#instead of Tom and co

[thatimageoftomscott]

favourite citation needed moment so far?

[bookwyrminspiration]

very very few people who’ve read insignia please tell me you call the group TomCo. actually I don’t care the answer is I’m going to be doing that regardless of what everyone else does

[gigamuffin]

tom ask's favourite emoji -> 🕺🎸💿🎵🎧📻

hira -> 👍🏽📨🪩✍️🏽💃

arun -> 🎭🎉✨️🌈🤹💜🙌‼️ and :o)

samantha -> .

[yumeurl]

am i really just losing my mind over cos for the nth time instead of finally starting gof? yes and the main fault for this one is tom

[ghostfacd]

YOU CAN LET GO NOW ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which tom blyth can’t let go of your hand after an intense argument scene in your film

installment of this au | your character and Tom’s lines in the film are written in italics

“Action!”

Tom and you have probably been on your tenth cut by now, the scene was an argument between yours and his character, Balleona and Coriolanus. It was fierce and intense, filled with lots of angry yelling and a few tears.

Needless to say, your director was on both of your asses to make sure you got everything down perfectly, from the lines and hand movements to the crocodile tears.

“You can’t just expect everything to be okay Coriolanus!” You yell exasperated. You look up at Tom, who was currently looking down at you with a cold gaze. “You decided to cheat! You decide to risk your entire career for Lucy Gray, now you go sit with the consequences!”

Tom slams his hand on the table nearby, making you flinch back. “I had to! I did it for us! All of it! The rat poison—the scarf—I did everything for us! And now you repay me by yelling at me like a child?!”

You push Tom back with an accusing finger, eyes lingering with hurt. “You’re acting like a child Coriolanus Snow! I told you that my family has enough money, enough for you to go to university. But you just had to ruin the entire system, didn’t you? Is it Lucy Gray? The disgusting filth from District 12? Is she influencing you?”

Tom places his hand on your chin, grabbing it harshly, making you let out a whine.

“You don’t speak about her like that, do you understand?” Tom tightens his grip, making your hands come up to try to get out of his grasp. “Do you understand?!” He yells, causing you to close your eyes tightly.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” You say, “Coryo, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Tom’s eyes suddenly switched from anger to softness, and he lets go of his hold on your face. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He brings you into a hug, letting you bury your head into his chest. “You know I didn’t mean it right? You know you’re more important to me than Lucy Gray—that’s why I did all of this. It was for you.”

You nod, letting out a few tears. Tom breaks the hug to hold your hand, his other one coming up to wipe them away.

“And.. cut!”

Tom stops wiping the tears that have fallen down to your cheeks, sighing in relief when the director says that they don’t have to redo the scene again.

However, he’s still holding tightly on your hand, nodding slowly at each of the words that come out from the director’s mouth.

“You okay?” You whisper to him.

“Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He reassures you, smiling down at your figure. “I’m a bit thirsty. Water?”

You smile and nod, letting him walk you two over to the water dispenser. He’s still holding firmly onto your hand, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your co stars, Rachel and Josh.

“Geez Blyth, do you always have such a possessive hold on our dear Y/N here?” Rachel jokes, smiling teasingly at you two.

You roll your eyes, looking up at your boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to hear Rachel’s words, instead, focusing on getting the two of you water.

“Do you want some Rachel? Josh?”

“I’m good,” Rachel replies, “and Josh is too. We were gonna head out to this smoothie place for our lunch break.”

“Ah.” With his free hand, Tom pulls you closer to him until you’re practically leaning against him. “Well have fun you two.”

Rachel and Josh say their thanks, but before they leave, Rachel slips by you, whispering “he’s stuck to you like glue, isn’t he?” in your ear.

You try to hold in your smile, butterflies filling your stomach. Despite shooting the scene 15 minutes ago, Tom was still holding onto your hand as if you were his lifeline.

“Hey babe,” you say, which automatically makes all the gears in Tom’s hand focus their attention on you.

“Hm?”

“How come you’re still holding onto my hand?”

He seems to be surprised at your words, glancing down briefly at your intertwined fingers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” He says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” you tease him. “Obsessed with me aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “Just a habit I guess. I felt really bad for yelling at you so much in the scene and grabbing your face. I’d never do that in real life.”

You let out a laugh, making Tom furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aww Tom,” you say, leaning into his chest with your head. “I know you would never do that in real life baby. It’s just acting.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just hate arguing with you, whether it’s acting or not. Coriolanus is a loser for not realizing what he has, you know.”

Now that made you laugh even louder, “yeah, but Tom Blyth is a sweetheart.” You tippy toe to reach his nose, placing a small kiss on the bridge of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[rowanhoney]

Ok I got tix to the passages preview/q&a🥰

[smallpwbbles]

SONIC MOVIE 3 THOUGHTS

There are spoilers here but it’s going under the read more but also don’t read if your avoiding spoilers of course

God the way the movie opened, where Shadows beginning to wake up and he’s seeing memories of Maria already

GOD THEY COULDNT HAVE WRITTEN MARIA AND SHADOW MORE PERFECT

This is my favourite version of Maria by far, she’s got a little more attitude and is so much more funny oh my GOD, every scene of her and Shadow is perfect

ITS THE FACT I MADE A COMIC OF HER DANCING WITH SHADOW ARE YOU KIDDING ME

They’ve changed up Shadows backstory a little, not having him be man-made but instead coming from a meteorite, they’ve also written out Maria’s sickness which I’m not really all for but everything else with Shadows backstory is great

SONIC CRASHING OUT BECAUSE SHADOW HURTS TOM THANK YOU GOD

Sonic locks the fuck IN are you kidding me it would have been the perfect opportunity to make him be dark sonic but I’m sure there’s reasons why they didn’t

Keanu isn’t my favourite shadow but he does a GREAT job for the lines he has

Revenge guac shouldn’t have made me laugh as much as it did

Knuckles and Tails are wonderful here omg this movie they really feel like friends/brothers

Tom and Maddie are PERFECT, the fact they were WAITING for sonic and co to come back with a world disaster to deal with because they were bored

They were not joking about the DBZ levels of fighting in this film oh my god

When live and learn started everyone in the theatre started clapping and screaming (THATS UNCOMMON IN THE UK)

I almost threw up when metal showed up, I screamed until my throat was hoarse when Amy showed up

Stobotnik was perfect in this film omg, that heart felt goodbye to stone was wonderful, if this is Jim’s last film then that’s okay he went out with a BANG (literally)

IF STONE ISNT THE VILLAIN OF THE NEXT FILM WHATS THE POINT

GERLAD ROBOTNIK WHEN I CATCHU WHEN I CATCHU GERALD

[artstennisracket]

Gamer!Patrick

who… you started dating in college. you guys met in your second year finance class after working on a project together. you thought he was cute but a little egotistical, always answering teacher questions without raising his hand. always contributing to class discussions aka saying his opinion louder than everyone else

who… always wears sweatpants or board shorts to class. no in between. always paired with his nike killshot’s, a watch his father bought him, and soft sprays of his expensive tom ford cologne. he clearly doesn’t care what people think of him. he’s also stupidly charismatic. all the business professors love him.

who… always insists on hanging out at your dorm instead of his off campus apartment. you never knew why until one day he finally gave in. his place was nice. expensive. he said his parents paid for the rent. it was a two bedroom apartment that he shared with his best friend Art but he was rarely home. but Patrick’s room was a disaster. dirty clothes everywhere, half eaten cups of ramen, half drunk water bottles, and suspicious socks strewn all over that made your stomach turn at the thought of what they were probably used for.

who… essentially ignores you everytime he’s on the game. his pc would be the only source of light in his room most nights. even if you spent the night, hoping he’d join you to sleep, most times he wouldn’t until an ungodly hour. staying up until 4/5am screaming at his teammates through his headphones, you’re surprised you can even sleep.

who… jerks off to porn videos of his favorite video game characters. he would never tell you, but one day when you’re over at his place, making cereal in the kitchen (because there’s no real food there), Art outs him. he busts out laughing saying “oh you didn’t know? yeah you should ask him about that.” you’re not even sure how Art knows this information.

who… denies the accusation stating that “why the fuck would I do that? that’s fucking gross.” only for you to catch him jerking off at 4am to overwatch porn. t-shirt pulled up, hand shoved down his boxers, abs flexing, eyes locked onto his phone screen. he doesn’t even notice that you woke up until you inch closer to him and spot the visuals on his phone. he drops his t-shirt from where it was between his teeth, “it’s not—whatever. fuck you,” he groans, hand picking up its pace. so you pull his hair (for being a brat), kiss his neck, and whisper dirty things into his ear while keeps watching his phone, making him finish in record time.

who… loves when you sit under his desk to blow him while he’s playing. trying really hard to concentrate and play well but it’s hard. the obscene squelching noises everytime he hits the back of your throat, the drool falling from the sides of your mouth, your other hand toying with his balls at the same time. he has to mute his mic when his friends keep asking him why he’s breathing so hard. he calls you a slut for trying to get his attention this way, “such a fucking slut. only way you know how to get my attention huh? want all my friends to hear me? so they know how much of a whore you are for my cock?”

who… hates loves playing video games with you. he has to teach you a lot, and you keep forgetting which buttons do what. it���s cute at first when you guys are playing co-op games like It Takes Two, but eventually after you try to make an ‘easy’ jump 5 times (dying everytime) he grabs the controller from you and does it for you, “Jesus fuck, it’s not that hard.” playing fortnite is a hit or miss because sometimes it’s fun but eventually it becomes stressful since Patrick is carrying you, making all the kills but also trying to watch your back while you’re doing the Taste dance emote in your Sabrina Carpenter skin.

who… can’t function when he sees your halloween costume. you dressed up as Kitana from mortal kombat (with the help of Art since you wanted to surprise Patrick). back to back frat parties on frat row. you keep getting wolf whistled at as you guys walk from house to house. Patrick keeps at least one point of contact the entire night, he can’t keep his hands to himself. a hand on your waist, around your shoulder, on your thigh, on your ass. and his favorite obviously being when you dance on him. he makes sure neither of you drink too much that night so he can fuck you stupid when you guys get back to his apartment. he already texted Art earlier to fuck off unless he wanted to hear you getting wrecked. it’s sloppy and rough and of course you keep your costume on. he pulls out his phone to record while you guys are in doggy.

who… actually is really sweet. he builds you guys a house in minecraft (with cherry blossom wood as you requested). will always put himself in harm’s way when you guys go mining. so he takes the lead and if there’s a creeper or a zombie he takes care of it. goes on crazy stupid long adventures with you just so you can find an ocelot, “this is fucking stupid, jungles are rare biomes it’s gonna take us forever to find one.”

who… thinks you may actually be the first girl he’s ever fallen in love with. the first girl to see all of him and still accept him for who he is. the first girl who never tried to change him. the first girl to enjoy just sitting in his presence, even if he’s on the game. but he’d never tell you any of that. not unless you said it first anyway.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @hanneh69 @urmomsucksfrogs @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste

want to be tagged when I post? click here!

[hard-core-super-star]

keep it confidential, you make me feel special [W.Maximoff + K.Bishop]

pairing: domme!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x kate bishop

summary: wanda's the infamous editor in chief of a prestigious magazine, you're her executive editor and kate's your newest, annoying, assistant. what could possibly happen when she stumbles into wanda's office at the wrong time and finds out you two are more than co-workers? nothing good.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS GO AWAY! -> established dom/sub dynamics; office sex; power play; fingering; grinding; finger sucking because my hand slipped; praise kink go brr; mommy kink go brr; slight voyeurism [kate is a bit of a perv and a peeping tom]; technically triple [legal] age gap?; someone needs to notify HR lmao; R goes from not wanting kate around to wanting to top her which is valid, i think; no threesome yet tho

wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: HI! i rewatched the devil wears prada a few months ago and this random idea came to mind and i just could NOT stop myself from writing it. and trust me, i tried 😅 i have no idea if anyone will be into this AU but i wanted to explore R in a different role than usual. but because of who i am as a writer, that will come in part two which i hope will be up sometime next week. wanda x kate HAS to be the rarest rareship but oh well, my hand slipped. anyway, please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be added to the taglist. for now, hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

Your steps are hurried as you make your way to Wanda's office, ignoring her assistant and her warning that the older woman is busy. You know damn well she's not busy, considering the not safe for work texts she'd just sent you.

Surprisingly, that's not what has you so hurried, though.

You push open her office door, straightening up as her gaze falls on you. "Do you need something?"

Instead of instantly replying, you shut the door behind you, making sure the windows are fully covered before standing in front of her desk. "Out of all the applicants, you chose the Bishop girl? I said I wanted an assistant, not a pet."

Even though she knows exactly what you're talking about, she still raises her eyebrow just to see you shrink into yourself. "Excuse me?"

You stand your ground as your stubbornness wins out over your fear of disappointing her. "Oh, come on, Wanda, there's no one around."

"That still doesn't mean you can forget your place," she replies, her no-nonsense tone taking a stand.

Instead of asking for forgiveness, you simply roll your eyes and cross the space between you. Wanda's hands land on your waist and she helps you up onto her desk before sliding her chair closer until she's between your spread legs.

"I'm serious, Wands," you try again. "Why her?"

"Because I said so," she responds, clearly teasing you. "And she was the best candidate."

"I seriously doubt that," you scoff. "What were her qualifications? Eating from a silver spoon all her life?"

"Behave. Why are you doubting me so much?"

Even though you're still a little annoyed, you force yourself to swallow said annoyances briefly. The last thing you need is to get into an unnecessary argument and earn yourself the silent treatment until tomorrow.

"It's not about doubting you," you reply with a sigh. "I just don't understand what your plan is."

The smirk on her face should tell you all you need to do, but you're far too distracted by her hands on your thighs to notice. "You don't need to understand, darling. You just need to trust me. I have no doubt the two of you will get along very well."

Her suggestive tone isn't lost on you, and yet you choose to ignore it. Maybe it's because of the trust you implicitly place in her or because her hands begin wandering, and she leans up to kiss you, and every thought in your head disappears.

Your argument is forgotten for the rest of the day (thanks to Wanda's skillful fingers) and you almost forget about Kate's existence.

Except, she shows up at the office, bright-eyed and smiley, two days later.

The mere sight of her makes you want to roll your eyes, but you force yourself to behave for Wanda. As much as you hated the solution, you were in dire need of an assistant and if the Bishop girl was your only option…well, you hated to admit it, but she was better than nothing.

Especially if having her around kept you from getting in trouble with your partner.

Despite your hesitations, the first few days were fine.

Kate was surprisingly good at listening when she wanted to be and her weird charm made her the best candidate for going out to fetch your lunch. Sure, it was a little juvenile to make her your errand girl, but what else was an assistant for? Your duties as editor-in-chief were overwhelming most days, thanks to how much of a perfectionist Wanda is, and an errand girl was exactly what you needed.

You hated it but…it turned out the Bishop girl wasn't the worst person for the job. Even you could admit that.

It certainly helped that she seemed to be quite…enthusiastic around you. You wrote it off as her being excited about finally having a job after being a trust fund baby all her life.

That became harder to do, though, when you saw the way she acted around Wanda.

The blush that stained her cheeks, the constant stammering only to ramble on about something completely unrelated to the topic at hand, the way she fidgeted with her hands when no one was looking. It was far more amusing than it should have been.

You were hardly the right person to judge considering the heart eyes you constantly threw Wanda, even at work. It wasn't like your relationship was forbidden, even if HR probably wouldn't be happy about it, but the two of you still preferred to keep things discreet. Not simply because of the nature of your relationship, even though that was a big part of it.

While your promotion to executive editor had come before getting romantically involved with Wanda, people still talked. She already faced so much adversity, you hardly needed to add fuel to the fire.

Maybe that's what made Kate's reactions so damn endearing. She was you if had allowed your real feelings to slip through the cracks all those months ago.

However, when you brought up your observations to Wanda, her reaction wasn't what you expected.

The two of you were in her office, far past 5 PM, sharing a bottle of wine and pretending like you were actually editing the newest batch of stories sent in by the writers for next month's issue. When the silence started lingering, you brought it up.

"I think Kate's got a crush on you," you say with a grin far too big for the topic at hand.

Wanda meets your eyes over the rim of her glass. "Me? Oh, darling, you're far too intelligent to be so oblivious."

Her words only serve to confuse you and you try to ignore the warmth in your cheeks as your head tilts to the side. "What are you talking about?"

She allows herself a laugh as she sets her glass down and pats her lap in invitation. You waste no time in following her wordless offer, the tension in your shoulders already starting to lessen. Her hands land on your waist and she pulls you in as close as physically possible.

Once you're settled on her lap, she speaks again, her eyes glancing behind you for a second. You assume it's her being overly vigilant as always so you pay no mind to it. "Darling, Kate is embarrassingly head over heels for you."

If her grip on you wasn't so tight, you would have squirmed away out of embarrassment. "What? That can't be true."

All she does is smile, her hands rubbing up and down your sides. You're not sure if she's trying to distract you or not, but your thoughts get scattered all the same. "Trust me, detka, she doesn't care about this place enough to be doing all your biding."

Slowly, the wires in your brain start connecting. The process is slower than normal, though, thanks to the wine in your system and Wanda's hands on your body. "Then why'd you hire her?"

Instead of answering, she simply continues her slow exploration of your body. Even though you know what she's doing, you can't find it in yourself to care. Especially when her hands slip under your shirt. "You keep questioning me and you'll end up over my lap with a sore ass."

It's technically a threat, and yet your hips move against her before you can stop them. Wanda catches you, of course. She's far too attuned to your body and the way it reacts to her words, even when you don't want it to.

Whatever her plan is, it's working perfectly. As usual.

And while you could sit there and take it, you much prefer to be a brat about it. Like always.

"Are you going to actually do something or just keep talking?" You ask, grinding against her firm thigh.

Her eyes shift again, that smug smirk marking her features once more. "But you like it when I talk you through it, don't you?"

Before you can answer, one of her hands moves up and she slides two fingers into your mouth. It's unexpected, but you respond instantly all the same.

Her other hand remains on your waist, guiding you against her thigh. It should be embarrassing you much you want her. How needy you are that even the briefest touch gets you so desperate.

Instead, it feels fucking incredible.

"Don't worry," she murmurs, pushing her fingers in deeper just to take in the face you make. "I've got you."

Her words are meant to be comforting, and in a way they are, but more than anything, they give you the permission you need to let go. To stop thinking so damn much after a day of nonstop work and worrying.

Wanda sees it. She always does. And even though she could tease you about it, a part of her always longs to take care of you. It's hard for her to trust anyone, let alone want them around. It's different with you, though. It's always been different.

She slips her fingers out of your mouth only to slip them down the front of your trousers, a wicked glint in her eye shining as she finds the wetness staining your panties. "Already, darling? Did you miss me that much today?"

"I always do," you reply, walking the line between vulnerability and desire.

"Oh, I know. You just need me that much, huh?"

Despite the question, she gives you no time to actually answer. Instead, she slips her fingers under your panties to tease your clit.

The contact makes you jump, your hips conflicted about whether to move away or closer. Wanda makes the choice for you, though, squeezing your waist while her fingers slip inside your cunt.

You clench around the intrusion, head falling back as the pleasure moves up your spine. The sight of bared skin only makes the older woman move closer, her lips latching onto your neck. She knows better than to actually leave behind any hickies, despite how badly you both want her to.

She doesn't give you any time to think about that, though, because all your focus is given to her fingers pistoning in and out of you. Her pace is just fast enough to keep you gasping for air in between moans yet slow enough to feel her knuckles grazing against your walls.

"Wanda-" You gasp, your hands blindly griping her flexing biceps as she works you up effortlessly. Well, almost effortlessly, if the way her muscles move beneath your hands is anything to go by.

"Nice try, sweetheart," she mutters as she grazes her teeth against your pulse point. "Just because we're still at work doesn't mean you can forget your manners."

You whine despite yourself. "Please, mommy."

"Much better."

Your reward, besides the sweet praise, is her thumb toying with your aching clit. Your hips buck against her hand as you chase after the release slowly building. It's almost unfair how quickly she gets you to this point.

Then again, it's a much better alternative than when she gets into a sadistic mood and edges you over and over again only to ruin your orgasm and leave you spent and shaking on her expensive sheets.

Today, it seems she's in a much nicer mood because she keeps her fingers moving. "Do you want to cum, baby?"

You nod instantly, the condescending tone in her voice making your brain melt. "Yes, mommy! Please."

She trails a few kisses down your throat while her thumb toys mercilessly with your clit. It's almost like she's waiting until your whole body starts trembling to give you the command you crave.

"Alright, sweet girl, let go for me."

That's all your body needed to hear.

Your orgasms crashes into you all at once, pulling you down until all that's left is the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through your core. You can feel Wanda smiling against your skin as she slows down her movements, not stopping until she's sure she's wrung out every drop of your release.

You shift away from her when the feeling of her touch grows to be too much and she relents with a quick kiss to your jaw. "Good girl. You did so well for me, sweetheart."

All you can do is hum, your body already slumping against her. She chuckles at the action as her fingers find their way back into your mouth.

You're halfway to a much needed nap when Wanda shocks you awake with one simple sentence.

"If you're going to keep staring, you might as well come in, Kate."

Her free hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you against her even though all you want to do is run away. You've never let anyone except Wanda see you like this and you're not exactly thrilled about changing that right now. But, her embrace is still warm and if she takes care of the brunette's bad timing on her own, maybe it'll be fine. At least she takes her fingers out of your mouth to save you the embarrasment.

"I'm so sorry, I realized I forgot to drop off some paperwork and I assumed no one was here and then I saw you guys and-"

"And you decided to stop and watch instead of leaving." You don't have to be looking at her to know the smirk the older woman is wearing. "I didn't realize you were such a slut, Kate."

Wanda's voice lacks the harshness you had been expecting, but a brief glance toward the younger woman tells you she doesn't realize that. It's…cute, in a way. She looks like the most flustered deer in headlights you've ever seen and it weirdly works for her.

Kate opens her mouth a few times, trying to form words but failing miserably. The sight makes you giggle which makes Wanda glance down at you.

None of you seem quite sure of where to go, you just know Wanda's not mad and you're coming around to Kate's presence. Especially if being flustered means she's not talking all the time.

"Kate, if all you wanted was to be topped by Wanda, you didn't have to get a job here," you pipe up.

Your words seem to stun the room into silence and you shift enough to be able to watch the brunette's face turn an even deeper shade of pink. "I didn't- that's not-"

"It's not?" Wanda's eyebrow raise is almost inbedded in her tone. "You're not a good enough liar to try right now."

For a second, it looks like Kate is ready to run away from the conversation. But after a beat of silence, she rolls her shoulders back and straightens up, her chin held a little higher. "That's not why I applied to work here…and it's none of your business who I want to be topped by."

"It's both of us, isn't it?"

Wanda's question makes the brunette's confidence fall flat. "I...well, yes."

Despite the blush on her cheeks, her words are loud and clear. And they make you freeze long enough to realize Wanda was right.

Which just complicates things even more.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

Wanda comes up with the answer for that question before you can even blink. And before you know it, she's inviting the brunette to her place, a seductive promise of "working things out" is the only hint either of you get about what she has up her sleeve.

You ask her about it at least ten times after Kate leaves and the two of you start packing up to go home. She doesn't answer, of course, and you force yourself to behave and be patient even though the mere thought of the brunette being allowed into your private world makes your heart pound in your chest…and your cunt clench around nothing.

Maybe the Bishop girl isn't so bad after all.

[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[cece693]

Okay okay so silly idea okay so male reader x Hannibal and they are basically the same right and they been married for 20 years but recently the reader started to be less elegant and more reckless he made a man cave in their nice furnished house started to eat hot cheetos even leaving crumbs in their bed. And the worst part is he got a ps5 at his big age (the reader and Hannibal around same age )

Write about how Hannibal would react seeing the most elegant smartest man he knows turn into a man child please 🙏

Okay, so this might seem like an AU because (let's be real) Hannibal would rather kill you than allow you to become something akin to those 'pigs' he detests. So, the only logical reason for your change in attitude has to be a midlife crisis. So, I hope you enjoy this small, yet fluffy fic.

Midlife Crisis

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: established relationship, just you having a midlife crisis, hannibal being considerate and accommodating, fluff

You have always matched Hannibal—measure for measure, refinement for refinement. For twenty years, the two of you have been twin blades honed on one another: matching Tom Ford suits in the cloakroom, antique opera glasses resting side by side, twin signatures in the guestbook at La Fenice.

Then, six weeks ago, the first crack: a neon beer sign arrived, incongruously aglow in the cellar that once housed your burgundy collection. Man Cave, it proclaimed in lurid cobalt. Hannibal descended the stairs with a bottle of Château d’Yquem and stopped, transfixed, as if he were observing graffiti on a Botticelli.

It has only grown worse.

He wakes before dawn—habitual—stretching an arm across 1,200‑thread‑count Egyptian cotton only to encounter volcanic orange grit. He lifts his hand to the dim light and watches powdered spice cling to the whorls of his fingerprints like evidence at a crime scene. You snore gently beside him, slack‑jawed, an open bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos wilting on the duvet like a wounded animal.

Hannibal’s nostrils flare. He rises without sound, carries the bag to the ensuite sink, and pours the remaining curls down the disposal. Their hiss as they vanish feels symbolic, a small exorcism.

He discovers the PS5 two evenings later, set up in what was once the music room. Your Bösendorfer grand now shoulders aside an ultrawide monitor; game cases litter the piano bench where Rachmaninoff once thundered beneath your hands.

You lounge in an oversized gaming chair—headset crooked, controller flashing—guiding a garishly armored soldier through digital carnage. Hannibal stands in the doorway, immaculate in charcoal silk, listening to the rapid‑fire clicks.

“Darling,” he says, voice smooth as port. “You are wearing...sweatpants.”

You pause the game, swivel toward him with a grin too boyish for the lines at your eyes. “Comfy, aren’t they? Grab a controller; Co‑Op mode just dropped.”

For an instant, Hannibal imagines flinging the console out the window, discarding it like so many bones. Instead he exhales through his nose, steps forward, and lays a hand atop the piano. It is dusty. He feels the dust as betrayal.

“Do you recall,” Hannibal asks softly, “how you played the Adagio of the ‘Hammerklavier’ the night I confessed my feelings?”

Your smile falters. “Of course I do, Hanni.”

“It seems your soldier has taken Beethoven’s place.” You stare, caught between amusement and guilt, and Hannibal sees it clearly: beneath the reckless veneer is a man grappling with an itch of mortality—the sudden terror that excellence might calcify into stagnation.

The following Sunday, Hannibal prepares dinner alone. You are busy “raiding,” whatever that is, and decline his invitation with distracted half‑sentences shouted through a microphone. He braises venison in red wine for hours, layering juniper, bitter chocolate, and a whisper of long pepper. The kitchen fills with fragrant steam, but the seat across from him stays empty, controller clicks echoing from the hall.

Hannibal eats in silence, knife and fork precise, imagining you inhaling takeout straight from the carton. When he clears the dishes, he feels a flicker of something rare and dangerous: resentment. It is midnight when Hannibal finally strides into the man cave. Screens glow like infernal portals; half‑drunk sodas sweat on polished mahogany. You are mid‑match, eyes wild with focus.

Hannibal reaches out and, with clinical calm, unplugs the console.

“Hannibal!” You yank off the headset. “We were about to beat the boss!”

“Then the boss must wait.” He sets the power cord neatly on the desk. “We need to speak.”

You cross your arms, posture defensive. “If this is about the crumbs—”

“It is about everything.” Hannibal's voice does not rise; it descends, dropping like a scalpel into tissue. “You have traded discipline for indulgence, clarity for noise. It is as though I woke beside someone wearing your skin.”

A flash of hurt crosses your face, sharpened by anger. “So I’m not allowed hobbies that aren’t Michelin‑starred?”

“It isn’t the hobbies. It is the abandon with which you pursue them. You used to savor life; now you devour it like junk food—quick, thoughtless, forgettable. And you leave crumbs.”

You open your mouth—then shut it. Silence stretches. Finally, you sink back in the chair, rubbing your brow. “I feel old,” you admit. “Stripped of novelty. Everyone expects perfection from us—every dinner flawless, every gesture curated. I wanted something…simple. Something where excellence didn’t matter.”

Hannibal kneels—not supplicant, but equal—resting elegant hands on your thighs. “Perfection never mattered to me, Y/N. Only authenticity. If you crave new experiences, we shall find them—together. But do not cast aside the artistry that defines you. It is the marrow of our bond.”

You swallow, eyes shining. “Even the Cheetos?”

He allows the faintest smile. “There are superior ways to explore capsaicin.”

A week later, the man cave remains, but the neon sign is gone. The PS5 is relocated to a custom cabinet of dark walnut, its cables sheathed in crimson silk. On Friday nights you invite Hannibal to play; he accepts, fingers surprisingly deft on the controller. Between matches he teaches you to compose a snack of tempura‑fried shishito peppers dusted with smoked paprika—crunchy, fiery, but stain‑free.

The Bösendorfer is tuned. After gaming, you close the cabinet and settle at the keys while Hannibal drapes across the chaise, eyes closed, sipping Sauternes. Beethoven returns to the house—now accompanied by distant victory fanfares echoing from memory rather than speaker.

In bed, you still slip sometimes, sneaking a contraband chip beneath the sheets. Hannibal catches your wrist, brings the guilty fingertip to his lips, and licks away the spice with deliberate slowness.

“Reckless,” he murmurs against your skin, “yet salvageable.”

And you laugh—because in twenty years you have learned that nothing delights him more than transforming chaos into cuisine, disorder into art. Even, it seems, a midlife crisis can be plated elegantly.

[cook-a-little-chicken]

Sorry About My Nan

That was an intense longform. And I have some thoughts:

Firstly, umm... can they not carry chairs normally? Both of them dragging it slowly like that made me laugh. Anyway-

The entire thing was amazing but especially those first few scenes. Such good acting from the get-go! Was this the longest it took for them to establish a storyline in a longform? It felt very "this is the last time I'm doing this" 😂

Luke breaking Sam and AJ with his truly realistic characterisation and "I just feel shattered, you know?" was brilliant

By my count, this is the third time AJ tells Sam to be quiet: "sorry when I fish, I like silence", "silence when hoop", "I just need like- just a bit of- quiet"

"You've got so many teeth." What is it with Tom and teeth? ("hey, I've got everything you've got, but I've also got several more teeth")

Aww Tom trying so hard not to laugh at Luke's "Have you given her adrenaline?"

Sam and AJ simultaneously pointing and saying "that/this way" to the bathroom somehow makes me laugh. Cos they're stressed out and there's this farmhand joyfully looking for his sheep. And Luke making himself laugh at his own sheep vs farmhand interaction is cute

Aahh Tom's facial expressions throughout were incredible!

"Not one seat each." I see Tom's enjoying inconveniencing the others

Not the subtitles calling Sam out on the "numchucks" 😂

Luke was lying face first on the floor for almost 6 minutes. I was initially wondering how Luke didn't break as a corpse, but you can see his body moving as he silently (and sometimes audibly) laughs. It's really cute and he laughs a lot throughout it's kinda funny

Tom was so good as the German stage person (Emcee?) with the incredible physical performance and expressions! Him and Krampus were so similar but so different, I'm in awe

The almost perfect symmetry of Sam and AJ laughing at Tom's "meine little liebchen" 😂

Sam shouting "numchucks numchucks numchucks" as he hits AJ with them is the funniest thing ever. Worse, I'd say, than the "bang bang bang" he called Luke out on in All Eyes on Nigel

AJ's delivery of "I recently found out that my nana is like a cult leader for people in Germany. And that, umm, is so weird" is absolutely stellar. And Luke's movements and smiles as Julie/Lucy were so subtly eerie from the beginning it was wonderful

They managed to stop the "stag"s perfectly, what great intuition!

Tom's "eh!" and shirt throw 😂 I was surprised he had a shirt on at the end

I can't explain it, and it was probably unintentional, but the wedding scene felt like it was still part of the fake scenario tests. Like stepping out almost from behind a curtain to "out there" together, hand-in-hand, and then immediately reaching the altar instead of the bride having the traditional long walk? Then Sam's speech about the mic amplifying which almost sounds like something you'd imagine in a dream or in your head, followed immediately by "I do" when they weren't even asked the question?

They're going to Bergheim straight after, meaning Ethel's successfully indoctrinated them both into her cult. And AJ's best friend isn't there. Was that cos Sam kept questioning Ethel and her methods? Was he banished from the cult? What's happened to him? If it was a normal wedding, you'd expect him to be there. Especially cos they keep reiterating that they're "best friend"s

I'm sure it's supposed to be a happy story but it feels more horror/psychological thriller to me, where the characters think they've reached their happy ending but in reality they're trapped now

[zablife]

Hello darling! For your requests I found this prompt, would you give it a try? 🔥 😇

"Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes." - For Tommy

Thanks for the lovely inspo, Mar! I do love this GIF 😍

Tommy x female reader

Undress Me

"You can't be serious," you scoffed with an indignant toss of your head.

Tommy only stared into his glass, finishing off the last of his whiskey as he waited for the footsteps in the hall to fade into the distance.

"We discussed this," he mumbled, dispassionately rising to refill his glass.

"You never mentioned Finn," you reminded him.

As he passed before you, you grabbed onto his shirt sleeve. "I can't marry him," you insisted.

Tommy turned slowly, eyes falling to where your fingers dug into his forearm with disappointment. "Why not?" he asked in genuine confusion.

Because you wanted to marry me once, you thought before turning your bitterness to insults. "He's a fucking child you can't trust with a simple task!"

He rolled his eyes before producing a check from his pocket. Only then did he meet your insistent gaze. "Not even for this?" he asked, the steep arch of his brow demanding an answer. "Said you wanted security and a good life for your family, didn't ya?"

With the haunting memory of your original plea for help echoing in your ears, you eyed the check warily. "If he's the brother you've chosen for me, I want more," you replied, chin held high with what little pride you had left.

"Overplay your hand and see where it gets you," he warned with a sharp tug of his arm.

You staggered forward, feeling the acute loss of him. When had this all turned sour? you wondered.

He turned his back to you as he reached for the crystal decanter and you filled your lungs with a courageous breath. You'd need strength to keep going, but you were accustomed to it. Unlacing the front of your gown in anticipation, you waited for him to face you.

He did a poor job of concealing the hunger in his eyes, especially when his pupils dilated in such a way. "Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes," you beckoned in your sweetest voice.

Raising an accusing finger toward you he warned, "I know what this is."

"What?" you shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

"You're young and full of promise, don't waste it on me, love," he said with sadness tingeing his voice.

"So that's why you chose Finn for me?" you asked, wanting to understand his reasoning.

Tommy nodded slowly. "Has his whole life before him. Mine faded long ago."

"That's not true," you swore to him, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "Come back to me, Tom," you gently urged, fingers tracing his rugged jawline.

He closed his eyes to your touch and you knew he could still be yours. Leaning in to swipe your full lips against his, you begged him to take you then and there. And he did, giving into his desire fully the moment his self control snapped.

You'd never felt so possessed by him, hands gripping you tightly to him as though you were his last breath. His mouth sucking a bruise into the delicate flesh of your neck to mark you for all to see. There was a blind devotion to his actions that didn't make you feel guilty for tugging him closer when he came inside you.

If you'd timed it correctly, you'd be with child before the cursed wedding day. Tommy wouldn't dare deny you then, taking you for his bride instead. You sighed contentedly at the prospect as his heart hammered against yours.

--------------

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[thenightling]

The Truth about Lockwood & Co.'s Cancelation and The Dead Boy Detectives!

The Truth about Lockwood & Co.'s cancelation and The Dead Boy Detectives! Well, now that I have your attention, the truth is... And brace yourselves. It's a doozy. They're not related. They just coincidentally deal with teens solving supernatural themed mysteries. This isn't the first time Netflix has had such a show. In 2021 The Irregulars was a Sherlock Holmes story about the street urchins who often helped him solve crimes, with a supernatural twist.

Lockwood & Co. was NOT canceled to make room for The Dead Boy Detectives. The Dead Boy Detectives had been in development since September 2021 when the characters (played by two different actors) appeared in Doom Patrol. The show was originally going to be on HBO Max but after a big shake up at HBO Max (now Max) The Dead Boy Detectives was moved to Netflix to better connect it with The Sandman since they started as characters in The Sandman comics. Yes, the shows are both about supernatural themed mysteries (particularly ghosts) and teens but The Dead Boy Detectives are... well, dead. And it's a spin-off of The Sandman. The Dead Boy Detectives are NOT why Lockwood & Company was canceled. The show was in production before Lockwood was even canceled. Boycotting The Dead Boy Detectives will NOT bring back Lockwood. This is deja vu of when Lucifer finally, properly, ended at season 6 with a grand finale. There were some fans convinced that Lucifer was canceled (a second time) to make room for The Sandman since Lucifer started as a character in The Sandman and in The Sandman Lucifer was to be played by Gwendoline Christie instead of Tom Ellis. Some Lucifer fans boycotted The Sandman out of spite or believed that if they could get The Sandman canceled it would somehow bring back Lucifer. Thankfully nothing ever came of this misguided behavior and the behavior from some Lockwood fans is equally misguided. The Sandman did not cause Lucifer to get canceled. And The Dead Boy Detectives did not cause Lockwood & Co. from getting canceled. The plot similarities are coincidence. The Dead Boy Detectives first appeared in The Sandman in 1991. No one at Netflix said "These shows are too similar, let's axe one to install the other." Do you have any idea how many similar shows are on Fox or on the CW? "Too similar to a show we would rather do" is not a common reason for a show being canceled.

[minalikestoread]

My favorite part of the Lockwood and Co. series has to be Lucy and Lockwood’s second fight. The dialogue and the cinematography is the some of the best i’ve ever seen.

The scene where Lockwood is approaching Jessica’s door while we hear Marissa’s voiceover :-

“Denial is a very human reaction when faced with new ideas. Especially such frightening ones.”

Just the parallelism. Marissa being 100% sure that type threes exist and lucy being a 100% that she can hear type threes.

It’s implied that people called Marissa a liar when she mentioned the type three, and Lockwood didn’t believe Lucy at first when she told him.

Not because he honestly doesn’t believe her but because he’s scared of what that would mean about Jessica😭.

Also before that when they were arguing:

“You’re not Marissa Fittes”

“Why? Afraid of being Tom Rotwell? My second best”

(Book Lucy would never go that far😂)

Like it’s such an obvious set up to future seasons where we’d get more Fittes-Lucy and Rotwell-Lockwood parallels.

It makes me so sad because the first season was an amazing building block for the rest of the show and we might have gotten so many more heart wrenching and dynamic scenes like this, but instead Netflex screwed crap up. Again.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok & Seven co-parenting the borg children should've been real and canon like it is in my heart. It makes sense that Seven suggests Neelix as a good possible caregiver but with how ready Tuvok was to take responsibility for Tressa in 'Innocence' it seems to me like such a wasted opportunity that he doesn't really seem involved at all with the Borg children. With my ha-ha glasses on, there's comedic potential in their dynamic and I think certain people on the ship would hint that it might be the catalyst for a romance but there is 0 romance between them. They're both such proud, I'm-better-than-you type people and I know they'd have strong opinions on how to raise the Borg children that sometimes conflict. 'My Ex-Borg Drone is an Honor Student' type PTA parents. The potential for Tuvok being the (comparatively) more easygoing one is also quite funny. Also, with my sincerity goggles on, I can easily imagine Seven becoming overwhelmed with the sudden responsibility of caring for four children. I understand that everyone on Voyager sort of cares for all the children but Seven is placed as their primary guardian/mother-figure which is a lot to put on someone who's only been fully sentient for a few years herself. Just learned how to eat solid foods semi-recently and now she's a single mom? I think there could be an episode where Seven is clearly struggling with managing four children, her own work duties, her desire to be alone/pursue her own interests, and everyone's expectations for her (womanhood, humanity etc). No one's behind malicious but it's a lot of critiques coming from all sides. Then one evening she's working in astrometrics before someone...B'Elanna? Comes in for some work thing and is like "So, how did the bedtime story go?" because the kids were excited for Seven to read them to sleep and Seven's like I Have To Go Right Now so she rushes to the cargo bay expecting to see a lot of disappointed faces but instead Tuvok's in there, reading aloud. Tuvok gestures for her to stay quiet and finishes the last line. Mezoti, the last clinger-on, finally lets herself regenerate. Seven and Tuvok talk in his quarters about how difficult Seven's been finding the task of essentially raising four kids because I think she'd put a lot pressure on herself because of her personality + Janeway's expectations since she was the one who said Seven should be their guardian. I also think she'd be bewildered by not being able to do this 'task' efficiently. Tuvok talks about how he also found the experience of being a father difficult and bewildering, and he only had one child at the start. He encourages Seven to rely even more on others, that it won't make anyone think less of her for "not being able to handle it" and gives examples from his own life. He makes a point to tell her about how Janeway also helped from time to time - covering his shift or picking up one of his kids etc, to show Seven that he doesn't believe Janeway wants her to try to do everything alone. Seven thinks about this for the night. The next day, in the mess hall, she suggests in front of everyone "We should raise the children together. As a unit." Tuvok's confused. Seven says she noticed a lot of responsibility was shared between Tuvok and his wife. A parental unit. It also leaves the children with another primary caregiver in case one of them dies. ("Dies?" Mezoti asks so Tuvok pulls Seven away). Tuvok tries to explain that he meant more 'it takes a village' (in his Vulcan way) but Seven is like "You like the children. You've raised children. You are reliable. You are more knowledgeable in certain aspects of this general process while I possess superior knowledge of their unique ex-Borg needs. You told me to rely on others. The children can't stop talking about story time. Are you in?" and Tuvok, somewhat dazed, agrees. Seven says Good. Then she leaves. Tom claps Tuvok on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Dad!"