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theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

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Don’t Worry, Darling (one-shot)

Synopsis: Falling in love with a co-star is something that can hurt, especially when it seems like they’re talking to other people behind your back, but falling in love with a co-star and being unable to help when they’re sick, is even worse.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: COVID-19, sickness, swearing, SMUT (fingering, m going down on f, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it))

Word count: 11 968 (yoikes)

Please note I’m not trying to make light of the pandemic or the virus and those impacted by it. It’s a very real and serious thing, which is why I decided to use it. Please stay safe and healthy, follow the local health guidelines and if you have the ability please get vaccinated. Let’s keep ourselves and one another safe, frens :)

When Y/N got the call she’d gotten the role of Jack’s ex-wife who’d disappeared in mysterious circumstances, she was over the moon. As a Marvel alumnus, she was excited to work with Florence, as she’d loved Midsommar, and knowing she was going to be one of the new faces carrying the next Marvel chapter, she wanted to get to know her. Having played Tony Stark’s adopted daughter since the age of six, she was very protective of the franchise but was excited to see where it’d go.

Then Shia LaBeouf, Chris Pine as well with Dakota Johnson’s announcements coming soon after, Y/N got even more stoked, and with Olivia Wilde leading all of them, she was sure the movie would be a hit.

Shia and Dakota had to drop out due to scheduling issues (which Y/N couldn’t lie – she was kind of happy Shia couldn’t do it), and that's where Harry Styles took over the role of Jack with Kiki Layne Dakota’s Margaret.

Now, when Y/N had seen Harry’s picture next to the re-cast e-mail the whole production had been sent out, she might’ve had a little (a massive, like a ginormous) freak-out. As much as she’d grown up listening to classic rock, due to Robert Downey Jr. and Iron Man, she’d been an avid One Direction fan. Like to the point, it might even seem a bit creepy. Y/N had sort of grown out of the obsessive phase of it all, but most definitely admired the solo albums they’d been able to produce, and when Dunkirk came out, she was excited to see Harry join the acting world, with the amount of talent he had.

The first table read was sort of awkward, and definitely the weirdest one, given how a pandemic had started, and everyone was at their respective homes using Zoom.

Y/N and Florence had been the first to join the conversation about half an hour before the official beginning, and by the time everyone else did, they were crying from laughter and had to excuse themselves from their computers to collect whatever remaining composure they had.

“You two alright?” Oliva Wilde had raised her eyebrow, as the women re-joined, still chuckling. “Will we have to use body doubles for the scenes you two are in?”

“No!

“Nohooo!” both of them yelled through laughter. “We’ll be as professional as professionals are. Which is very professional.”

Then Y/N made the mistake of glancing at Florence’s square, and the two busted out laughing again, spewing apologies in between, but no one seemed to really mind. In fact, it looked like they appreciated how casual and open everyone was being, hoping the set wouldn’t be stiff either when they moved onto filming.

And for the two women, it wasn’t really. Actually, they grew closer than ever. The amount of time Florence spent in Y/N’s trailer was to the point that the two started to talk about just moving in together. After scouring the nearby apartments for rent, they settled on a three-bedroom apartment, as two-bedroom ones were non-existent.

When Harry grew closer to them as well, given how he spent quite some time with both women, they suggested he move in as well.

“You know, what? I changed my mind. You’re taking away our closet, and I don't like that,” Y/N pouted, watching as Florence lifted a pile of her clothes and moved it to her room. “That’s not very ‘treat people with kindness’ of you.”

All he did was flick a finger at her forehead, which Y/N swatted away with a smile. When he’d double-checked about moving in with them (which, mind you was the seventh time, and half his stuff was already there), the two women were ecstatic. They got along amazingly on set and basically having a sleepover with friends every night suited all of them quite well.

At that moment, Y/N was sitting on the edge of her bed, knitting while Harry painted all of their toes and Florence put on facemasks.

“Wine!” Y/N suddenly exclaimed, almost knocking over the light blue nail polish bottle as she jumped up, throwing her needles back on the bed. “We need wine!”

“Do not ruin my masterpiece!” Harry hollered after her, as she waddled away on her heels, toes separated by foam and hight up in the air. She even had to manoeuvre around the carpet to avoid any hairs and fibres that could get stuck inside the still wet lacquer.

It took her a second to find a bottle all three of them could enjoy, given their tastes were so different – Y/N preferred sweet and red, and didn’t care if it was a three-dollar bottle from Target, Harry had a bit more of an expensive pallet, giving preference to something with a more of a lingering aftertaste and in the higher ranges of price point, while Florence liked rosé and white wines.

Taking two glasses in one hand and the bottle with a third glass between her fingers, she shuffled back to her room when she heard the two muttering something in low voices before Harry whispered harshly, “I’m not telling Y/N that!”

“Won’t me what?” Y/N’s question made him and Florence spring back where they’d been engaged in a heated conversation when she re-entered the room, putting the wine bottle and glasses on the nightstand.

Florence waved her off, giving her a smile, she didn’t believe in. “Nothing. Now come on, Harry will do your fingernails now, and I think it’s about time the mask came off.”

And that’s when Y/N’s heart dropped. She’d been in the industry long enough to know how fake people could be, how they could put on smiles so inviting and friendly while hiding their true intentions behind them. She just didn’t think two people she’d found so genuine and sweet would be like that.

And the thing was – it wasn’t the first time she’d heard the two whispering like that and hushing up when they saw her enter the room or even come somewhere near to them.

In the beginning, Y/N had chalked it up to the two being closer, given they had to spend more time together, so they knew one another better, but this time sort of solidified it wasn’t the fact the two were closer, it had to deal with Y/N specifically.

So, she started to distance herself. She’d had enough users in her life to last her for the rest of it. Y/N excused herself from the movie nights they had on most Fridays, she no longer joined in on the cooking sessions and mostly spent time in her room, or on work calls.

When she re-entered the flat, four weeks after their falling out, they watched as she nodded to them, and went inside her room, closing the door, much like she’d been doing for the past thirty days.

“Do you think she knows?” Harry asked, brows furrowed and bottom lip between his teeth as he hoped the doors would open, yet, obviously, they didn’t.

“Well, I haven’t told her, and unless you did, then I doubt it…”

Harry stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.”

“You think it’s a good idea?”

“No, but if she’s upset maybe she needs to talk to someone.”

“Or maybe she wants to be alone.”

Harry bit his lip thinking over Florence’s words. When he was upset about something, he himself did like to kind of retreat and become a little bit of a recluse, to sort out his emotions before anyone else tried to jump in and help with it, but the thing was – Y/N’s distancing started the night when she’d walked in on the two of them arguing, and it’d been about the girl in question herself, so he shook his head. “I’ll just ask if she’s alright.”

He took a deep breath and went to enter the room he hadn’t seen in almost a month. “Hey.” Harry poked his head through Y/N’s door, making her swirl around in her chair. She looked adorable to him. She’d changed into a big fluffy nightgown, the hood up, a headband pushing hair away from her face with a green facemask covering her skin. The domestic life flashed through Harry’s head like a freight train, as it was something he craved, but pushed it away. There was no daydreaming before figuring out what was in front of him in reality. “You okay?”

“ 'M fine.” She shot him a quick smile. “Why? Did Olivia send something new for the script?”

“Um, no, ‘s just you’ve been, I dunno – detached a bit?”

“Look, Harry… I may be younger than you, but I’ve been in this industry longer than you or Florence.” Y/N stood and shrugged before crossing her arms. “And the thing is – I don’t care for shit like that. So, you two can gossip and whisper and talk whatever you want about me behind my back. Everyone else is doing that so, you’re not that special. But’ I’d prefer if you did it somewhere else besides my room, my space, and I’ll say this once, but very clearly – we’re not friends. I don’t need friends like you. We’ll be civil and we’ll do our jobs, but…” Harry’s heart broke at her eyes, seeing the pain in them as she nodded and made sure he understood where she stood. “We’re not friends.”

She didn’t leave any room for argument. When Harry left, Y/N didn’t even look over her shoulder to see him exit.

The next couple of mornings she didn’t see them leave nor come back, seeing as Y/N had the week off from filming, but the morning of the seventh day was awkward as hell, given how all of them had to go and get tested, and well, they had their allocated time slots one after the other. Usually, they’d take one car together, but this time, Y/N drove off on her own, while Harry and Florence carpooled on their own.

The tests were always nerve-wracking. If one person went down, the whole production did for at least two weeks. And as much as she hated going in alone, she was glad no one was with her in the car, because as she stepped out, a certain notion swept over her that this would be a lot different than usual.

A doctor dressed head to toe in protective gear motioned for her to sit down, as another processed her ID and work ID. Her leg was bouncing up and down the whole time, and he eyed her. If she could see his lips, she was sure they’d be pursed. “Anything wrong?” He handed her back the IDs before moving to the table where a set of large q-tips seemed to lay in sterile packs.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip and nodded. “Woke up with a sore throat and a small cough appeared on my way here as well. I wiped and cleaned everything down at the apartment I’m staying at and wore gloves and a mask the whole time.”

“Anything else?” the doctor asked, writing down each word as Y/N said. “The feeling of breaking bones, fever, muscle pain, eyes hurting when you look up, lost sense of smell or taste?”

“No, nothing like that. Just a sore throat and a small cough.”

The doctor let out a large sigh, probably from having to wear a full-on hazmat suit. “Alright. Just for safety reasons, so we know who’s a potential contact person, who are you staying with?”

“Florence Pugh and Harry Styles. We’re renting an apartment together.”

“Do you know if they’ve had any symptoms?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head honestly. “And I haven’t really interacted with them this past week, as they’ve been on set, and I didn’t have any scenes to film, and by the time they get back, I’m already asleep, and I’m still asleep when they leave so there’s been no direct contact. We have our own kitchenware, so there shouldn’t be any direct contact. I think.”

That last bit was half-true, seeing as she hadn’t been asleep when they came back, but she might as well have been. The second Y/N heard the door click, she’d place her headphones on or leave the room, only glimpsing the two faces falling as she did that.

The doctor clearing his throat and motioning for Y/N to open her mouth so he could take a swab and then to do the same for both her nostrils, was what brought her out of it. She was so used to it, it was like nothing at that point. “Okay. We’ll need you to stay in the car while the test is being run, and if it comes back positive, you’ll be placed in a separate flat, as to not endanger the rest.”

Her ‘alright’ was barely audible. Fuck. It just felt like the universe was against her. First, the two people she’d gotten closest to were whispering behind her back and being fake to her face, now she might have a super contagious virus to which there was no medicine really, nor was there a vaccine, let alone the thought she’d have to miss filming for potentially more than two weeks.

The thirty minutes of wait were agonizing, her leg bouncing up and down. Y/N’s eyes kept watching the line of cars slowly move forward through the tent and then settle behind hers. She knew Harry was about five cars away, and she was glad he wasn’t closer. They weren’t really allowed to get out of their vehicles while the tests were being run, and Y/N didn’t think she’d be able to not look back at him through her review mirror.

Two more minutes passed when finally, one of the med students in the full hazmat suit came up and knocked on her car window.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes?”

“ID please.” It was standard so that no med info got leaked. The only reason she had to rummage through her stuff was, because she’d bite the little plastic card in half if she didn’t throw it somewhere deep inside her bag.

“So.” The man sighed, and he didn’t need to elaborate. Y/N understood, but still, he had to confirm it to her. “Your test came back positive for COVID-19. The production has been informed, and for safety reasons, everyone will have to self-isolate for two weeks.”

Y/N’s head slammed against the back of the seat. “Fuck. Okay.”

“Because so far, you’re the only positive case, you’ll be placed into quarantine. We’ll need the address you’re staying at, and if you need anything from your apartment, we can send someone over to grab a few things. You’ll have to follow the black SUV right there.” He pointed further down the lot where indeed a black SUV stood. “They’ll take you to where the quarantine apartments are. Is there anything immediate you’ll need?”

“I – uh – I need my pills, my birth control that is. I take it every evening. Computer, chargers. That’s the most immediate I can think of. Maybe some food? I didn’t get the chance to eat breakfast.”

Even through the mask, Y/N could see the man smile. “Well arrange that. In the meantime, here’s the number for the coordinators who’ll get you the rest of your things and deliver them to you.”

“Thank you. I’ll call my assistant, and she’ll drive down to the apartment. She knows where everything is.”

“Have you been in close contact with her?”

“Just through the phone. She hasn’t been on set in almost a month, as I told her only to come when it’s an emergency… Guess this is it.” Y/N let out an awkward chuckle.

And truly that was it. With one last motion as to where the SUV stood, she started back up the engine, reversed out of the spot and followed the car to where the ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ production had set up a few quarantine apartments, specifically for actors and crew, speed-dialling her assistant Anna and letting her know of the situation.

“Shit, girl,” she’d cursed. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay,” Anna huffed. “Do you have a spare key for the apartment by any case or do I need to go down to the lot and ask Harry or Florence?”

“Both of them will be at the apartment, given how everything’s shut down, so they should be able to open the door for you. Hopefully, if both of them are negative. If not, call me, I’ll tell you where we hide the spare. Thank you, Anna.”

“Of course.”

As Y/N pulled up behind the SUV, a man and a woman in face guards and masks stepped out. She ended the call and stepped out as well, pulling on a cloth face mask, an envelope in their hands, which they handed to her.

“Your flat’s on the third floor, 367. When you have the list of things you need, forward them to us, and we’ll gather your things.”

Y/N nodded and gave them a tight smile. “Thank you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

With a sigh, she took her bag and entered the complex. As much as she’d only had a small cough in the morning and a sore throat, walking up those flights of stairs made her winded more than it usually would. Maybe it was the knowledge she had a sickness, or maybe it was stress about missing work and putting everyone on lockdown, or maybe it was the combination of it all with her falling out with Harry and Florence on top.

She placed the key in the lock and twisted, revealing a studio type apartment, and it was so bare it made her heart clench. As much as she felt awkward being around Florence and Harry, their flat was a bit messy, had little pieces of clothing thrown around, giant knitted blankets on the sofas, a candle always lit whenever someone was home. Harry’s shoes were typically all over the place while Y/N’s make up was scattered around everywhere. Literally. Florence and Harry had gotten back early one morning from a night shoot and found her looking under the sofas for one of her lash glues as she started to get ready for the day. They’d made that flat their home for the time being. This… this was nothing like that.

She threw the keys on the small kitchen counter and shrugged off her jacket. They was going to be a long two weeks. At best.

***

Back at their place, Florence and Harry were pacing around, having heard the news that someone was positive, and everything had to shut down for the time being, yet Y/N was nowhere to be seen when a knock at the door disrupted them.

Harry was there and flinging it open in a matter of a second, only to be stopped by Anna instead of Y/N.

“Hey.” His brows furrowed as she and two people all wearing masks and gloves entered. “What’s going on? Is Y/N alright?”

Anna sighed, nodding her head for the two strangers to go towards the woman’s room. “She was the one who tested positive for the virus. Gave me a list of the things she’d need while in quarantine. We’re here to pick ‘em up and get them to her.”

“And she’s not doing that here?”

“Per the safety instructions, she’s been placed in a separate flat in self-isolation.”

“She could’ve done that here. We’d be fine with it,” Florence butted in, arms crossed over her chest. “We’re more than willing to take care of her. She’ll need someone to help her.”

“You both tested negative.” One of the people piped up, carrying a box of books and yarn. “I’m sorry, but she’ll have to quarantine separately until she’s no longer infected. She’s under the supervision of doctors, and she knows if an emergency happens, they’ll be there in ten minutes tops. I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be.”

Harry sighed, nodding as the people exited their place, but before Anna could leave, he took hold of her bicep. “Hey, can you please tell her to call me? I just wanna talk.”

“I uh – ” Anna furrowed her brows, showing Harry that Y/N hadn’t said anything to her about the falling out they’d had. “I’ll uh, yeah. I’ll do that.”

With that he was left to close the door and just wait for… anything.

***

In the two hours Y/N had spent in the apartment, she already felt like going insane, having been left alone with her thoughts, so how she was going to do another two weeks after finally getting back into the rhythm of work was beyond her. She didn’t have any of her knitting supplies, didn’t have any of her books (yet), and most likely there was no reason to look at her script anymore, as she’d made up her mind about a lot of things.

There was a knock at the door, and Y/N instantly had a mask on her face and gloves on her hands. She peeped through the peephole and when she saw boxes lined in the hallway, three people in masks and faceguards at least six feet away, only then did she open the door and give them a wave.

“Everything should be here, but if you need anything else just pop me a message.” Anna then pointed at a bag that sat atop everything. “There are the most important things, so you don’t have to rummage through everything and a pizza is on the way while I do some grocery shopping for you. And umm, there’s a paper you need to sing that you know you need to be in self-isolation and that you understand what happens if you’re not.”

Y/N hoped all of them understood she was smiling underneath the mask, grateful for having them help her out like that. “Thank you. So much.”

She rushed inside found a pen and signed it, moving between the boxes to place the papers on the stairs so that they could be safely retrieved. With that, the two assigned people left, leaving Anna to say goodbye.

“Call me.” She pointed at Y/N. “No matter what, even if you just wanna talk for five seconds.”

“Will do.” Y/N nodded and gave her a thumbs up. “If I could, I’d hug you.”

Anna sighed, cocking her head. “Same. And umm, Harry told me to ask you to call him.”

“Yeah, uh thank you.” She knew he probably wanted to talk, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise, but it still made her stumble on her words. “Take care, Anna.”

“You too.”

***

The next two days Y/N spent worrying as to how to present her decisions to the cast and crew. She felt worse with every hour, and with that had come her thought process, but as much as everyone was going to be impacted by what she was going to do, Olivia would be the one dealing with it most, so later that night she hopped on a Zoom call with her director.

“Hey, girl.” Olivia gave her a warm smile, and Y/N almost melted. God, she loved that woman. She was like the older sister she never had. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright. Feelin’ kind of woozy from time to time, throat’s killing me, and I’m fairly certain I’m getting abs from how much I’m coughing.” That made both of them chuckle before Y/N bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair. “Look,” she sighed, looking at Olivia. “The reason I called you is that umm… well, I think it’d be a lot more cost-effective for you to re-cast me. We’ve barely shot one scene with me. I’ll be out of commission for two weeks, as a minimum. It could get worse. And I’m definitely not going to be back before I get two negative consecutive tests.”

Olivia shook her head, running down her hands over her face and then through her hair. “Y/N, I really don’t want to do this. There’s a reason we cast you. You’re amazing, and yours and Harry’s chemistry is off the charts. We’re all quarantining for two weeks, and I’m sure you’ll be fine in no time, back on set and killing it like you always do.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course, I do! Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“All I’m saying it could take up to a month to get those two negative tests. By that point, you could’ve shot at least a fourth of my scenes. Olivia…” Y/N gave her a small, sad smile. “I know you know I’m right. I hate to pass on this, but I won’t hinder the production. If you want my input, I’ll help with the re-casting, if it takes the guilt away.”

“I still feel like shit this is an option we even have to consider.”

“’S not your fault. You didn’t get me sick. We should be happy it’s just me, not someone else or more than one person.”

***

For two more days, it was radio silence from Y/N, and Harry and Florence were anxious messes. If they could distract themselves from the falling out while on set, then now, having to be cooped up inside the apartment with pretty much nothing to do, was so much worse, not to mention Y/N declined all of their calls and left their messages on read, leaving the only option for checking in either through Anna or what she decided to share on her social media, which wasn’t a lot. But the thing was, Harry knew his best bet was to call Y/N in the middle of the night. Disorientated and barely awake, she probably wouldn’t look at the caller ID once. And he was right.

A bleary face appeared on his screen, eyes squinting as she tried to block out as much of the light as possible. “Hello?” Her voice was scratchy, and Harry’s heart clenched at just how much pain her throat must be in, let alone how she was feeling as a whole.

“Hey, there, lovie.”

It took her a second to comprehend the person who was speaking, and she’d be lying if she said hearing Harry’s voice didn’t bring her some sort of joy. “Hey, H. Are you alright? Why are you still up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about you.”

Y/N hummed, rolling on her side, and immediately regretting it as the action elicited a coughing fit. “Yeah?” she asked hoarsely. “ ’Nd what about me?”

‘How shitty I feel about everything’, ‘I miss you’, ‘I’m so fucking terrified’, but instead he asked, “How are you doing?”

“Alright,” Y/N croaked out before her body was racked with coughs once more. Harry’s own chest hurt just hearing them. “Fever’s finally down, so I’m getting some sort of sleep. Throat’s killing me though, and they’ve hooked me up to an IV. They’ll be coming in two hours or so to change the bag. How are you?” she asked quietly. “How’s Florence?”

“She’s alright. Upset. Just like I am.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Why’re you upset?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re sick, alone in quarantine and… and we can’t help you. I can’t help you.”

A genuine chuckle escaped her. “Didn’t know you had a medical degree, Styles. Could be my personal nurse. Fetch me my water and shit.”

“No, but at least I’d like to be there for you.”

“Harry…”

“I like you,” he said after taking a deep breath, hoping that the break he’d heard in Y/N’s voice as she’d said his name wasn’t just because of the sickness, but because her heart thudded just as fast as his when he thought of them together, that her mind reeled with the possibilities of where their futures could take them and that whenever they touched, she could feel the electricity that ran through his fingertips, igniting his whole body. “That’s what Florence and I were whispering about all the time. Is that I’m madly crushing on you, and I couldn’t gather the courage to say it to you.”

A strong coughing fit made her drop the phone on the bed and lean over, as she gasped for breath, and through it all, all Harry wanted was to be there. Fuck him possibly getting the virus, as long as he could make it easier for her in some way.

“ ’M sorry,” Y/N whispered, trying to keep her voice as low as possible as to not aggravate her throat. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, there’s nothing to apologise. You’re sick, you can’t help –”

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry I assumed you and Florence were talking bad behind my back. I never should’ve done that. And this is not an excuse, I’m not trying to shift the blame from being in the wrong, but I like you too.” She gave him a shy grin that he thought was as bright as the sun. “I really like you too, Harry. I think that’s why it hurt so much to hear you two whispering ‘bout something. And thinking it was about me, and it was something bad, hurt even more, ‘cause I really connected with Flo, and I kinda, well I kind of fell for you. Hard.”

“You did?” His tone was like he didn’t believe what his ears were hearing.

“Yeah. A lot actually… I – I really like you, Harry.”

He couldn’t explain how his heart expanded in his chest while simultaneously was being crushed by his inability to help, by the distance between them, while the hope that glimmered in his eyes at Y/N’s words made her heart break as much as his was, when he asked, “So you won’t resign?”

“Harry,” Y/N made her voice as tough as it could sound with her condition. “I told them to re-cast me not because of you. I’ve been on enough sets and worked with enough pricks, and still gotten the job done. Genuinely, this is not because of you or Florence. I just – I just don’t want to hold up production. You’ll all be out in what – twelve days or something? I’ll be here for at least twice that, if everything goes the way it’s going right now.”

“I don’t want anyone else to play Larie. You are my Larie,” he muttered, which made Y/N smile, but in a true Y/N fashion she just wanted to make others feel better.

“You do know Jack murders Larie in the middle of the night.”

Harry’s mouth opened like a fishes’ while Y/N’s mouth pulled up in a grin. “That’s – that’s not what I mean, and you know it!”

Both of them were laughing now, all tension having evaporated.

“I know.” She bit on her lower lip. “But um… we’ve gotta be practical. I sent Olivia my resignation letter already, and she signed.”

She saw Harry sigh and throw back his head at her words.

“ ’M sorry, Haz. I didn’t want to but –”

“I know.” His smile was gentle, understanding. “You always put everyone before yourself. God, this just sucks major ass.”

“Trust me,” Y/N started before being interrupted by another major coughing fit. “I –,” she took in a breath. “I know.”

Her heart cracked seeing Harry’s face and his green eyes, the eyes she’d gotten lost in more times than she’d ever admitted being lined by tears. “I wish I could help you.”

“But you are. Just by – by talking to me, by keeping my mind off things. You’re helping me more than you’ll ever know.”

“When you get out, I’m taking you on a date.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face. For the first time in a while, she felt good, despite being sick. “Is that a threat, Styles?”

“It’s a fucking promise.”

That night she fell asleep listening to Harry talking, seeing as it became harder and harder for her to do so, so he just took over, telling her stories that lulled her to dreamland where he was there, and she could touch him.

The following days she also had calls with Florence and the rest of her cast to explain the situation, but she wasn’t doing much talking anymore, and one night they’d even seen her almost throw up from coughing so much, which broke everyone’s hearts. They were lucky the only Covid case before Y/N had been a light one, so witnessing just how brutal it could be, made everyone appreciate what they had, but at the same time, feel as helpless as ever.

A week and a half in, that was when shit really hit the fan. Despite her feeling shitty the previous days, now Y/N woke up from the feeling as if she was drowning. She’d fallen asleep while talking with Harry on FaceTime, his features illuminated on her phone. At first, she thought it was just her dream still lingering and causing that effect, but when after a minute or so her lungs still remained on fire, she knew she had to dial the doctors.

In five minutes’ time, an ambulance was at her door, and it was a miracle she’d been able to get out of bed to open it because the second she did, her whole body pretty much collapsed into the arms of one of the nurses.

***

“Come on,” Harry muttered into the phone, pulling on a pair of trousers as quickly as possible and a knitted sweater he took from the floor as he immediately tried to redial her, having heard the call drop. “Come on! Pick up, Y/N!” Her voicemail answered instead.

“Damn it!”

It took Harry seven minutes with the way he was driving to get to her assigned isolation place, only to be greeted by red and blue flashing lights, an ambulance right in front of the entrance, and it took Harry five seconds to feel his heart drop as a team of three doctors wheeled out a gurney on which lay Y/N, face covered in a mask, an IV stuck inside her arm while a huge plastic cover domed over her body.

Without even thinking about himself or his safety, Harry jumped out of his car, rushing towards the ambulance.

“Sir.” One of the doctors extended a palm towards him, keeping him back as Harry tried to get towards the inside of the car. “Sir, you can’t be here.”

“Is that Y/N?” Harry felt like he was spinning out of control, and his mind was dizzy from not being able to take in a proper breath. “Is – is that Y/N?”

“Are you family?”

“I –,” Harry so desperately wanted to say yes, to say he was her boyfriend at least, but he couldn’t lie. “No, I’m just her collegue – friend! I’m her friend. Is she alright?”

“Okay, well is there anyone we can contact from her family?”

Harry nodded, knowing that her mum and dad were on her emergency contact lists. “But her family is out of the country, and they won’t be able to fly out with all the restrictions in place.”

“Alright.” The doctor sighed before looking back inside the car. In a way, Harry was happy he couldn’t see Y/N because he was sure if he did, he’d completely break down and crumble to the ground. “We’ll contact her parents, but if you could leave us your number as an emergency contact on place that’d be a lot of help.”

“Okay, uh…” Harry took in a deep breath, held it for five seconds and then let it out before reciting the number he used while in the USA and his permanent UK number as well, so he could be reachable anywhere and at any point in day or night, no matter the time.

“Well keep you up to date.”

And with that, the ambulance doors shut, and they rushed away, the vailing of sirens echoing in the dark night, leaving Harry with a hand in his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks and without a clue as to what to do.

***

In the end, Harry had gone back to his car and cried for what felt like ages, but instead, it was just twenty minutes. He pulled himself together but was still shaking as he made his way back to the flat where Florence basically ripped open the door. Seeing his face told her everything she needed to know.

“She’ll be alright,” the woman muttered as she soothed Harry by rubbing a palm up and down his back, letting him hide his face in her shoulder. “It’s Y/N. She’d pull through an atomic bomb.”

They spent the rest of the night and the following day on the couch, glued to Harry’s phone waiting for any sort of updates. From time to time a text message came from the hospital letting them know what procedures were being done on Y/N, that her parents have been informed, and if necessary, they’d allowed Harry to be the main contact person because of his proximity to their daughter.

Three days later and the quarantine for the rest of the cast and crew ended, yet when they returned to the set, everyone was in low spirits. Especially, Harry – he was miserable. Every moment spent not reciting lines or acting was occupied with the thoughts of Y/N, how she was doing, was she improving, was she still breathing, how he wanted to just ditch everything and run to her, to help in whatever way he could.

“This sucks,” Florence grumbled, arms crossed over her chest as they took a break while re-setting already in for the fifth day of filming, eight since Y/N’d been in the hospital. “Can’t believe they won’t allow a phone in with her.”

“It’s the same policy for everyone, but trust me,” Harry sighed and looked up at the bright blue sunny sky above. “The number of times I got out of my bed in the middle of the night and had the car keys in hand is ridiculous. And the number of times I’ve thought about breaking into that hospital is even more concerning.”

Florence let out a small chuckle and nudged his shoulder. “I’d cover for you if you did. As long as she doesn’t have to be there alone.” She hung her head, blond strands falling down to curtain her face. “Can’t imagine how scared she must be.”

Harry just sighed. There really wasn’t anything he could say.

Something vibrated in his pocket, but he no longer furrowed his brows when unknown numbers called, knowing it was from the hospital. It was nerve-wracking though to pick up the call each time because he had to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of bad news, even though he always hoped for good ones.

“Yes, hi. Hello. I – oh,” he put a hand over his mouth and sagged down onto a chair. “Oh, thank god, thank you, doctor. Yeah. Yes, I’ll let her know, and someone will be there to open the flat. Thank you again. For everything.”

He took away the phone from his ear and stared at the ground for a minute before leaping up and hugging Florence, laughter escaping his mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, it’s the opposite. Y/N’s out of the hospital.”

“Oh thank god!” Her hands flew to hug him back.

“She’ll have to stay in self-isolation until the two negative tests and will be monitored by the doctors, but she’s out.”

Immediately he was dialling her, and Harry had never been as happy for the invention of a video call, because when he saw Y/N’s face light up the screen, as tired as she looked, it was the most beautiful sight that graced his eyes.

“Hey, lovie.” His voice was soft and low as if anything louder would worsen her state.

Her ‘hey’ was barely audible, but he heard it, and it made the weight of a boulder drop off his shoulders.

“I’m so – I mean we all are so happy you’re back home.”

Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “I’m happy too,” she whispered. “I missed you. Missed everyone, but most of all I missed you.”

Harry was happy they were separated by a screen because if she was anywhere in a five-mile radius, he was sure she would be able to hear his heart beat out of his ribcage at her words. “How are you feeling?”

“ ‘M alright,” Y/N tried to let him know. “Very tired.”

“Then get back to sleep, lovie.”

Y/N shook her head. “Wanna talk to you.”

“I’ll keep talking,” Harry promised. “Like we did before, okay.”

“Okay…”

And so, he did. He kept talking as Y/N listened, and he watched as her eyes slowly closed before she drifted off to sleep. Even though Harry had to go back to filming, he didn’t dare end the call. He’d never end the call.

***

It took a month and a half for Y/N to get those two consecutive negative tests, to feel somewhat human again and when she did, she probably garnered at least seven speeding tickets with how fast she was driving down to the set.

It was the most inconspicuous outfit she could scramble together, consisting of a hoodie and baseball cap, as she watched Harry as Jack lean down to peck the actress’s lips, then step into the vintage car and rev out in the driveway, while a dishevelled Florence started the scene from the side, eyes racking over Jack’s first wife, who was dressed the exact same way, hair styled like hers and even nails painted the same, her character putting all the puzzle pieces together.

“And cut!” Olivia yelled across the lot, nudging Y/N’s side and giving her a smirk. “He’s gonna freak. You’re all he’s been talking about on set. We almost had to put a ban on you as a topic,” she muttered that part so only the woman could hear while telling everyone to re-set, so they could do the scene from another angle, but not before asking the three actors to come and look at the monitors so they could understand how to move in order to keep the continuity.

Y/N moved to the side, ducking her head down as Harry, Florence and Mandy, the actress that took over her role, all leaned closer to watch the monitors. Y/N had to bite on her lip to keep the grin away, as all of them analysed their movements and the scene, nodding along to what Olivia was saying.

“Y/L/N, what do you think?” Olivia asked, grinning.

Y/N stepped forward a bit, seeing all of their shocked faces through her peripheral, as she pointed to the screen, lifting her head so that everyone could see her face fully. “I think it’s great, you might want to step to the side a bit more, Harry, when –” but she was unable to finish the sentence as he swooped her in his arms, lifting her basically off the ground, and burying his face in her neck.

“Watch the hair! Daniele will have a fit if you ruin her masterpiece!” Y/N laughed, holding one of her hands on the base of his neck, the other tightly wrapped around his shoulders, but he just shook his head, and she could feel tears splash her skin.

“Fuck the hair!” He let out a small chuckle, and she could hear the lump in his throat. “I’ve missed you so much. I was so scared.”

“Same,” Y/N whispered. “Missed you like crazy. And your stupid, unfunny dad jokes.”

“ ‘M hilarious, lovie, what are you talking about?”

He finally set her down but didn’t let go of her waist, and she smiled cupping his cheeks. “A true comedian, that’s what you are.”

“I know. Why’dya think I got that SNL slot?”

But his eyes, as he gazed into hers once more glassed over.

“Hey,” Y/N cooed wiping away the tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, cause then I’ll cry, and we’re both gonna be crying messes, and then these guys will have to deal with that.”

Harry sighed, leaning into her touch. “Happy tears, lovie. All happy tears.”

The two looked at one another as if there was no one else in the universe. And for the two of them, there really wasn’t. Neither had to say what was on their minds, they already knew.

His face was inching closer to Y/N’s, and heart started to beat erratically, not that Harry minded, as his palm rested in the middle of her back. In fact, his own heart mimicked the rhythm, but it stuttered when someone behind him cleared their throat and interrupted their moment.

Y/N hid her face in Harry’s chest as he sighed at Olivia’s raised eyebrow.

“You’ll be able to smooch as much as you want, but we need him in hair and make-up.”

“Oli-“

“Now,” she let out a small laugh. “Before Daniele removes my head from my shoulders.”

“Go,” Y/N patted his side. “I’ll still be here.”

“Is that a threat?”

She grinned up at him. “A fucking promise.”

Harry dashed away like lightning, hoping that the quicker he was done, the sooner he could have Y/N back in his arms even if it was for a second, but her attention was taken by a woman with long blond curls, a flowing green slip on her figure; her steps unsure as was the wave she gave her, but Y/N’s heart melted at the sight of her.

“Hey, Flo,” she whispered and brought the girl in a bone-crushing hug, holding onto her, trying to convey how much she regretted her words and actions, especially because they were unwarranted.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N said, and she nodded.

“Me too.”

Y/N shook her head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“And I should’ve made sure Harry pulled his head out of his ass.”

That made both of them laugh, and it was nice to do it not only without having to cough up her insides, but to do it with someone she’d connected with and had become great friends with.

“He did that. I just hope if he wants to make another move, it won’t take me dying to push him to.”

Florence pointed at her, a serious look on her face. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he does.”

A small noise of someone clearing their throat from behind Y/N took both of their attentions for them to go onto the actress who’d been cast as her replacement, the woman coming forward and extending her hand for a handshake with a nervous smile. “Hi. I’m Mandy.”

“ ‘S very nice to meet you.” Y/N tried to give off as open and accepting of a vibe as much as possible, because she genuinely wanted Mandy to feel respected and that she wasn’t a threat. “Before you think anything if you’re worried about me taking the role, don’t. It’s all yours, so don’t worry about that. I just stopped by ‘cause I hadn’t seen anyone in almost two months. Never thought I’d say this, but fuck did I missed people.”

Mandy shook her head, her smile a lot lighter and brighter now. “I – uh thank you for that actually. I’m a huge fan of yours, and well, can only try and live up to what you would’ve portrayed.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll absolutely kill it, and I can’t wait for the movie.”

It was great to see Mandy’s shoulders drop in relief. “Would it be too much if I asked for advice on the role?”

“No,” Y/N laughed. “But I would say that you should make this role your own. It is yours. You are Larie now. And Harry’s Jack. Make it yours.”

As she said that, she turned to watch Harry who was practically bouncing on his feet, green eyes flitting back to where she was standing, and when their gazes met, neither could help the smiles blooming on their faces.

“You know he messed up a scene once and said your name?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she looked over at Mandy. “What do you mean ‘said my name’?”

“It was a kissing scene. The wedding bit, actually. As Jack and Larie recited their vows, and he leans down to kiss her, he was supposed to say, ‘I’ll love you Larie, until the very end’. He said your name instead.”

That hit Y/N more than a semi-truck wheeling a ton of bricks would. Yes, she knew Harry liked her, and he knew she liked him, but love was a big word, and for him to admit that, whether it was a flub or not, was even bigger.

Harry was a private person. While he openly talked about what he felt, he guarded heart at the same time, much like Y/N did. But she had to wait until Olivia yelled cut for the day, and had to watch him make a mad dash for hair and make-up before running to the dressing trailer as he didn’t want to miss out on a second he could spend with her. Even as they walked up to their shared flat and he opened the door, his fingers stayed intertwined with hers.

“How does it feel to be back?”

“Kinda shitty, honestly,” Y/N laughed throwing the keys to the table and shrugging out of the jacket and taking off the cap, Harry immediately helping her and putting it on one of the racks. “I’ll have to move out, now that I’m not part of the movie.”

“Why? ‘S not like the production is paying our rent, we’re doing it out of our own pocket.”

“Yes, but now that I don’t have a job, I kinda need to look for one.”

“And what says that you can’t live here while you do that?”

“I –,” Y/N’s brows furrowed. “I mean nothing, really… I just… kinda thought because I’m not part of the movie anymore it’d be safer if I found my own place. But um… I think I have something else I’d like to talk about. Mandy,” Y/N dragged out her name a bit, a sly smirk appearing on her face, “told me you had a flub on set.”

Harry’s heart was pounding underneath her palm where she’d grabbed onto the lapels of his dress shirt, so he couldn’t run away.

“I’ve uh,” he let out a nervous laugh. “I’ve had a couple of flubs on set. Who hasn’t?”

“I don’t doubt that. But she said you misspoke a name.”

She made him look into her eyes and wouldn’t dare let their gaze break. “You said my name during the wedding scene. You said Y/N. Not Larie.”

Harry looked like a cross between a deer in headlights and a fish out of the water, eyes wide with his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out, which made Y/N worry a bit.

She placed a palm against his cheek. “Harry? You alright?”

“I – I meant it.” He let out a deep sigh and leaned down to press his forehead to hers. “And when I thought back on it, I don’t remember seeing her face or Larie’s face. It was yours. And the lips I was kissing belonged to you too. I was holding your hand, and you were holding mine. And I know it’s way too quick, for a wedding -”

“Unless you threaten me with it –”

“I –,” Harry stuttered before laughing, all tension evaporating from his body. “No, that I don’t want to be a threat. That will be a question asked with love and hopefully an answer given to it the same way.”

Y/N nudged his nose with hers. “Well, we’ll see. I mean if you don’t kiss me what makes you th–,”

But she didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before his lips were on hers, pressing with such gentleness, it made her weak at the knees, and she would’ve crumbled if Harry’s arms handn’t woven around her middle, fingers pressing into the sides, the pressure increasing with each second their mouths were connected.

Harry’s hand drifted up Y/N’s back and settled on her neck as if he could pull her any closer, her own palms slipping over his stomach, pecks and grabbing onto his jaw, fingers lightly scratching at the stubble that’d grown throughout the day. He had to shave every morning for the role of Jack, but each evening she’d see a small, darkened shadow across his skin, and Y/N would be lying that when she’d realised her attraction to him, she hadn’t thought about how delicious it would feel to have it leave small burn marks on the inside of her thighs.

Unconsciously, she clenched her thighs, trying to create some sort of friction which became more and more unbearable as she felt Harry moan into her mouth, tongue sweeping against her lower lip, asking for permission without words, which Y/N granted without a second to spare.

It was heavenly to have him so close to her. She did wonder if the sensation was intensified by the fact, she hadn’t been able to touch anyone properly for almost two months, but that thought vanished when his fingers skimmed underneath her hoodie, brushing against her heated skin. No. It was because it was Harry.

“I –,” he was breathless as he pulled away, but Y/N didn’t let him get too far, her lips attaching themselves to his neck, making him groan in pleasure. “I don’t want to push this too far.”

Her brows scrunched up, as she took a look at him. “What do you mean? If you think I don’t want this, then let me be perfectly clear – I do. A lot.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so fucking glad you do, but… Y/N you just got out of the hospital, where you were on a ventilator. I don’t want to make anything worse.”

“Not your choice to make.” A devious smile appeared on her face, as she stepped a few feet away and lifted her hoodie over her head, making Harry inhale sharply. “So here are your two options.” Her hands went behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it slowly drop to the floor, the green eyes that hadn’t left her now wide as saucers. “Number one.” She toed off her boots and popped open the button of her jeans. “We can stop this, obviously, just say the word, and I get to my room, start packing and looking for a new place. We can have some dinner and just chill. Or number two.” Y/N hooked her jeans behind her thumbs and slowly dragged them down her legs, revealing more and more of herself to Harry. “We can go inside your room and make up for the lost time. In every position imaginable, for as long as you want. But.” Y/N’s eyes glimmered with mischief as she made her way to Harry’s room. “I don’t think you wanna take the first option.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, turning it from the meticulously gelled hairstyle into a mop of messy strands. “You know you’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman.”

Y/N swayed her hips a bit more as she took another step closer to his room, the door meeting her back, and one of her hands went to the doorknob, pressing down on it. “Well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss before the first date, and definitely not like that.”

He stood there, hands on his hips, eyes not leaving her body, as she cocked her head. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

They were ten torturous seconds for both, hearts beating out of their chests, but it only took three steps for Harry to cross the hallway, his hand sneaking behind Y/N’s back and pressing down on the doorknob as well, revealing the inside of his room. It was messy, much like her own, but it wouldn’t take too much to rip all off the tossed around bedding leaving a whole bed to themselves.

“You. Are. The. Devil.”

Her smile was nothing short of wicked. “I mean you can listen to the angel on your shoulder.”

“I’d rather listen to you.”

Together they stepped inside, and Y/N nodded. “Making good choices already.”

“Can’t get on your bad side, can I now?”

“I mean you can.” Her legs hit the back of his bed and she fell down on it, Harry leaning over, resting his elbows next to her head. “But bad boys get punished.”

His nose skimmed over hers. Now he was the one smiling like a devil. “I’ll hold you to your word. For future reference, that is.”

That kiss was nothing like their first. This was messy, and passionate, all tongue and teeth, hands grabbing everywhere possible to get the other unclothed. Or at least that’s what Y/N was trying to do, seeing as she was pretty much naked already, and Harry was the one still wearing too much.

Her hands pretty much ripped open the shirt. It one of his expensive Gucci ones, she was quite certain of it, but it didn’t seem like he cared, as he shrugged it off, throwing it to land somewhere on the floor.

Y/N sighed into his mouth as her hands were now freely allowed to run over his chest, over the ink embedded into his skin, over taut muscles that relaxed under her touch, and dig into his sides in an attempt to leave her own marks on him, much like he was going to do to her.

“Think you can take your pants off? It’s only fair.” Y/N muttered into his mouth and his own travelled down to her cheek, then neck and to her chest.

“You mean my trousers?”

Her lips quirked up and she shrugged her shoulders. “No, in this case, I meant pants the British way.”

“And if I’m going commando?”

Y/N pressed her hand against his chest and pushed him away from her. “You had nothing underneath all day on set?”

“No! I wouldn’t subject the dressing department to that. But underneath this.” He looked down at his jeans and smiled at her. “I do have nothing.”

“Well then? Get on with it!”

Both of them were giggling, as Y/N tried to unbuckle Harry’s belt, his own fingers mixing with hers as he went for the zipper and the button. He nudged his head towards her. “Your socks and pants come off as well. Or we’ll be unevenly matched.”

Y/N lifted her eyebrow, as she went for her own remaining pieces of clothing. “No socks during sex?”

“No, what kind of a weirdo do you think I am?”

“And if my feet get cold?” She threw them away somewhere.

“We have a blanket.”

As Harry removed his jeans and his own socks, Y/N slipped off the dampened piece of clothing that’d been on her, now both of them completely naked.

“Alright.” He leaned over her again, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling them chest to chest. “Happy now?”

Y/N deeply kissed him. “Very. But I think we can make each other even happier.”

“Agreed,” Harry hummed. “Wanna get a taste first.” He attached his lips to her collarbones sucking a bruise there. “Can I?”

She groaned at the feeling, knowing there be a pleasant ache that accompanied mark. “You can. Don’t have to, if you don’t want. No need to do this for me.”

“And if it’s for me?” Harry was moving lower and lower with each word, wet tongue flicking against a perked bud, and making Y/N gasp. “What if I wanna feel you cum on my tongue, and what if I wanna do something I’ve dreamed about for months now?”

His hands were kneading her breasts, mouth having left a trail of kisses down the middle of her stomach as it was moving towards where an ache that’d been left untreated made itself more and more prominent.

“Then please, please, please do something, Harry.”

“With pleasure.”

Luckily for Y/N, she didn’t have to beg any more, as his mouth attached itself to where she wanted him most, tongue sweeping past her lower lips and licking up a broad, steady stripe.

One of her hands went to fist into her hair and the other into Harry’s. “Shit,” she moaned. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“Guide me.” He licked a circle around her clit. “Tell me how you like it.”

“Mhgm, fuck, okay,” Y/N breathed out. “I – I mean you’re doing great on your own.” Her chest was heaving as if she was running a marathon, and Harry shifted her legs so that they lay over his shoulders. “But umm, like if you lick around my clit, but like really press down li – oh, fuuuuck, just like that.”

The coil in her stomach tightened with each pass he did, just like Y/N had instructed, small tight circles just how she did with her fingers, only what took her sometimes half an hour, Harry managed to do in less than ten minutes, to have her toes curling and hands grasping anywhere they could find purchase to just keep onto something real.

The vibrations from Harry humming sent shivers straight to her core. “What else, lovie? What else, do you like?”

“If – if –,” Y/N panted, “if you suck on it, but like – fuck – shit! If you kinda keep a seal around my clit, that fuck! Yes!”

The way Harry was eating her out was almost sensational, but what made it even better wasn’t that he just decided to do something and assumed, she’d like it, he asked, he wanted to learn and discover what made her tick and turn, or in this case – cum.

“Harry, ‘m close,” Y/N warned him, feeling the warmth slowly start to spread all throughout her body.

“I’ll get you there.”

He let his lips go for a moment before slipping two of his fingers so that they pinched her clit and moved them slowly but tightly up and down it, while his tongue went to slip inside her hole, and that did it for her.

With a gasp of air, Y/N’s eyes rolled to be back of her head, hips lifting up as euphoria exploded through her veins. Her mind went completely dizzy, and she was quite sure some drool also dribbled down the side of her mouth because she’d lost all ability to function.

“ -o me, love,” Y/N heard as if through a fog, and then felt two soothing palms running up and down her legs. “Come back, love. There you go.”

A drunken smile bloomed on her face, and she ran a hand down it, the same hand that’d grabbed Harry’s hair like a vice. “Fuck. You’re good, you know what you’re doing.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you enjoyed yourself because I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

She watched as he straightened out to sit on his knees, her legs still over his shoulders, cock slapping against his stomach, and when she looked down there was a wet patch on his side of the sheets, a sly grin morphing on her face. “You liked eating me out so much you came yourself?”

“What can I say – bringing pleasure, gives me pleasure. And your cunt’s probably the sweetest I’ve ever eaten. But… do you think you’re ready for me?” Harry asked, kissing the inside of Y/N’s thighs and watching as she vigorously nodded her head, but he just smirked. “I think I need to test it out. Just to make sure.”

“Harry,” Y/N whined as she felt his fingers skim the apex of her thighs, teasing her.

“Don’t wanna hurt you.”

With that, he used one of his hands to open up her lips, his thumb pressing down on her already sensitive clit, eliciting a gasp before he allowed two fingers to skim her entrance and then slipped in.

“Still so tight,” he said, watching as Y/N sighed and her mouth fell open, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Told you needed to check if you were ready. What kind of a gentleman would I be now, if I didn’t make sure you could take it?”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “I can take you.”

“Don’t doubt it.” Harry left kisses along her leg, as he continued on with his movements, noting how her hips slowly started to grind down on his palm, so he pushed his fingers in deeper so that the heel of his hand could rest against her clit, making the pleasure intensify. “But I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you when all I wanna do is give you pleasure. And you weren’t stretched out enough. Not yet at least.”

“Oh, god, Harry,” Y/N groaned, one arm thrown over her eyes as his fingers hit just the right spot.

“That’s it? Right there?”

“Yes, right there,” she moaned. “Just. Fuck! Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum again?”

“Yes, just – just curl your fingers and twist them a bit more.”

And much like the first time, a couple more times was all it took. Her orgasm was even more powerful than the previous and fully knocked her breath out of her lungs. Her legs fell open around his shoulders, stomach and chest spasming from the intensity.

Gentle fingers skimmed up and down Y/N’s arms and featherlight kisses fluttered over her breasts, then chest, neck and finally were peppered across her cheeks.

“Kinda spaced out on me there. You alright? Not too much?”

“ ’M – I’m good. But I’m pretty sure you’ve killed me.”

Harry chuckled, and Y/N leaned her head to the side so she could press a kiss against the closest of the swallow tattoos. “Hopefully not. I still wanna take you out on that date.”

Her eyes landed on Harry’s left hand’s ring finger, where a golden band still laid.

“Oh, yeah.” He lifted the digits, still covered in her cum before pushing them past his lips and licking them clean. “Forgot to remove it. Hope the prop guys don’t kill me.”

She hated how his eyes sparkled, absolutely knowing what that sight did to her, how it made her stomach flutter and heart thunder against her ribs. Y/N was sure with the force it was pounding, they’d crack.

“Well, if they don’t, I will.” She pulled him down, nails raking on his skin, dragging to rest on his ass as they bit into it. “Now get inside me.”

“Condom.”

“No, ‘m on the pill.”

“I’m clean, I swear, but it’s still not a hundred per cent safe.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’ll buy the morning-after pill. Just need you inside.”

“You sure?” Harry placed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. I mean I’m clean, and uh… I just wanna feel you.”

He’d cum once already, and Harry would be dammed if he did it again before having the chance to know how heaven feels like. As gently as possible, he took himself, giving a few strokes before nudging the tip against Y/N’s clit, her sharp inhale stalling him until she nodded.

Her nails dug into his biceps, as he finally slipped inside her, making both of them moan at the feeling. Even with all of the stretching out he’d done with his fingers, and the two orgasms he’d drawn from her, the slickness helping everything to be easy and smooth, Y/N still felt a little sting.

Harry’s head dropped to Y/N’s shoulders and even from under him, she could feel his thighs and stomach shaking, as he tried to hold his composure and give her a little bit of time to adjust.

A couple of deep breaths later, she tapped his ribs. “You can move now.”

“ ‘ya sure?”

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded her head and pecked his lips reassuringly. “Please.”

His dishevelled and sweaty hair shook as he nodded and slowly drew back his hips so that just the tip of his cock remained in her before gliding back inside. The sight alone was more than enough to make both of them explode, but they wanted to last longer than thirty seconds, especially for their first time together. There’d be quickies for later, now they wanted to have a proper shag.

Bit by bit, Harry’s pace quickened, pearls of sweat gliding down his skin and dampening the sheets below them, much like it was with Y/N. Her leg slid up to rest around his hips, giving him a better angle and more leverage for him to strike the right spot, as he pushed her knee to rest against her chest, Y/N’s head falling back to the pillow.

Her insides were shaking from the pleasure, and it was like an invisible force was pushing down on her chest, as she struggled for a proper breath. “Harry,” she dragged out his name, the word turning into a high-pitched whine.

“I know,” he responded in the same breathless voice. He could feel her tighten around him and wasn’t sure just how much longer he’d be able to keep up the pace. “Touch yourself ‘f me, lovie. C’mon, use those fingers.”

Y/N did as she was told. It didn’t give her that butterfly feeling like it’d happened when they’d been Harry’s, but it did make her cum faster, and the sensation of her gushing around his cock made him lose all self-control and he spilled inside.

It wasn’t enough for Y/N, but she guessed she needed to settle for it. She knew that nothing really ever touched in the universe, that the closest atoms ever come to touching one another is when their wave packets overlap, much like she and Harry were now overlapping, his body lying on top of hers, skin sweaty and frame trembling as he came down from his own high.

“I uh,” Y/N cleared her throat, finger tracing the outline of one of the butterfly in the middle of Harry’s chest. “When the people came to get my stuff, I umm, asked them to take your rainbow cardigan. Wanted something that smelled like you, so I didn’t feel so alone. Was the first thing I put on when I got out of my hospital gown.”

She felt his body rumble with laughter and a kiss being pressed to her forehead. “I know. Saw Anna stash it inside the suitcase. I uh, I was the one who also put in one of my sweaters. Know how cold you always get.”

She hid her smile against his collarbones. “Thank you. For thinking of me.”

“ 'M always thinking of you… Will you knit me one though?”

Y/N raised her eyebrow. “Knit you one?”

“Yes. I know you knit –“

“Everyone knits nowadays.”

Harry drew himself back a bit, and she pushed away the matted down strands from his forehead, wiping away the sweat from underneath his green eyes as well. “Yes, but the point is – there’ll be a million other Gucci shirts and sweaters and cardigans. But I’d like to have one-of-a-kind made by you. So, I have something to sleep next to when you’re not next to me.”

Y/N ran a finger along his jawline, biting away her grin. “It’ll probably have mistakes. I’m not that good at it. ‘M not a professional.”

“Exactly.” Harry tilted her head up with a finger and their eyes met. “Which is why it’ll be perfect.”

“The arms will most likely be different lengths in the end.”

“Don’t worry, darling.” He pecked her lips before hugging her and not letting go. “It’s flawless for me.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15 @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

A/N: My tags are always open :)

P.S. please don’t repost my work without specific written permission onto other platforms :)

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thepinkwriterr · 2 years

Text

Sick Again

Jimmy Page x reader one shot

Summary: You wake up to find yourself sick. Jimmy takes care of you!

Notes: Fluff. Just pure fluff

Word count: 1,015

A/n: Hey, guys, I have covid right now :(. I thought it would only be appropriate to write a sick-fic. Enjoy!

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

The sound of wind whistling against the windows woke me. When I sat up I could see that the candles resting on the bedside table were still lit. I leant over and drew in a labored breath in attempt to blow them out.

The harsh air scratched against my throat and I sent a thick cough into the air. My elbow shot up to my face as my fit continued. I could feel a burn around my throat. I rubbed my warm hand on the thin skin of my trachea.

I could feel the man beside me turn. He began to stir as I continued coughing. I felt guilty waking him. Especially because he had just returned from tour. “It’s okay. You can go back to bed.” I said lovingly. He shook his head and raised it to look at me.

His eyes were barely open, still heavy from his peaceful slumber. “Mmm...” Was all he managed to grumble out. I smiled and opened my mouth to lull him back to sleep. But that was interrupted by another coughing fit. He sat up at once, his hand flying to my back.

He rubbed his hand along my spine. He was comforting as pain rippled through my body. A hot headache began to form; an effect of the coughing. I moaned in pain and slunk down into the warm sheets.

“You alright, Love? I can make you some tea,” He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, “Or get you a cold cloth for your head.” His gentle words were bliss in this moment of illness. I hummed in response, shaking my head.

I turned on my side and pushed my body against his. My head burrowed into his clothed chest. His cotton shirt was so soft.

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of my head. His hands stroked over the spot his lips had just been. “Why don’t you just try and get some more sleep? Your body is going to need the rest so you can get better.” His velvet accent sounded so nicely in the dark of the cold night. I nodded subtlety into hiI m.

When I woke again the sun was out. The beams painted patterns onto the floral walls of our boathouse bedroom. I rolled over to feel his side of the bed empty. My hand roamed over the spot he had been laying in. It was still warm.

I sat up in confusion, looking around the room for him. I didn’t have to wonder much longer. He came into the room not a moment later. A tray was in his hands, a flower crushed between his teeth. I giggled at the sight of him. His dark hair was tied back into a half-up bun. The curls that crowded his vision were tied back neatly with the rest of his locks flowing free.

He sat the tray down on the bedside table. He brought the mug of tea to my lips, watching with a sweet smile as I sipped. The warm drink worked its magic as it traveled down my sore throat.

Now it was time for Jimmy’s sorcery as he charmed me. He placed the flower behind my ear, tucking loose strands as he went. He leaned in and kissed my nose. The thick hairs on his face tickled my cheek. His soft lips were just what I needed.

“Thank you, darling. This was just what I needed,” I smiled before taking a drink from my mug, “A little sugar in the morning.” He stood back and sent me a grin. “And the tea is good too.” I flirted with my deep, sickly voice.

A blush dotted across his nose and cheeks, painting him pink. The color suited him, I think. “Eat your breakfast. You need your energy.” He pushed a plate of toast and eggs my way. He sat next to me while I munched away.

After I was finished with my meal and my tea I sat back into the pillows. My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe. Mucus coated the inside of my lungs, making them damp and heavy.

“You look unwell, Love. Should I phone the doctor?” His brow was knitted together in deep concern. A small laugh emitted from my lips and I shook my head. “I just have a cold, I’m sure. I will be okay. But I appreciate you being so concerned.” I leaned over to him and kissed his cheek.

He beamed at my affection. “You’re going to get me sick!” He said dramatically. I couldn’t tell if he was joking at first. “And I don’t want your cooties.” He quickly turned his head away from me and pushed a hand to my chest.

I gave him a meek laugh before pouncing on him. I attacked his bearded face with my sickly kisses. Our laughter bounced off the walls as I continued to pepper him with my endearment.

After our laughter died down I laid back into the yellow sheets under us. He sat against the pillows, watching me as my eyes fluttered closed.

Several minutes had passed and he was moving around impatiently. “Love?” He asked in his quiet tone. “Hmm?” I hummed in response, my eyes still closed. “Just checking to see if you were still awake.”

I opened my eyes to see him already looking at me. “Can I help you?” I raised a brow. His gentle laugh floated through the air. It was a simple song that never failed to bring a smile to your face. “There is no help for me, I’m afraid.” It was my turn to laugh.

The next two days were spent lounging around as I recovered. We spent mornings in our bed and evenings on the couch. Although I felt like death, it was the best few days of my life. He doted on me and wore a look of concern constantly.

I was almost upset when I started to feel better. But now it was my turn to care for him; he had caught my sickness.

#jimmy page #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page x reader #led zeppelin #led zeppelin imagines #robert plant #robert plant x reader #robert plant fan fic #writing #70s #sick fic #led zeppelin fanart #classic rock #classic rock fanfiction #classic rock fandom #classic rock imagines

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4stars-uswnt · 3 years

Text

Home Is Wherever I’m With You [Christen Press x Reader]

requested by anon: Hey, there just want to drop of this prompt in case you feel like writing it. Reader got home after a few months being away from CP because of the quarantine, maybe a moment of CP confronting R that she’s jealous of R’s teammate that got to lockdown together. Thanks.

A/N: after a week break (for the election and other stresses of life) (and technically i haven’t written in like three weeks bc of life and school), we’re BACK! hope y’all like this one :) and as always, feedback is more than welcome!! anyways, back to your regularly scheduled programming...

“Hey, baby, I’m home,” you call out, as you enter the LA apartment you shared with your girlfriend, closing the door behind you, “fucking finally.” You mumble under your breath, as you drop your bags onto the floor.

“(Y/N)!” Christen runs from the bedroom upon hearing your voice, but before she can crash into you for a long-awaited hug, you put up your hands to stop her.

“Woah, Chris,” you almost falter at the sight of her pout, “I just got off a plane and came from the airport. I need to shower and get all these yucky germs off me.” You smell your shirt and make a face to exaggerate your point.

“But I missed you.” Christen pouts, and you give her a sympathetic smile.

“I missed you too, babe, but I just wanna be extra safe. Can’t have you getting sick or anything like that.” You wink, as you make your way to the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Blowing her a kiss, you disappear down the hallway.

Christen sinks down into the couch, letting out a frustrated groan. If the forward was being honest with herself, she more than missed you; she was jealous. Although she knew that you loved her and only her and the two of you had been dating for almost two years, Christen couldn’t help the green-eyed monster from taking over when she constantly saw you on Sofia Huerta’s instagram.

The past two months, you had to quarantine in Seattle and stay in your apartment that you shared with Sofia during the season, while waiting for COVID to settle down enough for you to travel. During that time, you and Sofia spent a lot of time together, doing anything to keep you entertained.

Unfortunately for you, Sofia had often posted on her Instagram story photos and videos of your activities, whether it be a movie night or a bike around Discovery Park, leading to a very annoyed Christen Press.

It wasn’t that Christen was jealous in the sense that she thought there was something going on between you and the midfielder, more so that she was jealous that it was Sofia that got to spend time doing all that fun stuff with you rather than her.

Too caught up in her thoughts, Christen didn’t notice you plop down next to her. “You there?”

“Hmm,” she turns to face you, “yeah, yeah, just got lost in thought.”

“Well, now that I’m all clean,” you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively, as you move to straddle your girlfriend, “I thought we could make up for some lost time.”

“I like the sound of that.” Christen leans in closer to connect your lips.

—————

The next morning, after a long uneventful night, you woke up in your own bed next to your girlfriend for the first time in months. Turning over, you smile and admire the sleeping woman next to you. Wanting to do something somewhat romantic, you silently slip out of bed, careful not to wake your girlfriend, and head to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

As you were fixing up some coffee and healthy yogurt, oats, and chia seeds (or whatever healthy stuff your girlfriend puts in her breakfast), Christen was groggily waking up. Rolling over, she reaches out to the other side of the bed, expecting to find your warm body, only to be disappointed with cold sheets. Christen rubs her eyes and sits up, but before she could call out to you, you enter the bedroom, carrying a tray with two bowls and a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You smile, leaning down to give your girlfriend a peck. “Brought you some breakfast in bed.”

“Thanks, babe.” Christen’s heart melted, as she looks to see what you made. “Aw, and you even made my favorite.”

“Yup.” You playfully boast and wink. “Your favorite for my favorite.”

Your girlfriend can’t help but giggle at your cheesiness. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it, love.”

Right as you go to take a bite, Christen grabs your wrist. “Wait.”

“Whatttttt?” You whine like a child.

“Lemme take a photo.” She explains gently, ignoring your antics.

You roll your eyes, as she takes a photo of your bowls and posts it to her Instagram story:

The two of you spend the rest of the morning in bed, eating breakfast, giggling, catching up, and just enjoying each other’s much missed presence.

—————

Later that afternoon, as the two of you were doing your separate tasks, Christen preoccupied with re-inc and you with your article for the tribune, you finish typing your thought and shut your laptop. You get up from the sofa and approach your girlfriend, who’s sitting at the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your chin on her shoulder.

“You almost done?”

“Almost.” Christen hums, smiling slightly, as you kiss her shoulder and then her neck, making your way up to her cheek.

“I’m bored.”

Christen finishes writing her email and then turns around to face you. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“You’re done?” You ask, feeling slightly guilty from pulling her away from her work, knowing she had more to do.

“I can be, if you offer up a better alternative.” Christen teases.

“Oh, I definitely have something better to offer.” You smirk and bring her in for a deep kiss. You immediately swipe your tongue on her bottom lip, asking for an entrance, which the green-eyed woman grants. Your mouths move in a perfect harmony, like a well-rehearsed dance. As you kiss down her throat, Christen lets out a sigh.

“Yeah,” she breaths, “this is definitely better.”

“Yeah?” You mumble into her neck.

“Mhmm.”

“Well then,” you pull your head out of the crook of her neck, “you’re just gonna have to wait till later because I found this Bob Ross tutorial that we’re gonna do.” You exclaim giddily, and you give Christen’s nose a quick kiss.

“Really, (Y/N)?” She calls out after you, as you go to get the supplies, slightly riled up. But when you come back, balancing canvases in one hand and paints and brushes in the other, Christen completely forgets about her frustration, as she sees your enthusiastic smile.

“C’mon, Chris.” You nod your head for her to follow you into the dining area. “And bring some wine too!”

Christen laughs, shaking her head, but grabs a bottle of rosé and two glasses.

“So what scene are we painting?”

“‘Island in the Wilderness.’” You scroll through YouTube until clicking on the video.

“Sounds hard.” Christen states hesitantly, as she pours some wine for the both of you.

“Eh, it probably is, but that’s the fun of it.” You shrug, thanking her, as she hands you your glass.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

While you’re setting up the canvases on easels and open up the necessary paints, Christen quickly pulls out her phone to take a picture of the set up, once again adding it to her story:

“Ready?” You turn to your girlfriend, about to start the video. Christen nods and picks up one of the brushes.

About 10 minutes into the tutorial, you lean back into your chair, frustrated by the difficulty of the painting.

“Ugh! This is so hard.” You set your brush down, replacing it with your glass of wine. “How does Bob make it look so easy? Mine looks nothing like his, or even yours.” Pouting, you gesture to Christen’s piece, which unfairly looks quite similar to the video’s.

Your girlfriend just chuckles at you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping to placate you. “(Y/N/N), yours is looking great.”

“You have to say that. You’re my girlfriend.” You huff jokingly.

Christen ignores you and continues to watch Bob paint some trees just by flicking his brush back and forth.

Having given up on your own painting, you sit back and watch your girlfriend gracefully paint. You soon become bored, Bob Ross’s soothing voice almost putting you to sleep, so you grab one of your brushes. Reaching out, you poke Christen’s cheek, dotting blue paint across the side of her face.

Her jaw drops, and she turns to face you, as you have to stifle your laughter.

“You did not just do that.” She glares at you, readying her own brush, and before you know it, you have a stripe of green paint down your nose.

You raise your eyebrows at your girlfriend and then narrow your eyes. “Oh, it is so on.” You reach out in front of you and dip your hands in paint, and you see Christen out of the corner of your eye doing the same.

Before she could prepare herself, you’re smearing paint up and down her arms.

“Hey!” Christen shouts. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t ready.”

“All is fair in love and war.” You cheekily smirk.

“Alright, if you wanna play that way…” Christen trails off, as she cups your cheeks with her painted hands, squishing them together, effectively rubbing paint all over your face. “There you go, love.”

“That’s it. You are so getting it.” You wipe your mouth, where some paint had gotten.

Christen squeals and goes to run away, causing you to chase after her. Catching up to her, which is no easy task, fortunately for you, the forward had been wearing socks, you wrap your arms around her waist and pick her up. You nuzzle your nose in the crook of her neck, effectively spreading the paint.

“(Y/N), my clothes!” Your girlfriend exclaims in between laughs.

“It’ll wash out. And if not, I’m pretty sure you have like at least ten other shirts just like that.” You set the other woman back down on the floor, and she turns to wrap her arms around your neck.

“I love you, (Y/N).” She says with a giant grin on her face.

“I love you too, Christen.” You rubs your nose against hers, snorting when you see paint end up on her nose. “You’re more beautiful than any art piece.”

Christen giggles and brings you in for a sweet kiss. Pulling away, she backs away from you, slowly turning around to head to down the hallway.

“I think I could use a shower now.” Christen reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. Looking over her shoulder, she throws you a wink, as she unclips her bra. “You coming?”

Your eyes widen at the sight of the smooth skin of your girlfriend’s back. Shaking your head, you knock yourself out of your stupor and eagerly follow Christen into the bathroom, almost tripping on your own two feet.

—————

About twenty minutes later, the two of you are clean, having gotten rid of nearly all the paint off your bodies. As you’re going to get dressed, you notice Christen changing into a pair of sweat shorts.

“Babe, you might wanna change into something a little warmer.”

“What? Why?” Christen furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head in confusion. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“You mean besides the fact that they’re mine?” You tease, earning a blush from your girlfriend. “We’re going out.” You tell her succinctly.

“What? Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” You pull on a pair of loose jeans and slip on a warm sweater.

“Well, will you at least tell me what to wear?” Christen prods.

“Wear some layers. It might get cold.” You give her a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen to prepare your surprise, leaving your girlfriend absolutely clueless and struggling to pick out some clothes.

While Christen was fussing over her outfit, you quickly put together some fruit, and some cheese and crackers into a picnic basket, along with the bottle of rosé, two glasses, and a blanket. Scanning the apartment, you quickly thought of what else you needed. You snatch two of the pillows from the couch and stuff them in another bag.

'What else? Is that everything?’ You think to yourself. ‘Flowers, definitely need some flowers!’

You grab the basket and the bag with the pillows and head to the front door. “Chris, I’m gonna go pick up the mail!” While that was only partly true, as the mail had definitely been sitting in your box all day, you were also gonna go put these bags in your car and pick some flowers on the way out.

“Okay, thanks, babe!” She yells back from the bedroom. With that, you kick the door shut behind you and head down to the garage.

After having picking some flowers from the shared garden at the front of your apartment building, putting everything in the trunk, and grabbing the mail, you reenter your apartment.

“What took so long?” Christen asks with no malice in her voice.

You look up from the mail, and your breath hitches. Your girlfriend was wearing a simple outfit, a pair of light-washed jeans and a sherpa quarter zip, and her curly hair was in a half-up-half-down bun. While it may be simple, her beauty never failed to take your breath away.

“(Y/N)?” She pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you shake your head, “I ran into Jerry, and he wanted to know, and I quote, ‘where the hell’ I’ve been.”

Christen chuckles. “Of course he did.”

Jerry was the doorman and was very excited when he found at that Christen Press and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would be living in the building, as he was a huge fan of women’s soccer.

“So, you ready?” You reach out to take your girlfriend’s hand.

“Yup.” She squeezes your hand. “You still not gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.” You quip. “You’ll just have to be patient, my love.”

“Fine.” Christen pouts, and you kiss her cheek, wiping the frown off her face.

—————

It was about a fifteen minute drive to the beach from your apartment, and when Christen recognized the familiar route, she piped up.

“We’re going to the beach?”

“Mhmm.” You hum. “You’re too smart for your own good, Press.”

“That’s what happens when you go to Stanford.” Christen teases, knowing your distain towards the school, you yourself having gone to Cal.

“Whatever.” You mumble under your breath, earning a small giggle from the other woman.

You park the car and race around to open Christen’s door for her. “M’lady.” You say with a fake posh British accent, as you hold your hand out for her to take.

“Why thank you.” She blushes, responding with her own accent.

As you open the trunk and pull out the things for your picnic, Christen’s eyes soften and feels her whole body flush with a warmth she could only describe as love.

“(Y/N/N),” she gasps, “what is all of this for?”

Closing the trunk, you give her a goofy grin. “What? I have to have a reason to spoil my girlfriend and take her on a romantic picnic on the beach?”

“I mean— no.” Christen’s cheeks tint pink.

“That’s what I thought.” You throw her a wink. “Now, c’mon, this food won’t eat itself!”

The two of you make your way down onto the beach, finding the perfect spot where there weren’t very many people. After you finish setting up the blanket and pillows and unpack the picnic basket, Christen snaps a photo of the serene setting, as the sun is almost setting.

“Chris, come join me!” You wave over your girlfriend, who notices that you’re now sitting on the blanket, snacking on some grapes.

The forward slips off her shoes and takes a seat next to you, sinking her toes in the sand.

“This is amazing, (Y/N).” Christen intertwines your fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “Thank you for this, and this entire day really. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

“Just being you, Chris. You deserve the world.” You smile softly. “Annnddd, I figured since we’ve been apart for so long, this was the least I could do.”

“Well, thank you, again.”

You lean in to give her a sweet kiss. “Anytime, babe.” And Christen could tell by your voice, and just from knowing you, that you truly did mean any time, that you would do anything for her because she would do anything for you.

Watching the sunset, the two of you snack on the food and sip on the wine you’d brought, conversing about plans for the holidays and the upcoming Olympics.

At the break of your conversations, as you sit in silence, watching the waves crash and the last rays of sun reflect across the water, you feel your phone buzz. Checking the screen, you see it’s a text from Megan, and you chuckle in amusement but also in confusion.

“Chris, do you know why Pinoe texted me saying: ‘Thanks for making me look bad with all your romantic gestures. Now Sue is badgering me, asking why I never do stuff like that for her.’?”

“Um, I have no idea.” Christen looks down, suddenly finding the sand incredibly interesting.

“Hmm, okay.” You eye your girlfriend suspiciously, as you text your teammate back, asking her what she’s talking about. Seconds later, you get a response telling you to check Christen’s Instagram story. Opening the app, you click on your girlfriend’s posts and notice she’s documented the activities throughout your day, from breakfast in bed to painting Bob Ross to your romantic picnic.

Looking up from your phone, you turn to Christen and see she’s still fiddling with the grains of sand.

“Chris?” You gently coax. “Is this what Pinoe was talking about?”

She nods, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” you grab her hands, guiding her to look at you, “I’m not mad at you, baby, not at all.”

You weren’t angry or upset with her for posting those pictures, as your relationship wasn’t a secret to anybody, but you knew this wasn’t like Christen at all. You knew your girlfriend was a very private person, not one to post or flaunt your relationship on social media, and you respected her decisions and boundaries, being a somewhat conserved person as well.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.” You continue, gently brushing a loose hair out of her face. “What brought this on?”

Christen murmurs something under her breath.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”

She takes a deep breath and repeats herself. “I wanted to show everyone that you’re mine. I know it’s stupid, but I was a jealous of Sofia and how you two got to spend so much time together. And I know that you would never ever cheat on me, I know that, (Y/N), but it just sucked that I couldn’t be with you for the past two months, so I just wanted to show people that—“

You bring your girlfriend’s face closer to yours and kiss her, cutting off her rambling. Leaning your forehead against hers, you look deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Christen. And being away from you for these past two months absolutely sucked because you’re my home, Chris, as cheesy as that sounds it’s true. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel like I was ignoring you by spending time with Sofia. I love you and only you.”

Christen shakes her head. “No, (Y/N), you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I was just frustrated by this whole pandemic and not being able to spend time with you.”

“Me too, Chris, me too.” You pepper her face with kisses, causing her to throw her head back giggling.

“And I’m sorry if me posting stuff from our day made you uncomfortable.” Christen apologizes sincerely, before nudging you with a slight smirk on her face. “I just wanted to show off my amazing romantic girlfriend to the world.”

You let out a hearty laugh. “I don’t mind being shown off, babe, not at all.”

“Good, because I plan on doing it for a long time. You’re stuck with me.” She sticks out her tongue at you, earning a fond smile.

“Lucky me.”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #christen press x reader #christen press imagine #christen press imagines #uswnt #christen press

329 notes · View notes

eyesaremosaics · 3 years

Text

So much on my mind lately. Things are mostly calm. I’m worried about my brother, he’s suicidal. My grandfather has covid, so that’s been a worry. I’m trying not to put my energy into fear. Times are tough for everyone right now. Truthfully I have been more fortunate than most. Feeling immense gratitude for all the things I do have. Yet it’s hard not to long for another life in these days.

Does anyone else feel like the hits just keep on coming? Now I understand what my mentor was trying to tell me. That life doesn’t get easier, it just gets harder, but I swear it didn’t used to be this hard.

Lately I’ve been drawing, writing, and listening to books on tape. I try to read when I can, but I’m always so busy working that I rarely get any time to myself. I’m always busy tending to other people and their needs, I forget to indulge the things I used to enjoy. I loved reading. I used to paint often, and journal all the time. My boyfriend and I had a recent disconnect, where he needed space to pursue his hobbies, and his words and manner towards me insinuated that I was a stage five clinger, which anyone who knows me—will tell you isn’t true. I’ve always been incredibly independent, so much so that most people couldn’t picture me with a boyfriend when I was a teenager. “You’re too independent, I just can’t see you with a boyfriend.”

Not that I didn’t love totally and deeply. I most certainly did. However the person I loved was always pushing me to create. He found creativity to be a much more useful way to spend one’s time, and as deeply as I loved him, more than anything I wanted to be like him. Instead of waiting for the prince to come save me, I was the prince, and I went around saving others. If only I had thought to save myself.

Through loving others so deeply, I have discovered this level of empathy to be detrimental. Recent events have brought up a lot of heavy lessons that I thought I had already learned. So many of my relationships were abusive, and as a result, I became a very damaged person, and probably—unconsciously— impacted others. We are all guilty of this in some way or another. Taking accountability and making conscious choices in the future to be different, is the only way forward. We all have dark and light inside of us.

To return to my original point, somewhere along the line, I went from being a staunchly independent and intellectually curious young woman, to this drab, listless extension you see before you. That’s got to change.

Things I’m proud of:

-I quit using cocaine and alcohol to cope with my trauma.

I ran from myself for years. Hid inside the bottle, gained all this weight, and became a person I didn’t like. A petulant martyr going around complaining about how bitterly unfair my life had been. Until one day I saw that it was a choice. Staying stuck in it, rolling around in my misery—was a choice. It took being confronted with chronic illness, for me to make this shift. Facing one’s own mortality, is a wake up call. I abused my own body with drugs and alcohol, to the same degree in which I was abused. Poured poisin into myself, and now I must suffer the long term effects. My body literally burning itself out from the inside with stomach acid.

But I quit. My relationship to recreational substances has changed completely. I don’t need them to have fun. I like to get a little buzz from cannabis or one to two drinks max (usually only have one or two drinks on the weekends), but I’m able to stop after that! I never had that level of control before. I quit smoking years ago. I don’t do hard drugs, only psychedelics (and that’s a once a year type deal). These are pleasures to be indulged once in a while, but I don’t need them everyday. How liberating that feels.

Also my health crisis led me to stick to my healthy diet. I lost a ton of weight. I run everyday, and do yoga a few times a week. I’m in the best physical shape since my early twenties. I fit into a vintage dress with a size 26in waist last weekend! It feels great to see the rewards of living healthy.

I have a wonderful man in my life, we live together in our cute little one bedroom apartment here in the city, and somehow we don’t get sick of each other. We were only dating for three months when covid hit. We spent every day together, unable to go anywhere or do anything, but we inspire each other to sharpen our skills, learn new hobbies, watch new material. I love his thirst for knowledge, he re-instilled the same fire in me again. One that had long since gone out.

For many years I was performing, doing shows constantly, going to classes, shooting on set, or working. I was always busy with a very active social life. Covid has been hard on those who love to gather. My identity was so wrapped up in being a performer. I forgot I had other talents too... like painting and drawing. Here I am forcing myself to write, even though it is not very good, and is all interior monologue—it is ideas flowing onto the page again. Every step forward should be encouraged because it is so easy to stagnate these days.

What have you all been doing in terms of self improvement?

#me #self awareness #self reflection #self improvement

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daesungindistress · 3 years

Note

The five hands pic was posted alongside a pic of his screen, noting the time on New Year’s. Maybe he was trying to mark a new beginning since it is a new year. But then, he's always been difficult to read.

Mark a new beginning by bringing back something old? You might be onto something ;) I’ll explain below.

Alright y’all, I’m back, and with a new take on his post. One that, though I had a half-formed idea about it the day he posted, New Year’s Eve my timezone, I didn’t have the peace of mind or mental clarity to make sense of it at the time, there in the thick of so much unexpected emotion, yours and mine.

While I’m undecided about how much stock I want to place in this, preferring to take a guarded approach to Jiyong and his characteristically cryptic Instagram posts from now on, I think it's worth considering. The few fans I’ve shared it with privately have agreed that it “sounds a lot like Ji.” Disclaimer: this is not an excuse for the disturbance he caused or the pain he inflicted, whether he meant to or not, whether he’s out of touch with fans or just doesn’t care. Think of this more as a genuine, good faith effort to understand what could be going through his head. Because, no, putting aside my initial impression heavily colored by the years (literally years!) of negative experiences here, I can’t agree with the shit stains of this fandom and their misplaced gloating. Jiyong did not “say BIGBANG is 5.” But he did say something. And I think his message without words deserves a closer look.

So here we go:

Quite a few VIPs are taking his post as a comeback teaser for a GD solo followed by BIGBANG. And while that may be the case, I wouldn’t be surprised if it... are you ready for it... had little to with G-Dragon or BIGBANG at all. Those two images side-by-side may have been a generic call for unity and cooperation for the world at large as we leave behind a year defined by distance and division.

First of all, it was his first post of 2021. The time stamp on his screen read 1:11 1/1/2021... really driving home the number 1. Unity, obviously.

In the background the painting Millionaire Nurse by Richard Prince is projected over him. He is wearing what appears to be a surgical mask, an instantly recognizable symbol of the sickness that dominated the year 2020, and a piece of protective equipment we carry with us into 2021 because, with cases still surging and restrictions tightening, the fight isn’t over. What’s more, of all the pics in this photoshoot, I noticed he chose one in which the word NURSE is highly visible in bright lettering across the front of his mask. A much-needed message of hope and healing for a world driven into quarantine by COVID-19. He hopes 2021 will be the year we’ll finally conquer this contagion that keeps us apart.

Still with me? Here’s where things get interesting:

In a recent interview promoting his Nike Paranoise 2.0 shoes Jiyong was asked about his one wish for 2021. “What is the 2021 'YOUTOPIA' you are hoping for?”

“I hope the world becomes healthier,” Jiyong answered. “I think that’s what everyone wants right now.”

Health and healing for the world. No mention of music, solo or otherwise. His mind is on the state of the world, not the state of BIGBANG. And he assumes everyone is on the same page.

But wait! There’s more:

That photo of interconnected hands was first posted to his IG back in 2016 but resurfaced recently in October 2020 when someone (presumably one of his or TOP's art friends, I’m not sure who this guy is) reposted it as a visual accompaniment to a rambling criticism of a country more fractured than ever before by politics and policy as its people grapple with this novel coronavirus. Jiyong came across it with his personal account and slapped a heart on it, liking it very much.

Thinking about it, trying to get a sense of where his mind may have been back then, this was roughly around the time his Paranoise shoes were being prepped for release, about which he explained, “Our footsteps are the result of our decisions. I believe you can completely change the meaning behind these sneakers depending on how you wear them.”

“Change the meaning,” he says. That isn’t limited to footwear, you know; depending on how it’s presented, it is also possible to change the meaning behind a photo. And that may be what Jiyong has just done. It's not about BIGBANG anymore, it's about something bigger than BIGBANG.

That IG post by Matt Carey Williams may well have been the first time Jiyong viewed that iconic photo from his past in a new light, through someone else's eyes, being applied broadly to something outside of BIGBANG. Perhaps he saved it and has been holding onto it in the months since, waiting for the right time to use it to make a similar statement of his own about the godawful year we’ve just left in the rearview mirror. One that will be remembered by (to name just a few) rigorous hand washing, religious mask wearing, and to the detriment of mental health worldwide (in an effort to preserve physical health)... widespread social distancing.

Like everyone, Jiyong is tired of the distance, done with the divide, fed-up with closed borders and stay-at-home orders. Fatigued by this seemingly endless cycle of self- and state-imposed separation. Family, friends, and fans advised (and in some cases required) to steer clear of each other? So this picture, this bold reminder in black and white of skin-to-skin contact, hands joined with other hands, connecting person to person... that is the return to normalcy Jiyong would like to see in the near future.

In another ask, anon observed, “It's entirely possible [Jiyong] just doesn't think Seungri has a right to infringe on his own memories or sense of ownership of BIGBANG.”

I thought that was insightful. And important to keep in mind going forward. Because unless they plan to ignore everything from their past and run from it forever (an impossible feat), sooner or later Jiyong, Youngbae, Seunghyun, and Daesung will have to take steps to take back BIGBANG. Take back their brand, their music, their art. Their memories together and their past work shouldn’t stay trapped with and tainted by their former member for the rest of their days.

This doesn’t have to be Jiyong signaling a return to the past, or even asking that we remember it; instead, I see it as him reclaiming it. Owning it in ways that are, well, his own, even if that means going about it with ambiguity. Infusing old things with new meaning in a new year ripe with the potential for new beginnings.

#and okay maybe it's a little bit about bb after all #2021 will be the year bb reunites... with vip #that fifth hand? it's ours now #😉#bigbang will be back as 4 and we'll be here to support them as such #and as always sr/ot5 fans can fuck right off 🖕#gd #ask #anon #also osen published a positive article about gd's new year's post and yg shared it to their website yg-life #yg who we can be quite sure will never acknowledge you-know-who's existence again #so I think it's safe to say koreans are not taking it as a sign of support for sr #maybe it's a cultural thing #and if kvips don't think it's cause for concern then I suppose I won't either... I'll try to be a bit more fair-minded from now on #also I wrote this like 4 days ago sorry it took so long to clean up and hit post

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swan--writes · 3 years

Text

A Very Mr. Finn Christmas

There was something about ‘Dewey Christmas’ that just sounded...wrong. Anyway, Merry Belated Christmas to those who celebrate! ❤💚

Warnings: none

Words: 1,936

The year had been a bastard. First was your dog dying, then Dewey getting sent home for last school year because of the pandemic, then the spike in visibility of police brutality and the protests. The summer had been brutally hot, you weren’t working, you and Dewey had had to quarantine separately for more than a month and neither of you had been able to see any of your friends. You spent so much time on the couch at your parents’ place upstate before your partner eventually joined you, once his own lease had run out. Despite both of your relief at Dewey getting out of the city, that had also been when he found out for certain that he wouldn’t be able to see his kids in person. California had caught fire, one of your grandparents died of lung cancer and had a funeral you couldn’t attend because of COVID, and another was all set to spend Christmas in the hospital.

Yes, the year had indeed been a bastard, but thankfully, it was almost a dead bastard.

Since your parents had broken down and gone to visit your aunt, you and Dewey had the large house to yourselves for two weeks. The two of you had been pleasantly surprised: despite both needing a healthy amount of alone time, you still weren’t sick of each other. Not only that, but your relationship had fully survived the year. If anything, you were closer now. You still loved his soft eyes, the give of his chubby stomach when he held you, the way his arms felt like your own personal radiators.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised. Dewey Finn was the kindest man you knew, and the best partner you could have asked for. As immature and rambunctious as he could be, he was also sweet and soft and – though he would never admit it – quite sensitive. Dewey hadn’t seemed to want to talk about it, but he was pretty clearly heartbroken that he couldn’t see his students face-to-face this year. He had held most of his frustration in, since he knew how much it bothered you that you couldn’t work at all with the pandemic happening. Still, you could hear him grumbling in the office your parents had set up for him.

Now, at Christmas, you were trying to find ways to make the season special for your partner. By the last week, you were holding yourself back from writing out a literal Festivities Schedule. You had made a plague year Christmas playlist, trying your best to channel him as you arranged it. It was far from perfect, but you thought he appreciated it.

Your dad’s studio was full of art supplies, so you and Dewey painted ornaments. Neither of you were particularly skilled, but he didn’t care, so you decided you didn’t care either. Fortunately, you had thought to wear clothes you could get paint on because, naturally, it had taken all of ten minutes for your painting session to turn into a full on paint battle to the death. You were fairly certain Dewey had started it, though he insisted on his innocence. Either way, you wound up with Shining Stars gold on your nose and Dark Winter Skies blue all over your sleeve. Dewey got a streak of Santa Red on his arm and splashes of Sparkling Snow glittery white across his shirt and pants. You were sure you still had some glitter in your hair from when he had tackled you and, in a gruff Muppet voice, insisted that you had turned him into the Glitter Monster. Dewey had tickled you until your tears of laughter had soaked into his shirt.

Eventually, you thought to tap out and, breathlessly, you kissed his hand in surrender. Dewey had kissed your nose in return, and come away with a smudge of gold paint across his lips. So he left to wash his face, and you left to make Christmas cookies, and he joined you in the kitchen. You spend the rest of the night playing Mary Lambert’s new holiday EP and singing at each other, harmonizing at all the best parts. He, of course, had no patience for ‘Ave Maria,’ and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you – getting yet more glitter all over you – and gently sway with you.

The next day was when the snowstorm hit. Your parents’ plow guy cleared the driveway (twice), but you and Dewey were responsible for the walkway. You woke up early to shovel first thing in the morning, despite Dewey’s unconscious arm trying to prevent you from getting out of bed. Peeking through the curtains, you almost let him.

One hour after you went back inside, you could hardly tell that you had shoveled at all.

The snow was lighter on the walkway, however, when you went back outside with Dewey to shovel again. You got the sense that he was enjoying it far too much, and you wondered if he had ever had to shovel before. You imagined that growing up in NYC didn’t leave many opportunities, but you didn’t ask. In fact, you were especially quiet all day.

Finally, when you lost power, Dewey asked if you were alright. It wasn’t until he asked that you realized that the seasonal depression had snuck back into your brain. Dewey was predictably wonderful, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back tears. Your partner stood back while you lit up the stone fireplace in your mother’s library, then rolled you up in a blanket on the floor, scattering a few pillows around you.

Dewey heated apple cider over the fire. He picked out a small copy of A Christmas Carol, bound in soft red leather, with gold leaf decorating the cover. It had your mother’s name in it, and just below that, yours in shaky lettering. That did make you cry, but only for a moment. Dewey leaned back against your legs and read the first stave to you while you drank your cider. You took over for him after that, for the next stave. Since you were both musicians with decent vocal stamina, you managed to get through the entire book before you had to call it a night.

When you woke up the next day, it was Christmas Eve. The power was back on, the decorations were hung, the tree was decorated, the presents were wrapped, and the cookies were soft. All that was left was to prep dinner for Christmas Day and dance in the kitchen. As far as Dewey was concerned, there was no type of dancing better than kitchen dancing, and you had to agree. Your parents’ kitchen had plenty of open space, and you could twirl each other around or slide in your socks without running into counters or corners.

The plow guy came by to do one more pass over the driveway and throw down some salt. You donned your mask for the first time all week to bring a box of Christmas cookies out to his truck. It surprised you, how thrilled you were to speak to a new human.

When you returned to Dewey, it still felt as cozy as ever. He jumped around to what almost felt like sacrilegious renditions of Christmas songs, including – though not limited to – a truly perplexing version of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ by a supremely emo band from the early 2000s. Dewey had insisted it be added to your playlist, and who were you to argue?

He brought out his guitar while you made the sweet potatoes. You were particular about your grandmother’s sweet potato recipe. When he rolled up his sleeves to make pie dough, you hopped up onto the counter, sufficiently out of the way. Dewey wouldn’t give you his exact recipe, though considering his tendency to use bowls instead of measuring cups, you weren’t entirely certain that he knew his exact recipe.

By the time you were both finished with all of the dishes, it was pitch dark out. There was butter underneath his fingernails and French bread underneath yours, flour on both of your shirts, and tension in both of your backs. You fell asleep long before midnight.

The next morning, you heard Dewey’s voice before you saw his face.

“Hey,” he said. His lips brushed against your ear.

You groaned and snuggled deeper under your Christmas quilt.

“Hey,” your partner said, more insistently. He squeezed your waist, and you groaned again but opened your eyes.

“Yes?” you muttered.

Dewey nosed at the skin below your ear. “Merry Christmas.”

Your eyes sprung open now, and you sat up. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He must have been awake for a while now.

“Merry Christmas.” You looked at him then. There was a cold gray light filtering into the room, and you could see snow falling gently through a gap in the curtains across from the bed. Dewey’s hair was mussed, and a few waves hung in his face. His stubble was coming in full force. His tee shirt was wrinkled. There was still some Christmas Tree green clinging to the edges of his fingernails.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he asked you playfully.

You suppressed an eye roll and settled for tapping his nose. “You, wise guy. You’re cozy.”

“I’m cozy?”

“M-hm.”

“Can a person look cozy?”

“Well obviously, ‘cause you do. You’re cute.” You tapped his nose again, twice, very lightly. Dewey scrunched up the bridge of his nose, but didn’t lose the soft joy in his expression. “Oh! I have something for you.” You reached blindly for your phone, feeling around on the bedside table while Dewey straightened up.

“Didn’t we set out all our presents?”

“Yeah…” you dragged out the word. “This was sorta last minute.” Your partner waited while you found your phone and opened up your photo gallery. When you found the video you wanted, you opened it and held up the phone between yourself and Dewey.

“…baby?” he said when he saw what was on the screen,

“Yeah?”

“What is this?”

“I may or may not have conspired with your students behind your back.”

In the video, Summer was yelling at his band, trying valiantly to get them all into some sort of order. It seemed to be working. The students seemed to be in their band room, but most of them wore masks. The only kids who were unmasked were Dewey’s singers, and they were spaced apart from one another.

“Is that legal?” Dewey asked. You elbowed him, and he laughed. It was a quiet laugh, though. Almost astonished.

“Hi, Mr. Finn!” Summer said in the video, now facing the camera. “We wanted to do something for you, after all your hard work during these times. So we–”

“She means your–”

“Freddy! Shut it!” Summer snapped. After a short breath, she turned to the camera once again. “We put a little something together for you.” With that, Summer practically touch-stepped offscreen.

When you glanced over at Dewey, he was watching you.

“What?” you laughed.

“I love you.” You heard cymbals playing through your phone’s speaker.

“Shh, it’s starting!” You snapped your attention back to the screen. Dewey shook his head, but followed your gaze.

“I love you too,” you muttered quickly, as the first chords of ‘Faith Noel’ began to spring from Lawrence’s keyboard.

Outside, the snow fell softly to the ground. Inside, beside Dewey, you were warm, and he was cozy, and he loved you. What more could you ask for on Christmas?

Please reblog, if ye are so moved.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @a-okay-rj @geeky-marie @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

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x-exo · 3 years

Note

*slides into your asks with a rose in my mouth* why hello, tis me!

Apologies for the long wait but your favorite long asks anon is here and OOF so much has happened. Let us break it down one by one lol

Monsta x our beans, welp we can officially say we are army wives for them because shownu is now at the military and just welp this feels weird lol. I lowkey forgot he was meant to enlist so when the news came out I went through so many emotions. Its why the latest comeback feels a bit bittersweet to me. It is their BEST for sure and for this year, I agree so to not see him perform right before he left is a bit sad. I don't blame him of course (if anyone does i am fish slapping you) but just a shame. I'm happy we do get content with him still? Seems pre-planned so that is nice!

Onto legends exo, fantastic comeback. I cannot stop listening to the album, its just bops full of bops to me. They broke so many records and I'm over here sipping my tea because fudge yes. It isn't a full member comeback, 2 of the members featured in the comeback are off playing call of duty and they still did THAT. While having lay properly in the comeback!? (Or at least some form, better than tempo era!) Kyungsoo my beloved, the man that can swoon you off your feet, his proper solo album. Omg I am just in love? The album feels like a Playlist that you hear while taking a walk or on a raodtrip? I love it, I just love everything about this with how much thought was given. It makes me feel warm and I'm so proud of him (I think he even got a first win) but sadly xiumin got the it shall not be named virus D: I feel so bad and I can only hope he gets better! It makes me worried because I keep seeing more and more idols getting sick and I can't help but wonder why don't the kpop entertainment just put a pause with stuff? Of course that is VERY unrealistic, I am aware that is naive for me to think but its just so idk how to word it properly (my English brain is not working I am sorry) I cannot help the feeling of while I get people are being safe and yes we need to still live like normal beings, is it worth risking idols health just for some entertainment? Idk how to explain my thoughts properly but maybe I hope I made sense!!

Onto svt! That is perfectly fine to not vibe with a comeback! I will admit, I didn't fully vibe with this comeback and it shocked me because every comeback was a hit to me. Even fear, left and right or homerun where I know many fans were split on, I liked but RTL was a grower. For me, listening to it without watching the mv, helped it alot and it is a song I like. Is it their best? No I don't think so but it is alright to say "hey I didn't bop to this, not my cup of tea" (imo I blame the mv? The mv REALLY didn't do the song justice at all, I am sorry if I sound like a fake fan but this mv Just is bad in all aspects. Sure we have some pretty shots but like it just doesn't fit at all?) So if anything listening to the song or wishing the live performances does it better. Seeing the choreography amps the song up more, cannot go wrong with their dancing. As for the rest of the songs, I admit game boy is my top favorite? Idk if it is because I am a gaming nerd and found all the production of the song so creative but yeah. We can wait for the next comeback! Svt always have something up their sleeves, plus we do have their music projects to look forward too (I wonder when we will get one? Seeing as RTL promotions stopped) some positive news with the boys is they resigned like a year before their contract ends and I'm a bit emotional :') I'm excited to see the boys future projects. We did have caratland recently! Did you watch it if I may ask? We did get in the soop confirmation so I'm excited to watch that, the boys deserve that nice break (even if it was filmed for a show fjsbsns)

Ok I think that is it for kpop updates? XD I do hope life has been treating you kindly! Life has been a bit all over the place sadly so I hope it wasn't like that for you as well! Until next time my bean!

hii!!!! omg sorry for the late reply i've been pretty busy these days 🙈

indeed so much has happened! and much more since you sent this ask omg!!

our shownu is at war *looks into the distance* *wipes away tear* *sighs* by now I got used to enlistment news (see what happens when you stan 2nd and 3rd gen groups) but STILL [[IT HURT]] when they uploaded the monchannel videos of his goodbye day like ????? what kind of twisted mind diuhdfuihdifuhs but the boys were all so cute and soft but they seemed so sad they didn't want to let go of their super leader :(( I hope he's learning lots and making new friends (and also we've got our international super spy yoo kihyun giving us small updates on him every now and then so everything's fine!). Yeah I totally get you it felt empty without him this comeback and at first it didn't really clicked with me but when the enlistment news came out i understood he had to take care of his health and thoroughly check on his eye sight in order to be 100% ready for the military so it made sense he had to be absent :( everything was so close (the comeback and enlistment) that I'm sure there was no other way for doing it I'm pretty sure he couldn't maybe postpone the enlistment day any further

onto exo! my ksoo my soft boi my romantic boi 🥺 his album is so him SO HIM i can't explain it bur it's just HIM you know it's the type of album you'd play on loop on a summer afternoon when you've taken your papers and paints outside in the garden to paint a bit with the warm soft breeze moving the trees lightly 🤧 and he signs in English and SPANISH (he did it for me) my multilingual king he's a native. Also I've been watching Honeymoon Tavern with Jongin these days and OMG i could d word for him really (if you haven's watched it go do it when you have time) he's SO SOFT and SO CUTE and he works as a waiter and a wedding planner and helps with the room preparations and is also a tour guide and he's just so cute so happy al the time the way he interacts with everyone is so 🥺🤧😭 onto more serious stuff now: yeah i was so worried about minseok catching covid omg but i'm glad he went through it with our any major complication and the rest of the boys are safe too! I guess the industry doesn't stop bc that would mean a huge loss of thousands and thousands of dollars/won/etc so as long as the gov doesn't prohibit going out or gathering like at the beginning of the pandemic, they'll keep on going with the idols' schedules otherwise the industry would just shut down having no way of earning money to sustain all the companies and idols.

as for seventeen! yeah i like the songs too! the mv sure ruined rtl and listening to it without watching it has really helped it grow on me more but still it feels kind of meh to me idk i really like anyone i think it's my favourite from the album. AND NOW WE'VE GOT A COMEBACK IN OCTOBER!!!! yayyyyy i can't wait they seem to be preparing very diligently (i hope they release a sexy bop) it's a shame junhao aren't gonna be present for this comeback but i'm soooooo happy they have the opportunity to visit their families again omg they have spent 2 whole years without seeing them in the flesh they must be so happy to get back to them again!!! it's so funny seeing them be bored at the quarantine hotel and doing lives every day duhdfiudhfiuh i hope it passes quickly and they can see their loved ones finally! and I did watch Caratland!! omg the unit switch song was the best thing ever hhu doing lilili yabbay and not being able to stop laughing idfuhdifuhs perf team doing chocolate and owning it????? hello??? performance team more like main vocal team wow! and the vocal team being a complete mess during check in lmaooo i loved it! In The Soop has finally started!!! I love these kind of "normal life" concepts I love seeing the boys being themselves cooking and relaxing I've watched the first and second eps as of today and also few clips from the third and omg mingyu and jeonghan drowning in the pond dfuhidfhidfs lmao they're so dumb i love them 🤣 i'm glad they could go away for a few days and spend time together away from their hectic schedules!

I hope you're well now and if not hang in there it'll all pass soon enough! 🥰💕 bye bye!!

p.s.: I got your request for the svt this or that gifset and i promise i’ll do it one day i just don’t feel like giffing these days dhbduusi i’m out of energy

#ask #my super nice lovely anon

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strawberriestyles · 4 years

Text

Chapter 17

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: FINALLY HARRY SPEAKS A LIL. This chapter is a bit different but I hope y’all enjoy it anyway. Please, let me know! When you’re finished reading, please consider donating to the Black Covid Relief Fund!!! Black people are often disproportionately affected by medical emergencies. If you can’t donate, find some petitions to sign or another way to continue helping! Xx

Harry had barely slept. He watched the sun rise, painting the west wall of Melody’s room in rich pinks and golds, unwilling to leave the bed. He didn’t know how she’d feel if she woke and he wasn’t next to her. In fact, he didn’t know how she would feel when she woke and he was.

The answer came not long after he began to wonder.

Melody blinked her eyes open, facing the wall beside the bed. Her head felt weighted, like she’d had too much to drink. And she probably had, now that she thought about it. She usually rationed herself with wine.

The memory of wine triggered the memory of the events at dinner’s end. Melody had hoped, at first, that she’d had an incredibly vivid nightmare. But the wine was still sweet on her tongue, and the blood spattering the restaurant’s floor was not something that would come in dreams. She blinked again at the wall, dreading the day. But eventually she turned onto her back.

Harry was studying the marks in the ceiling when Melody shifted beside him. She watched his eyes begin to drift toward her face before snapping skyward again. He stiffened, wondering if she would speak to him. Wondering if she might climb right over him and pretend he didn’t exist.

“How could you do that?” she asked, the first words of the morning. Her voice was soft. Harry was suddenly grateful that this conversation had not taken place the night before.

“I...” Harry closed his eyes. It was ironic that now the pull of sleep threatened to keep them shut, when he needed to be alert. He fought to stretch them open and then looked down at the bruises dotting his knuckles. “I didn’ do it to upset you,” he finally answered. “Can yeh believe that?”

Melody sighed. “I believe that you don’t try to hurt me intentionally, yes.”

“‘M frustrated. I’ve already told yeh that, but ‘s like there’s this buzzing in my whole body and I can’ get rid of it unless I hit someone.”

“Sean is not some stranger you can knock around, Harry.” Melody sat up, bending her legs to hug her knees. “He doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve this. You accused me of sleeping with him. And I know that it was just a fucked up excuse to fight, but what if I hadn’t? What if I hadn’t known that? Do you understand how it feels to hear you say that?”

Harry’s heart leaped. Out of place, somehow, closer to his stomach than in his chest. He shook his head slowly. “I didn’ mean it,” he murmured.

“You keep saying things you don’t mean, Harry.” Melody released a short laugh, but it was the most humorless sound Harry had ever heard. “Do you think there aren’t consequences for that? You’re sorry for it after, so it’ll just go away? It doesn’t go away. I still remember you saying those things.

“And I keep forgiving you,” Melody continued, looking at the west wall, which was fading into a magnificent yellow as the sunrise ended. Her voice cracked and Harry worried that she was close to tears again. “And my heart fucking aches every time you do something like this without thinking about me, about how I might feel. Because I do think about you. I think about you in almost every single thing I do. And it’s not fair.”

Melody wiped the silent tears from her cheeks, relieved by her own honesty, apprehensive of Harry’s response.

Harry rubbed his eyes. Melody looked fully at him for the first time this morning and noticed how tired he appeared, the dark circles rimming his eyes, the drawn look of his face. She almost sympathized, remembering his gentle caresses when she had trouble sleeping.

“‘S not fair,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. “‘M so sorry, Mel. If I could take it back this time, I really would. And not just so yeh wouldn’ be angry. I fucked up.”

“I’m not angry, Harry,” Melody said, turning away when he looked back at her. “I’m not. I can’t be angry anymore.”

Harry struggled to pull himself up, leaning against the windowsill. His heart hammered within his chest as she avoided his eyes again. This felt like anger.

“Well, I am angry.” Melody’s gaze finally flickered to meet his. He found that he couldn’t hold it. “I’ve been angry for a long time and I don’ know how to let it out any other way. It shouldn’ have been Sean, but—Christ, at least he can hit back.”

Melody watched him lift a hand and prod at the edges of his nose. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “He shouldn’t have to hit back, Harry. You are out of control.”

“‘M not just—”

“You need a therapist,” Melody said, and Harry fell very quiet. He waited a few breaths to absorb what she’d said.

“I don’ need—”

“You do,” she insisted, sitting up straighter, as if it might lend her words more weight. “This is the most you’ve talked to me since I’ve known you, Harry, and it didn’t come until after you attacked Sean, after you said...what you said.” She drew in a deep breath. “You need to work out whatever’s going on in your head, and you won’t let me help. I’ve tried. So you need to talk to someone else.”

Melody watched Harry’s expression close off. She glanced at the greenery above his head and noticed the brown edges protruding from one of the pots. Her favorite plant was dying and she hadn’t noticed because she’d been so caught up in everything else that had been going on around her.

She waited for another minute, allowing Harry to form some type of response. But the silence persisted. And when she grew sick of waiting she unfolded her legs and lifted herself over him to leave the room.

***

“So Harry, what brings you here today?”

Harry still had his jacket on, zipped to his chest, prepared for a quick getaway. He scratched at the leather of the armchair he sat in with one fingernail, a nervous tick. Nervous was not an emotion familiar to him.

“My…my girlfriend,” he answered, low in his throat.

“What’s her name?”

“Melody.”

The therapist smiled, scribbling over the notepad she held in her lap. She glanced up when she’d finished, watching Harry scratch and tap at the arm of his chair, bounce the ball of his foot on the floor.

“Did Melody ask you to come?”

Harry nodded, now drawing his ankle up and over his other knee. He glanced out the window and watched the light at the next intersection shift from red to green, listened to impatient horns sound.

“Would you like to tell me about her?” the doctor prompted. Harry had already forgotten her name. Bidel or Beetle, something like that.

“What about her?”

“Well, how did you two meet?”

Harry breathed out a dry laugh. He pressed his lips together, but fought the part of him that wanted to keep silent and launched into a retelling of middle school, the bullies and his brother and Melody, and his first boxing class.

“You’ve been dating since sixth grade?” she asked. Beutel. Her name was Dr. Beutel.

“No, tha’s just when we met. I met her again a little over a year ago.”

Dr. Beutel scribbled feverishly. “It’s hard for me to believe you’ve lived in the States since you were that young. Your accent is rather distinct.”

“I moved back,” Harry informed her. “We moved back to Cheshire that year. I got kicked out of school.”

The therapist frowned, laying her pen down flat on her notepad. “For fighting,” she said, unquestioning.

Harry nodded.

“Do you fight professionally?”

Harry’s lips puckered. “Not anymore.”

“And how did...” she gestured to his face, scabbing cuts and yellowing bruises.

Harry sighed. “Uh, tha’s why she wanted me to come here. I kind of fought Sean. He’s my...my friend. Well, he was my trainer, really. And now he’s not. Now he’s her trainer.”

“Melody’s.”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Beutel shook her head almost imperceptibly. She stroked the pendant on her necklace once and then crossed her legs, pulled her notepad closer.

“Okay, how about we start from the beginning? Your family.”

Harry drew a hand over his face, carefully avoiding his nose. “Not my favorite subject.”

“So I’ve guessed.” She smiled wanly. “You’ve talked a little bit about your brother. Half-brother, right? What about your parents? Do you get along?”

“With my mum. Haven’ talked to my dad in almost six years.” Harry was surprised at his own bluntness.

“And why’s that?”

“Because he doesn’ give a fuck about me. Instead of protectin’ me he let Colton live in our house.”

“And do you think Colton would hurt you?”

Harry barked out a laugh. He’d forgotten that this woman didn’t know about the strangest parts of his life yet. She only had snippets.

“He shot me last year,” he deadpanned, “in the head.” He pulled back the hair brushing his left ear to reveal the pockmarked scars in his scalp. “And I was in a coma all summer. Sorry, I should’ve led with that.”

Dr. Beutel froze, staring at him, her fingers hovering over her pen.

“Oh, also my mum has brain cancer. She’s been in and out of hospitals since we moved back to Cheshire.”

Harry waited while his therapist began to reconcile this with what she already knew about him. The seconds ticked by. She wrote in her notepad without speaking another word to him and then she glanced at her watch and gasped.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry. We’re over time for today. Can you come back next week?”

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to come back. Today had felt like a joke. It didn’t make him feel any better, it hadn’t even tapped into the restlessness sizzling just beneath the surface of his skin. But he nodded as he left.

“I look forward to seeing you,” Dr. Beutel said as he closed the door.

***

A week and a very meager amount of progress with Melody later, Harry sat in the same chair, somehow more relaxed. Melody had barely spoken to him since the morning after her birthday, not that he blamed her. But if he felt lonely before, now even Bea paid him the slightest mind. And Josie was still pissed that he’d put her leftovers at risk.

“How are you doing?” Dr. Beutel asked.

“Peachy.”

“You sure you didn’t mean cheeky?”

Harry grinned for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He tipped his shoulder up. “Not completely sure.”

Dr. Beutel smiled back. She slid her feet to one corner of her armchair, twirling the pen she held between her fingers.

“Just before our last session ended, you told me about your mother. She has recurring cancer?”

Harry nodded, his smile slipping faster than the changing traffic light outside the window.

“Are you close with your mother?”

“Well,” Harry began, stalling for a moment to ponder the question, “I guess yeh could say that. I haven’ seen her in almost two years but I talk to her a lot.”

“Has Melody spoken with her?”

Harry felt his own face contort. “Uh, no. I call my mum when she’s not around.”

“Why is that?”

He huffed out a thoughtful breath. “I dunno, really.”

Dr. Beutel began to write. Her pen twisted slowly across a clean page of her notepad. “Do you think,” she asked, without looking up, “that it might be because you separate your life into two categories?”

“What?”

“Your life in England, your family, I think that you might compartmentalize them. Separate from Melody, I mean. And even boxing. I think that Melody feels outside of that space for you, and that might be why it bothers you so much—her fighting and you not. It might seem like she’s bleeding across the borders that you’ve put in place.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. He glanced down at the ugly scabs that spotted his knuckles, still pulling at his skin every time he stretched his hand.

“You live with Melody?”

Harry nodded, still not meeting the doctor’s eyes. He was worried what else she might see if he were to look fully at her.

“And did you live with her before? Before your injury, I mean.”

“No.”

From this angle, he could still see Dr. Beutel nodding to her notes.

“So, Harry,” she began, piecing together the information that she’d gathered, “did you have any girlfriends back in England?”

Harry shook his head, clearing his throat. “No, ‘m not really one for relationships.”

“Well, maybe you weren’t before, but I think you are now.”

“What?” He looked up at last and Dr. Beutel was smiling at him, her head tilted.

“Melody asked you to speak with a therapist. Would you ever have done that before? Would you talk about yourself this much with a stranger if it wasn’t for her?”

Harry was quiet again. This was something that had worried him for nearly a year. Half of the things he’d done since he began seeing Melody, he never would have dreamed of doing before her. This wasn’t the person he’d grown used to being.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” the therapist said, when he didn’t return the conversation. “You’ve experienced a lot in your life. A lot more than most people could claim to have experienced in an entire lifetime, but I think you’re in a good place right now. It sounds to me like Melody cares very much for you. And even if it hasn’t been a conscious thought, you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

“I don’!” Harry nearly shouted. He paused and sat back in his chair, collecting his emotions and lining them up. He knitted his fingers together over his stomach. “I don’. It was her fuckin’ birthday and I hit her trainer—”

“Your friend,” Dr. Beutel corrected. She hadn’t even flinched at his outburst. “You hit Sean, your friend. These two areas of your life—fighting and Melody—they’re blending and he’s a large player in that mix. Do you think you don’t deserve Melody because you picked a fight with Sean, or do you think you picked a fight with Sean because you feel like you don’t deserve Melody?”

Harry’s mind spun. “What, you mean like ‘m tryin’ to fuck up on purpose?”

“Perhaps,” she answered with a nod. “Perhaps some part of you is trying to find a way out.”

Harry sighed and sifted a hand through his hair, fingertips brushing his scars. “What should I do?”

The therapist laughed gently and shook her head. “I mean, I’m not a fortune-teller, Harry. I don’t know what will help you patch up your relationship and I don’t know what will let you out of it. But I do think you need to put in some positive effort if Melody means something to you. Try to redirect your aggression. Maybe go to one of her matches?”

The suggestion was quiet, soft, a mere idea. And Harry’s heart ticked uncomfortably at the sensation of being seen. Would anyone else have been able to untangle the complex knots of his life with the information he’d given Dr. Beutel? Would Melody? Harry wasn’t sure, and he didn’t know if he wanted anyone else to examine him this meticulously. But he said his thanks before he left, anyway, and the entire way back to the apartment, he felt like he was studying his own thoughts from a new perspective.

Chapter 18

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles x ofc #harry styles au #boxer!au #boxer!harry #harry styles ferocity

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coastaldragon · 3 years

Text

Dragon Diary 1/7/21

So...this is my resolution for the year.

I wanted to start a kin-related diary. I found myself missing how often I used to muse about myself and my experiences here, and have long since felt...detached from myself. Stuck in the loop of going through the motions of “human.”

A week late on my first entry, but so it goes.

These entries will just be flow-of-consciousness blabbles for the most part. I’ll talk about any kin-related thoughts I’ve had that day, how I’ve been feeling, how my otherkinity has affected my day, etc.

I have a lot of catching-up to do with you all, so the first few entries may seem disjointed and a little long. Lets get started. This is long. And a bit negative. But hopefully they won’t all be.

cw for death and drug mention and health talk like needles and stuff

I don’t quite remember why I dropped Tumblr like I did. I think I was getting annoyed at all the UI changes, and just overall very busy with “real life.” These things happen. I slowly drift away from a platform. Sometimes for weeks, months, or years in this case. Then I’ll drift back. Kind of like a scrap of wood on the waves.

In the time I’ve been gone life has been...interesting. The source of the stress that caused me to awaken in the first place is gone. He OD’d in...2014? 2015? Some time around there. My grasp of time is worse than ever.

We hadn’t even known he’d be using anything. Turned out he was stealing my late father’s remaining fentanyl supply. One of those guys who preys on widows like my mother. He lied about everything. His entire past as we knew it was a lie. And he was just leeching off of us.

It was...hard. I was the one who found his body upon getting home from work. My mother is still traumatized, even now. Even after all he did. She did love him.

I think all that hardened me quite a bit. And I’m sad for it. I’m still trying to soften myself again, but my trust has never been shattered like that before or since.

My now health is...poor. I had a great job working at an independent pack-and-mail sort of place for a few years. Very laid back, when the customers were nice. Helped me build a lot of strength and muscle. Quite enjoyed showing off by hefting 50lb boxes onto my shoulders. Helped me feel less weak in this squishy human body of mine.

But about...2 or 3 years ago [again, time is a myth to my brain] I woke up and my shoulders were just.

Locked.

It felt like someone had stuck paint spanners under my shoulder blades or something. Not only that, but I was weak. I barely had the strength in my arms to lift a half gallon of milk in the morning.

We thought I’d just hurt myself showing off, somehow. So we gave it some time. Took ibuprofen, used pain creams. Took a few days off work.

But it didn’t get better. It got painful. And the moreso. And moreso. And then my back began to have trouble as well. It was spreading. I felt...ill.

So. Doctors. Tests. More bloodwork than I’ve ever had in my entire life. [10 vials at once for one appt!]

My primary, who is a garbage person I never wish to see again, insisted it was just a sprain. Or something. Whatever. But I knew it wasn’t. My mother knew it wasn’t. Everyone I knew knew it wasn’t.

Specialist time! At the behest of my cousin, who has a litany of autoimmune disorders, we hooked up with a rheumatologist. Who I will call Dr.M.

Dr.M is an angel on Earth. I am convinced of it. A full year he spent with me, ordering tests, trying treatments, working with me to figure out what the hell was going on. And we did. And what a mouthful it is.

Ankylosing spondylitis. No, it’s not a dinosaur. [Though I do think I’m ‘hearted for ankylosaurines...I don’t think it’s related lol!]

You can look it up if you like. But basically: My immune system is fucking crazy and attacks all the things. Most places describe it as being a lower spine disorder, and while that is certainly where its centralized in most folks, that’s not all it is.

For example mine is, obviously, centralized in my shoulders and upper back. But it does aaaaaaaaaaall sorts of crazy shit. Every day is different. Joint pain, exhaustion, GI trouble, stomach upset, lack of appetite, murderous migraines. The usual for an autoimmune illness. But also wacky shit like costochondritis [painful inflammation of the cartilage of the ribs], random organ inflammation like in my kidneys [not fun], lungs [I had a 3-month stint of chronic bronchitis last winter], and even my heart [very not fun.] Sometimes it likes to attack my “integumentary system” aka shit like my skin and hair meaning I’ll have weeks where my hair just. Sheds. Like a damn cat. It gets everywhere and w/ my long-ass quarantine hair it’s so annoying.

This attack dog immune system does mean it’s unlikely for me to catch little bugs like your common colds and stuff, which is appreciated. But it also likes to maul anything else it deems foreign. Like medication! I took Humira shots for a few months and had a “paradoxical reaction” aka it did the literal opposite of what it was meant to, because the injections pissed off my immune system so much it went scorched-earth on whatever it could. Mostly my thighs, since that’s where the injections were. I still get stabbing pain in them and it’s been over a year. [No, I don’t think I can sue Humira over this. Though I have discussed it w/ my Dr.]

This also means that if I do get sick, it’s bad news. Something strong and unique like COVID? Death. Deaaaaaaaaath. Would likely trigger something called a “cytokine storm” aka my immune system nukes everything and my organs die and so do I.

So guess whoooooooo’s been locked up at home for almost a full year now? :’)

I luckily am able to work from home, though it barely pays the bills, and my health has suffered from a lack of being able to Do Stuff I normally would.

As a result I decided to get back in touch with myself.

It started with Second Life, because of course it did. A new dragon avatar came out. Shiny and mesh and easy [by SL standards] to modify. So me and a few friends [some kin, some not] made a group for sharing stuff for the av and just hanging out. It’s fallen by the wayside unfortunately but those nights spent chilling in SL with a bunch of other dragons roaring and goofing off felt really really good.

And then I made a kin Twitter. [And found some exceptionally cool kinfolk in the process.]

Then came Othercon the virtual otherkin convention and OtherConnect, the Discord spawned from the community that rapidly formed within the con. Othercon felt incredible. Panels and lectures about the history of otherkinity and alterhumanity and how we are today and rep in the media and just so! Much! Cool! Stuff! And tons of great kinfolk too!

To not only be within a community but seeing others like me and speaking with them, not just typing back at words on a screen. It was...so very, very reaffirming. It felt like a second awakening almost. I wanted to cry for finally, truly not feeling alone.

And now I’m here. Because I need to be. Because something, deep down, is telling me I’m going to be needing myself sometime soon. So I’d better get started.

I hope I don’t drift away on the tide again. I’ve missed this site, worse for wear as it is.

But I’m a bit tired today. A nasty headache lingering from yesterday’s nastier flare up. Accursed cold fronts. I used to enjoy them but not so much these days. Ah well.

I know there wasn’t much kin talk in this first entry, but as I said, we had a lot of catching-up to do!

#Diary 2021 #dragonkin #otherkin #I'll tag these for now but if folks would rather I didn't I'll keep them to myself. :>

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anoldfashionedlife · 4 years

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COVID-19: Sunday, April 12

Easter.

I read an article from the February issue of 1843 about headphone use in public spaces: "Headphones have destroyed our sense of common purpose,” the author writes. "A bedlam of babble in a handful of headphones.” Now, I read everything in the context of a global emergency: if we can’t be together together, how can we be alone together.

I run to Times Square. I leave my house and run my normal route to and across the Manhattan Bridge. I run a few blocks down Canal to Broadway, where I turn right and head north. Broadway will take me all the way to Times Square where it meets 7th Avenue and a whole mess of other things. It's an arterial avenue that cuts through the city from bottom to top.

I run through SoHo, which is empty. SoHo hasn’t been a “cool” neighborhood for a long time, but it’s still popular with tourists. It’s also the closest neighborhood when I need something from a big brand like CB2 or Uniqlo and don’t want to pay for shipping or wait a few days for it to arrive.

I pause at Houston because I’ve always paused at Houston. There’s little traffic so I could cross, but it seems safer to wait for the signal. “Look both ways before crossing, even when crossing a one-way street.” Advice given to incoming freshman at NYU—patronizing and comical, but useful because bikes and assholes don’t always follow the traffic rules.

I get the signal to cross, and I cross to the median where I pause once more. Out of habit I wait for any cars turning onto Houston, not paying attention to pedestrians, but there aren’t any. Everybody has different criteria for “when you become a New Yorker.” For me it was the first time I didn’t hesitate to yell at a driver turning into me as I crossed the street: “Fuck you! I’m crossing here!"

I didn’t live in New York on September 11th—I was a sophomore in high school in suburban Indiana—but I’d read accounts of New Yorkers in the days after who came out into the streets for no other reason than to be with other people, to commiserate and to mourn. Union Square was one place where they'd congregate, not only because it was a public space but because it was the largest and closest public space to the World Trade Center not cordoned off by the NYPD.

When I approach Union Square I slow down to keep my distance from others, mostly people coming out of the Whole Foods. I cross 14th Street into the park and most of the people there are homeless men, sitting on park benches with no place to go.

On the north side of Union Square I run past a bucket drummer, a nuisance in normal times but now a sort-of beacon in a sea of silence. I can hear him all the way past 19th Street three blocks away, and if there wasn’t a light breeze I could probably hear him for another few blocks.

Between 22nd and 23rd the sidewalk widens. There is plenty of space, but I run into the street to keep as much distance from others as I can. As I pass between two parked cars I lock eyes with an Asian woman who, behind a mask, looks at me as though she’s caught her pre-teen son out with friends instead of staying home to study for the PSAT: disappointment mixed with anger.

Continuing up Broadway I skirt between the Flatiron Building and Madison Square Park. Broadway between Flatiron and the ACE Hotel is an interesting mix of Yuppie District—sweetgreen, Milk Bar, Opening Ceremony—and the 28th Street Flower and Bargain Districts, but everything is closed. I run past a homeless man huddled next to an access ramp and think about white flight. In the 50s and 60s we fled to the suburbs. Today we've fled to our apartments.

I run through Herald Square and notice that the garbage cans outside Macy’s are empty. Garbage cans in Manhattan are never empty; they’re almost always overflowing with the detritus of petty consumerism: plastic Starbucks iced coffee cups, Chick-fil-A sauce, Hop-On Hop-Off bus maps.

I think about one of my favorite bars in the city, it’s nearby: Keens is one of New York’s oldest steakhouses, but if you’re not eating there—which I’ve only done twice—you can still order a drink at the bar, and they mix a good Manhattan.

I continue up Broadway and run past security personnel guarding empty office buildings and police officers patrolling empty public spaces. I make it to Times Square, and I think to myself: there are too many people here. There aren’t many people, but it still seems like too many.

I read the displays. Disney says: “Thank you to all the healthcare workers and first responders around the world / We are grateful for you.” T-Mobile says: “Please practice social distancing.” American Eagle says: “We are in this together. We are stronger together.” Clear Media says: “Not all superheroes wear capes.” Sephora says: “To all the healthcare, emergency, and social workers: \ You have our immense gratitude \ Thank you. \ We belong to something beautiful.” Green Giant says: “To all on the frontlines, you are the true giants.” Below the ball-drop is an impressive four-piece vertical public service display: “PL \ EA \ SE \ Practice \ social \ distancing \ & help \ save \ lives. \ cdc.gov/covid19 \ Prevent the spread of germs \ Please \ Stay \ Home \ When \ You \ Are \ Sick \ Prevent the spread of germs \ cdc.gov/covid19.” Amazon advertises a new album from The Strokes called The New Normal. #nystrong

What isn’t missing from Times Square is the guy who walks around carrying an “end is near” sign: “Because of sin Noah’s ark was built. No one believed him. Flood came—they perished. End is near. Judgement day is coming. Repent today. Confess Jesus as Lord and Savior. Only way to heaven.” That he isn't at whatever off-brand church he belongs to on Easter makes his message a bit less convincing.

I think about another one of my favorite bars in the city: Jimmy’s Corner, an old-school bar with boxing memorabilia covering the walls. You’d think in a place like Times Square it was actually owned by Yum! Brands or something, but you can find Jimmy there most nights.

I leave Times Square and run east on 42nd Street. Bryant Park is utterly empty. No homeless men, no vagabonds. Nobody except me and a park employee tending to the garbage cans, replacing one empty bag with another.

The emptiness isn’t surprising, but I should explain why. Since its inception the Bryant Park Corporation has been particularly aggressive in keeping out undesirables. First by removing park benches and adding metal tables and chairs. William H. Whyte, an urbanist in the 1970s, championed them as giving park users a semblance of agency in public space without actually providing it.

More importantly, removing park benches eliminated a surface on which homeless people could sleep. Over time, more and more features were added: upscale food for sale, movie nights on the lawn in the summer, a skating rink in the winter, Fashion Week. Sharon Zukin describes it as “pacification by cappuccino.”

Urban thinkers and advocates have been asking this question for years: Who’s city is this anyway?

I run a few blocks east to Grand Central. Once inside I don’t break pace as I run down the ramp towards the main concourse. For some reason this doesn’t strike me as unusual until I reach the main concourse. Shocked, I stop and take in the sight of an empty, cavernous space normally brimming with activity: commuters catching a train upstate if they don’t live in the city, the subway if they do; tourists careening their necks up to the ceiling painted with the constellations; me grabbing a drink at The Oyster Bar or Campbell’s Apartment, just because.

I’m lucky that my friends and family haven’t been infected by coronavirus; the hardest thing so far has been weeks of quarantine. I haven’t cried during this pandemic—I’m no “boys don’t cry” kind of boy, but doing so seems like an admission that things won’t resemble “normal” for quite some time. But standing here, taking in the sight of my city hollowing out like this, I tear up.

I turn around and run back home. I run down Madison Avenue to Madison Square Park. I turn left onto 23rd Street and then right onto Park Avenue South. Left onto 18th Street, right onto 3rd Avenue, left onto 12th Street, right onto 2nd Avenue. I cross Houston and take Forsyth to the Manhattan Bridge back to Brooklyn.

Back home I put a bottle of sparkling wine in the freezer, but it doesn’t fit because it’s full of frozen food, so I put it in my oversized ice bucket that once graced the tables and suites at the Waldorf Astoria. I bought it salvage a while back and don’t use it as often as I’d like: it fits two bottles comfortably, but one bottle looks silly, like a kid wearing his dad’s tuxedo jacket. I was hoping it’d be a fixture of backyard barbecues this summer, but that seems unlikely.

For dinner I make Ethiopian food. The doro wat turns out quite well, but the injera that’s been fermenting for a few days is an utter failure. I eat the stew with rice.

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mechanicalinertia · 4 years

Text

Please forgive my endless stupidity onegaishimasu

Some of you who clicked on my BGC 2069 RPG link recently may have noticed that, slowly but surely, the page count is ticking upward, approaching a whopping three hundred pages. Which is, you know, a lot.

Most of this is basic fluff used to set the scene of Megatokyo 2069, the kind of silly and soon-to-be-obsolete bullshit that fills many future-setting RPG sourcebooks. I think a few good bits poke out from the mess, though, namely the other Megacorps besides from GENOM, the whole World War Three Scenario, and a lot of various contrivances I invented so that China didn’t take over the world a la Hunter-Seeker (a CP2020 hack I cribbed heavily from in the rules) or Interface Zero (which I despise for doing the ‘oh it’s an internet forum’ shtick like Shadowrun but somehow worse), hence giving room for Japan to have a ‘rising again’ moment with the rise of GENOM. It’s all relatively interesting if you want to look into that sort of thing.

Anyway, the point is that I’m getting sick of writing a lot of this stuff I had planned, so I’m moving onto the interesting stuff, namely describing Megatokyo, attempting to make it feel like more than just another cyberpunk megapolis. Because it isn’t, really - within 2069 (and to a lesser degree 2032) it’s a city still recovering from the trauma of losing the city before it, a city that had weathered firebombing, the bubble economy of the 80′s, the Four Lost Decades before WW3, N-COVID and many other pandemics besides, a slow bull market after the war - and then got its teeth kicked in by a truly massive earthquake. It’s a city that’s symbolic of the shattered, warped pseudo-Confucian social compact that held Japan together through the postwar years, now perverted by ‘Make Japan Great Again’ nationalists and GENOM’s corporate stooges, people who believe that servitude to a megacorporate demiurge will save them. It’s a city rebuilt not by its people, but by a machine-race who serves at the pleasure of a transhumanist nutcase (Quincy), and who would like nothing better than to clean the city of the people who live there, turn it, turn the world, into one big financial district where the privileged kleptocracy can play at being the next iteration of humanity. It’s a city in the process of erasing its history, both the good stuff and the bad stuff. It’s a city in the process of killing itself.

And while all that purple prose is perfectly functional as a description for how I’ve overinterpreted BGC to suit my designs, what I would like the series to be instead of what it is, it dawned on me while dredging through gaijin blogs about Tokyo and all its little details, going through all this stuff I didn’t know existed, that I really know next to nothing about Japanese culture. I mean, I watch anime, but I haven’t watched as much as I feel like I should have watched, and even then that only tells you so much about Japanese culture, which is as big and sprawling as American culture and really shouldn’t be viewed just through the lens of Westernized Cyberpunk and old anime.

In other words, I’m trying to paint the Sistine Chapel or something here, but I don’t even have all my paints in order.

So I have no idea what to do now. Do I just not do research, say that all of Old Tokyo has been lost forever, so I can paper over it with a new, more Blade Runner-y city? That feels like doing the city disservice somehow, but then again plenty of people writing fluff like this do similar things all the time. The main inspiration for how I wanted to do this was The Sprawl’s November Metric, specifically the work of Benjamin Kouppi, who did these excellent descriptions of Brussels, Lagos, and Miami that all pop with Cyberpunk-y flavor, but at the same time I guarantee Kouppi, a Frenchman, had never been to Lagos and was working off of a lot of cliches about Vodou religion and African black magic. So the inspiration here committed some sins that some might call cultural appropriation - why can’t I do the same? Because I’d feel bad about it?

On the other hand, do I really need to do extensive research for a project that is essentially me doing something for fun? For something that will likely never be published properly? For what amounts to gratuitous fanfiction, basically?

I dunno. I don’t like any of my choices here, folks, but at the same time I am dedicated to delivering you the cyberpunk-sentai-action you deserve before my summer classes start. I may just go and work on some old fanfiction and try to update that instead. We’ll see.

In the meantime - do your research. The world is vast and complex, almost infinitely so. There is too much in this world for one person to know.

#rpg #bubblegum crisis #Tokyo

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mirceakitsune · 3 years

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To those who think they have enslaved me today

Congratulations humanity: Today (20 January 2021) the American circus known as the inauguration of tooootally legit president Joe Biden took place. Behind tanks and military walls, Biden committed the political equivalent of masturbation by inaugurating himself to himself... with a little help from a few "important" people who were also there, but since they all wore Covidist masks my brain could only make out the NPC ID's rather than names and traits distinguishing them as individuals. A bunch of flags were shoved into the ground where millions of people would normally sit: The citizens by and for which he was allegedly elected couldn't be there for his inauguration, partly after it was discovered they're not citizens at all but mobs of insurrectionists who are invading their own selves! The empty streets and barbwire fences holding that pesky population back did a great job portraying the inauguration of a president voted by the majority... you could clearly see how loved by the people and legitimately elected he was! My only regret is that Lady Gaga was involved in this spectacle: They should have brought in 50 Cent or Justin Bieber, which would have done an even better job portraying the seriousness of the event and the lucidity of the people who rule us. Biden himself broke a new record, being able to read a speech from his laptop for 10 minutes straight without ever stopping and asking "wait... where am I, who are you people".

At this point the ones who radicalized society and sparked a silent civil war are close to gaining absolute power and becoming an American CCP. I'm well aware of what their next step is: They will harass and terrorize everyone who doesn't bow to their ideology and way of life, by painting them as racist Nazi extremists or a danger in other ways, inoculating systematic fear toward them to the masses. That's how over the past years the Democrat party turned most Americans against its political opponents: Obsessively associating Trump with hate while creating a cult of social justice worship which infiltrated every fiber of society. People happily bought it, even most beings I know are affected by this without even realizing something is up. The ruling elite now has a system of radicalization that works perfectly, ready to be used to program the remote-controlled masses against anyone on command.

As of 2020 the existing system is backed by an imaginary deadly pandemic, which now has an imaginary vaccine to accompany it. The infamous virus story was used to double down on what was started using social (in)justice over the last 4 years, further radicalizing people through fear using a new excuse via a secondary system. This one's more convenient since while you can't tell who is a Trump or Biden supporter just by looking at their face, those of us who don't dress up in cult uniforms (A.K.A. wear a mask) can be easily identified as ideological enemies and targeted for dissent... obviously under the cover of esoteric microscopic shenanigans used to proclaim invisible danger, it's definitely not an ideological dangers they truly fear. We're now divided between those who worship COVID-19 (or rather fear of it) and those who are fighting against ruthless slavery and savage efforts to take our lives away from us. We're about to be divided between "the plagued" and "the vaccinated" soon; I have no doubt that those of us who won't respond to the advances of the medical rapists chasing us with syringes are in for a new wave of persecution, applied brutally and systematically in hope of making us break, until we choose to let ourselves be injected with whatever poison those psychopaths created in their labs.

Now do you think it's just pro Trump people, or those who refuse to wear the muzzle made of cloth, who they will come after in the end? To every niche community who is reading this... furries, bronies, vore, etc... never forget those words: Their system will turn on you too! Once they're seen as an obstacle, they'll infiltrate those communities to "correct" them next... or if they can't or it's not worth it, they'll use fear to convince the majority they're evil and must be exterminated for the greater good. What the hell do you think I kept trying to prevent!? Do you imagine their "great empire" of obedient and socially responsible workers has any place for those like us in it?! Look at what Furaffinity, a furry art site that was infiltrated by Antifa and has its TOS written by its extremists, is now doing to artists who draw not just "socially unjust porn" but even stuff like political art under the lie of fighting hate! No... it's not "just them", no community or individual is safe from their control I assure you.

Many of us will resist until the end: They can put 100 Bidens in power... they are nothing to me, they ceased impressing me long ago; My mind has been prepared since an early age for dealing with this sort of thing, I'm a veteran when it comes to this shit! I lived the last years of my childhood waiting to be kidnapped and taken to a reeducation clinic by everyone around me, where I expected to be tied up and subjected to electroshock conversion "therapy" to have my identity erased. Especially once I realized in what danger I was for imagining thoughts forbidden to people under the age of 18 from my young age... were society able to read my mind and notice, I would have been locked away in a mental institute and injected with drugs until I'd be a vegetable today. But I was smart enough to stay silent and escape, they couldn't access my thoughts to know who I am. The same people who couldn't "purge" my identity when I was young are now back in a far more hideous and demented form, coming after us even as adults to do the same thing: Reprogram us to be ideal members of the glorious society they have planned.

All humanity had to do was simple: Put an end to all doctrines and create a neutral and disinterested government, leading to a world that would keep its nose to the pavement and not care about any social issues any more. Why do you think I supported Trump... because I have any love for that conservative fool? I sided with him because he was going to maintain a safe ignorance... no morals, no empathy, no more being forcefully "protected" by disgusting strangers who allegedly care for you or know better than you, no laws censoring people under the pretext of fighting harm, everyone kept in ignorance so we could be safe from their feelings and assumptions. That's why I waited for the army to arrest Biden today and hold a military trial instead of that silly inauguration... sadly they received a new order, he was allowed to carry on with his sham inauguration for reasons beyond me. Now I have a new desire: I'd like to see Trump arrested! For failing to contain the moral plague enslaving society and destroying our freedom, after he promised us the deep state and its social justice would be exposed live for the world to see what they did. He failed to contain humanity's stupid values and protect us from morality... he is of no use to me either, he could not bring us true freedom.

Just one question for the actual tyrant lovers, who will soon flock and regroup under Biden in their attempt to amalgamate us into their responsible world: How's living the socially responsible life really going? Do you enjoy your slavery? Your blind dedication to "muh fellow man"? This self-sacrifice bullshit, a life free of any joy in the name of safety and protection? You have what you wanted: A world where any dream of being happy is demonized because it's dangerous, where certain thoughts are carefully restricted to certain people, where you're the slaves of "experts" who will inform you what you think and feel without you even having to bother to checking your own mind! How long until it will be YOU that breaks? How much servitude can you take before you too will have had it? Or maybe you're so dedicated that you'll slave away until the end... never snapping, not stopping to wonder how sad and boring this life is and how pointless any sacrifice. What would happen if you knew the technology to give you a perfect and safe life exists, while all significant issues society still faces today are man made, most of the time intentionally? I see more violence and crime on the news: People are finally going nuts and losing it, from being locked up and having masks forced onto their faces! How much until it's finally enough, how much pain must they accumulate, how much damage must they cause, how much until the mainstream finally admits it drove everyone there by forcing its madness on us?

I know they want to see me suffer for resisting them, all their governments and secret services do. But the fun thing is, their followers are suffering far more in the end! For I am the one still sitting here up on my throne, from which they couldn't take me down and make me "socially responsible adult" like them nor involve me in their scary fantasies. I live in the real world: A world that has no issues other than some poverty, where racism is a thing of the ancient past and a joke to worry about today, where viruses are a microscopic fantasy... a modern life where anyone can do whatever the hell they want! Just what we would all have if only everyone simply minded their own business and didn't make a big deal about anything. Now that's reality... the reality they renounced in order to worship fear, for no reason other than getting sick of being too happy! I'm laughing at their burden and all the efforts they make for nothing, fighting against things that don't exist... a burden they could let go of anytime, if only they refused to keep accepting all them responsibilities and demand it. How does it feel like to be the fools in the end, just when you thought I was your victim forever? Because while you pull that mask tightly on your little face to protect "your fellow man" from something that's all in your mind, I piss on it all and still live life freely and happily, the life you allowed taken away from you for no reason! Do you hate me for outsmarting you? I definitely don't mind if you do: Hate is all I have left to feed on in a world like this. And I enjoy it even more knowing no one will ever know nor even be able to comprehend the true reasons why I do this.

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mychaoticdiary · 3 years

Text

January, 5th, 2021

Dear Diary,

Last night didn’t end well but not for the reasons I thought it wouldn’t. I prepare to tell my best friend the bad news, I give her the option to opt out of the conversation before it starts I text her that it’s very bad news and that if she can’t handle it now I won’t hold it against her, times are hard, there’s death everywhere and I can understand if bad news right now is just too much. She reassures me she’s here for me and wants to talk, so I ask her if we should do a phone call or a facetime and then 30 minutes go by before she texts back, her brother came by for a visit she can’t do a phone call right now. I seethe with anger. Not only is it lockdown from Covid so he shouldn’t be visiting in the first place but her house is large, her brother visits often, as my best friend of a decade I have trouble understanding why can’t just tell her brother to step out for a few minutes so when she says ‘I’m anxious could you just tell me what’s going on?’ I let my anger get the better of me and instead of gently telling her I type out ‘my cats are dying.’ It’s blunter than I’d usually be with her, she cries easily and I know it but I can’t will myself to care. I’ve done nothing but cry. I wish I could be more surprised but I’m not we’ve drifted apart this past year. There was a time where I said I was sick and she walked in a snow storm to see me to give me honey and lemons. There’s been many times we’ve been there for each other like no other but the past year and so that seems to have vanished. I need to do something, anything. I recently watched Julien Solimita make a lentil loaf, I have lentils. I get up and start cooking, cutting up vegetables before they go bad in my fridge. I don’t have onions but I’m crying. As things cook I see my cat go to the litter in the bathroom, I don’t dare even move to make a noise that might scare her off, the oven is about to hit temperature and beep loudly to let me know, I unplug it before it has a chance. I desperately try to hear something, anything but it’s silent and she leaves. I get ready to be disappointed as I go over to the litter and grab the scooper to check but there’s something in here. I know I should be happy but my bodies been so dragged down to the ground it takes me an hour before I can even begin to hope that maybe things are going to be okay, during this confusing time I put the lentil loaf together and shove it into the oven. My sweet girl seems a little better, she wants to play and rolls onto her back to let me tease and pat her tummy. My mom gets home after a long day of work and I tell her that I think she pooped. As the words come out of my mouth they get faster and faster, I’m talking over myself, interrupting my own words to get out about poop. I have the sudden need to go for a drive, I want fresh air, I want to go get myself a soda from a gas station, I later realize I want my normal routine because my cat pooped and that was normal. She indulges my need to drive and we go out, I feel like I’m filled with air, not quite emotions but air, I don’t feel extremely happy, I don’t feel extremely sad, I don’t feel numb but I feel full like I’ve taken the deepest breath I can and it stays in my chest. We talk about the fact this is a good thing but our expectations do need to be reasonable, we’re not out of the woods yet but it’s nice to see a small clearing in them. The talk includes many things, many sad but still I don’t feel sad but I feel like I’m deflating which isn’t bad. It feels like she’s helping me let out the air in my chest, I thank her many times on our drive, I love my mom, she’s the best mom for me. When we get home I go to bed and for the first time in the New Year I sleep and I sleep in late, until 11 instead of the 6 AM I have been stuck with. I’m greeted with the news my mom thinks she’s pooped again in the liter, cat poop has never been such good news. I give the cats food and though I sigh as I don’t see them race to eat it I relax a little as later on my sweet girl takes a few bites, that’s more than before and that’s a start. My senior cat isn’t eating now though so we call the vet and get the same medicine for her as we did for my other cat. My senior cat is no stranger to medicine, when we first got her she was so sick we had to foster her first just to afford all the medicine she needed so she takes the syringe of antibiotics like a champ. The day feels good and I feel less angry so I text my best friend back, she’s sent me a few texts about condolences and saying I’m a good cat mom and I’ve been ignoring them. I know she doesn’t mean to be hurtful at all so I swallow my anger down and text her back that we should talk on one of her days off, that she’s my best friend and I love her, we’ll see how this talk goes tomorrow. Me and my mom are cautiously happy, we both know better than to get ahead of ourselves with happiness, we’ve both had the rug pulled out from under us before, we’re well aware either or both of our cats could die regardless of this turn towards the better. But we both notice the perk in my cats steps as she moves around the house more once again and goes back to her playful ways. We go for another drive, my period has reared it’s ugly head and I need midol so we stop in a Walmart. We don’t often go shopping due to Covid but this one is in the middle of no where so it’s not very busy. We wander the isles looking for anti rust paint for our van and midol, I stop and look at the yarn section, my mother encourages me to buy some. I don’t think I should, the only money I have is donated for the cats but she tells me I’m allowed to treat myself after things have been so rough and it’s not very expensive so I do. She’s right, it feels nice. When she heads to work I don’t feel as stuck with doom and gloom as the previous days, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for my cats to drop dead at any minute things just feel normal for a little. Corpse Husband streams and it’s a nice way to eat up my time, I’m really excited for his song with Machine Gun Kelly, I secretly hope he’ll do something with YungBlud too. The day continues, I put out another spoonful of food for the cats, they still don’t eat right away but I have to remind myself that one is just starting to get better and the other just started medicine to get better today. My dear friend who got me gifts yesterday messages me crying, her mother is terrible, she feels jammed into a corner with no escape and I feel horrific over the fact I don’t know how to help. I offer my best advice and it’s not very good. I talk to my mom, to see if she knows anyone but we don’t know anyone where she lives, she’s disgusted at the way my friends mom is treating her. We both just wish there was something we could do. I message my friend again, with maybe my worst best advice to take money from her monstrous mother and run to Austin, I don’t know if it’s good advice but it’s all I can come up with. That and that I love her so dearly, I want her to know I want nothing but the best for her and I’ll always be here but those words feel so tiny next to her problem, still I let her know. She hasn’t messaged me back, all I can do is hope for the best and be ready to talk when she needs. I love her. I’m writing this at midnight now, my senior cat is struggling not painfully she is struggling. I worry for her because she’s so old. Where she was once my chubbiest dumpling I can see she’s now waning, her frame is getting bony and it has been for a while now. I’d remarked on it last year but since she had such an appetite and a diet approved by a vet I didn’t think much of it but now as she wanders around the house I worry. More than anything she’s changing than from who she normally is, usually if I put my hand down and motion for her she runs across the room to get pats already purring by the time she’s arrived but now a foot from me she merely stares at my outstretched hand. As I write this I try not to get too in my head, she’s sick right now just like my other sweet girl was but we’ve got medicine the way she’s acting right now doesn’t mean she’ll die...she could still make it and I need to remember that. It’s hard to do though. She’s drinking from my other cats water and I try to be thankful as I dump it out afterwards, trying to stop any cross contamination. I sit on the toilet and my sweet girl joins me, I now see her poop. It’s official in my mind. My senior cat comes in and sits in the tub, I can only hope that in a few days that the next time she comes in with me too it’s also to poop.

#My Diary #diary entry #January 2021

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techcrunchappcom · 4 years

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New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/demi-lovato-on-new-love-new-management-and-finally-learning-to-cry-bustle/

Demi Lovato On New Love, New Management, And Finally Learning To Cry - Bustle

Demi Lovato imagined herself in the middle of the ocean. As the 27-year-old tread water, long black hair skimming over dark waves, she was given a command: Raise your hand if you want to lose weight. Because Lovato is a pop star who has produced nine Top 20 Billboard singles under the scrutiny of 86 million Instagram followers and a BMI-obsessed tabloid press — and because she has dealt with eating disorders for more than a decade — Lovato raised her tattooed and extravagantly nail-arted hand.

While Lovato kept herself suspended in the open water with one limb, she was given another directive: Raise your hand if you’re willing to do something about your eating disorder. Because Lovato was, at that point in 2018, not in an ocean but in treatment for that eating disorder — as well as for addiction issues that led to an opioid overdose — Lovato obliged the counselor’s command and lifted her other hand. Which, of course, left her with no paddles to keep her from drowning in the metaphorical ocean. So Lovato made the choice to pull down her salute to thinness.

“I used to have people watching me the night before a photo shoot to make sure that I didn’t binge or eat and be swollen the next day,” Lovato says right before her late-June Bustle cover shoot. “It’s just a totally different world now. … I don’t prepare for photo shoots, even. I can eat Subway for breakfast.” Lovato delivers this news from a table in the Los Angeles house she rents with her boyfriend, actor Max Ehrich. She is resplendent in full glam but sans bra under a Selena Quintanilla shirt. Lovato left her high-rise apartment in March when another tenant tested positive for COVID-19, and she initially moved in with her mother and stepfather before realizing it’s “a little difficult to be in a new relationship at your family’s house.” Behind Lovato, in her temporary living room, sits a surgically masked team of people who do not spend their time monitoring her weight.

The new squad is led by Scooter Braun, whom Lovato approached in 2019, a year after her overdose. It was time to move on from longtime manager Phil McIntyre, who had worked with Lovato since she was a teenager. “In the past,” Lovato says, “I projected my own abandonment issues onto other people, especially male figures that I looked up to as father figures. I had to reflect on, ‘What do I want my relationship with my manager to look like without enmeshing my own father issues onto him?’” (Lovato’s estranged birth father, who she has said was abusive and suffered from mental health issues, passed away the week after Father’s Day in 2013.)

Braun honed his ability to manage trauma and talent in a gantlet of wounded musicians. “I’ve been through that with Justin,” Braun says, not needing to clarify the surname of Bieber, who very publicly grappled with his own substance use and mental health issues, which manifested in behavior including mop bucket urination and monkey abandonment. “I’ve been through that with Ariana, you know?” (Grande has talked about exhibiting symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder following the 2017 Manchester Arena bombing. The next year, her ex, rapper Mac Miller, passed away after accidentally overdosing on fentanyl, cocaine, and alcohol.) “I felt like, because I’ve been through that a couple of times with people who started off very young,” Braun says, “I can understand [Demi’s] struggles a little bit.”

In Lovato’s meeting with Braun, he says, “my intention was to be respectful and decline.” He simply didn’t feel he could take on another client. “She was nervous,” Braun says. (“I was nervous because I wanted him to manage me so bad, and I was terrified of rejection,” Lovato explains. “Also, having gone through such a public overdose, I didn’t know if anyone would want to manage me after that.”) Then Braun had a revelation. “What I saw is that she needed someone who didn’t need her. And about halfway through the meeting, [my partner Allison Kaye and I] both looked at each other and instinctually kind of laughed. And then Allison texted me and goes, ‘You’re thinking the same thing I am.’ I knew I could help her. I knew Allison could help her. I knew that we were in a position, in our lives and our careers, that if Demi needed to take three years off, she can do that. And if Demi needs us to go and have an honest conversation and get her out of something, it doesn’t affect my reputation.”

The implication is that Lovato is the kind of person who repeatedly finds herself needing to get out of something. “The people that are there with me every single day,” Lovato says, “I have to feel very connected with them and that I can trust them. That I can be totally vulnerable, transparent, and honest. And if I’m having a panic attack in the middle of a photo shoot or something that I can sit in the dressing room with whomever is there, and they can help me with it.”

Asking for help instead of forgiveness feels like a newer approach for Lovato, whose problems, in the past, seemed to be hastily dealt with when they erupted in public. But she is also singular among celebrities in her fame bracket in her willingness to go into detail about her low points. In 2015, Lovato chastised a tattoo artist for inking a “drunken teenage girl” after the woman went on Instagram to complain about Lovato’s behavior during an inebriated tattoo session. Earlier this year, Lovato went on the Ellen DeGeneres Show to explain that her eating disorder fueled a 2018 relapse, describing how her old management team gave her watermelon with fat-free whipped cream every year on her birthday in lieu of cake. Lovato’s mother Dianna De La Garza wrote a bracingly revealing memoir of her own anorexia, depression, and substance use issues, Falling With Wings. The autobiography features anecdotes like the time Lovato texted her “I’m sorry ahead of time.” (De La Garza was somewhat relieved to learn this apology was merely in reference to Lovato physically attacking a backup dancer and not a suicide note. Lovato wrote the foreword to the book.) When Lovato finished her first attempt at rehab, triggered by the 2010 punching incident, she took the advice to give her first interview just three months after completing treatment. “It was too soon, in my opinion,” Lovato says now. “But nobody knew any better, because we were looking to people in the [recovery] field for guidance.”

“I just felt like here’s someone who is so sweet, so nice and has obviously been through some shit,” Braun says. “And she made mistakes along the way, but also as a child was put in positions…” He doesn’t need to say what the positions were.

To put herself into more advantageous situations, Lovato says, “I had to learn the hard way from ignoring my needs and wants for so many years.” Really, she says, she didn’t even know what those desires were. Self-destructive behavior was, Lovato says, “just doing something because I didn’t know what to do.”

Before quarantine, it was very difficult for me to cry. I had programmed the thought into my head when I was 16 that I’m only going to cry if people pay me to.

2020 was supposed to be Lovato’s post-relapse comeback year, beginning with the wrenching Grammys debut of torch single “Anyone” and her Super Bowl performance of the national anthem, both delivered in head-to-toe angelic white. Lovato acted opposite Will Ferrell in the June Netflix comedy Eurovision Song Contest, has been hired to host a Quibi interview show, and will release a four-part YouTube docu-series that promises to “show fans her personal and musical journey over the past three years.” Lovato had also planned to release her album and go on tour, endeavors that are now postponed until those kinds of droplet-spreading events are less potentially deadly. Now, Lovato’s project is Lovato. She is painting Hawaiian eucalyptus trees and Black Lives Matter-inspired portraits of George Floyd — “I’m kind of embarrassed about how that turned out because it doesn’t look anything like him,” Lovato says, accurately — and working with a vast constellation of dietitians and coaches and spiritual advisers, one of whom she says warned her this pause was coming. “She was like, ‘Don’t panic when your work stops. It’s going to slow down drastically,’” Lovato says of the prophecy. “So I was kind of prepared in a weird way, and I just adapted. I think the universe — God — shifted that to happen in my life.”

God recently re-entered Lovato’s life, courtesy of Braun, who took her to church for the first time in years this winter. Tears are another recent re-addition. “Before quarantine, it was very difficult for me to cry. I had programmed the thought into my head when I was 16 that I’m only going to cry if people pay me to.” Now, Lovato says, “I started doing all this work, allowing myself to feel the pains of all the losses that I’ve had or the adversities or traumas that I’ve faced. I think my ability to be vulnerable and be more intimate with people has really heightened.”

The pandemic has been a graceless slam on the brakes for everyone lucky enough to safely abstain from public life and quarantine with their existential problems. Lovato has experienced hard stops before, in the form of multiple rehab stays. But this is the first time the halt was not a reaction to her own behavior. It’s an opportunity instead of a rebuke. A chance to feel for herself, not for an audience or a paycheck. After acknowledging the sacrifices of frontline workers and expressing sympathy for the sick and dead, Lovato admits the time has been “really good” for her. “It’s very common for people to only really work on themselves when crisis happens or when they notice that they’re slipping into old patterns or behaviors,” Lovato says. “So to be able to walk into this experience without a personal crisis and just be like, I can do the work on myself now because I have the time. … It was a beautiful thing.” As an added benefit, she says, “I wasn’t in rehab; I was outside in the world with Netflix. So when I was too tired of therapy, I’d put on Schitt’s Creek.” (For those who haven’t experienced inpatient rehabilitation facilities, there’s generally no Wi-Fi there.) “I was given this opportunity,” Lovato says of quarantine. “And I was like, I’m going to adapt. I’m going to shift to this. I’m going to learn from it.”

The day before we spoke, Lovato wrote a letter to her father. Though they never reconciled before his death, it was a love note, albeit a backhanded one. “I am who I am because of you,” Lovato wrote. “And I’m grateful for that. Because of your absence, I am an independent woman now. Because you were a pathological liar, I am honest to a fault.”

Like many things Lovato says, the content of the statement feels at odds with its delivery: a deluge of raw truth relayed with the bright tone and smile of the former Disney star. Though Lovato had an eating disorder before she became famous, she says, “I kind of looked around and had a moment where I was like, ‘Wow. This is so terrifyingly normalized.’” So many beautiful people around her were grinning through self-abuse. Lovato’s exploits with substance use became increasingly well-documented, and when she got help, she wanted to both explain that the slender bodies people saw on TV were not “normal” and destigmatize the painful consequences of trying to look like that. “When I went to treatment in 2010,” Lovato says, “I came out of the experience with the choice of talking about my struggles or my journey with the possibility of helping people, or keeping my mouth shut and going back to Disney Channel. And I was like that doesn’t feel authentic to me. So I chose to tell my story. And I had this, like, savior complex, where I thought, ‘Oh, I made this pact with God when I was young’” — in which Lovato would become a successful singer in exchange for doing His work — “and now I have to save people.”

In 2013, Lovato published Staying Strong: 365 Days a Year, a New York Times best-selling book of anodyne daily wisdom like, “If you spend too much time living in the past, you aren’t able to live in the now. Make an effort to move forward today.” After procrastinating until just before her publisher’s deadline, Lovato wound up writing the book in what she describes as a matter of days. “But it was more people-pleasing than anything, and then I realized through all of that people-pleasing that I wasn’t being authentic.” Earning praise for her relationship with recovery and rehabilitation was a way of “fueling those patterns that I had and that were bringing me to destruction,” Lovato says. “I think that’s what you’re hearing when you read back that book. … I binged on recovery, where I switched my addiction from the actual addictions to the recovery.” Now, Lovato tries to balance an impulse to expose with a refusal to flay herself doing so. “I have to set boundaries in interviews so I don’t treat them like therapy sessions,” she says pointedly. “But I’m able to hear my progress through the words that I’m saying when I read them back.”

You can see the impact of Lovato’s honesty in celebrity culture, and the need for continued public processing. It’s hard to imagine Taylor Swift revealing her own eating disorder in Netflix documentary Miss Americana without Lovato’s precedent. Meanwhile, Beyoncé was lauded for being transparent in the Netflix doc Homecoming about her disciplined Coachella rehearsal diet: “No bread, no carbs, no sugar, no dairy, no meat, no fish, no alcohol.” (Beyoncé perhaps needlessly clarified, “I’m hungry.”) Previously, Lovato says, “I would have prepared for something like Coachella or a photo shoot. I don’t look like Beyoncé. But I can’t risk my mental health because I have things in my history that Beyoncé doesn’t or may not have. For me, it’s a riskier thing.”

Lovato’s friend Jameela Jamil met her more than a decade ago, when Lovato was a teenager and Jamil was a radio host. Jamil has watched Lovato navigate radical honesty as a celebrity and let it inspire her own activism around eating disorders and body image. “She is revolutionary in how open and forthcoming she is with her truth,” Jamil says. “It comes at huge cost and risk; once you open the door into your personal life, people feel entitled to you. And people project this savior complex onto you, which is impossible to maintain.

“She takes on so much scrutiny and does it boldly in the name of making sure her fans aren’t harmed the way she was growing up,” Jamil continues. “Nobody else has done what she’s done. I can’t stress it enough when I tell people she’s a big part of where I drew strength to really start speaking my mind.”

Jamil was motivated by Lovato to self-advocate, but Lovato says during that time, “Even though I had a big singing voice, I didn’t have a big speaking voice for myself. I didn’t express my needs… And then after a while of your needs and your wants being ignored, you burst.”

To keep from bursting, Lovato needed to finally figure out what she wants. “I want a career that has nothing to do with my body,” she says, imagining the possibility of being neither an object nor a statement against objectification. “I want it to be about my music and my lyrics and my message. And I want a long-lasting career that I don’t have to change myself for. Music brought me so much joy when I was younger, and I lost that joy throughout the hustle and bustle of the music industry. I got miserable. And I don’t ever want it to be like that again. That��s what I want.”

The question, then, is who Lovato is when she’s not experiencing trauma. Will she become a “normal” star instead of one constantly fighting the normalized standards of stardom? When a singer so publicly tied to her pain is happy and sober and at peace and with God, are the tragedies just bad things she experienced, or are they a part of her? “I don’t think there’s a correct answer to this question,” Lovato says slowly. “I know these things happened to me. They shaped me into who I am. So maybe it’s a bit of both.” As Lovato says this, she lifts her right and left hands, palms open to all possibilities. She smiles. She’s still afloat.

Top image credit: Carolina Herrera pants; Totême courtesy of Farfetch tank; Zero + Maria Cornejo cardigan; Jennifer Fisher earrings; Jordan Road necklace.

Video credit: Mara Hoffman dress; Olgana Paris shoes; Jennifer Fisher ring; Lana Jewelry earrings.

Photographer: Angelo Kritikos

Hair: Paul Norton

Makeup: Rokael Lizama

Manicurist: Natalie Minerva

Stylist: Siena Montesano

Set Designer: Kelly Fondry

Art Director: Erin Hover

Fashion Direction: Tiffany Reid

Bustle followed current guidelines from the CDC and put measures in place to maximize the safety of our talent and crew.

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