#cringe compilation unlocked!!
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I posted 7,718 times in 2022
2,042 posts created (26%)
5,676 posts reblogged (74%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@youmeetyourself
@ohh-goddamn
@ithinkheknowss
@cages-boxes-hunters-foxes
@godofsmallthings
I tagged 5,462 of my posts in 2022
Only 29% of my posts had no tags
#vi is typing... - 1,484 posts
#q - 648 posts
#ask - 268 posts
#<3 - 115 posts
#ts pics - 95 posts
#the wilds - 66 posts
#midnights - 66 posts
#vmas 2022 - 45 posts
#movies - 41 posts
#anon - 39 posts
Longest Tag: 140 characters
#the one concert i have no videos from (taylor bc of rain) i really wish i could look back on in that way bc it fades from your mind so quick
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
losing faith in the strawberry blond ultimate guitar comments section (2022, colorized)
126 notes - Posted March 15, 2022
#4
anyway yeah the dyke in me was anti the boys at first but it did make a lot of narrative sense to bring them in and honestly it really kept the show fresh and showed how good the writers are bc like...somehow we actually got to know them really well in only 8 episodes. kirin and ivan's arc was fucking amazing bro. i feel like they rlly stepped up their game in writing the dystopian stuff too which was the weakest part of s1 imo. idk and also like fuck seth obviously but the factioning of the boys and the constantly shifting dynamics contrasting with the girls becoming family was soooo interesting. anyway overall i like the boys they rlly aren't so bad :')
283 notes - Posted May 8, 2022
#3
the way this image is going to sustain me for like 3 weeks at this point
345 notes - Posted February 7, 2022
#2
forever turning sweet nothing around in my head and i've been thinking about the pebble line ("does it ever miss wicklow sometimes?") and how you can almost interpret that to be about this person jumping into the fishbowl with her...like do you ever miss your life before i swept you up into mine? and on an album ostensibly about her struggles with fame it hits so hard, especially as a contrast to midnight rain because she sort of is able to carve out this quiet domestic life that she felt she was giving up by choosing her life
383 notes - Posted October 23, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
one of my favorite lines in sweet nothing is “you’re in the kitchen humming” because it continues the motif throughout her entire discography about kitchens being such a sacred and pivotal space in her life and her relationships: ”barefoot in the kitchen sacred new beginnings” / “i’m here on the kitchen floor” / “dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light” and the whole kitchen fight scene in the atw short film. and then additionally it’s so loaded because food/cooking in general have brought her both happiness and self-care (which she just talked about in the ina garten tribute) as well as a lot of pain and self-destruction obviously. and then to have this place filled with so much complex pain and memories being a symbol of peaceful, steady love is so wonderful <3
3,252 notes - Posted October 21, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#cringe compilation unlocked!!#the 2k posts is really sending me i need to stop spending all my days on here fhskdbdjbd
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did you know your vagina can fall out of your body? cuz guess what I just learned today the hard way
#it wasn’t a yeast infection#new hypermobile level unlocked#evie cringe fail compilation#hypermobility#i’m fine#oversharing#vaginal health#evie’s jeevies#sex education#biology#funny shit#memes#humor#cw female anatomy
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Saul Gooman X ftm!reader
You're a regular "client" at Saul Goodman's office, you must get in a lotta trouble, probably that fucking mouth of yours. Good thing Saul has you covered!
Words like: Cunt, hole and cock are used for readers genitals.
Word Count: 3,003 (we went a little crazy, ok)
Long stares and awkward coughing were the only things heard inside the cramped space you entered; you tried ignoring the glares from Saul’s clients as you perceivably passed them up. You weren’t here for Saul’s legal practice, never needed a lawyer on your side for anything you had done, and you hoped to keep it that way.
“Hey, Francesca, here’s your usual!” Your voice broke whatever trance she was in, her mean look that gilded her face reserved only for clients suddenly faded. She honestly looked exhausted, you couldn’t blame her, some of the worst people imaginable came to Saul for legal help. He gladly accepted all for the correct number of zeros added to a check in his name.
“I’m gonna kick his ass if he hasn’t given you a break yet,” You chimed in lightly, trying to lighten the mood a little.
She quickly accepted the coffee and food, sending a small smile your way, a nod of understanding passed between you two before she proceeded to smack a buzzer on her desk.
“Your favorite client is here,” Francesca spoke into the receiver on her end and didn’t wait for a response as she released the button, a few seconds passed before you heard a slight buzz through her headphone, indicating Saul was actually responding and not ignoring her as he fiddled around in his office.
Groans and cries of indignation resounded behind you as the door was unlocked for you, and the handle was quickly locked behind you.
“Hey, kiddo, still haven’t gotten that car fixed?” Saul chimed at you from his desk, he was currently munching on a box of Chinese food and appeared to be watching something on his laptop. You just let out a sigh, “Nooo, stop asking. I haven’t had time to mess with it,” You groaned approaching his desk and peering at his laptop, he was…Watching a video labeled “ Epic Fail Compilations ”.
The slow gaze you gave him out of the corner of your eyes should have been enough words, but he just continued watching with a mildly entertained look on his face.
“Really? You’re ignoring your clients to watch shit my dad watches on YouTube?” You deadpanned at him; brows furrowed as you stood back up to glare at him. He just waived you off with chopsticks in his hand, swallowing the food he was currently chewing.
“Eh, they’re not important, just some schmucks who keep publicly masturbating in front of an orthodox church.” He frowned shaking his head, your face scrunched up with a displeased look as you imagined that.
“And don’t even get me started on that Charles guy!” Saul groaned setting his eating utensil down, he leaned back into his chair and rolled his eyes sighing. “He’s gotten busted by the same cop three times! At the same location! These idiots practically just love throwing money at me!”
“Yep…” Was all you had to say, shaking your head you just gently watched Saul in his chair. “Have you let Francesca have a break today?” Your brow raised lightly at him, he seemed to be caught a little off guard by this.
“Y-yeah, of course, what kinda boss do you think I am?” He just chuckled at you, your gaze was unrelenting, not a word coming out as you watched him. He practically squirmed before you, trying to maintain eye contact.
“Jimmy…” Your voice chided, he just deflated like a balloon at that.
“Okay, no! I haven’t, we’ve been busy…” He said throwing his hands up and nervously chuckling, trying to avoid you.
“Right, busy ignoring the local masturbators and watching stupid YouTube videos…” He just cringed at your harsh tone, giving you a pleading look, “Okay, okay, she can go on break after this.” He said, trying to quell your annoyance with him, his hands traveled to your hips and thrummed his thumb against your waist bone.
“This?” You questioned, ignoring his traveling hand, he was gazing up at you with a soft facial expression. He tried pulling himself closer, you now standing between his legs as he sat in his chair, hands grazing over your belt with swift fingers.
“Come on, kid, don’t play hard to get. You, coming in here, thinking you’re just gonna leave like that, practically blue balling me. Kinda mean,” he said, humming lightly and raising his brows at you, your eyes betray nothing as he kept giving you puppy dog eyes, pawing and whining at you.
It was honestly kinda cute, desperately wanting literally anything from you, and you wanted to leave him hanging so bad.
“You thought I came here to fuck you?” You snorted, he just frowned at this, “I mean, yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time you showed up just to get your hole filled.” He shrugged casually, his fingers slowly slipping your belt from the first loop.
You didn’t relent, you stood stock still as he continued to look pleadingly up at you, “Because that’s all your good for, your client work? Pretty fucking pathetic, helping out lowly criminals, Jesus fucking Christ.” You snarled, this seemed to egg him on, but not in the way you had anticipated.
“Oh, and you think you’re any better? I’d say you’re just here because you’re a gold digger, coming in here for my fat wad and my fat fucking cock,” He hissed angrily grabbing at his crotch to amplify his words, a small laugh left your mouth, his lips pursed at your reaction.
“Hmph, I couldn’t give two shits about your money, and your cock? The one that you need to take a whole bottle of Viagra to get up because the two-bit whores you pay for don’t get it up fast enough?” You pushed him back into his chair with your palm on his shoulder, your leg sliding between his crotch to put pressure on his cock nestled in his jeans.
“The same cock that only gets hard when he thinks about fucking me? You some kind of tranny chaser? Or are you just trying to pretend you’re not a little fag who likes to bone men?” And of course, his cock was completely hard against his pants, a smirk rising to your lips as you proved your point.
He groaned at this, “Hah, at least I’m not the one who likes to fuck men twice my age. Daddy issues much?” He jeered; his hands quickly traveled to your neck as he brought you down for a heated kiss. His lips fervently worked against your own, puffs of air billowing from his nostrils as he tried to not break for breath. You bit his lip harshly, he jumped below you, mouth agape for a second before you shoved your tongue into his mouth.
While his mouth was busy kissing your own, his hands traveled down back to his original point of contact. Your belt quickly came undone, fingers pulling the button of your pants apart and zipper descending down. He wasted no time tugging your pants and underwear down your own ass, fingers sliding behind you to feel up your rear. He gave you a harsh squeeze on your ass cheeks before disconnecting his lips from yours, he pulled away to catch his breath.
Red dusted both of your cheeks, saliva slipped between the two of you, and his eyes fluttered open to gaze at you with blown pupils. You took this moment to appreciate how wild and pent-up he looked, hair a mess, lips puffy, completely bendable to your will, god…
If you left now, he’d probably cry and beg for you to turn around and at least suck his cock, full crawl on the ground begging mode.
Your hand slipped over his scalp and tugged on his hair, pulling his head back, and giving him a glare.
“Did I say you could put your cock in me?” You snarled, watching him cringe in pain as you glared down at him. A little noise escaped his mouth, both a cry of pleasure and a moan of pain.
“N-no, we don’t have to...I just thought-” You interrupted him with a harsh pull of his hair, his voice hitting a high note.
“That’s your problem, you think. I didn’t ask you to think, I want you to beg. Beg nicely, and maybe you can put your cock in my hole, and if you fuck me good enough, you can cum inside me.” You let go of his hair and gently corded your fingers through his scalp, eyes still trained on each other. Tears welled slightly in the corners of his eyes as he panted lightly and tried to catch his breath,
“Please, let me…let me put my cock in you. I’ll fuck you so good, you’ll be crying so loud for my cock that everyone outside could hear you.” He babbled lightly, at this point, he couldn’t look away as you stripped your pants and straddled his waist on the chair. Your lower half is completely naked and open for his viewing pleasure, your throbbing cock standing and begging for attention. Saul swallowed seeing slick already between your legs, his hand caressed down your stomach brushing through your fuzzy hair, lightly brushing the tip of your cock.
“I want to fuck you so good, come on, let me remind you how much you like my cock, please sweetheart.” He begged, his thumb brushing over your sensitive cock head, his fingers dipping between your lips, slicking his fingers up before slowly jerking you off on him.
Your lower half twitched and throbbed with excitement as his hands played with you gently, his eyes never leaving your own as he pleasured you with his hands. You let out a slow exhale as you tried to steady yourself and not thrust against him.
He had the most puppy lovesick look he could muster, bottom lip stuck out and pouting, curved up eyebrows, and a giant tent in his pants.
Alright, he whined and squeaked enough below you, if he begged anymore, you might see some waterworks being put into play. Then you’d really feel bad, I guess he did a good enough job that he could finally stop his groveling and get some release from you. It was only fair since any time you came in here, he would gladly let you sink onto his leaking cock, not that he would ever so say no.
He was completely shameless, if you’d say yes, he’d have you sucking his dick under the desk for all his client meetings, too bad he’s noisy. You hummed a little thinking maybe; he’d allow for some training to keep his mouth shut for once in a while.
“That was cute,” You purred gently at him, fingers brushing back a piece of his combover, “I’ll let you have what you want, so go ahead and pull your little cock out for me, you dirty bastard.” You whispered right next to his ear, a shudder when down his back as he choked down a little moan.
His hands quickly released his belt buckle and struggled with his top button, fumbling with shaking hands trying to free his erection. You just watched him as he tried concentrating with a straight-lipped look, brows knitting closely together with his cheeks flared up.
He didn’t bother even pulling his pants down, just enough below his front to let his length and balls free, begging for attention. Precum had already leaked down the side and wetted his underwear, absolutely shameless, what a fucking mess he was.
You snorted lightly at this as your hand instantly started jerking him off, using his cum as lube to slick himself up, a noise escaped the back of his throat at your harsh hand thrusts. He was loving every second of it, watching you manhandle his cock as if it belonged to you.
“Ahh!~” He gasped lightly as you touched his head, rubbing it lightly with your thumb, “Come on, kid, while I like your hand a lot, I uhm-” You sunk yourself down on him, hand angling his cock into your soaked hole, “Oh fuck!” He cried as you sunk slowly onto him, allowing yourself to breathe out calmly, slipping down on him inch by inch.
His breath hitched as you finally enveloped his entire length, taking a short break to adjust to him, letting your legs rest on top of his own. Your hand was placed on his shoulder, keeping you steady, you just watched his pleasured face as he stared at your two bodies connected. You felt a blush creep up at the intensity of his stare, his hands calmly brushed over the top of your thighs as he gave a little thrust, gently testing you.
A soft sigh left your lips at this, he took that as a good sign, hands firmly grasping your legs as he started grinding into you, you felt yourself clench around his twitching member, his head hitting your front wall making you gasp quietly.
“Yeah, you like that?” He breathed out, his fingers delving in to stroke your cock as his length pulled out from you before slamming back in with a wet slap.
“Oh, you feel so tight, holy shit! Relax a little, kid.” He chuckled as his pace sped up, hips jerking up towards your own, your slick allowing him to glide in effortlessly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting close, you want me to slow down?” His pacing did not, in fact, slow down.
You had to lean into him just to keep from falling off his lap, hands bracing on his shoulders, his lips met your own as he pulled you closer. A low whine escaped your throat as he kept pistoning into your cunt, the chair squeaked in denial below you two.
“Hah, I didn’t think so, I’m supposed to be making you feel good, right?” He asked, pulling away from your face just enough to breathe out some words, his mouth nipping and biting along your jaw, “Does it feel good? Having my cock inside you?” He hummed biting harshly on your jugular, a strangled “yes” escaped your throat.
“Hmmm, what’s that, sweetie? You’re gonna have to speak up, daddy can’t hear you.” He chuckled to himself, giving you a particularly rough thrust of his hips, his cock was absolutely soaked with your juices as his balls slapped against you.
God, he felt so fucking good inside you, reaching all the places his fingers couldn’t get, filling your needy hole while you clenched around him, begging for release.
“Yes, fuck! I love having your cock inside me!” You practically wailed in his ear, your nails dug into his shirt as he fucked you into oblivion, his own moans mixed with yours.
“Oh, shit, yeah take my fucking cock, slut!” Saul groaned, he felt his cock throb with want for release as he pumped you full of him, “Ah, oh fuck! Can I cum inside you?” He begged, his thrusting stuttering, and holding back as much as possible while still pounding into you.
“Ahh~ Fuck….yes, please fill me up,” you begged against him, his fingers came back to your cock and started jerking you off hard. Your pleasure increased tenfold, the blazing heat in your stomach wound tighter as he cursed and thrust into you like a rabbit.
“Yeah? Good, because I’m gonna breed you like the slut you are, god that’s the only thing your body is good for, taking my seed!” He yelped particularly loudly as he seated himself into you fully, thumb still rubbing against your cock, bringing your release in time with his own. He let out another moan as his hot throbbing cock spurted inside your clenching walls, his mouth sloppily connecting with your own as he rode out his release.
He whined below you, feeling your own spasms around his sensitive cock, still desperately thrusting up into you. You let out a quiet moan as he slowed his thrusts to seat himself in you, taking a breather as you both enjoyed coming down from your highs.
You could feel his cum leaking out from around him, making an absolute mess of his pants, thank fucking god they were a dark color. It wouldn’t be quite as noticeable to see a giant wet spot and realize it’s a cum stain on his work clothes.
He let out a long sigh, relaxing back in his chair, his hands had left your hips and now wrapped around your lower back gently stroking you as he cuddled closer. You two stayed like this for another few minutes while he became completely soft inside you, before finally deciding to pull out from you, a soft whine left your throat at the loss of his heat.
“I know, I know, kid. But a deal is a deal, Francesca needs that break, huh?” He said, patting your thigh before you slipped off his lap, legs slightly wobbly as he held your sides for support. A chuckle escaped his lips seeing you like this, “Woah! Be careful now, don’t wanna hurt yourself. There are no payouts for injuring yourself on the job.” He joked a little standing up and tucking himself back into his pants.
You just rolled your eyes and bent over to grab your pants, and he this took this opportunity to slap your ass particularly hard, earning a yelp from you.
“Really, Saul?” You snarled, turning back to him, he just oggled at you with an innocent look, a small smile dancing on his lips.
“What? I can’t resist you, you know this!” He laughed handing you your undergarments you had yet to pick up, you let out an exasperated sigh at his childish antics.
“Whatever. Just go let Francesca have her damn break,” You chided before slipping everything on and promptly leaving, his eyes watching you the entire time as you left. With a smirk still present on his face, his mood had been lifted and his dick satisfied.
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Got me thinking of Levi going to get his wisdom teeth removed. Everyone is suuuper excited with phones at the ready because he’s no doubt going to say some weird ass shit. They gotta record him. 📸
Instead he’s super super normal and straight faced. Super tired 😪 It’s only once they put their phones away that he starts mumbling nonsense.
TAY i’m so sorry this has taken so long. I’m FINALLY clearing out my inbox and drafts folder and completely forgot that this has been sitting here for like... months. It’s been finished for ages, I just forgot to queue it up to post 😭😭 pls forgive me
Anyways enjoy these hcs. hope this isn’t too cringe
Levi getting his wisdom teeth removed
Now, he obviously did not want anybody other than you to know he was getting his wisdom teeth removed, clearly because he a) actually gets pretty nervous for any medical procedure, and b) does not want people to record him high on pain meds
Somehow, though, Hange finds out (because they always find out)
And they set up camp at your and Levi’s shared apartment to surprise you two when you drive him home from the appointment
You groan and sigh upon unlocking the door and just hearing many footsteps pattering towards the front door, and you instantly raise your eyebrows at the culprit. Hange just shrugs and says they had to be there
Connie’s struggling to contain his laughter as he and Sasha not-so-discreetly take their phones out and start recording him. You try and whack the phones away but Mikasa, with a straight face, pulls up her hand-held DS camera saying something about this going in the family home-made videos (because the Ackerman family--and by that I mean Kuchel because she’s alive and well in this universe--always makes home-made video compilations of the year), Historia high-fives Mikasa, and you sigh. To his credit Eren looks terrified that he even got roped into this at all, the poor boy is sweating like CRAZY. Jean’s not faring much better to be completely honest. Weirdly enough, Armin looks mildly entertained.
They’re expecting Levi to be super loopy and out of it, but other than feeling a little woozy and needing to put an arm around you so that he can stumble into the house without the risk of tripping, he seems perfectly lucid. More like he has a bad headache than being on pain meds.
Immediately upon seeing the audience, he gives them his trademark glare, swipes for Connie’s phone and successfully snatches it out of the boy’s hand, and gives it to you for safekeeping. He’s cussing them out as normal, telling them to ‘get out of [his] hair and leave him be’ without any actual bite to it, and even though there’s gauze in his mouth and his jaw is swollen he sounds relatively normal.
Sighing in disappointment everyone puts away their phones, which makes you sigh with relief as everybody skirts around you, letting you help Levi get settled on the sofa, even as he continues to protest that he can sit down and get cozy by his damn self, thank you very much.
Though they did initially show up in the hopes they’d catch him saying something stupid, the group is willing to help you take care of him (to which he protests that he doesn’t need half a dozen mother hens) so they stick around, make soup, clean up after the mess they made (because Sasha broke into the biscuit tins whilst they were waiting for you and Levi to come home)
All the while, you’re preparing an ice pack for his swollen face and constantly reciting to yourself the exact words the doctors told you about how long the bandages and gauze need to stay on etc. etc., and everybody is now so hyperfocused on making sure he’s comfortable that they almost miss it when Levi slowly shuffles up to you on the couch, swaddled in blankets, and mumbles ‘if i was a coffee order at starbucks, what would i be?’
Everyone who’s in earshot freezes. You stifle a laugh. ‘you don’t even drink coffee let alone like it, why’d you wanna know? besides, i’m sure there’s a buzzfeed quiz for that if you’re really curious.’
He’s shaking his head, mumbling something incoherently, and when you ask him to speak up, he says ‘I don’t trust buzzfeed’.
‘Why not?’
It goes onto a very strange tangent about a conspiracy theory that buzzfeed is one huge social experiment by some shady private corporation that keeps their identity a secret, then he talks a bunch about how he can hear the voices of all the flies and bugs he’s squished over his lifetime.
you usher everybody out before they can begin recording or witness him tearing up over all the bugs he’s killed, but then he turns around and says ‘but if I were a coffee i’d be black coffee. black like my soul’
This is the breaking point for you and you cackle. ‘sure,’ you’re getting out inbetween wheezes, ‘sure you are’. He’s immediately falling asleep afterwards leaving you to just sit there on the couch giggling.
You tell Levi everything he says when he’s lucid again and he vehemently denies everything. especially the part where he felt sorry about all the creepy crawlies he’d killed.
Levi x Reader Masterlist | AOT Masterlist
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi hcs#levi x you#levi x y/n#levi ackerman hcs#levi headcanons
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Well I'm here since the drituation so by now I'm dnf obsessed
As soon as I started researching Dream, YouTube started recommending me dnf compilations. It was actually a big reason why I got into the fandom. I was like: ohhh and he has strange little gay dynamic going on with his best friend. Sign me the fuck up. I want to know everything about them.
The first George video I ever watched was the meetup vlog and then I watched hours worth of dnf compilations.
It was very fun. Then I read tons of fanfic and watched all Dream's spaces and podcasts because I love his voice.
Ps. I saw them way before I knew about Dream in an among us lobby once, I was watching another streamer that was in the same lobby. I didn't realize until way later that they were the same Dream and George because I'm not good at remembering names or voices. I only realized that I already watched them play when I saw the among us game in a dnf complication.
I only remember one though about George and it was something along the lines: wow this guy is a little cringe, fanboying about this Dream guy so much (I didn't know they were best friends😂) It was pretty funny unlocking that memory while watching dnf compilation.
thank god 💚💙🫶
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I think it's interesting how pre-2022 or so when the average person heard "paraphiliac" they'd picture objectums and/or dendrophiles (writing this unlocked the staggering memory of watching a guy reacting to wikipedia's paraphilia list like cringe compilation style), while now everyone associates it exclusively with pedo/necro/zoophilia and reacts with hatred to the most general mentions of it... I don't actually know why this happened but I'm not a fan
I think it really is just because paraphilia discourse picked up steam in the last couple of years, and a lot of people who do have potentially harmful paraphilias just say they're a paraphiliac as a way of keeping themselves safe. Hell, it's what I do. Being specific would just result in targeted harassment, so it's best to be vague so that people can't use that information to hurt me. And of course, what naturally happened is people began to assume that anyone calling themselves a paraphile in a broad sense was trying to hide something in that vein.
That, and it's not like people ever really liked paraphiliacs to begin with. BDSM is still highly stigmatized, a lot of other unusual fetishes (feet, inflation, feederism, piss/scat, etc. etc.) are pointed at as being "cringy" or "perverted", and that's not even touching on the few paraphilias that sometimes result in criminal behavior, like (nonconsensual) exhibitionism, voyeurism, and frotteurism, and of course pedo/zoo/necrophilia. A lot of people will just assume that because you have a fantasy, that it means you intend on acting on it, when in reality that really isn't the case. It's just that there's far more coverage on offending paraphiliacs (especially regarding the big three) because most would not out themselves publicly in their right mind. Which of course means most paraphiliacs are only outed when they're caught actually doing something heinous, such as looking at CSEM or defiling a corpse. This makes the ratio of offending vs. non-offending paraphiles feel signifcantly higher than it actually is.
That, and of course, criminal behavior of all types is sensationalized. People will go on for weeks about this YouTuber or celebrity admitting to fucking their dog or whatever, because it's good drama. It's basically free money to talk about it, AND you can warn others about a potentially dangerous person. But it still has the unfortunate side effect of dragging other paraphiliacs down with them, because things like animal and child abuse are especially topics that trigger a lot of strong emotions, and so of course people are going to react viscerally if you come off like you're trying to excuse or sympathize with the behavior even the slightest bit. Comparatively, a YouTuber/celebrity being outed as liking feet or inflation is far less likely to get a reaction, because even if it's considered "weird", at least it's not something potentially or tangibly harmful. Exceptions made, of course, for people like Dan Schneider who involved underage persons in his fetish. Sexual abuse is a sensationalist topic. That's why grooming allegations get hundreds of thousands to millions of clicks. That's why the guy who gets outed as being a kid diddler or a cat fucker gets far more negative traffic than the guy who admits to having a piss fetish. That's why paraphilias in general are far more associated with criminal behavior than they are with "fetishists in general".
It's also difficult to talk about how paraphiliacs are treated at all because you'll either have bad actors trying to force themselves into communities that they aren't apart of, or other people misconstruing them as doing that. For example, the times certain pedophiles and zoophiles tried to worm their way into the LGBT community have basically destroyed any conversation you can have about how paraphiliacs of all stripes are sexually oppressed and stigmatized. Or how some people will hear about how paraphiliacs are subject to ableism and take that as somehow comparing disabled or mentally ill people to abusers. This is such an inherently sensitive subject that requires a lot of tact to discuss, and the unfortunate reality is that a lot of people simply don't want to hear it, or the conversation was made infinitely more difficult by genuine apologists and bad actors trying to hide behind paraphilia advocacy as a way of receiving encouragement to abuse and even access to potential victims.
Hell, something interesting I've noticed is the few times I've accidentally stumbled across zoophilia/bestiality forums, wherein anti-contact zoos were basically treated like "pick-mes" trying to appeal to broader society. It's fascinating, and many paraphiliacs (particularly pedos and zoos) tend to not even act maliciously. They genuinely believe the objects of their affection can consent, or that they aren't doing any harm, and so they're forced to maximize their cognitive dissonance and surround themselves with yesmen in order to avoid confronting the harm they've caused. It's... genuinely pretty sad, I think, and is a lot more harrowing than the "these people are just evil and are hurting these vulnerable people/creatures for selfish reasons!" narrative that dominates most outside perspectives of paraphiliacs and sexual abusers.
So between sensationalization, demonization, and flat-out misinformation: of course pedos/zoos/necros are singled out. Those three paraphilias are among very few that are absolutely never consensual, and many people object to just thinking about them because the idea of a child, animal, or deceased love one being violated brings up a lot of visceral emotions. Other paraphilias are easier to justify; "kink is just two consenting adults, why are you so pressed about it?", whereas people are far less likely to jump to the defense of even things like lolicon/shotacon and fictional bestiality or necrophilia porn, because of just how deeply stigmatized they are even in theory. Even when it doesn't harm anyone, it's still seen as decrepit and dangerous, because Westerners especially are conditioned to gauge pretty much everyone by how much of a "potential threat" they could be-- whether this be due to someone's mental illness, race, gender, or any other amount of uncontrollable factors that inevitably lead to you being profiled as being a dangerous person or not.
Anyways I'm genuinely sorry about just how fucking rambly this is. I know there's big blocks of text and it's not really cohesive, but hey, I can barely focus and this gave me something to respond to that I like talking about. I really appreciate this ask in particular, as it's something I enjoy talking about which is why I started sperging about it C:
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Mod Miri here! Today on the blog we have Sephy (she/her), who can be found here on Tumblr and Archive of Our Own.
General FF7 Questions
Who is your favourite character from the FFVII setting? What do you love about them?
I love every single playable character from the main game, but my favorite is without a doubt, Cloud Strife. He's so unlike a typical RPG protagonist. He's very standoffish and rude at the beginning, but you start to grow to really like him the more you play the game. The amount of vulnerability he shows throughout the game makes him very relatable, I think. He's the party leader and he is strong when it's needed, but he can crack under pressure. I could talk all day about Cloud and what I love about him, but I actually did a dash game on my Cloud blog where I gushed about him. It's here: https://defiant-ex-soldiers.tumblr.com/post/626278527072878592/lets-start-a-chain-of-sweetness
Favourite party (three person team) idea when playing FFVII? They don’t have to actually work mechanically (or even be possible in the game), just that you like the idea of them together as a fighting party.
When I was young, my main post Disk 2 party was an odd one. It was Cloud, Yuffie, and Red XIII. Cloud had to be in my party, Red was in my party because I loved cats and he was a giant cat, how could I not? I didn't particularly care about Yuffie, but I needed a girl to replace Aerith as the main healer.
I didn't really like Tifa at the time because I shipped Cloud and Aerith (and the LTD taught me back then that if you loved that ship you must hate Tifa. I have long since gotten over that way of thinking, but I was a young impressionable kid back then.) I don't think I have an ideal team, I just love all the characters so much. Honestly I experiment with party composition a lot when I play.
Is there a headcannon or AU you want to see more of?
AUs that change the fundamentals of a story fascinate me. My first fanfiction was a Zack lives fic where the direction the story goes in is drastically changed by the way Zack ends up living. I still find myself cringing at it sometimes, but I also still adore the fic just because it was my first. A more recent one involved Zack getting his hands on some Shinra R&D special Materia and being teleported forward in time where he meets Advent Children Cloud. Any of the fics involving changing the Nibelhiem incident somehow immediately interest me. I'm a big fan of the lore the game establishes already, so reading how fic artists take that world apart and put it back together, but differently, is exciting for me.
Do you have a favourite memory associated with FF7 (any part of compilation) or something particular you did while playing (such as what you named the characters, or how you arranged your materia) that you think is unique that you'd like to share?
I have so many. I have been playing Final Fantasy VII since I was around 9 years old (even if I probably shouldn't have been playing it at that age). I don't remember much at all of my first playthrough, but there have been very many playthroughs after that. I do remember that I always named my Chocobos after the main party. My favorite was a black one named Yuffie and I made her dance on the minimap if a song I liked came on the radio. I also remember that I started playing for the first time after we had moved houses, so I didn't have the memory card for the family's PS1, so I replayed the first mission over and over again until we found it.
Once, when I was young I got locked out of my room while playing through the wall-market section of the game. So I got embarrassed because my family could hear the Don Corneo music while they were trying to unlock the door. Another time, I tried to fall asleep with my old CRT TV on because I thought the Chocobo farm music would help me sleep better.
Cloud always had the lightning Materia and he also always had the Chocobo Lure Materia because I thought it was funny and it made sense to young me because his hair resembled chocobo tail feathers.
One quirk I keep to this day has to be the two name changes I make whenever I start FFVII. Aeris is changed to Aerith, of course. There's also Red XIII whose name I change to Nanaki, because I didn't understand why he would want to keep the name that Hojo gave him and not his real name. FFVII has always been a constant part of my life. I remember long car rides where I would do nothing but play FFVII on my PSP. I remember back when I only had it on PS2, setting it up in a hotel room and trying to beat Carry Armor there (I didn't and I remained stuck there for a while longer). I remember playing it on my PSP during class after I'd finished my work.
I remember back when I was starting middle school, I got a teacher into FFVII and she put a special question on one of our tests, just for me. I remember making a poetry book that had really childish drawing and poems about FFVII. I remember finally beating Crisis Core, huddled in the corner of my bunk bed, unable to keep my eyes off of what was going on, and tearing up because the ending was so sad. That isn't even the half of it, but I've gone on for so long. As you can see, I have so many fond memories of Final Fantasy VII.
Creator Questions
Who has been the most difficult character to write/draw? Who has been the easiest?
Recently I started my first Turk fic and it starred Rude. I found that his muse didn't come as easy as the others. Usually I'm good at writing most of the cast of FFVII. Cloud is the easiest for me to write because I just know him so well.
What’s your ideal creating environment? Background noise/silence, indoors/outdoors, desk/couch, etc.?
At my desk with music playing! Fun fact, I haven't had an actual office chair to sit in for years. My computer was next to my bed at my old living space and now I sit on a couch when I'm at the computer in my new one.
What’s your creative process look like? Pantser/Emotive Writer/Gardener or Planner/Structured Writer/Architect? (Do you outline or just go with the flow?) If you’re an artist, do you do a lot of sketches, or just dive right in? Backgrounds first, or the main focal point? Multiple layers or all in one?
I usually just go where the fic wants to take me. A lot of the time I do jot down an outline, especially if I know I need to do it in a set amount of time, like for the Fic exchange or Whumptober.
What do you do when you get stuck on a project?
I usually set it aside and work on something else or try and brainstorm if it's something that I need to do in a certain period of time. Oftentimes I'll do something else and let my mind wander. Most of the plot of my Turkfic I came up with at work while my mind was on autopilot.
Which of your works is the most memorable to you? I don’t necessarily mean favourite or best work, it could be the work that taught you the most through making it or that holds a special reason in its creation. Drop a link.
"To Break like Time". This fic was my first ever fic for an exchange. The spring tester for Gaia Santa, "FFVII Secret Spring" to be exact. I'm not entirely sure what came over me when I was writing this fic, but I got it done in a weekend and edited a few days after, at the very beginning of the challenge. Despite how easy of a time I had writing it, I was nervous about posting it. It's that fic where Zack wakes up in post AC times with a Shinra R&D secret materia in his hands. Not exactly everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoyed the challenge it gave. There are several parts I would change, but overall, I enjoy the story, even if it does get kind of weird at the end.
It’s hard for me to go through everything you’ve done to pick stuff to mention. Is there a particular piece you’d like plugged, other than the one in the last question?
The Night that Nibelheim Burned is my Gaia Santa fic from last year. I really enjoyed the way everything came together. It was a harder fic to write, but it was worth it. Kunsel was the character on the docket that I was new to playing this time. This fic is another one of those fics about what Kunsel's doing while Zack is on the run. He never gave up hope, no matter how much time went by, and I think this fic really shows that.
Community/Fandom Questions
What aspects of fandom spark the most joy for you?
Just, how creative this fandom is. I've always been a fan of a lot of the art the fandom has made, and several of the fics too. It always blows my mind just how many new ideas that someone can come up with for such an old game (as well as the entries in the compilation). It inspires me to write my own fics and create my own piece of that to share with everyone.
I love seeing long rambling theory posts about the OG and the other compilation games on my dash. I also love how silly the fandom can be sometimes :3 I also love how every character is loved by someone no matter how minor.
Is there something you'd like to see more of in the community?
Can't have enough of people being nice to each other! Spread around the art you love (with the proper credits of course), Recommend that fic you love to other people! Leave Comments on people's fics, even if you don't have much to say! Those actions have the potential to make someone's day, and I think that's amazing.
Anything you’d like to say to the community?
The LTD (Love Triangle Debate) is bogus, and for a long time, I was scared that it would be revived with the release of the Remake. I was worried there would be people fighting tooth and nail over who Cloud should be with. As far as I know, that hasn't happened yet, but maybe I'm just in a different circle.
As for me, I quit the LTD when I was a kid and started playing Crisis Core because I started shipping Cloud and Zack. You can even see it in my first fanfic where I adamantly refused to admit that I liked them together as a couple, but you can see with the way I had Cloud and Zack interact with each other (Especially in the last chapter) how much they really loved each other.
Anyway, back to the LTD. I'm a firm believer in shipping what you want. I have a million different ships with Cloud and all of them are valid in my mind. I don't ship because I want something to be canon, I ship because I like the story that could come about from having the two be together.
Here is one of my favorite posts on the subject of shipping: https://sephyathredon.tumblr.com/post/617204499133661185/sunandrainfic-brief-note-to-new-ff7-folks
Is there a work belonging to someone else that you’d like to plug?
"Rejoice although you will not surivive" by PUNK MENACE
I enjoy seeing Cloud get whumped and this fic has some good whump and an interesting aftermath of that whump. Heed the warnings though, this is not a light fic.
Thanks so much for joining me, Sephy! It is great working with you during the annual events!
Interested in participating in a FF7Central interview, or nominating someone? Check out the form here.
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Doom WADs’ Roulette (2006): Newdoom Community Project
You know, a lot of WAD community projects started on Doomworld. Why not take a look at what Newdoom has to offer for a change, huh?
G4: Newdoom Community Project
Main author(s): Various
Release date: January 1st, 2006 (original release)/January 8th, 2006 (database upload)/May 16th, 2006 (updated version release)
Version played: Updated version
Required port compatibility: Limit-removing
Levels: 32 (no secret ones)
Newdoom Community Project started out as Xtife’s idea on November 11th, 2002. Just a simple MegaWAD created by members of the titular forum site. Soon enough, many people caught an eye for it and started helping. Sometime later, Xtife, who was at the time a team leader, step out of this role and they were replaced by Darren Finch, who at the time was also maintaining the Newdoom site. Long story short, after many WAD mappers came and went, the project was finally released at the very beginning of 2006, with its updated version released in the middle of May.
Will this community project end up good in my eyes? After all, most of these WADs that I reviewed usually ended up as good in my opinion, despite being massive mixed bags. Well, there is only one way to find out.
Most of the time, the maps look just okay. There are times when some of these look good; very good I might add. But usually, they look like typical WAD maps from the late 1990s, just bigger and with more complex architecture since this project is limit-removing.
Three and a half maps use custom music - Baleful Confines, No Brakes, and Strayed from Sanity. These tracks are usually good, especially the first one (chris3.mid). The last half of a track is just text screen music played in Elemental. The rest of the WAD gets jack squat, and you are forced to play the maps with stocks. And here is a thing about Doom II stocks that almost everyone might agree about - they only fit in the original game. Shove them into a fan-made WAD, and you might as well add +4 to boredom if the music is on.
Speaking of boredom, playing Newdoom CP feels like one (at least mostly during the blind playthrough). Asides from many maps having things that were considered cringe even years ago like slow-moving lifts, switches being higher than they should’ve been, and how you must go from one end of the map to another after doing one thing, they suffer from the one-map WAD syndrome, AKA they might be fun if played solo, but playing them in a compilation will make you beg God to end your suffering.
The worst case is such a map is probably Maintenance Area, which is such a mangled mess of a maze full of corridors and platforms that I feel like it forces you to run around the entire map just to reach a room that you see from the other room right next to the former one. I played this map once, and I don’t think I would like to do that again.
And yes, this WAD ends with another, uninteresting, shitty Icon of Sin boss.
That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything interesting in this compilation. Identity Check for instance has blue and red gates that affect the map to some degree, usually with blue gates doing something good for you while the red ones do the opposite.
Elemental, while going for too long, has this interesting concept of going between smaller locations from a hub one with the exit in the center to unlock each other with switches. If you have trouble finding these, look at the Automap; it will at least partially help.
Hotash Slay kind of gives me Mt. Erebus vibes due to how it looks.
Silenced Progression might be the map I tolerate the most. It might be my positive bias towards Melissa McGee, but this is the map that knows that it is a part of the community project and it doesn’t have to be really big and/or filled with needless filler. It doesn’t waste your time.
I guess this compilation is mostly easy. While many maps tend to get very cheap with their difficulty like surrounding you with hitscanners or fighting mid to high-tier monsters in small areas/corridors, if you know where and how to get to the secrets, you’ll end up mostly okay. If not bored from fighting cannon fodder most of the time. I might have said the same thing about the other WAD in the past (it was probably Herian 2), but this project is for me what Evilution is to Civvie11; a freaking boredom of a WAD to play.
The only legitimately hard map I remember is No Brakes. Despite being a slaughter map from 2005 that tried to be a part of Community Chest 2, it actually made me feel something.
I can’t remember if I encountered any bugs while playing this WAD. I know that while many bugs from the original release have been patched out, there are still some of these like getting stuck if you go for a secret without pressing one switch in Strayed from Sanity.
There is also a note to people using the Doomsday source port, saying that MAP06 and MAP07 will crash this source port if used.
And... yawns
That’s basically all I have to say about Newdoom Community Project. It’s a rather meh compilation of maps. It will mostly bore you out. Sometimes I was thinking if there was any quality control while this project was in the making.
Let’s hope that the next WAD/map won’t make me fall asleep while sitting down.
See you next time.
Bye.
#doom#doom wad#review#doom mod#doom 2#doom 2006#2006#newdoom community project#doom wads’ roulette#cacowards#top ten wads of the year
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EMBARRASSING CRINGE COMPILATION NEW MEMS UNLOCKED
#personal#GODDD#i said to a starbucks worker hi! I’m back!!#kinda loudly just cause that’s my vouce#bc he’s one I see a lot and I saw him this morning#but he was taking an order through the headset 😭😭😭#and I felt so bad even though he was smiling#AND THEN SOMEONE ELSE GAVE ME MY DRINK SO I COULDNT EVEN APOLOGIZING FOR INTERRUPTING#I AM. FRUSTRATED WITH MYSELF AND ALSO EMBARRASSED.
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AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️
word count: 22.9k
warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol
//
Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine
Were there clues I didn't see?
- Invisible String, Taylor Swift
//
Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.
His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.
“Rough day?”
“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”
“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”
“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.
He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.
Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”
He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.
He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.
When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.
“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.
“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”
“I’m good.”
Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.
It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.
The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”
“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”
Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.
With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.
Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.
“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.
“The Grammys.”
Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”
“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”
“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”
“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”
He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”
“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”
“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”
“Are you going?”
“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”
Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.
It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.
Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.
It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.
That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.
“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”
“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”
“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”
He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”
“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”
“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”
“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”
“Julia…”
“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.
“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”
“Why not?”
“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”
“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”
“She won’t.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”
“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”
“Not everyday.”
The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.
He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.
Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?
//
Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.
Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.
He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.
Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.
“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.
“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.
You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.
I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me
“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.
Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”
Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”
“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.
You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.
Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.
“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”
You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,
“I love it.”
You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.
She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.
Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?
Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.
So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.
It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.
“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.
“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.
“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”
“I don’t—“
“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”
In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.
So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.
Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.
This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.
Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.
The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.
“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.
“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.
It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”
“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”
“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”
“Sure is.”
Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.
Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.
“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.
“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Nervous?”
The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”
“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”
“I guess.”
“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”
“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.
“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”
“I know. I know.”
“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”
“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.
“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”
“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.
True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.
It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.
From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.
You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.
The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.
A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.
It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.
Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.
It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.
“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.
“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”
“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”
“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”
“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.
From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.
“Nothing I’ve never done before.”
“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”
There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”
You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”
You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”
“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.
“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”
“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”
“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”
A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”
You sigh. “I know.”
“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”
“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”
“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”
The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.
It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.
The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)
What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.
The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.
Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.
It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.
Because they call out your name.
Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.
Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.
Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.
Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.
The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?
There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:
Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?
//
Harry’s not having a good day.
He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.
On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.
But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)
He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.
He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.
Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.
“Fucking--”
His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”
Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”
There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.
At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.
Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.
“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”
“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”
“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”
She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”
“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”
Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.
The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.
Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.
From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.
Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.
It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.
Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.
The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.
So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.
Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.
Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.
“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”
Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.
Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.
It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.
He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.
What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.
He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.
It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.
Why does this place have to be so fucking small?
His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.
Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.
The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.
“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.
His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”
“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”
“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.
“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”
“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”
You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”
“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.
“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.
True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.
As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.
His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).
Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.
“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.
“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”
At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.
Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.
It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.
As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.
His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.
“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.
She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.
The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.
Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.
“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.
With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.
Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.
After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.
During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.
It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.
Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.
It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.
The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.
“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”
Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.
“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”
“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.
“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”
Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.
“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”
“Oh.”
He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”
“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”
Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”
You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”
“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”
“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”
He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.
Which could explain why he feels this nervous.
“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”
“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”
“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”
“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?
“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”
“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”
“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”
He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”
The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.
He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.
“The same one, yeah.”
“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”
“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”
“Still, that’s…”
“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”
The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.
How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.
Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.
After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.
That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.
So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?
The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.
After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.
And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.
Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.
Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.
And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.
The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.
Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.
But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.
You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.
“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”
To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”
You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.
Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.
The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.
Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.
For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.
It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.
Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.
Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”
“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.
He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.
Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.
Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”
“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”
He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”
Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.
You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.
But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”
He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”
“I guess that’s it, yeah.”
There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.
You shake your head. What is wrong with you?
You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.
Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”
“What?”
“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”
You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.
“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”
Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”
“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”
“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”
He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”
Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”
“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”
“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”
You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”
His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”
“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”
You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.
“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”
His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.
It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.
You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.
Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.
You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”
“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”
You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”
“I took the tube here.”
“Let me drive you back.”
“You don’t have--”
“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”
He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”
“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”
“Okay, then.”
//
As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.
That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.
You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.
It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?
But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.
The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.
Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?
He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.
It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).
Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.
Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.
He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.
When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”
“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.
“Hi.”
“Are you home right now?”
His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”
“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”
“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.
“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.
“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.
“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”
“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”
Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.
He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.
From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.
Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”
“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.
“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”
The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.
Oh.
You’re drunk.
“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.
You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.
His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”
He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”
You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.
Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.
Because that’s the thing.
He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.
A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.
He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”
“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.
Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.
He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”
“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.
“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”
“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”
“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ll be right here!”
Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.
He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.
“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”
He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”
“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”
“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”
When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”
“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”
You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come join me here.”
“I don’t think it fits us both.”
“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”
He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”
He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”
“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”
“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”
“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”
He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.
It’s all much too confusing to him.
“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.
The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”
Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”
“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”
“I do.”
“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”
He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”
When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”
Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.
“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”
“Yeah.”
You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”
He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”
“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”
“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”
“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”
Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”
Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”
Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”
Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”
“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”
“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”
“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”
“Sounds great.”
You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”
He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”
“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”
“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”
//
A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing
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(falling asleep with a book on your chest, rated G, pure Derby Harrington / Bif Taylor fluff, ~1k words)
The clock on Bif Taylor-Tremblay’s nightstand reads 12:18PM, and he swears he can see the number behind his closed eyelids. He’s been tossing and turning all night; not tired, not awake, but occupying some restless space in between. There’s no reason for it. Often he finds that he sleeps better in his room at Harrington House than he ever had at home. When he was younger, he felt strange and alone in his own large bed, swallowed up in his equally large bedroom in a newly built mansion with empty hallways that echoed and only housed him, his father, his mother.
Harrington House is the opposite in most ways; there’s usually some noise going on, the sounds of the tens of other boys living, studying, playing, fighting. And it’s quiet now, so far past curfew, but if he strains he can just make out the sound of the television on low next door.
Bif doesn’t so much make the conscious decision to go to him, then to let his feet lead their own way. But he’ll always follow, half-asleep, half-dead, he thinks, maybe even when he actually dies, his feet will still take him to Derby Harrington’s door. He steals his way across his bedroom floor. He crosses through their shared bathroom; Derby’s door is unlocked as always, the handle twisting smoothly in his grip.
There’s a television droning quietly in the corner of his room; he’s unsure what Derby was watching earlier, because it’s late enough now the only thing playing is infomercials for inane gadgets and old movie stars record compilations. Derby is fast asleep in bed, propped up by an egregious amount of pillows behind him. There’s an open textbook spread over his lap, along with a notebook, a pen nestled in the crease of its spine.
In his light blue silk pajama top, the fussy kind with white piping along the collar and smooth buttons down the front, he looks at peace, face slack. The floor’s clear for him to walk across, a stark contrast to the dirty clothes and upended gym bags Bif often leaves on his own.
Harrington House, where Derby had reigned for four years, did not lend itself to twin extra-long dormitory living; the four-poster bed frame sat imposing in the middle of the room. Derby looks impossibly dwarfed in comparison. Bif leans against the plush duvet and clears his throat, whispers, “Derby? You up?” And then immediately cringes from how stupid of a question it is.
Derby’s eyes flutter open, and for one moment, with Bif’s knee leaning against the end of the bed, looming somewhat over him, he looks startled— and then his eyes are guarded, blinking back the tiredness as he looks around.
“Any reason you’re barging into my room this late?”
“I’m sorry.” Bif mumbles.
Derby quiets his breathing, let’s it out in one soft sigh. “I’m not cross.” Blearily, he closes the open textbook he finds on his lap, pushing it off the bed for it to land with a dull thud against the carpet. “Is everything alright?”
Suddenly Bif is feeling very stupid for having even come in here. Derby throws his arms over his head, stretching.
“No— well, I—“ Bif fumbles.
Derby’s pajama top has lifted along with his arms, showing a glimpse of stomach; from the way he’s sitting, his belly looks soft, gentle creases when he settles back into his slumped posture. Bif’s heart almost always skips whenever he catches Derby vulnerable; when he’s not performing.
It’s gone in a rustle of silk, Derby raising one trite eyebrow as he lies back into his decadent mounds of pillows. “You woke me up for, ‘uhm, well’?”
“I didn’t think you were asleep.”
“It’s midnight.”
“I know…” Bif trails off. “I, uh…”
Derby sighs, and peels back the corner of his covers. “Come on.”
Sometimes Bif feels like a slobbery, unwanted puppy, especially so when the inevitable giddiness washes over him when indulged. Bif shoves the pillows out of the way and tries not to look too obvious when he’s scrambling underneath the covers. Derby throws the quilt up in a large billowing wave, and by the time it comes down slow and soft over their heads they’re both fully under all of the covers.
“So,” Derby whispers from his pillow, “What did you wake me up for again?”
“I was cold,” Bif whispers back from his own pillow, what feels like an insurmountable gulf of bed between them, “and bored.”
Derby’s nose wrinkles. “That’s a stupid reason.”
“You want me to leave?” Bif asks.
Derby peers into Bif’s eyes. “No.” He murmurs, “I don’t.”
It’s body-warm and quiet underneath the blankets, the television buzzing faraway, the low lights of infomercials filtered through sheets and quilt. The sharp corners of Derby’s face— high cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips— are fuzzy along the edges in the shadows. Achingly familiar and comfortable.
“You’re—“ Handsome, he almost confesses. Bif bites his tongue.
Derby pauses, and something knowing and smug crawls across his face. It’s all softer with the sleepiness still touching his face, dark circles smudged under his eyes. “Yeah?”
He could say “Nothing”, but maybe Bif is tired, too. He admits, “You look good.”
“Like this?” Derby’s scoff of insistent disbelief is too loud for this safe space of warmth and brushed cotton. “Woken up in the middle of the night after being caught studying, probably drooling on myself…”
“Ugh,” Bif’s groan is loud enough to interrupt Derby. “You look good. Okay?” He wants to say, you always look good, to me, but he refrains from sounding any stupider than he already has tonight. Without his usual pomade, Derby’s hair is undone over his forehead, pieces that Bif reaches out and combs his fingers through. The furrowed line of Derby’s brow smooths over. “And you weren’t doing any of that. Well, except studying.”
“Except studying.” Derby repeats in a whisper, otherwise uncharacteristically mum. Bif feels himself flush. Because if he were honest, even studying looks like something grand and important when Derby is the one doing it. The quiet seems to seep back in, Bif’s thick fingers still buried into the roots of Derby’s hair. The magic of the night is back again, in the green glowing numbers of the alarm clock showing blurred through the sheets, the way Derby’s face looks, pressed to his pillow, eyes drooping as he scratches his nails against his scalp.
His eyes slip fully closed. “Don’t stop,” Derby mumbles preemptively.
Bif’s smile is lopsided. “Won’t.” He promises. Derby’s lip quirks in reply, nudging his head up a little into Bif’s wide palm. And he won’t stop, raking steady furrows through his hair. He’ll do it forever– until he falls asleep, at least, watching Derby’s face grow slack, his breathing start to deepen, settle, slow.
Bif finally starts to feel sleep blurring the corners of his own eyes. His hand slows, the strokes growing shorter, lighter. His hand settles against the back of Derby’s skull, warm wrist against his neck, arm draped over his body.
He’s nearly fully asleep when Derby moves; half-asleep in his own right, finally breaching that gulf of bed in between, twisting under the covers. Bif’s hands settle naturally around his waist, presses his face against the back of Derby’s head. Contact point to contact point, Derby fits warm against his body; like safety, like home.
#derby harrington#bully cce#bully se#bif taylor#bully canis canem edit#bully scholarship edition#canis canem edit#left hand man#this was a practice/ warm up and I don’t usually post those#but there’s such a dearth of fic so like… might as well…..
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i also unlocked diluc’s second set of teapot dialogue (the “do you wanna have a chat” prompt) and wow! he exceeded my expectations! the Diluc Cringe Compilation adventure continues!
[11:21] sorry for the spam but my god
[11:21] he's SO AWKWARD. his teapot dialogue is just
[11:21] watch a grown man flounder helplessly when asked to have a normal conversation
[11:27] the "..." line is accompanied by him making this sort of. dead uncomfortable "ah damn it i think i messed up" noise in the back of his throat. absolute king of cringing himself to death
[11:29] (also in order to get his face clearly in shot i had to wedge a random wall object next to him so that the camera would be forced closer. i should really just put him indoors. can you imagine hanging out in a field by yourself and the traveller runs up to you and slams a wall down 3 inches from your shoulder)
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kissing your best friend
anonymous asked: Hi this is a rly cringe-y request huhu but do u know the “i try kissing my best friend” tiktok trend? [...] Hehe sorry it’s v specific but lots of changes are up to u ofc ily
this fic made me feel real old, i'll tell you that. but it was fun to write! specific requests are good sometimes. i had no idea what this trend was before the request, so it was a cute learning experience. thanks so much for the request! i've shortened it as to not give away the plot.
content: fluff, tiny bit of angst, peter parker the awkward gen z wildcard
warnings: i only use tiktok to let out meme steam and it shows, really bad twerking
word count: 1579 (whoops i went off hard)
--
peter was a nervous wreck. he had invited you over to his apartment- not an unusual occurrence- and led you into his bedroom- this happened all the time- and set up his cracked and duct-taped laptop so you could watch silly youtube videos together while curled up on his bed- what was new?- with a bowl of popcorn rested in-between his crossed legs. but this normal, everyday situation wasn't why he was borderline sweating, his heart pounding, fingers shaking.
it was that damn tiktok he'd seen earlier this morning. he had woken up and scrolled through tiktok to see what was new and popular. he came across one, where a girl was holding her phone with a guy behind her, the two smiling, the caption saying "this is my best friend". there were a few clips of them being all cute and whatnot until it said "i decided to kiss him!" and then she had tapped him on the shoulder, held his face and pulled him in, sharing a kind of awkward kiss, until they broke apart and her best friend leant in again and the video looped. something within peter's chest had done double flips, only intensifying when he thought of maybe... maybe doing that with you.
and now here you were, on his bed, laughing at the meme compilation you two were watching- well, that you were watching, while peter daydreamed and sweated some more- eating popcorn that you were getting from a bowl in-between his legs, being all cute and sweet and pretty. but he wanted to do this. he really wanted to do this. he'd liked you for ages, after you had run into each other at the same circuit in gym class and he had taught you the proper form for situps. the way you had smiled at him, completed your circuit and jogged off and then later caught up with him at lunch to say thanks and "maybe we should hang out sometime?" had made him obsessed. it had got to the point where even ned was throwing hints that you liked him and he liked you and wouldn't you two make such a cute couple? and then you were paired up together for a spanish project and the way the language rolled off your tongue made him fall even deeper in love and-
peter had to do this. for ned's sanity. for his own sanity. because if he didn't do this soon he would give up and maybe kiss you in the middle of class or something.
he cleared his throat, prompting you to look at him.
"can i make a tiktok?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained. "there's this thing going around where people show off their best friends, it's pretty nice."
"oh, sure," you replied sitting up. "what do you want me to do?"
peter pursed his lips, unlocking his phone and opening tiktok. he went into his bookmarked sounds, selected that song to make a tiktok with, and then held it up like he was going to take a selfie. "maybe just like smile and wave? and then i wanna get a few videos of us just doing our everyday things, y'know?"
you nodded, taking a second to fix your hair. peter pressed record and grinned, somewhat nervously. you also smiled softly, raising a hand and waving. he stopped the recording, and the two of you collapsed into giggles.
"sorry, that was really awkward," he groaned.
"you're really awkward," you countered, running a hand through your hair. "what's next?"
"i dunno... maybe just you mucking around? i, uh, i really don't know!" peter laughed.
you rolled your eyes with a grin, getting off peter's bed and standing up. peter was typing a caption for the portion of the video, so you waited for him. he held the phone camera up at you.
"what are you gonna do?" he asked. you looked off at the side, considering, but while you were doing that peter pressed record.
"you should dance with me," you said. peter put his phone down, and you gasped. "did you- you just filmed that!"
"yeah, i did," peter laughed. he felt his nervousness fading away as he joked around with you, so he felt like he could really do this. "you wanna dance?"
"yeah," you replied, leaning forward to grab his hands gently and pull him up. peter felt his skin burnup where you were touching him, but he smiled. "set your phone up, and we'll dance."
"what kind of dance?" peter asked as he bent back down to get his phone, crossing his room to set it up on a shelf at shoulder-height so that the video would capture your antics. he selected how long to record hands-free, but didn't press record just yet. he turned to you.
"you should twerk," you suggested jokingly, but peter had an idea. he pressed record, smirking, ran over to you, and started shaking his butt at you. the acoustic music played, nowhere near suitable enough for his "twerking". you laughed aloud and started mockingly hitting his butt. you messed around for a few more seconds, even after peter's phone stopped recording.
he stood back up and nudged you, laughing. his face was bright red, and you laughed even harder at that. he went back to get his phone and selected another few seconds to record hands-free.
"what should we do now?" he asked.
"not sure," you replied, crossing the room to rest your head on his shoulder. you reached out and pressed record for him. "i could just stare at you creepily like this."
the music started playing so you widened your eyes and stared intently at him, but peter immediately burst out laughing and knocked your head off his shoulder. you grinned at the camera just as it finished recording.
"okay," peter said, selecting the last bit to film. this was it. "now i want you to stand here, and like make weird faces at the camera or something, i don't know."
"i can do that," you replied, standing next to him.
he reached out and pressed the record, looking at you through the phone's capture as you put two peace signs up. he smiled then turned, and gently cradled your face, turning it towards him. he leant in, hearing you gasp and feeling you also lean in and-
a loud ding came from his phone- a police alert. he sprung away from you, swearing. you looked away from him, your cheeks bright pink. he left tiktok, now playing the loop of the tiktok, and went into his police app, seeing a shootout in brooklyn.
"i have to go," he stammered, rushing around his room to take off his clothes- you looked away pointedly- put his spider-man suit on, find his spare web fluid just in case and where the hell was his mask? he stopped just as he was about to climb out the window.
"stay here," he said, "please. i'll be back soon. just stay. i'll explain everything, i promise."
he lept from the window, leaving you shellshocked, webbing himself up and away. he almost smacked into multiple buildings on his way over to the shootout, too distracted to really pay attention.
did you really lean in?
he arrived at the scene, not saying his usual quips as he pulled guns away and webbed people to walls and avoided the hail of bullets coming his way and broke one guy's nose.
no, he totally imagined it.
when he had dealt with everyone he didn't stop to chat with the police, just webbed himself back to where you were, hopefully waiting, please be waiting...
he leaned in really quickly, and he was nervous, but maybe...?
he clambered back into his window and pulled off his mask. you were curled up on his desk chair, scrolling through your phone. he stared at you.
"i looked it up," you said, not looking at him, your voice quiet, "best friend tiktoks. the only thing that came up was kissing your best friend."
it took peter a few seconds to open his throat back up. "yeah."
you looked at him, something sad in your eyes.
"did you-"
"i only-"
peter bit his lip, gesturing for you to speak first. "go."
you took a deep breath. "did you- did you just do it for views? it's a kinda popular trend and so i was just wondering... i mean, it'd kinda suck if you did, and i mean- um..." you trailed off, looking away again.
"i- no, i just... uh, did you see that most people who do it have a crush on their best friends?" he asked, hoping you'd get the message.
you looked at him again, confused. but then that confusion morphed into comprehension, and then that comprehension morphed into hope and-
"you mean it?" you whispered.
peter threw his mask away somewhere, striding up to you and pulled your hands up so you'd stand. he held your face again, so gently, as you stared back at him with your big eyes, and leaned in. your lips touched, and something exploded in peter's chest. he shifted an arm to your waist, holding you tight against him, as your arms snaked around his neck, holding him closer.
a few moments later, you broke apart, your face bright pink again. peter knew his face was just as bright.
"i think we need to adjust the tiktok," he murmured, before leaning in to kiss you again.
#no i'm not linking my tiktok i only use it once every six months#this made me want to redownload it tho i blame you anon#anonymous#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x yn#peter parker x you#peter parker imagine#oneshot#my work#spiderparkerpeterman#marvel fanfiction#mcu fanfiction#marvel#mcu#spiderman#spiderman fluff#spiderman x reader#spiderman fanfiction#marvel au#marvel imagine#ask box: open#requests: open#answered#request
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Mind Boggling Pt 2 - Miya Atsumu
Soulmate AU: At particular times (Once a year/ certain age/ hours/ or randomly) soulmates swap bodies for some time. (Specifics vary from story to story but I love this au wholeheartedly)
You guys wanted a part two and I forgot. Manga spoilers ahead.
Word Count: 2K
Pt 1 | Pt 2
It was loud in the gym. The Black Jackals were split into two teams in the centre court of their official gym. Coaches Foster and Sato were at the side of the court. Foster stood atop the metal platform attached to the nets pole, whistle in mouth, ready to make calls for the scrimmage. Sato held a pen and binder, taking notes as he wandered along the sides of the court listening whenever Headcoach Foster had something to add from his higher viewpoint.
A point went to the B team and the blue and yellow ball rolled under the net. It weaved between the various players’ feet, to Atsumu who was waving in a silent request. Scooping the ball into his arms and making his way to the backline. He turned around, twisting the ball in his hands for a moment, before becoming still. The team waited for a moment, expecting him to start his ritualistic steps in preparation for one of his jump serves.
"Tsum-Tsum, if you don't serve the ball goes to the other team."
"I know, but I can't!"
The player’s head tilted and shoulders slumped forward. “What do you mean you can’t? You’re a volleyball player.”
Atsumu glared at the freshly snow bleached player, "Damn it, Koutarou. I don't know how to serve. How do you expect me to do anything?"
The wing spiker wore a blank look, eyes unfocused as he stared past the blond’s head at the gym's white wall. His eyebrows and jaw began to push in opposite directions. Flopping his head over his shoulder he waved over to the team's coach, who looked a bit more than peeved that the practice match wasn't progressing.
"Hey, coach! (Y/N)'s here!"
Still holding the ball you sent the older man a meek wave. His head drooped. After taking a quick look at the binder in his assistant’s arm he called over you and one of the players on the other side of the net. Once both of you got to Foster’s side he yelled at the team to keep playing. You quickly tossed the ball to Koutarou.
"Okay, Sakusa. For now, until the end of practice, you're going to join coach Sato and teach (L/N) how to play. Luckily due to Miya's muscle memory, it'll hopefully be easier than teaching an absolute amateur. So get to it."
Foster silently asked Sato for his binder and pen to continue notes as he was gone. The younger coach handed it over with no complaints and set forward in the direction of one of the other courts in the large room. Kiyoomi gave you a nod. You watched as the dark-haired player bent his wrists so his fingers touched the bruised inside of his arm. They cracked, making you wince. Looking away from the flexible joints of Atsumu’s teammate, you gave a final look towards the other players before following the silent man and coach to begin your individual practice.
Sato had made a quick stop to the side of the room where his bag seemed to be and pulled out another folder. It was smaller in size, probably meant to be used as a backup copy or just had information that didn't have to be altered over time. He also grabbed a ball from the square basket and gave it an underhand toss to Kiyoomi.
“So, (L/N). This is a bit new, isn’t it?” Sato laughed, “well as you should know, Miya plays in the setter position. Meaning he is usually the second player to handle the ball. He is a well-rounded player but his best strengths relate to his strategy and sense for the game. He-”
“Coach Sato?” You interjected, receiving a quick hum and look of approval from the man. “As much as I enjoy hearing your praises for my boyfriend, I already know most of this.”
The coach nodded quickly, “Right, right. You’re absolutely right. You’ve probably watched him play for years.”
The man fumbled over his words. It made you laugh but elicited no reaction from Kiyoomi, who was rubbing his hands together.
“It’s alright, but it might be better to get started before practice ends.”
Sato nodded and set down the black folder. You noticed that it had the BJ’s logo and player stats printed on the front. “Let’s start with bumping then.”
Practice progressed for a bit over an hour until Foster yelled at everyone to hit the showers because we ‘all smelled like fat pigs after a run through a mud pile mixed with onions.’ Throughout the available time, you had managed to get bumping down rather easily, and although you could execute on a lot of the other skills needed to play, you didn’t have the same game sense that Atsumu had to put any strength behind your movements. You were slow. Getting to the ball was easy (until they sent an ace serve your way), you quickly learned every movent and how to complete it (until you had to move fast and tripped), and you understood the rules (until they asked you what they were.) You were doing great.
Home felt like a safe haven in comparison to the cold gym of the Black Jackals training facility. You couldn’t wait to walk into your house and crash onto the deep couch that sat in the middle of the living room. Getting out of Atsumu’s car to walk up to the front door of the house was a chore. Tired arms and legs make it hard to pull out his key and get the door unlocked, but relaxing on the couch would be worth it.
Your body was already on the couch, eating away at a large pizza. The tv was on, playing compilations of volleyball moves and techniques from various angles and teams.
“Tsumu. Please stop using my body to pig out on food. I need to be healthy too.”
Hearing Atsumu whine through your own mouth made you cringe, it always sounded higher than you were used to.
“It’s our body (Y/N)! Let’s enjoy it.”
Letting out an amused scoff, you dropped his sports bag next to the plush couch before flopping onto it, next to him. You grabbed a slice and took a large bite before he could stop you.
“Hey don’t do that! I need to stay healthy!”
“So do I, you hypocrite!’ You took another bit before lightly slapping your body’s hand away.
A moment of silence passed and both of your bodies settled back into the couch.
“So, practice?”
You sighed, taking another bite, “You’re going to need to teach me how to play, should the switch happen during a game.”
He smiled, “Really?”
Letting out a low groan (which you were happy to hear as it came out of Atsumu’s mouth), “I don’t want it, though. Today was enough.”
“Nope. Coach’s orders. Come on, we’re getting started.”
As he jumped up from his seat, the large shirt you were wearing rolled upward, exposing a small line of your stomach. You glared for a moment, it has been a while since you’ve exercised. At least you wouldn’t be feeling the pain at the moment, maybe tomorrow when you got switched off. That wasn’t what had caught your eye though.
“Tsumu, did you take my bra off?
The morning following that late-night practice in the backyard you told Atsumu that he had to work out whenever he was in your body. You were sore, extremely so, but at least Atsumu could push himself and you’d only need to deal with the after-effects. He wasn’t a fan of the idea though, preferring his original plans to lounge and eat junk all the time. A quick glare and glance got him to agree.
Learning volleyball was harder in your own body, it had gotten easier over time, but you still didn’t like having to work extra. Atsumu would often make it unbearable with his boasting.
“Come on. You love me.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not making you a giant onigiri.”
“Come on, Samu!”
The second twin chuckled before sliding a regular sized snack your way. Despite the disappointing size of the rice ball, you smiled thankfully. It was your favourite kind.
“Shouldn’t you be in the stands watching the game?”
You waved a hand dismissively as you pulled your bit away from the tasty rise ball. You wanted to take another bit right there.
“Ah, there’s a tv right there, and I wanted to give you and your workers some company. And besides,” you took another bite, “He won’t even know I’m- Fuck.”
“Bring it to me!”
Off your fingertips, the ball soared through the air. Directly in your line of sight, you watched its direction get interrupted by the carrot-headed wing spiker. Shoyo, bubbly as ever, landed from his towering jump and bounded toward you to give you a high five.
“Tsumu! Great toss!”
“Thank you Shoyo, but it’s not Tsumu.”
The stadium was loud, too loud. You had spent the majority of the final set with Osamu, eating food and watching the live broadcast going on through the rim of the stadium. Getting back into position for the other team’s serve, you gave a quick thought to what Atsumu might be thinking. You couldn’t dwell on his likely dejected attitude for long though because in under a second that ball was flying right over your head and into Inunaki’s arms.
Hopping on your toes you made a quick sidestep to get underneath the rapidly falling ball. You listened for the squeaking footsteps behind you. Tilting your head back while looking up, your fingers made contact with the ball. They bent, creating a cushion and with a light flick of the wrist and push from the tips of Atsumu’s fingers, you sent the ball flying into Koutarou’s palm.
It went out.
Sighing, you sent him an apologetic wave to which he pouted.
Rallys were stressful. But after a couple of minutes and an amazing spike from Kiyoomi, you had been rotated into serving.
You breathed in deeply, spinning the ball in the palm of your hand. The chant’s of the Black Jackal’s fans roared behind you, lifting your fist in the air, you copied Atsumu’s movement’s and waited for them to go silent.
There was a loud yell.
“Do it (Y/N)!”
Atsumu, I swear to god.
Flipping a look over your shoulder, you saw your own body jumping around at the edge of the bleachers. Atsumu seemed to be in his own world, forgetting all the rules he set up for himself in the game until one of the band members told him to quiet down. None of the fans should be able to recognize you immediately. Romance isn’t used to advertise sports. But knowing the dedication of some people, it wouldn’t take long for them to realize the predicament both of you were in. Most people’s soulmate type was common knowledge, especially celebrities.
You didn’t have time for this. Sending a glare Atsumu’s way, you quickly began your serve. It was weak for a pro, and people definitely noticed, but it got the job done.
27-25.
After the game, when Atsumu found out outside the change rooms, you berated him. Mildly amused glares were sent between the two of you. When you tried to get into the change room he held you back.
“You did a good job for your first game.”
You huffed, “That’s a lie. You’re just trying to not let me wash your sweaty body in the showers with the rest of the team.”
The inability to hold down a blush was something you struggled with and had learned to dampen over time. Seeing it happen from Atsumu’s perspective was entertaining, though.
This isn’t great but oh well. 30 minutes after writing this I gave myself light bangs. - Bacon
Posted: 02/07/2020
#Haikyuu x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu x reader#Haikyuu#x reader#oneshot#oneshots#haikyuu oneshots#haikyuu reader insert#reader insert#aus#haikyuu aus#fluff#haikyu#anime x reader#anime#manga x reader#manga
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tdi characters as odd/out of context conversations i’ve overheard
Eva: So, metaphorically speaking, what would happen if I secretly murdered someone on school premises and hid the body in a place nobody goes in? Maybe the library?
Izzy: Just because nobody uses the library doesn’t mean that there isn’t a librarian who works in there, she’d find it soon enough. Nobody uses Mr. Mclean’s old room and it’s always unlocked so inside that room hidden behind the desk would probably be the best spot for hiding a body. I’ll show you later.
Noah: ...we were talking about spicy chicken nuggets thirty seconds ago, how did we get here?
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Geoff: Would it be school appropriate if I told everyone the story about my 3 inch-long left nipple?
Chris: I mean... no? But I won’t stop you because you’ve intrigued me. Please continue.
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Gwen: I wish my pussy popped as severely as my knees do when I’m going up this staircase.
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Lindsay: I wanna have sex with him but in, like, the non-sexual way, y’know? Like I’ll get with him if he doesn’t want to have sex sexually.
Leshawna: No offense, but what the FUCK is that supposed to mean?
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Harold: You’re 25 years old in 2019 and you still like Undertale, you have no right to make fun of an 18 year old for watching Pokemon Miku Miku Dance videos.
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Cody: Dude I’m SO fucking popular with the chicks in this school. Guess how many girls tried to hit me up in the last two weeks alone?
Duncan: Zero?
Cody: That actually hurt my feelings, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore.
...
Cody: But yeah it was zero.
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Jo: I feel like committing a petty crime today. Might steal some food from the FCS room, just as a little treat to myself.
Brick: I like to think that you’re joking but please don’t do something that’ll make me have to report you-
Jo: You won’t report me for jack shit, bootlicker. I will break every bone in your body with a mouthful of the rice krispy that you tried to snitch on me for.
Brick: -I suddenly have no memory of the past 10 seconds, and I think I should leave now.
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Ezekiel: I don’t know what a “Cringe Compilation” is but Duncan told me he was gonna put me in his? ...Why are you laughing at me?
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Sierra: The difference between Macbeth and Hamlet is that Macbeth has Big Dick Energy, but he is also a simp because he killed someone just because his wife told him to. Meanwhile, Hamlet is a misogynist who drove his girlfriend to suicide due to how he was acting, and is also most definitely a virgin. Macbeth is a chad and a daddy but Hamlet is just a little bitch.
Heather: Right, nice TED Talk, so do you have the study guide answers or not?
#tdi#total drama island#oh boy i get to tag all these characters now#gwen tdi#cody tdi#duncan tdi#geoff tdi#chris mclean#brick tdi#jo tdi#ezekiel tdi#sierra tdi#leshawna tdi#lindsay tdi#izzy tdi#noah tdi#eva tdi#harold tdi#heather tdi#i THINK thats everyone#all of these were from the past three weeks alone#i will miss high school ONLY cause i wont hear stuff like this on the daily
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Where we droppin' boys? In the latest Choocher's Cry Twice, Scott and Solon give up entirely on Sekiro and start playing Fortnite instead. Also, Scott played through every part of the game we already played off screen just to unlock the super hard mode. Finally, we make our own cringe compilation.
#epic#fortnite#kills#sekiro#sekiro: shadows die twice#lets play#challenge run#hard mode#new game plus#ng+#modded#yakuza#kazuma kiryu#john wick
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