Yes, I am the worst. I am so sorry this took so long I was in a complete mental block and if I'm honest I massively over compensated with the dramatics because of it.
Quick trigger warning for slight domestic violence, also a lot of hitting. They got really violent in this one, it's not my fault I swear.
Also this chapter was designed to make you hate Harry, nothing is good about him in this and I hated writing his bits because I do not agree with his flawed logic at all, he sucks and he is slightly deranged he is not designed to be a normal character in case you think the way he processes things sounds a bit extreme.
Anyway my apologises once again, hopefully the uploads should be more regular from now on and on with the chapter! :)
"Stupid stupid stupid!" John paced back and forth in the corridor his hands gripping his hair. If time travel were real, he would have redone that moment in a million different ways.
Why didn't he say something? Why did he leave? Why didn't he kiss her? Why does he want to kiss her?
A million questions flooded his mind at once as he internally berated himself for fleeing, quite possibly, the greatest moment of his life so far. She had been so close, the warmth of her breath still clung to his skin and if he closed his eyes, he could still trace every curve of her face, but he'd been stupid. So stupid.
"Bloody stupid!" He ended with a kick to the wall which definitely didn't hurt his foot a whole lot. Ok it absolutely hurt but his own temporary insanity hurt a lot more.
"Tut tut tut," Harry slunk around the corner, settling his side against the wall. "We wouldn't want to cause any damage to the dear old place, now would we?"
"Piss off Harry I'm not in the mood." John nearly growled. It was like the man had a signal, a special homing beacon that said, 'John is upset: bother now'.
"Ah yes things didn't go too well with the girlfriend then? Or is she more of a pet to you?" A grin spread across his cousin's face as John's hands gripped into fists.
"Don't talk about her like that."
"Aww did I hit a nerve? I'm only being honest, anyway it's not like she really matters to you at all does she?" He was enjoying this far too much. Harold Saxon tended to get a sheer sense of pleasure out of other people's pain. John suspected that's why he treated Lucy so badly, not because of any dislike to her but more out of pure, twisted enjoyment.
"I said don't talk about her like that." John rounded grabbing Harry by the collar, his fist raised ready to swing until he heard a light cough.
"Excuse me John but I think Harry and I best be going to bed, right Harry?" Lucy stood in a silk red night dress; her pale skin almost ethereal in the moonlight streaming through the windows. Harry smirked slightly and attempted to raise his shoulders in a way that said, 'what can you do?'.
John released him and he slid down the wall like a reptile, moving to his wife who he gripped tightly by the waist.
"Sweet dreams John." He called out as they turned the corner and John was left alone once more.
—
Sonic wasn't waiting by his door when he eventually returned to his room and he resigned himself to a night on his own.
He flopped on to the bed, for once not bothering to manoeuvre the blueprints and plans, and simply groaned.
He dreaded to think of what Clara thought of him now. Not only had he roped her into a scam against the paparazzi and had her verbally abused by the aforementioned paparazzi, he had now taken her to a special, romantic spot and failed to be special or romantic.
God, he hated himself sometimes. He groaned once more.
If he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure why he had brought her there in the first place. He assumed he liked her in some way (he absolutely did but sometimes acceptance is key.) but he knew she didn't like him. What was it she had said? "playing the part" John wondered if she knew what a knife to the heart that was.
Despite his uncertainty he wanted her there. He wanted her to see the wonderfulness that is the turret and he wanted to confirm how wonderful she would look next to it.
If he were truly honest, he would say the turret paled in comparison when Clara Oswald was in the room.
He tried to force his mind to shut down and let him sleep yet here he was tossing and turning and praying for the personal torment to stop. He felt his eyes droop every so often and like a jolt he would sit up and realise the massive mistake he made- as per usual.
Eventually, he had enough. He knew where he had to go. He sprinted through the corridors toward her room barely attempting to keep quiet.
The carpet in the halls made him feel like he was sinking, deeper and deeper down to his shins as if he was wading against great tides to get to her. The air was thick around him as if the heating had been left on too high and he almost choked on it in his desperation.
He eventually reached her door; it was large and imposing and threatening and he certainly didn't care as he began banging on it to be let it.
She opened it wide and smiled at him, that amazing smile that made you feel like it was created for you and only you. Her neck was bare, and her nightgown was white and flowing as if she were a girl in a regency movie waiting at a clifftop for him to run away with her.
"Clara, in the turret-" he trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He hoped somehow, she just knew and could complete it for him. Of course, it was Clara, she always knows.
"I know. I love you too." She smiled up at him and the next thing he knew he was kissing her. He pushed past the door and into her room, a bright light surrounding them as they moved. Her lips were soft, and her hair smelt of coconut and she was warm in his hands. he thought he must be dreaming; this couldn't be real-
He was actually dreaming.
He sat up in bed dazed and confused as he wondered when he had managed to sleep before he'd realised what exactly it was, he had dreamt. Lingering images of Clara, almost mythic in his imagination, flowing white gowns and moonlit skin filled his mind and he attempted to cling to them in some sort of preservation of what he could never be brave enough to do.
When the dream ebbed away into nothingness like a disappearing fog, he allowed himself to mull over what it truly meant. Of course, he knew what it meant, he wasn't blind, Clara was pretty and funny and challenged him in a way he liked, and he loved challenging her, pushing her to her limit and knowing she'd come back for more. Yet what it actually meant was far more concerning.
John didn't find marriage appealing necessarily, after Rose it always seemed like something tainted. Then his mother died, and it felt even worse the prospect of saying 'I do' without her there. But the thing was if he did fall for Clara, like he slowly accepted he was, his father would expect nothing less than marriage especially after last time. Could he do it?
If he allowed himself, he almost enjoyed the prospect of marrying Clara, the dress she'd wear, the places they'd go, children-
But she didn't like him. He couldn't get married. He didn't want to do anything that pleased his father.
Three strong reasons why he should never tell her how he feels and suppress it until it goes away.
Healthy coping mechanisms John, he thought, sarcasm dripped in his own mind.
He turned toward the lamp, snapping it on and filling the room with a golden glow that repelled sleep and further dreams of Clara.
—
The next morning everything appeared normal. They ate breakfast and were polite, Harry was a rodent and Amy hated the sun.
All so blissfully normal.
But it wasn't.
John knew it, he could feel it, the energy radiating between them of a missed opportunity that he should have taken. He internally kicked himself between every bite of toast and changed his mind with every sip of tea.
It would complicate things; she didn't like him, and his father would approve. A new mantra that kept feelings at bay: if only it bloody worked.
Clara looked so wonderful, she always did, but something about the morning sun turning her hair golden and almost like honey made John grip his spoon a little tighter and his heart ache a little more.
"Harry, John, we've got business to attend to in my study," his father dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, "the rest of you may amuse yourselves." He waved his hand in a gesture that suggested he was bestowing a benevolent gift on children, not fully-grown adults with autonomy.
Well, John supposed, he never believed in freedom for anyone before, why start now?
He shrugged his shoulders at Amy and Rory apologetically and caught Clara's eye across the table.
He instantly wished he hadn't. They were wide and honest and more emotional than John had ever allowed himself to be. They felt accusing and hot and burning and he couldn't look away no matter how desperately he tried. He wanted to shout how he felt, take her in his arms and love her forever. He wanted to run far far away from Clara Oswald and everything her eyes promised.
John cleared his throat and stood, moving to follow his father almost robotically because Lord knows that man didn't have feelings and maybe John could be more like him than he knew, maybe he is more like him. Maybe it would be better.
He trailed out of the dining room and along to the study, arguably the worst room in the house, and tried not to picture his future here.
He'd have to have kids, it was sort of mandatory for the legacy, sure he wanted them, but could he really bring himself to raise them in the same way he was?
He'd have to marry someone of the right 'pedigree'- god he hated that term- and he wondered if he would be trapped in a loveless marriage with someone who couldn't come up with a singular response to his jokes or conversations or-
Clara was the right sort. The kind his father liked. If he had to choose anyone, he supposed it would be her. He knew it would be her. The crushing weight of her not being interested returned swiftly.
When he flopped down into the padded armchair by the window, he tried to shake the horrifying realisation of his structured future from his head to focus on whatever it was his father wanted to discuss.
"We need to discuss the future." Swell. Did he happen to be a prophet now?
"Ah yes Sir, I've got plenty of ideas that we could-" Harry instantly launched into a spiel like he'd been waiting his whole life to give it. He probably has, John thought with only a hint of malice.
"Yes, yes that's all well and good Harold, however, it seems that you are the greater issue here John." He lit up a cigar and John wondered if the man was looking for an early grave.
"Pray tell, what have I done this time?" John replied lazily.
"It's more what you haven't done- sit up straight." John did as he was told. "You are inheriting the company, the house everything." As if John didn't know this. "You need to take a more serious interest."
"My ideas are furthering your company!"
"Our company!" Smith Sr cried. "We don't need your ideas we need your leadership; I need you to start thinking!"
"About what!"
"Taking over, doing more, establishing the future, dare I say marriage!" John's eyes widened as he got the sense of what was coming next.
"You're going to set me up." He accused.
"No, no, not if I don't have to, but look at Harold, he's married, dedicated to the company and most likely will be having children soon," Harry positively glowed with sickening pride. "And the lad isn't even inheriting like you are!" That popped his bubble.
"Sir, if I might, if John doesn't want the responsibility perhaps, I could inherit, I would hate to take away from someone willing and I know it's a burden but if John simply doesn't want it…"
"No. John inherits. That's how this works." Smith Sr said firmly.
Harry shrank back at the words. John would almost feel sorry for him if his intentions were in anyway pure.
His father gave them both a pointed look before moving onto matters that concerned the company as if this was some way to spurn John into caring or becoming the son he wanted.
Clara was alone for the first time in a long while.
Amy and Rory had gone to London for the day with Mickey and although she had been invited, she knew they probably needed some time alone. At least that was the excuse she gave; she could hardly say she was waiting for John.
She didn't even know if she should be waiting for him, after all, he was the one who had ran out of the turret the moment things turned even slightly romantic. She sat up for hours in her bed, with Sonic as a very special guest, desperately thinking over every possible scenario; landing on the conclusion that he simply didn't like her, at least not in the way she liked him.
She found herself in the library once more, the safe haven of the house. The fire was lit against the chilling January air and she found herself for once at peace in this explicably odd house. Though she knew the reason the house was so strange was because of the people inside of it.
She settled down to read to the sound of a ticking clock and the rain on the windowpanes, as time slipped past for the first time in god knows how long. She was absorbed in a world of wonder about a time travelling alien and his assistant he very clearly loved, and Clara tried desperately hard not to draw parallels between the alien who couldn't admit feelings and the man who called himself the Doctor.
A light cough came from behind her and she nearly dropped the book in fright.
"Oh Lucy, it's only you, I didn't hear you come in." Clara painted on a smile, feeling ever so awkward around the woman who claimed to love Harold Saxon.
"That's alright." She lowered herself into the chair across from Clara, her knees pressed tightly together at an angle that screamed poise. Clara suddenly felt extremely self-conscious curled up in her fuzzy socks. "You seem quite at home here." Lucy noted in an almost questioning manner.
Clara's eyes raked over the Jackie O style suit and the perfectly styled updo that made her look like a corporate wife rather than a visiting guest. Clara supposed she was a corporate wife; she just didn't realise it was a permanent position.
"Oh no not really, I'm only here for a month, which I suppose is coming to a close soon," Clara couldn't help but sound more eloquent around this woman, her whole stature seemed to demand it.
"Well that is quite a shame, it seems like John quite likes having you around…" Clara got the impression under the almost whispery voice that Lucy was fishing for information and she wasn't quite sure the intent was good.
"Yes, well we are friends, new friends, I'll miss him when I leave." She snapped the book back open hoping to convey the message that the conversation was over.
"Hmm indeed. Enjoy your reading Clara." She rose again, leaving the room as if it were beneath her in the same way she spoke the word 'reading'. Clara shuffled back into the chair wondering what it was Lucy was looking for and why exactly it set her nerves on edge.
After Harry had been released from the meeting, wherein he was told in no uncertain terms he would never be John, he'd gone searching.
Searching for what he didn't know, something, just anything that could make John feel as worthless as he did. The bastard was still in there now being handed a fortune 500 company on a silver platter and he had the audacity to turn his nose up at it. Meanwhile Harry was ready and waiting and would do anything for the company.
He'd told Lucy to wait in their room and that he'd be up later, but he really had no intention of seeing her. Sometimes, when she wasn't serving a purpose, it was best to have her out of the way.
Initially, marrying her had been genius. She was of the right breeding, she was stunning, and she'd been out with John, everything Harry looked for and yet, the nagging hole in his chest wouldn't go away. He wondered sometimes if it ever would.
He loosened the tie around his neck as he paced the corridors, willing inspiration to strike, when suddenly: it did.
Sat by the crackling fire was Clara, or more specifically, Clara without John.
Harry thought she was attractive, sure, he'd had a few unsavoury thoughts about what he'd do to her just to spite his baby cousin. She was a bit too smart mouthed for him, but he didn't exactly need her for the long term, just long enough to piss off John, to put the nail in the coffin.
He had his suspicions about why she was here, although his uncle would never confide in him his reasonings for anything, but if Harry could get in there before John, he knew John would never marry her in a thousand years.
"Hello Clara, how are you?" he plastered a fake smile across his face as he slithered into the room, the second Saxon to bother Clara that day.
"I'm fine, thank you." Clara replied stiffly. She was clearly in no mood for conversation but what she wanted didn't really come into Harry's mind at all.
"Can we be honest with each other, Clara?" He allowed her name to roll around his mouth as he said it, like a fine wine he was tasting. He didn't miss her shudder.
"If you'd like."
"I'd like to take you to dinner Clara; would that be ok?"
"Um, I think-" Her eyes widened before he cut her off.
"Don't worry, Lucy knows, it's all above board." He lies like second nature now. "I'll meet you in the hall at seven, wear something nice." With that he took off down the hall again whistling a tune as he went, floating on success.
"Ah Clara you look wonderful!" He declared as she descended the stairs, her knuckles white on the bannister. He had to keep everything calm and neutral until they were at the restaurant. When they get there, he's more than welcome to comment on her tight dress or the way it made her figure look if he so chooses.
He'd told Lucy it was a meal with a client for the company and that she should eat in her room tonight as she'd be the only one home, he'd see if he needed her later. If his plan worked out: he wouldn't.
He told Mr Smith he and Lucy were going out and that Clara was visiting a friend, Nancy or Mila or something.
He'd told John nothing but to meet him in the hall at seven, just in time to watch her come down the stairs.
Harold wasn't stupid. He didn't miss the way John let his eyes rake over her body in the same way he planned on doing later. He certainly didn't miss the way Clara looked to John before him in a vain hope of him coming. However, he certainly enjoyed the way John's fists clenched and his eyes burned when he offered Clara his arm and she hesitantly took it.
He guided her out to his car, similar to John's TARDIS or whatever it was he called it these days, except it was a sleek black and far more impressive, or so Harry thought.
Clara climbed in through the door he opened for her with a nod of her head in thanks. Harry allowed himself a glance through the window to see John simmering and the smile that spread across his face would never disappear.
They sped along the country roads toward the small yet classy Italian restaurant that was situated on the lake only a few miles from the house. It was owned by someone in one of the local villages and it was one of the only places in the area that Harry didn't despise for being quaint. The song 'I can't decide' blasted through the speakers and Harry was pleased to see Clara humming along, almost comfortable with him.
When they arrived, the moon reflected in the lake as the stars danced along the mirrored surface and the candles flickered inside the restaurant. He'd booked the whole place out as Harry learnt from a young age: money talks.
He placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her in and refrained from gripping her arm, as he would have done with Lucy, when she flinched away.
They ate dinner and made polite conversation if a little dull, the old Italian music soothing the silence. He wanted desperately to tell her what he wanted. The more he thought about it the more he could actually see the long term with Clara. He couldn't divorce Lucy, that was obvious, however, everyone knew that men in this life had mistresses, lord knows Smith Sr probably had one or two in his time.
As he sat and admired the curve of her lip, he thought about every possible scenario. Holidays abroad when he was tired of Lucy, her younger, prettier body when Lucy was having children. He'd buy her gifts, preferably ones she could wear just for him and John would have to endure their illicit affair. It was perfect
Yes, the more Harold thought about it, the more he thought Clara could become a permanent fixture.
"Clara, come walk on the dock with me." She rose slowly from her chair and he found himself admiring her figure as she did so. For once he and his cousin had something to agree on.
The wind whipped at her curled hair, but the dress remained tight to her body and Harry almost jumped with glee at the way this was going.
"Clara, I think it's very obvious that I think you're stunning."
"Thank you, Harry." She gripped the wooden railing of the dock as they looked out over the expanse of the lake.
"But I also think you are, dare I say, incredibly sexy in a way I didn't expect myself to." Her eyes snapped up to his. "that's why I think we should…" he trailed off as he moved forward, his hand rising to her cheek as he moved to kiss her-
Smack. She slapped him across the face.
"What is wrong with you!?" She almost screeched before slapping him again. "You are married! I am not interested! Where would you get the idea that I would be?" She began to pace up and down her heels clacking on the wooden boards.
"Why on earth would you think this is ok? Did you expect me to become your mistress or something?" She spat the word 'mistress' and Harry felt his blood begin to boil.
"How dare you speak to me like that?" He gripped her arm, pulling her flush against his body. "Now this is how it works Miss Oswald, you either come with me now back to the car where I will drive us to a hotel, and you'll spend the night with me, or you walk. Your decision." Harry had her. He knew he did. She was playing hard to get.
Instead she wrenched her arm from his grip and gave him another slap for good measure.
"I'll walk. Every time."
"Fine." He spat, striding back to the car. He sat and waited for five minutes content that she would change her mind and that he'd find out what was underneath the black dress after all but when she tottered past in her heels, he knew his plan had failed.
He slammed his fists against the steering wheel before speeding off back to the house leaving her in the moonlit night as the clouds began to build.
He screeched to a halt on the gravel pathway, not bothering to park and stormed inside. He stomped past the stupid dog that growled at his ankles. He shoved past John who appeared from nowhere at the dog's side his head instantly whipping around for his golden girl.
"Where is Clara?"
"Where I left her." Harry hissed not bothering to turn back.
He threw the door open to where Lucy was sat filing her nails. She instantly rose coming towards him.
"Did the deal with the client fall through?" Her question was met with a smack across the face.
"On your knees." He commanded.
Clara was disgusted. She had never particularly liked Harry, but she had never thought him capable of that. He acted like she didn't have an opinion, like she would be interested never mind the fact that his wife only sleeps down the hall from her.
To top it all off he had left her in the middle of nowhere just because she said no.
Her phone had no signal of course, her feet were killing her in these heels, and no one was around because he'd booked out the full restaurant.
Clara shivered as she walked, half from the chilly January air, but also from the sheer uneasy feeling harry had filled her with. The sinister smile that spread across his face filled her with dread when she realised just how serious it was. He truly believed that she would agree to that, that she could possibly ever do that. Worst of all, he thought violence was a convincing argument.
Clara suddenly felt a rush of emotion for Lucy Saxon and for everything she had to endure.
She rubbed at her arms to combat the cold, until she felt the pitter patter of raindrops on her skin. It was just her luck that it chose now to come back. Clara wanted to scream. Scream of frustration, cold and anger.
Why was it that the Smith family caused her so much hassle?
She'd been walking for half an hour, her feet blistered and sore when she heard the car coming around the bend. She was blinded by the headlights, but she didn't care; she was grateful finally for some human interaction.
She tried to sprint, but she couldn't, and she nearly wept at the way her body let her down. The car stopped and the door opened and shut as someone ran towards her and Clara had had enough. She sank to the ground, soaked through anyway in spite of the puddles and she began to cry.
She said his name like a mantra as if he'd materialise before her to wrap her up and take her home. She'd barely known him a month and yet she trusted him completely. He was the one she wanted to be there and right now she didn't care if she admitted it.
"John." She was feeble at this point like a mewling cat wallowing in self-pity. Everyone deserved a little self-pity now and then.
She felt a pair of arms scoop her up, that were warm and dry and distinctly tweed.
"Oh Clara, my Clara what did he do?" she couldn't care less to answer. She assumed this was her subconscious manifesting the one person she needed most, and she was happy enough not to question it and ruin the illusion.
She was carried toward the car; the wind shield wipers were a rhythmic thumping and the whirr of the heaters almost lulled her to sleep in her frozen state. Her saviour clicked her seat belt into place as she settled into the leather seat before placing a kiss on her forehead that was so distinctly 'John' that she said his name once more.
As the car began to turn around back towards the house, she presumed she spoke up.
"I want John." Her eyes were hooded as if weights were attached and she may as well have been at the bottom of the lake.
"Clara, I'm right here it's me, I've got you." Clara felt calmed. Her mind knew what she needed to hear and in the possible but unlikely presence of John she drifted off to sleep.
John didn't feel quite as calm as Clara did. In fact, he was struggling to keep himself from dragging Harry through the house by his ear and beating him senseless.
After he had returned from dinner alone, John knew something had happened. Firstly, he had the wave of satisfaction over whatever it was Harry had planned failing before his heart was dropped into sea of ice and he realised Clara wasn't with him.
He knew Harry. As much as his cousin hated to admit it, John knew him and how he worked. He knew the only restaurant he could tolerate in the area. He knew how he treated Lucy and most likely any other women in his life.
He also knew what he wanted from Clara and he knew that she had refused.
He had instantly gotten into the TARDIS and followed the road Clara would be taking in hopes he could spot her and when he did, he didn't know whether to laugh with relief or cry at the state she was in.
She had said his name as he bundled her into his arms, and he assumed that meant she knew it was him. Yet she had no clue when she sleepily called out. His heart ached with happiness that she could want him and seared with hatred for Harry for leaving her out in the cold.
He rang the house to get one of the maids to run her a bath. Fury bubbled beneath his cold surface.
"I'm going to kill him."
Clara turned jerkily in her seat. Water droplets fell from her soaked hair. He turned up 'Wild horses' as the rain hammered against the windows hoping it would calm her.
When he pulled up, he ran around to her door and scooped her body back up into his arms once more. He pushed down the selfish feeling of joy at being able to hold her close and focused on getting her warm.
Amy and Rory were stood in the hall shaking off umbrellas with grins on their faces.
"Oh, hello we just got…" Amy's smile faltered just like her sentence when she saw Clara's limp body in John's arms and his panic-stricken expression.
"What happened?" Rory ever the nurse came rushing to their aid.
"Harry. He left her out there." Amy had the same expression he had had when he figured it out. Rory didn't have time for revenge.
"It's not hypothermia I don't think, so a bath should be safe, help me get her upstairs." Rory moved to help carry her but something profoundly possessive gripped John and he held her tighter with a shake of his head. Rory instantly understood and chose to lead the way to Clara's room rather than take her from the Doctor.
Amy and a girl named Gwyneth helped her in the bathroom while John paced with Rory outside.
"The one time actually being a doctor may have come in handy."
"Technically, you are a doctor."
"Not in the way she needed." He slumped against the wall.
"Stop beating yourself up, this is no way your fault." Rory always knew his friend had a tendency to take the world on his shoulders. As much as he liked to flaunt the rules and expectations, he had a self-imposed duty of care that could never be shaken. Sometimes Rory admired him for it, at times like this he wanted to kick him for it.
"I should have known." He groaned into his palms.
"You couldn't have possibly known. She certainly didn't."
"Which is why it was my job to, Rory. My responsibility."
"The only one responsible for this is Harold." At those words, the clouds seemingly parted for John. "No. No. Don't you dare do what I think you're going to do."
"Back in a minute Rory." John slapped him on the shoulder a false nicety or bravado to mask his impending fury.
He stormed along the corridor to Harry's room, feet thundering into the carpet as he went. He didn't knock. He didn't have time and he, quite frankly, didn't care.
He burst in to where Harry was sat channel surfing.
"Did you let the dog back in?" Harry's eyes didn't leave the screen. John wasn't in the mood for some witty back and forth.
He grabbed Harry by the collar dragging him from his bed.
"What the hell are you doing!?"
"What I should have done in the first place."
A resounding crack filled the room as John's fist collided with Harry's face.
"Don't touch her again."
1. the references were lacklustre, I think I'm slipping, losing my touch. Ok there was one or two but still.
2. Please join me in mutual hatred for all things Harry, Smith Sr and Linda
3. I apologise once more but I'd like to say thank you to everyone who commented or messaging me asking me to update, it meant a lot that you were so invested and helped me get my mojo back
4. Would anyone like to write me an eleven x Clara mafia AU? No? just checking
5. Is there anything you want to see? Any fun tropes at all because I'm a sucker for them but I don't want you to roll your eyes at me
6. I may have a fun Christmas ghost AU in my head, if you fancy reading that please let me know!
Leave a review or a favourite if you enjoyed, or even if you didn't I like them either way!
