care if you’re a woman or not, or if you’re a real stripper or not.”

“Alright, alright,” you sigh nodding. “How about… cherry?”

“Okay. Use it if you are in trouble or someone is hurting you or anything.” You nod, fidgeting with the end of the coat, but Harry grabs your hand and makes you look at him. “I mean it, Y/N. I don’t want you to play the hero.”

“I won’t, calm down. I gotta go now. I’ll see you soon,” you tell him before getting out of the car and heading to the backdoor. Glancing back one last time you see Harry standing at the hood of the car, watching you intently as you disappear from his sight.

Sienna, who is helping you tonight is already waiting for you at the backdoor. You met her a few years ago when you caught her abusive ex and took him in. She said she owed you one for freeing her from that asshole and now you are finally here to collect that favor.

“Damn, you look good!” she grins, pulling you into a short hug.

“You think it’s gonna be alright?” you ask, pulling the coat open to show her the whole outfit.

“Fucking fantastic. No men will be able to focus on anything than your boobs,” she snorts, pulling you inside.

The plan is easy. You won’t be out all night, Sienna will be your eyes and when she spots Axel arrive, that’s when you come into the picture. Sienna will escort him to a secluded area and tell him he has a free lap dance which will be, of course, performed by you. Some flirting, some seducing and hopefully Axel will be dumb enough to let a some sort of confession slip.

Sienna takes you to the changing room and you stay in the corner, trying not to be in the way as you watch the girls get ready. There are ten girls in total, five of them are dancing tonight, the other five are servers, but they still dress like dancers. They all wear equally revealing outfits, just like you and as you watch them move around so confidently, you start to get more and more nervous. What if Axel figures out you’re not a real dancer right away? Or if he notices the recorder pushed into your stomach? This plan is definitely not the safest you’ve ever come up with, and you are starting to doubt yourself now that you are so deep in it.

“Y/N?” you hear Harry’s faint voice in your ear. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and hearing his voice calms your nerves a little.

“Everything alright?” First you nod, but then you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Are you nervous?”

“Very,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. Luckily, Harry doesn’t bring his usual cockiness out, feeling how serious the situation is.

“You can still come out and we can just go home. You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I want to do this,” you firmly answer. “Just… talk to me a little. Please.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you about when I wanted to ask you out to prom,” you hear him start and you can’t push a smile down as you sit and wait, listening to his soothing voice. “You were wearing this pretty white sweater that day and tight jeans, you looked so fucking good, Y/N. I saw you walking to your locker and you smiled at some random guy and I was instantly jealous.”

“Really?” you ask quietly.

“O, yeah,” he chuckles. “I told you, I had a crush on you. So I thought about asking you out, wanted to just walk up to you and casually ask if you wanted to go with me. But then I just watched you and realized that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me, so I just watched you get your books out of your locker and then you walked right past me, looked me in the eyes and I straight up felt my knees turn into jelly. Good thing I was leaning against the wall. You walked away and I never asked you out. Still regret that,” he admits and your heart flutters at his words.

As weird as it sounds, you remember that day. Especially because when your eyes met Harry’s you felt kind of the same. You felt intimidated and wondered why he was watching you so intently, but you would have never guessed he wanted to ask you out.

You see Sienna walking in, her eyes find you and you immediately know it’s show time.

“Harry?” you breathe out at last.

“Yeah?”

“I would have said yes,” you tell him before you follow Sienna out and the blasting music pushes down Harry’s voice in your earpiece.

The bright lights of the back are switched to the dim, red lighting in the main bar area, a dancer is already on the stage and the place seems packed for the night as all men are hungrily watching the girl on the stage, throwing dollar bills at her shamelessly.

Sienna pulls you to the bar and leans closer to your ear so you can hear what she is saying.

“He is in one of the private rooms, told him the dance is on the house to thank him for being a regular. I asked one of the guards to stand nearby.”

“Thank you, S,” you nod at her as she squeezes your hands.

“Good luck, girl,” she smiles a little bitterly before she shows you the way to the room where Axel is currently waiting for his private dance.

As you stop at the door you take a deep breath, staring at the doorknob for a moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever is about to happen in there.

“I’m going in,” you say, partially to yourself, but mostly to Harry so he knows what’s happening though you don’t hear an answer before you open the door and step inside.

The room is mostly what you were expecting, a small stage with a rod in the middle, across that a long, plush, deep burgundy couch. The walls are black, just the red led lights illuminating the place.

And there he is. Axel Morris is sitting in the middle of the couch, manspreading so widely like the asshole that he is, arms leisurely draped across the back of the couch as his hungry eyes immediately snap to your body.

Axel is big. He is a large man and you realize that the moment you see him. Though he is sitting you can easily tell that he’s tall and he is definitely bulky. Could end you in a blink of an eye and knowing that he is capable of murder is just an eerie thought that doesn’t leave you alone. But you suck it up and get into character, only thinking about one thing: help Harry out of this mess.

Music with low bass starts playing through the speakers as you make your way over to Axel who grins at you disgustingly, making it hard for you to keep the façade.

“Hey big boy, heard you’ve earned a dance for yourself,” you coo at him stopping at the edge of the stage as you keep eye-contact with him. You lean against the edge and spread your legs just enough to tease his imagination about what’s about to come.

“Hell yes, I did! Hope you’re a good dancer, babygirl. Haven’t seen you around here.”

“I’m new. But I’m really good, that’s why they sent me,” you smirk at him sweetly as you walk closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches out and grabbing your hips he pulls you to straddle his lap and it catches you by surprise but you don’t fall out of character.

“Then show me what you can do. What’s your name?” He licks his lips as you start moving, doing your best from movies you’ve seen with strippers in them.

“Crystabel, but you can call me yours,” you hum, grinding and bouncing yourself, completely unleashing your inner hoe. “Tell me, big boy. Are you as dangerous as you seem?”

“Oh baby, you have no idea,” he grins proudly.

“Really?” you coo, pushing yourself up against him. His dirty hands find your ass and you want to push them away so badly, but you let him have his way with you for the sake of the plan. “What’s the worst you’ve done?”

“Why does a pretty girl like you want to know about that, huh?” he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you with suspicion so you know you have to be careful.

“Because I have a thing for those stuff. I love pain and blood, it gets me off always,” you smirk at him teasingly, grinding yourself against him to divert his attention a little from the words spoken.

“Mm, yeah?”

“Yeah, I love that kind of stuff,” you moan, running your hands down your chest, his eyes hungrily following your every move and you know he is zoned out. It’s going perfectly.

“Well, I’m the perfect man for you then, babygirl. I’ve done all the things you can imagine.”

“Really? You are turning me on, big boy,” you murmur lowly, turning around for a bit so he can get a good glimpse of your backside as well. “Have you… taken anyone’s life before?” you bluntly ask, hoping you aren’t moving too fast and he won’t snap at you.

“Not sure I should be talking about that with you, pretty girl,” he smirks smugly. You turn back to face him, pushing your crotch against him as you try not to gag feeling his erection under you.

“I’m good with secrets, Honey. My lips are sealed,” you grin at him, stroking his oily face and try your best not to wipe your fingers into the cushion of the couch. Axel smirks at you, clearly enjoying the show you are putting on, his fingers are digging into your thighs as his eyes are practically glued to your chest.

“I’m a killer, babygirl.”

“Yeah?” you gasp, faking your excitement. “What did you do, big boy? Tell me, make me wet,” you purr biting into your bottom lip, pushing your chest out some more to distract him from his consciousness that might keep him from answering.

“Killed a guy recently,” he smugly admits and your adrenaline is high in the sky. You are so close to what you need!

“Oh my, sounds like a dirty job.”

“It was.”

“Saw it on the news a guy got killed not long ago, did you do that?” you smirk at him, his hand slapping your ass and you fight yourself not to punch him in the face.

“That Richards guy? Yeah,” he nods and you almost start screaming in your triumph. This dumbass really did just confess to you, because you had your ass and tits out for him!

“Cool. What’s your name, big guy? Wanna know who I’ll think of when I touch myself later,” you pant into his ear, you need him to say his name otherwise the confession might go to shit.

“I’m Axel, babygirl,” he grins, leaning dangerously close to you, he clearly wants to push his tongue down your throat but you push yourself away and up from his lap.

“Our time is up, big boy. See you later!” you sing and walk out of the room while he is still kind of zoned out.

The moment you are out, you start running. You can’t have him realize what just happened and stop you. Pushing your way back to the dressing room you grab all your stuff and spring out of the building. Harry is standing at the entrance, his ridiculous disguise is gone as he spots you with wide eyes. He probably heard everything and wanted to be there for you when you get out and as soon as you reach him he grabs your hand and the two of you run to the car. Right when you get into the car, you spot Axel running out from the front entrance and he definitely realized what just happened.

“Hey! Get back here you slut!” he shouts as Harry starts the car and you melt into the seat, scared of what’s about to happen because you see Axel reach to his back and the next thing you know is that he has a gun in his hand.

“Harry! Go!” you scream when you see him aim at the car and right at that moment, the wheels screech as Harry pushes the gas pedal to the fullest and the car yanks forward.

Your heart drops to the floor when a bullet shoots into the side of the car as Axel tries to stop the two of you. Harry takes a sharp turn and leaves the car park with full speed. You see Axel from the mirror, he is raging and keeps shooting after you, but he has no aim or whatsoever. You reach the end of the street and you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Oh shit, fuck,” you mumble, chest heaving as you grab onto the armrest for some kind of leverage, your adrenaline is still pumping through your veins from the action movie-like scene that just happened.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Harry asks, eyes dancing between the road ahead of him and you as he tries to figure out if anything happened to you.

“I-I’m fine, he was just… fucking nasty to deal with you,” you groan at the thought of his hands on you. You’ll need the hottest shower after this, that’s for sure. “Go to the station, we gotta bring the tape in now,” you tell him as you reach into your corset. Pulling the recorder out you huff in relief, it’s been pressed into you for way too long. The tape is still rolling so you end it and then rewind it, checking if everything you need is on it. Luckily, it caught the whole thing perfectly, that means Harry is not going to jail. Well, not this time at least.

He is speeding down the streets as you get rid of the wig and put on your coat, you don’t want to walk into the police station dressed like a hooker and have the word spread that Robert’s sister has been making money some other way lately.

Arriving to the station you hold the recorder so tightly as if your life depends on it while Harry reaches for your other hand and firmly holds it in his warm palm. You walk inside and immediately spot Jeremy at the front desk. Letting go of Harry’s hand you run up to him.

“Jer, I got evidence for the Richards case! I got a confession on tape,” you beam at him holding the recorder up. He gives you a stunned look as he takes the recorder.

“Confession? How do you—“ He is cut off when you hear Harry’s voice from behind you.

“Hey! What the fuck!” he snaps and as you turn around you see that two officers are already on him, trying to handcuff him. Jeremy quickly forgets about the recorder as he joins in on strangling Harry. but you grab his arm and try to pull back.

“No! He didn’t do it! Listen to the tape!” you cry out, desperate to end this mess, but it feels like no one is listening to you.

“Harry Styles, you are under arrest for the murder of Dave Richards. You have the right…” One of the officers starts saying the usual speech as they drag Harry away while you are begging to Jeremy to listen to you.

“Jeremy! He didn’t fucking do it!” you scream, tears rolling down your face.

“What do you mean?” he asks giving you a puzzled look. It was Axel Morris! One of Hugo McKain’s men! They are trying to frame Harry!” you explain, while Harry is being taken away. “Harry, no!” you shout after them, but the officers don’t stop.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll be fine!” he calls after you before he disappears from your vision.

“Jeremy, please just listen to the fucking tape! I got his confession!”

“I’ll look into it, but I’m afraid Harry is spending the night here,” he sighs, looking down at the recorder before he walks away.

“Fuck, no!” you choke out.

When you finally stop crying you rush out of the building and call your brother, not even caring that it’s past midnight. He better answer your call or you are showing up at his house and start banging on his door until he opens it.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he growls into the phone.

“Robert, they fucking took Harry in! I had the confession on tape, but they just wouldn’t listen, they arrested him!”

“Hey, slow down, what are you talking about?”

Taking a deep breath you tell him the whole story. The club, the dance, the confession and then how you came straight to the station but they arrested Harry without listening to you.

“Alright, you can’t do much now, Y/N. He is still a suspect but I’ll call Jeremy to look into the tape. If it’s found relevant Harry will be out in the morning okay?”

“Please come in early in the morning and make sure he is let out, please!” you cry out, feeling so helpless after everything that just happened.

“I will. Meet me at the station at six, okay? It’ll be alright. Go home, have some sleep and then we’ll make everything right in the morning.”

You do as Robert asked, go home, have a shower, wash the night off of your skin and lie in bed however you are not able to sleep, not even for a minute. You keep thinking about Harry and what might be happening to him now. They better get their shit together and let him out in the morning or you are losing your mind. You didn’t go through all this just to have him put behind bars anyway.

It’s not even six when you are already at the station, anxiously waiting for Robert to show up. You keep glancing up at the building, thinking about how Harry is somewhere in there and you can only hope he’ll be out with you shortly.

When Robert arrives he goes straight up to check out the situation with the tape and Harry. Waiting for him down in the hall is nerve-wrecking, you feel like time has stopped. When he finally appears again you jump to your feet running up to him with high hopes.

“The tape has been examined, it was classified as evidence. Jeremy has already put out an arrest warrant on Axel. Harry is no longer a suspect. He’ll be down once the paperwork is done.”

“Oh thank God!” you breathe out and throw yourself at him, hugging him tighter than ever.

“Look, but there is something I need to talk to you about,” he says with a serious look.

“Okay, what is it?”

“We might be able to get this Axel guy, but I’m pretty sure Hugo is already after the two of you. We have a whole team for him, working on catching him finally, but it might be smart if you just left town for a little.”

“Oh. Yeah, sounds logical,” you nod.

“Let me know if you need help with that. I can arrange something for you.”

“We’ll see. I have to talk to Harry first.”

“Harry, huh?” Robert smirks down at you knowingly and you feel yourself blushing. A lot has changed lately around you and Harry and you guess it’s quite evident for everyone else as well. “Just so you know, he asked about you during the night. Wanted to know if you are alright.”

“Yeah?” you breathe out with a small smile.

“Yes. Might have been wrong about him a little. Tell him I said hello, I need to get to work now,” he nods with a fond smile.

“Thank you, Robert!” you call after him as he waves in your way before disappearing in the elevator.

Waiting around in the hall you keep looking towards the hallway, hoping to see him appear finally, but the minutes are just dragging by way too slowly.

You’re impatiently sitting on one of the benches by the wall when you finally see him walking down the hallway, leisurely running his hand through his hair, a tired smile sitting on his lips when he sees you leap from your seat and launch at him, throwing yourself into his arms.

“Hey, hey! It’s all good, Love. Told you not to worry about me,” he chuckles, but holds you tight anyway, his arms wrapping around you as he lifts you off the ground, taking a few steps forward.

“Of course I fucking worry about you, idiot!” you mumble into his neck before leaning back you look at his pretty face.

“Yeah? Does this mean I had the right to worry about you last night?”

“You were?”

“Fuck yes,” he laughs. “You have no idea what it was like to sit outside and listen to everything that fucker told you. Wanted to punch him in the face so badly.”

“So heroic,” you grin at him, your face already inching closer to his, arms still wrapped around his neck.

“Only for my favorite stripper,” he winks at you, making you gasp.

“If you dare to bring it up again and call me a stripper, I swear to God I—“

You don’t get to finish your threat, because his hand snakes to the back of your neck and he pulls you into a hard kiss, his lips smashing against yours. Melting into the kiss you open your mouth for him without hesitation, his tongue meeting yours as he kisses you with so much vigor and passion, he makes you bend your back, leaning back as he holds you firmly in his strong arms. And suddenly, you feel like you’re seventeen again, making out with your high school crush in the school hallway, luckily, you are kissing the same person you wanted then.

“I’m fucking starving, babe,” he breathes out once you finally pull away from each other. “For you as well, but can we get some real food?” he asks as he laces his fingers together with yours, heading out of the station.

“Sure,” you chuckle. “Hey, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Love, told you, you can handcuff me to the bedframe, I’m into that stuff.”

“Shut up!” you laugh smacking his chest as the two of you walk out to your car. “It’s not about that,” you murmur with a soft blush. “Robert said we should leave for a while, Hugo might be after us after what happened last night.”

“Yeah, thought about that myself too,” he nods as he gets behind the wheel without even asking if you want him to drive or not.

“So what should we do?” you question, sitting in the comfort of your car. Harry reaches for your hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly before he smirks at you.

“Have you been to Ireland, Love?”

“No,” you breathe out, a little stunned by the question.

“I have a friend over there, I’m sure he would love to have us there for a while. What do you say?”

“Are you for real? You want to go to Ireland with me?”

“Yeah, would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” you smile in awe. Even after that kiss you had doubts he would want to run away with you for the time being. But he is definitely planning to have you around longer. “Yeah, Ireland sounds fun.”

“Great. Then let’s head home to pack,” he smirks, starting the car. “Oh, Love?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to bring your handcuffs,” he grins and you just laugh at his smugness before leaning closer to kiss him quickly before the two of you finally drive away from the station.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[vdlest]

Costumes

Characters:

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:

You and the avengers are having a halloween party, and someone came with a familiar costume, making your heart skip a beat.

Warning:

None

Halloween is in the air.

You and your friends have been preparing for your mini-halloween party at the avengers compound. Everyone's excited about it. There's a rule that you're not allowed to wear your "uniform for war" as your halloween costume, and it disappoints some of them including Steve, Clint, and Bucky who is too lazy and too manly to find the perfect costume for them.

You are excited to see everyone in their costumes, especially Bucky. You and Bucky has been going around the bush for a while now. You know you like each other but no one gives a damn about it. You guys are just enjoying whatever you have.

When you and Wanda entered the compound, you found everyone mingling with each other. You saw how great their costumes. Steve is wearing a Harry Potter vibe, well, you expected a lot more from this old man. Tony is wearing a Super Mario inspired costume while Pepper is wearing the princess costume, making them look like a couple even more. Sam is wearing Richard Gere uniform from the movie "An Officer and A gentleman" but you thought he was a chauffeur or something. Clint and his family were dressed as the incredibles and they all look cute together. Vision is slaying that Woody look, and Wanda is wearing her Jessie outfit, making her and Vision characters from Toy Story. Bruce is wearing a texas chainsaw inspired costume with matching chainsaw while Nat is wearing a cheerleader outfit that you advised her to wear.

And you are wearing an inspired outfit from the movie Black Swan, that black little dress. You matched it with a dark make-up inspired and a little tiara.

"I can't believe you are wearing a texas chainsaw inspired costume, Bruce," Tony mocked when he saw Bruce walking towards their circle, "Why didn't you just wear your lab gown and a stethoscope around your neck?"

Everyone laughed, but you can't help but wonder where Bucky is.

Everyone's here already except for your unofficial boyfriend.

"Looking for someone?" Steve asked while sitting beside you.

You shook your head and tried to focus your attention to your friends.

"Come on. It's not like I don't know that you and Bucky are something. Everyone knows that," he said.

But before you could answer Steve, you heard Sam.

"Oh, man!" you moved your eyes to Sam and you saw that his gaze were directed behind you, "Lookin' dope, man!"

The next person you heard was Nat, "Oh, so that's what took our Sargeant so long. He needed to find his uniform!"

You finally turn your attention behind you.

To your fascination, you saw the person you were waiting for. James Buchanan Barnes in his Sargeant uniform. His beard is gone, all clean out.

"Well, well, dressing up for the Black Swan right here?" you heard Tony said, but you were too busy staring at the man walking towards you.

He's wearing the exact outfit he wore the night before he went to war. Despite the years that has passed, it still suits him. He is still entitled to wear that uniform and he is slaying it for real.

Everyone stood up to get drinks and food, leaving you and Bucky having a staring contest.

"Well, I should've brought my other jacket with me," he said and you gave him a questioning look, "So I could wrapped it around you and stop everyone from looking at you from head to toe, 'cause that little dress of yours is asking for trouble."

You didn't mind his cockiness.

"But you look good, my princess," he grabs you hand and kisses the back of it.

"You look good too, Buck," you said and a smile form in your lips.

You were about to ask him to join you and grab some drinks when he grabbed your wrist and suddenly claimed your lips with his.

You were stunned with what we did, knowing that everyone is looking at both of you right now, but it didn't stopped you from kissing him back.

His vibranium arms were wrapped around your waist and his other hand was cupping your face.

"Ah, my kids are here," Clint yelled not from afar, "You guys wanna find another place to do that?" he added.

"Oh, let them! It's about time!" you heard Wanda.

You were enjoying the kiss he's giving you, but after hearing your friends whispering, you decided to scold Bucky in a nice way.

"Everyone's watching, Buck," you said in between kisses.

"Let them watch. In that way, they'll know you're my girlfriend and stop asking us about what we are," he answered.

That is damn right! Everyone has been asking what you relationship is. You and Bucky would just stare at each other and won't say anything. But both of you were too afraid to answer, too afraid to take the risk, but tonight, Bucky will do whatever it takes to have you for the rest of his life.

You pulled away from your kiss and met his gaze, "Your girlfriend?" you asked.

He nodded, "Yeah, you're my girlfriend, right?" he asked you.

Your smile grew wider as you gave him a nod, "Yes, Sargeant."

Finally, about damn time!

-v.dl

[hannah-and-the-jets]

I have been reflecting on the fact that cursed child was terrible, so, with that, I have taken it upon myself to rewrite it lol. Here’s a little snippet of the beginning and I hope to start posting on AO3 soon!

Before the Daily Prophet was delivered that morning, Harry knew that it was going to be a bad day. Sometimes he thought Ron was not joking when he called Harry a Seer, as there were times that he just knew it was going to be a terrible day. 

If his tea was delivered by his assistant, Ms. Biggs, and it was cold, Harry knew that he would be swamped with paperwork. If there was too much milk, Auror Richards would be stopping him at least twice that day. Not enough sugar meant he would be in the tabloids again. And if his partner stopped and picked up breakfast, well, then he would be expecting a new one soon. 

 However, Harry felt it deep in his gut that morning when he woke up, Ginny draped over his chest still and loose limbed. His heart was racing from a lingering nightmare; his skin felt too tight over his muscles and the back of his neck was drenched in sweat. The nightmare was not a new one. Harry would find himself back at Hogwarts, wandering the sewer pipes under the school. The sound of scales sliding against the stone walls, the whispers from the basilisk calling out to him, and his own childish screams rang through his ears. The creature never caught up to him, but Harry would wander the familiar pipes searching for Ginny. In all of the years that the same nightmare plagued him, he never found her. 

But waking up to her leg thrown over his hips, her hair tickling his face, and her breath against his neck was usually enough to ground him back to reality. That morning it wasn’t enough. The fear and panic clawed at his chest and lungs, begging to be released. Harry did not move a muscle out of fear of waking Ginny. The small puffs of air escaping from her mouth indicated that she did not wake when Harry jolted to a start, and Harry was thankful as he turned his head to look at the clock on his nightstand. 

Harry had to squint to make out the numbers 4:53am glaring at him in bright red from the small alarm clock. He sighed and wondered if he could even fall back asleep for the next thirty minutes before the alarm would sound. With a shaking breath, the fear still lingered deep in him. A piercing cry came from the baby monitor on the dresser across from the bed. Harry could feel the moment Ginny woke, as she tensed for just a second above him. 

“I’ll get him,” Harry whispered into her hair, “Go back to sleep.” 

“Thank you,” Ginny murmured, not quite awake but not quite asleep. Al’s wails bounced around the room as they untangled themselves from one another. Harry found his glasses on the nightstand, and his pajama pants on the floor where he had left them only hours beforehand. With a flick of his hand, the baby monitor went silent, and Harry slipped out of the bedroom. 

In the hallway, Harry could hear Al from the room on the right, but went left first to the third bedroom of the house. Harry carefully opened the door, and panic in his chest quieted for a second as he watched his first born, James, snoring lightly. His wild hair that matched Harry’s was thrown in every direction on the pillow, and his covers had been completely discarded to the floor at some point in the night. At three years old, James Sirius Potter was a little terror, and slept like one too. Harry grinned fondly at the sight as James let out a shockingly loud snort for a three year old; however, Al then let out a particularly loud cry. Harry closed the door, and made his way down to the almost toddler’s room. 

At one years old, Al slept most nights pretty comfortably, but lately he had been waking them up again. Harry made his way into the bedroom, where Albus sat in bed, wailing while holding his plush dragon. “Oh, buddy,” Harry grabbed him and held him close, “What’s going on?” 

Al just blubbered his response and dug his face into Harry’s shirt. His little fist had a death grip on his dragon, as Harry moved them to sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. The chair faced the window that led to the view of the street below them. They lived in a town near the Burrow. It was easy to be connected to the Weasley’s for if they needed help, or just wanted someone else nearby. 

Harry had sold Grimmauld Place back to Narcissa Malfoy two years after the war. He had cleared out Sirius’ stuff with Ginny one Saturday afternoon, and it was the last time he had set foot in the house. Then there was the apartment he shared with Ron for Auror training, then Ron had moved out to live with Hermione after he dropped out. Then came this home, and it was truly a home. Bright yellow exterior paint, a big backyard, rooms for the children, and a large kitchen as the heart of the home. They could not have raised the kids in Grimmauld, no matter how much Harry missed it. 

With the panic in his chest starting to subsided, Harry focused his attention on Al completely. He patted his bottom to see if he was wet, rested his hand on his head to see if he was too hot, but it came down simply because he just wanted to be comforted. Harry kissed his jet black curls and murmured to him slowly, “It’s okay, Buddy. Did you have a bad dream? I got you. It’s okay now.” 

They stayed in that position, slowly rocking, until the sun started to peak over the houses across the street. Albus had fallen back asleep at some point, but Harry couldn’t. He felt it. It was going to be a bad day, but he would enjoy this moment rocking his youngest child back to sleep. 

The morning preparations went by in a blur. Eventually, Ginny came to take Albus down to breakfast while Harry got ready to go to work. He got ready quickly and efficiently, the same way that he had since he had completed his training seven years beforehand. He paused only briefly to kiss the boys and Ginny goodbye before leaving. The tightness of his skin never went away. 

When he had arrived at the Ministry, it seemed to be a normal day. Witches and wizards buzzed all around him, finding their way to their offices and cubicles. Harry navigated his way with ease, and rode the elevator down to the Auror floor. Like every morning, he was greeted by various members before he reached his office. While not Head Auror, yet, he was a Senior Auror, and it meant a shared office with a partner and an assistant to support. However, his last partner, Auror Eickles, had brought two cups of coffee with him last week, and was still in Saint Mungos as of this morning.

Ms Briggs sat behind her desk, happily clicking away at the keys on her computer. She was an older woman who insisted on wearing a muggle skirt suit set everyday in bright colors. Her lipstick was always a bold pink, and every gray curl of hair was never out of place. Ms Briggs enjoyed her work, Harry thought. At least she was always happy to see him. 

“Good morning, Auror Potter,” She said without looking up, “I’ll bring a cuppa and the Prophet in just a second. All messages are on your desk, and Auror Richards has requested a meeting at 9am.” 

“I have that meeting with the Bulgarian Senior Aurors at 8. Tell Richards to reschedule.” 

“No can do,” Ms. Briggs looked up from her computer screen as Harry passed, “He gave your meeting to Auror Spencer. He said it’s urgent, and Kinglsey is also supposed to be there.” 

There was that feeling, that bad feeling. After the war had ended, Harry tried to live his life without assumptions; however, an urgently scheduled meeting with the Head Auror and Minister of Magic was never a way to start the day. Harry nodded to Ms. Biggs, and made his way to his empty office. 

Half of the room housed Harry’s things. Pictures of family and friends, random nicknacks, and lots of paperwork. The whole thing was in disarray, at least Hermione thought so when she would stop by, but Harry just thought it was organized chaos. The other half of the room just sat empty. Auror Eickles had unpacked his stuff when he was assigned to be Harry’s partner, but his wife had come by to collect the few items that he had in the room. Harry thought about maybe sending a letter today, seeing how she’s doing. 

Harry was catching himself up on memos and notes from the weekend, when Ms. Briggs entered the room. She set his tea and the Daily Prophet on the corner of his desk, with a disapproving click of her tongue. 

“It’s bad enough what those families did to us, but now they want to come crawling back begging for work.” She shook her head as she read the top headline. Harry thought she didn't even know she was speaking out loud, “I bet they dried out all their little trust funds and family vaults.” 

Harry snatched the paper as she left the room. They had a longstanding thing were Harry would insist that the Prophet was garbage, but Ms. Briggs still brought it anyway. 

Ministry Approves Purebloods With Deatheater Ties May Work In Government Again! How This Affects You. Harry gravitated towards the corresponding picture. There were three individuals, two men and one woman. The men were young, possibly fresh out of Hogwarts, but the woman is what made Harry stop completely. She was not as tall as the others, and was a slender build. Her features were dark, with strong eyebrows, intense eyes, and a perfectly cut nose. Her hair was pulled into a bun so tight that it made Harry’s head hurt. But there, on his morning newspaper, was Astoria Malfoy signing her Auror training papers. 

[bumbershots]

Mistletoe & Wine

A/N: Hello this is my collaboration for @goldenbluesuit very well put together Christmas song fic challenge. It’s my first time participating and my first time posting my writing here as well (I’m sort of new, I have no friends) so, I’m kind of nervous and English is not my first language (sorry for any mistakes) thanks to my boyfriend for being a Brit so he could help me with the “slang” and for reading this about fifteen times and listened to Mistletoe and Wine by Cliff Richard throughout the entire week with me lol. Thanks for  taking the time to read this :) If you want to befriend a twenty six year old Aries, or just send me an ask click here.

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Harry meets a woman that is not here to stay, he will need to decide if that will keep him from making the most of the very few days they have together or dread the imminent separation.

It was raining when her flight landed in London. The kind of rain that doesn't pour heavily, instead it settles over the city for days. And although she can't afford to take a cab, she steps out of the airport just to stare at the endless grey of the sky and wrap herself in her coat because of how cold it was. After a few more minutes she goes back inside to find the way to get out of there on the tube, she knew it to be possible after all the research she's been doing since the age of twelve on the internet.

Soon enough, the man she approached to ask for help, confirms that a train is leaving in a few minutes and she can easily get off at Hammersmith, he even helps her buy the ticket and recommends to get an oyster card if she is going to use London's Underground often. But she doesn't know, she relishes in the element of surprise that is surrounding her life for the next 3 weeks. It excites her to an unfamiliar degree to see people come and go into the carriage, it almost makes her miss her stop, but she manages to get off just in time, her hands clutching the heavy suitcase that contains all her nicest and warmest clothes. She follows the crowd up the stairs and out of the station, the busy street revealed before her is straight out of those books she restlessly studied at school, people wearing trench coats and long scarfs hurry in hopes to avoid the rain and then a red double-decker bus passes by. The cherry on top.

The spontaneous decision to spend Christmas in England instead of her home country was made months ago, on the night of her birthday, although her closest friends would say that she's been dreaming of it since she read Harry Potter. No one gave her a hard time for it, in fact, almost all her friends and family members went to the airport to wish her a safe trip. Her grandmother was cheeky enough to slip a twenty pound note when hugging her goodbye.

Every day of the first week went by in a blur, visiting museums, galleries and walking around the city, getting soaked in its beauty and the endless rain. By the beginning of the second week, a bit tired of the scarce options from the hotel's breakfast, she ventured out, burying half of her face in the scarf she bought the day before at Primark, her feet guiding her almost out of instinct to the little cafe at the end of Hercules road. The place is warm and the menu seems to have it all for a very fair price. After a couple of minutes the Full English wins, she iterates the order to the woman behind the counter and adds a cup of tea handing over the money.

"Get a seat love, I'll bring it over." The elder lady says making the girl smile and thank her before scampering across the room to sit by the window at the four seat table tucked in the corner.

It doesn't take long for her food to arrive and for her to dig in, feeling kind of full almost at the end, she slows down then, a trick her father passed down on her. Let it settle in for a few minutes before going back at it. Works every time. She gets lost on the daily life happening before her eyes, the people walking by, some in a rush maybe to get to work, others in a rush to get to the shops early and buy presents. She could easily tell the difference between one and other. The elderly couple walking to the market, slower than anybody else, arms linked and without a care in the world. A girl around her age doing "the walk of shame" elicited a smirk on her lips. Good for her.

"Do you mind if I take a seat?" She almost missed the question by the stranger standing there. "There's no empty seats elsewhere I'm afraid, I won't bother you." He was right, in the span of thirty minutes the place was full to the brim with families, the three seats at her table the only ones free so, she nodded and even managed to smile in a friendly way. Unfortunately for her, the green eyed stranger did the same, a sweet dimple on his left cheek more prominent than on the right one and she had to eat a spoonful of beans in an attempt to hide her blush.

Two weeks in the country, almost two weeks, and the best looking man on it decides to show up on a greasy spoon cafe when she's eating what's left of her sausages and beans. His food is delivered by the same lady from earlier, of course it is something that looks healthy. The sudden need to fly away from the place pops in her head, it's not a bad one, he doesn't even know her name. She wants to know his. She remembers how he said he wouldn't bother her, it's almost disappointing, she wants to be bothered.

The situation seems to be straight out of a rom-com, she is cutting the banger in little pieces, as if the formula to spark conversation with the mystery guy keeping her company is hidden in them. But after five minutes she sighs quietly, knowing that her own shyness won't let her even glance at him again. She will have to do her best to remember him and observe from the corner of her eye until the last piece of minced pork is consumed by her. And maybe she will gush about how gorgeous he was with her friends once she is back home, describing his shiny emerald eyes for them, sharing a sigh when she recalls how dreamy his accent was and squeal upon the memory of his raspy voice.

Ten minutes later her last bite is chewed and swallowed, the cup is empty as well. She's about to grab her coat draped on the back of her chair. "I'm going to have to break my non-disturbing you promise but... um, that's a sick cardigan." His voice doesn't sound confident as before, he even clears his throat, but his eyes never leave hers.

"Thanks, my grandma knitted it for me." She forgets about her coat and straightens out a bit for him to appreciate the colourful patchwork and extends her left arm to show the over-sized sleeve. Her companion hums in approval. "She hates it."

"What?" His green eyes widening in disbelief and she just shrugs.

"As soon as I put it on she went on and on about how horrible it was, the wrong proportions and how it all seemed better off in her mind." They share a giggle and don't notice that their empty plates have been taken away and the place is no longer swamped by people. "But I like it, I like it a lot, does a good job keeping me warm." And makes her look lovely, he thinks but doesn't say.

Instead he licks his lips before speaking again. "I'm Harry." He offers his left hand and she quickly eyes the cross tattoo.

"I'm a tourist." She says before adding her real name, earning a deep chuckle from him before letting go of his hand.

The set of circumstances in which she met Harry is dreamy for sure, but something about him made the set of affairs so real. When he asked about the places where she'd been the scoff afterwards and the roll of his eyes made her ask what was wrong about them. But he didn't answer, with a shake of his head and a deep sigh he asked for her phone number. The promise to show her the real London lingered in the air as they parted ways outside of the corner cafe.

Her heart raced at the very sight of him outside Borough Market the following morning. "Morning love, alright?" he greeted her before hugging her tight and quick. It was so genuine it made her wonder if she really just met him the day before. "Do you like doughnuts?"

"Who doesn't?" she says with that grin he worries will wait for him in his dreams.

"Wisest words ever spoken." Harry's arm is wrapped around her shoulders, guiding her on their quest inside the huge market.

The early morning is spent too soon, Harry guides her to talk to the stall owners, they are so passionate about their produce, most of them willing when possible to give them a sample. The highlight is the stop at Bread Ahead, they buy more doughnuts than what she thinks they need. They eat them all while sharing a Monmouth coffee. Harry shares with her stories about almost every stall they passed by. "I'm not a fan of red meat, and oysters." She keeps record of it, basking in his lovely anecdotes that seemed to summon the sun from it's hiding place. "We're granted a sunny day in winter!" He celebrates and it's impossible not to join him. "Let's go to Richmond Park."

Of course she nods in agreement and follows him down the street where he parked his car before she gets in the passenger seat. The stranger danger alarm, should've gone off in her head. But there was something about him, like he was holding her in place. As she heard Harry speak about his job, it started to make more sense in her head. Harry was a lot like this country, foreign, new, exciting and hers for the next few days. He made that clear when they parted ways at the end of the day.

"Come home with me for Christmas." Harry asked her on what would be the beginning of her last week in London, while having a picnic on Primrose Hill.

"With your family?" Her eyebrows were shot up when he nodded, fighting back that deadly smirk of his. "All your relatives will be there?" He nods again and she scoffs completely agitated. "Don't be daft Harry!" She voices out her feelings borrowing an expression of his.

He laughs and it's impossible for her not to join him, her face growing hotter by the second. "I don't want to go without you, and mum will love to have you there," that's what she fears.

"I don't know Harry, might be weird." He disagrees right away.

"It's close to Liverpool, we could spend a day or two over there." The past week he's been trying to learn as many things from her as possible and if he chooses his words carefully he can convince her. "Pay a visit to Anfield, The Cavern." His fake nonchalant attitude makes her roll her eyes, "Strawberry Fields is there too, you know?" She agrees and he kisses the back of her hand to mask the proud grin on his face.

In the past, she was always careful not to let a partner know how deeply she cared about them. The thought of being vulnerable made her lose her mind, thinking it was a sign of weakness. But seeing Harry drive through the English countryside, singing at the top of his lungs to Mistletoe and Wine by Cliff Richard and smiling just for her. It made her want to tell him, but not even all the words in every single language ever spoken by humanity could be enough to give him an idea of how much she cares for him.

There hasn't been a proper kiss between them, it puzzled her at first. Because his gaze seemed to be constantly directed to her lips. But then there was all the touching, holding hands, tucking her to his side when walking, his tender touch before hugging her goodbye. And the way he was always running his hands through her hair.

"She's a friend," he introduces her to his mum Anne and sister Gemma, after saying her name, chewing on the word like it's that mint gum he carries in his purse everywhere he goes. "Was a bloody tourist when I first met her but now... she's a proper Londoner." She doubts it, but she agrees on them being friends and she likes it, a lot.

They help Anne and Gemma to set the table and the finishing touches for dinner. Only three more family members show up and she chastises Harry for making her believe that all of his offspring was going to attend. That's how they usually spend Christmas Eve back home, she explains.

It saddens him, the thought of her going back to her home country in five days time. All the way across the Atlantic, six hours behind him. It's almost unfair.

"Tell me more about it," Harry's curiosity is genuine, thinking that he would love to know more about her traditions. Perhaps even be lucky enough to share them someday.

"We don't have these," she regrets taking a tube of brightly coloured paper. "We have piñatas though." She adds proudly and Harry's jaw hangs open in surprise.

"No fucking way!" He is immediately told off by his mum as they all take a seat at the table. "I thought that was only allowed for birthdays."

"There's no rules for that!" She takes the Christmas cracker out again and Harry takes it from the other end. "So, I just pull it?" He nods and it makes a noise revealing the present.

"You get the crown." Harry unfolds it before helping her fix it atop her head. "And the little toy, what is it?oh... I get the joke!" His family groans, his sister hiding her face in hands, but all she sees is the glint in Harry's eye before he reads. "Who's Rudolph's favourite pop star?"

"I don't know," she's the only one that was going to ask him. And she really wanted to know.

"Beyon-sleigh!" Harry watches in delight how the girl before him snorts at the silly and not so funny joke.

"That was awful." She confessed.

"Agree, next year we'll make our own. Riddles only." His mum adds and Harry protests right away but is shushed by Gemma's voice reading out loud the riddle from her cracker.

Next year, she will probably be spending the day with her numerous family, she thinks. Harry will be here again, telling awful jokes, pulling away Christmas crackers. Perhaps he will bring another person with him. She tries to push the poisonous thoughts down with a big gulp of wine. Only succeeding when Harry's left hand rests on her knee, his thumb rubbing circles on her skin exposed by her ripped jeans while he listens to his sister talk about her podcast. It marvels her how he is there, for everybody.

After dinner they play family games and Harry makes a fake tantrum after his cousin Chloe claims his companion for her team.

"She's mine!" He argues, his long arms embracing her easily. She ends up joining the other team, but the quick kiss she bravely gave to his neck before he let her go, confirmed the words he spoke.

There is a three step process Harry follows to know he's fallen in love. If he finds himself talking about them with every living soul, if he does something they like just because it makes him miss them less and finally if he takes them home to meet his mum. He knows that for the past few days, there was no other topic to discuss with him than the girl sitting beside him in the sofa. He's been drinking tea every morning, just because it reminds him of her. He watches her talk to his mother about how much they like Rod Stewart and knows that he's in too deep.

It should bother him, because she will leave. And all these moments spent, will be just distant memories for him to torture himself over and over again. He wants to feel the angst of knowing that maybe she will forget him, maybe she has a partner back home. He gives up on trying to feel miserable, agreeing with that song from earlier. It is a time to rejoice in the good that we see, a time for living and believing.

Right now all he sees is her, he sighs before tucking her by his side, her brown doe eyes meeting his briefly before sneaking an arm around his waist. She continues to chat with Anne and Gemma even after the rest of the guests leave, still holding onto him. Harry can see the fondness radiating from his mother and sister for the girl in his arms. He sees trust, and he smiles thinking of a new beginning.

What a beautiful sight.

[starrswife]

What Goes On - Ringo x Reader

Friends from childhood, an unlikely pair of Liverpudlians face the challenges of growing up.

-

Thank you @moodysunflowergirl for beta-reading this chapter and being so kind to me.  

I hope you all enjoy this series!     

-

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - none

Chapter Summary - November, 1957, Y/n decides to concentrate on schoolwork, but a bored and restless Richard has other plans. 

-

“Doncha half to get back to work soon?” Y/n attempted to ask, mouth full.

Everyday since Richard had dropped out of school, he bought her a pastry from the local bakery and walked her home during his lunch break. At first, the baked good had served as reparations for what Y/n said was, quote, “Abandoning me all alone in hell,” but the tradition continued to stick.

“Nah, my boss let me off early,” he walked backwards to face her, “What do ya’ wanna do? My whole day’s cleared.”

Chewing her last bite, she brushed off her hands of any crumbs. Rich gestured for her to take back the schoolbag she forced him to carry, despite knowing she would just shake her head and make him hold it for the entire walk.

“I’ve got to study, I’m sorry.”

“Again? But you’ve been at it the entire week,” he complained.

“College is a lot more difficult than our old school, Rich. But I’ll go over to yours, if you’d like. Maybe… say, tutor you a bit?”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to face the right way.

“Don’t waste your energy trying.”

She huffed, “Fine, be illiterate your entire life.”

“I’m not illiterate.”

“You can hardly spell.”

“Well, I can read.”

“Oh, lovely, at seventeen years old, you’ve got at least half of it down.”

“Lay off you prick.”

Richard made a move to shove Y/n, but she dodged it, taking off down the sidewalk.

Accepting the stupidly immature challenge, he wasted no time chasing after her.

They maneuvered through pram-pushers who gave them a friendly nod, and business men who scowled at the very sight of their smiling faces.

The icy air felt like blades against her skin as she ran, but with Richie gaining on her, she only sped up the pace. Like usual Liverpool weather, the sky kept at a gloomy grey, and the cobble walkways were darker in color, dampened by the previous night’s rain.

Y/n hopped over the puddles, not wanting to get her oxfords dirty, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to care, charging straight through them.

Reaching their turn and not wanting to give up, Y/n sprinted across the road, Rich following close behind. They screamed out of both fear and amusement when cars honked at them, or shouted, expressing their vexation.

“No!” Y/n yelled, glancing backwards. She tried to speed up, but it was too late. Richard grabbed her arm and pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to keep her from escaping. They struggled to catch their breath, each puff coming out as white clouds, that faded into the air. It proved difficult to do so, while simultaneously in a fit of laughter.

“Let me go!”

“Surrender!”

“Never!” Y/n wriggled around in his grip, but to no avail.

“I won’t until you admit what a loser you are.”

Rich laughed, a high pitched and boyish sound that always evoked a smile from Y/n, even while she was mumbling about how much of an arse he was.

Eventually tiring out, she went limp, fully defeated.

“You give up? Say it.”

“I give up.”

“And what?”

“You win, and I’m a loser! Now get off of me.”

He obliged with a grin of triumph then stepped away, and immediately, the winter air chilled her spine as if a blanket had been ripped off of her.

Was it odd to want the warmth back? To want him to pull her closer?

She walked a bit farther away from him, deciding it was odd.

They fell into comfortable silence, enjoying their peaceful stroll as they usually did when not bantering. As the town led further into Richie’s neighborhood, the houses became more and more decrepit, tiny lots with peeling paint and splintered door frames. Abundant rubble, sad reminders of the war, had become playgrounds for imaginative schoolboys. They had grown used to these surroundings, and now, reaching 10 Admiral Grove, the dirt coated bricks and rusty letterbox had become a warm, familiar welcome.

They hung up their coats and headed up the creaky, narrow stairs to his room.

Rich slung her bag onto the bed and sighed in relief. The amount of textbooks she had to haul around made him glad he’d dropped out.

Y/n sat at the foot of the bed, grabbing her bag and pulling out a few of them.

“Mind if I practice a bit?” Richie asked, already walking towards his drums. His stepdad, Harry, had recently bought him his very own set, and he had become a menace, constantly playing, even into late hours of the night.

She groaned. She loved his drumming, really, but it wasn’t the best background noise for calculus homework. Still, she nodded for him to go ahead.

An hour passed, and Richie was now lying on the floor, twirling his drumsticks. One slipped and smacked him on the face, and he glanced up at Y/n to make sure she didn’t see that. Luckily, she was laying on his bed, fully absorbed in her history notes.

Another hour gone. Richie put on a record and cranked up the volume. Y/n made him turn it down. He resorted to making tea.

Sixty minutes later. His half-drunk tea had gotten cold and now sat solitary on his table. He was laying beside Y/n, flipping through her books and giggling about the human anatomy photos.

By six in the evening, Richard had grown fidgety and impatient.

“Y/n.”

No reply.

“Y/n.”

Nothing.

“Fine. I’ll just take a nap.”

He laid back and sprawled his limbs about the bed, making a point to bother her. With his leg over her back and an arm balanced on her head, she finally snapped at him in irritation.

“What do you want?”

He stared directly at her for a moment, then shut his eyes and pretended to snore.

Y/n pushed him off of her and grabbed a pillow to try to suffocate him.

“Someone help!”

He dramatically writhed around before going limp like a corpse.

Slowly, she lifted the pillow up, peering behind it to see his face, eyes shut with his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

He snatched the pillow from her and pushed her over with it.

She screamed, stifling her laughs and curling into a ball as Rich whacked her with it, her schoolwork spilling off the bed.

“I hate you,” she stated as he flopped backwards, both out of breath.

“Aww,” he cooed mockingly. She threw the pillow at him and got up to retrieve the things from the floor. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“It’s been hours, Y/n. It’s Friday night. Let’s go do something.”

“I look horrible, I don’t want to go out.”

“No you don’t, you always look nice. Can we go, please, please, please, plea-“

“Ok, fine! Let me get ready, will you?”

Like a puppy, Richie sat on the edge of the bed, watching Y/n intently as she stood in front of the mirror, trying her best to brush her wind-tousled hair with his comb. She readjusted her black headband, making sure her bangs were out to frame her face. Once finished, she grabbed a tube of rosy lipstick from her bag, and dotted just a bit on before rubbing her lips together to blend it.

It had to look natural.

Her mother had once told her she looked like a hooker for wearing full coverage makeup, and for some strange reason, she felt uncomfortable doing anything remotely feminine around her father. Even when they weren’t near, the need to appease them stuck.

She turned around, “How do I look?”

“Like a square,” he teased.

Y/n glared, and he was quick to reword his statement.

“A pretty square!”

/

The gusty, evening air was as cold as ever, and the two of them stuffed their hands in their pockets, trying to somehow shrink themselves into the warmth of their coats.

“What did you do at work today?” Y/n asked, shivering.

“Uhm, we really just fooled around. Roy, Eddie, and me.”

“Ah, I gotta see the Eddie Miles band in action one day.” “Actually, we renamed ourselves Eddie Clayton and the Clayton Squares. We might pick up some gigs soon, I don’t know, hopefully.”

“Oh, that’d be fab. I’ll be there for every one of your shows,” she looked up to meet his eye, “I promise.”

Richie smiled. It was small, but sincere and warm. He held her gaze just a bit longer, admiring how she looked under the yellow glow of the lampposts. The tip of her nose was pink from the cold, and the way she looked all bundled up was so... so... adorable.

He cleared his throat and turned away from her. “Thanks.”

They got on the bus to Garston, and as it was Y/n’s turn to pay the driver, she caught up to Rich when she was finished.

Even if the bus was completely vacant, the two ran up to sit on the second floor, racing to get there before it started driving again. It was just another one of their antics.

Finally arriving at Wilson Hall, the two took off their coats and followed the crowd to the dance floor. On stage was a group of rough-looking boys, playing as loud as they could with their makeshift instruments. The audience nearly matched the volume, laughing and hollering as they spun about.

“Well, c’mon then,” Richie grinned, reaching out to grab her hands.

She giggled bashfully as he twirled her, and after a bit, loosened up until the both of them were twisting wildly as if their life depended on it. Richard’s slicked back curls bobbed as he stepped, and Y/n’s circle skirt swayed proudly with her hips.

It was crowded, hot, and stuffy, but while dancing, no one seemed to care. It was electrifying, freeing, and for once they were able to forget about their hardships and stresses.

The song came to an end and the crowd gave an applause, eagerly awaiting for the next band to come on.

“I’m going for a coke, d’you want anything?”

Y/n shook her head, “I’m okay, I’ll wait here.”

Rich nodded and squeezed his way through to the bar.

She stood alone, fiddling with her fingers as the next band started and the couples began to dance.

The music now was more jazz than rock or skiffle, and everyone was paired up, swinging each other around and leaving Y/n to stick out like a sore thumb.

Looking over the room, she thought about how much better the other girls looked than her. Their dresses were sleeveless, their faces glowing with expertly done makeup, and their hair somehow curled perfectly at the ends.

She tugged off her cardigan. Would that help? It didn’t show any skin -her button down blouse preventing it- but at least it took a layer off. She glanced down at herself. Were her boobs not big enough? Nah, they were an all-right size for her age, but maybe just a little bigger would be-

“You alright, miss?”

She gasped, snapping her eyes up from her chest.

There, towering over her, was a man with Elvis-esque hair, a fitted leather jacket, and a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked older, perhaps in his early twenties, and he… just wow.

Y/n was taken aback.

“I-I’m alright.”

“How come a pretty girl like you doesn’t have a partner?”

“Oh, uh, thank you. I’m actually waiting for someone to get back, he just,” Y/n awkwardly gestured behind her, lost for words.

“Mind if I keep you company until then?”

He offered his hand to dance, and with a hesitant nod, she accepted.

/

The trip home was almost silent.

Y/n vaguely addressed why she was gone the whole night, and Richard said it was okay.

After a bit of a search, he’d realized she was with another guy and went off to dance with the other birds too. However, he didn’t know how things had… escalated with her and the man.

He asked if she would step out with him. He was mysterious and suave, and it was exhilarating. How could she say no? But when the nameless man pressed her against the brick alley, hands caressing her hips and waist, a sudden tsunami of uncertainty and panic crashed against her. He was nearing her lips, but the once sensual closeness had become suffocating- she couldn’t do this!

“Y/n, love?”

She blinked out of it.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been staring at the wall.”

Spewing the words before she could think them through, Y/n deadpanned, “Teach me how to kiss.”

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Web Short Story

Deviated a little from the usual translations to deliver a short story from Tsujimura Nanako’s official site for Seigi’s birthday. The fandom is kind of a mess right now, so here’s a bit of lighthearted content (and also to celebrate the release of volume 10′s digital copy).

Raw version here. Please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook

(Quick explanation before-hand, to spare confusion: there’s a mention of Fukuzawa Yukichi in this story. He’s a historical figure whose face is printed on 10,000-yen notes.)

Biography Series of Ramen-Specialized Natakaya ―Case of the Storm-and-Stress Pudding―

My name is Nakata Seigi. I’m the owner of Nakataya, a commonplace ramen shop that you can find anywhere. I run the shop in a certain part of a certain rural town. At Nakataya, the costumers choose their ramen’s stock, and no matter what anybody says, I recommend the soy sauce one. Tonkotsu is also popular lately. Our neighbor on the right side is the English pub “Jeff & Harry”, and on the left is the Sri Lankan restaurant “Genie in the Lamp”, so there’s crowding during the lunch break period of nearby companies, but most of the customers are regulars.

The regulars always said that my ramen was delicious and ate it all. That made me extremely happy. But, if it was possible, I wanted to meet a new costumer for the first time in a while. It could even be someone who would strictly reprove me for drifting about so complacently.

Just as I was thinking this, selfish of me as might be, it happened. The shadow of a person I didn’t know passed through the red split curtains of the Nakataya.

“Welcome!”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

It was a man with a neat silhouette. His blue eyes were like a piece of ice floe that had flowed from a northern country, sparkling brightly as they reflected me. His golden hair formed fluffy waves. His brown leather boots glistened. He wore gray slacks over a white shirt that shone a beautiful white, to the point it could make one say it was a bit too much for visiting a ramen shop.

I always had my heart racing a little when meeting new costumers. With my chest throbbing, I smiled at the novel guest. “What can I get you?”

“...ing.”

I hadn’t been able to hear it well, so I leaned my body over the counter.

The customer was standing upright at a distance of about two steps away, looking at me straightforwardly. And so, he said, “Pudding, please.”

“Pudding?”

“Yes.”

Had I heard it wrong, I pondered.

However, he repeated once more with a clear voice, “Pudding, please.”

“A pudding.”

“Yes.”

“Please wait a moment.”

Pudding. Pudding, in a ramen shop. I wondered if he had mistaken the establishment. Maybe for the English pub next door, which had a blueberry and brandy sauce pudding in its daytime menu. Just for the heck of it, I checked with him, saying this was a ramen shop. But he didn’t budge. Pudding. With an unyielding will, this stunning person sought a pudding from me. He was asking the owner of Nakataya for a pudding.

I see. This is determination. I accept that resolve of his. The only thing I can do is make him a pudding.

“Please wait a bit.”

“All right.”

The possessor of a Caucasian beauty sat gracefully on the counter’s stool, like a silver fox spirit curling up its tail and lying down. It was a waiting posture. He didn’t playfully peek at his smartphone or move around unnecessarily. I intuitively sensed that this man was the real deal.

Thankfully, there were no other customers in Nakataya yet. There was still time until the busy noon hours. And as I recalled, I had a memory from the distant, distant past, of eating a delicious pudding made by my mother.

Thanks, Hiromi. You doing well?

The ingredients were eggs and sugar. All I needed was a cup-like vessel.

I made the caramel. Produced the pudding mixture. Poured it into the cup. Then cooked it at low heat, borrowing hot water from the equipment that I used for boiling the noodles.

Sure enough, the pudding was done. With nipping sounds, yellow confectionery landed on a saucer.

“Sorry for the wait. Here’s the pudding.”

“Thank you.” From the counter, he stealthily took the pudding and the spoon.

He ate it.

Grasping the spoon with his right hand and bending it into a comfortable angle, he held the pudding’s saucer with his left hand, which seemed to accompany the action. Even though the tableware looked prone to making clinking sounds, it didn’t produce a single noise. He aimed purely for my pudding.

You had to be like that when eating something, I perceived.

I had never met anyone who ate pudding as earnest and wholeheartedly as this man. That was to be expected. After all, I was the owner of a ramen shop. I seldom saw people eating pudding. But I could tell.

He was my shop’s savior.

I swallowed my saliva with a gulp and asked gently, “How was it?”

“Absolutely superb.” He grinned, stood up straight and took out his wallet, leaving a fee on top of the old register.

It wasn’t the price of a pudding. Our ramen was 400 yen per bowl.

“Thank you for the meal.”

As he took his leave, what he left behind was a 1000-yen note.

From that day onward, he came by daily. Always during a time when there was no one else around. And he would say with his cool voice, “Pudding, please.” When saying so, he would sit at the counter. Always on the second seat from right to left.

From the other side of the counter, I would reply, “Roger!” And then, I would make a pudding for him.

Ever since that time, I had studied. While devoting myself to the way of ramen on one hand, I also analyzed puddings from many angles, such as what a tasty pudding was like, what it took to please someone with a pudding, what types of pudding were both delicious and good for the health and what pudding was from a metaphysical viewpoint. A cook should never neglect the pursuit for knowledge.

“Nakata-kun, aren’t your goals kinda weird lately?” the younger brother of the next-door pub’s owner had asked, making a dubious face at me, but that wasn’t the case at all. If I only thought about ramen, I wouldn’t be able to run a ramen shop. Frankly speaking, the fact that this person had showed up when I was thinking that I needed a breakthrough must have been, yes, destiny.

This road was going to lead me in the right direction. The direction I should go. This pudding customer was just like a Polar Star for me.

The amount of money that he would leave changed from day to day. He never cut off from the 1000-yen notes, which I was nothing but grateful for, considering the cost price, and they linked miraculously with the results I had estimated each time, so that was as expected of him. He was clearly a pudding pro. I couldn’t imagine just how many places I would have to go through to develop a palate like that.

Which was why honing my skills was worth it.

Today’s pudding was a bit different from the usual. Perhaps a sign of this had been transmitted to him too, as the gorgeous guest raised his eyebrows only a little higher than normal and looked at me. Could he notice it? Could he? Not just the taste of the pudding, but also this sense of presence?

Putting my utmost feelings into it, I placed it on the counter. “Here you go. Pudding in a bowl.”

What I had laid there was a ramen bowl. It was a simple white one, bearing the characters for “Nakataya” in red. The inside was completely filled with a yellow pudding. Depending on what you thought of it, that quantity might well be fitting for torture. I was the only one who had to know just how many egg yolks and how much sugar I put in it. But I was fully aware that this man didn’t love pudding with a half-hearted resolution.

He accepted the bowl with a cool facial expression, letting show a delight that might have been there or not. His movements were very natural, as if he were merely receiving a ramen with a tiny bit more toppings than usual.

“I shall be having it.”

“Go ahead.”

I tried to offer a Chinese spoon instead of an ordinary one, but the man stopped me with a hand. Of course, I had already anticipated as much and made the arrangements. As I promptly gave him the usual silver spoon, the man grinned.

This person’s smile was extremely beautiful. It was like a white flower blooming at the break of dawn.

With unwavering hand movements, he steadily thrust the spoon into the pudding bowl. A heap of pudding appeared on top of the spoon. It seemed to have about the same amount as a cup-sized pudding. And like magic, he nimbly swallowed it in one bite. Holding my breath, I saw the scene through.

A spoonful. Another spoonful. Yet another spoonful.

Just as always, with unfaltering hand motions, he proceeded to eat a pudding that had about ten times more volume than usual at a steady pace. Of course, he also didn’t leave any of the caramel accumulated at the bottom of the bowl. He held the bowl with his two hands, as if drinking up to the last drop of a ramen, and like a hero having a high-grade victory sake, he drank the caramel in one go with a gulp.

Once he set the bowl on the counter and softly wiped his mouth, he quietly looked at my face. Without realizing, I had been clutching the hem of my apron with both hands.

“How was it?”

“You have finally mastered the way of it.”

“Then that means...!”

He nodded as if extremely satisfied, small lips forming a broad smile like a sculpture of an angel. Taking his wallet from his pocket, he tried to present Fukuzawa Yukichi to me, but I stopped him with a hand. I had been receiving too much until now. And I had already gained plenty of something bigger than money from him.

He must have realized that too. Putting the banknote back into his pocket, he chuckled with a whiff. “This is the supreme fine item that I had been seeking.”

“That’s great. Hum, just who are you...?”

“My name is Richard.”

“Richard”. I wondered why. It was my first time hearing it, yet it sounded somewhat nostalgic.

Having eaten the pudding so delightfully, Richard-shi crinkled his blue eyes slightly and laughed with a snort. “To think you had been hiding a skill of this level. I am impressed.”

“Same here; how can I thank you for not turning your back on my abilities?”

“I pray that this pudding will be a significant step towards the path of your cooking.” He reached a hand to me across the counter.

I frantically wiped my hands on the apron, gripping his hand back. It was a moving scene. I would probably continue to pursue the way of ramen. Meanwhile, I would be making puddings for this person – for Richard. I had that presentiment.

And then...

“Here he is! Ricky, what’re you doing?”

The one who had barged in like a storm was Jeffrey-san from the pub next door. Flustered, he strangled Richard, who sat composed on the stool. Richard’s expression didn’t change even at a time like this. He was game.

“Nakata-kun, I’m so sorry. This is our cousin who came from Hong Kong because we asked for assistance. Geez, Ricky, we were thinking something was off ‘cause you never showed up even though we properly told you where the pub was. You can’t take advantage of Nakata-kun just because he’s nice! Well, Nakata-kun, we’ll come over again with Henry to eat shoyu ramen. Adieu!”

As if dragging a large suitcase, Jeffrey forced his cousin along and left. When disappearing on the other side of the split curtains that hung at the exit, Richard smiled faintly as if to say, “Farewell, then”. I smiled back too. Things like “No, it isn’t the time to be putting on airs like that. What’s the meaning of this, slacking off even though you were asked to help with the pub and ordering pudding from the next-door shop?” weren’t important. I wasn’t thinking about that. Because, for me, polishing my skills was what mattered. Still, that guy’s love for pudding was trouble.

Hm? “That guy’s”?

I rubbed my eyes.

Does that mean Richard? Speaking of which, his face when he ate my pudding for the first time was like that of a surprised child, and—and then—

I woke up.

My name is Nakata Seigi. I’m an university student who attends Kasaba University.

What was that? That Nakataya thing? Although just for a little while, I had been living the life of a ramen shop owner. But pudding. Pudding at a ramen shop.

He was an unbending man even inside a dream, I thought as I checked my phone, which rested next to my pillow. 10:00 PM. It seemed I had dozed off while lying on my bed as I reviewed a textbook. He probably wouldn’t get mad at me if I called him now.

The line connected after three dial tones. Richard. His cool voice as he asked if something had happened was making me feel somewhat pained right now.

“Richard, hum.”

“Yes.”

“Would you... be even a little bit happy if I said that I was gonna make... a whole ramen bowl of pudding?”

The response was a dangerous “Haah?”. That was when I shook off the remains of the dream.

“Hm-hm, it’s nothing. Don’t mind me. It’s fine, really. Yep. Yep. Well, then.”

Honestly, what was I doing? This man was a royal milk tea and pudding extremist. A significant change in size would also affect the taste and texture. Logically thinking, there was no way he would be pleased with something like that. I knew that.

But the dream version of me probably wanted to see Richard’s face of delight, and I now wound up taking it seriously.

“My bad, my bad. I’ll make it in the usual proper size and with the same old taste.”

For a moment, he pressed me about why on Earth I had suddenly talked about that, but I escaped it by beating around the bush. Because I could see that he would tell me not to call him while I was still half-asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to take much of his time either.

As I was about to hang up with a “well, that was really all, so see ya”, Richard said lastly with a voice that sounded purposeful, “Aah, right, right. Your birthday is coming up soon. Make sure to think about what you want to get.”

Aah. Now that he had mentioned, it was May. I used not to think much of birthdays in the past, but maybe because of a thankful increase in the number of people I had to celebrate it with, I also became conscious of and started thinking about it.

He was trying to fool me with non-committal words like “aah, right, right”, but he must have had it properly memorized since long ago. We had a bond where I could tell as much. I was very happy that we had been able to build such a relationship. That was why, rather than things like “I wanna get this” or “I wanna go to this place”, the wish I wanted to make come true might have been something along the lines of, “I want a tiny memory”.

“It’d be great if we could go eat ramen together one day.”

“Yes, that is true.”

Eh?

Before I could think that an idiot like me had heard it wrong, the call ended. Richard. That Richard. Could it be he had just given the OK to go eat ramen with me? That Richard, who was just like a heaven-sent child of gemstones and Ginza.

“Haha!”

I tossed my phone onto the bed, rolling onto my back and flapping my limbs. It was the Nakata’s dance of joy. Holy shit. That came from an unexpected place.

Thank you, version of me who was the owner of Nakataya.

Ramen with Richard. For the moment, I didn’t know any better birthday present.

Author note: happy birthday, Nakata Seigi-kun. Just like a certain someone, let me also gently watch over you gradually growing up healthy and comfortably.

[silent-era-of-cinema]

Colleen Moore (born Kathleen Morrison; August 19, 1899 – January 25, 1988) was an American film actress who began her career during the silent film era. Moore became one of the most fashionable (and highly-paid) stars of the era and helped popularize the bobbed haircut.

A huge star in her day, approximately half of Moore's films are now considered lost, including her first talking picture from 1929. What was perhaps her most celebrated film, Flaming Youth (1923), is now mostly lost as well, with only one reel surviving.

Moore took a brief hiatus from acting between 1929 and 1933, just as sound was being added to motion pictures. After the hiatus, her four sound pictures released in 1933 and 1934 were not financial successes. Moore then retired permanently from screen acting.

After her film career, Moore maintained her wealth through astute investments, becoming a partner of Merrill Lynch. She later wrote a "how-to" book about investing in the stock market.

Moore also nurtured a passion for dollhouses throughout her life and helped design and curate The Colleen Moore Dollhouse, which has been a featured exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois since the early 1950s. The dollhouse, measuring 9 square feet (0.84 m2), was estimated in 1985 to be worth of $7 million, and it is seen by 1.5 million people annually.

Moore was born Kathleen Morrison on August 19, 1899, (according to the bulk of the official records;[4] the date which she insisted was correct in her autobiography, Silent Star, was 1902)[5] in Port Huron, Michigan,[6] Moore was the eldest child of Charles R. and Agnes Kelly Morrison. The family remained in Port Huron during the early years of Moore's life, at first living with her grandmother Mary Kelly (often spelled Kelley) and then with at least one of Moore's aunts.

By 1905, the family moved to Hillsdale, Michigan, where they remained for over two years. They relocated to Atlanta, Georgia, by 1908. They are listed at three different addresses during their stay in Atlanta (From the Atlanta-Fulton Public Library city directories): 301 Capitol Avenue −1908; 41 Linden Avenue – 1909; 240 N. Jackson Street – 1910. They then lived briefly — probably less than a year — in Warren, Pennsylvania, and by 1911, they had settled in Tampa, Florida.

At age 15 she was taking her first step in Hollywood. Her uncle arranged a screen test with director D.W. Griffith. She wanted to be a second Lillian Gish but instead, she found herself playing heroines in Westerns with stars such as Tom Mix.

Two of Moore's great passions were dolls and movies; each would play a great role in her later life. She and her brother began their own stock company, reputedly performing on a stage created from a piano packing crate. Her aunts, who doted on her, indulged her other great passion and often bought her miniature furniture on their many trips, with which she furnished the first of a succession of dollhouses. Moore's family summered in Chicago, where Moore enjoyed baseball and the company of her Aunt Lib (Elizabeth, who changed her name to "Liberty", Lib for short) and Lib's husband Walter Howey. Howey was the managing editor of the Chicago Examiner and an important newspaper editor in the publishing empire of William Randolph Hearst, and was the inspiration for Walter Burns, the fictional Chicago newspaper editor in the play and the film, The Front Page.

Early years

Essanay Studios was within walking distance of the Northwestern L, which ran right past the Howey residence. (They occupied at least two residences between 1910 and 1916: 4161 Sheridan and 4942 Sheridan.) In interviews later in her silent film career, Moore claimed she had appeared in the background of several Essanay films, usually as a face in a crowd. One story has it she had gotten into the Essanay studios and waited in line to be an extra with Helen Ferguson: in an interview with Kevin Brownlow many years later, Ferguson told a story that substantially confirmed many details of the claim, though it is not certain if she was referring to Moore's stints as a background extra (if she really was one) or to her film test there prior to her departure for Hollywood in November 1917. Film producer D.W. Griffith was in debt to Howey, who had helped him to get both The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance through the Chicago censorship board.

"I was being sent to Hollywood - not because anybody out there thought I was any good, but simply to pay off a favor".

The contract to Griffith's Triangle-Fine Arts was conditional on passing a film test to ensure that her heterochromia (she had one brown eye, one blue eye) would not be a distraction in close-up shots. Her eyes passed the test, so she left for Hollywood with her grandmother and her mother as chaperones. Moore made her first credited film appearance in 1917 in The Bad Boy for Triangle Fine Arts, and for the next few years appeared in small, supporting roles gradually attracting the attention of the public.

The Bad Boy was released on February 18, and featured Robert Harron, Richard Cummings, Josephine Crowell, and Mildred Harris (who would later become Charles Chaplin's first wife). Two months later, it was followed by An Old-Fashioned Young Man, again with Robert Harron. Moore’s third film was Hands Up! filmed in part in the vicinity of the Seven Oaks (a popular location for productions that required dramatic vistas). This was her first true western. The film’s scenario was written by Wilfred Lucas from a story by Al Jennings, the famous outlaw who had been freed from jail by presidential pardon by Theodore Roosevelt in 1907. Monte Blue was in the cast and noticed Moore could not mount her horse, though horseback riding was required for the part (during casting for the part she neglected to mention she did not know how to ride). Blue gave her a quick lesson essentially consisting of how to mount the horse and how to hold on.

On May 3, 1917, the Chicago Daily Tribune said: "Colleen Moore contributes some remarkable bits of acting. She is very sweet as she goes trustingly to her bandit hero, and, O, so pitiful, when finally realizing the character of the man, she goes into a hysteria of terror, and, shrieking 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!' beats futilely on a bolted door, a panic-stricken little human animal, who had not known before that there was aught but kindness in the world." About the time her first six-month contract was extended an additional six months, she requested and received a five weeks release to do a film for Universal's Bluebird division, released under the name The Savage. This was her fourth film, and she was only needed for two weeks. Upon her return to the Fine Arts lot, she spent several weeks trying to get her to pay for the three weeks she had been available for work for Triangle (finally getting her pay in December of that year).

Soon after, the Triangle Company went bust, and while her contract was honored, she found herself scrambling to find her next job. With a reel of her performance in Hands Up! under her arm, Colin Campbell arranged for her to get a contract with Selig Polyscope. She was very likely at work on A Hoosier Romance before The Savage was released in November. After A Hoosier Romance, she went to work on Little Orphant Annie. Both films were based upon poems by James Whitcomb Riley, and both proved to be very popular. It was her first real taste of popularity.

Little Orphant Annie was released in December. The Chicago Daily Tribune wrote of Moore, "She was a lovely and unspoiled child the last time I saw her. Let’s hope commendation hasn’t turned her head." Despite her good notices, her luck took a turn for the worse when Selig Polyscope went bust. Once again Moore found herself unemployed, but she had begun to make a name for herself by 1919. She had a series of films lined up. She went to Flagstaff, Arizona for location work on The Wilderness Trail, another western, this time with Tom Mix. Her mother went along as a chaperone. Moore wrote that while she had a crush on Mix, he only had eyes for her mother. The Wilderness Trail was a Fox Film Corporation production, and while it had started production earlier, it would not be released until after The Busher, which was released on May 18. The Busher was an H. Ince Productions-Famous Players-Lasky production; it was a baseball film wherein the hero was played by John Gilbert. The Wilderness Trail followed on July 6, another Fox film. A few weeks later, The Man in the Moonlight, a Universal Film Manufacturing Company film was released on July 28. The Egg Crate Wallop was a Famous Players-Lasky production released by Paramount Pictures on September 28.

The next stage of her career was with the Christie Film Company, a move she made when she decided she needed comic training. While with Christie, she made Her Bridal Nightmare, A Roman Scandal, and So Long Letty. At the same time as she was working on these films, she worked on The Devil's Claim with Sessue Hayakawa, in which she played a Persian woman, When Dawn Came, and His Nibs (1921) with Chic Sale. All the while, Marshall Neilan had been attempting to get Moore released from her contract so she could work for him. He was successful and made Dinty with Moore, releasing near the end of 1920, followed by When Dawn Came.

For all his efforts to win Moore away from Christie, it seems Neilan loaned Moore to other studios most of the time. He loaned her out to King Vidor for The Sky Pilot, released in May 1921, yet another Western. After working on The Sky Pilot on location in the snows of Truckee, she was off to Catalina Island for work on The Lotus Eater with John Barrymore. In October 1921, His Nibs was released, her only film to be released that year besides The Sky Pilot. In His Nibs, Moore actually appeared in a film within the film; the framing film was a comedy vehicle for Chic Sales. The film it framed was a spoof on films of the time. 1922 proved to be an eventful year for Moore as she was named a WAMPAS Baby Star during a "frolic" at the Ambassador Hotel which became an annual event, in recognition of her growing popularity.[13] In early 1922, Come On Over was released, made from a Rupert Hughes story and directed by Alfred E. Green. Hughes directed Moore himself in The Wallflower, released that same year. In addition, Neilan introduced her to John McCormick, a publicist who had had his eye on Moore ever since he had first seen her photograph. He had prodded Marshall into an introduction. The two hit it off, and before long they were engaged. By the end of that year, three more of her films were released: Forsaking All Others, The Ninety and Nine, and Broken Chains.

Look Your Best and The Nth Commandment were released in early 1923, followed by two Cosmopolitan Productions, The Nth Commandment and Through the Dark. By this time, Moore had publicly confirmed her engagement to McCormick, a fact that she had been coy about to the press previously. Before mid-year, she had signed a contract with First National Pictures, and her first two films were slated to be The Huntress and Flaming Youth. Slippy McGee came out in June, followed by Broken Hearts of Broadway.

Moore and John McCormick married while Flaming Youth was still in production, and just before the release of The Savage. When it was finally released in 1923, Flaming Youth, in which she starred opposite actor Milton Sills, was a hit. The controversial story put Moore in focus as a flapper, but after Clara Bow took the stage in Black Oxen in December, she gradually lost her momentum. In spring 1924 she made a good but unsuccessful effort to top Bow in The Perfect Flapper, and soon after she dismissed the whole flapper vogue; "No more flappers...people are tired of soda-pop love affairs." Decades later Moore stated Bow was her "chief rival."

Through the Dark, originally shot under the name Daughter of Mother McGinn, was released during the height of the Flaming Youth furor in January 1924. Three weeks later, Painted People was released. After that, she was to star in Counterfeit. The film went through a number of title changes before being released as Flirting with Love in August. In October, First National purchased the rights to Sally for Moore's next film. It would be a challenge, as Sally was a musical comedy. In December, First National purchased the rights to Desert Flower and in so doing had mapped out Moore's schedule for 1925: Sally would be filmed first, followed by The Desert Flower.

By the late 1920s, she had accomplished dramatic roles in films such as So Big, where Moore aged through a stretch of decades, and was also well received in light comedies such as Irene. An overseas tour was planned to coincide with the release of So Big in Europe, and Moore saw the tour as her first real opportunity to spend time with her husband, John McCormick. Both she and John McCormick were dedicated to their careers, and their hectic schedules had kept them from spending any quality time together. Moore wanted a family; it was one of her goals.

Plans for the trip were put in jeopardy when she injured her neck during the filming of The Desert Flower. Her injury forced the production to shut down while Moore spent six weeks in a body cast in bed. Once out of the cast, she completed the film and left for Europe on a triumphal tour. When she returned, she negotiated a new contract with First National. Her films had been great hits, so her terms were very generous. Her first film upon her return to the States was We Moderns, set in England with location work done in London during the tour. It was a comedy, essentially a retelling of Flaming Youth from an English perspective. This was followed by Irene (another musical in the style of the very popular Sally) and Ella Cinders, a straight comedy that featured a cameo appearance by comedian Harry Langdon. It Must Be Love was a romantic comedy with dramatic undertones, and it was followed by Twinkletoes, a dramatic film that featured Moore as a young dancer in London's Limehouse district during the previous century. Orchids and Ermine was released in 1927, filmed in part in New York, a thinly veiled Cinderella story.

In 1927, Moore split from her studio after her husband suddenly quit. It is rumored that John McCormick was about to be fired for his drinking and that she left as a means of leveraging her husband back into a position at First National. It worked, and McCormick found himself as Moore's sole producer. Moore's popularity allowed her productions to become very large and lavish. Lilac Time was one of the bigger productions of the era, a World War I drama. A million dollar film, it made back every penny spent within months. Prior to its release, Warner Bros. had taken control of First National and were less than interested in maintaining the terms of her contract until the numbers started to roll in for Lilac Time. The film was such a hit that Moore managed to retain generous terms in her next contract and her husband as her producer.

In 1928, inspired by her father and with help from her former set designer, a dollhouse was constructed by her father, which was 9 square feet with the tallest tower 12 feet high. The interior of The Colleen Moore Dollhouse, designed by Harold Grieve, features miniature bear skin rugs and detailed furniture and art. Moore's dollhouse has been a featured exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois since October 30, 1949, where according to the museum, it is seen by 1.5 million people each year and would be worth $7 million. Moore continued working on it and contributing artifacts to it until her death.

This dollhouse was the eighth one Moore owned. The first dollhouse, she wrote in her autobiography Silent Star (1968), evolved from a cabinet that held her collection of miniature furniture. It was supposedly built from a cigar box. Kitty Lorgnette wrote in the Saturday, August 13, 1938 edition of The Evening News (Tampa) that the first dollhouse was purchased by Oraleze O'Brien (Mrs. Frank J. Knight) in 1916 when Moore (then Kathleen) left Tampa. Oraleze was too big for dollhouses, however, and she sold it again after her cat had kittens in it, and from there she lost track of it. The third house was possibly given to the daughter of Moore's good friend, author Adela Rogers St. Johns. The fourth survives and remains on display in the living room of a relative.

With the advent of talking pictures in 1929, Moore took a hiatus from acting. After divorcing McCormick in 1930, Moore married prominent New York-based stockbroker Albert Parker Scott in 1932. The couple lived at that time in a lavish home at 345 St. Pierre Road in Bel Air, where they hosted parties for and were supporters of the U.S. Olympic team, especially the yachting team, during the 1932 Summer Olympics held in Los Angeles.

In 1934, Moore, by then divorced from Albert Parker Scott, returned to work in Hollywood. She appeared in three films, none of which was successful, and Moore retired. Her last film was a version of The Scarlet Letter in 1934. She later married the widower Homer Hargrave and raised his children (she never had children of her own) from a previous marriage, with whom she maintained a lifelong close relationship. Throughout her life she also maintained close friendships with other colleagues from the silent film era, such as King Vidor and Mary Pickford.

In the 1960s, Moore formed a television production company with King Vidor with whom she had worked in the 1920s. She also published two books in the late 1960s, her autobiography Silent Star: Colleen Moore Talks About Her Hollywood (1968) and How Women Can Make Money in the Stock Market (1969). She also figures prominently alongside King Vidor in Sidney D. Kirkpatrick's book, A Cast of Killers, which recounts Vidor's attempt to make a film of and solve the murder of William Desmond Taylor. In that book, she is recalled as having been a successful real estate broker in Chicago and partner in the investment firm Merrill Lynch after her film career.

Many of Moore's films deteriorated, but not due to her own neglect, after she had sent them to be preserved at the Museum of Modern Art. Some time later, Warner Brothers asked for their nitrate materials to be returned to them. Moore's earlier First National films were also sent, since Warners later acquired First National. Upon their arrival, the custodian at MOMA, not seeing the films on the manifest, put them to one side and never went back to them. Many years later, Moore inquired about her collection and MOMA found the films languishing unprotected. When the films were examined, they had decomposed past the point of preservation. Heartbroken, she tried in vain to retrieve any prints she could from several sources without much success. In 1956, the material from WB and FN was sold to Associated Artists Productions, later to MGM/UA and then, Turner Entertainment.

At the height of her fame, Moore was earning $12,500 per week. She was an astute investor, and through her investments, remained wealthy for the rest of her life. In her later years she would frequently attend film festivals, and was a popular interview subject always willing to discuss her Hollywood career. She was a participant in the documentary series Hollywood (1980), providing her recollections of Hollywood's silent film era.

Moore was married four times. Her first marriage was to John McCormick of First National Studios. They married in 1923 and divorced in 1930. In 1932, Moore married stockbroker Albert P. Scott. This union ended in divorce in 1934. Moore's third marriage was to Homer Hargrave, whom she married in 1936; he provided funding for her dollhouse and she adopted his son, Homer Hargrave, Jr and his daughter, Judy Hargrave. They remained married until Hargrave's death in 1965. In 1982, Moore married her final husband, builder Paul Magenot. They were married until Moore's death in 1988.

On January 25, 1988, Moore died from cancer in Paso Robles, California, aged 88. For her contribution to the motion picture industry, Colleen Moore has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 1551 Vine Street.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote of her: "I was the spark that lit up Flaming Youth, Colleen Moore was the torch. What little things we are to have caused all that trouble."

[au10]

Eastwood

So I watched all the westerns by Eastwood. Below you’ll find my list of what I’d say are his best to not necessarily worst just not great. Keep in mind that this list is just my opinion and yours very well may differ and hey that’s great. Also keep in mind there will be spoilers but to be fair the majority of these movies are older than me. I would also like to point out that I didn’t view Rawhide as I really didn’t seem like something I’d like. The list is as best as I can tell are all of his westerns. Some are kind of iffy as I don’t consider them a western. 

http://most-wanted-western-movies.com/clint-eastwood-westerns/

1.”Unforgiven” 1992

 My original pick was going to be “For a Few dollars more”. I re-watched Unforgiven again and have decided that Unforgiven is his best western. Made in 1992. It features Morgan Freeman, Gene Hackman and Richard Harris. There might even be more stars but those are the ones that stood out to me. The plot basically goes like this. William Munny a ruthless killer back in the day settles down with a woman who changes his life. He gave up his killer ways. The wife is already dead when the movie starts and Munny stays on the good path for lack of better phrasing. I don’t want to spoil to much more but needless to say a large bounty put on some ruffians leads to some nice action. 

I love the soundtrack to this movie. Well at least one song in particular and that’s Claudia’s theme. You can YouTube if you wish. I think it’s really great. 

A couple of quotes that I enjoyed. 

“ I've killed women and children. I've killed everything that walks or crawls at one time or another. And I'm here to kill you, Little Bill, for what you done to Ned”

.”It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have.“

2. “For a few dollars more” 1965

 This is the sequel to a “Fistful of dollars”. It’s part of the famous dollar trilogy movies. Made in 1965 Eastwood portrays the man with no name. I really like  Lee Van Cleef as Col. Douglas Mortimer. It’s a revenge type of western. Both Cleef and Eastwood characters are pretty much bounty hunters. Cleef has an entirely different motive for his actions though. They seem to have great chemistry together too. I also like the dialogue between them as well. Clint Eastwood's character calls Lee Van Cleef's character "old man", while Van Cleef's character calls Eastwood "boy". Once more I love the music plays when the pocket watch is opened up. 

3.” A fist full of dollars.” 1964  

The beginning if you will of the the man with no name trilogy or dollars trilogy which ever you prefer. The dollars trilogy is what you call a spaghetti western. “ Spaghetti westerns were not rated highly due to their low budgets, over the top violence and inferior art work. But, these Spaghetti Westerns changed that perception forever. Director Sergio Leone gave one after another hit and this trilogy made Clint Eastwood a mega star. “ Some people don’t like them or they find them to corny. Each to their own. I loved the movies. My father pointed out to me one of the things that bugged him was the constant camera cuts to the other characters in the film. It especially focuses on their eyes. I never noticed it until he pointed it out. I do love the scene where he confronts the bullies/bad guys. On his way to them. He passes by the undertaker and tells him to get three coffins ready. After the shootout he passes back by the undertaker and tells him my mistake 4 coffins.

4. “The Good, The bad and the Ugly.” 1966 

The last of the dollars trilogy. A lot of people will say that this is the best of the three movies. Like the previous  film it also stars Lee Van Cleef. This time though he is one of the villain’s. It’s a good movie. I enjoyed  Eli Wallach as Tuco. Once more you have the music on point with  The Ecstasy of Gold. I heard that song years earlier when Metallica would use it. My last thought on this trilogy is I do love how Eastwood is always smoking those little cigars. I have read though he actually hated them.

“ You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig. “

5. “Two Mules for Sister Sara” 1970

This one is a film I really liked. It doesn’t seem to be as serious as the previous I’ve listed above. It actually has quite a few comedic moments in it. I think one of the best parts of the movie is after Hogan (Eastwood) saves Sara from impending doom. She gets dressed and comes back out in her nun gear. Once Hogan realizes she is a known his expression is great then he exclaims “Jesus Christ”. I noticed this movie had blood in it. A lot of the earlier ones don’t. One guy gets his arm cut off and one takes a machete to the face. It’s a good movie and I enjoyed it. I should note the soundtrack or at least one song they play over at times in the film is a play on the title. It sounds like a mule actually braying. Pretty nifty. 

6. “Pale Rider” 1985

Another good movie. Eastwood is just known as the preacher in this movie. He helps out a prospect town from becoming a mining town. When the prospectors will not give up their land. A marshal and his deputies are sent in to get prospectors out. It’s hinted at that the marshal may know the preacher form the way he reacts after told his description. This is definitely one of my favorites though. It does get a little weird with the preacher having intercourse with a guy’s girlfriend. The action is great though. It should be noted that it’s been told that Eastwood’s charter is a ghost in this film. Richard Kiel is in this movie as well. He is a well established actor. Most likely known for playing Jaws in Moonraker. 

7. Outlaw Josey wales 1976

A lot of people like this movie. It’s Eastwoods only PG rated western. It’s once more a revenge type western. Josey’s family is murdered by the Union army and he joins a confederate group to get his revenge. I think one of the best parts in the movie is when Josey shoots the rope holding a ferry going across the river. Some of the Union soldiers horses fall into the river preventing them from reaching Wales. This movie is said to be George Strait’s favorite. I did find it funny that the old man in charge of the ferry was playing to both sides. If you were a Confederate he would sing “Dixie” if you were a Union solider he would sing “Battle hymn of the republic” Ever the opportunist I suppose. 

"Well Mr. Carpetbagger, we got something in this territory called a Missoura boat ride!"

"Well are ya' gonna pull those pistols or whistle Dixie?"

8.”High plains drifter” 1973

This movie could be almost a part of the man with no name trilogy. It’s just not as good. I liked the midget character named Mordecai . He is one of the best in the movie and funny. This is one of the movies where it’s possible that the stranger (Eastwood’s character) could be a ghost. Some people say he is the sheriff’s brother. Eastwood has said that himself. Then again some people say he is the ghost of the sheriff himself. It’s up to the viewer and how you choose to interpret it. This movie also marks the first movie Eastwood directed that was a western.

“You're going to look pretty silly with that knife sticking out of your ass.“

9. “Hang’em High” 1968

This was Eastwoods first major role in America. The Dollars trilogy had yet to come out over here in America. Jed  (Eastwoods character) is wrongfully hanged by a posse. He naturally seeks revenge after being rescued. He becomes a Marshal and winds up bringing some of the posse to justice. It also stars Pat Hingle. I really only know him from Tim Burton’s Batman. He played Commissioner Gordon. 

10. “Joe Kidd” 1972

To be honest with you this movie really doesn’t do anything for me at all. It’s not a bad movie but it’s not one that really captivates me either. It stars Robert Duvall as a rich/wealthy landowner trying to push Mexicans off of their land. He hires Eastwood’s character named Joe Kidd. It does have some decent moments. A pretty cool scene shows Kidd taking out a gunman upon a rock. The final fight is also pretty neat where Kidd drives a train through the bar.

Honorable Mentions: 

1.”Bronco Billy” 1980

This movie was on the list and I viewed it. I liked it. Eastwood plays a carnival showman. It’s your typical story of guy and girl don’t get along. Then as the movie progresses they start to get along and wind up with one another. It’s not a western but it has the theme. It does have  Scatman Crothers in it as Doc. Throw in a crooked lawyer and a crooked husband and this is the movie you have. 

2. “Paint your wagon” 1969 

This set during the gold rush. It is a musical though and you can get the soundtrack on itunes. I heard about this movie from The Simpsons years ago. It doesn’t have a western feel to me. Eastwood plays Pardner. It’s a cool little musical. It’s an interesting movie though. A Mormon has two wives and he sells one. Well Pardner and his partner Ben rum son played by Lee Marvin buys her. Elizabeth the wife that was purchased basically has two husbands. It’s really a good movie. My favorite song being “Wand’rin Star”

3. “The Beguiled” 1971

They had this movie on the list and there again I witched it. It’s certainly not a western. It’s okay. Eastwood kind of plays a bad guy in it but only to survive. Set in the Civil War era. He is an injured Union solider rescued by a little girl. She takes him to an all girls school. It should be noted that this is the only movie in which a character portrayed by Eastwood dies. 

[thesameasbe4]

Harry in London

*Loosely inspired by the British Miniseries The Bodyguard. Cameo appearance by Richard Madden’s streak of gray hair. Explicit language and some sexual references. 

We had passed each other many many times. I think I even spoke a few brief words to him here and there, polite greetings and the like. In this way it was strange then to feel like I had seen him for the first time. “Sarge,” I had heard some of the other security call him. I wasn’t particularly familiar with British Policing but he did seem to be the one that others reported to on our security detail even though he worked along side them.

I was uncomfortable with the idea of personal security at first, unsure why an international consort of social welfare experts needed such a thing, until we encountered our first protest. It turned out that almost every political platform could find a reason to disagree with this initiative. There were complaints about taking British social practicum into the international sphere, disagreements about our inclusion of family planning and safeguards sensitive to immigrant welfare. The list never stopped. A few weeks into our stay we learned that there were also death threats targeted at several of us individually. That was when I first officially met Sergeant Collins. They started the day off by pairing each of us with a personal protection officer who, from that time forward, would be with us from the moment we stepped out of our residences till we returned there in the evenings. The Sergeant had stepped toward me, introducing himself and I did the same in return, putting on a display of politeness but distracted by the work we had yet to do that day.

At lunch, I dragged myself down to the lower floor courtyard, a paper cup of coffee steaming in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. I lowered myself to the ground against the wall, sloshing coffee over my fingers. “Fuck,” I muttered, remembering suddenly that I had a horrid headache. I set the cup down on my right side and tossed the pack of cigarettes down next to them. I wiped my stinging hand on the fabric of my black pants and drew my knees up so that I could rest my head on them for a few moments.

“Are you all right Ma’am?” An emotionless voice said. I looked up, startled that I was not alone as I had thought. The sturdy figure of Sergeant Collins stood in the doorway of the courtyard. I took another deep breath, this one a little more exaggerated than the last and rolled my eyes up at him.

“Yes Sergeant, I’m fine thanks. It’s just been a long day, and it’s not nearly over, ” I said on an exhale. I brought the cup of coffee to my lips and took a heavenly sip of the dark brown liquid. I had the forethought to pack my old dorm coffee pot from so many years ago, anticipating a lack of American style coffee in work spaces, and I had been right. Tea and instant coffee would not get me through these high stress days, and so I brought my own solution, something I was well known for and one of the reasons I had the honor of serving on this initiative. Though I did receive my fair share of ribbing based on my very Southern American preference for black drip coffee.

“Are you allowed to sit while on duty Sergeant?” I asked, inviting him to join me with a nod of my head.

“Sometimes, Ma’am, if it’s appropriate.”

“What would make this an appropriate time for you to sit next to me?” I asked taking another sip of coffee.

“Well Ma’am, firstly if I’m not interfering with your work duties or personal wishes, and secondly if it is advantageous or inconsequential to your physical safety.” I had never heard him string that many words together, and I was startled by the brusk Scottish tone of his voice.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Well we are still within a secure government building and I am inviting you to join me because it’s weird for you to stand over me. Is that sufficient reason for you to join me?”

Interestingly, he cracked a smile at me and then took a few measured steps toward me and lowered himself to the ground. I noticed the special care he took in making sure his fire arm was still safely holstered in the belt at his waist. He kept a professional distance between us, but it was the closest we had ever been to one another besides the few times he held car doors open for me.

I studied his form. From far away all of the PPOs looked put together and slick, but up close he looked uncomfortable and lumpy. He wore a well tailored suit, but there was an intercom wire attached to his collar and threaded down the back of his shirt and clipped onto his trousers. He also had an ear piece in the left ear, which was closest to me. His chest was unusually stiff and wide, which led me to assume he had a bullet proof vest under his crisp white collared shirt.

“Want a smoke? I asked, offering him the pack.” He shook his head.

“No thank you, Ma’am.” So I dropped the pack again. Instead I held out my hand to him.

“Lucy, I’d rather you call me Lucy, at least when we are alone,” I said to him. Hesitating only for a moment, he took the hand I offered and shook it twice firmly.

“Harry,” he replied. Our movements stirred the air just a bit and the faintly masculine scent of old spice teased my nostrils. I turned to face forward again so that I wouldn’t stare too hard at him. I had assumed that he was middle aged because he was the Sergeant, but up close he appeared to be in his early thirties. “Don’t let me interrupt you Ma’am, go and have your smoke.”

“I don’t smoke,” I replied and we both fell silent.

Finishing my cup of coffee, I rose and dusted myself off as I waited for Sergeant Collins to check the door and open it for me.

The day faded to late afternoon and then into early evening. Much of the day had been set aside for meetings and I was throughly spent. Our final decisions were made for the day around six and I was already thinking about what I would make for dinner and coaxing myself into believing that I had enough energy for a short workout as well.

As we filed out of the conference room I sought the dark shape of Sergeant Collins amidst the line up of PPOs. He nodded to me and stayed where he was, patiently waiting for the halls to clear before moving toward me.

“You mind if we take the stairs instead of the lift?” I asked. He spoke a few words into his collar and then waited while I assumed someone was responding through the receiver in his ear. I was about to interject that if it was any trouble we could just take the lift, but he nodded in assent and we headed the opposite way down the hall from the cluster waiting for their turn down to the ground floor.

I was itching to get some of the wiggles out after being seated for so long and I relished the faint strains on my quads as we made our way down the five flights of stairs. It is hard to explain what happened next, my brain recalls only fragments of it at a time. I remember bursting out of the stairwell and into the building lobby slightly out of breath and then being tackled by a huge mass behind me. I hit the ground hard, slamming my jaw on the tile floor and I felt my knee pop. All around me there was a deafening noise and an abrupt wave of heat followed by screams and the hectic whining of the fire alarms.

“Lucy… Lucy!” I heard in my ear, “can you hear me?” I nodded, realizing that the heavy weight on top of me was Sergeant Collins. “Stay here, don’t move at all, I am going to assess the situation and then come back for you. I won’t be long.” I felt the weight shift and then lighten as he rolled off of me and staggered to his feet.

I stayed there, inhaling thick smoke, systematically wiggling each of my body parts. As far as I could tell I was in one piece.

A few moments later a strong hand reached down and grabbed my arm. Startled, I tried to wriggle out of the grip. “It’s me Ma’am,” Harrys voice cut through the smoke and alarm bells. “Come, there is a car waiting out the back entrance. Can you stand?” I scrambled to my feet, wincing at a sharp pain in my knee but gritted my teeth and allowed the Sergeant to guide me back into the stairwell and through a series of emergency exit doors. Hesitating just inside the final door, Sgt. Collins spoke into his collar, waiting for some kind of signal before he stepped out into the fresh air. From my vantage point behind the Sergeant I was still able to see a black SUV pull up and brake hard a few meters away from our exit. As it halted abruptly, the back door swung open and another PPO got out and made a signal in our direction. Sgt. Collins gripped my arm and ushered me out into the cool air. We walked quickly to the vehicle and I climbed in, Sargent Collins following me into the back seat.

“Ma’am,” a sturdy female voice caught my attention from the driver seat, “have you any need for emergency medical assistance?” I blinked a few times, unsure of what to say.

“Um, I don’t think so. I’m a little battered but I don’t think I’ve got anything major thats wrong.”

“In that case, we will drop you off at your safe house. A detail has been sent to screen your belongings for hazards and then they will be brought to you at your new location.” I nodded, unsure of how one was supposed to react in a situation like this. “Sometimes you don't notice you are hurt until the shock wears off,” she continued, “Sergeant Collins has the appropriate training to treat any minor injuries you may discover you have and a trip to the doctor can be arranged for tonight or tomorrow if that becomes necessary.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. I had no idea where we were, although I was still unfamiliar with London in general. Finally the vehicle glided to a stop and Sgt. Collins stepped out and held the door for me. It was now too dark to see anything and there were no lights on the outside of house, just the headlights from the SUV. Collins stopped me at the front door and he proceeded to check each room, shouting “clear,” as he finished his inspection of each one. Finally he returned to the front door. “Ma’am, it is safe for you to go in now. I will be waiting here with you at least for the time being. Would you prefer it if we arranged for a female officer to stay with you over night?”

“Um, no, I trust you, it is fine, I just want to be as little trouble as I can,” I replied hearing an unfamiliar tremor in my voice. Sergeant moved aside, allowing me access to the interior of the house. I wandered through the little rooms without much purpose while the two PPOs spoke quietly to each other on the front stoop.

I managed to find a few light switches and flipped them on. There was a kitchen and dining room all in one with a sitting area just beyond and a short hallway that  I gathered led to a bedroom. I went to the dining table and pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. In the light I noticed that I had little scratches all over my arms and my  clothes had small holes in them. There wasn’t a lot of blood but there was enough that I felt my hands tremble as I felt around, trying to locate the source of it.

I didn’t notice that Harry had come into the house till he pulled out a second dining chair and sat across from me. His clothes were torn similarly to mine, and I could see that he had a nice sized cut on his eyebrow. “You’ve got a few cuts on your face,” he said to me. “May I bandage them?”

“What happened?” I asked, ignoring his question.

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Someone detonated a bomb.” Pausing, he looked at me, waiting for my response. I had assumed as much, I mean, I had heard it, felt the blast, if just the very outer bit. So I returned his gaze, though I suspected my eyes were a bit harder than his. “I don’t have many details, I expect you will be debriefed in the morning.” He sat back, sighing.

“What do you think though?” I asked. He shifted, pulling at his shirt like he was just noticing the warmth of the room.

“I can’t confir-“

“I know,” I cut him off, “but what do you think?”

He was silent for a moment, meeting my cold stare again before he finally replied. “I think if they wanted all of you dead you would be.” He stood and turned his back on me, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of brown liquid. From the drying rack he took two glasses and poured a little liquid into each of them. “This was hate mail, not attempted assassination.” He placed a glass on the table in front of me. I picked it up gingerly, half expecting it to blow up in my face as well.

“So what happens next?” I asked quietly. The Sergeant let out a sigh and met my gaze as he downed the contents of his glass. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I did the same.

We remained silent as he then proceeded to inspect my injuries. Though I insisted I was uninjured, as my shock faded, it was replaced by a dull ache in my jaw and a sharp pain in my knee any time I tried to put weight on it. He stuck a few bandaids on my face and gave me some paracetamol which I washed down with another shot of whiskey. He showed me the bathroom and the spare clothes already laid out in the bedroom.

“What about you?” I asked stopping him in the doorway of the small bathroom.

“Ma’am?”

“Lucy, please,” I said without thinking. He looked straight ahead, just over my hairline, as if that mask of professionalism would erase the intimacy of our now entangled reality. “You are bleeding, may I clean your cuts?” I stared at his face, willing him to look at me. Finally he looked down and met my gaze, his eyes softened.

“Thank you, Lucy.” So we returned to the kitchen where the first aid kit still lay open on the table. He sat down as he had before and I fumbled with an alcohol swab determined to stop my hands from shaking. I could feel him watching me and my frustration grew as hot wet tears squeezed out of my eyes unbidden and unnecessary.

And then his warm hands were covering mine, stilling them. His touch calmed me and I drew in a slow breath. I remembered how far from home I was, how alone, only working and working.

My gaze settled again on the Sergeant, who, I noticed, was still wearing his suit jacket which was badly shredded, since he had weathered most of the impact from the explosion.

“You don’t know me,” I said, my brow creasing as I dabbed at a cut on his forehead.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Why would you put your life in danger for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

“But what about your family?”

“I don’t have any.” I paused my barrage of questions.

“But what if I’m a bad person, you don’t know me. Why would you risk your life for someone you don’t know?”

“It’s my job.”

The tears were flowing freely down my cheeks now. “And if someone was shooting at me, what would you do?”

“I would move you out of the line of fire, using my own body if I had to.”

I let out a sob and I sank to my knees on the ground, he followed. Blinded by the moisture in my eyes I grappled with his jacket, trying to tear it off. “I want to see it,” I spat through my soggy tears. “Let me see your vest.” He had been trying to still my hands, but at this demand he released my wrists and helped me pull off his jacket and held still while I fought with the buttons on his well tailored but now ragged shirt. Finally they were all undone and I couldn’t really recall what it was that I had intended to do, so I placed my hands on the hard surface of his ballistic vest.  It was white and started high up on his chest. I started there, running my fingers over the top seam of the thick material, then I followed it out, to where it ended on his taught shoulder muscles, and then tapered down just below the bottom of his rib cage. I circled my arms around him so that I could feel the back side of it as well. Realizing that I was looking for punctures in the material. I found what I had been dreading close to his left shoulder blade, a shard of glass dug in deep. I pulled and pulled but it wouldn’t come out. Finally I felt his body resisting me and I sat back on my knees.

Not breaking eye contact with me he undid the velcro under each arm and lifted the vest over his head.

I jumped at the knock on the door. “Stay here Ma’am.” Harry said, resuming his professional tone, despite being dressed in only an undershirt and his slacks.

It was the other PPO from earlier arrived with a medic who checked the work that Harry had done on me, providing a knee brace that I should wear when I needed to move around. After that I excused myself and took a long hot shower.

…

I awoke slowly the next morning, my mind fuzzy and my body sore. Shifting uncomfortably in an unfamiliar bed, I slowly recalled the events of the night before. Eventually I thought to check the time but could not locate my phone anywhere. Easing out of bed I searched the unfamiliar room but to no avail. I thought it might be in the kitchen where we had first sat upon arriving, I made for the door but realized just in time that I was dressed only in a large t shirt, no pants and no bra. Turning to face the room again, I saw only my clothes from the night previously strewn about the floor, which were in tatters and covered in blood.

I saw a towel draped over a chair so I grabbed it and wrapped it around me. Tiptoeing down the hall, I made my way to the living room area. Harry was sitting in a lounge chair, looking not at all relaxed as he stared at a tv screen showing footage of a building up in flames. Fascinated by the violence of the black smoke and the red fire, I moved closer. “God, is the building even still standing?” I muttered, and was surprised at how quickly he stood and turned around. I must have been quite a sight, because he relaxed when he saw me standing there pitifully wrapped in a towel still damp from the night before.

“Good Morning,” he said. “Your things were delivered earlier this morning. They are in the kitchen.” I swiveled to see three half full black garbage bags sitting on the kitchen floor. I moved towards them. “You may want to put on something comfortable,” he said to my back, “you can’t go in to work today.” I gave him no sign I had heard what he said, but I rummaged through my now rumpled clothes and came out with a pair of dark wash jeans and a light knit sweater.

I returned to the bedroom to make myself presentable. I peered into the floor length mirror and frowned. The left side of my face looked like I had been sprayed with brown paint from the micro cuts that had sliced into my skin. I also had a growing dark splotch under my right eye which I expected would bloom into a full on shiner by the end of the day. My shoulder length black hair was frizzy and knotted, but I didn’t know where my brush was so I ran my fingers through it a few times before giving up, not wanting to look at my damaged face anymore.

Harry had said I couldn’t go to work today, so I suspected the next best thing to do was to make coffee. I nosed around in the kitchen, unsurprised to find that there was no coffee maker, just a kettle and a half of a tin of brittle brown pebbles. Happy to grumble about something normal, I set the kettle to boil and located the cupboard of mugs. As I waited I recalled that I had originally come out to look for my phone.

“Sergeant, have you seen my phone lying anywhere? I’m not sure what happened to it last night.” There was a sound of old creaking wood as he rose from his position in front of the news and joined me in the small kitchen area. We each retraced our movements the night before but to no avail. During our search I couldn’t help but notice again his various scrapes and bruises. There was a long gash that went up into his hairline as well as some of the smattering of tiny cuts that I had on my face, but his were thicker and though his new crisp white collared shirt obscured his torso, I guessed that they continued down his arms and neck.

“Its likely it didn’t make it out of the building,” he said. We discussed this possibility and I realized that if my phone didn’t make it out, neither did my wallet or passport. After a number of expletives on my part, he excused himself to make a call.

The kettle boiled while he was out and so I poured out two steaming cup fulls of hot water. In one I spooned a few sad lumps of brown instant coffee and in the other I plopped a tea bag, a drop of milk and one sugar.

“Okay,” he said, reentering the house and bolting the door behind him. “Here’s the plan, someone will be brought over from the American embassy to take some information from you and they will hopefully be able to get you a new passport by the end of the week. My colleague from last night, will also be returning to take our statements about the events yesterday.” I nodded and handed him the mug of tea. He took it from me with a lift of his eyebrow and brought it close, as if inspecting it. Then he sipped it, his face changing to amusement. “How did you know how to fix my tea?” He asked.

I just shrugged, “What? You think you are the only one who notices details? I’ve got nothing better to pay attention to during all those long winded meetings than what happens at the tea station.” I sipped the dark sludge in my cup.

He nodded as he took another sip.

The embassy clerk came first, looking a bit wide eyed at the two of us, reminding me again how close we had come to death. I gave him all the information I had and we coordinated for the rest of it to be sent to the embassy from the United States. The fidgety man assured me that it would all be processed as quickly as possible and that I should expect new papers by Friday. I stood to shake his hand and then Sgt. Collins showed him out and watched the armored vehicle leave.

The other PPOs arrived not long after, bringing gifts. The woman PPO who had driven us here the night before, Davis, I think was her name, arrived with large cups of real coffee and a bag of groceries, on the very top of which was a box of croissants. She set it all down on the table and slid a coffee over to me as well as a croissant. I ate and she and Sergeant chatted for a while till I was done. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, she turned to me and laid out the situation as they understood it to this point.

I was the only international on the task force that had not been hospitalized, likely because they had targeted a spot close to the elevator, not the stairwell. One of my colleagues was in critical condition but stable and all the others were suffering from topical injuries such as burns and shrapnel and all were expected to recover. I was to continue to remain in this safe house for several more days as an investigation took place. Sergeant Collins would remain as my PPO as long as I was comfortable with that. A new cell phone and any other equipment I would require would be provided to me.

I gave her my statement and Sgt. Collins retreated outside with her for quite a while. While they were away I dug into the bag she had brought. There were a few groceries as well as a chocolate bar, a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. I studied the box of smokes, curious about why she had thought to include them.

…

It had been a while since I had done absolutely nothing. Idleness never looked good on me. I had picked over the sparse book shelf several times already that morning, finding only two novels that looked palatable, only to discover they were too smutty to stomach in my current state of emotional and physical frailty. I had unpacked my things in the small bedroom at the back of the house and then reorganized them.

Mid-afternoon, a gentle rain settled over the house and I finally sunk into a chair in the kitchen. My knee was throbbing so I hobbled to the freezer and found a pack of frozen mixed vegetables that I laid on my knee. The PPO agent had offered to get me set up to work from this location immediately but warned that no one else was up to it, so I told her to get me connected whenever the rest were healthy enough to begin working again. Sergeant had left for a few hours earlier and Davis remained in his place. He had returned with a neat little overnight bag hanging from his shoulder. The rest of the time he either lingered next to the door, muttering into his earpiece or he would pace in a loop around the kitchen and living room. He didn’t speak to me really, but now in this small space together, it was hard to ignore him. And it felt silly.

“Are you allowed to sleep while you are on this assignment Sergeant?” I inquired when I finally couldn’t take the pacing any longer.

“Of course Ma’am,” he replied, turning to give me his full attention.

I nodded, “Then is there a second room for you somewhere that I missed?”

Resuming his mantle of professionalism, he raised his gaze to just above my hairline, “no Ma’am, we did not have a house available at this time that is more suitable to the situation.” He didn’t answer the question.

“So where do you sleep?”

Still gazing beyond my head, “On the couch Ma’am.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I know you will refuse, but I just want you to know that I would gladly give up the room for you.”

“Thank you Ma’am, thats very kind.”

“I mean, you did all the hard work, you did your job for sure, kept me safe, had to react under severe stress…” My words faded away, I wasn’t communicating what I was trying to. Sergeant remained standing at attention as I floundered to gather my thoughts. “Why did officer Davis bring a pack of cigarettes if neither of us smokes?” I blurted finally.

Sergeant Collins raised that one eyebrow again and if I wasn’t mistaken, a faint look of amusement settled on his face. “Ma’am, she brought them because you have led everyone to believe that you are a smoker.” I continued to look at him quizzically, so he continued, “When I was first assigned to you I was briefed that you took up to four smoke breaks a day.”

“Oh right,” I had discovered within the first week of working in London that only the smokers ever actually got fresh air during the day, everyone else took their lunches and breaks in sad corners of the break rooms or at their desks. So I had walked down to a corner store and purchased a pack of cigarettes, and like magic, any time I wished to be left alone, I would grab it and make my way to the courtyard. The Sergeant was the only person who knew I never actually smoked any of the cigarettes. I lifted the pack off of the table, “Any chance I can scoot out the back while I smoke one of these?” I swear, I could hear him itching to roll his eyes, but he gamely refrained.

“Of corse, Ma’am.” So he did a quick sweep of the fenced in garden at the back door and then stood aside to let me out. It was still gently sprinkling but I was happy for it. The back stoop was covered so I sat there, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, having forgotten that it was late November. This back garden had a lovely peaceful, very English feeling that I hadn’t ever gotten in the flat I was provided in the  center of London. There were some over grown roses climbing up a disheveled trellis in one corner, a few garden chairs and a little table on the other side. Acting on a whim I stood and stretched, reaching my hand out to test the rain. The sky was darkening and the drops grew more frequent. I stepped out from under the back stoop, hobbled to the center of the small yard, feeling the  drops plop onto the back of my neck, I stood there unmoving, waiting for the steady fall of rain to penetrate my clothes and shock my system with their cool wetness.

It felt good on my face, cooling the skin that was scabbing over. As the water ran over me I remembered the weight of my arms, my head, my back and legs. I breathed slowly, aware of the small stream of water running off the tip of my nose. I didn’t hear him move closer, but his warm hand on my shoulder did not make me jump. I noticed he had a days worth of stubble on his cheeks and neck, already obscuring some of the scabbing on his face. And the rain caught and was lost in his dark curly hair, a streak of it already greying on the left side of his head. I had a sudden urge to touch that streak of hair. I wondered what he would do if I did.

“Come inside, Ma’am, you’re getting wet.”

“I prefer it to the heat,” I replied.

“Ma’am, really I insist.”

“I can’t,” I said, exasperated and wanting to be left alone.

“I’m also getting wet Ma’am, please can we go inside.” I tilted my head, gazing at him through the sides of my eyes, enthralled both by his dark silky voice and by what he said. What did he think he knew about me that would make me more inclined to save him discomfort than myself? So I asked him.

“Am I really that persuadable?”

“Sorry, Ma’am?”

“You think I will value your discomfort over what I need?”

“Is that so, Ma’am?” He asked, evading my query with his own. I watched the rain falling heavily on him now. His hair was flattening and streams of water poured off the hems of his jacket. I imagined his shoes were filling with water also.

I sighed, “Fuck, I guess so.” Turning away from him I moved toward the door.

As I reached the cover of the stoop I pulled the now drenched sweater over my head, realizing too late that I was not wearing a shirt underneath. My eyes widened and I glanced at the Sergeant who was behind me. At my look he turned around quickly, allowing me a moment of privacy to right myself. I rung my sweater out and bounded inside the little house, closing and locking the door to the bedroom, which I was now ashamed to have since I knew the Sergeant was confined to the couch.

I took my time slipping into some stretchy leggings and a loose fitting shirt. I noticed in the long mirror that my hurt knee was much larger than the other one and I winced as I pressed on it. I hobbled back down the hallway, intent on the bottle of paracetamol in the kitchen. Rounding the corner my eyes were arrested by the half naked figure standing in the living room. I stepped back into the hallway quickly, not wanting another awkward encounter with Harry, but it was too late, he had already heard me and turned to look at me.

“Apologies, Ma’am, I thought you would be in there a while.”

“Oh, no,” I said hurriedly, my voice too high, “This is your space, after all. I should have given you more warning.”

“Not at all Ma’am,” he replied stiffly as he pulled a tight shirt over his head, obscuring his torso. But he wasn’t fast enough to keep me from noticing the marks and scars all over his back. I hadn’t looked very hard, but while some appeared to be from our recent bombing, others looked like long healed scars from some other event in his life. My gaze slipped to the kitchen as the kettle whistled.

“Ah, I was making tea,” he said, walking over to the stove and cutting the fire. “Fancy a cuppa?” He asked, already filling two mugs with steaming water. I joined him in the kitchen, sitting with my aching knee propped up on a second chair. “How do you take it?”

“Just milk.” I said, gritting my teeth as I massaged my knee gingerly. He placed the cup in front of me and remained leaning against the counter top.

“May I check it?” He asked, nodding at my swollen knee. I nodded in unperturbed assent. He swiftly but carefully lifted my leg high enough that he could slip into the chair I had propped it on. He sat so that my calf way strewn across his lap. I quieted my breathing as he poked and prodded at my poor knee.

“What are you looking for?” I asked in a gasp, realizing I hadn’t been breathing.

“I’m just checking again to make sure there are no obvious fractures or a dislocation.”

“Do you think I need to see a doctor?”

“I am going to schedule an appointment for tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your suit,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Not at all, Ma’am, it’s my job.”

“Please call me Lucy,” I said. He opened his mouth to respond so I cut him off quickly, “I mean you saved me from a fucking bomb, you’ve at least earned that. It’s so weird you have to call the people you guard Sir and Ma’am, I’m not your boss, just the pathetic person who can’t look after herself.”

He was outright smiling now. “Well Lucy, I have no doubt you can look after yourself, I’m here so that you can focus on other things the rest of us aren’t bright enough to deal with.” I was transfixed by the hollow of his collar bone, the way the skin over it stretched when he breathed and spoke. And his hands were still on my leg, one of them on the rounded part of my calf, the other just barely above my knee. “And while I officially have no opinion on the matter,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I appreciate your American sense of earning respect rather than inheriting it, something the Scots and the Yanks have in common.”

His hands moved over my leg, a non invasive gesture meant to be reassuring but the touch made my stomach flip. We sat amicably like this for a while, sipping tea and listening to light rain hitting the low roof of the house.

“Now,” Harry continued, “shall we take another smoke break?” The sun had sunk low in the sky and the light appeared orange in the still cloud filled sky.

“Sure, but only if you promise not to follow me into the rain this time,” I made a funny noise as I hoisted myself into a standing position.

“I can’t do that Lucy.”

“Then I guess we are both lucky it has stopped raining.”

…

This time we sat closer together, squeezed beside one another on a single step of the back stoop, taking in the bright cool air the rain had pushed in. Harry had given me more paracetamol by orders of the doctor I was to see the next morning and it was making me a bit drowsy. I yawned and felt my body lean into Harry’s sturdy form.

“Shall we go back inside?” He whispered, I grunted in the negative. Now only half conscious, I thought I felt a rumbling laughter in his chest and then an arm slip behind me as my muscles loosened and relaxed.

And then I was floating, my feet weren’t moving but I was gliding down the hallway to the bedroom. I opened my eyes and looked up to see Harrys stubbly jaw looming over me. Was he carrying me? I didn’t want to throw his balance so I remained still as he negotiated the door gracefully and laid me out on the edge of the bed. As he leaned over me, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his stretchy shirt material. He hovered above me, waiting patiently.

“Stay,” I whispered. To which he shook his head and began to pull away. So I pulled again and he let me, remaining suspended above me.

“You know I can’t,” he said.

“I just don’t think I can stand to be alone right now. Please stay.” The words were difficult for me and I avoided his gaze. He sighed heavily. I sat up slowly, still groggy, “you said you would follow me into the rain.” My hand bunched tighter into his shirt, dreading the moment he would move away from me.

He sighed one last time then knelt down, removing his shoes with a resigned expression. Straightening again he sent me a defeated look. Then gracefully, he climbed over me and gingerly laid in the center of the bed, leaving a wide gap between us. We laid on our sides facing each other, his head at the height of my shoulders. Again I had the urge to stroke that streak of grey in his hair, and so I did. Tenderly, Harry ran his hand along the silhouette of my body, starting at my ear and moving down to my shoulder and side and finally stopping on my hip.

We were magnetic as we moved closer to each other. I pulled his head into the safety of my chest, his stubble a raspy comfort against my skin and our legs entangled. In silence we lay there, feeling each other breathe. We may have fallen asleep though the line between consciousness and unconsciousness was not immediately apparent. After a long while he stirred and rolled off the far side of the bed, making his way to the toilet.

When he returned he paused and removed his shirt, letting it fall to the ground before again joining me. As he lay back down I shifted, laying my head on his torso. He was very warm and I put my ear to his chest, listening for all the sounds a body makes as it works to keep living. “Am I hurting you?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he whispered, running his hands down my body again till they found my bottom. I propped myself up above him on my elbows, caressing the recent bruises and wounds, tenderly tracing the old scars.

“Tell me about Scotland,” I said.

“Hmm, what do you want to know about Scotland?” He returned.

“Only the good bits,” I said. He smiled gently as he coaxed my good leg up, bending it around his hip in a sort of half straddle and I lowered myself again to his chest. I listened to his stories about a lush green land of great promise and adventure as the words carelessly rumbled out of him.

…

I hadn’t expected to be so jumpy when I got in the security vehicle. I got in and slid to the very center seat, a hand planted firmly on each side of me. I stared straight ahead the whole time, ignoring the dizziness from the sharp turns.

The consult from the doctor confirmed there was nothing broken, but the hard fall had slightly dislocated my knee which was promptly reset and I was warned that it would take several weeks to heal. I was sent home with a heavier brace and instructions to take over the counter pain meds for swelling.

We returned to the house and were met with a second security detail that had come with equipment for me to work remotely. I dove into it with manic energy. Indeed there was little that could be done as the other internationals were still recovering from burn trauma. So I prepped all the materials I could think of that we would need in order to resume our work. Harry placed a cup of tea next to me which I drank, but I ignored the lunch delivery, feeling like my eyes and hands could not keep up with the speed at which my brain was moving.

“Ma’am,” I heard someone say from far away. “Lucy,” who was that? “Lucy!” I flinched when Harry’s hand touched my shoulder. “Perhaps you might take a break now, you haven’t eaten at all today.”

“No, no I have to get this done,” I replied, turning back to the computer.

“It is common to feel strong bursts of energy and fatigue after an event like the bombing,” he continued.

“Really?” I continued to stab at the keyboard. “Then I guess I’m fine, if this is a common reaction.”

“It’s common, it’s not fine.”

I slammed the laptop shut, pushing the heels of my hands into my temples, God my head hurt. My chest heaved with sobs. I felt him move closer but I needed air, space, I lashed out, feeling my hand connect with his ballistic vest.

I took off down the hall toward the bathroom, seeking a place he couldn’t follow me. But he caught up with me, securing his arms around my shoulders, immobilizing my arms. I continued to sob for several minutes. He continued to hold me like this till I quieted and stopped fighting and sagged weakly against him.

“What do you say we get some food and water in you now?” I nodded and we returned to the kitchen. I ate ravenously, with Harry looking on like a cafeteria lady from grade school, making sure I ate all my greens.

“Why do I still feel out of control?” I asked, “Why can’t I just move on?”

“Well it hasn’t been that long, barely two days. If anything I’d say your actions today are very much fitting with the magnitude of the event. In fact you probably deserve a few more temper tantrums.” He looked at me and valiantly fought off a smile. I stabbed a tomato with my fork and pouted, not quit ready for joking yet.

I narrowed my eyes at him thoughtfully. “Clearly you have been in situations like this before.”

“Clearly,” he repeated back.

“So when should I expect you to throw a tantrum?”

“Probably not this time, but I have before.”

“Why is this not hard for you?”

He sighed, “in my perspective, we did it, we survived. That’s not always the case. I did my job well and I am continuing to keep you safe.” He leaned over and touched my hand. “It’s a win.” He leaned back in his chair.

I stood abruptly, taking the few steps to where he sat. He didn’t move, just looked at me, challenging me. I moved even closer, my legs now straddling his lap. I thought he would again assume that distant look and excuse himself, but instead his hands reached up, urging me down closer to him. I sat, wrapping my arms around his neck and he brought his head close to mine, our foreheads touching.

“I don’t think this is keeping you safe,” he murmured to me.

“It’s hard to tell what is safe,” I mumbled.

“So for now all we can do is react.” I made a noise of agreement as our lips connected. We pulled each other in closer, unable to touch enough, to feel enough. His lips were searching and needy. Never had I needed to be touched so badly. I wanted to be shielded by him and yet I wanted to draw him in tighter, protecting him from the dangers he saw every day.

His lips moved lower, caressing my neck and collar bone as I wrestled his jacket and shirt off his body. I kept removing layers till there were no more to remove. He responded in kind, lifting my shirt over my head then drawing me close to him in a warm embrace, like he wanted to cover me completely. “Harry,” I whispered after several long seconds. Then again, “Harry,” and he responded.

“Lucy.”

Pulling out of his arms, I stood and stepped away. “I want this, I want you, and I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”

He rose out of his chair gracefully, stepping close to me. “I cannot regret any time with you.”

“And tomorrow? In a week? When I have finished this job?” I gulped, bile rising in my stomach just thinking about leaving.

“I don’t think I can let you go.”

“Will you take me to Scotland?” I asked as I wrapped my arms around his waist. He leaned his forehead against mine, “Only if you let me stand in the rain with you.”

[myhauntedsalem]

Ghosts of Hollywood

Marilyn Monroe The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard is said to be the current residence of several ghosts of popular film stars. Marilyn Monroe, the glamorous and funny star of such pictures as Some Like It Hot and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, was a frequent guest of the Roosevelt at the height of her popularity. And although she died in her Brentwood home, her image has been seen on several occasions in a full-length mirror that once hung in her poolside suite. The mirror has been relocated to the hotel's lower level by the elevators.

Montgomery Clift Another respected star who died before his time, Montgomery Clift, was a four-time Oscar nominated actor who is best known for his roles in A Place in the Sun, From Here to Eternity and Judgment at Nuremberg. His ghost has also been seen at the Roosevelt. According to some of the hotel's staff, Clift's spirit haunts room number 928. Clift stayed in that suite in 1953, pacing back and forth, memorizing his lines for From Here to Eternity. Loud, unexplained noises have been heard coming from the empty suite, and its phone is occasionally found mysteriously off the hook.

Perhaps it's fitting that the Hollywood Roosevelt should be the stirring place of celebrity ghosts since it was the site of the very first Academy Awards ceremony in 1929. In fact, the Blossom Ballroom, where the ceremony was held, has an unexplained cold spot - a circular area measuring 30 inches in diameter that remains about 10 degrees colder than the rest of the room.

Harry Houdini Houdini is best known as a magician and escape artist, of course, but at the height of his fame he was also drawn to Hollywood, where he made a handful of silent films from 1919 to 1923. With such titles as The Man from Beyond and Haldane of the Secret Service (which he also directed), the films were not regarded well enough to give him much of a Hollywood career. Houdini's interest in the occult was well known, and although he earned a reputation as a masterful debunker of séances, he earnestly sought contact with those who have passed on to the other side. Shortly before his death, Houdini made a pact with his wife Bess that if he could, he would return and make contact with her from the other side. Perhaps he truly has attempted to return. Some claim to have seen the ghost of the great Houdini walking around in the home he owned on Laurel Canyon Blvd. in the Hollywood Hills. Film historians Laurie Jacobson and Marc Wanamaker, in their book Hollywood Haunted, dispute this story, saying that "Houdini most likely never even set foot in the Laurel Canyon mansion he is said to haunt."

Clifton Webb Clifton Webb was a very popular star of the 1940s and '50s, earning two Oscar nominations for his roles in Laura and The Razor's Edge. He may be best known for his portrayal of Mr. Belvedere in a series of films. It's not too often that a ghost haunts the place in which the person is buried, but this seems to be the case for Webb. His ghost has been seen at the Abbey of the Psalms, Hollywood Memorial Cemetery, where his body is interred. But it seems to be a restless spirit, as his ghost has also been encountered at his old home on Rexford Drive in Beverly Hills.

Thelma Todd Thelma Todd was a hot young star in the 1930s. She was featured in a number of hit comedies with the likes of The Marx Brothers, Laurel and Hardy, and Buster Keaton. But that all ended in 1935 when Todd was found dead in her car, which was parked above the café she owned on the Pacific Coast Highway. Strangely, her death was ruled an accidental suicide, but many suspected murder and a coverup by powerful Hollywood figures. The building that once housed the café is now owed by Paulist Productions, and employees have reportedly witnessed the starlet's ghost descending the stairs.

Thomas Ince Ince is considered one of the visionary pioneers of American movies. He was one of the most respected directors of the silent era, best known, perhaps, for his westerns starring William S. Hart. He partnered with other early Hollywood giants such as D.W. Griffith and Mack Sennett, and founded Culver Studios, which later became MGM. Ironically, Ince's death overshadowed his film legacy. He died aboard William Randolph Hearst's yacht in 1924, and although the official record shows the cause of death as heart failure, the hot rumor is that he was shot by Hearst in a fit a jealousy over Hearst's wife, Marion Davies. Ince's ghost - as well as several other ghostly figures - have been seen in the lot that was once Culver Studios. Film crew members have seen the specter of a man matching Ince's description on several occasions; in one instance, when the workers tried to speak to the spirit, it turned and disappeared through a wall.

Ozzie Nelson Ghosts and hauntings are the last thing that come to mind when you think of the perpetually cheerful Ozzie and Harriet Nelson. The couple, with their real-life sons Ricky and David, were stars of the long-running sitcom "Ozzie and Harriet," noted for its good-natured, gentle humor. Yet poor Ozzie doesn't seem to be as contented in the afterlife. Family members, it is said, have seen Ozzie's ghost in the family's old Hollywood home, and it always appears to be in a somber mood. Perhaps he's unhappy about how another Ozzy and his family have gained notoriety on TV.

George Reeves From 1953 to 1957, George Reeves was TV's Superman. Reeves had been around Hollywood for a while, playing bit parts in such films as Gone with the Wind and dozens of B-movies, but it was "The Adventures of Superman" on TV that brought him fame. Reeves died of a gunshot at his home in 1959. The official cause of death was suicide, but that conclusion has been hotly disputed, with some believing that Reeves was murdered. Whether it was suicide or murder, Reeves ghost has been seen in his Beverly Hills home. A couple claims to have seen the ghost of Reeves - decked out in his Superman costume - materialize in the bedroom where he died, after which it slowly faded away. Others believe that Reeves succumbed to the "Superman curse," in which those associated with the fictional character over the years allegedly have met with disaster or death. But is there really a curse? 

More Celebrity Ghosts

Rudolph Valentino - This silent film heartthrob has been seen in the bedroom and stables of his old Hollywood home. Jean Harlow - The spirit of this blonde bombshell is said to haunt the bedroom of her home on North Palm Drive, where her husband allegedly used to beat her. Mary Pickford - This legend of the silent era - actress, writer and producer - was co-founder of United Artists with her husband Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplin. Comic Buddy Rogers, who lived in the house Pickford once owned, saw her ghost appear in a white ruffled dress. Grace Kelly - Princess Stephanie of Monaco believes that the ghost of her mother, Grace Kelly, helped her write a song from the spirit world.

Celebrities Who Have Seen Ghosts

Nicholas Cage - This Oscar-winning actor (Leaving Las Vegas) refused to stay in uncle Francis Ford Coppola's home after seeing a ghost in the attic. (Cage was also cast as Superman in director Tim Burton's film project, which was never made.) Keanu Reeves - The star of The Matrix films and Devil's Advocate was just a kid in New Jersey when he saw a ghost that took the form of a white double-breasted suit come into his room one night. He wasn't imagining it; his nanny saw the phantom, too. Neve Campbell - She's been in more than her share of paranormal-themed movies (The Craft, Scream), but she's had real-life encounters as well. A woman was murdered in the house she now lives in, and friends have seen her ghost walking around. Matthew McConaughey - This popular actor (Contact) says he freaked out the first time he saw the ghost of an old woman, whom he calls "Madame Blue," floating around his house. Tim Robbins - Robbins, who was nominated for an Oscar in Mystic River, didn't see ghosts, but strongly felt their presence when he moved into an apartment in 1984. Following his instinct, he moved out the next day. Hugh Grant - British romantic comedy lead Hugh Grant (Love Actually) says he and friends have heard the wailing and screaming of some tormented spirit in his Los Angeles home. He even speculates it might be the ghost of a former resident - Bette Davis. Dan Aykroyd - The Ghostbusters star (and Oscar-nominated for Driving Miss Daisy) has long had a fascination with the paranormal. He believes his home, once owned by Cass Elliot of The Mamas and The Papas, is haunted. "A ghost certainly haunts my house," he said. "It once even crawled into bed with me. The ghost also turns on the Stairmaster and moves jewelry across the dresser. I'm sure it's Mama Cass because you get the feeling it's a big ghost." Sting - Rock star Sting (Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) and his wife Trudie have seen ghosts in their home. "I was absolutely terrified," he said. "I now believe those things are out there, but I have no explanation for them." Jean Claude Van Damme - The Belgian action star (Timecop), also known as "Muscles from Brussels," swears he saw a ghost in his bathroom mirror while he was brushing his teeth. Richard Dreyfuss - He won an Oscar for The Goodbye Girl, but at one time had a cocaine problem. Visions of a ghost, he said, helped him kick the habit. "I had a car crash in the late 1970s," Dreyfuss said, "when I was really screwed up, and I started seeing these ghostly visions of a little girl every night. I couldn't shake this image. Every day it became clearer and I didn't know who the hell she was. Then I realized that kid was either the child I didn't kill the night I smashed up my car, or it was the daughter that I didn't have yet. I immediately sobered up." Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman - This Hollywood couple was forced to flee their "dream home" in Sneden's Landing, N.Y. when it became all too apparent that it was haunted. They still are reluctant to talk about their frightening encounters. Belinda Carlisle - This pop singer and founding member of The Go-Gos, who appeared in Swing Shift and She's Having a Baby, says she saw a "misty shape" hovering over her as she lay in bed one night. She also says that when she was 17, while nodding off to sleep in a chair in her parents' home, she levitated and had an out-of-body experience. Elke Sommers - This German-born actress, who appeared in the 1966 film The Oscar, claims to have seen the ghost of a middle-aged man in a white shirt in her home in North Beverly Hills. Guests in her home have also seen the specter. So much paranormal activity was reported in the house that the American Society for Psychical Research was brought in, and which verified the unexplained events. The severely haunted house was bought and sold more than 17 times since Sommers vacated it, and many have reported ghostly phenomena. Paul McCartney - Ex-Beatle and Oscar-nominated songwriter ("Live and Let Die") says that he, George Harrison and Ringo Starr sensed the playful spirit of John Lennon when they were recording Lennon's song, "Free As A Bird" in 1995. "There were a lot of strange goings-on in the studio - noises that shouldn't have been there and equipment doing all manner of weird things. There was just an overall feeling that John was around."

[prince-claremont-diaz]

enough

Summary: Just weeks after the end of the first wizarding war, life still has not quite returned to normal. In a way, all Sirius can hope for is to be able to care for Harry when he needs him most. If only he could be enough.

Rating: general audiences 

Content Warnings: angst, ptsd 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382685

AN// Yes, another raising Harry AU. I don’t know why I write these so often, just go with it.

Enough

“We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.”

— Richard Siken

The weeks following the end of the war, the end of James and Lily Potter, were miserable. Despite the celebrations going on elsewhere, rejoicing in the fall of the Dark Lord that had made everyone’s lives a living hell for years, those who were hurt the most, those who loved and lost, were anything but celebratory. There were still funerals and memorials to go to, graves to be dug, buildings and people and societies to rebuild and repair. The end of a war was a relief, yes, but it was little more than that.

With the turning of October into November, it was one of the coldest winters the UK had seen. The air was bitter and unforgiving, blowing people over and knocking the leaves off trees in the blink of an eye. There was no snow or hail, only rain or simple dreary grey skies, rarely a sliver of sunlight peering out between the grumpy grey clouds. Not even a crackling fire or a pile of blankets or the company of a friend could warm the grieving’s cold heart.

For Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, especially, it was their hardest winter yet.

Sirius fought tooth and nail with Dumbledore, yelling until his voice was hoarse and pacing in his big, circular office until his feet were aching and he feared he’d walk a hole in his soles, determined to make sure little Harry had a home in which he was loved. He argued with Dumbledore for weeks and weeks, hardly sleeping more than a few hours and never consecutively, too run dry with fighting yet another battle.

Weren’t they supposed to be finished fighting?

At last, barely a week before miserable November could roll into December, the old wizard finally gave in and allowed Sirius to take full custody of Harry. Before then, Harry had been staying with Sirius technically illegally as he impulsively stole Harry away from the front step of the Dursley’s before they could even wake to find the little toddler. There was no way he was letting him go to stay with those monsters.

Even once Harry was officially Sirius’ and he no longer needed to battle for his care, it still did not make it any easier.

Sirius and Remus had a relationship of their own to fix, just like the rest of society needed to fix the broken remains of the war. After months of arguing and mistrust and hiding and betrayal, they both knew that they needed to work through it all, both for themselves and for the sake of Harry. It was a tentative and slow repair, but they were making it work.

Ever since his parents died and he was swept away to live with his godfather, Harry had changed a fair bit already, Sirius couldn’t help but notice. He was much quieter than before, having been a giggly and excitable one year old, now left quiet and still, barely even walking anymore. Where Harry had once been nearly impossible to catch, whether he was scurrying around the house or garden or riding on his little toy broomstick, he now refused to do more than crawl or sit and watch his surroundings.

And, oh, how dreadful his crying could be.

Sirius couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but somewhere in the early days of living with him, Harry gained a newfound attachment to Sirius and Sirius only. Whereas before, Harry had been perfectly content to be passed from friend to friend, James and Lily needing all the support they could get, Harry now refused to be out of the room from Sirius and was nearly always in his arms. He was better with Remus than others, but sometimes he would even be wary of him. On the worst days, Harry wouldn’t even let Sirius go to the toilet without screaming the whole house down.

Today was one of those days.

It was mid-December now and Sirius woke up barely after the crack of dawn, Harry’s shrieks carrying all the way down the corridor and jolting him awake so suddenly he nearly fell out of bed. Beside him, Remus gasped awake, sitting up on his elbows and turning to Sirius with a frown.

“I’ll check on him,” Sirius muttered, throwing the blanket off his legs and climbing out of bed without bothering to turn on the light.

He padded across the small corridor, Harry’s screams still echoing around the house almost painfully. Gently, Sirius pushed the door open and stepped inside, Harry’s crying getting even more unbearably louder. Sirius flicked on the little bedside lamp and felt his heart crumble at the sight of his godson.

He was sitting up in his crib, gripping onto the bars in both his chubby fists, head thrown back as he sobbed and sobbed. Tears and snot rolled down his little face, leaving a growing wet patch on the front of his onesie.

“Harry?” Sirius murmured, heartbroken, voice cracking.

Harry looked up at Sirius through the bars and his crying instantly began to quieten into the faintest sobs, though he was still hyperventilating worryingly. Sirius crossed the little room, carefully prying Harry’s fists from the bars of his crib and lifting him out of the crib. Sirius swayed back and forth in the middle of the room, holding Harry to his chest, rubbing his hand up and down his back in an effort to calm the infant down enough to stop hyperventilating so much. Harry clutched onto the fabric of Sirius’ oversized shirt, face tucked into the crook of his neck and leaving another wet patch with his tears. Sirius glanced out of the gap in the curtains and saw the very beginning of the sunlight peeking into the room and knew it would be futile to attempt actually getting back to sleep again.

Finally, after a few minutes, Sirius was able to settle Harry’s crying to sniffles and the occasional whine. When he tried to test if he could put Harry down again, the toddler tightened his grip on his shirt and Sirius felt his pulse picking up sharply. Sirius sighed, relenting and accepting that it was going to be one of those days.

Carefully, Sirius carried Harry back to his and Remus’ bedroom, shifting him to one of his hips. He was only partly surprised to find Remus sitting up in bed, lamp turned on and a book propped open in his lap. He glanced up from his reading when Sirius entered, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

Sirius shook his head, closing the door behind him with his foot and moving over to the bed. “He won’t even let me put him back down,” Sirius whispered, clambering into bed with difficulty, trying not to drop or disturb Harry. He shifted against the headboard until one of his shoulders was pressed right up against Remus’, Harry’s face tucked against the other side of his neck.

Nobody said a word for a long, long time. Remus continued reading his book and Sirius cradled Harry in his arms, running his thumb up and down one of his chubby arms. He looked at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, almost hidden by the messy dark curls, an imperfection on someone far too young. Harry blinked up at him, tear tracks still glimmering on his flushed cheeks and those bright emeralds surrounded by bloodshot veins.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Sirius whispered into the quiet. He looked down at the toddler in his arms, now sucking his thumb and staring up at him.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Remus murmured, putting his book down and turning his head to look at Sirius. He frowned. “It’s hard to raise a toddler in general nevermind a traumatised one when you’re barely 22, Sirius. You’re doing the best you can.”

“But what if it’s not enough? What if my best still isn’t enough for him?”

“It will be,” Remus replied, certain. He bent down and pressed a kiss to the side of Sirius’ head, right where his temple was, hidden by his shoulder-length hair.

“I’m letting them down. James and Lily and Harry,” Sirius murmured. “Harry shouldn’t be stuck being taken care of by such a wreck like me.”

Remus put his book to the side and shifted to sit on his knees, wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at Sirius. “That’s bullshit and you know it. They didn’t make you his godfather for nothing, Sirius. They trusted you and they… they wanted you to take care of him just in case…” He combed his fingers through his hair, looking down at his old and slightly hole-y pyjama bottoms.

“I just wish I could help him. It’s not normal to be this attached to someone, is it?” said Sirius. “It physically hurts to hear him crying when he misses them or he can’t find me for whatever reason and I can’t even help him.” He rearranged Harry in his arms so he could sit up more, bending his knees to let Harry lean against them. He still grasped the front of Sirius’ shirt, eyes wide as he stared at him.

“You were the first person to find him after—after it happened,” Remus said gently. “And then you were the main person he saw when you were trying to get Dumbledore to let you take him in. And he always adored you more than the others. Perhaps he’s clinging to you for normality or something. He trusts you.”

Sirius considered this for a moment, thumbing the fabric of Harry’s onesie. Harry didn’t like it when people moved too quickly, too abruptly, always startling and bursting into tears, so Sirius had fallen into the habit of moving much slower and gentler than he was used to. Now, soothingly stroking Harry to keep him calm, he just hoped it would be enough.

As they started the rest of their day with cups of strong tea and curling up by the flickering fireplace, Sirius hoped it was enough. As he carried Harry everywhere on his hip, talking in low voices and spending over an hour talking Harry into even touching his yoghurt or toast, he hoped it was enough. As he sat Harry on the bathmat when he went to the loo because Harry screamed when he tried to go without him, he hoped it was enough. When he held Harry close as he napped on the couch and let Harry tug on his hair and sent apologetic looks towards Remus every time Harry avoided him, he hoped it was enough. When he had no choice but to sleep in the rocking chair in Harry’s bedroom, magically softened, so that Harry could sleep, leaving Remus by himself in their room, he hoped it was enough.

On the hardest days in which hardly a word was spoken in the house and grief seemed to settle over them as thick and heavy as lead, all Sirius could hope for was to be enough. And deep down, as he rocked gently back and forth, watching the gentle rise and fall of Harry’s chest as he finally slept, he supposed it was.

[majingojira]

Spider-Man Real-Time Aging Timeline

I’ve been asked to get on my crazy again with this, this time for Spider-Man. Well, here goes and boy, this is about to get WEIRD! A lot of this IS based on Spider-Man: Life Story, so if you are wondering about something, refer to that. 

Because there’s a LOT of Spider-Man events out there, I couldn’t include them all without going totally nuts.  If you have a question about them, ask!   Though beware, “The writers made that up” is a possible explanation.  1946 - Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Jessica Drew, Luke Cage, “Flash” Thompson, and Gwen Stacy born.  1947 - Peter’s Parents die under somewhat mysterious circumstances. His Aunt May and Uncle Ben Parker take him in. 

1950 - Julia Carpenter born.  1962 - Peter Parker, 16 years old, invents a quick-drying temporary adhesive with properties similar to spider silk as an entry in a science fair (with hopes of catching someone’s eye to sell the invention to in order to aid his aunt and uncle).  Unfortunately, one of the other entries was a might volatile and explodes.  Peter is caught in the blast radius and injured.  Worse, while on the ground an escaped Tarantula bites his hand in its panic.  Peter recovers, but the incident was quite traumatic, and he associated everything that followed with that spider. 

When he recovers, he finds himself stronger, faster, and tougher than he was before, and more ‘aware’ of his surroundings.  Worse, he was ‘seeing’ things before they happened.  He doesn’t know what to do with these abilities at first but is inspired by seeing the masked wrestler El Santo perform on TV. He hits on the idea of fighting for money with a masked identity.  It goes rather well, but we know how this song and dance goes by now. 

After his, he invents gloves and boots to better help him climb across surfaces, as well as web-shooters for ranged entrapment.  He soon figured out web-swinging from there. And thus, Spider-Man was born!    But what did cause his powers to awaken?   It goes back a few hundred years. One of the greatest swordsmen of all time was a man named Zatoichi.  Upon learning of this man, one of the greatest criminal masterminds of all time (Fu Manchu) attempted to re-create this man’s skills.  This eventually led to the creation of the Nanjin, a sect of Warrior Monks who ritually blinded themselves to “See With the Heart”.  Over time, The Devil Doctor did his best to be eugenic about the subject, but random mutation is going to random. Peter Parker his the jackpot with his genes.  Upon suffering a horrendous injury, an epigenetic response kicked in and he became as they were--more in fact with an enhanced musculature and reaction time on top of it.   How strong is he?  Well, starting out, he was a very athletic human, far more so for his size and weight.  After fighting and working out for a few years, he could give some species of vampire a go without much problem.  Especially with his “spider-sense”.  

And yes, Daredevil is a trained Nanjin.  Obviously. 

Also, this year, Jessica Drew is the only survivor of a car crash into a chemical truck that kills her family.  With no one to watch her, she is kidnapped and experimented on by HYDRA.  1962-1966 - Many of Spider-Man’s classic rogues appear in this timeframe. Notable oddities about them based on what people assume are as follows: Vulture’s ‘flight harness’ was based on the old Doc Savage designed Rocket Pack, most famously employed by the Rocketeer (Cliff Seacord) back in the Late 30s/Early 40s; Otto Octavius is a Cthulhu Cultist; The Sandman is a person who absorbed a juvenile Founder/Changeling and gained some semblance of their shapeshifting abilities; The Lizard is likely tied to the experiments which created the “Alligator Man” of Bayou Landing (The Alligator People); Electro is one of several known “Electrical Mutants” -- people who were born with an electro-kinetic ability.  

1964 - Norman Osborn becomes the Green Goblin. 

1965 - Peter Parker meets Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy. 

1966 - Flash Thompson goes to Vietnam.  

1969 - The death of George Stacy, Gwen Stacy’s Father. 

1972 - Giant-Size Spider-Man #2 - Spider-Man and Shang-Chi team up against Shang’s Father, Fu Manchu. 

Peter Parker marries Gwen Stacy. 1973 - Giant-Size Spide-Man #1 - Spider-Man tangles with (a) Dracula.

1974 - Giant-Size Spider-Man #3 - Spider-Man helps resolve a case started by Doc Savage in 1934.  

Flash Thompson comes back from Vietnam with a wife, Sha-Shan Nguyen-Thompson, but without his legs. 

Jessica Drew escapes Hydra’s indoctrination and tries to make headway as a hero on her own as “Spider-Woman”.  It does not go well. 

1975 - Marvel Team-Up #36-37 - Spider-Man meets Frankenstein’s Monster.  Superman vs. the Amazing Spider-Man - Spider-Man is tricked into fighting the legendary Superman by the machinations of Otto Octavius and Lex Luthor.  They eventually team up and stop the malcontents.  1976 - Jessica Drew decides to re-invent herself as the heroine “Jewel” since her powers really have very little to do with Spiders.  1977 - Professor Miles Warren’s plan of making Gwen Stacy his own via “cloning” is exposed by the ‘new’ Green Goblin, Harry Osborn.  Unfortunately, tat technology is over a decade away, and his “Clone” is more “Human Meat Puppet” and rather horrifying.  In the conflagration/confrontation, he and Gwen Stacy are killed.  Harry Osborn disappears for a time... Mary Jane Watson-Osborn and Peter Parker comfort each other over their mutual losses. 

Jessica Drew finds herself under the thrall of a mind-mage known as “The Purple Man.”  The thrall is eventually broken, but though she manages to recover, it leaves scars. 

1978 - Marvel Team-Up #79 - Thanks to a mystical malady, Spider-Man battles Kulan Gath, and things could have ended up badly for him, if not for the revelation that Mary-Jane Watson was a descendant of Red Sonja of Hyrkania.  Touching an artifact allowed the She-Devil to manifest in the present and aid Spider-Man in taking down her ancient foe. 

Spider-Man first encounters the blind seer Madame Web. 

Birth of Samuel Thompson to Flash and Sha-Shan Thompson.

Jessica Drew takes up two new identities, Knightress (for about 5 minutes) and Jessica Jones to distance herself from what happened. 

1980 - Marvel Treasury Edition #28 - Spider-Man manages to accidentally thwart the plans of Doctor Doom, to turn the monster known as Parasite into a massive energy storage device after it drained the life force from the Hulk, Superman, and Wonder Woman.  

Secret War - Spider-Man is one of the many people invited to this decade’s Mortal Kombat tournament.  Unfortunately for Shao Khan, so is Superman (Clark Kent), and he utterly wrecks the event, making the whole thing a wash, forcing Shao Khan to wait another decade to continue his win streak.  The monstrous being known as “Venom” follows Spider-Man from Outworld.  One of the people taken in by this is a survivor of “The Shop”, Julia Carpenter.  Taking a cue from Spider-Man, she dubs herself Spider-Woman (II).  

Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson marry. 

Mattie Franklin born. 

1981 -  Marvel Team-Up #111-112 - Spider-Man has a time-traveling adventure featuring King Kull, battling against Valusian Serpent-Men.   Marvel Team-Up Annual #5 - Spider-Man has more adventures with the Serpent-Men and their ancient enemies, Kull and Conan. 

1982 - The monster  “Venom” reveals himself. Its first host is Eddie Brock. 

May “Mayday” Parker is born.

1983 - The Venom creature spawns, creating the horror known as Carnage. It goes on to spawn more Symbiotes.  Jessica Jones has a child with Luke Cage (Daniel Cage) and later marries him.  1984 - Spider-Man and Batman: Disordered Minds - Spider-Man and Batman (III) team-up. 

Kraven’s Last Hunt occurs.

Cindy Moon, the grandaughter of Flash Thompson, born.  

1985 - Batman/Spider-Man - Batman and Spider-Man team up once again. 

1988 - Anya Corazon born. 

1990 - Julia Carpenter retires as Spider-Woman, Madame Web begins recruiting her as a replacement for herself. 

1991 - Richard Wentworth jr., the descendant of the pulp-era anti-hero known as The Spider takes to the streets, and takes umbrage with the ‘pretender’ that is Peter Parker. He and Peter clash several times over the next few years, and the comic industry uses the presence of a ‘second Spider” to inflate the “Clone Saga” to ridiculous levels. 

Thanks to developments from InGen being stolen when the company was liquidated in 1990, Efforts to Clone Spider-Man go forward under multiple groups. The results are nicknamed “Kaine” but artificial again technology doesn’t exist, so it wouldn’t bear fruit for many years. 

1993 - May Parker Sr. passes away. 

1995 - Richard Wentworth jr. goes to more volatile places around the world to sate his bloodlust. 

Miles Morales born. 

1996 - Gwen Stacy (II), niece of Gwen Stacy (via Gabriel Stacy) is born. 

Mattie Franklin, a half-demon with arachnid affinities decided to become “Spider-Woman”.  Her desire to prove herself causes quite a few problems. 

1998 - Mayday Parker has her first outing as Spider-Girl under her parent's noses.  After a few of these outings, she catches Mattie Franklin’s attention, who challenges her to a “Title Fight.”  Mattie loses and chooses to go by “The Scarlet Spider” for a time afterward. 

Benjamin Parker is born to Peter and Mary Jane Parker. 

Cindy Moon is identified by the Nanjin and is kidnapped for ‘training’ by them.  She ends up with a similar condition to Peter Parker. 

2000 - Peter Parker retires from being Spider-Man and working Biotech to become a teacher at his old High School. Mayday Parker takes over properly as Spider-Girl. 

2003 - Anya Corazon is kidnapped by the tattered remains of the organization known as Shocker and partly transformed into a quasi-magical cyborg super-soldier by them. She is rescued before she could be brainwashed by Kamen Rider (Kamen Rider Spirits).  She takes her new ‘gift’ and becomes known as “Arana”, though people often call her “The Other Spider-Girl” to both her and Mayday’s annoyance. 

2004 - Mattie Franklin dies battling drug-runners. 

2005 - Samuel Thompson becomes bonded to the “Venom” Symbiot (or a facsimile thereof) by the U.S. Government.  Dubbed “Agent Venom” he works with them as he furthers his military career.

Julia Carpenter takes over formally as Madame Web on the original’s passing. 

2009 - Miles Morales is bitten by a spider carrying an attempt to create a retroviral payload to make Nanjin Adepts.  He nearly dies from the venom, but it works -- with an added perk or two. 

2011 - Miles Morales becomes Spider-Man with Peter and May’s blessings. 

Kaine Parker reveals his existence to Peter, but more out of obligation, as he’d rather be left alone. He is not, thanks to mystical shenanigans.  Even moving to Huston doesn’t help in that regard.  He dubs himself “The Scarlet Spider”.  

2012 - Cindy Moon escapes the Nanjin order and goes to “Spider-Man” to help.  Mayday Parker does her best to get her settled after over a decade in isolation.

2013 - The “Ghost Spider” appears, and is eventually revealed to be Gwen Stacy (II), niece and namesake of the Gwen Stacy Peter knew.   She is ‘accepted’ by the family, but has been through quite a lot and is often chastised for making bad decisions. 

2018 - Miles Morales has his mind swapped with that of the extremely aged Otto Octavius via a dark ritual.  

2019 - Miles Morales is freed of Otto’s domination of his mind. However, the Grand-Nephew of Otto Octavius (name currently unknown) begins causing him problems, dubbing himself the “Superior Spider-Man.”