#there were *several* books on suit wear BUT ONLY FOR WOMEN'S I just-
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A summary of my excursion to the local (publicly accessible) uni library to look at some books to learn proper pattern drafting for my highly customisable sewing needs/goals
I'd assumed the problem would be a nonbinary one of binary gendering above base theory, but ALAS, THE MATRIARCHY IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE
#sewing#pattern drafting#matriarchy#misandry#men's lib#that single one that had a men's section also ONLY covered 'CASUAL men's wear' WHICH DID NOT INCLUDE THE MF SUIT JACKET INFO I NEED#there were *several* books on suit wear BUT ONLY FOR WOMEN'S I just-#I did take pictures of the entire men's wear chapter tho cause it at least had pants-drafting instructions I'll be able to use#and it WASN'T TOO LONG so easy enough to take pics of real quick
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My Viktor Vektor Headcanons: Part 1
He visits his local dollhouses and books 15 minute appointments with every joytoy, not to enjoy their services, but to give them quick check ups, make sure they’re not being abused etc. Most of them can’t afford to take time off, let alone to book an appointment with a decent ripper, so this is his charity work.
His favorite soda is Spunky Monkey, they even sponsored him back in his boxing heyday.
He doesn’t know how to swim
His maternal grandfather is Sebastian Kalemba, don’t @ me, I suck at math
He didn’t lose his championship fight, he took a dive for a fuck ton of eddies, enough to get through medschool without having to enter indentured servitude to TT in exchange.
He is mildly dyslexic, which is why he has trouble consistently spelling his name. It does not affect the quality of his services.
After medschool, before working at the clinic where he met Ronny, he wanted to roam the desert for a gap year or 2 with a mobile clinic/rv, except ran into some trouble with a Raffen Shiff clan. Kidnapped and enslaved as the clan doctor for almost a year. Fell in love with one of their enslaved women, unknowingly helped her commit a coup as she helped him escape. The first nomad girl he loved, she is the woman tattooed on the back of his arm, 'Always got your 6', alludes to how she helped him escape.
He’s a widower, his tattoo of the ring girl is his late wife Veronica, Ronny, died on a merc job. She was a nomad too, which explains his weak spot for Nomad V.
He met Jackie while on a date with Ronny, at the Coyote Cojo. Little Jackie came storming into the bar straight to his mom, crying, covered in bruises with a bleeding nose. Mamá Welles tried to cover it up but Vik recognized some signs of abuse. Taught Jackie how to raise his fists in defense, started training him since then. Mamá Welles didn’t want Vik to directly interfere, because he’s ‘ganic and Raul wasn’t, didn’t help that Raul was quite a bit bigger than Vik too. Vik couldn’t always be there if Raul decided to hit them, so arming Jackie was the next best thing.
He also doesn’t know how to drive small vehicles. Big wheelers, RVs, motorcycles sure, but fuck cars.
One of few people left who knows how to ride a bicycle
Vik has mild optic nerve damage from his fighting career, which is why he’s always wearing sunglasses, everything is always just a tad too bright.
Vik is a bit of a weeb, collects maneki-nekos, occasionally humming 'Pon Pon Shit' to himself when sorting his tools.
Vik played bass in a 7th wave punk band during high-school and the early days of medschool, but had to give it up because practice times and gigs were messing up his study schedule, and he wanted to become a doctor more than a rockstar.
He got the scar on his chin from his first fistfight ever, at 14, defending a younger kid in his neighborhood from wannabe gangers.
When he went to Trauma Team Medical University, he hated being on ambulance duty, having had to occasionally shoot people. It’s part of why he prefers fists over firearms.
Growing up, Jackie made the sugar skulls that are strewn across his clinic as gifts to him
His favorite food is sushi, then Chinese food, and he only drinks on special occasions
On his last day at TT he stole a hazmat suit (hangs in one of his lockers in the clinic), meds, and several tools, lit a fire on his way out. Never got caught. Burn corpo shit, amirite?
If you'd like to read any of my takes on these, please be patient, they will come!
If you'd like me to read any of your takes on these, @ me please!
Thank you for reading this long ass post~
#viktor vektor#viktor vector#victor vektor#victor vector#cyberpunk 2077#headcanon#fanfiction#dyslexia#burn corpo shit#ripperdoc#cp77#cp2077#i like to think so#story prompt#inspiration#shameless#nomad v#viktor vecktor
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To Nightfall
A/N: Welcome back!! It's been a long time coming, but whoo!!! We're here!!! I've completely written this story, but only the first three chapters are edited and polished. Dw, I'll have all chapters perfect for y'all before they're out. For now, please enjoy this first chapter ❤️❤️
Warnings: violence and blood, also no Footloose scene I'M SORRY (Viktor identifies as female in this chapter because I don't want to take away from his coming out)
Word Count: 6384
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Chapter 1: Meet the Family
On the twelfth hour of the first day of October 1989, sixteen women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible--
He got eight of them.
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The day when everything had shifted into chaos started out as normal. (Y/N) Hargreeves strutted out of the shopping center she had spent the best part of her day in, her collection of shopping bags filling her hands and hanging from her forearms. Her hair and skin welcomed the sweet April breeze that crossed her path, sending a smile to her done-up face. She was more than ecstatic to get home, she had so many new clothes to try on.
Her pace didn’t slow nor did her strut falter as citizens around her perked up at her appearance. If her beautiful face wasn’t recognizable enough to the public, then the Sparrow Academy uniform definitely was.
Each of the eight wore their uniforms in their own style. Jayme and Fei preferred pants to the normally required skirt, but Sloane and (Y/N) kept to their skirts, though (Y/N)’s was shorter than her sister’s. She could never stand the suit jackets, so she took to wearing a cropped one instead. She wouldn’t be caught dead in that horrible blue sweater, either, so she opted for a white button-up.
Anyone who knew her, and everyone knew who she was, knew that (Y/N)’s appearance mattered more than anything to her. If she wasn’t turning heads and dropping jaws, then she might as well not have woken up for the day. Crime-fighting was only a “side gig”, as she’d call it. Shopping wasn’t a hobby and it definitely was not a waste of time. She was doing society a favor by fretting over her hair and applying lip gloss and adjusting her clothing. She had to have their attention. She just had to.
“(Y/N)!”
Several shouts and cheers came from all sides as civilians ran up to her, holding out papers and books and arms for her to sign, each person providing a pen or marker for her to write with. (Y/N) kept her smile wide and her gaze forward as she continued to walk, collecting more and more fans as she went.
“We love you, (Y/N)!”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“(Y/N), you look amazing today!”
“Please, can you sign my poster?”
She sped up her pace and shifted the bags in her hands. “Sorry, angels. I can’t give any autographs out today.” She rounded a corner, sending the crowd of people a half grin over her shoulder. “My hands are full.”
Upon entering the mansion she called home, (Y/N) was immediately bombarded with the blaring of the alarm that sounded throughout the house. Irritably huffing, she sang out a three-note tune, summoning an exact clone of herself from her shadow. It blankly stood before her, awaiting an order.
“Here,” She stretched her arms out to the clone. “Take these bags to my room. That will be all.”
Without a word, the clone retrieved the shopping bags and mechanically turned away, walking towards the staircase that led to the bedrooms. (Y/N) turned to a nearby mirror and adjusted her hair and clothes before peeking into the parlor. The sight within was the last thing she would have ever expected.
Seven figures stood in the room, staring up at the balcony. They were all dressed in black, aside from the young boy who was in a uniform much similar to theirs, only his was blue rather than red. From the looks of their dirtied and bloodied faces, they had fought their way to get here, and (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she liked that.
Her breath hitched when her eyes zeroed on the other young figure in the room. Those (e/c) eyes, that (h/c) hair, that nose… it was hers. It was all her, except the girl lacked the age in her features, her adorable scarred face untouched by seventeen years. (Y/N) wasn’t planning on meeting her younger self, but today deemed itself to be less than normal than any other day.
Across the room from her, Ben entered, hands folded in front of him and a look of disgust and disapproval on his face. He stared at their visitors for a few short seconds before bellowing out,
“Dad, who the hell are these assholes?”
At the mention of her father, (Y/N) craned her neck to find Sir Reginald Hargreeves standing on the other side of the parlor, watching the entire scene unfold. Heart hammering in her chest, she let a grin lazily stretch across her face as she elegantly stepped into the room.
“And would you look at that?” She made her way over to Ben, her eyes never leaving her preteen counterpart even as she leaned against her brother’s shoulder. “One of these assholes looks… very familiar.”
The strangers widened their eyes at her as she mockingly raised a brow at herself, tapping her bracelet-clad wrist against Ben’s arm. In unison, the seven breathed out,
“Shit.”
Klaus smiled in disbelief. “Ben.” He whispered, gaining said male’s attention. Luther slowly walked closer to the two siblings with narrowed eyes.
“Is that really you?”
Ben didn’t answer them, but he did shrug his sister off of his shoulder.
“And who are the weirdos on the balcony?!” Diego shouted up at the six figures staring down at them in confusion.
“They are the Sparrows,” Reginald answered. “My children.”
A sudden rumbling shook the tables in the parlor, some of the artifacts rattling with it, but no one had noticed. Everyone was too stunned to notice anything other than each other. The fifteen Hargreeves all glared each other down, the Sparrows more defensive than their counterparts. Five narrowed his eyes and turned around to face his father.
“I’m sorry. What do you mean, your children? That’s not possible, old man.”
“Of course, it is! I think I’d know, wouldn’t I?”
The Sparrows on the balcony silently made their way into the parlor, grouping with their siblings to have a stand-off with the intruders in their home. Klaus grinned and pointed at Ben.
“Everyone else can see Ben, right?”
“Cute hat, Sundance.” Ben quipped. Klaus tipped his hat in appreciation, but his smile faltered when Ben rolled his eyes at him, not the response he was hoping for.
“They call themselves the Umbrella Academy,” Reginald announced. “A group of scheming, perfidious malcontents who accosted me in the fall of 1963 when I was away on business in Dallas. Be warned, they claim to be my spawn.”
Allison stepped closer to him. “‘Claim’?” She scoffed in disbelief before turning to her brother. “Look, Five, what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’s concerning.”
(Y/N) glared at her adult self, who was glaring right back in amusement. “And why… is there another me?”
The Sparrow Number Eight laughed out loud and crossed her arms over her chest, choosing not to respond.
Marcus waved his hand toward Reginald. “Is he telling the truth?”
Only (Y/N) noticed how Reginald shrunk back a bit.
“Not the part about us being perfidious.” Vanya shook her head.
“No,” Klaus added. “We’re amateur-fidious, at best.”
“But we are his children. This is our house.”
Luther nodded. “Yeah, yeah. We, uh… We grew up here.”
“‘Yeah, we grew up here’!” Alphonso mocked, causing his siblings to snicker quietly.
“I kind of think we would have noticed you.” Sloane remarked. Luther blinked, smiling and holding a hand out in greeting.
“Hi. I’m Luther.”
Sloane nervously looked away.
“Okay. None of you belong here.” Allison snapped.
“Oh!” Fei sarcastically gasped. “Well, then. I guess we’ll just pack our bags and move out.”
The Umbrella Academy watched as the floating cube beside Fei lit up green, then blue, then purple, then yellow and so on as a garbled voice seemed to speak to them. The Sparrows all chuckled at the words of the cube and shook their heads.
“You slay me, Chris.” Ben smirked.
Everyone’s attention turned to Grace, who entered the room with a plate of cookies in her hands. “I wasn’t expecting company,” She sighed. “This is the best I could do on short-- short… short notice.” Her voice distorted to a robotic one as she malfunctioned for a moment, returning to her usual smile when she composed herself.
“Mom…” Diego whispered in awe, putting his knife away.
“Mom?” Jayme blinked. “She’s a robot, you perv.”
“It’s not a robot.”
“Hey, don’t you call him that!” Luther defended his brother.
“Or what?” Ben challenged.
“Come closer and find out!”
“Think I’m afraid?”
“Luther!” Vanya tried to ease the stirring commotion. “Guys, chill!”
The room erupted with overlapping voices as each Hargreeves shouted insults and threats toward each other. The only people trying to calm the situation were Marcus and Vanya.
“Enough!” Marcus shouted just as Jayme shot some sort of black substance from her mouth and onto Diego’s cheek. No one noticed, but he certainly did, reaching up to his face only to feel that nothing was there. “I don’t know what circus you escaped from or how you got past our security, but we’re done here. You got thirty seconds to get out of our house.”
Allison crossed her arms. “And if we don’t?”
“Then we’ll have to settle this the old-fashioned way.”
(Y/N) side-eyed Diego, who was harshly wiping at his face with a petrified look.
“Look, we just fought a literal army, okay?” Vanya started. “This doesn’t need to get ugly. Let’s all just calm down, and let’s talk.”
Sparrow (Y/N) lightly chuckled and placed her hands on her hips. “Yeah? And what are you knockoffs planning on talking about-”
“Shut up, (Y/N)!”
At the command of her siblings, she closed her mouth and flitted her eyes away defeatedly. This raised some suspicion in the Umbrella Academy. Ignoring what had just occurred, Klaus turned to Ben with a smile.
“Psst. Benerino,” He called out, earning Ben’s peeved attention. “You look so much better alive than you do dead. Am I right? Except that haircut.”
“What the hell did you just say?!”
“Come on, come on,” Klaus waved him off and approached closer. “Stop with all the hostility, Mr Grumpy Pants. Oh, wow… Nice scar. Muy macho.”
Sparrow (Y/N) stiffened at that as Ben’s anger burned brighter.
“Shut your mouth!”
“You shut your mouth and just hug your brother-”
Klaus stumbled back when Ben landed a punch across his jaw. He tried to catch himself from falling, but he ended up rolling across the table and thumping to the ground.
“Hey! What the hell?!” Luther marched right up to Ben. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I did!”
“That’s right, he did.” Alphonso agreed before everyone’s voices rose over each other once again. Marcus took it upon himself to push Luther away from Ben.
Now provoked, Luther took a swing at him, but Marcus quickly ducked, rising back up and kicking Luther in the chest, sending him flying back.
“Oh, shit!” Klaus exclaimed before getting a face full of Luther, the two falling into the couch behind them and tipping it over. Reginald watched them for only a moment before striding out of the room.
With that, Sparrows and Umbrellas dispersed throughout the house to settle their differences. Marcus jumped over the fallen couch and kicked Luther in the face. He went in for another blow, but Luther blocked his arm and sent a punch into his gut, then to his face. Before they could continue, Klaus painfully stood to his feet, holding up peace signs with his fingers as he slipped past the two.
“Alright. Peace and love, peace and love. Here I come. Damn it…” He groaned. Once he was out of their way, they resumed their One-on-One. On the other side of the couch, Diego was squaring up with Christopher, knives at the ready.
“Come at me, litter box!” He shouted at the floating red cube. His posture immediately straightened at what Christopher garbled out to him. “Hey! Listen, I have amazing hair, alright? This was era-appropriate!”
In response, Christopher sent out a blast of red, Diego groaning out in pain at the continuous attack. “That’s all you got?” He choked out.
By the bar, Five and Ben were throwing punches and expertly dodging each other. It wasn’t until Ben had him in a chokehold that Five used his power and blinked away, reappearing a couple feet away.
“You’re alive,” Five stumbled. “That’s… great. Or possibly horrible. I’m not really sure yet.”
“Is that some kind of weird smack talk?”
“It’s more of an existential problem, really, Ben.”
“Awesome. Well, here’s your next problem.”
Ben released a tentacle from his chest, but Five blinked away from it before it could reach him. Ben stared at the now empty spot in confusion as the tentacle returned to his body. At the sound of a whoosh, he whipped around to find Five now on the balcony.
“You know, even though you’re a total asshat now…” He blinked away from Ben’s tentacles and appeared behind him. Just as he turned around, Five punched him across the face, sending him to the ground. “...it’s nice to see you again, really.”
Outside the parlor, in the grand entryway, Vanya was desperately dodging all of Jayme’s attacks. “I don’t wanna fight you!” She dodged a kick.
“Awe. Did you wanna be best friends?” Jayme deadpanned before kicking Vanya to the ground. A crow passed her unconscious figure and flew close to Fei and Allison. She spun away from the staff that Fei was fighting with and smirked at her.
“You know, for a blind person, you’re not bad.”
“Who says I’m blind, asshole?”
The same crow flew above them, acting as Fei’s eyes and allowing her to watch the fight from a bird’s eye view. Keeping up with her was becoming increasingly difficult for Allison, barely missing the staff that threatened to possibly knock her out. From the side, Sloane glanced at Jayme and Alphonso worriedly.
“Should I step in and help?”
“Nah. She’s making a point.” Alphonso stretched a bag of popcorn towards her, to which she declined. His attention was directed to the fight occurring near the door.
(Y/N) ran up to her adult self and kicked herself off the wall, landing a harsh kick to Sparrow (Y/N)’s face. She cried out and fell to the ground. From the middle of the entryway, she could hear snickering. She looked over her shoulder to find her siblings finding the situation very amusing. Sparrow (Y/N) rolled her eyes and turned back around, finding her child self gone.
“The hell?”
She was sent to the ground when Umbrella (Y/N) seemingly came from nowhere and kicked her down. Sparrow (Y/N) rolled onto her back and stared up at the child in annoyance. “Okay, screw this…”
Umbrella (Y/N) watched in horror as her adult self placed her hands on the ground where her shadow was and slowly lifted them, a clone on each hand rising from the ground like a puppeteer lifting their puppet by its strings. When the three of them stood to their feet, Sparrow (Y/N) undid the stylish chain around her waist. She placed the chain between both her hands before duplicating it, one in each hand.
“Oh, what the hell?” Umbrella (Y/N) stepped back.
Sparrow (Y/N) frowned in genuine confusion. “You can’t do this?”
“O-Of course, I can! I just… didn’t think… you could…”
Awkwardly clearing her throat, Umbrella (Y/N) sang a drawn out version of her three-note tune, summoning four clones from her shadow. “Kill her clones.” She demanded, smirking at her adult self as the clones did as they were told. “It’s just gonna be you and me.”
Jayme tapped Sloane’s shoulder when she noticed Vanya standing up from the ground. Sloane calmly approached as Vanya glared at her. “My turn.”
It seemed Sloane wasn’t interested at all in the glowing energy Vanya emitted. Instead of cowering back, Sloane held out her hand, lifting Vanya into the air. With no one to send the blast of energy to, Vanya was forced to attack herself, flying back into the wall of portraits, crashing to the ground with the frames landing on her.
“Art snob, huh?” Sloane called out. She hardly paid attention to Christopher hurriedly floating past her with Diego behind him, uselessly chucking his knives toward the cube. Still munching on his popcorn, Alphonso watched as Allison struggled to dodge Fei’s attacks. Finally finding an opening, Allison grabbed the staff and pulled Fei against the table.
“By the way, I heard a rumor you can’t move.”
Alphonso chucked his popcorn to the side when he watched Fei freeze in place, casually walking up to Allison. “Hit me.”
“What?”
“Come on. Hit me in the face.”
“Okay.”
“Hit me!”
Allison spun into attack, landing a punch to the blob of a face. However, Alphonso didn’t even flinch due to the punch being sent right back to Allison without touching her, a sickening crack sounding from her nose. She watched him in horror and disbelief as she fell to the ground, blood gushing from her nose.
Opponent down, Alphonso approached her closer and lifted his foot, but when he rammed his foot down, there was a flash of Five and the two siblings were gone with a whoosh. Alphonso let his foot land and turned to his now moving sister.
“Fast little guy… Oh, for crying out loud, (Y/N)!”
Sparrow (Y/N) huffed out at her brother’s words as her younger self dodged the chain she swung at her. As Fei exited the room, Jayme joined Alphonso’s side to watch. (Y/N) swiped her chain to Umbrella (Y/N), but she jumped out of the way.
“The chain? Really?” Jayme sighed.
“Stop being lazy and use your damn fists.” Alphonso added.
Sparrow (Y/N) whirled towards them. “Shut up! I’m trying to focus- Aah!” She cried out when her teen counterpart used the other chain she had somehow acquired and slashed her in the legs with it, sending her to her knees. “Fuck! You little shit!”
“If you’re gonna be dramatic and use a weapon, (Y/N), maybe actually hit her with it.” Jayme deadpanned once again. “This is hard to watch.”
“I wanna look away.”
“Let’s look away.”
“Oh, but how can you? It’s like a car crash, you can’t just look away from these horrible things.”
Sloane gently shushed Jayme and Alphonso when she saw her sister becoming visibly upset at the bullying she was receiving. “Guys, let’s be encouraging to (Y/N).”
“What are you talking about?”
“This is encouraging. You want her to become an even shittier fighter?”
Sloane shook her head at them. “She’s just as good as the rest of us. You’ve got this, sis! Watch out on your left!”
Sparrow (Y/N) dodged right, narrowly missing the chain Umbrella (Y/N) whipped her way. She grabbed hold of it and ripped it from her grasp. “You don’t need that, cutiepie.”
“Cut the chit chat. You don’t get to do that yet.” Alphonso and Jayme started up their heckling once again. “Your swings are too weak.”
“Aim higher, dumbass.”
“That move again?”
“You’re telling me you can’t fight a miniature version of yourself?”
“Fuckin’ idiot.”
Sparrow (Y/N) growled loudly. “SHUT UP!” She hollered and struck her opponent in the face with the chain, causing the young girl to cry out and fall to the ground. She turned to her siblings in a rage. “I know what I’m doing!”
“Whatever.” Jayme rolled her eyes and walked away. With a quickness, she found herself upstairs, rounding the balcony to see Five and Allison. “Hey, short pants. What’s up?”
“Go help the others,” Five quietly told Allison. “I’ll handle this one.”
“Okay.” She whispered and took off in the opposite direction. Jayme watched her go with a smirk.
“What are you, their mascot?”
Five gave a sarcastic smile before blinking away and blinking again behind her, punching her when she turned around. Jayme groaned in pain as she crashed to the ground.
“More like their ringer.”
With a hiss, she sent the black substance from earlier through her teeth and onto Five’s forehead. He reared back in disgust and felt his head. “Ugh! Hey, gross, alright?” And as the substance sunk its way into his skin, the world around him blurred. “The hell…?”
From the top of the staircase, a figure emerged. A figure he had not seen for the past twenty days. A one-armed figure he spent over thirty years with and who he thought he left what felt like so long ago. “Delores?” He stepped closer. “Delores…?”
“Amore mio, mi sei mancato un sacco.” She gently spoke with a smile just as gentle on her plastic face.
“Mi sei mancato anche tu,” He replied, moving towards her. In a daze, he watched as the mannequin before him morphed into a beautiful woman, the woman he had always imagined her to be. “...più di quanto possiate immaginare… Vieni da me.”
Five stepped in front of her, the two smiling warmly at each other before he brought her into a hug, burying his face into her blonde tresses. His heart tightened when he felt her arms pull him closer to her. This moment was the moment he wished he had with her when he returned her to that department store. A proper goodbye without anything left unsaid. He had always regretted not hugging her that day.
On the side, Jayme watched as Five hugged the empty air before him, nuzzling his face into nothing. She shook her head in disbelief. “Ugh… Are they all perverts?” She muttered before going up to Five and kicking him down the stairs, snapping him out of his hallucination. Five managed to smack his head on one of the steps as he stumbled down into the entryway, leaving a gash in the side of his forehead.
“Seriously, (Y/N)?”
Five painfully lifted his head up to see Jayme standing before both of the (Y/N)s on the ground. His Starlight was currently holding a chain around her Sparrow self’s throat, the woman kicking her legs and clawing at the girl’s hands. She stared up at her sister with eyes swimming in desperation, but Jayme only shook her head at her.
“Hey,” Umbrella (Y/N) whispered into her opponent’s ear. “I know this might be a weird time to ask, but-” She moved away from Sparrow (Y/N)’s hand that threatened to strike her. “...um, do you know an Anthony Petrov?”
“A what?” She hissed against the chain.
“Golden tan skin, hazel eyes, dark hair, goatee, super sexy? Ever met him?”
“Is he apart of your idiot Academy? Because I’ll beat the shit out of him, too.”
(Y/N) tightened the chain on her adult self, releasing a strangled gasp. “Oh, is that what you’re doing? Beating the shit out of me?”
“You little… bitch!”
Jayme, having enough of the interaction, shifted her jaw before spitting out her poison. (Y/N) saw this through the spots in half her vision and used the chain to move her adult self to act like a shield, letting her take the substance instead. Sparrow (Y/N) quickly felt her face as she was set free from the chain, taking in greedy gulps of air.
“Oh, shit… Shit!” She panickedly gasped. “Jayme, do something!”
Jayme rolled her eyes and went to attack the young girl, but there was a flash and Five was at her side. She barely had any time to realize what was going on before the two of them blinked away. When they reappeared, they were in one of the hallways. (Y//N) sighed out and leaned against the wall, holding the side of her head in pain. Five gently placed a hand over hers.
“You okay?”
She groaned and blinked rapidly, one of her eyes half-bruised. “My eye hurts like a bitch… She got me good.”
“Probably doesn’t help that the paradox psychosis is kicking your ass, as well.”
(Y/N) froze and thought for a moment. She hadn’t been feeling itchy at all. She wasn’t gassy and the only sweat on her was due to her constantly fighting for her life. She slowly shook her head and looked up at Five with wide eyes. “I-I don’t think I have it…”
He tilted his head with furrowed brows. “Say that again?”
“I don't have any signs of paradox psychosis. I-I never did. I’ve felt completely normal since we got here… aside from total exhaustion and irritability…”
“That doesn’t make sense. That isn’t possible. She’s you.”
“I know.”
“Maybe you’re still in the first stage…”
“Denial?”
“Don’t take offense to it, Starlight, it’s natural-”
Allison suddenly rounded the corner to the hallway, breathing heavily. “We gotta go! We gotta go now!” She sprinted past them, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand as she went. Five quickly followed.
“What?! What is it?!” He risked a glance over his shoulder to find Fei calmly standing at the end of the hallway. (Y/N) widened her eyes and sped up.
“Oh, shit, that’s the scary one!”
The three turned down another hallway to make their escape. In the middle of the hall, Luther was knelt in front of Sloane, who was sitting against the wall. He must have been in the middle of a fight with her, they thought.
“Luther, we’re leaving!” Five jumped over his back, followed by (Y/N). Allison stopped to help him to his feet, which Luther oddly seemed reluctant to do.
“Wait a second-”
“Come on! We gotta go! We gotta go!”
The four of them reached the end of the hallway and yet again risked a glance behind them. Fei was still calmly moving down the hall, but she arched her back and threw her head back as a murder of crows were summoned from behind her. Their threatening squawks blended together as they all flew straight for the Umbrella siblings.
“Seriously?” Luther gaped in disbelief.
Without hesitation, Five grabbed his love by the hand and quickly pulled her away. Luther did the same with Allison as she urged them all to move faster. The doors and paintings and wallpaper were all a blur to (Y/N) as she practically flew down the halls, Five’s grip on her hand never loosening. The mantra of the crow’s caws grew the closer they got to them. At the end of the hall was a door and they headed straight for it before Five began to slow down as the realization smacked into him.
“The briefcase!”
“What?”
“No time-”
Allison was cut off as Five and (Y/N) disappeared away again. When they appeared outside the parlor, Five immediately set his sights on the table they had resurfaced the timeline to. “Where’s the briefcase?” He breathed out. (Y/N) helped him look around for their missing mode of transportation. “Shit, it’s gone!”
(Y/N) hesitated when she noticed that the Sparrow version of her was laying on the ground, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and whispering to herself. Jayme hadn’t even bothered to wake her sister up from the spell she had put her under. But (Y/N) didn’t have the time nor the nerve to think about it any further and returned to the task at hand.
“One of them must’ve taken it,” She sighed before the sound of groaning could be heard from the parlor. The two of them hurried towards Vanya, who was being surrounded by Sloane, Fei, Alphonso, Ben, Christopher and Jayme. “Vanya!”
“Vanya, get out of there!” Five shouted, but the two teens began to back away when Vanya’s power activated with a bright glow. Five wasted no time and grabbed (Y/N), blinking them out of the house to avoid the destruction their sister would no doubt cause.
The enlarging glow from Vanya’s chest shone brighter and brighter until she released it, sending the Sparrows back with her blast. The six of them crashed into walls and glass and furniture before the light went away and Vanya fell back onto the broken table Sloane had thrown her into earlier.
Vanya groaned and whimpered as she rolled on her side, trying to calm the spinning of her head as the Sparrows struggled to stand to their feet. From above, Marcus slowly approached the railing of the balcony, silently observing the scene. After a few seconds, he decided to voice himself. “It’s over. Go. Don’t come back.”
Vanya whimpered and rolled off the table, holding her side as she stood to her feet and stumbled out of the parlor, past the still mumbling Sparrow (Y/N), and through the door with pained grunts. Everyone watched her go as they tried to catch their breath. Marcus flickered his eyes down and exhaled deeply, shoulders shaking slightly.
Alphonso huffed and walked into the entryway, grabbing his dazed sister by her blazer and lifting her up. He shook her a bit with a glare. “Come on. Snap out of it.”
“Oblivion…” She mumbled.
“Jayme, take care of this.”
Jayme entered the room and smacked her sister across the face, (Y/N) blinking rapidly and whipping her head all around. She moved out of her brother’s grasp and whirled on Jayme with wild eyes. “What the hell?!”
“You shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?!”
“Because I was actually taking care of shit,” Jayme leaned closer. “Nothing is about you anymore, Number Eight. So, stop acting like it.”
With that, she exited the room, Alphonso following and shoving into (Y/N) as he went. She caught herself from falling and watched her siblings go with a deadly glare.
-------------------------------------------------
“Can you see anything?”
Five held his love’s face in one hand, shielding her eyes from the sun with the other. After the fight at the mansion, the siblings regrouped at a sitting area in the middle of a park. Allison and Luther sat together on one bench, Diego went to stand near the pond, Klaus stretched across one of the picnic tables and Five sat (Y/N) at the other to check on her wounds. At his question, she sighed and moved her eyes about.
“Still a little blurry…”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
“How are you feeling? Itchy? Sweaty? Gassy?”
She softly chuckled and shook her head. “No, I never was. Don’t worry, Five, I don’t have any homicidal rage. Just the normal kind of rage.”
Five gave her a small smile as Diego turned to face his siblings.
“That didn’t go well.”
“No, not our best work.” Five turned to his brother before sitting down beside (Y/N). On the other table, Klaus was sighing out in pleasure as he twisted the lower half of his body, his joints sickly cracking. Allison looked to Luther, who was staring into thin air.
“You alright?”
“I don’t know yet,” He shook his head. “I’ve just never had my ass handed to me like that before. It’s like…” He cupped his hands and held them out to Allison. “Here you go. It’s your ass.”
Allison stared at him and waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at her siblings. “Okay, I think Luther’s concussed.”
“Luther, how many fingers?” Klaus raised up three of his fingers. Suddenly, Luther widened his eyes.
“Oh, my god… Vanya.”
Before he could panic further about his sister’s whereabouts, Allison pointed in the direction Vanya was now coming from. “Oh,” She groaned, holding her lower back in pain. “Thank god, you’re alive.”
“Apparently, so is Ben.” Klaus huffed.
“Yeah. And he’s a complete dickhead.” Allison shook her head.
“They’re all dickheads.” Diego agreed.
“Yeah, dickheads who can fight.” Luther pointed out as Vanya took a seat on the other bench.
Five rolled his eyes. “Okay, next person to say ‘dickhead’ is getting a punch to the throat.”
“Dickhead.”
“Dickhead.”
“Dickhead.”
“Dickhead.”
“Dickhead…” (Y/N) muttered from beside him, staring down at her knees. Five turned to her and shook his head as Diego looked to Klaus.
“Hey, did Dad tell you why he was calling them his kids?”
“He sure did! You ready?” Klaus sarcastically laughed. “Dad was so repulsed by us back in Texas, that he adopted an entirely different group of children just so that he didn’t have to raise us.”
“Well, that’s just peak Dad, huh?”
“Isn’t it?” Luther agreed.
“So, he just didn’t want us anymore?” Vanya wondered.
“Did he ever?” Allison shrugged.
“Well, he clearly wanted (Y/N).” Diego gestured to his sister. She sighed and rubbed at her face.
“Yeah, probably to ruin my childhood again. She must’ve gone through worse if she turned out to be a total bitch.”
Five leaned back against the table. “You have a point, Starlight, but I think you’re missing the bigger picture. If Dad didn’t adopt us as kids, he changed the timeline. He probably did do worse to her, but who knows what else is different now.”
“Shouldn’t you know?” Allison pointed to him.
“Sorry, Allison, but it might take me more than twenty minutes and a traumatic brain injury to figure this all out. Is that okay with you?”
“No, actually, it’s not.”
“Guys, look, it’s fine,” Vanya cut in as mediator again. “We still have the Commission’s briefcase, so worst case, we can just go back in time and fix it.”
“Great.” Klaus snapped his fingers as Five stood to his feet to stand before his family.
“Okay. There are two problems with that statement. First off-”
“Here we go.”
“Time travel is a complicated thing, people.”
Five was cut off by Diego as his siblings rolled their eyes in annoyance. “Yeah, we get it. Your job is so hard. Just… what?”
“And secondly,” He looked at them in slight embarrassment. “I no longer have the briefcase.”
Allison slowly rose from the bench. “Five… where the hell is the briefcase?”
-------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere, in a small house in the middle of the woods, an old man was hurriedly packing a suitcase. He neatly and quickly put in some of his belongings before shoving some clothes in above them. Just as he situated the cover over his clothes, a high frequency ringing sounded in his ears. He stared down at his shaking hands with twitching lips. He clenched his teeth roughly and clapped his hands once, the ringing abruptly stopping.
With a puff of air, he neatly packed six bagged sandwiches labeled by number atop the covering. Once everything was settled, he closed and latched the suitcase with a name labeled on it.
Lester Pocket.
-------------------------------------------------
Back at the park, the Umbrella siblings had been strolling the pathway for the past few minutes, the group led by Five, who had one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other holding (Y/N)’s hand. The group tried to ignore the looks of distaste and bewilderment they received from citizens who passed by. It was no question why, the group was darkly dressed and decorated in blood, cuts and bruises.
“What are we doing?” Allison finally asked from (Y/N)’s other side.
“Ruminating.” Five hummed.
“Why is everyone staring at us?” Klaus asked.
“Because we look like the damn Village People just lost a fight.” Diego swiped the cowboy hat off his brother’s head, causing a bit of a scuffle between the two of them. (Y/N) stepped closer to Five as the fight neared her.
Allison moved away from her brothers. “Okay, you know what? I need to go find Claire. I will catch up with you guys later.”
As she began to take off, Vanya hurried after her. “Hey, Allison, no. First, let’s get somewhere safe, clean up those cuts, and then we’ll go find her and (Y/N)’s kids.”
“Don’t bother…” (Y/N) whispered too quietly for anyone to hear her.
“Man, I hate those guys.”
Everyone turned to the billboards in the distance of the Sparrow Academy. One billboard was a picture of the superhero team together and the other was one of Marcus and Ben that read,
CRIME IS THE PROBLEM. WE ARE THE SOLUTION.
“Look at ‘em with their… stupid smug…”
“You can do it.” Klaus whispered beside him “You can do it.”
“...s… s… smug… smugness.”
“Keep working on it, big guy. You’ll land one, eventually.”
Allison turned to her family. “But honestly, what are we doing? Because we can’t keep bleeding out in the middle of this park.”
“I don’t know, but we better gear up fast before they come for round two, alright?” Diego spoke.
“And by ‘gear up’, I hope you mean a nap.” (Y/N) raised her brows.
“What makes you think they’re gonna come after us?” Vanya asked.
Diego looked at her. “Because I would.”
Klaus nodded. “Yeah, I mean, we did break into their house-”
“Our house-”
“...and bust up all their nice antiques and shit.”
Luther glared up at the billboards again. “Yeah. I don’t think the crime-fighting super nerds are gonna let that go.”
“Let’s just think of some place off the radar where we can lie low and not draw attention.” Five suggested. Diego tiredly raised his brows at him.
“What kind of a weird-ass place are we not gonna draw attention?”
It took a second, but everyone slowly turned to Klaus, who was spinning in circles to occupy his short attention span. If anyone knew of a place where no one would raise any questions about odd characters, it was Klaus. When he felt eyes on him, he stopped spinning and stared at his siblings with furrowed brows. They were waiting on an answer from him, so he tried to think of the last thing he heard of the conversation.
A place of shelter, just as peculiar as them (if not more), that would take them in.
He knew just the place.
—————————————
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Leslie Feinberg on Halloween, Trans History, and Fairies
These are some excerpts from the history book Transgender Warriors about Halloween and what it has to do with trans history. This is not an essay, I just give some context for each excerpt. Note that this book uses the word “transgender” not as a synonym just for transsexuals or people who inherently identify as a gender they weren’t assigned and transition to it for life, but as an umbrella term that includes everybody who transgresses or transcends gender, even temporarily (pp. x-xi). Violent patriarchal oppression doesn’t care about the difference, so solidarity is important. The author, Leslie Feinberg (sie/hir, she/her), grew up as a butch in the 1950s and 60s, before Stonewall. The movements for queer rights were barely yet formed (p. 7). Sie wrote,
“My greatest terror was always when the police raided the bars [...] It wasn’t just the tie I was wearing or the suit coat that made me vulnerable to arrest. I broke the law every time I dressed in fly-front pants, or wore jockey shorts or t-shirts. The law dictated that I had to wear at least three pieces of ‘women’s’ clothing. My drag queen sisters had to wear three pieces of ‘men’s’ clothing. [...] Of course, the laws were not simply about clothing. We were masculine women and feminine men. Our gender expression made us targets. These laws were used to harass us. Frequently we were not even formally charged after our arrests. All too often, the sentences were executed in the back seat of a police cruiser or on the cold cement floor of a precinct cell. But the old butches told me there was one night of the year that the cops never arrested us-- Halloween. At the time, I wondered why I was exempt from penalties for cross-dressing on that one night. And I grappled with other questions. Why was I subject to legal harassment and arrest at all?” (p. 8)
Over the years, Feinberg researched transgender history to look for answers. To begin with, it was difficult at that time to gather any information about queer history at all. Books about it were hard to get and written in a slanted way. In European history, the Church demonized cross-dressing and any traditional festivities involving it, and explicitly punished them as Pagan witchcraft. And yet, the Church recognized as many as twenty-five trans-masculine saints (p. 68). Why any at all?
“I think the Church fathers may have canonized a constellation of female-to-male trans saints because they were forced to compete with the old religion still popularly embraced by the peasants. [...] I believe the clerics tried to co-opt popular images of transgender, but with a twist-- these female-to-male saints were remarkably pious. [...] Several of these saints paid dearly for their renunciation of their birth sex [...] In cooperative societies, transgender, transsexual, and intersexual people lived openly, with honor. But in a class-divided society like medieval Western Europe, the Church's legends of the female-to-male saints introduced the concept of 'passing'-- being forced to hide a trans identity” (p. 70)
The Church accepted trans saints only to the degree that it found them useful to the system of power. The existence of trans people threatened the assumptions upon which it was based, but ones who were chaste, quiet, and tragic were just about tolerable enough. Meanwhile, the Church suppressed trans-feminine spirituality in particular:
“There are no known Christian male-to-female saints. Throughout the Middle Ages, this expression was only permitted during carnivals and festivals, when the laws of the land were temporarily lifted. Otherwise, male-to-female transgender and cross-dressing were stigmatized by the Church as witchcraft. Yet cross-gendered expression, whether male or female, was part of virtually all peasant festivals-- including Halloween [...] Maybe this had something to do with why I was exempt from arrest for cross-dressing on Halloween!” (p. 70)
As Feinberg continued to research transgender people in history, sie learned about that many times throughout history, exploited laborers who assembled and rose up in rebellion wore, as their uniforms, what were considered women’s clothes. More than just clothes, they called themselves and one another by feminine names and words such as “sisters.” Some such movements included the Lady Skimmingtons in 1631, the Porteous Riots led by Madge Wildfire in 1736, the White Boys (named for the color of their feminine clothes) from 1760 to 1770, General Ludd's Wives in 1812, the Ribbonmen who were active for most of the century of the 1800s, the Lady Rocks of the 1820s, the War of the Demoiselles in 1829, the Lady Clares of the 1830s, the Rebeccas in 1839, the Molly Maguires around 1843, and many others (pp. 75-80). Historians gave guesses for why these warriors dressed this way, but those guesses didn't make sense, as Feinberg noticed.
“When women military leaders like Joan of Arc cross-dressed, some historians claim men’s clothes were most suited for warfare. Then why would male peasants choose women's clothes for battle? And since when is a dress an effective disguise? Cross-dressing is a pattern in rebellions in far-flung countries. And most importantly, this tradition appears to have ancient roots. For instance, references to fairies crop up in a number of accounts of peasant rebellions continents apart. The Catholic Church had waged systematic war against belief in fairies, which it linked to paganism-- a holdover from matrilineal communal beliefs. And remember Joan of Arc had been accused by her Church judges of consorting with fairies. Belief in fairies continued to be linked to struggles against large landowners. In England, for example, the ‘servants of the Queen of the Fairies’ led Cade’s Rebellion in 1450-51 in Kent and Essex. These peasants broke into the Duke of Buckingham's land and took his bucks and does. Of the White Boys of Ireland [...] a 1762 Tipperary informant wrote ‘...about 500 men frequently assemble [...] doing whatever mischief they please by night, under the sanction of being fairies, as they call themselves... The fairies are composed of all the able young fellows from Clonmel to Mitchelstown.’ These resisters announced that their goal was ‘to do justice to the poor... if any farmer dismissed a servant or a shepherd no one dared to take his place unless "he had more interest with the fairies.”’ In Beaujolais in the 1770s, French male peasants dressed as women attacked surveyors assessing their lands for a new landlord. ‘In the morning, when the police agents came, their wives knew nothing, and said they were “fairies” who came from the mountains from time to time’” (pp. 78-79).
For these revolutionaries, the usefulness of a trans feminine presentation was affiliated with old spirituality whose power nobody would meddle with. Feinberg reflected on how these discoveries answered some of hir earliest questions:
“I was excited to find these detailed accounts of nineteenth-century guerilla warfare by cross-dressed farmers and agricultural workers in Ireland and Wales. [...] the ancient respect for transgender had not been rooted out, even after centuries of illegality and violent punishment under slavery and feudalism. And despite numerous local and royal edicts banning masking and mumming, festival days continued to be marked by women dressing and masking as men, and men as women. Trans expression emerged in culture throughout Europe in holiday celebrations, rituals, carnival days, masquerade parties, theater, literature, and opera. That’s why cross-dressing is still part of holiday festivals today in the United States, like the Mummer's parades, Mardi Gras, and Halloween. Halloween! Finally I'd found the answer to why I did not face arrest for ‘cross-dressing’ that one day of the year. I could never have guessed as a young butch in the bars that I was safe from police arrest on October 31 because peasants held onto a transgender tradition throughout centuries of repression” (pp. 79-80).
Reference
Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to RuPaul. Boston: Beacon Press, 1996.
#Leslie Feinberg#transgender history#trans history#Halloween#transgender#original post#quote#rated PG#trans feminism#history#transphobia#fairy#fae#faerie#Halloween queue#cross-dressing#clothing#drag#butch#rebellion#cissexism#sexism#violence#police violence#rape implied#screen reader friendly
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Russell's Japan Tour Diary (Part Two) (Part one is here)
Words: Russell Senior, Photographer: Richard Priest
Taken from the New Musical Express, 24 February 1996
The tawdry entrance to the eating place is billowing steam into the cold night air. Inside it is about the size of a barn with 12 kitchen/bars each having bar stewards round them where people eat and drink. It's busy and people are milling about in the aisles between the kitchen/bars. It's rough and ready with the prices and names of each kitchen's specialities hanging from the ceiling on coloured strips of cloth and paper.
Unlike everything else in Japan, it's very cheap, it's a cross between Bladerunner, a pirate's den, a bookies and a cockfighting pit. No over-bowing, women are laughing, being brassy and not taking tiny steps. We're the only westerners but we're here with our host who is Japanese and Rover who has tattoos and stuff, so in this wild Eastern bar we kind of fit in.
Rover has fallen in love, he hasn't decided who it's with yet, but is winking and smiling at several contenders just to be on the safe side. A woman in silver hot-pants swaggers over to him, blowing smoke in his face. Strangely, our host has no problem with this at all and now seems to positively want US to talk to women... and it all becomes a bit clearer.
Our guide book says, "The industrious men of 17th-Century Japan liked to relax at the end of the day with hard liquor in the company of actresses and prostitutes". The Japanese guide to English etiquette no doubt says, 'The hard-working musicians of 20th Century England love nothing better at the end of the day than to snort cocaine from the pockmarked thighs of groupies"
Soooo... we weren't being protected from the fans in the bar - they (nice girls from good families) were being protected from the foreign devils. They needn't have bothered, but I'm glad they did because this place is ace. After midnight all the deference and daintiness goes out of the window and the drunken bonhomie so familiar to us arrives on a bullet train. Bang!
People are being chummy with us, offering us saké and amusing themselves at our gaucherie, like we'd laugh at one of them putting brown sauce on their cornflakes. Rover keeps asking for 'Tom Cat soup', which transpires to be tasty things on skewers not unlike our British shish kebabs. A woman comes over and it transpires she's offering to have sex with all of us. We make our excuses and leave, having convinced her that Rover has three penises. We leave him extending the hairy hand of international friendship.
In the morning, Rover appears at breakfast devoid of his black leather, wearing an all-white pyjama suit, his head completely shaven, muttering something about the seventh law of enlightenment. He later claims to have ended up in a bar with a scantily-clad schoolgirl kicking a giraffe.
The fans at the hotel in Tokyo think we're super cool but they think they are too - this is better. Don't be like us, oh no, be even more Japanese please. "You must be feeling tired," sympathises a fan who's been waiting up all night to see us. Well actually no, we always look dog rough, but you don't want to hear that, do you? You want us to be plastic fantastic, you've put your money in a vending machine and you get Pulp just how you want it.
Rover has just come in disappointed. Apparently there are vending machines in Tokyo where you can buy schoolgirls' underpants... used. Anyway, turns out he's bought some sixth-form boy's ones, which aren't quite what he had in mind.
Shopping! The toy shop is slightly disappointing. The real toy shop is called Electric Street, where you can buy a gadget for everything. I buy a Jacuzzi for sunglasses; it works, they come out clean and relaxed.
Early evening. We're taken out for a traditional Japanese meal. Shoes must be removed before sitting cross-legged at a low table. We choose a fish from a tank called a 'blow fish'. The sexual organs of this fish are deadly poisonous. Every year 40 people die from eating this fish, along with 40 chefs who must take the honourable way out. The fish is brought to the table with the organs removed and the edible strips of raw flesh arranged in a pattern at the side.
The fish, however, is far from dead, it leans its head upwards looking at us. "This fish has died for you and you must respect it," says our host's girlfriend, who is administering the food ceremony. I don't think anyone's very happy about this and Rover blurts out, "But it isn't dead and if you don't take it away and kill it, I'm going to get my knife out and kill it!"
The fish is taken away to be killed. It tastes like raw fish. The English are drinking saké while the Japanese drink lager. The English have also bought cool cameras in Electric Street and snap away furiously. 'Bloody tourists!' think the Japanese. You probably think it's really weak not to speak out more forcefully about some of the things we see, but we're guests here and must respect their customs. However distasteful it seems, it's probably less hypocritical than our own attitudes to eating animals. Vegetarians be warned: the concept is not understood here and saying, "I don't eat dead animals" often results in a live one being brought.
After the meal we go through a ritual humiliation, Japanese style. 'Karaoke Is Joysound!' says the sign. Hmmmm... Unlike in England, you get a private room with your mates, who choose a song for you to sing and you have to get up and do it. I get 'Trouble' by Shampoo, not something I would ordinarily be inclined to sing in company. Jarvis gets a very badly translated version of MC Hammer's 'Can't Touch This' in which "legit" comes out as "Leggit", etc, etc.
And for Rover, we choose 'Gimmie A Man After Midnight', which he isn't very happy about. On the way out, we see a bloke squatting in the middle of the road staring at traffic which stops in front of him. We are taking the piss a bit, which turns out to be a very bad idea because this is not a drunk, but a Yakuza hard man staking out his territory. Our host is concerned and runs on ahead to make sure there are no more. I recollect the fearsome knives and weaponry for sale in Electric Street and stop taking the piss. The Yakuza chop off their little finger as an initiation - you do not want them as your enemies.
The first concert in Tokyo goes very well. All the concerts sold out very quickly and there is anticipation amongst the stylish and supposedly reserved crowd. I've never seen so much energy without aggression. Everything's running like clockwork. Back in the hotel foyer, which is the size of a football pitch, we are greeted by gift-bearing fans. In the middle of the foyer is a bar area, demarcated by a complete ring of chrome about 2ft-high.
None of the fans dare enter this magic circle. We are joined by some of Steve's supermodel friends called Ginger, Manx, Feline, Persian and Pussy. They are impossibly thin and drape themselves around the bar, nibbling nuts. Rover approaches, his eyes roll around in their sockets like a fruit machine. "How long is it since you tasted some 100 per cent British beef?' he asks. Bingo!
Meanwhile, back in Blighty, we're being lampooned by Spitting Image along the lines of "I want to live like famous people"; fair enough, but what would you do, all my friends and brothers? The second concert in Tokyo we go on to Beethoven's Ninth. It's a flip chill winter bastard outside but inside all is horror show, there are even quite a number of mates in the audience. We fight through a few minor technical problems to cobble together an exciting show. Jarvis has to go off to replace a lost contact lens. To the Japanese, work equals style, times content. I guess you have to live some distance from Camden to appreciate this.
Battling through adversity in a cold climate is something our cultures share, it gives a certain edginess to the evening, which is a positive thing 'cos, as I'm sure you know, there's quite a lot of darkness under all this Pulp froth. Jarvis introduces all the songs in Japanese and this goes down very well. The Japanese seem to get this, they like a good present to be in a good box. The idea that style could possibly subtract from content would not make any sense to them.
Pulp had to get popular with the public before the feral scum-sucking tabloid British music press (Love you too - NME) took any real notice, and then it was in a cartoonised and, to my mind, rather humiliating way.
We awake with the rising sun like the people in the cornflakes advert you always aspire to. I've started rooting through my paltry belongings for presents to give back to fans. The best I can do is sunglasses, which are much appreciated. However, next time in the foyer, I see that half a dozen pairs of my former sunglasses are being worn and it's embarrassing, mainly because it's impersonal and a cheap con, like giving beads for land.
Many of the presents we receive are very thoughtful indeed, very personal and apt. We give the fans so little attention, don't even bother to learn their names and they give us so much. Why these kind, intelligent people do something, on the face of it, so uncool is beyond me, but I'm not complaining.
One of the many preconceptions was that we would be yammered away at about other bands, much as in the rest of the world, only more so and in a comical Japanese accent... "Ah Erastica, you know Bobby Girrespie? You know Brur?" This is definitely not the case; it almost seems impolite to mention another band when they're so focused on you. So that's another preconception, that they're impersonal.
Also going is a well-reasoned belief in the supremacy of European culture, see ya. Actually there is one exception. They do keep giving us pictures of Menswear and assuring us that they are, well, as if they are our long lost children. We've seen so many cheesy pictures of them grinning red-eyed, in Hawaiian shirts that severe loss of ace-faceness has occurred.
The last show in Tokyo is less frenetic, but very good; we play well and do a rare-for-us second encore. Jarvis has sustained a finger injury and is taken to the hospital where an already painful finger is subjected to squeezing, pricking, burning and electrocution.
The tour manager had only come into t'doctor's office to bring t'singer but they gave him t'stick and all! It was noticed that he had a cold and he had a man kneel on his back attaching crocodile clips to his nose, electrocuting him so he thrashed about like a pinhead, his neck pulsing alarmingly. Needless to say they both confessed. God knows what they'd do if you're really ill. No wonder everyone looks so healthy, they're scared shitless to be ill.
Our last meal in Japan, at our request, involves no live animals. We give a present to our host, who then proceeds to blub uncontrollably for the rest of the meal. Any preconceptions that these are cold people went way back. As the orders are being placed, one of the record company men pipes up, "I like Beetles!" Well almost. He stands up and starts to reel off his repertory of the Fab Four's songs which is quite extensive. We're used to this kind of excellently barking mad behaviour, so it's alright. Go buddy go!
We assemble early in the lobby for departure, Jarvis has gone on ahead dressed as a Hasidic Jew to avoid the crowds. Like many well-known celebrities, Jarvis employs a double. Jarvis' double (You may have seen him in the 'Mis-Shapes' video) has been up all night drinking in a dangerous club and staggers into the foyer not only refusing to sign autographs but swearing at anyone who comes near him before failing over a sofa and collapsing on the floor.
Safely checked in at the airport, we ascend an escalator waving gaily to the tearful fans. "Please come back to Japan soon," they plead. "We will, we will," we promise. It's a promise we are to keep because it is the wrong escalator and leads nowhere. After waiting round the corner for some time, the crowd at the bottom is still there so we have to descend the escalator, waving to the now laughing fans. "Welcome back to Japan," they say. Ah ha! Enough, enough, no more gratitude. Let's go somewhere where it's rude.
The record company, who must be ill, offer to pay our room service bill. Oh gullible company did ye ken, ye'd be picking up the tab for half a million yen?
Nietzsche would have aphorised the Pulp philosophy as: 'I have my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds, thus I grow taller.' There is, of course, a combustibility to this. We draw our inspiration from elevating ordinary life, therefore ordinary people relate to it, therefore we become famous, therefore we are no longer common people, therefore we lose the sap that pushes us to the clouds and it goes snap! This is exactly how it should be.
By example, Japan has injected a certain amount of crackle back into this fragile alliance. Perhaps we can last until the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve 1999. Pop!
Based on a true story.
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Hurtless: a Britchell fic in three parts
-
“The stones are from Asgard,” Olaf said, gesturing to the engraved stones in a circle on the ground with the sword.
“Where ‘gard?” Axl asked.
“Norse god home.”
Axl took a deep breath that sounded like he was trying to prevent himself from rolling his eyes and started to step into the ring.
“Oh, take off your clothes,” Anders interrupted.
“What?” Axl asked, incredulous with a disbelieving laugh.
“Look, you don’t have to,” Olaf said assuringingly to Axl who was now backing away from the circle.
Anders repeated himself, “Trust me, take off your clothes.”
“Gayest god ever,” Ty quipped.
“I loved that jacket, it was totally ruined,” Anders replied bitterly.
-
Meeting
“Hey, Andy!” Mat chirped as Anders pushed open the employee’s entrance of Bean of the Gods.
“It’s Anders.” Anders had little hope that Mat would listen. It had been 6 days a week for 3 weeks. Anders corrected him each time. And each time it made no difference.
He hung his denim jacket on a hook. He looked at the patches sewn onto the fabric and a faint smile. He checked the stitching on the most recent one, a blue and white CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) circle patch. He’d only had red thread and it stood out against the solid white border on the patch. But it was secure.
“It’s nearly 7.”
“I know, I know,” Anders grumbled and reached for the golden apron hanging in his locket. At least his name tag had the right name.
-
“Why doesn’t anyone just get a black coffee with sugar or cream? Or a tea?” Anders was wiping down the counter after the pre-work rush of men and women in suits with thin ties and shoes that pinched.
“Would you pay $3 for a black coffee when you could just make it at home?”
“I do!” Anders gestured toward his cardboard cup of coffee by the register.
“And on our wages at that…”
Anders shrugged and took a sip of his quickly cooling coffee.
With everything clean and put away and the mid-morning pick-me-up rush still a little over 30 minutes away Anders pulled a book from his locket and leaned over the counter reading the yellowed pages of Herman Hesse’s Siddartha.
“I forgot this.”
“Your balls?” Anders asked without looking up.
“Rude,” Mat said. “This.” He dropped an envelope next to Anders’ elbow. “Someone bought one of those,” he gestured to the poems and scattered drawings that were clipped to a length of clothesline running along the wall.
“Really?” The book flopped shut. Anders opened the envelope to find a crisp $50 bill, far more than the hopefully optimistic $10 price tag he had put on it. “Who? When?”
Mat shrugged. “Some dude. Before you came in this morning. It was still dark.”
Anders stuffed the envelope into the pocket of his jeans. He looked at the line of papers—some his own, but others belonging to other employees or to regular patrons, often art students from UChicago—and tried to pick out what the man had bought.
“Was he a regular?”
Mat shrugged again. “Why? Looking for a sugar daddy?” he teased. “I think you’d be out of luck with that one. I nearly just told him to leave because he looked homeless. Who wears combat boots with tracksuit bottoms?”
-
The L was pretty empty this early in the morning.
He was normally still burrowed deep in his blanket in the “room” that he rented in a house far from the city center. He still was not convinced that it hadn’t been a coat closet that someone had punched a hole into to add a window—a legal requirement for something to be a bedroom. It was barely large enough for the twin sized mattress on the floor and an upturned milk crate for a table and several in another that held his clothes and the odds and ends that he had acquired since landing at O’Hare a month ago.
But he was curious about the person that had bought his sketch. It had to be the one of the eyes looking out of the darkness with an almost-Haiku scratched into the dark charcoal with an eraser.
He had to see who had bought it. Even if just for a moment.
“You’re early,” Mat accused.
Anders shrugged and moved to make himself a pour over.
“Money then coffee,” Mat held out his hand.
Anders fished two crumbled dollar bills and some coins from his pocket.
“I’ll get that.”
Anders and Mat both looked up sharply. They had not heard the bell over the door ring when the man entered. Anders would later swear that it had not.
“And I’ll get a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.”
Mat moved quickly after ringing the order up.
“Thanks.” Anders dropped his money back into his pocket.
“Would you be the “A. Johnson” that draw some of those pictures?”
Anders nearly inhaled some of his coffee. “Yeah. That’d be me. But I think you misread the price,” he fumbles with one hand for the envelope still in his back pocket, “it was only supposed to be $10.”
“I know.”
“Oh.”
They looked at each other in silence. There was the hum of machinery as Mat made the man’s drink. Anders boldly took in the man’s appearance, the boots and tracksuit bottoms, the bomber jacket over a very worn graphic t-shirt, the long hair, pale skin, and the red lips. Anders felt uncomfortably warm, but he did not stop staring. There was a small smirk on the man’s face, like he knew that he was being ogled and he didn’t mind at all.
“Ireland?” Anders asked to break the silence.
A nod. “New Zealand?”
“Yeah.”
“Mitchell,” the man offered his hand.
Anders’ automatically took it, his other hand burning the the heat of his coffee through the cardboard. “Anders.”
Mat put the drink down on the counter and looked at them both.
Mitchell released Anders’ hand and took the drink with its obscene mound of whipped cream.
“Wait!” Anders said, rounding the counter, nearly spilling his drink with his quick movements. “When will you be back?”
The man turned, an amused expression on his face. “Maybe tonight, maybe this same time tomorrow, maybe never.” He reached out and fixed the collar of Anders’ denim jacket. “Nice jacket, Anders.”
This time it was Anders’ turn to be consumed by someone’s eyes. He flushed, but he boldly stared back.
Mitchell’s smirk was back.
And then he was gone.
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Chapter 3.1 – Weasley Start of Term
As a professor, Matilda Weasley could say she’s come across many manners of students— as an aunt to not just one, but several young Weasleys however, she was proud to consider herself capable in de-escalating most troublesome behavior created not just by her dear nephew, but which extends also to the beloved students of Hogwarts.
No one could prepare her however of the extremely troubling news that befell her ears from last night’s Feast.
“Dra— dragon! Dragon!!”
A coachman she had recognized, came bursting right into the Great Hall just as students were taking their seats at their respective Tables.
“It— tore our carriage in half! A man from the Ministry with it!!”
She’d felt her heart plummet, just as whispers slowly began to spread around the Hall. Matilda knew of only one carriage that would have arrived today along with someone from the Ministry.
“Enough!” Surprisingly, it was Black who broke through the near rising murmurs, gesturing someone over to “care for” the evidently shaking coachman.
“Headmaster, we should—” Matilda was stopped midsentence as Black raised his hand in finality.
“We have a Sorting Ceremony to attend to.”
“But Professor Fig and the new student—”
“Will be fine! I will handle the Ministry after this.”
Leaving no room for further arguments, Matilda gestured for Mr. Moon to let the first years into the Great Hall, all the while hoping that no harm came upon Eleazar and his mentee.
In the end, Black didn’t have to contact the Ministry after all with the late, but thankfully safe, arrival of the new fifth year who now had the Hall’s full attention.
Matilda took notice that despite having a look of solemn wonder, the young girl was not shaking like a leaf as Matilda would have expected. If her assured steps were to be taken at face value, Beatrice Hayes did not look the least bit worse for wear, she had even made quick acquaintances from her House as Matilda quietly observed from the professors ' table.
“Professor Fig.” She had called his attention just as he finished raising a glass towards his young charge as a proud mentor would. “I was wondering about the reason for your delayed arrival. Was it truly just a case of searching for lost belongings?”
“Ah yes unfortunately so, Professor Weasley. I’ve already gotten hold of some much-needed assistance from the house elves, but it seems Ms. Hayes has completely lost most of her supplies needed for the school year.”
“That can be arranged with a quick trip to Hogsmeade as soon as tomorrow, but truly Eleazar, is that all there is to what happened after the dragon attack?”
“I’m afraid so.” Came the terse and final reply from Fig, leaving Matilda to probe no further.
Now having stopped by the Ravenclaw Tower to provide further guidelines on what Ms. Hayes was to expect on her first year at Hogwarts, Matilda easily spotted the smiling young girl. Compared to last night, her face now seemed bright and well-rested from a good night's sleep, Matilda thought then that perhaps Ms. Hayes would prove to have a more open perspective on the previous day’s events.
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : –
“Owls? Ah yes, Professor Fig did mention something about the Ordinary Wizarding Level exams, to help me determine what type of career would be best suited for me after Hogwarts, was it?” Beatrice remembered feeling overwhelmed at knowing that she'd have to begin with the end in mind— while her peers had 4 years to think about what they wanted for themselves, here she was with only a year to prove herself.
It was a good thing though that the Wizarding World was filled with so much wonder that she couldn't help but read every book Professor Fig had for her to catch up on her studies, and many others about history and culture— the Wizarding community seemed to be a lot more progressive, especially when it came to how women can own property and not be forced to marry. Though the latter aspect did still depend on one's Blood Status, a topic she frowned at yet was fascinated by at the same time as it defined one's identity in a way, she'd be ignorant to not wonder about her own heritage especially if she never knew her father. Beatrice only deduced she could be a half-blood at best, but realistically may just be a muggle-born. So how could she explain seeing traces of an Ancient Magic? Was it even an inherent ability?
“Now I see what Professor Fig was so pleased about writing in his updates from mentoring you.” Professor Weasley looked at her with a knowing smile, “It's one thing to be a fast learner, but even more so be able to retain the various topics you've been taught in just two months’ time. Either way, we've discussed with the Department of Magical Education to provide you with something extraordinary to ensure your success.”
A hardbound book suddenly appeared before Professor Weasley's outstretched hands which she then handed over. Before Beatrice could marvel at its surprising light weight however, the embossed Hogwarts logo quickly glowed with Ravenclaw's blue eagle emblem, shaking violently before it burst out of her hands, symbols and papers flying out and scattering about to who knows where before it quickly shut closed and dropped back into Beatrice's hands.
“What is it?” She asked after the initial shock had mostly worn off, now noticing that the hardbound book was decidedly thinner.
“It is a Wizard's Field Guide. To help you keep track of what you're learning and master all that's expected of a fifth-year. You would be wise to take full advantage of this exceptionally valuable resource.”
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : –
And wise she was, as Matilda noted how adept Ms. Hayes was at casting Revelio— it may not have been the hardest of spells, but it took the mind's focus to see what the eyes initially cannot. It was also amusing to see how eagerly she had read the one field guide page she'd just collected, thumbing through the rest that were still left in the guidebook. Though there was one thing that Matilda notice Beatrice hesitate to do, it was using the Floo network.
Had Ignatia Wildsmith not gently coaxed the young girl into revealing their next destination, she'd have stood there unmoving with a handful of Floo powder in her one hand, almost petrified at the thought of the harmless Floo flames engulfing her. Matilda knew then that perhaps the dragon attack left more of an impression on Ms. Hayes than she let on, prodding her for answers from yesterday would not be easy.
next chapter ⤜⤏
#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts#hogwarts legacy mc#hogwarts legacy oc#hl mc#hl oc#hogwarts legacy characters#hogwarts legacy sebastian#sebastian sallow#ominis gaunt#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian x mc#ominis x oc#hogwarts legacy imagine#hogwarts legacy fanfic#hogwarts legacy fandom#writing in progress#beatrice hayes
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I was reading a book about ancient Egypt today and thought about the fact that most representations of Jesus and his crew show everybody wearing long flowy garments (which seem perfectly reasonable to me for a hot, dry climate). My mind then drifted to the whole modesty culture "men wear pants, women wear dresses" argument our pet fundies are so well known for. Maybe not the first time you've answered this, but I was wondering if you have any thoughts on how they reconcile ideas about clothing with their own imagery of Jesus and other ancient historical figures. Like, if God demands your daughter wear skirts and your sons wear khakis, but is cool with Jesus wearing a dress, how do you deal with that cognitive dissonance? Do evangelicals picture Jesus wearing polos and dad shorts in ancient Jerusalem? 😅
PS: thanks for being the de facto glue holding the community together; I always appreciate your thoughts on these folks.
Well first you're far too kind, I think at most I am just the one in this community that talks the most 😅(much like in real life) but thank you for the sweet compliments!! ❤️
This is a really interesting question bc there are several different justifications that I've heard from people over the years, and a lot of times people just make up their own lol. The most common answer I've gotten is "where in the Bible does it say anything about Jesus's wearing a dress/tunic/skirt/etc?? We have no idea what he actually wore". And that usually comes from KJV folks because their translation is widely inaccurate and translates the Hebrew word for 'tunic' into 'coat' (remember with the KJV translators, even if they were quote unquote historians in their time, they were of a time that was incredibly patriarchal and had less historical context/cultural appreciation for the language they were translating. So they're gonna see something like Tunic and be like Men Don't Wear Those! They Must Mean Coat ya know). As to what they picture him wearing instead I have no idea, maybe khakis made of linen or something? A polo made of sheepskin?
The other (slightly better) argument is usually in regards to the interpretation of the infamous "garment" Bible verse; there's usually acknowledgment that dress standards were likely different at this time in the Middle East, and that the verse is insinuating that we dress according to the gender standards of our time. Which Jesus of course would've been doing, because it would be impossible to violate the word of god, so it's ok that he wore a tunic bc those were the gendered clothing standards of the day (people who try this argument often add something like Plus It Was Hot! How Could He Walk Around in A Suit and Pants In The Desert to which I say that's a whole 'nother discussion but ok).
Edit: With that argument though you inevitably get the response "ok then you admit that clothing standards are arbitrary and that neither dresses v. pants are inherently gendered" and the only response to that is to circle back to "I just do what the bible tells me as best I can"
And then there's always the argument that the tunic thing is all made up by liberal scholars anyway (more reason to only read the KJV!). The only thing I think the majority of Christians can agree on regarding Jesus's outfits is that he definitely wore sandals, bc I believe that's translated the same in every popular version of the Bible.
#it'd be interesting to hear what jill rod especially thinks about this subject i can pretty much predict everyone else#religion
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For the summer themed writing prompts: If the MC was trying to convince either Luca or Tristan (they're my faves, but I'll leave it up to you to decide which) to wear a speedo to the beach...how would that play out? 😂
Anon.. are you ready for this? Luca's writer got lost in this question and typed out 6 pages worth of an answer.
The kind receptionist at the front desk directs you to the studio towards the back of the building. You’ve come to pick Luca up for an afternoon of shopping, and just generally fucking around. Work has been grueling for both of you, and you’ve barely seen each other in the last month. It was beginning to take a toll. But then, your handsome boyfriend calls you the other day to tell you he’s booked the both of you on a weekend getaway by the ocean. Just the two of you, and the waves, and the sun… and you feel a spring in your step at the thought of it.
You reach the studio mentioned earlier and knock. No answer. “He probably has headphones on…” you think to yourself. Reaching for the door handle, you hope that you aren’t trespassing (cause no one wants to get kicked off of the studio lot for that). The door opens to a brightly lit space with several musical instruments either hanging or leaning against something. The wood floor (at least what isn’t covered by wool carpeting) has been waxed to an inch of its life. You look around and spot your boyfriend in front of a grand piano by the only window not covered with sound-proofing curtains. He does, indeed, have headphones on.
The sunlight pouring from the outside bathes him in an iridescent glow that you can’t look away from. He’s ditched his normal cardigan/t-shirt combo and replaced it with a crisp white button down, accentuating his olive skin. Brows furrowed, he’s deep in thought as he makes notations on the sheet music in front of him. You hear faint humming and tapping of his shoe against the floor. Not wanting to bother him, you lean against the door and watch him work for a moment.
As if feeling your eyes on him, he looks up and looks your way. He smiles; the furrowed brows disappear, replaced by the crinkles on the corner of his eyes. Taking off his headphones, he stands up and jogs over to greet you. Long arms envelop you in a warm embrace. He smells like sandalwood and sunshine. “I’ve missed you… “ You hear him whisper. For a brief moment, all you can hear is his steady breathing and heartbeat against yours. “Same...” You say.
After grabbing his things, you head to the shopping center. Buying a bathing suit is maybe only second to getting a root canal. Painful, but on some occasions absolutely necessary. Buying a bathing suit with your significant other? Could potentially be worse than a root canal. “Why did I agree to this?” you think to yourself.
This really shouldn’t be an issue, in theory. You’re a 30 year old woman who believes that “summer body=whatever body you have”. But you’re also a 30 year old woman who’s grown up with fashion magazines telling you that if you’re not a size 2 or under, you don’t get to wear the cute clothes and should definitely not attempt to wear a bathing suit. So, growing up, once puberty hit and your curves came in, you just stopped going to the pool. You made excuses, you yo-yo dieted, and generally you just hated what you saw in the mirror. It’s only been in the last couple of years that you’ve come to terms with how terribly you’ve treated yourself, all because the world decided that skinny women are what makes the world go round. “Fuck this!” You got rid of the baggy clothes. You developed healthier habits: no more yo-yo dieting. But the ONE THING you still have yet to do is buy a bathing suit. The dragon you’ve yet to slay, the hurdle you’ve yet to clear.
When Luca made an offhand comment that he booked a seaside trip and realized he didn’t have a bathing suit, you were the one who proposed this shopping trip. And now, you kind of regret it. You needed space to self loathe, right? To pick apart your own body in the comfort of the terribly lit, weirdly smelling fitting room with a mirror that does nothing for you.
“No, I’m not doing that anymore…” you think to yourself as Luca drapes his arm on your shoulder, pulling you close. He senses you’re lost in your own head again.
“Hey, you haven’t said much since we left the studio.”
“Uh, sorry... I need to stop daydreaming.”
“What’s going on? Is everything okay with work?”
“Yes! Everything is fine. How are you? How’s work?”
You don’t know why you don’t just tell him the truth. The two of you have been together long enough that Luca knows when you’re lying. You avoid eye contact and change the subject. He looks at you quizzically but decides not to press the matter.
The shop is cute, catering to all. Upon entering, the sales girls take one look at Luca and like moths to a flame, they scurry over. Keeping his arm securely on your shoulder, he declines their offers of assistance and leads you towards the rows of small pieces of stretchy fabric held together by different shaped strings.
Clearly you both have different ideas of what swimsuits would look good on you. He keeps showing you these adorable and barely covering two pieces (“You would look so good in these”), and you keep showing him modest one pieces. Finally, at an impasse, you drag him over to the other side of the store and pick up a black speedo. Luca’s bright eyes go wide when he sees you holding it.
“If you insist that I should barely wear anything on the beach, then you’re going to have to play along.” You couldn’t help but laugh when the warm blush forms on his cheeks. As he regains his composure, the twinkle in his eye returns, and this time it takes on a mischievous glint.
“Fine. I’ll try that on, if you’ll try on something I pick out for you.”
You sigh loudly, but nod anyway.
Moments later, you stand in front of two fitting rooms each holding a garment the other has chosen. He winks at you and saunters in, leaving you standing there. You take a deep breath and enter the small fitting room, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. You stare at the offensive garment. It’s a cute two piece bikini in black (you allowed him to choose the shape, you insisted on the color).
Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and begin to undress.
“Why do these fitting rooms have the worst lighting?” You’re shaken out of your own reverie by Luca’s voice coming from next door.
“I know, right?! Do they not want us to buy this stuff?” You laugh nervously as you size yourself up and down in the bathing suit that you finally got on.
“Are those new stretch marks?” You think to yourself, spinning around to get a better look at your behind. All your bad habits of picking yourself apart come back in waves. Your heartbeat fastens as the thoughts - “cutting weight” “no more carbs” start to swirl around.
The sound of door knocking snaps you out of it. It’s Luca.
You barely open the door, not allowing Luca to see you.
“Can I... come in?” He says. It looks like he left his shirt in the fitting room next door, but slipped on his jeans over the speedo that you can see peeking from the top of his jeans.
“Uh... This doesn’t fit, I’m about to change out of it.” Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you avoid his gaze. He can’t see you like this: panicked and upset.
“Hey, hey... What’s going on, why are you so pale? Please let me in...” His voice was quietly pleading, and you felt his hands on yours through the small opening of the door.
“Okay... Let me just... Take a minute.” You smile at him weakly, and his blue eyes clouds over with worry. He nods and says, “I’ll be right out here, whenever you’re ready.”
You close the door again, pull on your jeans, and take a couple of deep breaths. Opening the door again, you nod at Luca to come in.
As soon as the door closes, Luca pulls you into an embrace. The sensation of his bare skin against yours calms your racing anxiety.
“You’re not the only one who feels weird trying on a swimsuit.” He chuckles. You pull away and look at him, your gorgeous (and currently, shirtless) boyfriend who barely has excess body fat to speak of.
“What are you even talking about? Look at you! You’re perfect!” You point to the mirror, and you both look at your reflections.
Luca smiles “And so are you.”
You laugh bitterly as you pull yourself away. “You’re just saying that.”
His arms move securely around your waist, and he says, “Look at me and say that again.” Of course, you can’t. You know he would never lie to you; he isn’t here to just stroke your ego.
“You do understand that I’ve seen you naked, right? Many, many times in the past, and hopefully many, many times in the future. And maybe even later today.” A cheeky bastard, that boyfriend of yours.
“I don’t give a shit what bathing suit you end up buying. I think you’re hot in anything you wear. The reason why I wanted you to try on this particular two piece is because I know you’ll never try it on if I didn’t ask you to. I want you to see how gorgeous you are in it.”
He unlatches his arms and turns you to face the dirty mirror in this tiny fitting room.
“I could use to lose 10kg.” You run your hand over your not-flat tummy. Luca’s hand lands on top of yours and stops it from moving.
“Who told you that?”
You had no answer to that. No one told you to lose weight; your doctor gave you a clean bill of health. So why? Is it because you don’t look like the model on the cover of Swimsuit Illustrated? Who actually does?
You stand up straighter and unbutton your jeans to pull them off. You hear your boyfriend’s low whistle. Turning to the mirror, you look at your strong legs (results of walking to and from work and occasionally lifting heavy things in the studio), your shapely shoulders and arms, and your curves. It would be so easy to criticize your own body; you’ve done it for so long. But wouldn’t it be easier to love it? Shit... It’s the only one you have.
“See? – Do you even see how fucking hot you are?”
Without realizing, the smile has formed on your face. You watch as Luca unbuttons his jeans in the mirror. Once he’s done and all he has on are the speedos you made him try on, he blushes as he realizes you’re ogling his very firm ass through the mirror.
“Uhh... Are we even now?” He laughs.
“I think so…” The tiny room was quiet for a moment.
“You should buy that bathing suit...” His voice lowers as he runs his fingers up and down your left arm. You recognize that voice - you turn towards him and his blue eyes are soft but full of something else... He smirks.
“And you should buy yours.” You stand on your tippy-toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. You feel his hand on your lower back, pulling you in closer. Dipping his head, he leans in to kiss you…
“Like what you see, huh?” You sense his smug smile as he kisses you. Slowly and sweetly at first, then much like the first night you met, you feel brave. You run your tongue over his bottom lip and you feel his grip getting tighter on your body as he slowly pushes you against the wall.
Then you hear a knock.
“Hey guys, could we help you get sizes in anything?”
He lazily pulls away from you and responds in a calm manner, “No, we’re just... Wrapping up in here.”
As you hear footsteps walking away, you look at him and start to laugh.
“Get out. Go change before we get arrested for public indecency!”
“You’re no fun...” He mockingly pouts at you as he pulls his jeans back on.
Right before he walks out of the fitting room, he turns to look at you.
“You’re gorgeous. Don’t let anyone or anything tell you otherwise.” His voice so sincere making your heart flutter.
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HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 12
*Warning: Adult Content*
Thaddeus Barker's 'house' puts Ambrose Thorne's mansion to shame, at least as far as size is concerned.
When it comes to style, on the other hand, there's no comparison.
Barker's 'estate' seems to have been built on the premise that the primary function of wealth is to be flaunted and that the best way to achieve this is to buy the biggest and shiniest of everything one can afford.
Julian Hart had driven them there in his old vintage Beetle and it looks almost comically out of place among the luxury vehicles parked in front of the sweeping, perfectly manicured lawns.
Almost as out of place as Noah Hunter feels.
His fleeting satisfaction with his appearance has long vanished, departed like a rare bird that flits back into the forest's heart, not to be seen again.
Julian, by contrast, looks stunning.
Wearing a tailored suit that accentuates his narrow waist and slender form, he's a picture of elegance and radiates an almost inhuman allure.
Noah can't tell if he's turning up the Fae charm on purpose, or if it's just the clothes and the atmosphere but the effect is devastating.
Noah Hunter is not jealous.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
As eyes are drawn to everything from his silky brown hair, to his jewel-bright eyes, to the little glimpse of smooth, cream-colored skin at the base of his throat, Noah becomes basically invisible, a shadow at his side, which is perfectly fine by him.
Barker himself greets us at the door, offering them a warm handshake and a shark-like smile.
He's not what Noah expected.
He'd been imagining an old man, wearing tweed and trending towards corpulence, instead, he's only a few years older than Noah, late thirties at the most and athletic, with thick, cinnamon-colored hair styled in a slick, back-swept wave, a sun-burnished face (Noah wouldn't be at all surprised if he owned a yacht or several) and clear, glacial-blue eyes.
His face is handsome in a conceited, country-club kind of way and he looks like he wandered from the pages of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
His attention passes over Noah without really settling, a brief grasp of strong, square-tipped fingers, a flash of too-perfect teeth and then lands on Julian like a cat catching sight of a mouse.
"Well, hello there gorgeous," he says, lifting Julian's hand to his lips for a mock kiss.
"I don't believe we've met and I do believe I'd remember if we had."
Julian returns his smile, though there's definitely a grimace of distaste underneath.
"Mr. Barker," he says, withdrawing his hand.
"We spoke on the phone. I'm Julian Hart and this is my associate, Noah Hunter."
"Ah! Hunter & Hart, the investigators, of course!"
Suddenly much more businesslike, he ushers them inside and through the crowds of well-dressed men and women gathered in the grandly spacious rooms within.
Julian makes no attempt to correct Barker's assumption that Noah is the Hunter of Hunter & Hart, and takes his lead and remain mostly silent as Barker shows them through his grotesquely oversized and over-decorated house.
Very quickly, Noah comes to realize that the place is basically just an extension of Barker's ego and that he'd happily bore them to death recounting his triumphs at various auctions and art shows if they let him.
He stays close to Julian, Noah notices, focusing most of his attention on him and keeping a hand on his arm or his back, once or twice coming dangerously near to crossing a line.
It's fortunate for him, Noah reflects, that he’s not the Hunter he thinks he is, after all, or he'd likely be short a limb by now.
Finally, after a series of increasingly less subtle hints, Julian succeeds in getting him to show them what they were there for.
The painting is in a room on the second floor, an opulent 'library' which is clearly intended more for show than for real use.
The volumes displayed on the shelves are certainly rare and finely made, leather-bound, gilded, impressive and pristine but they aren't the sort of books anyone reads.
They served only one purpose, which was to be seen and to give the impression that Barker could purchase intellectual treasures as easily as any other kind.
The object they were meant to protect, on the other hand, is a different story.
It's a small, squarish portrait of a truly hideous man.
The artist's skill and attention to detail are unquestionable but the subject is 'as ugly as sin' as the saying goes.
Noah leans closer, looking for a signature or mark.
"Is the artist famous?" he asks.
Thaddeus Barker snorts.
"He wished."
"What's it worth?" Julian asks, circling around to stand on Noah’s other side, probably to get out of Barker's reach.
Unfortunately, the man follows and sets his hand on Julian's waist, peering up at the portrait at his side.
"Nothing at all," he murmurs.
"At least, nothing to anyone but me."
"Alright, what's it worth to you?" Noah inquires, finding he dislikes Barker rather a lot for having met him only minutes before.
He shrugs, having turned his attention from the painting to make a pretense of straightening the side of Julian's collar for him.
"To me? Everything," he says softly, eyes on the smooth skin at the back of Julian's neck.
Noah decides that he has had enough of the secondhand creepiness and from the little shiver he sees arcing across Julian's slim shoulders as Barker's hand once more settles on his lower back, he can tell he’s not the only one ready to be done with this guy.
Fortunately, they are rescued by an influx of guests and Barker is quickly distracted.
Noah blows out a breath and Julian gives an exaggerated shudder, turning towards his brother-in-law and pretending to puke.
"God, I think I need a shower. I've got sleaze all over me," he complains.
"If nothing else we've discovered that Barker's gay, at least," Noah says, offering him a sympathetic smile.
"Not quite," an amused and familiar, voice says.
Noah spins around to see Ambrose Thorne leaning against the back of an antique upholstered chair, somehow managing to look both more sophisticated and more casual than anyone else here, wearing a suit with no tie and the collar open at his throat, his long red-brown hair pulled over his shoulder in a luxuriant cascade.
"Thaddeus collects beautiful things and your boy there more than qualifies, I'm afraid," Ambrose says, nodding at Julian as he does.
"You'd best be careful. He's a way of getting what he wants."
"Yeah, not happening," Julian replies, frowning. "Do I know you or something?"
Thorne smiles and saunters over, extending his hand.
"Ambrose Thorne. A pleasure."
Then he turns to face Noah.
"Fancy seeing you here, Noah. I had no idea we moved in the same... circles."
"We don't," he replies, sharply.
"I'm here on business."
Thorne raises a brow in surprise.
“Business, is it?"
His shadowed gaze flicks from Julian to Noah, perhaps drawing some unkind conclusion or a comparison, maybe.
Julian steps slightly in front of Noah and extends his hand.
“Julian Hart," says he, with a slightly sharp smile of his own,
"Of Hunter & Hart Investigations. You must be Noah's dog-saving doctor, though he didn't mention you were rich and handsome, as well as gallant."
"J-Julian!" Noah hisses but is ignored.
"Gallant, I'll gladly accept," Thorne replies with a smirk.
"'Rich' is relative and 'handsome' is a matter of opinion. Wouldn't you agree, Noah?"
Ambrose turns towards Noah, who sees a hint of teeth at the corners of his mouth.
Before he can think of what to say, Ambrose’s eyes go to the painting on the wall at our backs and narrow as his expression shifts from amusement towards distaste.
"What a foul excuse for art," he says.
"Thaddeus ought to let this 'shadow thief' take it and be grateful to have it gone. I suppose that's why you're here to play guard dogs for the night?"
If Julian is surprised that Thorne knows about the thief, he doesn't let it show.
"Shadow thief?" he asks.
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
Thorne blinks and his smirk shifts towards a frown.
"Thaddeus didn't mention that, eh? Have your... investigations... turned up the fact that the victims are all well-acquainted by any chance?"
Now it is Julian's turn to frown.
"No, the police didn't mention that."
"Oh, so you work with the police, do you?" Thorne asks, sounding surprised, or at least pretending to be.
"My partner is a former police detective, yes," Julian answers.
"Partner?"
"In work and otherwise," Julian says smoothly.
"Ah...the giant," Thorne replies, eyes narrowing once more.
"An interesting match."
"Excuse me?" Julian's voice has taken on a sharp edge and Noah is alarmed to note that his violet eyes seem a little brighter than they had before.
He's only recently come into his Fae Gifts and Noah’s not sure how well he can control them.
Ambrose Thorne only winks.
"Beauty and the Beast, eh?"
Julian's brightness dims and his already pale skin loses what little color it has.
"Excuse us, Dr. Thorne. It's been a pleasure but we really should..."
They actually don't have anything to do except hang out in front of the painting and make sure it doesn't disappear but Thorne takes the hint.
Bowing like some Victorian gentleman, he wishes them a good evening and disappears, headed back towards the 'ballroom' and lounge.
When he's gone, Julian turns on Noah.
"Did you tell him what you are?" he asks, accusingly.
"And about me and Dane?"
"N-N-No!" Noah stammers, taken aback.
"Of course I didn't! I don't even know him!"
"Well that was awfully close for comfort, wouldn't you say? Calling you a 'guard do,' and then saying that about Dane and I? Beauty and the Beast." Julian scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
"As if. Besides, Dane's the beautiful one. I'm just... weird."
Noah stares at him.
"Is that really how you see yourself?"
"Well, sure," he seems surprised.
"I mean, how do you see me?"
"You're not my type but... you're gorgeous, Julian. Anyone can see that."
He continues to scowl for a moment and then sighs.
"Well, I suppose we are our own worst judge. Still, that seemed... pointed, the way he said it. And he knows the host and more about the case than we do, apparently. I mean, what the fuck?"
He runs his long, slender fingers through his dark brown hair and frowns.
"I'll have Dane look into him," he says, reaching some decision.
"In the meantime, be careful what you say, Noah. I don't like him."
Noah is tempted to remind Julian that he has lived his whole life keeping secrets, whereas he's known about Werewolves and Fae and whatever else, for barely more than a year, less given his timeline doesn't even match up with the rest of us.
Instead, Noah nods his agreement.
"I will," he says.
"I'm always careful, anyway."
‘At least, that's what I always thought.’
But like Julian said, they're each their own worst judge and if his experience with Thomas Flynn had taught him anything, it was that he hadn't been careful enough.
Julian was right about another thing too, Ambrose Thorne was much too close for comfort, in more ways than one.
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I decided to post the incredibly rough draft of the first chapter of my book, it doesn't make much sense without the context of the world building, but I'm happy to answer questions if anyone has any, basically it's another one of those Sherlock Holmes and John Watson type characters and story but with a supernatural twist. Again, it's super rough and not very closely edited and there are probably things to be added, but it's cohesive enough for now.
Chapter One
2.4k words
Early fall in the city was always lovely, the chilly early morning air was in stark contrast to the previous sweltering heat of the spring and summer, it also gave Naomi an excuse to wear all of her favorite coats and cardigans as the temperature lowered. Even though the early start to their day left her tired and wishing for her bed, she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the chilly air combined with a dark sky that hadn’t quiet woken up yet.
“I hate the cold.” A voice next to her ripped her from her formerly relaxing thoughts. Gazing to the side, Naomi’s eyes fell on the tall man walking by her side, a coat that was perhaps a little too thick for the mild chill in the air wrapped around his thin body, even through it she could still see the shiver of his shoulders. His curly typically unruly hair was tamed by the hat he wore over it, dark brown bangs dipping over his equally dark brown eyes.
“It’s not even that cold, you big baby.” Naomi responded. She heard Adrian give an indignant huff before he some how managed to pull the jacket even closer to himself.
“And to think, instead I could be laying in my comfy bed right now, surrounded by throw pillows and heated blankets.” Over the course of the last several months Naomi had become very accustomed to Adrian’s incessant whining, sometimes finding it hard to believe he was a top agent for the DRS. “Nyx is so cruel.”
“Speaking of,” Naomi interrupted, hoping getting Adrian to think about the case they were called in to investigate would keep him from complaining some more. She pulled out her phone and scrolled down to the text Nyx had sent her, the address where they were supposed to be meeting their witness. “Do you know anything about this case she called us out on?”
“Marie Everette,” Adrian started, all indication of his discomfort over the chilly weather dropped in favor of explaining the case as Nyx had explained it to him. Or at least what he’d remembered of what she’d told him, he’d been half asleep at the time and honestly if it was before 6 am chances are he was only about half listening. “Boyfriend disappeared last night after hearing strange noises from outside their house.”
“And Nyx seems to think it involves a rift?” Naomi asked as they finally turned a corner, the address of their meeting spot directly ahead. It was a coffee shop, about a block away from their main office.
“That,” Adrian started, reluctantly pulling a hand from his warm coat pockets to open the door to the shop. “Or what ever decided to come out of it.” And with the unpredictable nature of Void Rifts, who knows what any number of nasties that could be.
The coffee shop was warm and inviting, classically styled with old brick walls and a genuine fireplace toward the front of the building. The tables were all dark solid oak, just large enough for four people to sit around while drinking their early morning coffee. Despite the early time, there was already a significant number of people occupying the shop, most appeared to be in some kind of field of business, men and women dressed in suits and pencil skirts, a few typing away at reports on their laptops, others reading the newspaper, some just taking the moment to actually wake up. Toward the back corner, near one of the building’s large windows, sat a woman. She was not wearing a suit, nor a pencil skirt, instead dawned a dark brown turtleneck sweater, perhaps a little too bit for her petite frame, and a soft looking similar colored wool skirt that reached just below her knees. She had one of her arms propped up at the elbow on the table before her, her chin resting in her curled hand as she stared out the window, onto the darkened streets. Her dark, nearly black hair draped over her shoulders, clearly unbrushed but still flattering.
“That must be her.” Naomi observed. When she didn’t get a response back, she turned to look at Adrian… only to find he wasn’t there. Doing a full one hundred and eighty degree turn, her eyes finally fell to her partner, leaning down onto the coffee bar, propping his weight up on his elbows, his head resting casually in one open palm while the other hand flailed excitedly as he flirted with the girl behind the counter. He was too far away for Naomi to hear what nonsense he was telling the woman, but she imagined it was just as ridiculous as the time he tried to woo a bartender during another investigation by telling her he was an undercover secret agent from a foreign country and asking if she’d like to meet with him for intel, Naomi had heard the way her hand had collided with his face from across the room. It was a fond memory. Naomi trudged over to where he was, bypassing the line of annoyed coffee drinkers that had formed behind him, no doubt about as over his bullshit as Naomi was.
“And could we get some extra caramel on that last one?” Adrian asked sweetly as the pretty girl behind the counter wrote down three names on three different cups.
“What are you doing?” Naomi hissed when she reached her partner.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Wasting time.”
Adrian brought a hand to his chest in mock offense at Naomi’s accusation. “When would I ever, Adrian Pandoria, of the beloved Department of Rift Safety, ever waist time on an investigation.”
“Would you like that list alphabetical or numbered?”
“Here you are.” The woman behind the counter chimed cheerfully, handing Adrian a tray with three different cups of coffee on it.
“Thank you,” Adrian beamed before turning his gaze to his partner. “Now how could I be wasting time if I was busy getting you your favorite coffee?”
“You don’t even know my favorite coffee.” Naomi deadpanned; however, she did accept the warm cup Adrian thrust at her, savoring the feeling of the warmth on her chilled fingers. Looking down at the cup, her jaw dropped, two shots espresso, one pump crème and extra caramel. “How do you know my favorite coffee?”
“I’ve told you before Naomi, I know everything.”
“You absolutely do not.” Naomi argued as they stepped away from the irritated line of café goers behind them, finally allowing for normal business to continue. When Naomi and Adrian had first met, he’d tried desperately to convince her that his connection to the Void gave his infinite knowledge and that he in turn, knew everything. She knew it was bullshit from the moment it left his mouth. “Fine, mister ‘I know everything’ how’s this case going to end then?” Naomi asked, taking a sip from her hot coffee, it burned her lips slightly, but she was grateful for the warmth.
She watched as Adrian’s eyes scanned the room, finally falling onto the same woman Naomi had seen when they’d first walked in. “Interestingly.” He replied, his eyes not once leaving the woman by the window. He walked over tentatively, as if the woman were a deer and if he moved to quickly, he would scare her off, Naomi not far behind him. “You must be Marie Everette,” Adrian started, plucking one of the other cups off of the tray and setting it down in front of her. She glanced down at it appreciatively, wrapping her thin fingers around it before turning to face her visitors more clearly. “I’m Adrian Pandoria, this is my partner, Naomi Ward.” Adrian explained, gesturing to himself and Naomi. The pair sat across from Marie, the woman in question taking a moment to push a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances.” She all but breathed. She looked tired, Naomi noticed, strung out and in desperate need of that coffee.
“Do you have any idea what may have happened to your… boyfriend was it? Or husband?” Adrian asked, taking a sip of his own coffee, black with a ludicrous amount of sugar. Why was he asking her if it was her boyfriend or husband? Adrian knew it was her boyfriend, had told Naomi as much on the way here.
“He was my boyfriend, Cole Perry.” The woman took a deep breath, turning the cup of coffee around in her hands, though she had yet to take a sip from it.
“I need you to tell me everything you remember, miss Everette.” Adrian explained calmly, his voice low and soothing, hardly the voice of a man who had just five minutes prior been trying (and failing) to flirt with the cute girl behind the coffee counter. Naomi knew Adrian was many things, a liar, a flirt and far too smart than he had any right to be, but he was serious about his job, and he knew how to do it well. “Take your time, every detail is important.” Marie took another deep breath before beginning her story of what had transpired the night before.
“It was late, around ten I think,” Marie started. “We’d been getting ready for bed when I’d heard what sounded like something rummaging through our trashcans outside. We’d had trouble with raccoons and possums in the past, so I didn’t think much of it when I asked Cole to go out and shoo them off.” Marie took a breath as she collected herself, remorse clear on her face at the events that would occur after such a simple request. “When thirty minutes passed and Cole hadn’t come back yet, I got worried, so I went out to check and make sure he was okay. I’d expected to see him out there, busy chatting with the neighbors like he always did or maybe distracted by something, but when I went out there, there was nothing there. There was no raccoon, no opossum… No Cole.”
“Was there any sign of a struggle? Anything out of place or abnormal?” Naomi asked as Marie used the sleave of her sweater to wipe away a tear. Adrian was busy scribbling something down in his notebook, aimed at such an angle that Naomi couldn’t see what he was writing.
“No,” Marie confirmed. “Nothing, there wasn’t even any sign anything had been out there, no footprints not knocked over trashcans from any animals. It was completely silent, not even the neighbor’s dog was barking and that thing never shuts up.”
“What kind of dog?” Adrian chimed in, seemingly taking Marie slightly off guard.
“I beg your pardon?” She asked. “What does my neighbors breed of dog have to do with finding Cole?” Naomi was asking the same question.
“It’s important, I promise.” Was all Adrian responded with.
“German Shephard I think but I don’t see it very often.”
“And it’s normally very loud?”
Marie nodded. “After I couldn’t find Cole I went back into the house to get my phone so I could call him, hoping maybe he’d gone down the street or something. I was in the kitchen when I heard the sound of something on the roof…” Marie took a long pause, once again turning the cup of coffee on the table. “It sounded big.”
“Bigger than a human?” Adrian asked.
“Much bigger. Next thing I knew there was this awful scraping nose on the living room window, like nails sliding along the glass. I didn’t dare look to see what it was, I was so scared. It went on all night, tapping and scratching and banging, like it just wanted me to look at it.” Marie stared at nothing as she spoke, tears once again filling her eyes.
“What do you think it was?” Naomi inquired once Marie seemed to have calmed down a little bit.
“A fear seeker.”
“What’s a fear seeker?” Naomi asked on the walk down the street toward their department’s office. Adrian had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they’d finished their interview of Marie. Silence and Adrian did not go together well.
“A creature from the Void, they feed off of the fear of their prey, they’ll stalk for days, months, even years for a good meal.” He explained. “They’re timid though, not typically violent, usually a good strong ‘fuck off’ is a viable way to get one to leave you alone.”
“Then why do you sound so distraught over it?”
“Because in all my time as an agent for the DRS I’ve never seen an abduction case linked to a fear seeker.” Naomi felt the smug look on her face.
“Don’t tell me the man who knows everything is stumped.”
“Of course not, I practically have this case solved, open and shut.”
“Really now? So, what’s the answer?” Naomi asked as they reached the doors to their office building. Adrian stopped walking, turning to face her before bending down to be eye to eye with her, his brown eyes boring into Naomi’s green ones, a look of serious contemplation before his Adrian typical shit-eating grin took hold.
“I’d be no fun if I just told you, now, would it?”
“You’re stumped.” Naomi deadpanned as she swung open the door, walking past her partner and into the lobby, grateful for their building’s central heating system as the man behind the front desk greeted them warmly.
“Am not,” Adrian argued as they waited for the elevator to take them to the third floor. “In fact, I’m so confident in how this case will end, that I will let me dear new partner take the reins.” Adrian’s voice was smug, not quite condescending, but getting close. “Honestly,” Adrian started, stepping into the elevator once it arrived and turning to face his partner. “The answer is so obvious that I think it’ll be a good test of your observational skills, a training of sorts.”
Naomi stepped into the elevator after, turning to stand side by side with Adrian. “Are you sure it’s not just because you want an excuse to not do your job?”
Adrian gave a mock gasp, bringing a hand to his chest in horror as the doors to the elevator closed. “I’m insulted, Naomi. You’ve been spending far too much time with Anabelle.” Despite his words, Adrian’s face showed no genuine sign of offense, which is the way he always was, Adrian never got offended, he was almost always lighthearted and itching for a fun time. It was this part of his personality that had really helped Naomi through her Aunt’s disappearance, back when Adrian had first come into her life and managed to turn the entire thing upside down.
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Republicans have no standards or morals, they react based on uncomplex emotional nones.
"Guns don't kill people"
We had 39 mass shootings in under 25 days. Every day there has been a mass shooting in 2023. Everyday.
"We need more guns!"
Yet the problem is still guns being Point and Click Kill Tools anyone can get regardless of their history or mental health and soon even age. What scientific Median is the "right" amount of guns? Or are we just gonna make the problem impossible to fix and the country uninhabitable first?
"My body my choice"
They screamed at the top of their decaying covid filled lungs Right Up Until Roe vs Wade got undone. No cohesion, complete clown world, no principles, no morality, not an ounce of thought or reasonability.
"Pedophiles!"
Churches have Child Molestor Insurance but go off.
The republican politicians you suck the toes of are likely convicted sex offenders, that's page 41 btw.
0 drag shows have had any pedophilia. Especially the ones republicans banned at a fucking bar. A Bar.
"Political correctness!"
Tan suit
Dijon mustard
Zelenksy's tan shirt
Republicans voted to make it illegal for women to wear pants in congress.
Republicans boycott a beer company because it had a rainbow on it. They were unsuccessful.
Republicans banned books, a book about a seahorse because it was "woke" when it was biologically factual how it reproduced.
Republicans cried when Rage Against the Machine, turned out to be Raging Against the Machine (republicans)
Republicans steal music all the time. Never pay people either. Have to walk back terroristic claims like pussies.
Republicans so far near solely have been getting arrested over and over for severe levels of corruption Trump Allowed.
There's no real reason to act like political correctness is one sided when one side fails sometimes to recognize actual "isms" while the other side Banned Gays from being mentioned at all in schools.
And banned Trans medical works because of fearmongering with still to this day 0 proof of any claims made.
And banned women's medical procedures because abortion is too hard of a concept to accept as the lesser evil and had to lie doctors have ever aborted a baby instead of always a fetus.
Thinking is against political correctness, both sides are dumb, but only one side is ever successful in causing harm via political correctness.
PC for republicans means solely being white and not mentioning problems that aren't about black people or the libz.
PC for democrats is don't be racist even accidentally or I swear to god I'll make going online not fun for a whooooole month! But only sometimes. Not remotely always. Usually mislead, usually backtracks and apologizes. Usually some degree learn from their mistakes and move on.
Never republicans. They do, forget, move on.
Point is, republicans have no platform other than blind hatred. Killing black people isn't fixing the economy or roads. Killing trans people isn't solving poverty. Killing immigrants isn't helping anyone get a job.
But that's republicans for ya. Is it even terrorism if you make terrorism your party platform that 30% of the country, 50% of voters, accept? Obviously yes, but ask a republican in various ways and the answer becomes a proud, ignorant, hateful: "No"
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Spooky Stories - Day 1: Death Becomes Her (1992)
Welcome to day 1 on my movie review series! Wherein all of the films that I review this month, are films that are somewhat linked to this scary season. Kicking off the spooky stories saga we have ‘Death Becomes Her,’ a dark comedy series starring Meryl Streep, Goldie Hawn and surprisingly Bruce Willis. Originally receiving Mixed Reviews, the film has since gone on to be considered a cult classic, with it being renowned for its visual effects and its campiness. I’ll try to keep it brief, but essentially in this review I’ll give a summary of what I liked, what I disliked and an overall score out of 10. As a disclaimer I just want to say that everything I say here is my opinion, and this is just a verbalisation of my own thoughts - please though feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions.
To begin with, the acting in the film was phenomenal. Both Madeline (Meryl Streep) and Helen’s (Goldie Hawn) over the top acting with their line delivery really made them feel like a darker version of a typical Renaissance-era Disney villain. Ernest (Bruce Willis) was extremely good as well, and several times in the film I had to keep reminding myself that he was the same guy who played John Mcclane in Die Hard. I know that being as these are seasoned actors, I shouldn’t be so impressed or surprised that they all delivered, but it was absolutely phenomenal. The comedic timing of the film was also brilliant - and quite a few times I found myself laughing at a line being delivered and the literal next shot contradicting said line. I do believe that it was the mixture of the acting and perfect timing that really turned this film into a comedy because without it - my god is it grim.
Another thing that I liked about the film was just how ruthless it was. In terms of movie plot, both women were completely ruthless. During the majority of the film, they hate each other to the point where there is a literal scene where they kill each other. Numerous times. Madeline’s and Helen’s focus on what they want is so obsessive that everything else around them - or rather Ernest, is a means to an end - either as a way to get back at the other, or a way to stay eternally young. The film’s ending - wherein they both fall down the stairs and shatter, is one that really encapsulates the overall message - where not only are both women each other’s downfall, but if they’d just done something simple (such as talk to each other or help each other when the other needs it most) instead of coming to an insane conclusion then they wouldn’t even be in this mess to begin with. The film is also absolutely ruthless in voicing its opinions on the beauty industry’s hunt for eternal age, and even though it’s 30 years old now, I do think that message still holds up really well.
I did also really love how classy everything was as well. The costumes, the mansion, the cars - even the glam moment by Meryl Streep in the beginning, it did look amazing, and with the context of the film, really drove home the message that money can’t buy happiness. Alongside this, I really did like the small details that really helped to ground the otherwise outlandish plot - The opening night of that musical in the 70s, the book signing etc - all of these work to push the main characters’ motivations and general unhappiness with their lives. There’s a really poignant scene in the film where Ernest walks into a group of doctors discussing how to save their patients’ life and there’s a look of longing on his face that really drives home as to how much he is missing his youth - and with it, his skills.
There were also a number of things I did not like about the film as well though. To start with, the blatant fatphobia in the film did feel a little uncalled for - especially because it felt unneeded. Had Goldie Hawn not been wearing a fat suit, then that scene would still play out the exact same way. I know that it was the 90s, but it did still feel unnecessary. I also didn’t like the fact that there was no real sort of additional information surrounding the potion of eternal youth, other than the fact that it was just there? There was no explanation as to how Helen’s character even found it, and it did leave me rather confused.
Speaking of Helen, her character seemed to have quite a few character shifts. She wasn’t very consistent throughout the film, and even though I completely understood that it was her who was very much pushing the revenge card, it did feel like she got a tad too much blame from Madeline. If the problem from Madeline was that Helen’s entire friend group was making fun of her, then why was Helen the only one singled out? It was a tad confusing and felt a bit like a last minute throwaway line to make Madeline appear more sympathetic.
To sum it up, I did really enjoy the film. It was definitely unique, and I think by playing up the sort of theatrical nature of the villainesses’ feud with each other, it really creates unforgettable but irredeemable characters. I do think that in times the overall writing felt a little iffy, however I think it ultimately is an enjoyable experience, and would definitely watch it again.
RANKING - 7/10. Would watch with a friend on a movie night as it’s entertaining, but I don’t think that it’s a phenomenal watch.
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she’s insignificant
chapter 1: we only see each other at weddings and funerals
the umbrella academy x (fem) reader
disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.
warnings: mentions of death (rip reggie), mentions of overdosing
masterlist
we start our story in a lonely house. it was never quite the normal childhood house for the family that occupied it but it was definitely more lively than it was at the moment. she missed that. the house felt too big, too quiet.
most people get the chance to move out when they grow up and that’s what the children of this house did. they weren’t comfortable in this house. she thought it was unfair. she never got the chance to grow up. she was stuck, trapped in the stupid house she could barely call home. maybe she could have had a wonderful life. met a nice man or woman, started a family.
he stripped that life from her. tore it out of her grasp and toyed with her again. she was so sick of this life, she wanted an escape.
she hated him. so why?
why wasn’t she happy he was gone?
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october 1st, 1989.
on the 12th hour of this day 43 women around the world gave birth. this was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day began.
sir reginald hargreeves. eccentric billionaire and adventurer. he resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.
he got eight of them.
number 1 “luther”
the abnormally buff man steps out onto the moon, bouncing along to put his trash in the pile made before. he stares out at earth with a sad look. a beep on his arm breaks him out of his thoughts. he flips the material off his wrist, taking a look at the transmission sent to him.
number 2 “diego”
a masked man hurls the attacker into the wall, taking him out. he steps around the corner to help a scared family. “you’re family’s safe now” he goes to walk away, pausing at the tv. the news plays in front of him, stopping him short.
number 3 “allison”
a beautiful woman with curly highlighted hair steps onto the red carpet in an equally stunning red dress. she smiles and poses for the many cameras pointed her way. several reporters call out her name. it is then that one is whispered something. suddenly the questions change, they become more personal, asking about her father. a woman walks out and whispers something into her ear. her expression changes and they quickly walk away.
number 4 “klaus”
a man with short messy black hair jumps off a bed, saying his goodbyes to several other men in the room. he collects his things from a man through a window. he’s chucked a coin and he smiles giddily, looking rather happy to be out. immediately he goes back to buy drugs, consequently overdosing. he wakes up in an ambulance having been resuscitated. he notices the news, frowning.
number 7 “vanya”
the violinist beautifully playing to the empty theatre stops, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. she leaves, wandering down the street when she notices the news on a tv showing through the window. she whispers one word to herself, in disbelief.
“dad..”
number 8 “y/n”
the h/c haired girl sat in an all too large library reading an anton chekhov play. she looks up at a small knock on the door. a chimpanzee dressed in a suit stands solemnly in the doorway. she raises and eyebrow, confused by his behaviour. he speaks softly, informing the girl of what her siblings were currently learning all over the city.
“oh..”
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number eight. the demon.
the same h/c girl stands in a line with her 7 other siblings. a younger vanya is asked to leave. they all avoid looking at her. she was different.. at least that’s what their father told them. eight didn’t understand it. she was different too and no one asked her to leave.
as usual eight is pulled away from her siblings as they train together. she is taken to a separate room, one built for her. it’s plain and white, much like a cell in a mental asylum.. or at least what she imagined a mental asylum to look like from what she had read in stories.
she hates this room but she hides her emotions just like her father taught her to.
“don’t let them control you, number eight” he scolded, “you should be in control”
--------------------------------------------------
the doors to the academy are slowly pushed open. vanya steps into the house, taking in how big the house was. it had been around 13 years since she’d been here. she took small steps through the large room, looking up at the chandelier. she turned towards the parlour where her mother sat by the fire.
“hey mom” she called out softly. she received no answer.
“she probably won’t answer” a new voice called out and vanya stepped further into the parlour to see her h/c haired sibling. she sat atop the bar, reading a book and not sparing her a glance. “she’s been lonely ever since you all left.. gone a bit weird i guess”
vanya’s mouth fell open. how was she the same age? y/n hadn’t aged a day since they left. she was still in her 16 year old body. at her sister’s silence the h/c finally looked up.
“what?” she raised an eyebrow, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost”
“vanya?” a voice sounded out from the stairs. the brown haired woman turned now spotting their other sister, allison. “you’re actually here..” she huffed, surprised but not at all disappointed.
“hey allison” vanya greeted carefully.
“hey sis” allison’s voice was soft as she walked over, offering a hug. their moment was ruined by diego.
“hah” he scoffed, “what is she doing here? you don’t belong here. not after what you did” he didn’t even look over at them, making his way towards the stairs.
“you’re seriously going to do this today?” allison asked in disbelief but diego only ignored her. “hmph, way to dress for the occasion by the way”
“at least i’m wearing black” he shot back, disappearing up the staircase.
“don’t mind him” the two girls turned towards y/n who now had her book tucked under her arm. “he’s just grumpy he had to come back”
“you know what.. no, um.. maybe he’s right” vanya shook her head, ready to leave. “i shouldn’t-”
“forget it” y/n stopped her, “he doesn’t matter.. i’m glad you came, all of you. even if you don’t want to be here.. i- i want you here”
“i’m glad you’re here too” allison nodded, agreeing. y/n gave them a soft, small smile before moving away. the two older women shared a look as she disappeared. she had been lonely..
--------------------------------------------------
vanya stood near the bookcases, looking over the old umbrella academy comic books and articles. she looked through the books until she came across her own. gently pulling it from the shelf she eyed it over, hopeful. there were creases in the fold. she opened the cover, revealing her note to her father.
pogo interrupted her, clearing his throat. she smiled, crossing the room to embrace him. he noticed the book she was holding.
“do you know um.. did he ever read it?” she seemed unsure, not wanting to know the answer she expected. slowly, pogo sighed,
“not that i’m aware of” he shook his head, “i’m afraid those creases are from ms y/n. she loved reading it when you first released it”
they both glanced over at the painting of number five.
“how long has it been since five disappeared?” vanya asked,
“it’s been 16 years-” pogo was interrupted.
“4 months and 14 days” they both turned to see y/n entering. she either didn’t notice or ignored their stares, moving across the room to grab a new book.
“did you.. did you ever find him?” vanya breathed, waiting in suspense for the answer. y/n finally looked at them now, pausing. she had always told her father that she didn’t, that she couldn’t but maybe just maybe she did.
“..yeah”
#the umbrella academy x reader#tua x reader#tua#the umbrella academy#five hargreeves#klaus hargreeves#allison hargreeves#luther hargreeves#vanya hargreeves#diego hargreeves#ben hargreeves#five hargreeves x reader#klaus hargreeves x reader#allison hargreeves x reader#luther hargreeves x reader#vanya hargreeves x reader#diego hargreeves x reader#ben hargreeves x reader#the umbrella academy x sibling reader#tua x sibling reader
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Floating Through Space - Harry Styles
a/n: im literally bursting from excitement over this, i’ve been working on this fic for so long and im pretty satisfied with how it turned out so i hope you’ll like it too! pleas please PLEASE don’t let this flop bc it means a lot to me 🥺
the song featured in the fic is obviously an existing one, i linked it into the right place so you can listen to it and get the vibe of it, that song is what inspired the whole story so i recommend giving it a listen! leave your thoughts and reactions, i can’t wait to read what you thought about the fic!!
pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader
warning: drug use, smut and everything thats wrong with patriarchy lmao
word count: 25.7k
masterlist
This dressing room is no different than the other one thousand you’ve been to. The plaster on the wall is all cracked up, the red bricks peeking from under it in the corner, the dusty couch looks like it’s been through hell and just sitting on it would probably give you STDs. The mirror on the wall is cracked, the few water bottles you’ve gotten are not even cooled, they’re a warm room temperature. The glorious life of a musician, right?
Moments like this you question why you didn’t just choose to be the obedient daughter and became a surgeon like your parents always wanted you to be. You’d have a steady future and a nice income, a decent career instead of having to perform at a different bar every other night for nicks and pennies that barely cover your rent at the end of the month. But that wouldn’t be you. Wearing scrubs, smiling at patients, throwing out your dignity along with your dreams, you wouldn’t have been true to yourself if you chose that life. Besides, you’d still be in school, barely nearing the halfpoint of your education if you decided to go along with your parents’ plan and it’s clearer than daylight that the school system is just not for you. It would be pure torture if you had to sit in classes for a decade just to work a job you never even wanted.
Looking around the small dressing room you cast your eyes over your band that consists of three people. It’s a temporary set up from three guys you met along your way, all of the struggling musicians as you and you saw the as opportunities. Places would rather have a band play with several men in it than just put one single woman on stage and pray for the best. It’s the sexist part of the industry not enough people talk about. You can’t even count how many pitying stares you’ve gotten through the years when you stated that you want to make a career as a solo female singer.
“Honey, you ain’t making it without at least one man behind you,” is what they’ve always told you. So you’ve gotten yourself three until you could stand on your own two feet without a male backup. You’re using them just as much as they are using you. They were already a band when you joined them, the lead singer just disappeared to thin air with her boyfriend and left them incomplete, so you joined forces to navigate your way together in the depth of the music industry, looking for that big jump everyone is dreaming about.
Standing in front of the cracked mirror you fix your eyeliner, checking yourself once again. Your thrifted checkered suit looks radiant on you especially with the neon green see-through top underneath, showing off a black bralette. It’s a male suit, hanging a little baggy on you at places, but you still feel like you’re pulling off the look. Your thick eyeliner makes your eyes appear even bigger than they already are and your hair is in an unruly mop of curls, making your appearance complete.
You’ve received tons of critiques over your outfits, but they are the only thing you are not changing on yourself.
“Don’t wear men’s pants.”
“You’d look better in a dress.”
“Why do you look like a guy?”
“What a shame to hide such a gorgeous body in clothes that weren’t meant for girls.”
Each and every comment is burned into your mind forever and you’ll never stop fighting against the judgment women has to face for not being the conventional beauty all females are expected to be.
There’s a knock on the door and the person behind it barges in without waiting for an answer. The tall, bald guy rushes in, looking a little stressed, but that’s kind of the normal for the owner.
“I’m not sure how to say it, but… you are not performing tonight,” he simply states and your anger sets in faster than ever. You’ve had gigs get cancelled, but not minutes before going on stage. However, he is still not done with his little informative speech. “And your instruments need to be used by another band tonight.”
“What the fuck?” Trey, the drummer jumps to his feet. “No way I’m letting someone else play my drum set!”
“You’ll get half the money if you let it happen,” the owner answers.
“Wait, what band did you find minutes before start?” you ask in complete shock.
“There’s this group celebrating a birthday in the VIP section and some boy band is apparently with them. Birthday girl requested to have the stage for them.”
“And you’re just cancelling on us that easily?” you snap.
“Not that I have a choice. If I don’t do it they are leaving and I’m losing a big amount from the night. Sorry guys, but this is strictly business.”
“I can’t fucking believe this,” you laugh bitterly, staring up at the ceiling. This would have been a great chance for all of you, you’ve been trying to get a gig here for months, knowing that a lot of people from the industry fancies it, you might have caught someone’s eyes, but it’s definitely not happening now.
“Are you letting them use your stuff or not?” he urges, hands on his hips as he looks at the four of you impatiently.
“But what about our gig? We’ve been on the waiting list for months, when can we actually perform?”
“Uh, I don’t know. We’re pretty booked, maybe sometime in the summer?”
“Summer?” you gasp in disbelief. “It’s fucking February!”
“Are you lending them your stuff or not? I don’t have the time for your little tantrum!”
“Yeah, if we get the money they can use it,” Connor, the bass guitarist answers before you explode right then and there. The owner walks out with that, leaving the four of you behind, forgotten and humiliated.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Trey groans, plopping down on the couch, covering his eyes with his tattooed arm.
“This is fucking bullshit,” you scoff under your breath, reaching for your bag to grab your pack of cigarettes you keep in it especially for cases like this, whenever you are about to go around and punch every living thing in the face in your reach.
Kicking the backdoor open you lean against the cold brick wall as you light the cigarette and start puffing vigorously, trying to get as much nicotine into your system as possible. You notice a group of guys standing near you in the alleyway, laughing on something, having a great time, oblivious to how hurt and angry you are feeling just a few feet away. You hear frictions of their conversation and it’s clear they are British judging from the accents that are hitting your ears. You finish your cigarette pretty fast and immediately reach for another one even though you know you shouldn’t have even smoked that first one, but you just can’t help it. It’s either the smoking or you’re going after the owner and kick him in the balls for being a bitch.
“Oi, can I ask for one?”
Glancing to the side you see that one of the guys has approached you, smiling at you warmly he nods towards the pack in your hands. Nodding you hold it out for him and he takes one. Before he could even ask for the lighter, you throw it at him and he catches it easily.
“Thanks,” he nods, holding the cigarette between his lips before lighting it and passing the lighter back to you.
“Lou, you really shouldn’t smoke,” you hear one of the others speak up as the rest of the group slowly joins you and the one you just helped out.
“S’fine, don’t act like me motha’,” he shrugs, taking a drag from the cigarette.
“At least not before we go on stage,” the blonde one shakes his head at his friend and your eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh, so you’re the band that’s gonna play?” you ask with a forced smile, already feeling your blood boiling. Who the fuck they are and why do they deserve to steal your gig?!
“We’re just playing a couple of songs,” another speaks up shrugging his shoulders. “No big deal.”
“Glad it’s no big deal to you, because it would have been to the band that was robbed from tonight because of you,” you spat at them, clearly surprising them with your harsh reply.
“I assume you are part of that band, right?” the on with the curly hair speaks up, his green eyes burning down at you.
“Nice job, Sherlock,” you groan, taking another drag from your cigarette.
“You could play with us,” he offers, the others nodding in agreement.
“I don’t need your pity,” you scowl at them. “Bringing me on stage to try to make yourselves look like the good guys is not necessary. I’m just fed up with people like you.” The truth is coming out of you easier than ever. All the years on injustice is seemingly erupting from you, pouring down on these five.
“People like us?” the dark haired one asks with a confused look.
“Yeah,” you nod with a bitter chuckle. “Five conventionally hot guys grouped together for a band, making every girl between the age of ten and thirty scream just by a wink. I don’t know where you came from, but I’m betting my head that you’ve had it easier than others.”
“It’s not nice to assume things when you don’t know anything about us,” Curly speaks up, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh, I’ve seen enough not to care about what’s nice and what’s not,” you chuckle shaking your head as you take another long puff from your cigarette and throw the butt to the ground, stepping on it. “Who are you even? Some Back Street Boys 2.0?” you ask, folding your arms on your chest, earning a heartfelt laugh from the blondie.
“I kinda like her,” he smirks around his friends. “We’re called One Direction, you haven’t heard of us?”
“Not even once,” you shake your head.
“That’s kinda humbling,” the one with the cigarette smiles. “We’re from the UK. I’m Louis, that’s Liam, Niall, Zayn and Harry.”
“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but it would be nicer if you guys didn’t just take my gig and lessen me with half my paycheck,” you smile at them sweetly before rolling your eyes.
“Wait, what? They’re not paying you because of us?” Liam asks.
“We only get half the money for lending you our instruments.”
“Let us pay the other half then,” Harry offers right away, but you just laugh at him.
“It’s not about the money, Prince Harry,” you smirk at him, tilting your head to the side. “It’s about justice. How is that air that you just waltz in here and take our time and chance? What if there’s a producer out there who would have liked our music and offered a record deal? What if someone would have taken a video of us performing, put it up to YouTube and it would have gone viral? I assume you never had to go through this phase where you have to beg for every minute on stage so you can at least earn enough money to pay rent. You don’t seem like the type of band who had to perform in smelly bars four times a week for a ridiculous amount of money.”
They stay silent and you know you were right.
“I’m not saying you had it easy, but I’m sure you have no idea what it could have been. And I’m fed up with men walking over others just to have what they want.”
“Look, it wasn’t our intention to ruin your gig. Have your set with your band and then we’ll play a few songs too after that,” Liam offers, but you shake your head.
“No, we weren’t supposed to be just your opening act and it’ll turn into that. So have a nice evening, enjoy your showtime, I’m out.”
Pushing yourself away from the wall you walk back into the building and grabbing your stuff from the dressing room you move out to the bar area, desperately needing a drink.
Sitting on the last stool at the bar you ask for straight tequila and two vodka shots knowing it’ll do the job for the evening and pulling your phone out of your bag, you open up Google. Searching the name One Direction you’re met with quite a few hits and you start scrolling through them, reading about the five boys you just had an encounter with. Just as you thought, they didn’t start off as a traditional band, having put together at a talent show just three years ago, getting such a major push so early in their career, they have no idea how struggling it is to make it in the industry. They surely had their fair share of ups and downs, but they will never know what it’s like to sweat blood and tears for your dream when everyone just wants to drag you down and tell you you’ll never make it.
The shots and half of the tequila is gone, your band joined you to at least get wasted as you watch the technicians set the stage for a band that’s not you, but gonna play with your stuff. Sitting on the stool you’re having a fairly good time thanks to the alcohol when you spot Harry making his way towards you in the crowd.
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready backstage?” you ask with an eyeroll as he joins your little circle, the guys eyeing him curiously. Ignoring your comment he pulls out a piece of paper handing it to you. As you unfold it you almost want to throw it back at him.
“This is to make up for what you lost tonight,” he says nodding down at the check in your hands.
“I told you I don’t need your money,” you firmly answer, but Trey grabs the check from your hands.
“But I do!” he snorts. He is such a pig.
“Let us do at least this one thing for you. We really do feel bad for taking your time and the offer to come on stage with us still stands.”
“No thank you,” you shoot him a fake smile before downing the rest of your tequila, the drink burning down your throat. Looking back at Harry you keep your eye locked on him as he watches you intently. He is a good-looking guy, you have to give that to him, but the circumstances you’ve met under just made it impossible for you not to hate him for the privileges he is being handed every day while you fight your way through life.
Harry sighs in defeat nodding as he licks his lips. For a split second, guilt takes over you for the way you’ve been acting towards him and the other boys, but then you remember that you don’t even know him. For all you know, he can be a royal asshole with the face of an angel. You can’t let guilt chew you and spit you out, you have to keep your guards up.
“Alright. We really are sorry. I’ll… see you around,” he nods before turning around to walk away.
You watch them perform their biggest hits, the whole place going crazy over the impromptu One Direction concert they just got for basically free. The VIP area is going crazy over the boys and with each sang song, you feel yourself getting more and more hopeless about your future as a musician. Here you are on a Saturday night, robbed from a job you’ve worked hard for, watching five British boys take your place on the stage that’s supposed to be yours tonight. You catch Harry’s eyes quite often while he is on stage, he keeps glancing in your way, a hint of guilt glistening in his green irises as he sings their songs with perfect vocals. You can tell he feels bad for the situation and you didn’t make it any easier on him or any of the boys, but you’re not really one to beat around the bush. They deserved to know what others in the industry below them have to deal with every day. It’s not always as glamorous as people might think and you’re the living example of that.
You don’t stick around for long after the boys are done on stage, you help your bandmates pack their stuff and head home before Harry or any other members of One Direction can find you.
Walking past the news stand that’s on the corner of your street, you stop upon seeing your own face smiling back at you from the cover of People Magazine, the title catching your attention.
“Grammy nominee Y/N Y/L/N shares her secret to her one of a kind fashion style.”
Grabbing the magazine off the stand you pay for it and continue your way home, holding the copy to your chest with a warm feeling in your heart.
It’s been only a week since the nominations have come out, but it still feels like a dream. You didn’t just get nominated in the category of Best New Artist, but your album Hands of Power got nominated as Best Album and your biggest hit of last year, Sleepless is running for the title of Best song. Three nominations the first time earning a spot on the list. Not bad.
Just as you walk into your place, your phone buzzes, the ever so smiling face of your manager staring back at you from the screen.
“Hey!” you sing into the phone, holding it to your ear with your shoulder, taking off your boots as you walk further down the hallway.
“Are you home already?”
“Yes, just arrived.”
“Great, I’ll be there in ten,” she announces and ends the call. Chuckling you just shake your head, dropping the phone to the coffee table before you move to the bedroom and change into something more comfortable. The flared jeans looked fire on you today, but you rather wear something looser when you’re at home.
You barely have the time to start the water for a tea when Taylor storms through your door using her keys you’ve given her some time ago. She is wearing all white that looks fantastic with her almond skin tone, a knitted sweater tucked into a maxi skirt, paired with strappy heels, she is always so elegant and perfectly dressed for whatever occasion.
“I have knee-shaking news, girl!” she announces as she throws her purse to the couch before joining you in the kitchen.
“I’m going to be the next Bond girl?” you joke smiling to yourself as you get two mugs from the cupboard.
“Better than that!” she cheers. “You are going to perform at the Grammy’s, baby!” she screams throwing her hands into the air as your jaw drops to the floor.
“You’re not just kidding with me, right?!”
“I would never play such a dirty joke with you. It’s one hundred percent true, I had an hour long phone call with some bloke today and they want you.”
“Yes!” you scream in excitement, jumping up and down like a child that just got a pack of candy. “I’ll make the Grammy’s my bitch!” you cheer, making Taylor laugh.
“Alright, Miss Dominatrix. We still have a lot of things to discuss and there’s one more thing about the performance.”
“Oh God, is this the part where you say something that ruins it completely?” you sigh in defeat as you take the kettle and pour the water into the mugs, dropping a filter into each.
“I don’t think it ruins it,” she shakes her head, but you have a feeling you won’t like what she has to say. “They want it to be like a… joined performance. You’d start off with Sleepless, then it would kind of mesh into your partner’s song and they would end it with one of their own songs.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound bad,” you nod.
“See?” she smiles warmly.
“Do we know who I’m going to perform with?”
“Harry Styles.”
You almost drop both mugs the moment the name is mentioned, but you manage to get them to the kitchen island and slip them to the counter, Taylor giving you a questioning look at your wide-eyed expression.
“Uh, I’m not sure that’s… gonna work,” you clear your throat.
“You’re not sure your duet with the biggest male artist can work? Why is that?”
Licking your lips you try to find the right words to say it, but you’re not even sure why you got so shocked over it. Probably because the last time you saw him, you were still nobody, playing gigs at no name bars and he took your spot on the stage with One Direction. It’s weird, but since you’ve finally made it in the industry, you haven’t crossed paths with him and this would be the first time you meet after seven years.
“I’m not sure if he remembers it, but we’ve met before.”
“You and Harry?”
“Yes. I was playing with The Gambits years ago, it was before I started putting out covers on my own. We were supposed to play at this bar but they cancelled on us, because One Direction was there that night and someone wanted them to play instead of us, so we lost the gig. I had a pretty… harsh conversation with him and the band, basically telling them that their pretty man privilege is what ruins the careers of talented women.”
“Oh Jesus, Y/N. Why haven’t I heard of this before?” Taylor sighs leaning on her elbows on the countertop.
“Not that it’s something that would just come up in a conversation,” you shrug. “And as I said, he might not even remember it. It was a long time ago.”
“I know you are all about your rebellious past, good for you, but sometimes you’re making my job really fucking hard,” she sighs, grabbing her phone, already typing a message to God knows who. “Starting beef with Harry Styles before you even made a name for yourself? Who does that?”
“It’s not beef!” you protest. “I just gave them my piece of mind.”
“We’ll see what he thinks about it. I have to make a few calls,” she announces before walking out, already on the phone with someone.
Sitting on a stool, staring into your mug you think back at the time you met him. It feels like a lifetime ago when you were fighting to stay afloat, trying to make through the days, barely hanging on a thread. You didn’t know that five years later you’d sign your first record deal as a solo artist and seven years from that night, you’d be a Grammy nominee. It was a long and challenging time for sure with way more downs than ups until you finally got on track and you’ll never forget where you came from. Not when even as an acknowledged artist, you still face judgment and hatred no matter what you do. Being a solo female singer sometimes feels like harder than being president of the country and there are just so many things that need to change in the world of music, you will never stop fighting for girls that are in the same shoe you once were.
Through the years you’ve followed the career of the boys, especially Harry’s. You read about Zayn’s parting, their so-called hiatus and how they all went solo soon after. Genre-wise Harry’s work is what stands the closest to you, and you’ve witnessed all the backlash he has faced during his time in the spotlight. The shaming for whatever women he chose to date, his choice to get into acting and the way he has been dressing. People just don’t seem to understand they can’t have control over any of these and they’ve tried to bring him down one too many times, but he has been thriving lately, anyone can see that.
Your mug empties out by the time Taylor returns, taking her previous stop at the kitchen island.
“Alright, I set up a meeting with Harry and his manager for tomorrow. They still haven’t decided on the performance and apparently, Harry would like to meet you before giving his answer.”
“Oh God, he remembers me,” you growl under your breath.
“Or maybe he doesn’t and just wants to meet the person he is supposed to perform with. We can never know. We’re meeting them at his manager’s office at eleven tomorrow.”
One night is enough to make you go crazy over such a small thing as meeting someone. It’s not like you are nervous to see him because of who he is, it’s more about knowing what he thinks about you after all these years, in case he remembers you. He saw you as a struggling artist at rock bottom and though your encounter didn’t last long and he didn’t know you on a deeper, personal level, you still fear that he remembers and thinks that you’ve lost yourself over the years.
Authenticity has been a huge issue in your life. Early in your career, everyone wanted to change you. The way you dress, your hair, the style of music you write, nothing was good enough as it was, they wanted you to become someone else, someone who was not you. You fought all attempts until the right person came through and accepted you as yourself, but a tiny voice in the back of your mind kept telling you that they succeeded, that somewhere along the fight you did lose yourself and became what you always feared to be.
Meeting Harry is like meeting a piece of your past and having to face what you’ve become. It’s going to be like a mirror right in front of you and what you’ll see might not be what you expect.
Wearing your bright red dungaree with an oversized vintage shirt and a pair of white sneakers, you definitely don’t look like you’re dressed for a business meeting, but when did you ever? Pushing your hair back with a pair of cat eye shades, you leave a little earlier, knowing well traffic is horrible in these hours. You arrive to the office building just minutes before eleven, Taylor has already texted that she has arrived and which office you should come to. When you finally find the door you’ve been looking for, you take a moment to yourself before knocking.
“Come in!” a male voice calls out and you walk in. Taylor is sitting on the sofa that’s pushed against the wall on the left, a man is sitting behind the enormous desk and then there is Harry, standing by the window, his hands hidden in the pockets of his black slacks, and old Rolling Stones t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame as his eyes meet yours upon your arrival.
“Hey, I would say I’m sorry for being late, but I’m actually exactly on time,” you smirk, closing the door behind you. The man stands from the desk and walking around he meets at the front, holding a hand out for you.
“Perfectly on time,” he smiles warmly. “I’m Jeffrey Azoff, nice to meet you.”
“Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too.”
“And this here is Harry,” he motions towards the man who has stepped closer and as you look back at him, you’re met with a blank expression for a moment so you can’t figure out if he remembers you or not. But then, a tiny smile tugs on his lips as he holds his hand out for you.
“We’ve met before, right?” he simply questions, and your eyes flicker over to Taylor in a kind of “See? I told you!” manner before you look back at Harry and shake his hand.
“Yeah, we have,” you nod. “A long time ago.”
“Congrats for your nominations,” he smirks, his hand letting go of yours and your let out a soft chuckle.
“Well, thank you. Back at you.”
“Alright, why don’t we start this discussion? We have a lot to go over,” Jeff suggests and you sit beside Taylor while Harry stays near the window, as if he is trying to soak up the sunshine coming through it that’s painting his skin a golden shade.
The concept is simple. The performance would be a mashup from Sleepless and Harry’s song Golden with an exciting and fresh way of mixing the two songs together in the middle, making your song flow into his in a smooth and effortless way. The songs sound compatible and you already have an idea how to mash them together for the transition, but you can’t help but feel doubts over the performance.
“What are your concerns exactly?” Jeff questions.
“Not to come off too harsh, but why is my song the first one?” you ask, earning a few puzzled looks. “If Harry finishes it off, he is going to be the one people will remember more and he’ll get the applause as well. The riffs in the songs allow them to be switched, how come it’s not me who comes second?”
You can see the shock on Jeffrey’s face at how straight-forward you were about your concern and that you even dared to speak up about the issue. He clearly hasn’t had to face anything similar before and when he glances at Harry you follow his gaze as well, but instead of shock, what you see on his face is amusement. He is smirking, tapping his fingers against his chin as he stares back at you.
“She has a point,” he nods and you take a deep breath. For a moment, you really thought this is going to be the part where you are thrown off and Harry makes the performance only his.
“I, uhh—this is what’s been requested,” Jeff answers and you tilt your head.
“Okay, can we make a request to change it?” you simply ask, eyeing Taylor next to you who is typing on her iPad vigorously, taking notes of everything that’s said. She is already used to what you’re like, she is not even surprised you came up with the prompt to change.
“Hold on, so just because you want to be second, you get to be?” Harry questions, but he doesn’t come off as harsh, it seems like he is entertained by the conversation. “Does this mean I don’t deserve to be the second one?”
“That’s-That’s not what I meant,” you answer, taken aback from his accusation and you hate to admit, but he is right. You addressed the issue, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the spot either.
“Alright, so then we need to seek a solution that benefits the both of us,” he offers, walking closer from the sunlight and you follow his every movement.
“We could do some kind of medley? Do an ultimate mashup from more songs and have more smaller parts split between us, finishing it together,” you suggest and he nods.
“That could work, but I have something else on my mind.”
“And what would that be?” Jeff asks, a little lost about the situation as he watches the two of you exchange ideas.
“We could write a song together, a duet, and perform that instead of our solo stuff.”
“What?” you snap right away. “You want to write a whole new song just for the Grammy’s?”
“Why not?” he smiles carefreely. “We have almost two entire months to do it, albums have been written in shorter periods, I’m sure we can handle just one song. And I think a collaboration would be a hit for the both of us now.”
You look at Taylor who just stares back at you, ignoring the panic in your eyes.
“Don’t look at me,” she tells you. “I can see the collaboration working, it could be a huge hit.”
“And what, we’re gonna release it as a single after the show? Whose song is it going to be? I don’t have an album coming up until next year, do you get to have it on your third one then?”
“We can put it out as just a single. No one has to have it on any albums,” Harry replies. “If we released it after the show, it would be just the right timing. Neither of us had any new songs out in a while.”
Clenching your jaw you’re trying to find a way out of this collaboration, though you’re not even sure yourself why. Taylor sees right through you, knowing well you’re planning your escape, but she has other plans apparently.
“Y/N, let’s have a few words outside,” she pushes herself up and pulls you with her. Once the door is shut behind the two of you she starts right away. “What the fuck is your problem? The song is a huge thing, it would be an instant hit with him on it!”
“Why do I need a song with him to stay relevant?” you question, folding your arms on your chest.
“No one said it’s about that. But we both know it would be a great push to your name that Jordan has stomped over not so long ago, calling you a Feminist Nazi.”
“Don’t even fucking mention him!” you whisper yell, refusing to even think about that trashbag of a man that ruined your life with his fake accusations.
“Look, I know what you are thinking, that you’ll be seen as just an object next to him, a pair of boobs and nice legs, but that’s not his brand. He doesn’t need you to be sexy next to him, he is known for his honest and real works that go farther than just twerking and being a hoe. We both know he produces meaningful music, so why are you so against it?”
“I just… I-I’m scared to work with him,” you finally admit and it’s the first thing today that surprises Taylor.
“Scared? Thought you’re not scared of anything,” she huffs.
“I never said that,” you give her a look. “Harry met me when I was nobody, it was just me and my big mouth, trying to find my breakout. What if we start working together and he sees that I completely lost that version of myself? I would feel like a liar, an impostor.”
“You are overreacting,” Taylor sighs. “You’ve changed on your way here, but I doubt you are that far from the girl he met before. I know we didn’t meet just a few years after, but I can assure you, you’re still that big-mouthed pain in the ass who fights every norm in the industry like no one else.”
You know she is right, she is always right. Taylor knows you too well, that’s why you love working with her, but sometimes, her honesty throws you way off, especially when she is stating the truth.
The two of you rejoin the two men in the office and they both look at you with anticipation as you fold your arms on your chest and move your gaze over to Harry.
“I would… love to work on a song with you.”
When you agreed to work with Harry you didn’t think you’d find yourself heading over to his house a few days later to have a writing session, but he offered right away that day in the office and Taylor accepted it before you could protest. You’ve had a day filled with meetings and fittings and now you’re rolling up his driveway after punching the security code in that he shared with you over text.
You’ve exchanged numbers on the spot and just like that, you’ve become one of the few people on this world that could contact Harry Styles anytime they want to.
You chose to be casual for the occasion, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white hoodie, you like to be comfortable whenever you’re working on new music and Harry’s presence won’t change your ways about that. You’re not sure what to expect, if you’re being honest you’re still afraid of being alone with Harry and do such an emotional thing together as writing a song.
The front door opens just as you get out of your car, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. Harry walks out wearing a pair of shorts and a green hoodie, looking like he hasn’t left the house all day.
“Hey, you found the address easily?” he asks smiling as you walk up to him.
“Yeah, everything went fine.”
“Do you want something to drink or eat maybe?” he offers as the two of you walk inside. If you’re being honest, you’re starving, the last time you had anything to eat was between two meetings around ten, but nothing since then, just a granola bar. But you’re a first time guest, you can’t just eat up his fridge, like you’re old pals, right?
However, Harry can see right through you.
“You haven’t had anything in a long time, right?” he softly asks and you purse your lips, feeling awkward already and you haven’t been here for more than two minutes. “I can make you a sandwich, if you’d like.”
“Harry, no need, I—“
“No need, but I want to. Come on,” he nods at you, making you follow him into the kitchen. “So, who would have thought we would be here now, huh?” he smirks at you as he gathers the ingredients and starts working on your food while you sit on one of the stools at his kitchen island.
“Not me,” you admit chuckling. “I kind of didn’t think I would see you again, I mean, personally. I was seeing you a lot on TV after that.”
“Now might be a good time to confess that, that night wasn’t the last time I saw you.”
“What?”
“I went to one of your gigs a few weeks later. Stayed at the back, I just really wanted to see you play.”
“And what did you think?” you ask tilting your head to the side. Harry smirks, his eyes meeting yours before they return to the food under his hands.
“You absolutely smashed it. And I felt even worse for taking your time away that night. The people were robbed from a mind-blowing performance and had to see five annoying guys clown on the stage,” he laughs making you chuckle too. “I wasn’t surprised when your name surfaced a few years later. Knew you’d make it at one point.” He joins you at the island and slides the plate in front of you with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” you mumble smiling shyly before you start eating and only after the first bite you feel just how hungry you’ve been. “Now that we are at it, I want to apologize for the way I talked to you guys back then. I feel like I was a bigger asshole than I should have been and the whole situation wasn’t entirely your fault.”
“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head. “You were absolutely right. We had no business being on stage that night and what you said actually made us think about where we came from and appreciate our career more. You were right about having it easy at the beginning. We never had the phase where we had to push our way to the top like other artists, our first days were broadcasted on TV, giving us the biggest push ever.”
It’s good to hear he is not holding grudges against you for whatever went down in the past. You eat in silence while Harry types a response to a message on his phone before turning it with the screen down to pay his full attention to you.
“I actually just messaged Niall that we are working together and he is losing his shit over it,” he chuckles softly.
“You guys still talk?”
“Yeah, sometimes. Not all of us thought,” he adds, pressing his lips together.
“You miss being with the band?”
“It’s… good to rely on someone in certain situations. As a solo artist, you only have yourself and that’s about it. But I think you already know that.”
“I never really liked being in a band,” you admit.
“How come? I think you fit in well with The Gambits.”
You shrug, chewing on your bite slowly. It’s probably not the best time to admit that you prefer working on your own, when you’re about to get into a duet with him.
“I uhh… I always imagined myself being a solo artist and I just couldn’t stay with the guys too long, especially when I got my record deal.”
“Why?” Letting out a long breath you lick your lips looking at him.
“I would have never made it in a band with three guys. It would have always been about which one I’m sleeping with, who am I having an affair with or if I’m lesbian because I’m not hooking up with any of them. This is just how it goes for women.”
Harry stays quiet, taking your words in as you finish the sandwich that was literally lifesaving. You wash the plate even when he tells you to just leave it in the sink, and once that’s done, the two of you move over to his little home studio in the basement of his house.
“So, where do we start?” you ask, making yourself comfortable in one of the armchairs while he grabs an acoustic guitar and sits on the one next to you.
“How do you usually start writing?” he asks scratching his chin before he rests his hands on the body of the guitar.
“Well, most of the times I write when I’m pissed about something,” you huff and Harry smirks at you.
“Nothing pissed you off lately?”
“Not enough to make me write a song,” you point out. “See, this is one of the reasons why I was hesitant to write a song with you. It doesn’t come that easily for me.”
“And what were the other reasons?” You shut your mouth at his question, you weren’t expecting him to pick it up, but apparently, he listens more than you thought.
“It’s… a long story.”
“And we have all the time,” he smiles slyly. “But of course, don’t feel pressured to share. I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other more so we can work together easier.”
Harry starts strumming his guitar gently, playing random riffs as you watch him, chewing on your bottom lip. Taylor asked you to try and be more open than you usually are and though part of you wants to keep the wall high between you and him, something is telling you to try and reach out to him.
“I didn’t want to do it, because I didn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face next to you. In duets between a man and a woman, females are often seen as just an object, a sight for the eyes but not as serious artists. I worked hard to be taken seriously and I was hesitant about collaborating with you even though your music is not necessarily what I should fear.”
Harry looks back at you with an unreadable expression and you feel like he is judging you for standing up for yourself. Your fight for yourself is often mistaken as “being a bitch” or “being too sensitive” and the amount of times you’ve been told to just chill is upsetting.
“Well, good thing then that I won’t write music about twerking,” he then finally speaks up, a smile breaking his blank expression.
“But you do write a lot about sex,” you point out with a smirk.
“That I do, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be sexist at the same time.”
“You’re right,” you nod smiling.
The writing process turns out to be harder than you thought. You’re not specifically inspired and Harry is the person to just throw things around until he finds something he likes. The two of you put together is kind of chaotic as you try to come up with something useful.
Two hours later you have a raw version of a melody that could serve as a chorus, but nothing else, no full melody, no lyrics. And if you’re being honest, you don’t like that chorus that much either.
“It’ll be fun to just stand on stage for three minutes and do absolutely nothing, because we couldn’t write anything,” you groan, sliding lower in your seat, rubbing your face with your hands.
“It’s literally our first session and we have plenty of time, Y/N. Don’t stress about it.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“You don’t know how not to stress?”
“I literally haven’t had a stressfree day since about 2007, so no, I don’t know.”
“You can’t chill even when you smoke?” he asks and you give him a puzzled look. “What, you smoke, don’t you?”
“Cigarettes? I put it down in 2015.”
“No, I’m not talking about cigarettes,” Harry chuckles softly. “You don’t smoke weed?” You shyly shake your head. “Really? I would have sworn you’re the type to relax with a good joint. Want to try it?”
“What? Now?” you ask with wide eyes.
“Why not?” he shrugs and walks over to the little side table in the corner of the room and reaching into it he simply pulls a little plastic bag out with three joints in them.
“Are you just casually keeping joints around your house?”
“I don’t really smoke them, they make me feel sleepy. But some of my friends like it so I keep a few around,” he explains as he takes one out and puts the rest back. “You want to try?”
“I-I’m not sure… I have to drive back home.”
“You can stay for the night, I have three guest bedrooms,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Again, not trying to pressure you, I’m just offering.”
“Are you gonna smoke?”
“We can share one if you want. I would recommend smoking one by yourself for the first time.”
“Okay,” you nod shortly as you watch him tip-tap the joint a little, rolling it between his fingers before he takes it between his lips and reaches for a lighter. “Wait, shouldn’t we do it somewhere outside? The smoke is gonna get stuck in here.”
Harry stops, thinking about what you said and he nods. Grabbing the guitar he asks you to follow him and the two of you move up and out to the terrace, sinking into his lounge chairs. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as you watch Harry light the joint and take the first few puffs. As he exhales the smoke he holds the joint out for you and you take it, hesitantly putting it between your lips as you inhale for the first time. You can’t help but scowl at the taste, the whole act of smoking feeling strange after years of smoking your last cigarette. You keep it down a little before puffing the smoke out and passing the joint back to Harry.
You keep switching until you make it past half of it and you finally start to feel the effect of it. You feel light, like you’re floating in the pool that’s in front of you, you can almost feel the water touching your skin yet you’re still dry.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, blinking at you with hooded eyes.
“I’m feeling… fine,” you chuckle softly as you take the joint from him and drag from it again. “Do you do other drugs?”
“I’ve done shrooms a few times, not often though. I’m not trying to pick up an addiction,” he smiles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Have you done anything?”
“No,” you shake your head. “Didn’t have the money for it before and then didn’t have time later. But I never really felt the need either.”
“And you said you put down the cigarette as well?”
“Yeah. I knew I had to do that sooner or later, it was starting to change my voice and I couldn’t have that.”
“That’s what we always told Louis, that his voice will turn to shit if he keeps smoking,” Harry chuckles softly, dragging from the joint before he passes it over to you, not much left of it.
“Did he ever stop?”
“I think he put it down when his son was born, but I don’t know if he started again.”
You give the joint back for him to finish it and you watch him put it out in the ashtray before he sinks down in the lounge chair, closing his eye for a bit, breathing steadily. You find it amusing how you can still see the guy that handed you a check years ago at that bar, trying to make things right, but he also looks like a completely different person at the same time. He is more mature and open in his mindset and just the way he approaches things in general. The Harry you met seven years ago was still searching his way, but the version lying next to you now is a lot more confident in who he really is.
“Want to take a picture?” he hums keeping his eyes closed.
“What?”
His eyes peel open and turn to face you, a smug smirk on his lips.
“You’ve been staring at me. Take a picture, it lasts longer.”
“You are way too full of yourself,” you scoff and pushing yourself up from the lounge chair you walk over to the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the way the light is dancing on the surface.
You never really thought about what weed would feel like in your system, but it feels oddly tranquil and relaxing. In a way your body feels a little strange, like it’s not even yours, but you also sense everything very… loudly.
“You alright?” you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind, the tapping on his feet signaling that he is walking closer to you.
“Yeah,” you nod without taking your eyes off of the water.
“Do you want to go for a swim?”
“What?” you breathe out turning to face him.
“Do you want to go in?” he rephrases his question with a small smile.
“I don’t… have a bathing suit,” you answer and the moment the words leave your mouth they feel so ridiculous even when you were just stating the truth.
“Okay, but you are wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he smirks. “Or I’m completely fine if you want to go in naked,” he adds smugly.
“Shut up,” you chuckle. “Can you… maybe give me a pair of shorts? I’m fine without a bra when I come out but I would rather have my underwear on dry.”
“Sure,” he hums and turning around he jogs back into the house while you stay right there, staring at the water again.
With each passing moment you get calmer, the outside world and everything in life that’s not happening right in this moment eases into nothingness, your mind numbs in the best way possible.
When Harry returns he is wearing a pair of yellow swimming shorts, two towels are thrown over his shoulders and he has a pair of white shorts in his hands.
“This is the smallest thing I have, I think it’ll be fine,” he comments handing you the shorts.
“Thanks,” you nod before he shows you the way to the closest bathroom where you change out of your clothes leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the counter, you put on the shorts that are a little big on you, but once you’ve tied the strings it seems to be staying up steadily. Your simple black bra is not showing more than what a bikini top would, so you feel fine walking out in your attire.
Harry is sitting at the edge of the pool, his legs moving around in the water. His head lifts hearing your steps and he smiles at you, standing up when you arrive.
“Fits fine,” he nods, taking a look at the shorts.
“Yeah,” you chuckle.
Walking over to the steps you dip your feet in first, testing the temperature before you start going in further, Harry following you right behind. Just as you expected, the water feels smooth against your skin, warmly caressing and swallowing your body as you get in, the surface reaching your chest. You let your arms move around, feel how the water runs through your fingers, it’s amusing and you enjoy it probably more than you should. It’s just water, but right now it feels like a pile of clouds.
“I know I suggested to smoke and then swim, but please don’t drown into my pool, I won’t be able to talk myself out of that,” he chuckles, easing him into the water until it reaches his neck.
“My life is in your hands, Harry,” you smirk at him before you follow him and let the water swallow your whole body up to your neck. “This feels so nice.”
“Yeah? You like it?” he smirks.
“Mm, like I’m… floating through space.”
“In a sense, you are floating in the water,” he chuckles. “You don’t feel sick, right?”
“No, I’m fine,” you smile at him shortly.
You move over to the edge of the pool, laying your arms to the side, holding yourself up so your legs could float in the water. You watch Harry dive under and swim across the pool, reaching the far end before he pushes himself over to you.
“When I went to see you perform there was a song I really liked, but I never found it anywhere later.”
“Which one?”
“The chorus went like… Crashing and crumbling, I’m fighting for my breath, Today won’t be the day I’m meeting death…”
You suck on your breath, surprised how well he remembered the lines even after so many years. He recalled them perfectly, even singing the melody a little with them.
“I never recorded it in studio,” you admit quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because it felt too emotional and I didn’t want it to be just out there.”
“What was the name of the song?”
“It’s called Till I Die. I wrote it when…” You take a deep breath, feeling heavy just by talking about it, but something is urging you to share it with him. “I left from home right after I graduated high school, broke contact with my parents completely and I had a few very rough years, trying to just… keep myself alive, I guess.”
“Can I ask why you left your parents?”
“We had very different visions of what I should become. And I didn’t intend to live the life they imagined for me. My parents are very… traditional, my career in their eyes is just some kind of circus when I’m the clown on the stage. They don’t take any of it seriously and they made it very clear at the beginning that they don’t want me to become a musician. I was supposed to become a surgeon, my dad is one and my mom is in criminal law, they both worked very hard to get to where they are, but they don’t think that’s exactly what I’m doing as well.”
The last person you shared it with was Taylor and though it feels odd to open up about these old wounds again, but having Harry as the one listening to you just feels right.
“You haven’t talked to them since you left?”
“No,” you shake your head.
“And they didn’t even try to contact you?”
“Well, I made sure they couldn't. Changed my number first thing I set my feet outside the house and I never left them any of my addresses. I know it sounds cruel, but I didn’t want to do anything with them after the shaming they put me through when I told them I don’t want to become their perfect little daughter. They told me that I could consider myself disowned from the family if I dare to even write a song.”
“Woah, that sounds really tough.”
“It was,” you nod. “I wasn’t asking them to support me in any other way apart from just being there for me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the money the put aside for my tuition to buy guitars and tour the country, I just wanted them to… accept who I am, but apparently, I asked for too much.”
You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you wipe them quickly. It’s been long since the last time you let the thought of your parents, you’ve been good at keeping these feelings bottled up and in the deepest end of your mind. It’s not like you’re going around and just share your trauma with anyone you meet, but it felt comfortable to share it with Harry.
“I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have a support, especially in our job.”
“I had… myself,” you chuckle bitterly. “Became pretty good at relying only on myself.”
“I’m guessing it’s another reason why you prefer working alone, right?” he smiles at you softly.
“You could say that,” you nod into the water.
“I know it’ll sound cheesy, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he offers.
“Oh, are we becoming friends?” you ask chuckling.
“We’ve known each other for long enough to be friends, am I right?” he smirks, splashing some water in your way.
“We met a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Everything I know about you is from articles and gossip sites and I think you can only say the same thing,” you point out.
“Okay, then let’s get to know each other.”
“What, do you want to play 21 questions now or something?” you huff.
“Damn right,” he smirks.
And that’s exactly what you do. Swimming around in the pool you ask each other questions, some are funny, some are more serious and you slowly start to get to know each other, seven years after meeting for the first time, but in a way it feels like it’s been just last week when you were talking in the alleyway.
The weed soon dies down in your system, leaving you incredibly tired and it’s only then you realize it’s already past one am. Pulling out of the pool, you both grab a towel drying yourselves up before making your way back into the house.
“The guest bedroom next to mine has a bathroom so I think that’s the best one. I can give you something to sleep in if you’d like,” Harry offers as you follow him down the hallway.
“I think I’m fine in my sweats, but thank you.” He shows you the room, tells you how to change the AC if you feel too cold or hot and then bidding goodbye he is about to go to his own room when you stop him.
“Thank you for… today. I know we didn’t get far with the song, but… I liked hanging out with you,” you admit with a shy smile, leaning against the doorframe.
“Don’t worry about the song, it’ll be fine. And I liked it too. We can make it a regular thing, if you want. You can come over, we’d chill and try to cook up something for the song.”
“I, uhh… Yeah, that sounds good,” you nod, he shoots you a smile before turning around and disappearing in his room.
The morning doesn’t turn out at all any awkward, especially because you don’t get to stay around too long. You have a meeting at eleven so you have to leave in time to go home and get changed before that. Harry makes you coffee, which is lifesaving, the two of you sit at the terrace as you drink it and you arrange to meet in two days to try and have another, hopefully more successful session for the song.
You genuinely enjoyed your time with Harry and to think that you didn’t only smoked weed for the first time with him, but also opened up about your parents, you feel a kind of connection forming and you can only hope you’re not gonna regret it later.
You move on with work after leaving from Harry’s that morning, you have some fittings for upcoming photoshoots and an interview scheduled, so there’s not much time for you to sit around. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Harry again at his place for another session and you feel buzzed about it. You meet Taylor for lunch, sitting on the terrace of your usual place she is talking you through everything that’s coming up the next week, just like you always do so then you can put work aside and have a real chat.
“So how did the writing session go?” she asks, digging into her salad that she always asks with extra chicken.
“The writing? Not so well. But we had a good time,” you truthfully admit.
“Good, good! You’re finally making friends!” Taylor grins, satisfied with the news. You just roll your eyes at her, turning back to your food right when you notice that your phone has been blowing up with notifications.
Huffing you grab it from the table with the pure intention of muting it down completely, but then you see that several people have texted you the same link and it bugs your curiosity so you open one of the messages and tap on the link.
“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan, feeling your rage already pushing up your spine, clouding your vision in red.
“What?” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone out of reflex.
“That fucking asshole dragged my name again!”
“Who? Jordan? That fucker never learns?” Taylor hisses, her thumbs vigorously typing on the screen immediately.
“Someone asked him about me on Twitter and he dared to call me a lying bitch! I can’t fucking believe this man!”
You and Jordan worked together on a project a while ago. You were supposed to write lyrics to a song he was composing and it was meant for an upcoming popular Netflix show, so the anticipation around the song was huge, especially when word got out that Ariana Grande might end up singing it. During your time working together he very blatantly tried to hit on you, which you politely shut down, because one, you didn’t intend to date someone you were working so close with and two, you just simply weren’t into him. However, he couldn’t take rejection the way a mature, almost thirty years old man should. It started off very subtly, but once you’ve had a chat with him to stop posting obnoxious and suggesting things about you on his social media, because it’s making it hard for you to be taken seriously as an artist and that people will just see you as another celeb which you don’t want to be, he just completely lost his shit. He called you different names on Twitter a few times, the worst were Feminist Nazi and a cock teasing slut, and he just somehow never fails to mention that you lied about your intentions with him, when you were clearer than daylight that you didn’t want a thing from him other than work.
When you realized he isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon, you took him to court, dragged his ass in front of the judge and won the case, which ended with him having to pay you thirty thousand dollars and he was ordered to clear all his platforms from your name for good. You really thought that taught him a lesson, especially because against your will, the case got some publicity and he ended up making headlines about the fault accusations he made about you, but it seems like he didn’t have enough.
You wouldn’t worry that much about his new tweet, knowing that he is the one lying, but the trials took a toll on you. It was at the beginning of the time when you were making yourself a name and even though you won, his accusations stung for some people and some even thought him to be the victim. You fell out of two brand deals and an important interview in the upcoming months which was a major setback and all for what? Because a man couldn’t accept rejection? The sad part is that if it would have happened the other way around, he wouldn’t have had to suffer any effect of it, people don’t tend to question a man’s words when he is showing this charming and nice persona to the public. If you accused him the same way you would have been dragged and titled as a sour crybaby and Jordan’s life would have carried on the same way.
The peaceful lunch soon falls through as Taylor turns on her beast mode to at least get the tweet down as soon as possible, already contacting the legal team you worked with before. It has to be against what you agreed on at the end of the trials, he can’t just go around and drag you again without any consequences.
In just about twenty minutes, the tweets disappear from Jordan’s feed, but you know it was already late the moment he posted it. If something gets out on the internet it never goes away, there are probably hundreds if not thousands of screenshots floating around that will preserve his words forever.
You part ways Taylor as he heads to an immediate meeting with the lawyers you worked together previously, she tells you to try not to worry about it, but you can’t just turn it off in you, that’s not how it works.
Making your way home you keep riling yourself up about it, thinking about what it’s gonna cause you this time, what opportunity is going to be taken because a man has called you a lying bitch, even after winning the previous trial against him that proves how big of an asshole he really is.
Changing into a casual attire you head to Harry’s place a little earlier, hoping it’s not a problem you get there an hour before you were supposed to. Arriving you’re a little taken aback seeing that there is another car parking on the driveway that’s not his and you immediately regret coming here, but before you could leave, the front door opens and Harry walks out. You couldn’t have left without noticing, the security system must have signaled your arrival when you punched the opening code in.
“Hey, everything alright?” he asks instead of questioning your early arrival.
“I uhh—I’m sorry for being early, I could go—“
“Don’t be silly, come on in!” he waves at you and you walk up the stairs. “Two friends are here but they were just about to leave soon,” he explains as you walk in.
“Sorry for crashing the party,” you let out a soft chuckle.
“The more the merrier,” he smiles. “You seem a little stressed, everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just… It’s nothing,” you shake your head.
“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” you hear a woman’s voice from behind and turning around you see a smiley brunette walking towards you, a shy looking guy following behind her.
“Sarah, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sarah, my drummer, and that wanker over there is Mitch, my guitarist.”
“Nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with both of them you realize they look familiar from pictures you’ve seen from Harry’s tour.
“I saw that ugly tweet today, that guy needs to be kicked in the balls,” Sarah sighs with a sympathetic smile, Harry’s ears perking up.
“What tweet?” he asks, eyes switching between you and Sarah.
“Oh, just… Jordan Wells thinks it’s fine to drag people with absolutely no truth behind his words,” you answer with a tight-lipped smile.
“Jordan Wells? The name rings a bell,” Harry hums.
“He is a music producer,” Mitch chimes in.
“I think he was supposed to write for 1D one time, but the deal fell through. Guess we didn’t miss out on anything,” he jokes and it brings a genuine smile to your face.
“You surely didn’t,” you comment under your breath.
You chat with Sarah and Mitch for a bit before they decide to head out, but Sarah asks you to come around sometime they are hanging out and you gladly say yes, wanting to know her and Mitch better, they seem like great company and even greater musicians, it’s always good to meet people who are like you.
As Harry walks his friends out you make yourself comfortable on the couch, reading Taylor’s texts about the update on the recent actions, she has gotten in contact with Jordan’s team and legal steps will be taken if Jordan doesn’t show any sign of improvement in the very near future.
“Hey, want something to drink? Wine or beer maybe?” Harry walks in as you look up from your phone.
“Wine sounds fucking fantastic,” you breathe out earning a soft chuckle from him. You follow him into the kitchen and watch him get a bottle of white wine with two glasses. “I hope Sarah and Mitch didn’t leave early because of me.”
“Oh, not at all. They knew you’d be coming over and would have left around this time, so don’t worry about it.”
He joins you at the kitchen island with the two glasses handing you one and you take a sip from it with a satisfied hum.
“So, want to talk about this Jordan ordeal?”
“There’s not much to talk, really,” you shrug. “He is a jerk and I just can’t seem to get rid of him and I didn’t even date the guy…”
“What did he do this time?”
“Oh, he just casually called me a lying bitch on Twitter, so that’s fun,” you let out a fake laugh, raising your glass before taking a big swig from it.
“Not that creative, if you’re asking me,” he jokes making you laugh. “It’s a very plain choice of words.”
“Yeah, not as good as his best which was calling me a feminist nazi.”
Harry almost chokes on his wine as you say the words, coughing a little while you watch him with an entertained smirk.
“That’s… an interesting way to express his opinion about you,” he answers diplomatically.
“Right? I was thinking about getting a sign of it, like a Live, Love, Laugh one, in the middle of my living room.”
“Would be a wonderful touch of décor,” he smirks. “Alright, I have a proposal for today’s session.”
“Shoot it.”
“You seemed to enjoy your weed experience the last time, I thought we could give it a try again, but we would try to write this time as well.”
“You want to write while smoking?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him.
“Only if you want to. I just thought it would relax you a bit, might even come up with some interesting ideas for the song.”
“Are you trying to turn me into an addict?” you narrow your eyes at him and he just holds his hands up innocently.
“Told you, no pressure,” he smirks angelically.
“I feel like I’m not even coming here to work but to meet with my new dealer,” you chuckle making him laugh. “Okay, we can… give it a try.”
An hour and one joint per person later the two of you are lounging in his living room, he is sprawled out on the loveseat with a guitar on his arms while you are curled upon the sectional, fumbling with the strings of your hoodie.
“We should just… fucking steal a song,” you snort, finding your comment hilarious.
“Which one were you thinking about?” Harry smirks your way, his fingers gently strumming some random melody on the instrument.
“I really want to have a Madonna song to be mine,” you sigh dreamily.
“You’re a fan?”
“Oh, I grew up on her. I have an elaborate choreography for Hung Up,” you snort.
“You need to perform it for me.”
“No fucking way,” you laugh shaking your head. “Not even weed can make me dance for you.”
“Come on, I need to see that choreography, you can’t just hint it and then never show it to me!”
“Nah, not happening,” you laugh, sliding lower down in your seat, your head resting against the armrest of the couch.
You listen to him play the same melody over and over again with your eyes closed and though you really like what you are hearing, no words are forming in your mind that could serve as lyrics. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you and grabbing it you see a text from Taylor.
Taylor: Lawyers are on the case, we’ll have more tomorrow, don’t stress about it too much. Night! Xx
Sighing you drop the device back next to you, covering your eyes with your arms.
“You alright?” Harry softly asks.
“Nah, I just want to… disappear,” you sigh, tired of this fight you’ve been fighting for way too long.
“Is this about Jordan? He is a fucking ass, most people know it.”
“But not everyone!” you snap throwing your hands up. “And that fraction that still believes that he is saying the truth is enough to ruin my life. I’m fucking fed up with the injustice women have to face because of the patriarchy we are forced to live in!” Pushing yourself up you run a hand through your hair, hugging your knees to your chest. “It’s so fucking upsetting, like everything I do goes straight down the drain because of one little thing and I’m stuck with trying to rebuild my whole future plan.”
From a sudden urge, you move down to the floor, lying down on the fluffy rug that runs under the couches and the glass coffee table. It feels nice, kind of grounding to lie flat on the floor, especially because your senses are all messed up again because of the weed, but in a good kind of way.
“You worry way too much on longterm things. Try to stay in the moment a little more,” Harry tells you, putting the guitar to the side so he can move his feet to the floor, leaning onto his knees. “You can’t control this much what happens in the future, you should only care about today. And today, you’ve done good, you made it through another day, you did what you had to do and that’s it. Stressing about tomorrow or the next week or next year is just way too much to deal with all the time, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five, that’s just no way to live.”
Lying on the floor you stare up at the ceiling seemingly blankly, but your mind starts to swirl over what he just told you. The worlds are running around, mixing and mingling until something starts to form, making you gasp.
“Grab the guitar,” you tell him, sitting up abruptly. He pulls his eyebrows together, but does as you told him to, holding the instrument on his lap as he waits for you to instruct him more. “Play that… that melody you’ve been playing, but a little faster.”
He turns his attention at the guitar, trying the strings out a few times, feeling the melody under his fingers before he starts playing it just how you asked as you slowly start to sing the lines you have just thought about.
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“You made it through… another day, you made it through another day… You did it, let’s celebrate…”
The lines fit perfectly with the melody he has come up with and the more you sing, the wider his smile grows as you move along in the forming song.
“Some days you feel you’ll break, but you made it through another day, yeah, you did it, let’s celebrate…”
“Don’t fucking stop!” he chimes in, never stopping the riffs, trying out new things as you go, slowly perfecting it together with the lyrics.
“Twenty-four-seven and three-six-five, you made another day, you made it alive! Made another day made it alive!” You sing loud and clear, completely lost in the melody Harry is playing, the lines just flowing out of you, like a dam has been taken down and now everything washes over you at once.
When the chorus is about to come up however you run out of ideas, your eyes meet Harry’s and he sees that you’re stuck. His eyebrows knit together, tongue runs along his lips before he starts playing the melody of the chorus and takes over the singing as well.
“So today, baby, remember it’s okay! We’re all floating through space, today, baby, remember you’re okay! We’re all floating through space…”
He plays a little with the lines, repeats them, tries a few times before he stops singing, you are now standing up, watching him end the melody, neither of you saying a word as he room grows silent. A sudden urge drives you to go closer and you sit back down to the floor in front of him, your eyes casting over the now silent instrument on his lap. Looking up your eyes meet his and you feel like the air is kicked out of your lungs.
You’ve heard so much about moments when you feel yourself pulling towards someone, when it’s like a magnetic field but you never actually experienced it until now. Staring back at Harry you feel that pull everyone has talked about and you finally understand what they were trying to say. It’s like there’s a string coming from your chest that’s connected to him and he is tugging it without even doing anything.
Reaching forward he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers dancing down the side of your face as you catch his eyes wander down to your lips. Sucking on your breath you feel the moment, you know what he is thinking about because you think about the exact same thing. Kissing him. You are desperate to find out what his lips feel against yours, what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him so close to you.
“You want to kiss me,” you whisper and it’s not a question, more like an observation.
“I do,” he admits with a soft smile, but doesn’t move closer. “Can I?”
“I don’t think it’s an appropriate thing to do in our situation,” you breathe out, though you don’t agree with the statement fully.
“You think too much,” he chuckles softly, leaning closer just a tad bit, but there are still a few inches between the two of you. “Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes,” you admit.
“Then we should just do what we want to,” he suggests with a small smirk and he looks ridiculously handsome with his dimples and shining green eyes that are glued to you.
“And then what? We’ll just go on like it never happened or there’s going to be more happening? How are we supposed to—“
You don’t get to finish, because Harry closes the distance between you and him and presses his lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your stammering speech. Whatever doubts and hesitation you felt just a moment ago, it all vanishes into nothing as you melt into his kiss, his lips caressing yours gently, softly capturing them, savoring and tasting you with caution, giving you the chance to pull back anytime, but nothing in your body can make you stop kissing him in this moment.
His palms cup your jaw as you push yourself up, slowly making your way to straddle his lap after he has blindly put the guitar to the side, hands coming to rest on his shoulder for leverage. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you close until your chest is pressed up against his, lips never disconnecting in the kiss.
Kissing him feels like second nature, like it’s not even the first but the hundredth time, but on the other hand, every touch and tiny sparkle is so new and unusual, you’ve never felt like this before.
Harry slowly pulls back, pecking your lips a few more times before he stops, nuzzling his nose against you in an adorable and innocent way that brings a smile to your lips.
“Doesn’t it feel good to just do whatever you feel like doing?” he asks with a soft smile, making you laugh.
“Kind of.”
“Nothing has to change. Or something can, it’s up to you.”
“You are so upsettingly cool and respectful,” you blurt out chuckling and it makes him laugh, his head falling back against the back of the couch.
“I’m sorry, I guess?” he smirks with a shrug.
“See? Respectful!” you grin, your hands moving up to cup his face. The pad of your thumbs gently tap against his dimples that are showing thanks to the wide smile on his lips right now. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, even though your rational side is trying to make you stop. You just can’t, his lips are screaming to be kissed and who are you to deny that?
You’ve been running errands all day. Following an early meeting you ran to your favorite vintage store to get another armchair for your living room. Then you went grocery shopping because your fridge has been ridiculously empty the past two days and later you had a quick fitting for a few outfits you are supposed to wear in the near future. You’ve ran into a few fans too, having small chit-chats with them, taking photos, so it’s been a busy day.
It’s been a week since you and Harry have kissed and despite your fears, it hasn’t been awkward at all. He didn’t bring it up, but you don’t feel like he is pretending it never happened, which is kind of a great balance. He is giving you just enough time and space to figure out what it really meant to you, because quite frankly, you have no idea.
Obviously, you find him attractive. You’d have to be completely blind to say that he is not handsome and just simply good to look at. You’re attracted to him and not just to his looks, but to his whole persona.
It’s just you’re not sure it’s a smart idea to start anything with the man you’re working with and though you know Harry is nothing like Jordan, part of you is still scared the whole thing will happen all over again if you get involved with another man from the industry.
Workwise, everything is going well. You’ve successfully finished the song you started that ominous evening and have started recording it in Harry’s home studio, working some more on the melody, bringing a lot more into it than just a single guitar. What more, you’ve been coming up with new ideas for other songs, lyrics popping up in either your or Harry’s head and you just keep sharing them with each other, saving them for later once the song for the Grammy’s is done.
Heading back to your place you get a call from Harry, his smiley face appearing on the screen of your face as you accept the call and his accent fills the car through the speakers that are connected to your phone through Bluetooth.
“Hey, hope I’m not calling in the middle of a meeting,” he greets you and you can tell he is smiling.
“No, I’m just on my way home. What’s up?”
“I’m meeting with Sarah and Mitch for dinner tonight, thought you’d like to join us.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, I feel like you’ve been spending all your time with me.”
“But I like spending time with you,” he chuckles softly, a blush making its way to your cheeks at his words.
“Are you sure you want me there? What about Sarah and Mitch? I crashed your last meeting with them as well.”
“You didn’t crash anything, Y/N. And I’m positive I want you there, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. And just so you know, Sarah asked if you’d be joining us, so I assume they wouldn’t mind it either.”
“Oh, well, okay then. Send me the time and place.”
“Wonderful!” he beams, his enthusiasm making your chest warm.
By the time you arrive home he has already texted you the details and you have just one hour to spare before you have to head out. You opt for a quick shower and an outfit change, switching up your ripped mom jeans and simple t-shirt to one of your favorite jumpsuits. It’s a little baggy, but the waist is cinched in with an inbuilt corset, giving the whole fit a very interesting twist.
Arriving at the restaurant Harry has texted you the address of, the waiter escorts you to the terrace at the back that’s a lot more secluded and you feel yourself relaxing that you probably won’t get photographed. Harry is the only one who is already at the table, sitting with his eyes fixed on his phone, but he immediately puts it aside when he sees you approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face.
“Hey! You look amazing!” he greets you pulling you into a quick hug.
“Thank you,” you smile shyly. He is wearing a pair of brown slacks, a simple white shirt tucked into it, a knitted cardigan thrown on, a typical Harry outfit. “And thanks for the invite,” you add as you take the seat next to him, assuming Sarah and Mitch would like to sit next to each other.
“Don’t even mention it. We’re friends, it’s really nothing. I’m glad you could make it.”
The way he called you friends is giving you mixed feelings. Part of you is happily jumping up and down at the fact that he considers you as a friend, given how you don’t have many of those. It’s been hard opening up to anyone since you’ve made a name for yourself, you’ve ran into occasions a lot when people wanted more than just your friendship from you and it made you rather closed off when it comes to making friends.
On the other hand, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Is that all you are? Just friends? More importantly, is that all you want to be, or more?
Sarah and Mitch arrive soon after, joining you at the table and the waiter takes the orders before leaving the four of you alone. It seems like they genuinely like it that you’ve joined, so you can enjoy the evening a little more relieved.
Sipping on some amazing wine, you eat and talk and you feel like you’ve known these people your whole life. You especially like Sarah, she is so open-minded and funny and you think they make a great couple with Mitch who is obviously more closed off, but it’s obvious how much he worships his girlfriend.
Sometime in the evening, when you’ve already had two glasses of Chardonnay and you’re feeling a lot more relaxed and comfortable, you move closer to Harry without even noticing, leaning against him gently and his hand rests on your knee, giving it a soft squeeze under the table, making you want to move even closer to him to feel more of his touch, to get more of him.
Neither Sarah, nor Mitch questions the two of you being a little cozier and you’re thankful for the safe and stressfree environment they are providing, not making you overthink what you do, just letting you enjoy the moment.
At the end of the evening, you can’t shake the thought that you don’t want to say goodbye to Harry just yet. He pays for everyone’s dinner, leaving a generous tip for the waiter and you stay back at the table while Sarah runs out to the restroom and Mitch takes a quick call from his father, leaving you alone with Harry. His hand is still resting on your leg, a little farther up, but still in a very safe zone in the middle of your thigh.
Turning to face him your eyes meet his, his green irises glistening in the soft lighting and he looks so beautiful, you just want to kiss him again.
“Do you have plans after this?” you find yourself asking.
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you want to come over to my place?”
“That sounds like a nice plan,” he smiles at you warmly and you just know that if you weren’t out in the public, he would have leant in for a kiss and you wouldn’t have stopped him.
When Sarah and Mitch return all four of you head out and they don’t question when you follow Harry to his car. They say goodbye and Sarah makes you promise to join them some other time too and you happily say yes to the invitation.
Not much is being said on the way back to your place, he plays some music quietly as you navigate him through the streets.
“Welcome to mi casa,” you smile as you key the two of you into your apartment you’ve been living in for the past few years.
It’s nothing luxurious, just a tad bit bigger than what one person would need as a home. You would have been fine living in your previous home you lived in before you’ve gained fame, but you needed a much bigger closet so you were forced to move. It’s a two bedroom apartment with one big bathroom, an open concept kitchen and a spacious living room. And of course, a closet as big as your bedroom. It’s the perfect size and you haven’t even thought about buying a bigger place just because you can, it would be a waste of money and space. The interior is very much vintage with all your mismatched furniture and colorful walls, but you think it’s quite cozy and just the ideal space for you.
“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to get yourself some water.
“Some water would be great, thank you.”
Filling up two glasses you hand him one as you lean against the counter, silently eyeing each other. It should be clear to him that you had intentions with asking him to come over, especially after being your cozy with each other during dinner, but you’re a little lost in what you should or even want to do. You just know you want him close.
He drinks up his water, his eyes meeting your gaze as a small smirk tugs on his cherry lips.
“You want to kiss me,” he states, using the exact same words you used the night when you kissed for the first time.
“I do,” you nod, feeling a little breathless.
“Then do it,” he simply answers, making you smile.
“Cool and respectful, as always,” you grin at him as he moves closer, stopping just a few inches away from you, your feet almost touching. Reaching up his fingers gently caress the side of your face and you feel yourself already melting under his touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a shiver running down your spine at his words. You close your eyes for a moment, giving yourself the chance to pull out of it, but you realize you don’t want that, not even the tiniest bit. Opening your eyes they meet with his gaze before you move closer, closing the distance between you and him, lips meeting in a warm and chaste kiss.
Though it grows a little hungrier, you can tell he is still holding back a little, giving you the chance to stop whenever you want to, but you don’t intend to. Pushing yourself closer to him, your arms curl around his neck as his hands grip your waist, your tongue meeting his as you deepen the kiss and melt into his embrace.
Pulling back you grab his hand and head to the bedroom, going back to kissing him the moment you reach it. You easily slide his cardigan off his broad shoulders, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants before taking it completely off, throwing it somewhere to the side. You smirk against his lips, hands wandering down his naked chest and you can’t push down a moan as you feel the warmth of his chest muscles under your touch.
When you feel him try to blindly figure out how to get you out of your jumpsuit with not much luck and this clears your head for a moment to realize what is about to happen. Pulling back your gaze meets his and he stares back at you with caution, ready to stop whenever you tell him to, but that’s not what made you pull back.
“Harry, I…”
“We don’t have to do anything,” he softly tells you, his fingers dancing down the side of your face until they reach your chin and he pulls you in for a delicate and slow kiss.
“I want to,” you whisper. “It’s just that… I want you to know that I’ve never… I’ve never been with a man before.”
Searching in his eyes you look for any sign of what’s going on in his head wishing you could just simply read his thoughts.
“You’ve never been with a man?” he asks, seemingly not as surprised as you expected him to be. You nod, licking your lips, waiting for any kind of reaction, a part of you expecting to be upset, though you know he has no right to be mad at you for any of it. “Do you want me to be the first man?” he then asks, with a loving and warm smile as his hand on your hip pulls you against him playfully.
“Yes.”
“Then help me get you out of this jumpsuit, because I can’t figure it out for my life,” he chuckles making you laugh too.
You show him where the corset opens and then get you out of it with joined forces, finally leaving you standing in just your underwear. Harry’s gaze runs down your body, a look of hunger and passion shining through his green irises as he pulls you close again, kissing you with a lot more vigor this time.
Soon enough, his slacks slip to the floor and you climb to your bed, Harry following closely, climbing on top of you before rejoining your lips. Your knees open up wide for him, allowing him to sink his hips between your thighs, his crotch meeting your heated center, a moan slipping out your lips when you feel his erection rubbing against you through the material of your underwear. He kisses his way down your jawline and neck, gently sucking on the soft skin, peppering kisses along your collarbones before he reaches your chest. He easily unclasps your bra and slips the straps down your arms before getting rid of the barrier that’s been keeping him away from your naked chest.
“Fuck, Y/N, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathes out shakily, before his lips wrap around your right nipple, his hand cupping your other breast. You keep whining and whimpering as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple before his mouth moves over to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention.
He kisses down your stomach, glancing up at you as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties silently asking for your permission to go further, still so respectfully looking out for you. As an answer, you lift your hips up so he can easily slide the material down your legs and throw it to the side.
“Oh fuck!” you moan when his tongue and lips press against your bud, playing with it oh so perfectly, making you shudder. If you didn’t think Harry was perfect, his tongue work is now surely making a statement on that.
With every lick, kiss and suck he pushes you closer to your release that’s nearing in a fast pace like never before. Reaching down you lace your fingers through his chocolate curls, tugging on the lightly, making him moan against your core. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you want to cum with him inside you, so you pull him up, lips meeting again as you still taste your own juice on him. It’s heavenly.
Without breaking the kiss you reach down and into his underwear, palming his fully hard cock, earning a satisfied growl when you wrap your hand around him. The feeling is quite unknown, you’ve only once had to face a penis before, it happened back in high school when you were still figuring out what sexuality meant to you. Gave a wobbly and quite short handjob to a guy from the grade above you, never even talked to him again. The experience left a major effect on you, never even got close to being intimate with a man, but being with Harry now is putting everything into a whole new light.
“Do you have a condom?” he mumbles against your lips, clearly just as excited to carry on as you are.
“Yeah,” you nod and let go of him, rolling to the edge of the bed so you can dig into the drawer of your nightstand, successfully finding the little silver packet. Tearing it open you hand it over to Harry and get back to your previous position as you watch him kneeling up, rolling the condom on carefully. Your lips part when your eyes fall on his cock, seeing now how big he really is. Harry catches your eyes and leaning down he kisses you softly.
“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay?” he kindly tells you, but you smile at him coyly.
“You might be the first man I’m with, but your dick won’t be the first thing to be inside me,” you answer with a smug smirk and it brings an amused look to his face.
“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss as he settles himself back between your legs.
Though you really tried to sound confident the other moment, you still feel a little nervous about it and Harry senses it right away. Holding himself up on one arm he cups your face in his other, kissing you slowly, taking his time with his lips, as if he is trying to make you forget about everything else but his lips.
“Are you still sure about this?” he softly asks, looking for any sign of hesitation in your eyes, but there’s none.
“Yeah, I want this. I want you,” you nod and reaching down between your bodies, you take him in your hands again, positioning him to your center.
Harry captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he pushes into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, feeling a little tight around him, but not in an uncomfortable way.
“You alright?” he asks once he is almost fully in.
“Yeah, go ahead,” you breathe out with a small nod. He pecks your lips and slowly pushes all the way in before he starts to move out and then slide in again, picking up a not too fast but still firm pace with his movements.
You gradually get used to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, it’s surely a whole different experience than using a dildo or any kind of toy you are used to. The thought that it belongs to him is bringing you a sense of intimacy you haven’t felt in a long time.
Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you dig your fingers into his hot skin that’s coated with a thin layer of sweat as he keeps moving, slowly picking up his pace as you both get closer to the endgame.
“Harry, faster, please!” you plead, legs coming to wrap around his waist so he can thrust in deeper, making you go completely nuts from the way your orgasm is already forming in the pit of your tummy.
He obeys without a second thought, slamming into you faster and harder, making you continuously moan his name, the room is filled with moans and panting, the slapping noise of his hips meeting yours.
Harry buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin, definitely leaving a mark, but you couldn’t care less. You just grab a handful of his hair, shutting your eyes closed as you feel yourself nearing the end.
“Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, barely hanging on.
Instead of stretching it out and trying to play with you, Harry clearly wants you to combust. Reaching down between your bodies his index and middle fingers find your clit and he starts circling on it, adding that little extra you needed to fall over the edge.
Moaning and whimpering under his massive body, your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing you such an intense satisfaction you’ve never felt before. He keeps up his thrusting and just a few moments later his movements fall out of his rhythm and mumbling your name over and over again, he gasps as he rides his high while you’re still trying to catch your breath following your own.
With a heaving chest Harry rolls off of you, gets rid of the condom and throws it to the small bin you keep next to your night stand and then lies flat beside you as you both just silently stare up at the ceiling, very much in the best kind of after sex haze.
“How are you feeling?” he then asks, rolling to his side, his hand coming to rest on your bare stomach. Turning your head to the side you crack a smile at him.
“I feel like I’ve just been properly fucked,” you bluntly answer, making him laugh wholeheartedly. Rolling to your side his arm falls to your waist as you scoot closer, your face only a few inches from his. He is so pretty up close, his features never fail to amuse you, hard to believe he is a real human, lying right next to you.
He closes his eyes a little, letting his head sink into the pillow as his fingers delicately dance up and down your side and back. You feel like you owe him to say something, dropping a major detail about yourself in a heated moment.
“I had two girlfriends,” you speak up, his eyes fluttering open to your words. “The first one was when I was eighteen, we dated for almost a year, then I briefly dated a guy, but it was barely just a month. And I had my second girlfriend when I was twenty. We were together for two years.”
“Are you still friends with them?”
“I still talk to the second one. Her name is Mila. We broke up because she moved to Spain for a job for a year and we didn’t want to do long-distance. Then we just… grew apart, but we still talk sometimes. She lives in Atlanta now, she has a girlfriend and she told me that she is planning to propose soon.”
A soft smile tugs on your lips as you talk about her. She was an important person in your life in a time that was truly challenging. Mila supported your dreams, she went to a lot of your concerts and she was the first one you called when you got your record deal even though you weren’t together anymore. She has seen you go from performing in dodgy bars to rocking the stage of arenas.
“Congrats to her,” Harry smiles through tired eyes. Reaching up he tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning closer he envelopes your lips in a soft kiss.
“We really shouldn’t have done this,” you hum, though you can’t wipe the satisfied smile off your lips.
“Why not?”
“Because we work together.”
“So what? We aren’t allowed to like each other?” he smirks cockily.
“You like me?”
“Thought I made that pretty clear,” he chuckles rubbing his eyes. “But yeah, I do like you, Y/N. A lot.”
“I… like you too,” you admit shyly. Leaning in he kisses you again before pulling you to his chest as he lies on his back.
“Can I stay the night or you want to throw me out?” he hums closing his eyes. Chuckling your snuggle to him, making yourself comfortable, enjoying the warmth of his body after so spending so many nights alone in this bed.
“You can stay, but you have to behave.”
“Oh I will behave my best, don’t worry.” A chuckle rumbles through his chest as you both fall silent and soon enough, drift off to sleep.
You wake up tangled in the sheets, but no one else is lying in bed with you. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes you look around and though there’s no sign of Harry in the room you spot his clothes on the floor. That’s when you hear the pots and pans clinking somewhere outside and you smile to yourself. You pull a t-shirt on with a pair of clean panties before heading out, finding Harry in your kitchen, wearing your pink fluffy robe and nothing else as he is making what seems to be pancakes.
“I don’t remember hiring a chef,” you joke walking closer, sliding a hand down his back as you lean against the counter next to the stove.
“Good morning,” he smiles. “I really wanted for you to wake up but I was afraid my growling stomach might wake you up,” he chuckles as he flips the pancakes in the pan with the spatula.
“Found everything you needed?” you ask, walking over the fridge to grab the orange juice.
“Yeah, you have a neatly organized kitchen,” he hums. “Sorry for snooping around though.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Pouring the juice to two glasses you hand one to him which he thanks softly before placing the golden pancakes to the plate on the counter and pours another bunch into the pan.
Sipping on your juice you watch him move around, making breakfast in your robe and you can’t help but smile at the sight of this fine man in your kitchen. Harry catches you eyeing him and he cocks an eyebrow at you.
“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks, his voice still a little groggy and husky.
“I just… really want to kiss you,” you shrug placing the glass to the counter.
“I think we are over this whole asking for permission thing,” he smirks, stepping closer he leans down and kisses you gently, tasting like orange juice and something sweet, he has probably ate one of the pancakes. His hand that’s not holding the spatula finds your waist, the t-shirt bunches up on your side as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before you hear sizzling coming from the stove.
“Whoops, not trying to burn the place down,” he chuckles as he turns to the pan and flips the pancakes. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his jawline before stepping away from him to set the table for breakfast.
“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks over breakfast.
“I have a meeting with my label on Saturday, but nothing else.”
“I’m having a few friends over Saturday evening, kind of a late Grammy nomination celebration. Want to come over?”
“Yeah, that… sounds good,” you nod smiling.
“I was thinking that maybe you could spend the night and then we can finish recording on Sunday.”
“Alright, I’m in.”
Harry takes a quick shower after breakfast before heading out, promising to call you later and though it still feels a little odd that he says goodbye with a kiss, you very much like this new setup between the two of you.
Friday evening Taylor is over at your place, she loves helping you sort out promo stuff you get sent all the time, especially because you let her take whatever you don’t want, half her closet was meant to be worn by you.
Sitting on the floor with boxes surrounding the both of you, you’re digging through them with a bottle of wine, some 90’s music playing in the background, it’s a nice and relaxing evening.
Your phone lights up with a text on the coffee table and you already know it’s from Harry. You haven’t stopped texting since he left from your place just a few days ago.
Harry: Do you think it’s a look for the Grammy’s?
He attached a photo of himself in all denim, looking very much like 2001 Justin Timberlake at the AMA.
Y/N: Should I match and pull a Britney?
Harry: Is that even a question?!
“Okay, who’s the girl?” Taylor asks, making you tear your eyes away from the phone’s screen.
“Huh?”
“Last time I saw you smiling like this at your phone you were talking to that girl you met at that award show. So who is it this time?”
“It’s… not a girl,” you admit, placing your phone back to the coffee table.
“Oh, did a guy finally manage to sweep you off your feet?” Taylor gives you an amused look, genuinely surprised to hear that this time it’s a guy that has you wrapped around his finger. “What is his name?”
“Harry,” you shortly answer and see her eyes widen.
“Wait, is it… Harry as in Harry Styles?”
“Yeah,” you admit with a soft chuckle.
“Oh my God, I knew I could feel some sexual tension between you two at Jeff’s office!”
“There wasn’t any, what are you talking about?”
“You didn’t see it because you were too busy trying to blow off the duet, but it was radiating from him.” She gives you a look, putting the sweater she’s been examining to the side. “So, how are things? Are you guys an item, or…?”
“We didn’t label anything, he just said he likes me and I like him too. And he… spent the night the other day.”
“Wait, what? Spent the night as in—“
“Yes, we had sex,” you confirm blushing.
“That’s like huge! The first man you’ve been with!”
“I know,” you chuckle.
“How was it?”
“Fucking amazing,” you truthfully admit with a sigh. “I didn’t think it could be this good with a guy. Maybe it’s just because it was with him.”
“He surely looks like a guy that takes good care of his girl. So what’s gonna happen? Are you guys together?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care about names and labels, he just likes to do whatever he wants and if I’m being honest it’s kind of refreshing. We are just… enjoying whatever we have.”
“That sounds very liberal,” Taylor chuckles. “But I’m happy for you. You’ve been alone for way too long, I think he might do good to you.”
“I really hope,” you nod with a sigh.
“How is the song writing going?”
“We’re finishing up recording on Sunday. I’ll send it to you when it’s done and we can start all the paperwork and everything.”
“Amazing, you are doing great, Y/N, I’m proud of you,” she smiles and climbing over she wraps you in a tight hug.
“Thanks, Tay,” you smile at her. “Alright, now do you want these lace socks or should I burn them?” you ask holding up a whole pack of them, making her laugh.
Harry said it’s just a chill get together, nothing fancy so you decide to wear a khaki maxi skirt with a shirt tucked into it that was a gift from a fan, your first album’s name embroidered to the front. It’s one of your favorite pieces and you like wearing things your fans make you, gives the whole fit a plus.
Arriving to Harry’s place you spot that there are a few cars already parking on the driveway. You leave your overnight bag in the trunk, grab the bottle of wine you’ve brought and head inside. Unlike every time you’ve been here, the silence is now switched up with soft music and chatters, quite a few people lingering around the house already.
Just as you walk farther inside, Harry appears on the stairs and his face lights up at the sight of you.
“Hey! Did you just arrive?” He jogs down the rest of the stairs and walking up to you he pulls you close for a quick kiss without hesitation.
“Yeah. I know you said not to bring anything, but I hate coming to parties empty handed,” you chuckle softly, holding the wine bottle up.
“Thanks. Have you eaten? Jeff is grilling outside, but help yourself with anything.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Sarah and Mitch are already here, but come on, let me introduce you to a few people.”
Harry takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. He drops the wine off in the kitchen before joining all the other guests. It’s really not that many people, just about thirty of his close circle. Musicians, people he has worked with and stayed close with, people he has known for long. Everyone seems welcoming and open, many already know who you are and it’s always a good conversation start, so there are not many awkward silences, especially because Harry is always near you, making sure you feel comfortable around his friends and it means a lot to you.
“Hey, everything alright?” Harry asks, when he finds you in the kitchen, refilling your glass. He walks up to you, placing a hand to your waist as he kisses into your hair.
“Yeah, your friends are nice,” you smile at him.
“I know, that’s why they are my friends,” he smirks, so full of himself. “Want to hear something interesting?”
“Always.”
“I was talking to Adam and our song came up and then out of nowhere I referred to you as my girlfriend.”
Seemingly he is testing the waters, trying to see how you react to the title, even a little afraid of what you might say, but it doesn’t scare you.
“Yeah? That’s interesting indeed.”
“Are you okay with it? I wasn’t really thinking about it, just slipped out.”
“It’s fine,” you smile at him softly.
“You don’t have to call me your boyfriend, call me whatever you want. It’s just a habit of mine, I guess,” he explains, popping some nuts into his mouth from the little jar on the counter.
“Alright,” you nod. Harry stares back at you for a moment before a smile stretches across his face and leaning down he kisses you shortly before taking your hand and walking back to the living room with you.
The last guests leave around midnight. After bringing your bag up to his bedroom you start cleaning up while Harry walks out the last couple leaving. You start loading the washer and put away things you’ve cleaned before.
“Oh, thank you for cleaning, but you don’t have to. I can take care of it later.”
“It’s nothing, I want to make myself useful,” you chuckle softly as you start the washer. Harry comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses into your neck.
“I have other ideas for that,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the side of your face.
“Yeah? What kind of ideas?” you teasingly ask, closing your eyes when you feel his hand slide under the waist of your skirt, moving down your abdomen until it reaches your core.
“Fun kinds,” he chuckles lowly. His other hand turns your head so his lips could meet yours, you’re still pressed up against him, melting against his chest with your back just right, like you’re two puzzle pieces.
“Fuck,” you breathe out when his fingers wander into your underwear and they start doing their magic. “Harry!” you whine, reacting intensely to his actions.
“I fucking love hearing my name from your pretty mouth,” he growls, kissing you hard before his lips part from yours and he starts bunching up your skirt.
You don’t protest, in fact, you lean forward, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as he pulls down your panties and you hear the zipper of his pants. Glancing over your shoulders you see him pull out a condom from his pocket and you can’t push down a laughter.
“Did you keep that in your pocket all evening?”
“Wanted to be ready when I finally got you all for myself,” he smirks, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs, rolling on the condom.
His hands come in contact with your hips and ass cheeks, giving them a light squeeze before you feel him lining himself up with you. His palm slides up your back as he pushes into you, both of you moaning at the fulfilling sensation.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathes out as he pushes all the way inside before starting to pull out.
“Go hard, Harry. Please!” you whimper as he starts thrusting into you. Harry lets out a growl and slams into you, making you gasp at the harshness of the movement, but that’s exactly what you wanted.
The kitchen is filled with the noises coming from the washer next to you and the slapping noise of Harry’s hips meeting your ass with every forceful thrust he makes. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips, probably already making them red, but you couldn’t care less. You hold onto the edge of the counter, but then you move one hand to cover his on you, needing to touch him in some kind of way.
Leaning forward Harry kisses your back between your shoulder blades through the thin material of your shirt and you moan his name when he hits the perfect spot inside you.
“Shit, Harry! I’m g-gonna cum!” you gasp, perking your ass up more so he can go as deep as possible.
“Let go for me, baby. Come on!”
“I want to cum with you.”
“Yeah? Then hold on for a little longer, I’m almost there.”
You try your best to keep everything inside you under control, your orgasm is really on the edge and you can only hope he is nearing his end too.
“Harry! Please!”
“Fuck, okay, okay, cum for me! Let me feel you!” he moans and his words bring you the release.
You clench around him, moaning and whimpering and it finally pushes you into his bliss too. His thrusts slow down but they are hard and go deep, helping you ride the last bits of your high.
He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up from your position so he can kiss your lips.
“How about we take a shower while the washer finishes?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Mm, good idea.”
Once the song is fully finished you submit it to your label after an agreement that it should come out through yours, but it wouldn’t be tied to your or Harry’s upcoming album. Everyone seems to love it, Taylor is over the moon when you show her the final version and Jeff is just as happy about it. Having only three more weeks left until the Grammy’s, you send them your request to perform the duet instead of the medley they asked. Their answer comes the next day and they are more than happy to have you premiere your new duet at the show. Everything seems to be on track.
Following a rehearsal for the Grammy performance, you’re staying over at Harry’s, just eating takeout and having a lazy evening after a whole day of working. You’ve put on a new Netflix movie, but every time you look at Harry you feel like his mind is somewhere far away.
“Want to share what’s on your mind?” you ask softly, not wanting to be pushy, you’re just trying to be there for him.
“I’ve just been thinking.”
“About what?” He looks up at you, clearly hesitant whether he should share it with you or not.
“About what you said about your parents.”
“Oh,” is all you can say. Pausing the movie you turn all your attention to him. “What about it?”
“I was just talking to my mom the other day, she is coming here for the Grammy’s and I thought about how you… won’t have your parents there with you.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Yeah, but then I thought about how you said you haven’t even let them contact you since then and that maybe they’ve changed their mind about the whole situation. You’ve clearly proved them wrong with building yourself a career, maybe they can now see that what they did was wrong.”
You remain silent, chewing on his words. You’ve been great at not thinking about your parents these past years, it feels weird to have a conversation about them out of nowhere. Harry takes your silence as a warning sign, though that’s not the case.
“You know what? I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s not really my business, I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” he shakes his head.
“What… would you do if you were in my place?”
Harry looks at you, surprised you are willing to continue the conversation. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.
“I think it might worth a shot to just… contact them. See if they want to maybe get in touch again.”
“And what if they don’t?”
“Then… you know you made the right decision leaving. I know it’s scary, but I think you should take a chance.”
“I’ll… think about it,” you nod shortly.
“Take your time, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get comfortable in his embrace before starting the movie again.
Two weeks before the show you are headed to a fitting with Harry, your matching sets are nearly done, but they needed you to try them on and make sure they fit just perfectly. True to your and Harry’s extravagant fashion, this performance won’t lack any over the top fits either. It was clear from the beginning that you would be matching, but you made it clear that you want to bring it to the level where you’d be wearing the exact same outfit, so now there are two sets of suits in the making, the pattern of the whole two piece is recalling a kind of space vibe, blues, purples and black meeting in the colors with hundreds of embroidered stars and planets littering the fabric with additional crystal stars to make it even more extra. It’s truly one of a kind, especially paired with the sheer, tulle shirt you both will be wearing underneath.
“We look fucking great, babe,” Harry smirks as the two of you stand next to each other, examining yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the small podium.
“We really do,” you smirk, satisfied with how the performance is coming together. It’s gonna be the perfect way to celebrate both your first Grammy nominations, a huge milestone in your and Harry’s career as well.
Grabbing his phone he quickly takes a picture in the mirror of the two of you, pulling you to his side as you smile into the camera through the mirror. Then you leave him alone on the podium as they are pinning his pants to make it the perfect size. Stepping to your bag you fish your phone out and reading just the first few words of Taylor’s last message she sent about ten minutes ago, you feel all blood rushing out of your face. Tapping on the notification you start reading.
Taylor: Please don’t lose your head, but we are dealing with this.
She attached several articles and you start digging through them.
“Is Harry Styles dating his new duet partner?”
“Harry Styles cozied up with Y/N Y/L/N at dinner with friends.”
“Can we expect some hot make out sessions at the Grammy’s from Harry and his new beau?”
And then there’s the absolute worst.
“Is Y/N Y/L/N going to take Harry Styles to court too?”
“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble under your breath, vigorously typing back to Taylor to take them down. Two pictures have been leaked from the time you had dinner with Sarah and Mitch, it’s so odd because it’s been weeks since then, where were these pictures all along? Not that it matters, all you want is for them to be gone.
Against your better judgment, you go online and check your social media even though you know you shouldn’t snoop around now that it’s out there. No surprise, you and Harry are trending, but the reactions are very much mixed.
The impact of your case with Jordan is still major. It doesn’t matter that you won, people are still questioning whether he said the truth or not and now they are afraid you might drag Harry down just like you did with Jordan. That you are just trying to use his fame to get more attention and then ruin his career, making a victim out of yourself again, because apparently that’s what you’ve been doing.
You’re not only being dragged, but all of a sudden, nothing is about the music and the art you are making, people just want to know if you’re fucking Harry Styles or not. A lot of the times you’re not even named, only referred to Harry’s new lover or what’s worse, his hookup. You’ve lost all the credit you worked so hard for and for what? Because you dared to have dinner with a man?
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asks walking up to you. Your eyes snap up at him and he immediately sees the shock and anger in them, setting panic in him as well. “What is it?”
“The fucking… pictures,” you hiss handing him your phone so he can see the articles for himself. He scrolls through them with furrowed eyebrows, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before handing the phone back once he has gotten to the end of it.
“Let’s finish this up and head home, okay? We’ll figure it all out.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you nod, trying your best to keep your anger at bay while the designers finish up on the outfits.
An hour later you walk into your place, talking on the phone with Taylor, discussing the situation though there’s not much you can do at this point. It’s all out, the pictures can’t be taken down. She suggests to just keep quiet for now, she’ll call Jeff to see what could be done as damage control.
Throwing your phone to the bed you feel your whole body shaking from the anger, it’s agonizing to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out,” Harry speaks up, trying his best to calm you down, but it’s not really working this time.
“Stop saying it, you don’t know that for sure. I can’t believe this bullshit is happening all over again,” you breathe out shaking your head.
“Again?”
“Yes! I’m being fucking dragged for something I shouldn’t be.”
“People will always have controversial opinion on everything, you can’t get them all to like you.”
“It’s not about liking, Harry!” you snap. “I couldn’t give a damn about people liking me, but they discredit my work. Have you read those articles? I’m seen with a man and suddenly, I’m not even seen as an artist anymore. I’m not even my own person in some of them, just a girl who is linked to you. How is that fair?”
“It’s not, but stressing yourself about it until you’re sick is not gonna help anything,” he retorts in a firm voice.
“So I should just sit around and so nothing while watching all my work go to shit?”
“Nothing is going to shit! This is how it goes, there’s always something people talk about but they will forget about it in a week. That doesn’t take anything away from what you’ve proved through your career.”
“Now that’s a lie. Because if they did forget about things in a week, they wouldn’t be bringing up the whole Jordan thing now. I dared to stand up for myself against a man and look where it took me to! I’m the drama queen, the lying bitch who likes to ruin men for apparently no reason and they see me as a threat when it comes to you too. People are talking about how I’ll take you to court as well, they think I’m just using you even though they know nothing about me! And the worst part is that it wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a woman. Whatever happens, however we react to the situation, it will never have the same effect on your career than it will have on mine.”
“So what, you’ll just live your life without ever doing anything that’s gonna upset people? There will always be someone who’ll judge whatever you do, you can’t do anything about that and if you let them get to you now, they’ll know they can mess with you easily.”
“So I’m just supposed to ignore everything? And not do a single thing about it? It’s easy for you, you’ll walk away from this without a scratch on your name, because you are a white man who can do no wrong in the eyes of the world.”
“Okay, now you are being mean for no reason.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” you retort. “And you know what else is part of the truth? That I’m not even having it the worse. There are women who are even more targeted because of their religion, their skin color, their nationality or sexuality and people don’t even realize how hard it is for any of us. I’m sick of the injustice we have to live with just because of our gender!”
“I do acknowledge the problem on hand, I’m aware of it and I’m all for doing against it, but we are not gonna solve it instantly, it’s a long process. Sometimes we just have to pull back a little, be smart about things.”
“They will never stop about this,” you shake your head, stubbornly clinging onto your opinion. “I won’t be seen as a serious artist anymore, just some girl who was linked to you. It’s fucking done, over.”
“Y/N, what are you trying to say?” Harry asks with caution.
“Exactly what you are thinking about,” you reply with a bitter laugh. “I can’t be a respected artist if I’m with you.”
“That’s not true. It will die down, they will see that you are more than just who you’re dating and everything will be fine.”
“What’s not fair is that I have to work for it to be fine while you are still the same artist you were before it all blew up. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” you call him out and part of you knows you’re being mean and unnecessarily rude to him, but you just can’t control it any longer. You need to let it out and unfortunately, he is the one who is here to take the blame.
“It is, but what are you expecting me to do about it? Release a statement asking people to only talk about my dating life to make it equal? What can be done is that we try to fight this together, show them that you’re more than just a woman who is linked to a man in any kind of way.”
“Yeah, like realization is just gonna hit them,” you snap. “I’m at a turning point in my career, Harry. Whether I win a Grammy or not, this time is going to have an impact on my future. If I’m seen as just a girl linked to you, I’ll never make it. I’ll be forgotten and dragged again and I can kiss my career goodbye.”
You know you were way too harsh, but it’s what you think to be the truth. You didn’t fight your way to this point in life just to be seen as a man’s girlfriend rather than the artist you truly are. And right now, you can’t see yourself get out of this situation without letting go of Harry.
“Y/N, please don’t let this ruin what we have. We can get through this, you can’t let them control your life this much. Who are they to tell you what to do? That’s not the Y/N I know, come on!”
He tries to step closer, reaching out for you, but you take a step back, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you.
“I would prefer to be alone now,” you sternly say, folding your arms on your chest, closing yourself off from him as you don’t even look at him, because if you did, you know you would break.
“Y/N, please don’t do this, we—“
“Alone!” you snap, cutting him off.
He stares at you, hoping you might change your mind, but you’re quite set on this. He knows you well enough to know you won’t budge anytime soon. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly turning around, he heads towards the door as you’re already fighting your tears back. He stops right before he is about to walk out.
“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he quietly says before walking out, the door shutting closed behind him.
The sobs start immediately and you fall to the ground, tears soaking your cheeks, already missing him more than anything in your life. You really thought it would be different this time, that things might get better, but you were naïve.
The next two days go by in a blur. The whole fucking internet is filled with those damn pictures of you and Harry, nothing has been about any of your Grammy nominations or even about your music, you’ve officially became the woman Harry Styles is dating.
Harry was titled as a Grammy nominee in every goddamn writing that surfaced, he was completely credited for his work while you could be happy if your name was written correctly. With every new article, your faith in having the career you worked so hard for lessened until you felt hopeless. You’ve officially became a dumb celebrity, just a woman who was known to be dating a man in the industry.
On the evening of the second day you have enough. You just read yet another degrading piece of you that was clearly written by a man, they once again talked about your case with Jordan, joking about history repeating itself and you swear you could scream and throw a tantrum like a baby at how useless and helpless you feel.
You put your laptop to the side and reach for your phone, dialing Taylor’s number.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks right away, knowing well how hard these past days have been. She came over the evening you sent Harry away and tried to comfort you, but nothing could help you that night.
“Hey, I want to ask you to do something and not try to talk me out of it.”
“Oh God…” she sighs, already knowing you’re about to do something stupid according to her.
“I don’t want to perform at the Grammy’s.”
“What? With all due respect, are you fucking stupid?”
“I’m not stupid. But I don’t want to do it.”
“Well, this has got to be the most ridiculous move you’ve ever tried to pull. Why do you want to throw such a huge thing away?”
“I can’t… sing that song with Harry. If I stand on the stage and sing with him… I just can’t do it, Tay.”
“Of course you can! Suck it up! I know you miss him and it fucking sucks what’s happening, but you have to do it!” she tries to convince you, but you’ve already made your mind up.
“No. I’m not doing it. Please let them know that it’s going to be just Harry performing.”
And with that, you end the call.
Taylor knows better than to try to fight you, she doesn’t call back though you know she wants to murder you right now probably, but she’ll come around, she always does. You make yourself a tea hoping to relax your nerves with it though you know nothing can help you now. You wish you had someone to rely on, someone you could talk to right now, but usually Taylor is that person to you and lately Harry has been your support, but you can’t call either of them. The rest of the people you consider friends… they are just not that close to you. You’re left alone, again.
As your gaze wanders over to your phone, a thought pops up in your mind that makes your hands sweat. You think back to the conversation you had with Harry about your parents and you can’t shake the urge off to finally make that call.
“Fuck it,” you breathe out and grab the device, opening up the contacts until you find what you’ve been looking for. Your thumb hovers above the call button for a while before you finally tap on it and start the call. It rings four times before a voice speaks up on the other end.
“Halo?”
“Hi mom,” you reply and hear a gasp from her at your voice.
There’s less than a week left until the Grammy’s. For your own sake, you haven’t been online outside of answering work emails, you just can’t deal with the shit show your life has become on the internet.
You haven’t left your home unless you really needed to go somewhere, did most of your meetings over the phone or videochat and postponed a fitting as well. You’ve officially caved yourself up in your apartment and you are not planning on leaving anytime soon.
Taylor keys herself in, she hasn’t even mentioned that she might drop by, but you’re not surprised. She is probably here to try to bring you out of this pity party you’ve been holding for days. When she sees you lying on the couch in sweats and messy, unwashed hair, she sighs, shaking her head.
“You really need to pull your shit together, Y/N.”
“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your fuzzy blanket up to your chin.
“No, you’re not. This is not the bad bitch I know.”
“Bad bitches have bad days too.”
“This is not a bad day, you look like a fucking zombie. This is not what a Grammy nominee should look like days before the big show.”
“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m performing or anything,” you shrug, but the look in Taylor’s eyes make yours go wide. “Taylor, I’m not performing, you informed them about it, right?”
“This is why I’m here,” she sighs walking closer, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I never cancelled on your performance.”
“I told you I’m not doing it!”
“I know, but I was hoping you might come around. But you seem to be still acting like a stupid bitch, so that didn’t happen. However, I’ve gotten an interesting email today.”
She pulls out her phone and opens the email before handing it over to you. Shooting her an unhappy look you start reading.
-
Hi Taylor!
I got your email address from Jeff, wanted to write to you myself. I’ve officially pulled out of the Grammy performance so it’s going to be only Y/N in it. We are also working on a statement to release over the whole ordeal and my lawyers have been after the bigger gossip sites to get the articles down. I want Y/N to have the Grammy experience she deserves and I know it can’t happen with me in the performance. Tell her that I’m sorry for ruining it for her, she deserves so much more. I’m sorry she was brought into this.
I hope to see you soon, take care!
Harry
-
With parted lips, you look up at Taylor who is smiling softly at you.
“He… pulled out for me.”
“He did. Talked to Jeff on the phone, they have already let them know Harry wouldn’t be performing, they will make it official tomorrow.”
“But he deserves this just as much as I do. He is a nominee too.”
“Well, seems like he values you more than his own success.” Taylor lets out a long sigh and scooting closer she places a hand to your knee. “Look, I know you’re upset about how the media treats you just because you were seen out with Harry, and I know that you’re afraid of getting labeled as just the girl he dates and not get taken seriously as an artist, but you can’t let them stop you from living your life how you want to. There will always be judgment, there will always be men who are worse than trash and want to bring you down, but you are stronger than that. Pushing Harry away and being alone for the rest of your life is not a solution. What you can do to put them to their place is give them a big fuck you, date the hottest man in the industry and continue being the bad bitch that you are, fighting against the way you are being treated. Speak up, show them who they are dealing with, share your truth, like you always do! But you can do all of this with Harry by your side. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy, don’t make yourself miserable because we live in a world where men are still placed above women. Fight for the change but don’t forget to think about yourself as well in the process.”
You feel the tears sting in your eyes. The weight of this past week is just way too heavy to carry, but Taylor is right and you are realizing that you’ve made it harder for yourself. The sobs come before you could stop yourself and Taylor pulls you into a hug.
“I know, I know. It fucking sucks, but you can’t let them win,” she soothes, running her hands up and down your back. “Show them how big of a bad bitch you are and get the man too.”
“You think Harry still wants to be with me?”
“I think that man would be on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you asked,” she chuckles pulling back. “Statement about the performance will be released tomorrow. That’s how long you have to figure it out,” she tells you with a knowing look before leaving you alone with your thoughts, however you don’t have to think long what you have to do.
You have not been the only one these past days took a toll on. The fight the two of you had left Harry completely drained, angry and helpless. He hated that he was the reason you weren’t credited as the talented artist that you are and he couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make it better. That’s when he came up with the idea of pulling out of the performance.
Now he is ready to spend the remaining days until the award show hidden from the world, not even leaving the house. Everyone close to him knows he is better not to be disturbed now, so he is quite surprised when the security system lets him know that someone has arrived.
As you drive up to his house you spot him immediately, stepping out the front door with a shocked look on his face, probably expecting you to be the last person to be there at the moment. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs as you walk up to him, feeling anxious to see him and talk to him, especially after the last conversation you had.
“Hey, I’m sorry for coming here without calling or anything…” you shyly start, stopping in front of you.
“Don’t be silly. Come… Come on in,” he clears his throat inviting you inside.
You’ve walked through this front door so many times in the past almost two months, but this is the first time you feel so odd, standing out, like you have no place in here and it’s all thanks to yourself.
“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” Harry walks past you but then turns to face you, talking to you with such warmth and kindness, even after how you acted, putting blame on him for something he has no control over. It completely breaks you and can’t stop your eyes from watering as you look at him. You really hoped you’ve run out of tears in the past days, but it seems like that’s not the case at all.
“Harry, I’m so sorry,” you breathe out shakily and you step closer to each other at the same time, he envelopes you in his strong arms and you fist his shirt at his chest. “I know it was none of your fault, I just got so desperate and afraid that it might ruin what I worked so hard for.”
“I know. And you were right about everything. Everything you said was true and I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t right to be mad at you just because you have different privileges, it’s not like you can change who you are. So I’m really sorry about that, and also for pushing you away when you were just trying to be there for me. I was so stupid,” you breathe out, wiping the tears sliding your cheeks down away.
“You just panicked, it’s okay. Don’t apologize for wanting to protect yourself.”
Resting your forehead against his shoulder you wait for your sobs to die down before you look back up at him. Reaching up he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you warmly and that smile alone ensures you that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, with the right person.
“Taylor showed me the email you sent her,” you bring it up, clearing your throat.
“You deserve it all to yourself so people can see how amazing of an artist you are.”
“I’m not doing it without you,” you shake your head stubbornly. “We wrote the song together and we’re gonna perform it together or else I’m not doing it either.”
“Y/N, you know if we step on that stage together they are gonna twist the whole thing and make it about something else. I want you to have this opportunity for your career without me ruining it with just my presence.”
“Fuck them, if they take it as something it’s not. They are not gonna take the chance away from us to perform our song. If they are such fucking dumbasses that they make it all about what’s between us, that’s their own personal problem. If I need to, I’ll go on a Twitter rant and tell them this myself. I want you on stage with me or else I’m not doing it either.”
Harry breathes out through his nose, pressing his lips together as he stares back at you, probably realizing you are dead serious about pulling out of the performance and he is right. He doesn’t even know you were the first one to cancel on it, you’d do it again without hesitation.
“I guess we are performing then,” he cracks a small smile and throwing your arms around his neck you pull him down, lips smashing against his, the kiss mingling with giggles and smiles.
Harry wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you up from the ground as he spins you around, making you squeal as you hold onto him.
“I have to call Jeff to call the Grammy’s not to post the statement,” he hums against your lips and he pecks them a few more times before letting go of you to quickly make a call to his manager.
You move over to the couch in his living room as he talks to Jeff, who is luckily very understanding about the sudden change. Hugging your knees to your chest you watch him pace the floor, exchanging a few more words with the man on the phone before ending the call, his gaze dropping to you again. Sitting beside you, he kisses your temple, dropping an arm around your shoulders as you lean against him, head resting on his chest.
“I called my mom,” you drop the bomb suddenly and you can feel him tense up for a moment, probably shocked by your words.
“You did?”
“Yeah.” Lifting your head your gaze meets his as you carry on. “She was… very shocked to hear my voice.”
“I bet,” he hums. “What did you talk about?”
“I just… asked how they are doing and told her that I’ve been thinking a lot about them. She sounded genuinely touched by it and said I’m always welcomed for dinner or lunch if I’d like to see them.”
“That’s amazing! See, I told you they would love to hear from you!”
“Yeah,” you smile at him softly. “I think I want to go over sometime after the Grammy’s.”
“I’m sure it’s going to go well.”
“Would you please come with me?”
Your question catches him off-guard he seems surprised that you would want him there, but then his expression softens as he leans down and kisses your forehead.
“I would love to, if you want me there.”
“I do,” you nod.
“Then it’s settled,” he smiles warmly as you lay your head back to his chest, his fingers gently dancing up and down your arm and for once in your life you finally feel settled, like everything is going to be fine.
Highlights of the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards: Y/N Y/L/N blows up stage with new hit duet
The killer duo surprised us all with a brand new duet titled Floating Through Space, performed it together on their big night. Wearing matching galaxy themed suits, Y/L/N and Styles have closed off the evening with probably the most success, the latter winning two out of his three nominations, receiving the award for Best Music Video and Best Pop Vocal Album with his latest album, Fine Line, while Y/L/N was titled best new artist, becoming a Grammy winner early in her career.
Tabloids blew up earlier this month when the two singers were photographed cozied up at dinner with friends, speculations started about their possible romance, but Y/L/N has made a clear statement on the question with her red carpet appearance before the award show. Wearing a head to toe black Gucci gown paired with a dramatic cape, the message “I’M AN ARTIST, ASK ME ABOUT MY ART” painted onto it in red, making a bold statement about her opinion on the way the media has been treating the star.
Both singers remained silent on their alleged romance, but proved to be the best of their time with their joined performance with their new emotional duet. Following the song’s debut on stage it was released to the public as a single right away, taking over all charts with its overwhelming success.
Listen to Floating Through Space now on Spotify and Apple Music!
Your knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the steering wheel as you stare up at the home you grew up in. It looks almost the same, sometime through the years you haven’t been around your parents have painted it a light blue color from the paste yellow, but it’s still… the same.
“Hey.”
Turning to your right you look at Harry who is smiling at you warmly as his hand reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.
“It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, you’re still their daughter.”
“That’s not what they told me the last time I was here,” you whisper, feeling your throat closing up.
“We all say things in the heat of the moment. Seeing how happy they were about this lunch proves that they regret what happened.”
Nodding you take a deep breath to get ready for whatever is going to happen. Leaning over the console you pull Harry in for a kiss and it calms your nerves a little. Getting out of the car he takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know he’ll be right by your side all along. As you walk up to the front porch a sense of strong nostalgia washes over you.
You didn’t have a bad childhood, your parents provided you so much growing up, it’s sad to think what it has become. In a way you feel more anxious than walking the red carpet a week ago for the Grammys even though you’re just meeting your parents, but this is a turning point in your life that needed to come sooner or later.
“I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be fine,” Harry murmurs, kissing your forehead before you ring the doorbell, feeling weird that you come here as a guest, not as someone who belongs here.
You hear footsteps approaching on the other side, two frames appear through the clouded glass of the front door and then it flies open, pushing all air out of your lungs, clinging tightly onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment of silence and just staring at each other before the tiniest smile tugs on your lips.
“Hi mom, hi dad.”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!
#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fiction#harry styles au#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles x you#harry styles x reading#harry styles x y/n
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Text
The Other Nevrakis
Chapter 5 - I Love The Night Life
Pairings- Drake x OC (Lilith Nevrakis), Liam x Riley
Book- TRR Book One
Synopsis- Lilith Nevrakis is the younger sister of Duchess Olivia, and the black sheep of her family. Drake Walker is the best friend of the Crown Prince. Lilith and Drake are similar in that they both prefer random hookups to relationships. Once they meet, something in each of them changes and they both realize they want more out of life. But is what they want, each other?
A/N- This pretty much follows the events of TRR Book 1, but this is an AU where Olivia has a younger sister and Riley is Maxwell’s cousin. The story alternates between Lilith and Drake's POV, but not in first person.
Warnings- Language, Drinking, Sensuality, NSFW (there will be lemons!)
Word count- 2,220
Chapter Warning- NSFW (attempted lemons😆)
18+ only
Catch up here.
After the formal dinner on their first night in Lythikos, Liam and Drake were relaxing in the royal suite. Drake slid open the back door and whistled, “Damn, is that a hot tub?”
Liam smiled, “Yes. Want me to invite Lilith over to share it with you?”
Drake flipped him off and Liam laughed.
“So, I want to take Lady Riley to a concert tonight.”
“That’s cool.” Drake hopped onto the over sized plush bed.
“And.. I was wondering if you would come with us?” Liam looked at him hopefully.
“Why me? You want me to be your wingman?” Drake laughed.
Liam shrugged, “It’s just.. I don't want her to think I’m putting any pressure on her. I want to spend time with her, but I want her to feel like it's friendly.”
Drake smiled. Liam was such a gentleman. And he couldn't deny his best friend a secret rendezvous with the woman he was potentially going to marry. “Sure. I'll go.”
Liam’s worried expression melted into a grin. “Oh thank you! I'll text her!”
After Liam had changed outfits several times to find just the right ‘dressy casual’ look, the three of them rode to the bar together. Drake was pretty sure he was going to be the third wheel all night, but he didnt care. At least he could hear some music and have a drink. Riley was wearing a short, very tight red mini dress and Drake couldn't help but notice Liam’s face matched the color of her dress every time he looked at her.
“This is so exciting!” Riley giggled as she sat between them in the limo.
“I just wanted to show you around Lythikos and give you a taste of their nightlife.” Liam smiled at her. “You said you've never been to Lythikos before, correct?”
“Never!” She smiled softly at Liam, staring into his eyes. “And.. I’m glad I get to share it with you.”
Riley cleared her throat as she looked over at Drake. “Um, and you too, Drake!”
Drake chuckled, “Sure.”
They exited the limo with four Royal Guards dressed in plain clothes so as to not attract attention to themselves. Liam kept his head down as they made their way to a VIP room so that he wouldn't be recognized. Once the band started playing, Riley pulled Liam up to dance with her. Drake watched his friend beam at her, and a strange feeling grew inside of him. Jealousy. In all the years he knew Liam, Drake never felt jealous.. Not when they were kids and Liam got better toys and better parties. Not when they were older and Liam got more women, and basically everything he ever wanted. Drake's heart sped up as he realized he was actually jealous of Liam. Not that he wanted Riley.. Just the feeling that Liam had. Drake shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. This was stupid. He stood up and headed downstairs to the bar to get a drink.
Drake spoke to the bartender, “whiskey, neat.”
The bartender handed him his drink and smiled. “You alone tonight, daddy?”
Drake looked at her closely for the first time. She was tall, with bleach blonde hair, an obscene amount of makeup, and huge breasts. The usual type he ended up with at the end of the night. “Sort of.”
She leaned across the bar and spoke in his ear, “You don't have to be.” Drake smirked at her as he sipped his drink. She licked her lips seductively and trailed her finger down his jaw. “I get off in an hour. You could come home with me.”
He leaned toward her, giving a cocky grin. “And what would we do?”
She ran her fingernails through his hair and he shivered. “Whatever. You. Want.”
Drake took a deep breath. “Then I guess I’ll see you in an hour.” This was too easy. He didn't even have to try, and this woman was throwing herself at him.
Drake tucked the bartender’s phone number in his pocket and scanned the crowd. That’s when he saw her.
___________________________________________________
Lilith was thankful they made it back to Lythikos in time for her to see her favorite band play. She couldn't shake that empty feeling, and did the only thing she knew to try and fill the void in her- she found a man to hook up with. Tariq was along for the engagement tour and made it no secret that he was interested in having sex with Lilith. He came to her room one night at the Palace and said if she was ever down, there would be no strings attached. He may be a little strange but Tariq was an easy target, a sure thing. She invited him to the concert so she didn't have to go alone, and as an added bonus she would get laid.
The band made it through a few songs, and Lilith recognized the next one as her favorite. She grabbed Tariq and pulled him onto the dance floor. He put his hands on her hips and she leaned back against his body. He wasn't as tall or muscular as Drake. She frowned as she realized she even thought of Drake. Who cares? Lilith closed her eyes and rolled her hips against Tariq and felt him getting hard against her ass. That was quick. She almost chuckled out loud, but stopped short when she noticed none other than Drake Walker, alone at the bar.
She froze briefly, but quickly regained her composure. What the fuck is he doing here? Did he follow me? Then she remembered telling Liam about the band playing tonight when he wanted ideas of where to take Riley. He must have dragged Drake along. She felt his eyes on her and decided to take things up a notch with Tariq. Lilith spun around to face him and trailed her hands down his torso. Tariq was clearly trying to hide his boner, but couldn't stop himself from reaching around and grabbing her ass. Lilith leaned forward and gave him a small kiss against his jaw, causing him to shiver.
“Um, Lady Lilith..” Tariq panted. “I.. truly am enjoying this, but you must know that-”
“Shut up.” She breathed in his ear and kissed him there, letting her tongue slip down to his neck.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Drake watching them and it spurred her on even more. She spun back around and Tariq ran his hands down her waist. She continued to move to the beat and Tariq sucked in a sharp breath as her backside grazed against his crotch. “Lilith.. You should know that it has been.. quite a long time since I last-”
She brought her arms back around his neck and pushed her ass against his obvious boner and he gasped. In the next moment he tensed, holding onto her tightly and breathing hard against the back of her neck.
“You've gotta be kidding me.” She looked down at the wet spot on his pants.
“I tried to tell you!” Tariq was looking around to make sure no one else noticed. “It's been a long time since I .. got off.”
“Oh my god. Why didn't you tell me you were that close?!” Lilith covered her face with her hand. This was a first.
“It isn't proper to say such things to a lady!”
Lilith whispered, “If you're about to blow a load in your pants, then screw decorum and just say it!”
“Noted.” Tariq frowned. “Well, now what..”
“Now I guess we go back to the estate. Unless you have some extra pants.” As frustrating as this night was, she felt bad for Tariq. This had to be a million times worse for him.
“I’m afraid I don't.” He looked around the crowded room. “Just please walk in front of me.”
Lilith remembered Drake and glanced over to the bar. He was talking to the bartender, and pretending Lilith didn't exist. She breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't see the horrendous event that transpired on the dance floor, but her heart dropped as she saw the bartender stroking his face. She stopped short to watch them and Tariq bumped into her backside. Lilith cringed as she realized he probably just got his sausage gravy all over the back of her dress. What a fucking night.
______________________________________________________________
Drake watched Lilith dance with Tariq. He wanted to look away, but for some reason he just couldn't. She was wearing a tight black dress with her wavy red hair falling across her bare shoulders as she danced to the beat. Tariq had his hands all over her and she clearly enjoyed it. He watched Tariq grab her ass, and it made Drake feel sick to his stomach. “Who the fuck cares?!” He said softly to himself.
Lilith leaned forward and kissed Tariq’s neck and Drake had to look away. He was on his third glass of whiskey and the bartender told him she was about to get off work. He just needed to screw her and get his head back on straight. Forget Lilith Nevrakis.
“You ready to go, baby?” The bartender twirled her car keys and beckoned Drake over to her.
He quickly looked over to Lilith and saw her and Tariq leaving. She was probably about to screw him. “Ya. Let’s go.”
Once they got to the bartender's station wagon she opened the door to the backseat. She clearly had no intention of taking him home with her. Oh well, he thought. Drake was no stranger to sex in the back of a car. He followed her into the back seat and she jumped on him, kissing him hard.
He closed his eyes tightly and kissed her back, feeling disappointed. She didn't taste like strawberries and whiskey the way.. nevermind. She roughly grabbed his crotch and started massaging him over his pants. “Do I have to do all the work?” She huffed as she grabbed his hands and put them against her breasts. “Say my name, Drake!”
Drake kissed her back and frowned. Had she told him her name? Shit. This woman was trying her hardest to get him aroused, but it wasn't working. Drake had never had this problem before. He closed his eyes and thought about things that turned him on. He could fake it through this, if he just used his imagination. His mind was blank. Come on think dammit, what turns you on? Lilith's face flashed in his mind. Fuck. Drake pulled back and looked out the window. “I'm sorry.. I can't do this.”
“Just give me a few more minutes, I can get it hard.”
Drake sighed. No she couldn't. He was as flaccid as a washed up piece of seaweed. “Look, it's just not gonna happen. It’s not you, its-”
“You must be joking.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don't give Jessie the ‘it's not you it's me’ bit!”
“Jessie?”
“Me, you idiot! You don't even remember my name?!” Her face was red with anger, and she looked as if she was about to hit him.
Drake had to get away and fast. Not only was this woman hard up and rejected, she was referring to herself in the third person. He threw open the car door and hopped out, leaving Jessie yelling obscenities after him as he jogged back.
Drake trudged back up the stairs into the VIP room where Liam was seated at a table having a glass of scotch. The band must have been taking a break because it was relatively quiet for the first time since they arrived. He sat next to him and dropped his forehead down hard against the table. “Ughhhhh.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Drake couldn't see him, but was sure Liam had that concerned look he always gave him.
“Everything..”
“I don't understand.” Liam scooted his chair closer. “Did something happen?”
Drake sat up and looked at Liam in panic. “No! Nothing happened! No matter how hard I tried to make it happen, it didn't!”
“Are you drunk?” Liam eyed him warily.
“I wish. Then at least I would have a reasonable excuse.”
“Drake..” Liam frowned. “Just tell me what you're talking about.”
“I had a super hot woman ready to go and I… couldn't…” He put his head in his hands. “I couldn't!”
“Couldn't sleep with her? Why not?”
Drake sighed. “Oh god, Li.” He was going to have to spell it out for him. “I couldn't get it up!”
“Oh.” Liam leaned back in his chair, eyes wide.
“What's wrong with me? Do you think I need to go to a doctor? I'm too young for this!” Drake started panicking. He could not have this problem at twenty-eight years old.
To his surprise, Liam chuckled. “I.. don't think that's it.”
They were interrupted as Riley came back from the restroom. “What are you boys talking about?”
Drake gave Liam a warning look and Liam smiled. “Nothing. Are you enjoying yourself Lady Riley?”
The band started playing again, and Riley's eyes lit up. “I am. But I’d enjoy myself a lot more if you danced with me again!”
Liam smiled brightly and followed her onto the dance floor, and Drake slammed his head back down on the table. What a fucking night.
#trr#the royal romance#trr fanfic#choices#choices fanfic#drake walker#lilith nevrakis#olivia nevrakis#liam x riley#liam rys#drake x mc#drake x oc#the other nevrakis
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